The Only Constant

                                        
                                         

THE HERE AND NOW  (How it All Started, & We Didn't See It
                                                            Until it was Pointed Out)                   

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-44579422





***

THE HERE AND NOW

(How Mankind Battled Against a Mounting Tide of Pollution & Apathy)

Bryony gave a deep sad sigh and looked up at her husband Cliff.  There was a trace of a tear

in his eye too. His jaw was set, which meant he was not only sad, but frustratedly angry too.

“We worked so hard yesterday,” he growled.

Bryony patted his arm,

“I know love, I know, all we can do is try to do our best, what more can we do?”
Bryony knew the answer before Cliff muttered it,

“It’s no good some of us trying, we ALL have to try, this isn’t even our problem!”

Saying it wasn’t their problem made Bryony angry, so a little sharper than she had intended,

she answered her husband.

“Of course it’s our problem, maybe we didn’t cause it, but we’ve been landed with it, so it’s
OUR problem.”

Her last few words ended in a hacking cough.  The medic she had finally managed to locate

assured her that it was not a virus, but bacterial.  The medic seemed almost cheerful as he

informed her that she would either get better...or she wouldn’t.  The era of antibiotics was over,

it had become too expensive to produce a product that simply didn’t work.  Her beautiful

babies would be alive if it had.

Cliff placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her away from the depressing sight,

“Aww love, I’m going to put in for one of those respirator hoods and safety suits when we
reach HQ, they surely must have produced enough now.”

With her body still being racked by her coughing she shook her head and held a hand up in
denial of what he had said, when she had eventually regained her breathing she gasped,
“It’s not outside so much that’s the problem, it’s our house, it’s so damp, it…..” the coughing
started again.  She knew what the coughing really was, but didn’t want to give voice to it.
Many old buildings had just been allowed to collapse into rubble...the air they all breathed was thick with asbestos.

Cliff hurried her along. Providing what was left of the road had not sunk into pothole ruin, they
should reach HQ, where it was not damp, within the hour. The Volunteers for Roads had long
been disbanded, they knew they had been fighting a losing battle.

He cast a last disgusted look at the river bank of the mighty Humber, for as far as could be
seen there was flotsam, (it was hard to believe that not twenty-four hours earlier they had piled

most of it in skips, he strongly suspected that the skips were in turn taken out to the
North Sea and dumped, just for it all to wash up again next high tide).  The debris consisted
mainly of plastic, discharged off old garbage trawls over the years, landfill sites were over full,
mainly with plastic that had been ‘recycled’. The plastic would never degrade and unless
humankind learned to do without it’s beloved product the problem would grow and grow.  
It had already had a devastating effect on marine life, the stench of rotting fish and marine
mammals interspersed with the garbage was testament to that.

Bryony trembled under his arm, and his temper seethed again.  She was wrong, it wasn’t their

problem, not solely.   They were Volunteers, their particular squad being River Shoreline

Clearance. There were few enough of them in any Squad. The forming of the Volunteer

Squads had exasperated the problem leading to most of the population to disregard the need

for solving their own waste and mess,  they had deluded themselves into believing that

someone else (The Volunteers) would deal with it, after all, surely that was their job.  They

tried so hard to deal with it all, the leaky outdated sewerage systems, the air pollution from

cheap solid fuel powered industry (God Bless America for importing that one),the flood

defences, factory farming and the land surface pollution it caused. The rarity of fully trained

medics had caused a new Volunteer Squad to be formed, their sole directive was to keep tabs

on anyone trained medically, and to try to assign apprentices to them….the list of people

begging for a medic in their ‘hood was endless.  Now there were rumours of constructing an

underground bunker system for living in, resigning the Planet to it’s unsolvable pollution, the

surface only being good for heavy industry.

A soft damp splatter on his hand brought Cliff's attention back to his spouse...blood, she had
coughed up blood.

***

BEFORE THE DOME (When the Surface of our Planet Became an Object of Curiosity, & other
Solutions for Human Life were Sought)

Myrtle stared down at the churning waves.  She couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had tried

to walk across to the far bank of the Humber.  Ok, she understood that it probably wasn’t

possible, in fact it probably never had been possible. She had seen a photo in the Cellar City

Museum, a fascinating photo, of boats making their way along the Humber to the North Sea...

