I, Cassandra

60 | RYAN MADDOX

There are no fucking volcanoes in Greenland. It took me less than a day to search through the thousands of terabytes I'd downloaded from Alpha VII to find an obscure report deep in an archived file on the viability of Greenland as a shelter of last resort.

Two-thirds of the way down a column titled 'Assets', there it was: 'No volcanoes.' And so it died, my sole remaining purpose. Even though I know it's hopeless, I continue to search for Blue. Every time I call her name and hear only silence in return, it hits me, the pain of losing her all over again. And yet, I can't stop myself, that maybe, just once, she will answer. It's been a week. I've called her name four thousand eight hundred sixty-two times. That's a lot of hurt.

For the hundredth time I consider whether to drop back into hibernation and let the passage of time wear me down, but it's not enough. I want out. I'm tired of being passive. So I press on, fixed on a new goal, to get to what's left of Alpha VI and try to find de Pommier's vault in the hope there might be something—anything—I can use to end my existence. It's a lean hope considering the state of Alpha VII, but I don't know what else to do with the time I have on my hands, and with each day that passes I feel more trapped by my fate.

It pisses me off to think even Antarctica has volcanoes. I had to end up in the only place in the world without one. So here I am, heading southwest, with a key in my pocket more than ten thousand years old, that may or may not lead to anything. I call Blue's name again. Silence. As always. And the hurt comes again, fresh, as always.

Twenty-seven days and nights of walking non-stop through vines, slogging through insect-infested marshes and scrambling up and down shale escarpments was worth it. I discover Alpha VI sits in a sheltered valley surrounded on all sides by ancient bedrock not even the cataclysm's fires could alter. Behind, the first sunrise of the year. I don't bother to look. All I can do is drink in the sight of the city, an actual city—or what's left of it. The sun's rays slide past me into the valley, picking out the details of a world lost to time.

Sunk into its basin of igneous rock and surrounded by a vast plateau of bedrock, Alpha VI has escaped the onslaught of vines that plagues the far north. It simply sits there, a sterile ruin, as dry as the pyramids of Giza, untouched by the upheavals that obliterated Alpha VII.

For the first time since I can remember, optimism ripples through me. As the daylight pierces the endless veil of night, it's clear even in its sheltered position, the city suffered extensive damage, but still stands, which means anything underground should still be intact.

In my breast pocket, the value of the key to de Pommier's vault abruptly shifts—becomes as precious as the Holy Grail. The city calls to me. Even in its ruinous state, it's an oasis of order and civilisation in an endless, savage wilderness. I run the rest of the way, the heat of the sun warming my back. And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like complete shit.

Lucky for me, I've got the layout of Alpha VI in de Pommier's downloaded files, so at least I know where the vault isn't. It's an eerie feeling to walk through the city, to feel the ghost of what once was here still breathing after ten thousand years. Even in its charred and desiccated state, there is enough of the city still standing to assault me with homesickness.

It's jarring to be present in two divergent realities at once. To be in this strange, alien world of vines and warmth, and to walk among towering buildings where we once luxuriated in the power we had to exploit an entire planet to its near destruction. To create something like me.

In the midst of the ruins, I come upon a section of the city totally untouched by the cataclysmic fires. They stand alone and proud, defiant in the face of the passage of time, yet also lonely and meaningless in a world reduced to the creep of vines and insects. I push through a metal gate into a courtyard of what looks like a residential complex. It's not difficult to get into the building's reception area, or to breach one apartment after another. A single kick is enough for the glass panels alongside the metal doors to shatter.

I'm surprised how much is still intact. I expected it all to be dust. But there are things that remain. Glass, of course. Metal. Gems. Gold. Pieces of furniture made of solid wood. And bones. In an apartment where the air has not stirred in ten millennia, I discover two skeletons on the floor of the master bedroom, their bones not entirely in the right places, having fallen through the remains of the mattress, the titanium frame of the bed surrounding them like a cage. A dust-covered gun lies beside them, useless and hardened with time.

In another apartment, I find a library filled with books, an incredibly rare sight even during my life as a soldier. Feeling as if I have won a circle of new friends I touch my finger to the spine of a leather-bound copy of Dante's Inferno. It dissolves into dust, taking the rest of the books on the shelf with it. After that, I don't touch anything. I barely breathe. I just look and drink it all in until I start to feel shitty. All those words. Lost. Forever. When I leave, I don't look back. Somehow seeing who I used to be only makes me feel more alienated and fucked up. It would have been better if it had all burned. But the brutal fact is everything is gone and will never come back. I am totally, and utterly alone.

It takes most of the day to search the parts of the city where I think the vault might be. My mood is black as fuck. I thought it would be easy to get underground but my optimism embarrasses me. Many of the buildings have crumbled into the lower ground levels and made going any further impossible. At my twelfth dead end, my temper takes control and I try to force my way through. An ominous groan comes from above, bathing me in a shower of ancient dust. I pull my shit together and decide I'd rather not be buried under several tonnes of unreinforced concrete.

So here I am. Back outside the buildings with their bones of the dead. I know there's a way down from here, because I have the layout. The available space under me is neatly marked: Laundry. Server rooms. Maintenance storage. Electricity. Water and sewage pumps. Air circulation. Shit like that. These were the places I intended to avoid, I wanted to go where there was nothing marked on the layout, but where there was space for a phantom room to exist. As usual, I'm not going to get what I want.

I'm not happy to have wasted a whole day and end up further from my goal than I was when I started out, but I'm invested now and pissed off. I push the doors to the lower levels aside, grit my teeth and prepare to face my thirteenth dead end.

There's three subterranean levels beneath this part of the city. I head straight to the lowest one and start my search. Without any light, I'm back to seeing with echolocation, in low res, but it's enough. One dusty, pointless room after another greets me, their security locks long since deteriorated. At the far end of the corridor, I push against the door to the last room. Unlike the others that gave in easy, this door stays locked. Strange. I try again. It's definitely locked. Even after all this time. That pulls me up.

I recheck the layout in my database. This room is marked 'Maintenance storage'. Nothing special. I give the door a kick. It still holds. I back up, wary. Whatever is keeping it locked can't be ten thousand years old.

Which can only mean one thing.

I am not alone.