Mankind

Chapter Four

...RYAN...

With arms crossed and eyes narrowed, he observes the last beams being placed for the community center. Impatience gnaws at him; he longs for the project's completion, yearning for the uplift it promises to bring to O'Connor Valley's morale. A year has passed since the plague struck, plunging the community into despair. Despite his efforts, he can't shake the feeling that he's falling short in supporting the people through their darkest hour.

He retreats to the quiet of his home, where Joan awaits him, dinner prepared. Stewed prunes. The fourth time this week, but tonight, it has a dash of lemon juice. He sits at the counter in the kitchen, forking at the fruit resembling giant raisins. He sighs.

"We need to get the farm better food," He drops the fork on the table and rubs his temples. "This shit ain't gonna work long term."

"I know that, Ryan," Joan says. "I'm trying to get better seeds. I found a cow to trade for."

"A cow?" His expression lightens. "Who would want to get rid of a cow? What did you trade for it?"

Joan smirks. "Nothing for you to worry about. Information."

"Information?"

"Don't worry about it!" Joan yells as she walks out the door.

That night, a wild thunderstorm cracked through O'Connor Valley with unrestrained fury. Uprooting trees and flooding the rivers surrounding the town. This was the beginning of the very first Long Soak.

In the aftermath of the deluge, the once-peaceful valley transformed into a waterlogged landscape, with swollen rivers and saturated soil stretching as far as the eye could see. The non-stop rainfall lasted for weeks, turning streets into streams and fields into marshlands. The community braced itself for the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that they would have to endure the trials of the Long Soak together. And with the guidance from Ryan, they pulled through. But he would never forget it, and in preparation for next year's rain, they dug trenches, put up barriers, and made sure their community would be safe.

Around September of that same year, the barn/community center was finally finished after months of building and just in time for Cassie's 15th birthday, and as she makes her way over to the barn now, she remembers that time fondly but she needs answers and if that means interrogating him, then so be it.

She enters cautiously, the door closing with a creak behind her. At the far end of the room, Ryan sits at the bar, a glass filled with a rich, amber liquid clasped in his weathered hand while his battered knuckles clutch onto a bottle of bourbon in his other, the label worn from frequent use. His unruly gray beard protrudes in every direction but downwards.

Ryan sets the bottle down with a thud, then the glass, and turns to Cassie. He's been crying. It's unlike him, he's never shown that side of himself or if he did, Cassie hadn't really ever paid attention.

Joan.

He's crying about Joan. The love of his life ripped away from him with barely a goodbye.

"Cassie," He says, his voice as quiet as a mouse. He clears his throat to speak louder. "What are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you." Cassie makes her way to the back of the room, fumbling with her fingers and counting each step she takes. She pulls out a seat next to him. "Did you know?"

He looks at her confused. "Know what?"

"About mom's involvement with the virus."

He gulps hard and takes a breath. "Yes, I knew. She was a military scientist and after the Refugee Crisis and the Pox spread, they forced her and a team of six to come up with something to save the world."