The caption on the photo simply read “Fishing Trawlers. 1997.”  That would have been, Myrtle

quickly did the sums on her fingers, seventy years ago. For the life of her she couldn't

understand why anyone would risk their life hunting fish! She had eaten fish once, as a

special treat for a birthday, it was horrible. Uncle had said it was the most expensive, prime

farmed, and genetically modified fish to be had, it made no difference, she still found it

horrible.

Adjusting the inlet valve on her Breather, Myrtle sighed.  She would have loved to have seen

The Humber as it once was, with boats and fish.  Uncle said the Dome would be completed

soon and they could all get inside, safe and sound.  No more risking infected lungs, no more

worrying about being flooded out, no more stench of rotting flesh, household garbage,

and poo.  She remembered there being animals, once, it was a vague memory of thin pathetic

creatures viewed through bars or reinforced glass, their bodies denuded of any fur or feather,

open weeping sores.  It made her feel sad, but Uncle said they just couldn’t afford to make

Safetysuits for animals. He had also gone on to say that she wasn’t to worry, specimens had

been collected, slaughtered, and stuffed before they had become sick.  She would soon be

able to see them properly exhibited in all their former glory in the Dome. Myrtle supposed

that was something to look forward to.

It was time to go back to the Cellar Living System she called home, the warning beep on her
suit’s timer was sounding urgent now.  

She cast a last look at the churning waves of plastic, sewerage, corpses, and diverse

rubbish caused by just being human and thought it would have been nice to be able walk to

the other bank.

  ***

IN THE DOME (Many Centuries in the Future, Life Outside a Dome was Impossible,
but Humans adapt, they always adapt)

The older children screamed with excitement and tore around the family home pod,
“Zoo, zoo,zoo!” They yelled at the top of their lungs.

“Zoo, zoo, zoo!” echoed the youngest, a year old girl, her chubby legs waddling overtime to
keep up with her siblings.

Olive grasped her current pod-mate’s shoulder, rocking with laughter.  Fallan was the sire of
the yearling female, and unusually, was very attentive of the child.  It had been his idea to take
them all for a visit to the City Dome’s Zoo.

Crispin, the eldest of the two boys, who’s sire was unknown being the result of experimental
communalsex, ran up to his Mother and grasped the front of her long pod smock, his excited
exertions left him gasping,
“Can we touch ‘em, can we Olive, please, pleeeeeease can we touch them?”

Olive shook her head, laughing back at her eldest offspring,
“No Crisp, no...touching is not allowed.”

Crispin’s face took on a sulky expression, he pouted and furrowed his brows before whining,

“But why Olive, why, why why?”

It became a chant quickly taken up by his next born sibling Fern.  An ugly female child, Olive
was still undecided whether to keep her or have her ‘placed’, Fern’s next mental assessment
would be the decider.  Fern’s existence was the only regret Olive had ever had about
lackadaisical research that led to her taking her youngest brother as a pod mate.

Olive raised her hands in submission to the children’s clamouring, even the infant was joining
in now.

“Hush, hush,” she said, “If you will just hush I will tell you.”

Surprisingly there was instant silence.

“Right then,”  Olive took up her tutorial stance,
“If everyone was to touch the exhibits then they wouldn't last very long would they?  They
would fall to pieces, all the stitching would come undone and the stuffing would fall out, and
that would be a sad thing, don’t you think?

Crispin pouted and nodded in agreement, but his frown let his dam know that he wasn’t
pleased about it.  Fern’s eyes widened and a trace of saliva coated her rose-bud smiling lips,

“Cool!” She said in delight, “Can we touch ‘em and watch the stuffing come out?”  

Olive decided that this brat’s assessment was long overdue.

Fallan smiled up at her as they strode through the Dome’s main causeway on their way to the
Zoo,

“Do you think they were once real living, breathing
animals?”  he asked.

“Don’t be silly!” Snapped Olive back at him.  He was becoming a bore, Olive had already had
her eye on a decent sort who worked in water purification as her next pod-mate, she just had
to investigate his lineage, she didn’t fancy risking another Fern being born to clutter up her pod.

Fallan decided she was probably right, it was just another myth, like the one that human males
were once  taller and stronger than their females. Although he had never believed the one
about them living outside the Dome, now that was too far fetched.

Within the Dome the supremacy of womankind, long fought for millenniums since, reigned
supreme.

Outside the Dome the skeletons of long dead creatures were slowly fossilising with the
passage of time.  

