The Last Summer

It was August. The afternoon sun beat down like a hammer upon the earth, and the apartment buildings seemed to sweat through glass pores. Children ran through the streets for brief periods before being recalled by their parents to refresh their sunscreen, while the adults huddled inside by the air conditioners.

A thin white line appeared in the sky, near the horizon. Most paid it no mind. Within a minute, a low roaring sound could be heard over the children in the street. People began to look, brows furrowed, in the direction of the sound - but it was too late.

A blast hotter than the sun erupted from the city center. The shockwave turned everything in a five-mile radius to dust. Buildings disintegrated. People became subatomic particles. Further out a mantle of fire ignited, flames bursting from newly-shattered windows. Those who lived beyond the flames were bombarded with sound so loud as to cause permanent hearing damage, even heart failure. 

Every creature within a hundred miles knew of the terrible thing that had happened here within seconds. But there was nothing they could do.

Katie was reading on her front porch, in the shade of a big umbrella, when she felt a chill in the air. She looked up from her book to find the sky had darkened slightly. There were clouds rolling in from the west, slate-gray ones, not like any storm cloud she had ever seen, somehow more unnerving. When she looked up again the whole sky was gray, the sun obscured. It was getting very cold.

She got up and went inside. One could feel the temperature dropping by the second, and she hurried to find a sweater and turn on the heat. It was August - what the hell was going on?

When she turned on the news, the shock was complete. It was on every channel. Five cities. Fifteen million dead.

Movement in her peripheral vision drew her red-rimmed eyes to the window. It was snowing. A gray snow, like the clouds. Like ash.

She threw her suitcase into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat. Cell service and navigation weren’t working too well, but she could find her own way there. She only hoped he’d be happy to see her.

Katie had left her family on the west coast at eighteen and moved to the middle of the country; in the ten years she’d been here she’d only spoken to them a handful of times. She had always felt slightly guilty about it, but the fact was that they didn’t understand her, nor she them. She hadn’t felt the need to give much back.

Of course, now that her family was gone, the things they had given her were beginning to seem both more numerous and more priceless. 

Every single member of Katie’s family had lived in California. Every person who had tucked her in as a child, taught her to read, helped her grow into the independent woman she had become - and loved her, even when she repaid them with a decade of neglect - they were all dust now. All but one.

Peter was ten years older than Katie. He had moved out of California around the same time she had, although for different reasons. Until that time he had been more dear to her than anyone else - but when she cut ties with the family, she had also wounded him. He cherished their family, and she had hurt them. Their lack of communication during the last decade had been his choice, not hers. 

She drove north. Peter had made his home in a suburb an hour west of Chicago. Nothing there but corn - he should be safe for now.

It took fifteen hours. Everyone left on the west coast seemed to have fled, and the highways were impacted. Cars sat by the roadside every few hundred feet, having run out of gas or blown a tire or swerved off in a fit of hysteria; some places were at such a standstill that people meandered freely on foot across the highway without any concern for their own safety. When the traffic moved, it seemed that one in every five drivers had succumbed to a murderous road rage, and hundreds swerved through the lanes attempting to pass one another. And the gray clouds loomed overhead.

Any joy Peter may have felt at seeing her was left unexpressed. His mouth was a straight line. “Hello, sister.”

He led her down a short hallway to the living room, where a woman and two kids sat hunched over on the couch. “This is my sister, Katie. Katie - My wife, Margaret, and my sons, Christopher and Neil.”

Katie tried to smile at them. She’d heard about his new family through back channels, but they’d never met.

“We were just discussing the idea of moving further from the city,” Peter said. “These bombs can cause damage up to a hundred miles away, not to mention the fallout.” He looked away for a moment. “Since you’re here, I suppose I should invite you to join us.”

He feels obligated, She thought. I’ve made a mistake by coming here.

“Peter... Can I talk to you outside?”

The door closed behind them. “It’s cold out here,” he said vacantly.

“Pete, look. I wanted to see you because everyone else is gone, and I didn’t want it to end without trying to make things right between us.”

“I know.” He looked as if he were waiting for her to get to the point.

