Survivors

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay



“Was that Hawaii?” George asked.

“That’s the only thing it could be,” Roger said.

“Those bastards! What was the point in that?” Roger had no
answer, so said nothing. George tried again. “Well, where do we go now then?”

“Nowhere, George. There’s nowhere to go. If they’ve nuked Hawaii, that means they’ve already gotten
anyplace bigger, or closer. There’s nobody left. There’s nowhere left.”

A breeze from the west, from the direction of Hawaii, tugged
at their sail, and the boom swung to the limit of the mainsheet. Roger should
be tacking, but he just sat slumped against the hull.

George bit his lip to keep from crying. He was two years
younger than Roger, and crying was just what Roger would expect from him, and
that’s exactly why he wouldn’t. When the urge passed, he licked his lips and
said, “What are you thinking about?”

Roger shook his head. “I’m thinking about the future. About
how it doesn’t get any better. I’m thinking about throwing you overboard.
Drowning will be so much quicker…”

“Don’t do that Roger, don’t even think about giving up!
Maybe we can’t go to Hawaii, but we go somewhere! There were other people at
sea when this all started, and that means more survivors. We’ll find them. And
until then, we keep on fishing, and we keep distilling sea water.”

“Even if we found other survivors, what then? The world is gone. What’s the point?”

“Think about it. The sort of people who like to point guns
at each other just departed this world. I like to think the ones who are left
are gonna be friendlier.”

Roger sighed. He twisted one hand into the mainsheet and pushed the tiller all
the way to starboard.

“What are you doing?”

“Heading south. Kiribati’s somewhere down there.”

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