Free When Gods Fail by Nelson Lowhim Page B

silence, and stared at the place my finger
aimed at. That all the space she touched seemed to come to life,
that I hoped to be in her good graces again, made me realize that I
loved her. The romantic in me still wanted to fall on my knees and
ask her forgiveness. The voice, the one that threw my eyes to every
shadow and place where the wind rustled, told me never to try such
a thing and show weakness. It had a point. Her silence was driving
my mind to spin. I had to leave her.
    "I'm going to check out the surrounding
area," I said and walked off over a rise in land. We had come to
stop in a saddle between two satellite peaks. The ground here was
as dirty and rocky as anywhere else. I kept an eye out for plant
shoots. Waiting to see if life was slowly rearing its head, but I
couldn't see anything.
    I walked up one peak, sat down and listened.
The suns rays were getting weaker, and soon darkness would crash
all around me. I looked at the overcast sky and realized that it
wasn't lighting up like it usually did. I smelled the air. Nothing.
It was depressing. I couldn't smell soil; I couldn't smell myself;
the only sound was a distant wind carving up the world like it had
done before mankind and it would do long after us; it would only
stop when the atmosphere burned up and drifted away as the sun
turned into a red dwarf.
    What was I striving towards here? A life
with Jenny? So our kids could grow up in a land like this with no
hope—or the slim hope that there was another group of people out
there? Then when the possibilities were exhausted, would they
revert to incest? What a life. It would be mercy to end that right
now. And for all that, I knew a smile from Jenny would change my
mind in a heartbeat. And what if we found a group right now? Would
they accept us?
    I walked back down and up to the next
satellite peak. This one was more of a dark brown color. I kicked
the rocks. It was the same as before. Nothing could grow in this
hard soil. The sky was still overcast and only lost its light as
the sun set. The lack of color only added to my sense of loss and I
walked back to Jenny.
    Jenny was under the blanket when I
returned.
    "You eat?" I ask.
    "Not hungry."
    I didn't push the matter, as it was better
to save some of our rations.
    I lay down next to her. Tried to push my
body towards hers. No reaction.
    "The sun didn't light up the sky.
Depressing, isn't it?" I said.
    "Why?"
    Sometimes her questions were like a child's.
They were getting tiresome. "You didn't like the sunset
yesterday?"
    "I did."
    "Then wouldn't you want to see that
again?"
    "Maybe. Does it matter? The sun will do what
it wants and we're still down here."
    I nodded my head without meaning it. I
leaned over her to see her face better. "What is it that keeps you
going then?"
    "Nothing."
    It wasn't the answer I wanted from her.
"What about the future of mankind?"
    "Why should that bother me?"
    I couldn't reply. Why should it?
    "Do you believe in God?"
    "I did."
    "And now?"
    She looked at me then touched my hand and
pulled herself closer to me. I could feel her breathing on my
check. It startled me. Her touch was a thousand sunsets.
    We made love that night. As best as people
grinding on top of rocks could. Every caress of hers drove me
further into a hole of happiness. And I woke up with her head on my
chest and the feeling of accomplishment on my mind.
     
    I moved out from under the blanket and into
the cold morning. The air bit at me. The sun cracked out from under
the overcast sky near the horizon. I walked in a circle, crouching,
trying to see any footprints, other than ours. We were alone. I
walked to the satellite peak and found a flat rock to sit on. I
looked down on the ground. Lifeless. What I would have given to see
a sign of insects crawling around. Did they only come out to eat
the dead? What did natural selection have to say about that? That
they would soon develop a taste for us? Eat us in our sleep? I
shivered at the thought.
    Jenny.
    She would