What's Worth Saving

He unfastened his seat belt and dashed out of the door, surveying a safe route. He saw gusts of fumes exiting from the wrecked engine flurrying through the air. A coconut tree trinket was ensnared by the conflagration. It was leaking everywhere, not with potable water, but combustible propane gas. Worst, a bullet lied still on the ground a meter away from his private vehicle.

What happened to my car, happened to the world.

Johnson was like any other human. He is rational and blessed with a conscience. He conducts proper etiquette and is personified with passions, dreams, and emotions. Yes, he admits that he does not cry or seek the collective good. But what made him a homo sapiens and not some monkey rip-off is that he had instincts of survival.

He would board the Luna 200, which would take him and the other 5000 chosen to the Moon, so that the human race could survive. As the CEO of Yellow Metals, Inc., he was needed to supervise the development of mines in the survivors' new home. And of course, he earned his stellar ticket by donating a few cents to the management committee. One billion euros, to be exact.

Things got out of hand, Johnson thought. A rebel team ambushed his transportation on his way to Nova Scotia. His guards bought him time to escape, but not long. He glanced back at the car's smoke. Atop the vehicle were scavengers. They threw away the supplies he stored at the trunk.

So, they're not interested in food? They upturned the car and searched in the most unusual places. The brake rotors, the alternators, even the wipers.

Maybe they're looking for this. The businessman peered at the authorization card in his hand and clasped it tight.

Johnson had been walking like a zombie for an hour. He checked his phone for a signal, even for the faintest one, but there was none. On his way, he counted three communication towers. They weren't helpful - they were demolished.

He almost fell to the ground. I can't faint right now. The spaceship leaves in 2 hours. Must stand. Must keep my focus. His attention diverts to a flickering light bulb.

I need help. But, will they help? Am I worth saving?

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. There was no response. Desperate for a piece of bread or two, Johnson picked up a crowbar. Before he could pry the door and barge in, a little girl opened the nearest window.

"Aah! Who are you? You better hope the police is busy maintaining the order back at Street 17, because I'm calling them and once I do, you're in big trouble!" The girl began to dial a number in her old-fashioned improvised phone.

"No, no. I'm not trouble." Wait, she has a signal, he sighed with hope.

"I need to talk to the adults."

"Mom and Dad aren't here... They're supposed to ransack a nearby supermarket for goods... on the 17th street. If they survived the car explosion, then... they still have to make it through the crossfires right there..." She pointed to a wrecked communication tower. Then, she covered her left eye as she shed a tear.

"I'm really sorry about the circumstances, but it is imperative I make a call." Wow, that was emphatic. I'm sure she'll help you in your meeting accent.

"Come on in, Sir."

"Johnson. You?"

"Marigold."

They enter the dining room. Johnson takes a seat on the small bamboo chair. Don't they have anything more comfortable, perhaps?

"Relax for a while, Mr. Johnson. I'll bring you some soup." Great, at least there's something to fill this grumbling stomach. Never been this hungry for years.

Marigold returned with a bowl of ground beef and squash broth.

"What is this?"

"It's soup, Mr. Johnson." Really? She doesn't have the slightest idea of cuisine.

"Don't you have some Buddha Jumps Over the Wall or something?"

"Mr. Johnson, I don't have any abalone or shark's fin." Well, what does she have? Bits of beef?

"Just... give me the phone." Marigold handed him the device.

"How do you... ugh, the phone's keyboard is so small." Johnson glanced at Marigold who was combing her hair.

"What now?"

Marigold took the phone and tapped some buttons.

"Sorry, it does that when it's low battery."

Don't you have a charger? Johnson was already in complete annoyance. Though exasperated, he finished the message.

Alright, let's see.

To: Ryan

Good day, Sir! I am sad to inform you that my vehicle was destroyed by a militia group. The defense battalion you sent to guard me was incomparable to the sheer number of rebels. I am requesting of a chopper to arrive in the following coordinates: 45.5017° N, 73.5673° W. I am hoping for an immediate response.

He pressed the Send button.

"Did it get sent?"

"Not yet. It takes long to send a message, but you could call."

"It says here I can't."

"Oh yeah. Sorry, Mr. Johnson, I ran out of load." She was apologetic, and he was furious.

"You know what, this was a waste of time. As soon as I stepped inside this house, I knew something was off. I get fed with this? This is a poor man's soup!"

"It is the poor man's soup, Mr. Johnson!"

"Stop calling me that! Don't you know who I am? I'm the CEO of Yellow Metals! The richest man as recorded by the latest news! I own three Lamborghini cars! Who told you that you could use my first name?"

"Apparently, you did."

Johnson held his head to make sure it won't blow up.

"All I wanted was a perfect life. I was going to board the Luna 200, get to the Moon and continue gaining profit. A future I've always dreamed of."

"What about us? Don't you think we deserve to get to the Moon too? Don't you think my Mom and Dad wanted a perfect life as well? Don't you think I have a part in the future you dreamed of? Why do you think there are rebels out there, Sir? We are poor, but we are all human. We all want to survive."

"I don't care about your own dreams! You are impoverished, girl, live with it! Your survival does not depend how strong you dream about something - it's the size of your pocket that matters!"

"It's the size of your heart does, Mr. Johnson. All change comes from the heart."

"You think you know so much. You're seven!"

"First of all, I'm eight - and I lived out there in the streets before this all happened. I got to laugh genuinely, to befriend others who may or may not be like me. I got to love."

