The End Has Come (The Apocalypse Triptych, #3)

by John Joseph Adams

From the dust we came, and to the dust we shall return. But once everything has turned to dust, what then will rise from the ashes?

Wealth meant nothing when there was simply nothing left.

the world died. But people survived, here and there. They came together and saved what they could. They learned lessons.

As she approached the SUV, she prayed it was filled with women, or old people. Not men with thick beards and automatic rifles.

“So what did you used to do, Teale?” “I was a lobbyist for the Marijuana Policy Project. It was a group working to legalize marijuana nationwide.” Gill burst out laughing. “Well, it looks like you succeeded. People are free to smoke as much weed as they want.”

It had seemed important work back when things were normal. She’d believed in it. Now it seemed meaningless, like so many other aspects of pre-plague life. When ninety-seven percent of the population was dead or in a catatonic state, a lot of things that had once been important became meaningless.

Were you depressed if you felt hopeless and sad but had good reason to feel that way?

a simple insurance salesman.

Just a simple tailor!

what’s the point of living if we can’t protect the things in this world that are weaker than ourselves?

I remember the musician: Louie Armstrong. He sang happy songs, even when he didn’t have much to be happy about.

Science was not a toy, and it objected to being treated like one.

Can a thing still be itself when it’s removed from all context?

This terrifies me more than anything. Is that where I’m headed? Where we’re all headed? Are we going to lose the ability to look out for anyone but ourselves?

She feels lonesome in the way that a person can only really feel lonesome when they’ve accepted that God isn’t real and death is forever.

A month ago — ten years after the Crisis began, shortly after the world ended. Time didn’t mean what it used to.

“There is no such thing. The world doesn’t end. There’s always more work to be done, more digging out the rubble. More fucked-up shit to live through.

Maybe it was time to dream again.

it was generally best not to ask too many questions. You never liked the answers once you got them.

The end of the world, at least, provided for a plethora of conversational openings.

Neither was overtly insane, at least not in any way that made them a security risk or a danger to their co-workers.