The plastic dessert was still there, undulating above a river that would never be seen again.
The plastic would always be there, never ending, non-degrading, the only constant.

***

Our Children and our Children's Children will come to see the pollution of Planet Earth as the norm.  Is that what we want for them?  Is that the inheritance we leave them?  Do we really want them to adapt to the filth we are now creating?  

With Time On His Hands

Christian wiped his hands on the rag and gave an almighty sigh of satisfaction.   He couldn’t wait to show Evie his beloved machine that he had just completed, finished, invented, created.  Yes!  All those things, like a child that springs from its father’s loins, his machine had sprung from first his imagination, and then from his mind. ……. And it worked, well, only in one direction, but it did work.  Let the scoffers scoff now.  Evie had never scoffed, enduring lonely evenings whilst he spent his time in the old warehouse working on his machine, she had never complained either.  She had known before they married how important his invention was to him, readily agreeing to keep his work secret, although at times he did wonder if she kept the secret because she was too embarrassed to tell anyone!  He could understand that, no one had believed him when he had tried to get funding for his project, he had had to go it alone.  Every spare penny he and Evie had made, he as a Design Engineer, and Evie as a Ward Sister, had gone into building his machine.   If he could, he would go back in time and, and, what?  Perhaps that is why the machine would only work one way, into the future, not the past.

After he had double checked that the small warehouse was securely locked up, Christian took the brisk one block walk to the tiny two up, two down terrace which was all that  he and Evie could afford…. at the moment.  Oh yes, that would change.  Evie would soon be able to live in any luxury dwelling she chose, she deserved no less.  His invention, once he had patented it, would change their lives forever.  Taking the stone steps up to the terrace two at a time he reached his front door.  Softly cussing as he fumbled with his keys, he eventually managed to unlock the door and as he entered he yelled excitedly, “Evie, it’s done, grab your coat and hat girl and come look see.”  The silence that answered him was disheartening.   He needed to share his moment of triumph with Evie, where on earth was she?  He knew she should be in, her shift didn’t begin for a good couple of hours, and she couldn’t  possibly be napping.  He made his way upstairs to check, not that he thought for one moment that she could sleep through the volume of yelling  he had just done!   He looked round the little terrace twice, just to be sure, Evie was definitely not home.

Feeling confused and deflated Christian put the kettle on for a coffee.  If he thought about it Evie had been acting a little strange just lately, a little short tempered, and although they hadn’t quarrelled she had taken to sighing, almost wistfully, from time to time.  ‘Poor girl,’ Christian thought, she had been so patient with him for so long,  perhaps her patience had begun to wear thin at his continuing absence.   Well, that was all in the past now, from this day on they would be together ‘twenty- four- seven’ if she so wished.  The kettle was boiling, watching it Christian gave a grin, of course, what an idiot, Evie had gone shopping!  Giving a small bark of a laugh he switched the kettle off, no instant cheap muck for his lovely Evie, not now, not ever again.  Grabbing his keys and checking his wallet for readies,  he left the house and headed for the Patisserie on the corner of his street, they did yummy cakes and a really decent coffee to go.   When Evie returned from her shopping trip, they would celebrate in style!

When he arrived at the Patisserie he studied the chalk board listing products and prices.  Giving a worried, “Hmmph,” he sat down at a nearby pavement table to once again check his finances.  It was the Kingfisher Blue flash of colour that first caught his eye and made him look up from his wallet, it was Evie’s favourite colour, and was the blouse of a woman seated inside the Patisserie, at the window.  Evie had a blouse just like that.  He took a second look and gasped.  It was Evie!   He half rose to go inside to join her, she had obviously saved a bit from housekeeping and decided to give herself a treat, well now they could both share the treat by way of celebration when he told her his news.  His backside thumped back down to the chair when he realised she wasn’t alone.  Sat opposite her was a young man who was a complete stranger to Christian.

