That Which We Are

An isolated community faces the end of the world

For the purposes of Literotica, this story has been placed in Science Fiction & Fantasy because I don't know where else it should go. The erotic content is fairly mild. If this category is inappropriate, I'll ask the Literotica editors about other options. As it is, this is very much a traditional science fiction story with a hint of romance. All of the characters are way over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

"Remember the Wasting Syndrome?" old She-Geezer said, flipping through a yellowed gossip magazine. The faces of two young movie stars happily mugged from the faded cover, both long since dead.

"Just another media circus. Never was bad as they said," Lenny-the-Junior complained, the wheeze in his voice growing worse.

"Was a cure ever found? Or did they just die sooner?" Melinda asked, looking up from the knitting in her lap.

"No, they didn't die sooner!" Daniel-the- Centenarian said, so angry he started to choke. "Wasn't our fault. It wasn't!"

"Calm down, Danny, you know stress isn't good for you," Melinda softly urged, getting up from her favorite rocking chair to help him take a breath from his respirator. "It's just that I was reading this article the other day in that old copy of Celebrity Crisis, and it said WS was never a real epidemic. Not like Covid or the Pig Flu."

"Won't be insulted. Won't," Daniel-the-Centenarian said, rolling his wheelchair off the patio and down the overgrown path toward the brook.

"Danny's so touchy today," Melinda said. "I swear I can't talk to him about anything anymore. Gettin' bad as Glum-Gus."

"Danny's first mate died of WS, Mindy," Aged-Jason said, remembering what many others could only read about. "Shickton had it, too. Thought he was going to die. Some say that's why he did it. Why he created The Defect to prevent human reproduction. It was his way of getting revenge against all mankind."

"Damn ass bragged 'bout it!" Mean-Fred butted in. "Bragged 'bout blottin' out all the future generations. I'm glad they shot 'em."

"Didn't they use lethal injection back then?" Melinda said.

"No! They shot 'em! Shot 'is damn head off!" Mean-Fred argued.

"They administered lethal injection. I remember watching it on World Net," Aged-Jason said.

"Well, they shoulda shot 'em!" Mean-Fred said. "Shoulda shot 'is damn head off!"

Mean-Fred slowly stepped off the porch of the crumbling retirement home, careful not to break his hip, and followed Daniel-the-Centenarian down the beaten path toward the brook. The sky was blue, the weather warm, and none of the old folks cared to waste such a fine day. Even Aged-Jason considered getting out of his rocker.

"Feel like giving an old gentleman a hand, sweetie?" Aged-Jason asked. Melinda smiled and helped him up, guiding him to the ramp.

"Why don't you come along? Everyone's goin' down to the creek today. Might even go skinny-dipping," he said with a sly wink.

"You lecher," Melinda laughed. "Run naked for all I care. I have chores to do."

Aged-Jason hobbled down the ramp using his ivory cane for support, strolling through the green April garden. Spring had arrived, and the multitude of wildflowers that had overtaken the rose beds were bursting with color. It was such a day as the old ones wished for, causing Melinda to wonder if there would be more talk of Compact, like after Christmas. The radio had announced another one, this time at the Jackson Plantation to the south of them, and Melinda knew it was bound to cause debate. Not that she could blame the elders. At eighty-nine years old, she was the youngest and healthiest of their little community. She was yet to experience the morbid bitterness of the others.

Stepping into the cool interior of their ramshackle colonial mansion, Melinda wondered where to start. The kitchen was a mess, as always after breakfast, and the hall needed dusting, but she thought it might be good to do laundry. Mean-Fred had managed to fix the water pump, and the solar collector had stored enough energy to run a load of bedding. Fresh linens would be such a treat!

The mansion was nearly empty now, only Sass-Sally left sitting in the parlor, asleep. She was so far progressed in senility that there was no point in waking her. The cranky old woman would only complain, and most unpleasantly at that. Sometimes Melinda missed not having a female other than She-Geezer to speak with, though she did enjoy the flattery of her male companions. Their colony had shrunk rapidly during the last decade, from a bustling fifty to a bare eleven. And several of those were nearly incapacitated. Melinda longed for those days of dances and parties. Even the deathwatches once held more significance.

