“Би агуу эзэнт гүрнийг байлдан дагуулсан ч миний амьдрал дэндүү богинохон байсан тул би чамд үлдээсэн юм.”
Тэр олон жилийн өмнө Хан ярьж байсан ч Батаарт тохирсон хэвээр байна. Тэрээр дэлхийн бүх харгис хэрцгий үйлдлээр жижиг хаант улсаа захирч байжээ. Зарим хүмүүс энэ хугацаанд түүний ард түмэн бусад газраас илүү эрх чөлөөтэй байсан гэж хэлэх байсан ч хэн ч юу ч баримтжуулаагүй бол үүнийг мэдэхэд хэцүү байх болно. Тэрээр өөрийн хөвгүүд Мягмар, Пурев нар руугаа харж байхдаа амьдралынхаа ажилд маш их бахархаж байв. Тэд хүчирхэг хөвгүүд байсан бөгөөд түүний жижиг хаант улсыг удирдахад бэлэн байв. Тэд шударга, шударга байж, ард түмнээ тэжээнэ гэж найдаж байв. Дэлхий дахин гарч эхэлснээр сүүлийн үед сорилтууд тулгарч байсан. Цөөн хэдэн цагаан арьстнууд нөөцийг хулгайлахыг оролдож байна. Тэр тэдний толгойг Орос руу буцаан илгээв. Хатуу тактик боловч тэрээр цаашид цус урсахаас илүү муухай байдлыг илүүд үздэг байв. Үргэлж ухаалаг хятадууд түүний өмнөд хил рүү дайрсаар байв. Хатуу ширүүн газар нутаг, уур амьсгал нь ард түмнийхээ төлөө үргэлж хийж байсан зүйлээ хийж, бага зэрэг эрх чөлөөг олгосон.
“Аавыг хэн удирддаг вэ?” Пурев ахыгаа түүн шиг харахыг хүсэв. Тэрээр төрөлхийн удирдагч байсан ч уламжлал нь Мягмар болно гэдгийг мэдэж байсан. Батаар гараа аваад өөрт байгаа бүх хүчээрээ атгав.
“Таны ахыг ингэж нэрлэх болно, гэхдээ түүнд таны тогтвортой гар, цаг нь ирвэл орох чадвар хэрэгтэй болно.” Хувь тавилан удаан хугацааны туршид зөвлөхийн үүрэг гүйцэтгэснийг мэдээд Пурев obeidenace толгой дохив. Аав нь өөр нэг ишлэл хэлсэн. Нэгийг нь тэр тэдэнд байнга хэлдэг байсан.
“Армийн хүч чадал шиг гэр бүлийн хүч чадал нь бие биедээ үнэнч байдаг.”
Мягмар аавуудаа өөр гараас атгаж, Батаар эцсийн амьсгалаа авах үед тэд хамтдаа суув. Ах дүү хоёр дотно байсан ч одоо тэд өөр зүйл байх ёстой байв. Эрх мэдэлгүй хүмүүст долгионы нөлөө үзүүлэх алдаа гаргахгүй байх, шударгаар захирах, оролдох нь тэдний ээлж байв. Хаа нэгтээ дунд байгаа өндөр даалгавар.
“Ард түмэн нь аз жаргалтай болтол удирдагч хэзээ ч аз жаргалтай байж чадахгүй.”

Oleksander set the tent up quickly to prepare for the long day of waiting. The Saraha had proven more challenging for him than he could have imagined. The long days of sitting in the makeshift shelter waiting for the killing sun to go down. His party moved only for a few hours each day at dawn and at dusk. The rest of the time was just waiting. Still the scientist said they were close but how did he know? Everything was brown and orange. And their water rations ran low. Jorge was now fully sober and more of jerk than ever before. He grated on Oleksanders nerves. But they pressed on, trying to find a place for this precious seed, to restart a little bit of the world again, in this dead place. 

His company had run across some Berbers the other day. They were strange people to him, wholly unaffected by the outside world, just living their desert lives the way they had for thousands of years. They exhcanged goods then and Oleksander was happy for the Jellab he had traded for. Its wool kept him warm during the cool nights.  Often he would lay in the sand and look up at the universe above. One common thing here in the desert and Siberia was there was no artificial light to block out the stars. It made him feel small and unimportant. But also hopeful that there was something else out there. Something shimmering and beautiful.