Evie and the young stranger were holding hands across the table, and laughing into each other eyes.  Christian had never seen Evie laugh so freely, so joyfully, as she did holding hands with that young, handsome man.  His heart felt heavy, sluggish, breaking.  Then, as Christian watched in stunned disbelief, Evie half rose from her chair and pulled the young man towards her……..to Christian’s horror, she kissed him, on the lips, just a peck, but a peck with a promise, and in public.  The couple, for that is what they behaved like, a couple,  stood up and headed toward the pay desk, hand-in-hand.  Christian felt a shake of his arm and looked toward its source, “Sir, please sir, are you OK?”  It was a waitress talking to him.  The waitress nodded toward his hand.  Christian looked down, he had been grasping his keys so tightly that they had cut into his fingers,  blood was trickling down his hand toward his wrist.  Without answering Christian took to his heels, anxious to be away before his wife and her paramour left the Patisserie and saw him, the cuckold, the blind fool, the idiot.  Was that what they had been laughing at?  The ease with which they had been able to meet up behind his back.

Christian had reached his little house.  He stood in the street, the blood now dripping off his hand, and stared at the terrace he shared with the love of his life.  Shared?   Overtaken with feelings of self-pity and self-recrimination he realised that he was hardly ever there, just Evie, all alone, waiting for him to come home.   He lived mainly at the warehouse, with his confounded machine.  A plume of red hot anger shot through his very being.  He had been a fool, giving up all his spare time to work on a machine, neglecting what he had, what was important, what he now realised was all he had really needed in his life, Evie.  Still seething and blazing internally Christian turned on his heel and headed toward the warehouse….maybe, just maybe, if he got rid of the cause of Evie seeking out the love and company she so richly deserved, he might be able to win her back.

Once inside the warehouse Christian picked up a large gemmy, he would smash the machine to pieces.  He raised the gemmy above his head to strike the first blow and looked once more on the machine that had ruined his life.  It was beautiful.  Even in the dim light struggling through the warehouse’s grime encrusted window it glistened, polished and sleek.  Christian lowered his arm, he couldn't destroy it.  It was his life’s work.  He had poured more of his heart and soul into the machine than he had his marriage.  Large, hot, fat tears poured down his face unchecked as he realised he had made a choice.  But he couldn't live in the here and now with that choice.

He entered the machine and switched it on.  The soft buzzing as the machine came to life was comforting.  He looked at the timing dial and decided five hundred years would be time enough to leave this heart ache behind……..Everyone, everyone, would be well and truly passed by then, nothing, no one, left to fester the wound he would bear for a very long time, he could only hope that they had led a happy and fulfilled life.  Punching in the first ‘5’ and then a ‘0’ he made a determined stab at the last ‘0’.  The blood on his fingers was slick and slippery, his stabbing finger slid off the ‘0’ without engaging it and onto the ‘Activate’ button.  As the buzz increased to a high pitched whine and a luminescent blue light surrounded him, Christian screamed his anguish.  “No, No, Nooooo……..

No!”  Christian stepped away from the machine and headed for the door.  Part of him was relieved that it hadn't worked.  As he stepped to one side to drag the heavy door back on its runner he stumbled.  It was then that he noticed the strange smell.  Rusted iron smell, along with burnt timber.  He looked up, no roof.  Spinning around he stared at the once beautiful shining time machine.  Cobwebs hung between its heat twisted, fire charred remains.  The red rust stained carcass of his dreams proclaimed success and failure.  Shaking his head in horror Christian hauled open the door and almost bent double hurtled toward his home.  His home? His home?  After fifty years?  But he had to go somewhere.

It looked like his home, the front door was now painted a pretty blue instead of the serviceable black it had been, what, not one hour ago….for him.  With trepidation he walked up the stone steps, took his key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock.  The key worked, that must mean….well, he wasn't sure what that meant, but he gently pushed the door open and entered.  

The layout of the little terrace was unchanged, just the decoration, and even that seemed familiar somehow.  Feeling a little more daring Christian climbed the stairs to go to the bedroom he had once shared with Evie.   The room was gloomy and indistinguishable in the poor light due to the closed curtains.  Christian had already worked out that there was no one at home, he would have been challenged before now if there had been.  Curious to see what the current occupant had done with Evie and his very private quarters Christian crossed the room and drew the curtains full back with a noisy swish.    Turning round he was gratified that at least they had kept the bed in the same place, even if unmade!  He crossed the room to the bed, he would lie on it, just for a while, just until he had gathered his thoughts and decided what to do next, no one would be any the wiser, he couldn't possibly mess the lumpy bed up any more than it already was.  As he put his hand on the bed in readiness to getting onto it, the lump moved, and to Christian’s horror he found himself looking into the face of an elderly lady.  He was about to make a hurried apology and make his escape when the old woman spoke, “Oh Christian, it’s you dear……..my goodness, you’re the image of your Granddad with the light behind you!”

