Page 7 of Rising

“Ready if you are my bestest of friend.”

Amaia

Clearing my head was a necessity before going to check on Jax. Call it escapism. I’d be no good going to him in my current state. When people needed healing, they also needed comfort, and I couldn’t provide that with all the thoughts buzzing in my mind.

I needed a moment to think through everything that had happened today, so I went for a walk through The Compound. It covered around twelve miles, mostly lined in palace sized buildings that were intricately carved from stone thanks to the artsy earth magic residents. Those who developed earth magic typically worked in the community as builders, when they also doubled as Scholars, therealmagic of their skills was astounding. You could tell who took up art as a hobby in The Before, as they took an extra amount of pride in their work. The mix of Gothic, Victorian and medieval complimenting each other in an ironic yet visually pleasing way.

Prescott’s idea for this place was for us to develop some semblance of normalcy to keep civilization within grasp.Good for the mind and the soul Amaia, we didn’t get this far without it.He reminded me that every chance he got, part of the way we bonded was through our love for history.

Prescott found me out on the road two months after it all happened. I was making my way down to LA from Seattle. There was chatter amongst travelers that the rumors of the government survivor camps set up around the city were true.

It only took a few weeks for the smoke to clear. And once the smoke cleared, people had assumed it would be safe enough to leave wherever they were bunkered down and take their chances on the road. Hoping for a better chance at life elsewhere.

At first it was cold, felt like a winter day up north when it was August in the Pacific Northwest. The hole in the ozone layer and the UV rays it allowed to seep through were part of the running theory of what happened to humanity in the aftermath. A large part of the Tinkerer community felt that it wasn’t radiation alone that changed our DNA at the base.

After weeks on the road alone, I had learned to fend for myself. Tried to remember everything my dad had taught me. I always thought he was dramatic. His military experience always had our family prepared, no matter the situation.

Go bag by the door, non-perishables in the cabinets. You dress practically not cute, keep the colors neutral and your bag light. Necessities only; enough food to last you a minimum of three days, food to last your dog a week, water purifying tablets, a canteen,anda LifeStraw. First aid kit that satisfies basic injuries plus some of the more critical. Heat reflecting poncho that also keeps you dry, emergency blankets, sleeping bags, and a basic tent to provide just enough shelter. Batteries, flashlights and a weather radio. The entire pack weighed maybe twenty pounds at its fullest, definitely light enough to maneuver when needed and not gas you out.

Always pack two of everything in case one gets damaged or you travel with someone who may need it. A basic tool-kit, a compass and a map of your general area. And, of course, hiking boots and thermal socks.

I followed every rule but the ‘practical, not cute’ similar to Reina I felt you could be both. Of course, there was a line to be drawn when cute became dangerous, but crop tops are cute, especially under an all-cargo outfit. Plus, it gets hot when you’re constantly moving.

Prescott found me fighting off three Pansies right outside of Salem, Oregon. Half drunk, of course, without a care in the world. In my defense, I’d finally entered the grieving stage of losing my fiancé Xavier, my parents, and my best friend Sammy. Turns out until death do us part started before the vows and not after. He had possessed the Pansie gene. I did not.

When everything happened, we’d been sitting on the couch on a Friday night eating terrible sushi and scrolling through Pinterest for wedding ideas. Our phones went off just as I’d made my argument to chance the rain and do something outdoors. The Russian government had launched an R12 from a nuclear submarine at New York. Before we even had a chance to peer up from our phones, Atlanta and Chicago were hit. Los Angeles. Then San Francisco fell, and finally DC.

The U.K. was gone before they even notified us of our own attacks in the US. Denmark and Berlin were next. Russia had taken its chances and was tired of the war in Ukraine. What was supposed to be a quick invasion had turned into two years of embarrassment. And it wasn’t on the Ukrainian end.

Once one button is pressed, everyone else pressed their own. The one thing scientists got right was the radioactive fallout. It changed us. Scientists had theorized radioactive particles could stay in the air anywhere from seconds to a few months. No one really knew how long it stuck around, but if I had to make a guess, I’d say months. There were people who didn’t go Pansie until about eight months in, were just walking around, normal.

Around month four people suspected who would turn by who didn’t develop any magic. Elementals showed signs of power almost immediately, often triggered by intense emotions. And considering all the death and Pansies going around, emotions charged the air.

Around six months, people formed large community-based groups. Hunters and gatherers, if you will.Nothing new under the sun,Prescott would say,just different players.A year in, larger groups settled, forming trade networks in their immediate areas. Small trade routes collided nearly two years after The Before and thus, the four territories were clearly defined.

When people gathered in groups, naturally innovation followed. Those with skill-based magic dominated, and when people started talking, similarities shone through. Scholars that had visions could solidify, no it was not, in fact, mental illness forming from intense trauma.

TheUmbra Mortisindividuals soon realized that it wasn’t simply just good luck on our side, and the Supra could sleep peacefully knowing the radioactive air wasn’t only changing them, but others too.

Perhaps that’s why civilization could be formed so soon after it all fell apart. We had a clear advantage of rapid adaptive evolution.

For Xavier, he only lasted minutes. Pretty much every settlement within our network had a few Tinkerers trying to figure out how the mutations turned to magic, and why some people turned Pansie faster than others. To our knowledge, today’s leading Tinkerers had discovered no farther than a difference in DNA.

Some people possessed genetic mutations like the Aqua gene, others had the Ignis, Terra, Aer, Umbra, Scholar, Physiscus, Supra, and, of course, Mortuus Est. No sign of the why, and certainly no reason for the delay in some and lack of delay in others.

Xavier’s deep brown skin turned ashen, and he dry heaved, gasping for air. He stumbled into the bathroom and brought every piece of tonight’s sushi back up to the surface. After hanging over the toilet for what felt to be half an hour, he came back out, a more grayish color, his eyes bloodshot.

“Amaia, I love you,” he said, and then he collapsed.

Harley went into a frenzy—barking, growling, and lunging at him as I pushed her back, hanging over his fallen body, trying to give CPR with my one free hand.

His fingers intertwined in my curly hair and pulled hard. A deep, inhuman growl left his throat as I tried to pull myself away.

“Hey General, another stormy night, I suppose. Read anything good lately?” Ms. Schuller, one of the older residents here, asked as she carted vegetables from The Gardens towards The Kitchens, startling me from my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I was now in the center of The Compound. “No ma’am, but I’ll keep you posted the next time I do.”

Giving her a small smile, I continued on my way. Letting my legs do all the work, I surrendered myself back to my thoughts. Willing myself to remember those last moments with Xavier.

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