“In so much as you can afford this, what would you have?”

He thought about it for a moment, looking over the baked goods, his mouth watering at these things he had not tasted in years. He counted the coins one more time for good measure. Truthfully he couldn’t afford any of it but his heart won the game as he pointed to the chocolate croissant on the corner. “A good choice. Just made these this morning.”
She handed him the bread and his hands shook. He wanted to express some meaning of gratitude but looking at the clerk he could tell it was just a transaction to her. And how could it be anything else? She lived here in spledor in one of the few cities left on Earth. She did not know what it was like out there. To hold a piece of bread like this in most parts was a delicacy. And to her it was something she baked daily. He shuffled off his steps shaky taking him to a small table in the corner. Slowly he studied the croissant, the chocolate peeking out on the edges. He took a bite with joy he hadn’t experienced in years.
It was just a croissant but a tear hit his eye, knowing he had finally made it back to some small part of the world he left behind. Maybe he could call this place home.

It was quiet in their home tonight. The authorities had ordered an electrical outage. It was hot in the hovel they called home. Bertie sat in a far corner of the room using a flashlight to shuffle through the pile of cards they had found last month. There was a few with creatures and stats on them. Her sister Candle had guessed it was for some sort of game. Bertie didn’t care but the yellow creature with a sharp tail and red cheeks amused her. She thought he was cute. There was also a lenticular card of a man playing baseball. She shifted the card left and right in the light, watching his muscles swing the bat back and forth. It was wizard technology as far as she could tell.
Candle sat across the room sewing a shirt that Bertie had ripped accidentally last weekend. What would she do without her sister? Candle started humming a song. It made Bertie look up from her cards.
“What is that?”

Candle smiled, “Rosette. Galvin taught me it.”
Galvin. This guy who started coming around. Bertie didn’t like him but Candle did. And she tried to give her sister all the grace when it came to boys. She always had a soft spot for them. Bertie didn’t care at all. She dreamed of telescopes, space shuttles, and animals with large sharp teeth. She looked at her sister sewing. One day Candle would get pregnant with one of these boys. She knew things would change then. But for now, it was the two of them, as it had always been. Bertie put the cards down, went over to her sister moving the sewing gear away. She rested her head on Candles shoulder embracing her.
“Rosette you say…. It’s nice Candle. Sing it to me please.”

The cave system was dark but lit enough for passage. And it was efficient for the hundred or so survivors on this side of the Mexican border. The air above was toxic still to this day and the people who had been lucky enough to be in the Houston tunnels survived as well as they could down here. Luckily there was an aquifer here at the old cistern and enough skylights throughout the old network to grow plants. It was enough to have a semblance of life while everything above in the maze of empty quiet highways collected radioactive dust. But two factions had slowly formed, those who felt like they had enough, and those who didn’t. The have-nots grew discontent and started slowing causing trouble. The haves at first didn’t even notice. Not until their food supply began getting smaller.
One of them decided to make an example and ordered a few farmers to be rounded up. It was a gruesome day but all it did was fan the flames of revolution.  It was on this day, in the middle of chaos that Mirabel Annette Julian Jones was born. Born of fire, and in thirty years time, the savior of the human race. But that’s a story for another day. We have a long way to go first.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.” He kept his beat in time hitting the snare and bass drum in repetition. Looking across the room to Johnnie who was strumming wildly on the old guitar. It was made of red oak and was halftuned. Missing one string it couldn’t play all the songs but got close enough. He smiled at his old friend, his hair greying and the lines on his face lifted in joy at this old act of melody and clashing sounds. Juliette was on the bass guitar, her hair low over her neck as she slowly kept pace. The trio of Oxford Hall, back together again, performing their hits.
For absolutely no one.
They played, and smiled. They played, and drank old beer found by a truckload off highway ten. They played and made new songs. Songs about hate, and love, and hunger, and hope. Sometimes they couldn’t remember the lyrics. So they made new ones.
“One, two, three. One, two, three.”
A concert at the end of the world.
For the three of them.