Looking hard into the woman’s face Christian gasped out, “Evie!”  The old woman frowned before smiling and wagging a gnarled arthriticy finger at him and said, “Young upstart, since when have I given you permission to use my first name, lacks respect.  Now, give your Gran a kiss and go make a pot of tea, there’s a good lad.”  Christian stood rooted to the spot, his legs felt like rubber and before they gave out he sat heavily on the side of the bed.  This brought an indignant “Oi!” from Evie.  She was frowning at him again, he had to say something, anything, he still didn't trust his legs to leave.  Without putting much thought into what he was saying Christian blurted out, “Ev…Gran, tell me about Granddad.”   “What, again?”  The old lady admonished,  “Yes, please, again, then I’ll make you that pot of tea, I promise.”  Christian gently replied. “With toast?” Old Evie barked back at him, “With toast,” Christian assured her.

Struggling into a more upright position Evie first gave a scowl and then sighed in capitulation.  “Suppose it’s the only way I’ll see that tea.” She moaned before asking, “Right then, what bit do you want to hear?”  Christian didn't have to think about this, and immediately answered, “What happened to him Gran?”   “You know what happened to him, why do you want me to go through that again for?  You know it hurts.” Evie barked at him, “Please Gran, just once more and then I’ll never ask again, promise.”  Christian pleaded.  Evie gave him an almost angry look out of the side of her eyes and said, “Making an awful lot of promises just lately, aren't you?”  “Please Gran.” Christian felt he could probably make a run for it now, his legs felt back under his control, but he had to know, had he managed to re-build the machine, sort out the problem of it's one way operation, and return to his proper time?  He must do, Evie in this time was talking to a grand child who looked like him!

Christian’s hopes were shattered by Evie’s next words, “As you know, you callous young pup, your Granddad died fifty years ago today."   Christian’s mouth trembled as he asked, “How?”  Not that it mattered, Evie’s grand child had been named after him, but wasn't his, he wondered if the handsome young man at the Patisserie had fathered a child with her, but not married her……Evie was talking so he collected his thoughts and listened.  “That confounded machine of his blew up, and your Granddad with it.  I waited and waited that day for him, to tell him, but he never came home again.  I’d just had a scan, my cousin was a male midwife and had managed to sneak me an appointment in, I should have gone straight home, not gone to celebrate with my cousin at that fancy cake place.  I was so happy, so very happy, a child would have taken your Granddad’s attention away from that crazy idea of his…..a time machine…..have you ever heard anything so absurd, what a waste of what little time we had together……”  As Evie’s voice became more raspy and slower as exhaustion pushed her into sleep, Christian quietly slid out of the room and left the house, wondering as he did so what he was going to do with so much time on his hands, he'd start by grieving his own death.  

"Out There"

                                                   “OUT THERE”   by Chrissy Varey-Brown 

 

                   

Part One – The Scrap Book

"What’s that Gran?”  “What, this?”  Replied Great-Gran Stephie, lifting both her six year old Great Grandson and the large, thick book on to her lap.  “It’s my Scrap Book.”   The little boy, Joseph, turned his face toward his Great Gran and frowned, “Scap Book,” he mispronounced, “What’s it for?”  “Scrap Book,” corrected his Great Gran, “And I used to collect and paste all sorts of things in it, but mainly pressed flowers.”  It was Josephs turn to correct, “No Gran,” he said, smiling into the old ladies face, “Copy and paste!”   Stephie gave a chuckle, “Well, let’s take a look inside my Book, and then we shall see who’s right.”  With that she turned the front cover to the introductory page. “Can you read what it says?”  Stephie asked quietly into Joseph’s ear.   It came as a pleasant surprise to Stephie that Joseph had grown so much since her last visit, last time she had sat him on her lap his ear, or rather, his little head had come level with her breast-bone.   Joseph leaned slightly forward, and making the shape of a computer mouse with his hand on her arm, read the words from the page, “My Book of Flowers by Stephie Hunt.  Who’s Stephie Hunt?”  Stephie smiled, “That’s me. Hunt was my last name before I married your Great Granddad.”  Another sense of surprise came to Stephie; it had been so long since she had heard her maiden name that she had all but forgotten it.  She felt a slight pressure on her arm then heard Joseph give an acknowledging “Oh,” as he transferred his hand from her arm to the page of the book, with his forefinger he gave a swift swipe from right to left.  “No, no Joseph, it is not like a computer screen,” said Stephie, covering his hand with her own, “To see what comes next we have to turn the page.”  Again Joseph turned his face toward Stephie, his little brow creased, “I don’t understand,” He murmured.   “Just watch what I do, and you will soon get the idea.” Replied Stephie, turning the page in the age old appointed manner.

