TITLE: World Without End,
Book Three (13/13)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com
Dearest Eve,
I am writing this to you on paper stolen from a place called 7-11. It was a convenience store in the time before. The time before the time before.
Oh, my. This is going to be even more difficult than I feared. I'm not sure if you'll have an opportunity to learn our history from another source, and there is so much I want you to know and understand. I want to tell you what the world was like before you were born. I want to tell you who your parents were, and who we are, and why we decided to have you. I don't have the faintest idea where to start.
I want to tell you about how your Mulder and I met, but how can I begin to explain the X-Files when the concept of a Federal Bureau of Investigation is probably as foreign to you as a 7-11? It feels as fruitless as trying to explain blue to a blind person.
Perhaps most of the story isn't really all that important. Perhaps most of it is too dark, too complicated, too unpleasant to recount here. How you came to be is secondary- details I will share with you if you choose to ask, but which, upon reflection, seem less than pertinent.
The thing that you need to know, the reason I'm writing you this letter…you saved us, Eve. In every conceivable way. I don't believe we'd be alive today were it not for you.
I've always had a difficult time believing in fate, but faced with the reality before me today, I've no choice but to believe. What other explanation is there for this? Fate brought you to us, and fate has left us with the task of beginning an entirely new world for you. Without you, I wouldn't have had the strength to carry on. I wouldn't have the strength now, to keep going, keep living and fighting.
Things seem so bleak now, so empty, almost hopeless, but I am driven by a need- a biological imperative perhaps- to find whatever kernels of life remain and work to rebuild.
Mulder's driven us to the ocean. I see you on the sand, playing with Roseanne and Mulder and Ret, your bare feet dipping into the waves. You look happy now, but I wonder how much of the destruction you've seen has sunken into your consciousness. How much will you remember? Will you hate us for bringing you into this world? Will you ever have another child to play with?
Whatever happens, Eve, please know that your mother loves you more than she's ever loved anything and that she's dedicated to giving you a life worth living.
"What are you writing?" Alex asks, and I put the pen and paper down, onto the hood of the truck. I take his hand in both of mine and stand facing him.
"A letter to Eve. I'm trying to…explain."
His lips curve into a small smile and his fingers curl around mine.
"I think she understands."
"Oh, Alex, how could she? How could we…God, what have we done?"
Tears start trailing down my cheeks and I wipe them away, irritated. This isn't the time to break down. But, if not now, when?
"She knows we love her, devotchka," he whispers and reaches up to cup my cheek in his palm. "She knows we love each other."
"Is that enough? How can it be enough? Where are we going to live, Alex? How? How can we live with no other people anywhere?" What happens to her when we die? I can't even give voice to that one. I'm already on the verge of hysteria.
"We'll find a way. We'll find other people. They're somewhere. I'm sure of it."
"How? How are you sure?" I'm yelling now. Acting stupid, more childish than my two-year-old daughter.
"Shh, devotchka, shh," he croons into my ear, pulling me close for a reassuring hug. I think I'm beyond reassurance. I start beating my fists into his chest, and he lets me. He lets me cry and beat him, and he just stands there holding me and telling me it's going to be okay, but how can it ever be okay? How?
"I'm trying, Alex," I sob, deflating against him. "I'm trying so hard to be so strong for her, but I just don't know what the hell we're supposed to do!"
"I know. I know. I don't know either. All I know is that we can't give up. We've gotta keep…trying."
His voice is gravely, and when I pull back to look at him I see that he's crying too. I wrap my arms around him, tuck my head under his chin, and he keeps holding me. Tight.
After a long time he says, "Maybe we should have another baby."
"We can't, Alex. I'd have to…with Mulder."
"I think I could let it go this time, Dana."
I laugh a little, and cry a little more. He's right. The old rules don't apply anymore, and monogamy seems like something of a pointless ideal to aspire to. Our own selfish needs, whether they are based on love or not, have to come second now. There are greater things at work here than the love between one man and one woman.
The fact is, though, I'm getting older every day and before too long there will be no more babies for me.
"Maybe Mulder and Roseanne will have a baby," I offer hopefully. Roseanne has proven to be somewhat ageless. If she is capable of reproducing, that ability should be with her for a long time.
"And maybe me and Roseanne will have one, too."
I don't particularly care for that idea, but I suppose if he can withstand the pain for the good of humanity then I can too.
"Alex, if all our babies have babies with each other, they'll be deformed."
"Well," he sighs, "We've gotta start somewhere."
"I love you, Alex."
He smiles, and he kisses me, and maybe it is enough after all. Maybe it is.
*************************
I used to want to be the king of the world. To rule and conquer and own. I knew it was a lofty goal, and that before I reached it I would have to focus first on keeping myself alive. Survival is a strong driving force. It got me through a lot, and soon enough my time had come. Colonization left me king of my own world, and for awhile that was enough. When she came along, things got complicated. Ideas about love, about fidelity and honesty and loyalty began to filter through and reach my consciousness. Messy ideas.
The world is very small now, and there is no king here. But still, the urge to survive is powerful in me. The need remains, but so do the messy ideas. My fear is that they won't be able to co-exist in this new world of ours.