“Sorry... You have a lot to do right now, you need to take care of your family, and here I am imposing on you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should go.“

He looked at her for a moment, and for the first time in ten years, she saw a sad half-smile spread across his lips. “No. Believe it or not, I’ve wanted to see you too.” He opened the door once again. “Come with us.” 

His small act of acceptance washed over her, warmer than the pleasant, climate-controlled air of the hallway. A weight, one that had pressed on her heart since before she could remember, began to lift. Who knew the end of the world was all it would take to bring us back together?

They were back in the living room. “Katie will be joining us for a while,” Peter said. “We could use another driver.”

Christopher spoke up, “Where are we gonna go?”

“A friend of mine has a place in La Harpe, about eighty miles from Peoria,” said Margaret, “I could try and call her.”

Peter nodded. “Good-size place?”

“Yeah, it’s a big farm house. She’d have enough room for us.”

“Good. See if you can reach her. If you can’t, we may go anyway.”

The house meeting ended, and Peter showed Katie to a spare bedroom. “We’ll leave in the morning. Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks.”

“Alright. I’ll let you rest, then.” He went to the door, then turned around for a moment. “It is good to see you.” 

He closed the door gently on his way out.

The road was even worse the next day. There had been another series of blasts on the east coast in the night, and not only was everyone there now flooding inland, but the people of Chicago seemed to be getting the idea that they might be next, and racing to the country just like Peter’s family. Katie imagined how the city must look, newly deserted, its forlorn skyscrapers standing empty and lightless like giant sundials. 

Communications services had been all but completely shut down - Margaret had been lucky enough to reach her friend only an hour or two before the second series hit and her coverage was reduced to nothing - and the news outlets that still functioned had just as little idea of what was happening as the rest of the nation. Who was attacking? What was the government doing for the affected areas? Were we firing back? 

Traffic came to a standstill about halfway to La Harpe. After ten minutes without movement, Katie put on her jacket and got out of the car.

She leaned against the trunk, staring out at the landscape. Everything was gray now - the cornfields, the road, even the cars were covered in that dirty snow; the sky was an ever-thickening dome of hard-gray clouds; even the people seemed to have lost their color. Those meandering through the traffic had become homogeneous, they all had the same listless gait, the same slumped shoulders.

She started as a door opened on the other side of the car, and turned to see Peter climbing out. He came and stood beside her, taking in the gray.

“I never forgave you for what you did,” he said. “And as much as I’d like to now, I don’t know if I can.”

She didn’t look at him. “That was so long ago.”

“That doesn’t matter. You left Dad on his deathbed because - what? Because he tried your patience? He loved you. What you did was the worst kind of betrayal.”

“Peter, I told you what happened-”

“I watched our father die! Do you know how difficult it was, having to explain to him every five minutes that you weren’t there? He kept saying your name over and over again, and eventually I started lying and telling him you were just in the other room, but he didn’t...” He paused for a second, closed his eyes. “Mom always got quiet when you came up in conversation after that. When was the last time you talked to her?”

She didn’t answer. After a few moments he left her side and got back into the car, and she stared into the gray alone.

Father was never all that pleasant. He hadn’t ever accepted the ways Katie chose to spend her time, and he would rag on her about it every chance he got. Katie gave up trying to impress him when she was small, and during her teen years slowly became numb to his rejection. But when he got near the end, when the Alzheimer’s hit and he started forgetting his family’s faces and identities, then things really got hard. Every time he saw her he would ask what she’d done today, and every time she answered he’d stare, dumbfounded, and let out that harsh, biting laugh. He wouldn’t ask her for details - he would just lean back against his pillow with that bitter smile on his face. Mom would always be waiting outside the hospital room, would put a warm hand around Katie’s shoulder and walk quietly beside her. Mom understood the rejection, even if she couldn’t understand much else about her daughter. She was the reason Katie stayed as long as she did.