Wish the phone still worked, Melinda thought as she passed the disconnected instrument in the breezy hallway. I could call another colony. Maybe even Atlanta! Must be a few women somewhere willing to adopt a new home, and Large Oaks is, after all, the finest in all South Carolina! Not that the Carolinas had many left with the Raleigh Colony migrating to Tampa summer before last.

Doesn't matter, though, she decided. Phone hasn't worked in years. Not since the last satellite lost orbit.

Melinda stopped to gaze in the hall mirror, fixing her finely brushed gray hair that still retained an occasional auburn wisp. Not bad, she thought. Always the youngest, always the prettiest!

She defied protocol by walking up the stairs to the second floor instead of taking the lift. The landing was bright and airy, the windows left open. With Tea-Leaf Thompson and Old-Ma Hilliard having passed away during the winter, there were no enfeebled residents left upstairs, and Melinda was planning to take over Old-Ma's bedroom for a sewing room, anticipating the beautiful view of the north meadow where thriving herds of deer and elk often grazed. Melinda didn't mourn for Old-Ma--the cranky spinster had taken too long to die--but she did miss Tea-Leaf, whose tales of feminist protest marches were more exciting than the forgotten sports legends of the men.

Melinda passed the stairway leading to the third floor. No one had lived up there since the elevator stopped working and spare parts had proven hard to find. Not that anyone would risk climbing up the shaft even if a new rotor did turn up. Besides, they no longer needed the extra space.

Melinda briefly wondered what condition the attic was in. Many years before, when privacy was more prized, she had often walked up the narrow circular stair and dwelled in the dark attic recesses, probing through storage chests and smoking a forbidden cigarette. There was no need for such subterfuge now, but Melinda missed her little sojourns, nevertheless.

Because it was such a nice day, a selfish day, Melinda pulled her own sheets and pillow slips first and put the bedding into the dumbwaiter for the drop to the basement, then went through the other rooms on the second floor. She even pulled a few towels from the bathrooms, just in case there was enough surplus electricity for an extra load.

Once the laundry was started, Melinda poked through the pantry freezer for the evening meal. Unlike many of the aging appliances, the old walk-in refrigerator was too simple and too well built to fail them, just as the 100-year warranty had promised. Restocked from the Charleston reserves a year before, it still contained enough food to supply the residents through summer--longer if their numbers continued to dwindle. Melinda selected a pair of plump chickens and a package of greens, thinking that if she and Lincoln-the-Gardener were industrious, they could grow enough spring vegetables to last through fall. And maybe Lenny-the-Junior could shoot another deer, like he had the previous year. Fresh meat would be such a reward!

Then, quite unexpectedly, Melinda heard a loud noise buzzing above the compound. She smiled and dropped everything, running to the window in time to see a small single-engine aircraft circle the plantation before gliding down for a landing on the state highway. By the time Melinda walked up the cracked cement driveway to the road, Lenny-the-Junior and Aged-Jason had already reached the broad green meadow where the ancient Piper Cub had come to a halt.

She-Geezer and Lincoln-the-Gardener joined Melinda in a slow race across the grass field just as the airplane's lone occupant was disembarking. Only a few months older than Melinda, the slim, silver-haired pilot grinned with delight when he saw her approaching.

"Mindy!" he called out, rushing to embrace her.

"Peter! I'm so glad to see you!" Melinda said with a hug. "My lord, you're looking good."

"Hello, Young-Peter. Glad to have you back," Aged-Jason said.

"What's the news from Orlando?" She-Geezer asked. "How come AM-1210 doesn't broadcast anymore? Did you bring sweets?"

"Hold on there, Geez," Young-Peter smiled, taking a box of chocolates from his flight jacket. "All for you. It's all right, isn't it, Mindy?"

"A little late to ask now," Melinda laughed, nodding as She-Geezer seized the box and retreated.