He stared at his big toe sticking out of his old worn sock. Was the remainder of the sock worth keeping, providing just a semblance of protection against the damp dark woods? He grunted pulling his large boot back over his tired feet. Time to continue on deeper into the forest. He hoped to find food deep inside, perhaps places untouched by scavengers. He peered low to the ground scavenging for fungus and moss to use in homemade medicines. A lot he had taught himself by trial and fire. Once he almost died after ingesting the wrong elements. Three days on puke and blood, but he came out the other side. He scanned the treelines for birds, or other small animals. It had been a while since he had squirrel for dinner. Been a while since he had anything other than small plants. His bones hurt. His eyes jaundiced. But he traveled on, because the only thing left in front of him was the next step. He traveled on, in his old worn boots hiding a small piece of cloth inside that was once a sock.

My poem Another Hit has been published by Festival for Poetry and can be read here for free

The fish were biting today. It would be a good dinner tonight Ezekial thought to himself. He still had some of that old bay seasoning, unopened and preserved. Maybe it would be a good night for it. If Sarah would let him celebrate. But she was always worried. Worried about the next meal, the next winter, the next night sleeping in their tent. She lived with worry, and by choice, Ezekiel did as well. 

He was never one to stress. Things came, things went. For him that was how it always had been. His line tugged again and he reeled in another large fish. It was enough to provide not just dinner tonight but breakfast tomorrow. Ezekiel began to pack up his gear, to leave the rest of the bounty for nature.
He returned to their camp a short while later. Sarah sat on a makeshift chair, made from an old splintered tree trunk. She was shucking the corn they had harvested from a nearby overgrown farm. A good dinner indeed. He looked at her now, her brown skin sweaty and glowing in the sun. She was beautiful.  He should tell her that. He sat the fish down in front of her.
“A good catch.” he spoke softer than usual with her.
She eyed the fish. Then looked at him, her eyes small and concerned.
“It is.” She thought some more before speaking again. “A good time to open that old bay.”
That caught his interest,
“Oh Yeah? Feel like celebrating?”

She took his hand then, and made sure he was listening.
“Yes. Ezekiel. There is something you should know, I’m pregnant.”
His heart was instantly full. He looked at this beautiful woman soon to be the mother of his child. He brought her in close, hugged her a little too tight. He was full of joy, and excitement at the news. During the embrace he looked to his haul of fish, to their small campground they called home. The easy things they had, just the two of them. And the thought of adding another. Another mouth to feed. Another person to protect. He held Sarah close. He would never speak it, but now, after all the years together, he was the one who was worried. 

The next chapter.

“I am not alone.” 

He said that to himself over and over. And truly he wasn’t. His group was currently at eight. It had swelled to twelve last year but one family wandered off in the winter and did not return. But there were times when it felt like the opposite. Most had partnered up, made mini families. He wasn’t very social in the before times and he naturally held true to that style now as well. But being in this group was important. It allowed for mutual protection and aid. A better lifestyle than being alone and scavenging for everything.  Susie was the youngest, a daughter of Mark and Jen. She would sometimes come over to him and ask youthful questions. At first he was annoyed by her, but now he smiled as she approached.
“Did I tell you about the dinosaur I saw in that magazine?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“Yeah you did, but tell me again.” He didn’t fault her for the conversation. It wasn’t necessary but it was soothing on an audible sensory nerve.
Mark was friendly enough, but Jen was wary of him. She would often collect Susie quickly when she noticed them together.
The other four in the group were two couples, Benjamin and Sylvie were in their sixties like him. They knew of the world before and he felt comfort in that, having someone else who could relate. Benjamin’s health has been declining and he knew one day soon some decisions would have to be made. Sylvie knew it as well. You could see it in her eyes. The last of the group were Donald and Preston. They had met scavenging, and whether out of true love or necessity they had paired up. They were both strong, and good hunters. He knew they were the strength of the group, but they mostly kept to themselves. He looked at his group of eight, all survivors, huddled in a small house in a small town. He knew the world was failing, or at best continuing the descent to the end, but he took one small comfort still,
“I am not alone.”