There is hope, though. There is Eve. More than self-preservation, more than glory, more than the personal satisfaction of romantic love fulfilled, more than any other goddamn thing is Eve. I can honestly say that I would sacrifice anything to give her a future.
The entire future of the world depends on it.
There is also our collective strength. In a way, I think we're very lucky to have had our time at the colony. We've learned survival skills, how to hunt and farm and build, how to live without electricity and running water and heat. We are all smart, healthy, and relatively young.
Then there is our individual strength. Roseanne is a walking encyclopedia, full of knowledge and possessing a computer-like capability for retaining, prioritizing and processing information. Mulder, with his partially alien physiology, is gifted with an astonishing amount of physical strength and stamina. I think it's possible he could live forever. Dana has the heart, the kindness and love to hold us all together. I suppose that I've shown myself capable of somewhat competent leadership. And Eve gives us the reason, the motivation to keep going and the strength to make it work.
Fate, or perhaps God, has chosen us for this. Maybe I didn't scourge the Earth of the alien menace single-handedly. Maybe I didn't save the planet, but they are gone and we are here. However it happened, we are now faced with the unique opportunity of starting an entirely new civilization with nothing to impede us other than our own fears and feelings of isolation. In a way it's almost liberating.
There is the chance, of course, that they will come back. That the ones who perished here were just the beginning. But I can't allow myself to seriously consider the possibility any more than I can consider the chance of our failure.
I walk with Dana, down to the surf to join Eve and Mulder and Roseanne. Ret runs towards Dana, and she pets him and feeds him chemically preserved dog treats. I take Eve's hand and watch the waves. Just another day at the beach.
"Wass' over der?" she asks me, pointing out to sea.
"It's the ocean."
"No, no, wass' on de odder side?"
The other side. How does she know that there is another side? Looking at the water from this perspective, I can understand how our ancestors could believe the Earth was flat, that if you sailed too far you'd fall off. It looks vast, and circular. It creates the impression of a pancake-shaped planet.
"There's another continent on the other side. Land, like this."
"Do people live over 'der?"
A very good question. I look down, into her wide and curious eyes, and then back to the water and the promise it holds.
"I think that they do, Eve. I really think they do."
Mulder walks towards us, holding Spender's abandoned survival pack. We've emptied the supplies, and all that remains of Jeffery Spender is a floppy backpack.
"I think we should have some kind of, um…" Mulder flounders, holding the bag and staring strangely at it.
"Funeral?" I offer.
"Yeah, I guess that's the right word."
"He saved us, in a way."
Mulder nods, and we walk to join Dana and Roseanne at the water's edge. We huddle together, a dirty, bedraggled, and weary group. Mulder holds the bag quietly for a few moments, and then begins his eulogy.
"It seems strange to have a funeral for one person, when so many others have died, but Jeffery Spender was…well, he was a true friend. He helped me in so many ways. Made it possible for me to find you, all of you. And then he came to us to warn us…he saved us. He saved us all."
He looks down at the pack and says, "Thank you, Jeffery." Then he tosses the bag into the sea. We watch it float and bob.
I glance over at Dana. She has tears in her eyes again and her hand is on her cross. Amazing that she still has it, after everything. It makes me wonder, again, about God and if we really are the chosen ones. I wonder if Dana should write more letters, if she needs to be Moses and write down the genealogy of our little clan for future generations. Or for the children who might be living on "de odder side". Perhaps that's my job.
How does one go about establishing a society anyway? Sounds like the beginnings of a Monty Python sketch to me. I can almost hear John Cleese running down the list of things I'll have to do.
Is it my job now, my human duty, to re-establish order and religion, culture and tradition? Which of my old ideals are important enough to preserve? What kind of moral code should I pass down to my daughter? How did they do it in the beginning? Do I even have a moral code?
According to the myths, God spoke to those people. Will God speak to me? To Dana? Will the ghost of John Cleese come down to visit us with an enchanted scroll? I think we could really use the help.
I look up at the sky, into the deep blue and the clouds and the sun, and I remember a night a long time ago when Dana told me about the magic in the stars. I thought it was strange, almost insane for her to see beauty in them when such horrors had come from the heavens. Now I think I finally understand what she saw up there.
I pray silently for guidance, for wisdom from above, but there aren't any bright blinding lights or solemn words in my head. All I know is what I feel inside, the love I feel for these people and the need to protect my family.
Maybe God never literally spoke to anyone. Maybe what they heard were the voices in their own heads, telling them what they needed to do, why they needed to create a beautiful world for their children.
I look again to Dana, and wonder if she is thinking about God. She's always believed, through all the horror and strife. Does she believe now? Does she feel, as I do, that there must be a higher power responsible for our survival and resilience?
Once upon a time someone told me that there was no God, that what we though of as God was only alien. I can't believe that now. I won't.
Dana catches my eye, and opens her mouth to speak. The wind blows her hair into her face, into her mouth. She looks small and tired and beautiful in the bright sunlight. Her voice cracks. She swallows, closes her eyes, and begins quietly praying.
"Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen."
END
Like what you've read? Send feedback