When the World Ends

The Border

I tell of her helping people, yet people were what we mostly tried to avoid.

   People were dangerous. She would approach children without hesitation, but I would often times try to hold her back. I'd seen how people would use a small child as trap--someone would go up to the child to ask them if they were alone, and then a bullet would rip through them. It was a horrific trap that those who are their own would set.

   If the child was with someone else, or even with something such as a dog, I would let her go. If it was a trap, then there would be only a child--the animal or other person would have been food, not friend.

   If we heard voices, we would hide. They further south we got, the more people we would encounter. The number of Friendlies were greater in the south; many of these people were simply trying to escape the cold, gray north, that was moving south, as we were. 

   The further south, the warmer it would get. But we still wore jackets and coats, even when we neared what used to be Mexico. The cold had not fully reached here yet, but that ash had. The rain here was dangerous, but not immediately, as it had been up in Colorado and the other states near it.

   Up north is where they set their traps. Down here, the traps were fewer in number; there were many people traveling through here, but these people had gotten this far, and so they had weapons to defend themselves. Those up north were already weak and cold and dying; even if they did not fall into a trap set by Those Who Ate Their Own, they could easily be hunted down and caught.

   It was a sad world, that we had to fear our own race. For a large portion of it seemed to have become feral.

   But she never let me forget the good. She helped people, she helped then learn to fly again. And because of that, I saw that there was still so much worth saving in the world.

   And I realize that the infant we had left in the care of the military may have a place to grow up after all.

Guards stand on the Mexican border. I wonder how there is order in such chaos. They have guns, and they have been told to only allow people in so many at a time, so as not to overwhelm the border towns. 

   So, we will be in Texas for awhile. Up to a month, it seems, as I tell the guard our names and he hands me a piece of paper. He strictly tells me not to lose it, or I will have to wait all over again. It has a letter on it: an S. One letter is called each day. Today, they are on letter W. It will be about twenty-three days before our letter is called.

   It will only be about ten day before the snow sets in, and all order breaks loose.

   The cold front moves down south quicker than anyone had expected. The fifth day we have resided here, and the boy with the gray eyes informs us that this isn't good. I know, and so does she; his saying so only points out the obvious, bringing even more worry.

   On the tenth day, many people are coughing and yelling at the guards. One guard brings up his gun, ready to hit a violent man over the head with it, when the first ashy, gray snowflake floats down to the ground.

   Then people are yelling and screaming; so many people, all raving mad and running for the gate that the guards stand in front of. Bullets fly.

   The boy with the gray eyes grabs my arm, and I see her staring sadly at the scene before us. He grabs her arm. We run.

We had hidden in town. For a day, as the snow fell, we shivered inside an old, roofless building. Even after the gunfire had stopped, we remained there, silent for hour after hour.

   Finally, when the sun began to set, we stood. We walked back to the gate, past the bloody, lifeless corpses. Past the people lying on the ground, screaming in pain.

   We did, but she didn't.

She walks around to the people still living. Many have already died, but some only have minor injuries, or a single bullet wound to the arm or leg. She pulls out one of our two precious bottles of pain medicine.

   She walks around, and she hands each person one pill. Then, after she's given one to all that she can see, she walks around and gives each person that she can a second one. Then, she turns and she walks to the gate and through, without even looking at me or the boy with the gray eyes.

   We follow her through the gate, catching up with her as quickly as we can. We both worry too much for her; this world is not safe for a woman, let alone a girl, anymore. But I wonder if she is even still just a girl, or if she has become something more.

   We are in another country, what used to be a warm, sunny place, but it is now only gray. And it snows.

   And I realize that, somehow, the coldness of the snow cancels out the poison of the rain. 

   And I wonder, Could the world be trying to fix itself?