Peter was always the favorite. As far back as Katie could remember, he had been loved and accepted by all. It seemed he could do no wrong in their parents’ eyes: even when he screwed up, they didn’t badger him about it, just let him go about his business. In the last days, Katie would sometimes stand outside the hospital room, listening to Peter and Dad talk. Their conversation was so warm and comfortable, even though Dad had to re-learn the events of his son’s life during every visit. She could never stand it for long.

It was late November, a few weeks after her eighteenth birthday, when she decided she’d had enough. Before bed one night, she told her mother, “I think I’ll be leaving soon. I thought I should give you some warning.”

“What? Why?”

“I just... don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it.”

She went to bed before her mother had time to reply.

The next day she visited Dad for the last time, alone. She entered and sat by his bed, as usual, watched as his brow furrowed and he tried to place her face. 

“Dad, it’s me. It’s Katie.”

His brow smoothed a little. “Ah. It’s good to see you, darling.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. But I think I’ve also been much worse.” Father smiled wryly - he seemed different today. He sat back in his half-reclined adjustable bed and regarded her evenly as she tried to come up with something to say. 

They sat in silence for about a minute. Suddenly his face changed - a tremor seemed to run through his body, his pursed lips relaxed and his brows came down, and she could see in his eyes the rare depth of understanding. “You never were the way I wanted you to be, were you?”

Katie stared. “No. I don’t suppose I was.” 

“We never got along, I never gave you a fair shot. I don’t remember anything about you and somehow I know that. The way I must have treated you, just because you weren’t my son… What was his name…?” He looked straight ahead for a moment, as if staring across time - then his jaw set. “Well, it’s too late to change that now.”

Katie couldn't speak; her vision blurred as she got up to leave. A hand on her arm stopped her. “Look at me, Katie.” His voice was firm, and she turned around. “If you never come back, I won’t hold it against you.” 

She just made it through the door before the tears came. Unable to see or speak or move, she leaned against the wall, head in hands, and sank down to the floor. 

The next morning, at a cheap hotel in Reno, she got the call. Dad had become incoherent shortly after she left, and died in the night with Peter by his side.

A flash of light to the left of the car - everyone flinched. A huge, cylindrical object was rising out of the ground, plumes of fire surrounding it as it struggled from its chamber. “Well, I guess that’s that,” said Margaret. Retaliation - it was war.

The lady of the house was named Emma; she was a widow, and lived here alone, so there was plenty of room for the guests. 

“I guess you folks’ll be stayin’ a while,” the old lady said. “I’ll be glad for the company.”

When they had got settled in, Peter took the boys out for a walk in the graying fields, and Katie pulled out a book. No time quite like nuclear winter for relaxing by the fireplace and reading, she thought. She had just flipped past the table of contents to Page 1 when there was a knock at the door and Emma came in. “There’s some tension between you and your brother, isn’t there?”

Katie didn’t see how it was any of Emma’s business, but she was a guest here, so she decided to humor the old lady for a minute. “Yeah, I guess we don’t always get along all that well.” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s something deeply wrong, you know it and I know it.”

Katie hesitated. “Yes.”

“I won’t ask you for details, but I can tell by the way you act around each other that you’re trying to make something right and he isn’t quite ready to come around. You don’t know me, but I’ve been there. I came in here to tell you not to try and force it. These things take time.” Emma looked away for a moment and chuckled. “The one good thing about this situation is that you seem to have all the time in the world.”

When Peter got back from his walk, Katie was waiting at the door. He told the boys to go inside, then stood facing her, stiff and aloof.

“I know you can’t forgive me.” she said. “I know you can’t understand why I left, or how I felt about Dad. But I’m here now. I’m going to stay here, help you any way I can, and be as much a part of your new family as you’ll let me. And if you never forgive me, then that’s okay. I’ll still be here.”

He looked at her wordlessly for a while, with that same look of clarity that her father had had just before the end. Finally he nodded and started to turn back toward the door.

He was stopped by another flash of light from the northeast, small but blindingly bright. Katie knew at once that it was Chicago - in her mind she could see those great empty sundials evaporating in the heat, the corn fields igniting in the suburb where Peter once lived. She reached out and touched his hand as the glow expanded in the eastern sky.

“I’ll be here.”