"You know what I would love? This message - to be sent, because otherwise, I'd lose my life!"

"Why do you think you'd lose your life if you stay here in this planet? Pollution? Bloodshed? Don't think so, Sir."

"Then, why would I be afraid?"

"You'd have no one to buy your stuff."

"I... I'm not afraid because..." Johnson sat down. His head was dizzy. He was hallucinating. Everything was colored like a rainbow. Then he fainted. Everything was pitch black.

He woke up with a scent of sea cucumber, abalone, and a shark's fin. Hmm... what is that smell? He sat in a foam sofa where his back rested. Nothing was more relaxing.

He woke up again. He was on the bamboo chair once more. Marigold placed an ice pack on his forehead. He tried to resist, but he couldn't. He loved the feeling of frost amidst the bizarre heat the ruined world had offered him.

Marigold placed the phone beside him and left without a single word. Johnson checked the phone's inbox.

There was a reply sent a minute ago.

Dear Johnson, a chopper is on the way. Expect it in ten minutes. Meanwhile, stay out of any rebels. Those impoverished fools are nothing but danger.

Your friend, Ryan.

He sighed.

Johnson opened the front door and found Marigold sitting on the soil in the balcony.

"I'm sorry."

"About the circumstances, but it's imperative you leave." Marigold said, trying to copy his meeting accent.

"Look, I... messed up. What you said, I think it's true."

"Yeah. And instead of accepting who you are, you screamed in front of an eight year-old."

"Sorry. Again."

He sat next to her.

"I didn't know who I am. I always thought I was the guy everyone looked up too because I... I had spare cash." Johnson chuckled. He never sought enlightenment, but he knew it was going to come to him unexpectedly.

This was unexpected. His game changer, his Eureka moment, it came from a little girl who shared his dream - the dream of survival. Not just the survival of her race, but of kindness as well. Kindness that had been snatched from the world when factories rose and poisoned the lakes and rivers and the atmosphere. Kindness that many were deprived of when World War III took its macabre toll.

For a minute, he pondered on the schemes of Yellow Metals, the very own company he established. How could he have allowed the waste products be directed to the Atlantic Ocean? Or fund a gang to disrupt a rival's operations in the Balkans? Back then, I believed it was human because I was doing it for my business to survive. But those were inhumane. Things I should have stopped instead of regretted.

Marigold was right. I wasn't afraid of dying because I'll never see someone again. I was afraid because someone else would take my mantle as CEO and inherit my riches.

He wept. The pain his body felt was nothing in comparison to the aching of his soul. Then, mustering his strength, he continued.

"Maybe I was the Briber. Whenever I had enemies, I would approach them and buy their friendships. I would climb my way to the political stage by bartering a wallet brimming with coins for a vote. Then, when it didn't work? I became the Cheater. I would ask journalists to fake accounts that would demerit my opponents. I lived a life of deception. I thought I could get away with it by boarding the spaceship."

He handed the authorization card to Marigold. She studied it carefully.

"It's not your fault, Sir. It wasn't just you who contaminated the ozone and stuff. But, promise me, if you could get to the Moon, change their beliefs."

Johnson gazed at her blue eyes. He nodded slowly. Then, he turned to the small tinkered machine above the roof. It resembles a satellite dish - did the signal come from here?

"You invented that?"

"My father taught me many things."

"The survivors could use those teachings."

Marigold smiled.

As they reconciled, the phone vibrated.

A reply from Ryan?

Johnson, hurry. To the tower in your east.

"Sir, the card."

"Hold on to it."

"But won't you need it?"

"Marigold, come with me."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going to the Luna 200. Both of us. I understand why fate led me here. It knew you were worth saving."

"But, will the superiors allow that?"

"I doubt so. But it's worth a try."

The pair rush towards the tower. Inside the helicopter were three soldiers and a pilot.

"Hurry!" The pilot exclaimed. "The rebels are on their way."

Marigold stepped in the chopper.

The soldiers signaled incoming.

"You were right, Sir. Their numbers are overwhelming."

Johnson stared at the dozens of scavengers holding crowbars and plumbing tubes. They were bolting towards them.

They think I have the card. Johnson picked up a motorcycle key on the ground.

"What are you doing, Sir?" The pilot was aghast.

Johnson started the motorcycle's engines.

"I'll be a diversion."

"Sir, you can't leave me alone." Marigold wanted to step out but a soldier prevented her.

"Marigold, listen, I messed up. I was full of treachery and greed. What happened to me, happened to the world. Now, I need to deceive others one last time. They'll follow me and you can go to the Luna 200. Tell them I gave you my card."

"But, maybe... maybe, you'll be gone."

"I'm not afraid to be, remember? Marigold. I got to love because of you. It's what matters." He placed his enclosed fist at his chest. And he admits that for the first time, he cried and sought the collective good.

"You must be the one to change their ideas. To change the size of their hearts. To make sure kindness survives. Goodbye."

"Sir, before we go. Answer me. Did you find out who you are?"

"Yes. I'm Mr. Johnson." They smiled at each other.

Johnson drove to the opposite way, while the helicopter flew to the skies.

***

An hour later, Johnson checked the phone. He was hiding in a hut, munching some ground beef.

Ryan texted.

You're making a big mistake, Johnson. You should've stayed instead of offering a poor girl your ticket to survival! Give us your coordinates! We'll send forty battalions this time! Redeem yourself at once.

He pondered on a thought.

Shouldn't all humans redeem themselves?