by Kevin George
awake for the time being. On the table next to his bed was a fresh glass of water and small plate of fruit; he had zero interest in either item. Those at the farmhouse took good care of him in his time of need but seeing the new food and drink made him clutch his bag even tighter. After fretting over the contents of his bag for so many years, he hated that people had access to his room whenever they wanted, hated that he didn’t even know when someone was coming or going. He was too weak to stop a potential theft even if awake and holding his bag…
Not that it matters now anyway, he thought. Maybe it’s time I find someone else to trust with this bag… maybe that kid who liked my stories though I wish he were a few years older. At leas his father seems important enough around here so nobody would be likely to rob him.
Stevens was dying. Considering how awful he felt, the end couldn’t be far. He shook his head at the thought, still angry about the inevitable, still unable to accept his fate. He doubted many people truly accepted when they got sick, though being in his early fifties still seemed too young to die. But more ironic was how much he’d endured to make it here, how long his odds had been for selection to the space station, to survive years of constant danger in space, to make it through a difficult shuttle landing on Earth without a proper runway. Through all of that, he never received a single scratch on him and was lucky enough to be brought to an amazing compound of dedicated survivors, all working harmoniously to restart humankind’s existence on this planet.
Then one day he woke with a fever, not surprising since sickness often spread quickly through the tight-knit community. But his never got better. Fatigue, weight loss, loss of appetite and general pain soon followed; at first he assumed it was a nasty cold or even a particularly brutal strain of flu. But long after everyone else got better and the cold winter months passed, Lucas’ symptoms became worse, to the point where he remained bed-ridden for months.
At first it wasn’t so bad; he no longer had to do back-breaking physical labor and one of the local kids spent hours with him, listening to his stories about making movies, thirsty to hear every detail of every film Lucas ever made. The kid was much more bearable than his twin friends, who couldn’t sit still for more than a minute without interrupting or asking foolish questions. The few times they came with the other boy to visit, Lucas ended up yelling at them to get out; he swore the twins were responsible for making his illness worse.
But over time, the pain became unbearable and his mind began to slip to the point where he no longer wanted visitors. Now, these rare moments of clarity were fleeting and he considered having someone send him Zander McKay so he could finally hand over his most prized possession, the one thing he hoped would live on long after he died. His final masterpiece, years in the making, the one thing he’d obsessed about while everyone else was worrying about rogue comets and threats from the Chinese and newcomers to the space station and riots to finally leave. Sure, Lucas had been there to witness every significant event but he always remained near the back with his camera rolling, making his ultimate project all the more massive in scale, unlike anything he’d ever done.
Lucas could’ve spent years finishing but had to rush during the last six months aboard the station once only a single shuttle remained. The return trip to Earth was harrowing but while everyone else worried for their own lives, Lucas worried only for the contents of his bag. But since he stepped foot back on Earth and found most of civilization – and all of technology – gone, he worried his years spent in space had been a waste. Once he became sick – and realized he would not be getting better – the only thing Lucas regretted most was not living long enough to see delight on the faces of one more crowd admiring his –
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened his mouth to tell the person to come in but his mouth was so dry that trying to speak launched him into a nasty fit of coughing. He reached a shaky hand toward the glass of water on the table beside his bed but only succeeded in knocking it over. He tried to pick it up but nearly fell out of bed in the process; Lucas undoubtedly would’ve ended up on the floor had a pair of strong hands not steadied him and lay him back down.
“Are you okay, Mr. Stevens?”
When Lucas finally stopped hacking, he wiped away a glob of blood before looking up into the face of an unexpected man. He’d known Colin McKay about a decade, though he’d known McKay’s best friend – John Fare – since the kid was just a teenager. To see McKay as a full-fledged adult made Stevens realize he was no longer as young as he thought. Standing in the doorway of his room – barely peering inside – was Colin’s son, just the person Lucas had wanted to see.
“Zander, please come in,” Lucas croaked, the four words launching him into more coughing.
The boy hesitated but when his father waved him in, he only took two steps into the room. Lucas reached for his bag but Colin held him back from moving and picked it up for him. The director quickly yanked the bag from his hand, proving that he did have some strength left.
“I want to give this to you,” Lucas told the boy. “But only you.”
“No, Mr. Stevens, we all know how important that is to you,” Colin told the man.
“I don’t have much longer to live,” Lucas said. “And if I’m not the one to provide the people one final show, I want it to be your boy.”
Zander slowly stepped forward and took the bag from the man’s shaking hands. But he no sooner reached inside when he shook his head.
“Before you give this to me, you should come with us first, Mr. Stevens,” Zander said.
“I’d love to but I’m not in much condition for moving,” Stevens said.
Zander smiled and looked at his father.
“Wait right there, sir.”
Father and son rushed from the room and came back a moment later, wheeling in a chair attached to a small dolly, basically a piece of wood attached to four wheels.
“Sorry, it’s the closest we could come to a wheelchair,” Colin said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be extra careful on the stairs. And we’ve already tested it outside; it works pretty good on the dirt.”
“You expect me to ride in that thing?” Lucas asked. “Are you trying to make sure I die even sooner?”
Lucas chuckled at his own joke and got a smile out of Colin; the comment, however, made Zander frown as his eyes filled with tears. After talking to the mature boy for countless hours, Lucas sometimes forgot how young he was. He didn’t want to make him so upset.
“Okay, I’ll ride it, though I don’t know what good it’s going to do me,” Lucas said, glancing toward the window. “Especially since it’s getting darker.”
Lucas had barely been out of bed the last few months and needed Colin to practically carry him onto the chair. Zander grabbed the ill man’s blanket and draped it over his frail body before handing Lucas his bag. The stairs weren’t easy to maneuver but Colin was the strongest person at the entire compound and got Stevens to the ground floor without incident. The entire ordeal of being out of bed exhausted Lucas but he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to notice that nobody was in the farmhouse, not even Pastor Mike.
Outside was just as deserted. The compound was usually crawling with people until after the sun went down but now nobody could be seen. Lucas finally realized something major was happening and couldn’t help feeling nervous.
“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“It’s a surprise, Mr. Stevens,” Zander said excitedly. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
“But I’m tired,” Lucas said. “And I’m not sure I should be outside.”
“Like you said before, sir, what have you got to lose?” Colin asked. “If you trust Zander enough to want him to have your bag, you should trust him enough about this.”
In the end, Lucas had little say in the matter. Even in his prime he couldn’t have stopped Colin from doing what he wanted. Still, he had no idea what was happening as he took the bumpy ride toward
the back section of the compound. The grounds were just as empty as the farmhouse; none of the smaller houses seemed to be occupied either. Even more peculiar was the fact that so many cars were suddenly parked around the compound, filling up all the empty space between houses and near the large walls.
“Did someone find a car dealership in the last few months?” he asked.
Zander shook his head. “Nope, Mr. Fare had the entire underground garage emptied out for the night.”
“What for?” Lucas asked, though he suddenly had a terrible thought. “Don’t tell me you’re giving me a sending off party?”
“Not quite,” Colin said.
Before Lucas could put up more of a fight, they reached the ramp to the large vehicle storage room. Loud conversations could be heard echoing from down below; it certainly sounded like a party down there. But as soon as Colin began to wheel him down, somebody began to shush the crowd and the noise came to a stop. Lights shone in the garage, run by use of a generator, the only such one at the entire compound. Lucas saw not just every person from the compound but also what appeared to be every chair from the compound. They were lined in neat rows with an aisle down the center, which led to –
His breath caught in his throat at what he saw. The large screen television wasn’t anything new but what sat on
