𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 25

Someone New

2031

Aidan

But my pleas weren't heard. The next day my father came to pick me up.

He didn't say sorry. He didn't mention what happened, he also didn't act like what happened was ever real.

My fear of this man continues to grow, steadily, like it's climbing a mountain, like a tidal wave rising, ready to crash down.

We are traveling by plane.

I expected to stay in South Korea, with my father, to work in the military.

But even that hope is crushed like an ant under a heavy boot.

"Forced recruitment is law, we're going to the United States."

The United States – foreign territory for me. How does my father know his way?

Sure, he is in the army, but can he leave just like that?

My breath fogs up against the small window while I stare at my hometown slowly disappearing beneath me, until we are over the clouds, far and away.

I won't return, something tells me that in my gut.

Besides me and my father, I spot a few more serious-looking army men in the plane as well – apparently, traveling with a plane nowadays is something exclusively seen for the military. They don't talk or ask about me, I don't think they even noticed my presence. I feel small when my father is near, although he sits a few rows apart from me, not glancing towards me once, I feel like every move I make is studied.

Does he miss my mother the way I do?

I remember crying yesterday until there was nothing left in me but a hollow and dry feeling. He doesn't give me time to digest what happened.

My eyes involuntarily flick to the gun he used yesterday, tucked into his weapon belt. Dangling there, it is almost daunting to grab and use on myself. I wonder if it's loaded.

Ninha – my sister – is dead. My mother as well. Only me and my father remain.

I make nothing more than a shit stain on Earth, my existence is just as irrelevant to him as the slowly out-powered solar works and satellites circling Earth in the hemisphere.

It's like my voice is gone, vanished from me when I want to ask where we are going.

I don't know what will await me, and the fact that no one feels the need to explain to me is more than terrifying.

I don't know how long the plane has been in the sky. At some point, I must have closed my eyes and fallen asleep.

But I'm woken up by the harsh jolt of the plane as it lands.

As soon as the plane touches the ground in the United States, a black and intimidating-looking truck stands at the landing lane to pick us up.

I'm escorted by two men, my father strolls behind, as if this all is an afternoon walk for him. He even knows the names of the personnel here, like they are friends.

Everything is new to me, it's so loud here. So busy, so many people. Not like in South Korea.

The ministry there ordered Border control as a law. In that case, it means closing off the borders of South Korea, and not allowing entrance or exit of the country. They controlled trade and the people were allowed to enter with a permit when the weather anomalies got to a point where they were uncontrollable and unpredictable, to keep track of their residents and possible infection. The odd thing? That system worked.