MANHATTAN
2078
There wasn't a statue of liberty anymore--there was no need for it.
And as the sun dawned and the fog rolled in and the buildings became so high they blotted out what little sunlight there was it could only be said that yes: this was the end of the world.
They were waiting on scaffolding and behind walls. They waited with guns older than they were but they were not deterred.
They burst out of their headquarters when they realized that it was over, that the revolution had come. But Sampson knew this was just the beginning.
Big boys with big armor. They came forth and aimed their cannons, and from the fold appeared Jesse the fascist, who saw what happened to the world and donned the mantle of opportunist. He had wrapped an american flag around his head and his eyes glowed in swastikas.
The fascists' cannons sundered the atmosphere--beautiful in the beginning then colliding with metal, with bone. The perfect weapon for the perfect forward march.
Paula's neck was torn off. Poor Hellen disappeared. Debris flooded them, knocking them on their axis.
And yet Sampson was not deterred. He sought out Jesse, shooting a fascist trying to clip him when he wasn't looking.
It grew to a fevered pitch until soon it was open warfare--everyone on their own. Sampson reserved that soon he would die, but would not do so until he got one last good shot at Jesse.
He was using a mounted cannon, picking off revolutionaries. Sampson watched Hunter get gunned down, lamenting silently as he slowly etched his way around the perimeter of the battlefield.
The back of his wrapped head, matted in sweat. Sampson rose up--this was his best bet, taking one step then slipping on a pool of blood--
Jesse turned and smiled.
A fascist--the biggest fascist Sampson had ever seen--took Sampson by the scruff of his jacket and threw him before Jesse.
Jesse was handed a pistol, digging it into Sampson's forehead. Above, men and women hung, their bodies carved in swastikas.
"Nice try, motherfucker."
Sampson only smiled. This gave Jesse pause, frowning, his glowing swastikas making him strangely alien, even machine.
"It was always going to be this way."
"Fuck you," Jesse snarled. "I don't know where you heard that but I'm about to cut off your tongue so that you never--"
The shot nearly got him. Clara peeked over the scaffolding, her eyes pleading as Sampson lowered his head and sighed.
"So close."
***
They had gathered, the call going out in the dead of night. Revolutionaries, some wearing red though there wasn't any dress code.
At the top of the pedestal a woman appeared. Hard to pick out in a crowd though all adhered to her now.
Their only hope out.
"Sampson's dead."
A low moan, a few shouts. Sarah raised a hand and lowered it, eyes downcast.
"This is our way of life now. I hope you are ready for this."
She'd been so close. The shot would haunt her for the rest of her life--of this, Clara was sure.
"Right now I need you to counter this sorrow with love," Sarah said. "If Jesse and his boys see the world only in black and white, then we must see every color. Move forward with one purpose. Mourn, then get ready to strike back."
Her hands wrapped around the edges of the pedestal.
"We must never go back to how it was."
The revolutionaries fanned out. Sarah left the podium and began helping reload cartridges, each stroke violent.
Clara approached Sarah, throwing the strap of her rifle over her shoulder.
"Thank you, Sarah."
"For?" she said, not looking up.
Clara felt her face grow warm. "For not mentioning me."
"Why would I?"
"Because I failed."
Sarah put down the rifle she'd just fixed then nodded for Clara to follow her.
Outside the sky was on fire. An orange mist permeated at each corner, and beyond Clara could hear the rockets.
Before Clara could speak, Sarah raised her hand.
"I don't need you to feel sorry for yourself. This isn't like how it was before the bombs. No ceremony--no anything. We need everyone in this building focused. Do you understand?"
Clara nodded.
Sarah sighed, leaning on the wall that was their headquarters and putting her hair back, wrapping it in a ponytail.
Sarah smiled. "What's wrong?"
"Oh--I...thank you. I understand."
"What do you understand?"
Clara cleared her throat--she was so thirsty.
"What you said, I--"
Sarah leaned forward and before Clara knew what was happening they were kissing. She could have been in that same spot forever--she might have died and she would have died happily.
She reached out and touched Sarah's side, her chest. She was in constant motion, flowing like the wind.
A door opened. Clara quickly dipped back.
"Hey Paulie."
Paulie--carrying a plastic bag of trash--nodded and kept walking.
"Oh god, do you think--"
Sarah enveloped her again, taking her, turning her so that her back was against the wall.
"I don't care," she whispered.
Clara moaned. Something touched her--Sarah, taking her fingers and--
The building shook.
"What was--"
Clara's world was felled--when she landed she heard bone break.
"Where the fuck is she?"
A fascist. Wandering through red smoke, residue of a splintered headquarters. The fascist turned, Sarah coming up and stabbing him through the neck with a knife.
Sarah bent down and took out a pistol, aiming down the sights. She was just about to enter the building when she stopped and turned to Clara.
Clara nodded, holding her torso--she was fairly sure she'd broken a rib.
Sarah approached. The sadness in her eyes was incredible.
She would die for her. She would kill for her.
"Help me up."
Sarah paused, then nodded. Gentle, Clara's legs shaking as they watched the bombs fall.
"I'm glad I'm going to die with you."
YOU ARE READING
Molly - Part 4
Science FictionThere wasn't a statue of liberty anymore--there was no need for it. And as the sun dawned and the fog rolled in and the buildings became so high they blotted out what little sunlight there was it could only be said that yes: this was the end of the...
