Sacrifice

Two months ago. . .

“Scientists have discovered that in two weeks, the existence of humanity could be threatened. What they call a ‘climate apocalypse’ will happen. This means that because of rising levels of greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide, our atmosphere will eventually collapse, shuttling all of our precious oxygen into space,” the reporter said. I turned down the volume on the TV. 

“Do you think what he says is true?” I asked Dad, who was scrolling through football game clips. Dad looked up. 

“The government put a restriction on news companies, saying they are only to report what can be proven true. If they report something that isn’t true, they’ll get arrested or fined,” Dad answered. "So it probably is."

“You seem oddly calm, Dad,” I commented. He shrugged. 

“Yeah, well Elliot. . .” his voice trailed off. I decided not to ask him what that meant and turned the TV’s volume up again. 

>>>

Twenty minutes until collapse. . .

“Everyone, pack your things, quickly! And don’t take too much. We need to leave space for the other families on the block,” Mom said, her voice frantic. We were twenty minutes away from the Atmo Collapse, as people were calling it now, and every street was piling into their own bunker, equipped with air filters, suits in case we needed to go outside, and plenty of supplies.

I ran to my room, dragging an empty duffel bag. Opening my closet, I packed shirts, shorts, pants, two hoodies, socks, and underwear, plus my lucky baseball cap. Then, I grabbed a few books, my phone (plus my phone charger), AirPods (plus AirPod charging case), and I was officially ready to live in a bunker for the rest of my life. 

Zipping up the bag, I slung it over my shoulder and headed downstairs, grabbing my shoes as I went. 

“Ready?” Mom asked, eyeing the bag. 

“Yup,” I confirmed. My older sister Maci came down next, her arms full of makeup and mirrors. Mom helped her sort it all out while I packed a small backpack of family pictures for Mom. Dad came out of his room with a suitcase, and we were ready. 

Going outside, we waved our house goodbye, preparing to leave it for who knows how long. We could see the bunker from our house, and we rushed to it. A few other families were too. 

When we got to the bunker’s doors, our neighbor helped us get in and settled in our private family quarters. They weren’t much, and Maci gagged at seeing we shared a room, but it would keep us safe so I didn’t mind. 

We went into the common area, where all the families congregated. It wasn’t packed yet, but we knew it probably would be if everyone was in there at the same time. 

The last family came in, breathing hard and thanking God they made it. With only a minute left until the Atmo Collapse, they were lucky. 

“WHERE IS DAISY?!” the mother of the last family suddenly shrieked. “WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?” Dad snapped to attention. 

“She’s outside!” someone yelled, pointing out the window. Everyone shook their heads sadly. The Atmo Collapse had just happened. Anyone still outside would be dead or dying. 

Dad suddenly ran to the airlock on the bunker and opened it. Mom saw him and screamed. Maci and I stood frozen, watching him go out and pull the little girl in. The airlock closed and locked just as the girl got in, leaving Dad trapped. Mom screamed again. I ran to the windows, watching Dad as he ran out of air and collapsed on the ground. 

Dad had sacrificed his life for the little girl. 

>>>

The present. . .

Mom still hadn’t forgotten about Dad. She stayed in her room, quietly mourning, only coming out to grab food and then eat it behind a locked door. 

Maci and I barely talked to each other. We mostly did stuff on our phones, on our sides of the bed. 

The day Dad died, the little girl’s mother had tried to comfort Mom, Maci, and me, saying she was sorry and that it was all her fault. When she realized Mom wasn’t listening and couldn’t care less, she stopped and just stayed away from our family. 

Finally, the silence became too heavy, too much. I dropped the bomb while Maci and I were eating. 

“I miss him,” I said softly. Maci looked up from the table. 

“Me too, Elliot,” Maci replied, even softer than me. 

“I want to talk to Mom about him, see if she has any of his stuff left,” I told Maci. She nodded, biting into her chicken.

“Yeah. He did pack a suitcase, right?” Maci asked. 

“I watched him put it in their bedroom,” I confirmed. We decided to ask Mom if she had anything that was Dad’s after we finished eating. Hopefully, she’d be in a better mood after lunchtime. 

Maci knocked twice on the door. We heard sheets being pushed away and quiet footsteps on the floor. When Mom opened the door, I had to refrain from gasping. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared. She looked nothing like my mom. More like a zombie. 

“What do you want?” Mom asked, her voice scratchy and tired. 

“Do you have any of Dad’s stuff?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Mom heard it anyway. 

“Come in,” she sighed, pulling back the door. Mom’s suitcase was lying on the floor half-open. 

Mom opened the closet, revealing Dad’s suitcase. Unzipped, untouched. I assumed she put it there right after Dad’s death and didn’t do anything with it otherwise. Mom picked it up and laid it on the bed, unzipping it. The suitcase fell open. There was nothing in there besides a thick envelope. 

Maci pulled it out and opened it. There were three slips of paper inside, each with a name. Maci gave Mom one, and me the other, keeping the last for herself. 

I traced Dad’s handwriting on the paper. It had been a long time since I had seen that. I saw Mom and Maci opening theirs, so I did the same. 

Dear Elliot,

When you read this, my son, I will be gone. I know that now that I am not here, your life seems a burden, but you must keep up hope, Elliot. 

Your mother needs you. I know she will have taken this very far, and I know she will need your help to get back to normal. Please take care of her since I cannot. 

The bond between father and son is inseparable. You and I will always be connected. You are my son, Elliot. My boy. 

Love, 

Dad.

I started crying without realizing it. As Mom and Maci finished reading their letters I heard sniffles from them too. I pulled them into a group hug. 

No matter what, I knew Dad was with me, and with us. He’d never leave us, though we may think he has. 

Thank you, Dad. 

Thank you.