"Business or pleasure?" Lenny-the-Junior asked. Unannounced visits usually meant bad news. A new closure. Another Compact. Few dared travel for pleasure anymore.

"Came to see my girl," Young-Peter said, pulling Melinda closer, but they noticed the hesitancy in his response.

"Give the youngster time to catch his breath," Aged-Jason said. "You can stay the night, can't you?" Nearing his ninetieth birthday, Young-Peter was hardly a youngster, but he still moved with a vigor that left many envious.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Young-Peter said, glancing sideways at Melinda.

Melinda changed the dinner menu from chicken to ham that evening, bouncing around the kitchen as the residents bombarded Young-Peter with questions. Yes, there had been several more closures. No, there had been no recent Compacts. None that had been reported. But even living in the North American capital didn't give Young-Peter all the answers his eager audience wanted, for long-distance communications were close to nonexistent. And there were occasional bits of information that the pilot-messengers declined to share, even among themselves.

"Fabulous meal, Mindy. But it worries me, you carrying so much responsibility by yourself," Young-Peter said, helping with the dishes.

"She-Geezer helps sometimes, though she complains," Melinda said. "And Lenny-the-Junior's still pretty spry. Does some hunting for us, you know. We're gettin' along just fine."

Melinda knew what Young-Peter was hinting at. Their colony was small now. Not exceptionally small, except by the standards of Orlando and Tampa, but few colonies with less than fifteen residents lasted very long.

"You have something to tell us, don't you?" Melinda asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Required closure?"

"Not required. Requested. Charleston's closing."

Melinda glanced up in surprise, then back down at the dishes, saying nothing at first. Without Charleston, they had no supply depot north of Orlando. No friends for two hundred miles.

"There are many who won't leave," Melinda finally said.

"That's why I came," Young-Peter said, taking her hand. "There's no reason for you ... that is ... Did I mention Kid-Jake died?"

"Little Jake? No, I hadn't heard," Melinda said.

Melinda closed the dishwasher, set the timer, and walked out on the rear porch into the cool spring evening. There was a rustle in the woods nearby as a doe and her fawn retreated into the thick brush. An owl hooted.

"I remember when Frank and I first settled here," Melinda said. "Twenty-five years ago, when the last Pennsylvania colony closed. Frank passed away a few years later. Kid-Jake came up and visited all that summer. Now he's gone, poor soul. Just about all of us from the Final Batch have passed on."

"Come on, don't get like that," Young-Peter said, stroking her hair. "There are still lots of people our age. Hundreds, probably. Maybe thousands, if you count Asia."

"Or maybe none. Maybe there's no one left in Asia at all. Or Africa. Or Europe. How many people were there in the world when we were born? Eight billion?"

"Almost ten, some say."

"And when we graduated high school?"

"About seven, probably."

"And how many people are left now? Two hundred thousand?"

"Can't say for sure, communications being what they are. Some say as many as half a million."

"What about ten years from now? How many people will there be then?" Melinda asked.

"Probably not too many," he confessed.

"What's it all for, Peter? Why are we hanging on?"

"No one ever asked the woolly mammoth or Tyrannosaurus Rex why they stuck it out. Besides, it's not what comes next that's important. It's how we live in the here and now. If nothing else, certainly we've learned that much."

"But don't you wonder anymore? What it would've been like to have children? I've been thinkin' on it. Thinkin' how nice it would have been to have a little girl, hair all curly and sweet. Or give Frank a son. Lord help us, I've been wondering about it so much lately it makes me hurt."

"We can still try," Peter said. He nestled his mouth against Melinda's neck and kissed her as she giggled.

"Stop that right this minute. People might get the wrong idea," she scolded, turning back into the house.

"Heaven forbid," Young-Peter smiled.

The smile didn't last long. Young-Peter soon discovered himself the focus of a hostile audience that took several minutes to calm.

"Is this where we get the raw deal?" Mean-Fred interrupted.

A brisk fire burned in the fireplace and the lamps were turned low to conserve energy, but the assembly was small enough for everyone to hear. Young-Peter was the only one standing.

