Part I

Prelude

A cold, gray breeze dragged across the barren land once known as Inland Florida. Metal fencing surrounded the backlot of Bride of Christ Pentecostal Church, though no one knew the name, as the sign had been repurposed many years ago. Two ducks were inside the fencing. One, Marvin, lay on its side taking its last breaths and the other, Honey, was dipping its bill into a bowl of water.

Zane watched them from the roof of the church, shaking his head, causing his dark hair to swing in front of his small brown eyes, shielding his view for a few seconds. He was perched like a bird, looking out as far as he could through the unnatural fog. The wind cut through him and he wrapped his coat tighter, letting out a long crackling sigh as desolate tears welled up in his eyes.

Honey looked up when the back door to the church opened with a creak.

“Zane? Will you come down from there?” Marlow called up. She had a blanket over her shoulders, trailing in the dirt as Honey approached, looking for food.

“What’s the point?” he called back, not looking away from the ominous gray. “What’s the point of any of this? Look at Marvin.”

Marlow whipped her head, a long braid of hair swinging with her, and hurried over to the dying duck.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked through intermittent coughs. “I coulda…” She trailed off, holding the fragile duck head in her palm. “Oh, Marvin.”

Zane laughed a bitter laugh. “What? You gonna resuscitate him, again?”

She looked up towards him. “It’s a she. Marvin is a she.”

He laughed again, more lighthearted this time. “True.” His reply was lost in the wind.

“Would you come down here?” Marlow called.

He sighed again, wiped the tears from his eyes and climbed down.

The chapel was filled with plants, mother-in-law tongue, ferns and dwarf pines, among others. Most of the leaves were browning up and falling off. Marlow stood near the back, holding a steel trapdoor open with one arm and Marvin tucked under the other.

“Come on,” she said. “You really shoulda been wearing your mask.”

Zane grunted, shrugged and followed, catching the door from her as they descended into the underground bunker.

The bunker had been built by a preacher with a zeal for Armageddon, Pastor Jerry Hill, who warned his congregation time after time that the end was near. Though it hadn’t been exactly as described in the Bible, he wasn’t far off. It had started with the threat of a nuke by Pakistan, then an actual one launched by the US. Soon, North Korea, Russia and other countries joined in and World War III was well under way. This was forty-five years ago, in 2045. Three quarters of the population was lost during the war and the aftermath, but humans are remarkably resilient. The Earth had a resurgence about twenty years back. People went back to smaller communities, farming and taking care of each other. Power grids were restored for some areas. Nations were re-established, but many years of lawlessness couldn’t just be undone. Countries once strong. were now weak and recovering. Others took advantage of that.

The Final War had happened two years ago. Zane, Marlow and their families took shelter at the church bunker during it. “Built for times such as these,” Pastor Hill said, but the air was saturated with death. He, and most people with more than a few decades of using their lungs, passed on first, along with children.

It was five degrees the day Marvin the duck died, and it started a string of events Zane and Marlow couldn’t have dreamed of.

Chapter One

Marlow set Marvin on a card table, sliding a couple plants with her elbow to make room. Marvin had stopped breathing, and Marlow was bending down to perform duck CPR when Zane grabbed her shoulder.

“Just…don’t,” he said. “She’s dead.”

“But maybe I can…”

Zane shook his head.

She sighed and took a step back, still focused on the duck in the dark room. “Then we butcher her and eat her tonight.”

Zane threw his hands up. “What’s the point? We’re down to one fucking duck.” His slight Indian accent normally made her laugh when he cursed, but not now.

“We’ll go out. We’ll—” She tried to continue, but a coughing fit overtook her.

Zane put an arm around her shoulders when she stopped. He wanted to tell her that her cough was getting worse, that it was probably lung cancer or whatever it was that took their families but what good would it do? He was afraid he wasn’t far behind, as his own chest felt tight most nights. They hugged for what could’ve been five solid minutes, both parties recalling memories of their families finding each other as they sought shelter. Finally, they broke away and Marlow looked up at him, wiping tears as she did.

“Let’s eat this fucking duck.”

Zane wanted to protest but couldn’t. Let her have a last meal, he figured.

Marlow butchered Marvin, apologizing to her that things had turned out the way they had. They built up their fire pit within the fence and Honey watched as they turned Marvin on a spit. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to recognize her and quickly lost interest, scratching in the dirt for long-gone bugs or other edibles.

They sat down inside the church sanctuary, sharing a pew with a plate of duck meat between them. Honey had finally cornered a cockroach and was stomping it into submission as she pecked at it. It was the most entertainment they’d gotten lately.

“Do you think we’re the last two people?” asked Zane, staring forward at the window frames taped over with plastic sheeting.

Marlow loosened a chunk of meat from the bone and chewed greedily. “Probably not.”

“What if we are?”

“I’m sure there are others. Just not in this wasteland that used to be Florida.”

“Do you think they’ll ever make Earth right again?”

“Maybe, if there’s anyone left to do that.”

“You just said—”

“I know, Zane. I’m just saying, I’m sure there are people, I just don’t know if they can make Earth right again.”

Zane set a half-finished piece of duck on the plate. “So, why are we even bothering then?”

She looked at him, grease staining her lips and chin. “Because, we have to try, we promised our parents we would.”

Zane slapped the pew in front of them. “That was all fine and good when they were alive, but now? No one’s here to hold us to that. No one’s here at all.”

“Then do it for me, Zane. Survive a little longer for me.”

He huffed. “Fine.” And picked the duck back up.

~ * ~

After Marlow settled in the bunker for the night, Zane took one more trip to the roof of the church. It was his place to think. Eighteen months ago, his dad would do it, looking for a rescue helicopter or some sign of peace. His hope was always in vain. No one ever came for them and eventually, his father didn’t have the strength to climb the ladder anymore. He’d died just over a year ago, followed a month later by Marlow’s mom, then finally, their last companion, Jason. He was closer to their age, eighteen and vibrant, as much as he could be, given the conditions. Zane could still remember the choking wheeze of his last few breaths. The sound scraped up and down the walls of the bunker, as he lay clutching Marlow’s hand while Zane paced behind them. In some ways, he blamed himself for Jason’s death, deferring to him to take scouting duty more often and Jason had never complained. He’d just go out, looking for anything useful to keep them alive a little longer and his reward was death. Zane’s reward for hiding in the bunker was to watch all his friends and family die out before him. He had half a mind to throw himself from the freezing shingles of the church roof, but he’d promised Marlow he’d stick around. Once she went—and it wouldn’t be long—all bets were off.

Zane hugged his coat tighter. The temperature had dropped to the negatives, just a normal July night in Florida. The cold air kept his mind awake. He could almost hear his dad saying, “Once the politicians come out of hiding, they are going to need us to help rebuild. You are young and strong, you can help, have a normal life and maybe a family one day.” Zane shook his head at the thought and how wrong it had been. He couldn’t blame the guy for having hope but he knew better now.

His teeth were chattering when he headed for the ladder. He caught the first rung and almost slipped when he heard a whooshing sound in the distance. What used to be a norm during the Final War was now odd, to hear sounds of any kind in the distance. Zane craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything else, but the sound was gone. He finished the climb and went back into the bunker, locking the door as he did.