"Charleston's closing," he said, making the announcement official. "I'm afraid your winter supply can't be guaranteed. The Council recommends relocation to Orlando. They think it's time to proceed with the final stages of Consolidation. But if you want, Atlanta is staying open for another year. You can join with the Fulton Colony or Seminole Estates."

"We have to leave?" Lincoln-the-Gardener asked in confusion.

"To hell with closin'! I ain't goin' no place!" Mean-Fred yelled.

"We can supply ourselves," Lenny-the-Junior said, cradling his shotgun.

"Damn kids runnin' 'round tellin' folks what to do," She-Geezer said in a huff. "I was born not forty miles from here. Not forty miles! Don't tell me I got to move to Flor'da!"

"Please, everyone," Aged-Jason said. "Let's have Young-Peter here give us our options. It doesn't hurt to listen, does it?"

Near the back of the room, Daniel-the-Centenarian turned his wheelchair around and left, quickly followed by Glum-Gus and Old-Sticky. Lincoln-the-Gardener gazed out the window at his flower beds. Sass-Sally sat motionless, uncomprehending. Melinda tried not to show her distress.

"Relocation's not so bad," Young-Peter said. "We'll bring out a big rig, load up everything that's still useful, and haul it down to wherever you want. By fall, you'll be snug as bugs. And if you choose Orlando, you'll never have to move again. We've got fifty thousand people now. A regular metropolis."

"Everything we could want, huh?" Mean-Fred sneered. "Congestion, pollution, crime. Politicians. To hell with your damn city! I call for--"

"Damn it, Fred! Will you shut your damn mouth!" Aged-Jason yelled. "Young-Peter didn't come all this way to be cursed at, he's just delivering a message. What we decide, we'll decide on our own."

Mean-Fred fell silent. Aged-Jason was right. Some things shouldn't be discussed in front of outsiders. The assembly stirred.

"I'll be back in six weeks," Young-Peter said.

"We'll talk it over," Aged-Jason promised. "And now, if I remember correctly, Mindy promised us a right fine dessert this evening. Didn't you, Mindy?"

"Linc and I gathered enough blueberries for pie this afternoon," Melinda said.

"Old-fashioned blueberry pie. Sounds darn good to me," Aged-Jason said, helping She-Geezer out of her seat.

"Gives me hives," Mean-Fred complained with a frown.

Later that evening, with the residents retired and the house finally quiet, Melinda slipped off her house robe and crawled into bed naked. Young-Peter took her in his arms. The desire and passion were still there, though lacking the intensity of youth. It didn't stop them from stroking and kissing like two kids, eventually achieving mutual satisfaction.

"Too bad we're not a little younger," Peter whispered, out of breath.

"A lot younger," Melinda agreed, nestling against his shoulder.

"What do you think they'll do?"

"I guess it's obvious," she sighed.

"What are you going to do?"

"Wish I knew, Peter. All the work. The pain. I get so tired. There are times I just don't care anymore."

"Come with me," Peter said. "I won't be doing much flying come September, and I've got a great little cottage down next to the lagoon. We'd have a group of eight, half and half. Plenty of help with the chores, good company in the evenings. Marge and George play bridge, and Old-Ahmad cooks the best damn duck you ever had. I know we'd be happy."

"It sounds like heaven, Peter, but you know I can't. My responsibilities are here. These are my people. I must abide by the majority."

Peter closed his eyes and pulled her close.

The next morning, after the Piper Cub took off and turned south, the surviving residents of Large Oaks Plantation gathered to discuss their options. The vote they finally took didn't go well. With Young-Peter gone, the debate was heated and occasionally bitter. Mean-Fred and She-Geezer led the advocates for Compact. Aged-Jason held against a hasty decision. In the end, without enough votes to defeat the advocates, Melinda and Lincoln-the-Gardener helped pass a postponement.

"Six weeks. We make a final determination then," Aged-Jason said.

"Damn waste of time. Nothin's gonna change. Nothin' at all," Mean-Fred said.

"Just draggin' it out," Glum-Gus agreed.

"Never should of allowed in a lawyer," She-Geezer complained, glaring at Aged-Jason. "Never was nothin' but trouble."

"A vote short is a vote short," Aged-Jason said.

Melinda got up to fetch more tea, disappointed her motion to relocate had not even received a second.

Lincoln-the-Gardener died later that month. They found him in the rose beds where he'd been weeding. Unable to dig a proper grave, the residents piled stones around his body and left him among his beloved flowers. As Aged-Jason read the appropriate biblical passage and Daniel-the-Centenarian placed a crudely carved marker, the entire community stood in silent tribute. Melinda studied their faces and knew what they were thinking.

The remaining weeks passed faster than any would wish, even the advocates. They ate big meals, spent hours in the sun, and even dared to use the stairs. Aged-Jason accepted the inevitable with resignation, doubting his ability to survive another winter regardless, but Melinda grew increasingly listless. For the first time in memory, she neglected her appearance and let others do the cooking. Without Lincoln-the-Gardener for a fourth, the afternoon bridge games no longer took place, and the pleasure Melinda once took in knitting faded into a series of repetitive motions.

When the evening before their final vote arrived, the outcome seemed a foregone conclusion.

"Mindy? Is that you?" Melinda heard Aged-Jason call from his small bedroom off the main hall. The elder had been bedridden for the last two days, providing Melinda with at least one responsibility she refused to ignore.

"Yes, Jason. Not asleep yet?" she asked.

"Restless, I guess."

"Everyone is tonight," Melinda said.

"No surprise. Have you decided on your vote tomorrow?"

"Does it matter?"

"Matters to me. Tradition mandates a three-fourths majority."

"Our two votes won't be enough, and none of the others have changed their minds," Melinda said.

"I'm sorry, Mindy. I wish there was something I could do," Aged-Jason said, reaching to take her hand. "Couldn't you--"

"You know better. I've accepted obligations all my life. It's who I am. Frank used to call me stubborn, but he never tried to change me. Regardless of what happens tomorrow, I've got to do what's right."

Aged-Jason sighed, his face gray. "Will you read to me for a little while?" he asked.

"Glad to. What would you like to hear?"

"You know the one," he said.

Melinda nodded and took the dog-eared copy of Tennyson from the shelf next to the bed, despite knowing the passage by heart. She sat down and opened the book slowly, with quiet drama. She began reading, softly at first, but raised her voice when she came to Aged-Jason's favorite part.

"Come, my friends, 'tis not too late, to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite--"

"Skip to the end," Aged-Jason said, his voice barely audible.

Melinda nodded and closed the book in her lap, gazing out the window at the full moon.

"Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' we're not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; That which we are, we are, one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

And not to yield, Melinda thought.

She glanced over to discover Aged-Jason had died, the passing so calm she hadn't even heard his last breath.

The following afternoon was bright and clear. The sun warm, the birds singing, the meadow full of deer until the persistent buzz of a single-engine aircraft sent them scurrying for the forest.

After circling the old mansion several times and seeing no activity, Young-Peter set the plane down on the highway. Regardless of what had happened, the woman he loved was down there. He needed to know.

Within the great house, the quiet echoed like a tomb. Off the main hall, Aged-Jason's body lay in the bed where he had died the night before. In the parlor, Mean-Fred sat upright in his chair, eyes glassy and unseeing. Beside him rested the half-cup of tea he'd been sipping while anticipating the final vote. A vote that never took place. Next to Mean-Fred was She-Geezer, her tea spilled in a moment of surprise. Daniel-the-Centenarian, the unfired shotgun still in his lap, lay sprawled backward against the couch. Sass-Sally sat in her wheelchair, drooped to one side. Their longtime companions all lay nearby, teacups empty. All except one. On the end table next to an old rocking chair, one fatal cup of tea remained untouched.

Melinda stepped out on the wooden porch and closed the door behind her for the last time, smiling as she saw Young-Peter approaching from the highway. Orlando will be exciting, she thought. New friends. New challenges. Better weather. Yes, Melinda decided, there is still much to live for.