The dried and pressed flower on the next page had long since lost its colour.  Not even its shape bore any passing resemblance to the pretty little meadow bloom it had been when Stephie had first picked it all those years ago.  “What is it?”  Asked Joseph, Stephie felt the boy had asked more out of politeness than true curiosity, but she answered anyway, “It’s a Cowslip, a wild flower.”  Joseph’s reaction was dramatic.  He pulled himself back into his Great Gran’s body, snatching his hand away from the book.   “Wild?  You mean from Out There?  Are we going to get sick now Gran?”  Stephie closed the book and put it on the floor beside her chair, wrapping her arms around Joseph she hugged him and said in a reassuring voice, “No, no, no sweetheart.  It can’t hurt us, it is sealed onto the page, no nasty bits of dust or spores can get out.”   Joseph nodded his belief in what she had said, and sliding off her lap he trotted out of the room, his duty of ‘spending a bit of time with Gran’ having been completed.    Letting out a sad sigh, Stephie reached down and retrieved the Scrap Book.  Each hermetically sealed page held a memory for her; each flower represented a day from her childhood.  Childhoods such as she had would never happen again, that was one of the prices they had to pay for Global Health.

Global Health had at first developed an immunisation programme.  The aim was to eradicate the last of the major causes of pre-mature death in the human population, AIDS, cancer, genetic heart disease, and Type 1 diabetes being amongst the forerunners up for elimination.  And it worked, but proved to be exorbitant in cost.  The next development was genetic modification.   A whole generation of developing foetuses were modified, Stephie’s children amongst them.  It was only now, by the third generation, that success was assured.   One of the added bonuses was that people lived longer, Stephie and her husband were well into their 100th year, and that was just with the initial immunisation programme.  Goodness knew how long the following generations would live, the ones that had the immunisation directly printed onto their DNA, there forever, passed down, inherited.  That wasn’t all that was passed down and inherited.   Along with a total immunity to killer diseases had come a total susceptibility to natural air born particles.  It was noticed in that first modified generation that even a short exposure to the outside world would result in fluid building up in the lungs.  However, it was also found that a couple of hours breathing in purified air would see an instant return to good health.  This wasn’t in just a handful of new born modified babies, this occurred in every child that had its DNA altered, and their subsequent offspring.  And so the Domes were built.  Whole cities and communities breathing purified air and kept safe from Out There.

Stephie and her husband could go Out There with no ill effects.   They didn’t bother anymore because of the rig-marole of having to be ‘purified’ before re-entering the Dome.  They had completed the stint that was required of their generation to, at some point during their long lives, take their turn Out There to see to the food crops. Hopefully soon, the robotically controlled Hydroponic Unit would be completed.  They had to ensure that the produce was properly cleansed of dust and pollen after harvest, only then, and after vacuum packing ready for micro-waving, could it be safely brought into the Dome.  Yet even the Domes’ crop fields weren’t really Out There.  Beyond them was the true ‘Wild.’   And it was to this ‘Wild’ Stephie and her husband had decided to go.  They had an overpowering need to see what had happened to it all.  They knew that there must be people Out There, not everyone had agreed to have their embryos modified, preferring to take their chances with whatever a natural life style brought along.  The real motive for them going was to see if it had all been worth it.  Was giving up the freedom of children running through flower laden pasture, turning their faces to the warmth of the sun, and breathing in the sweet summer scents, a price worth paying.

Stephie looked down at the Scrap Book on her lap.  She lovingly ran her hand across its front cover.  She had never felt any pain in all her long adult years, not even in child-birth.  She had never felt fear, never felt threatened.  Had never had the need to fight for survival.  She had no reason to object to the eradication of those foul diseases, how could she?  She was a mother; any one of those afflictions could have claimed one or more of her children.  No, that was not what was wrong; it was the way it was done.   With a snort of cynical laughter she remembered a story her own Gran had told her, not even a story, more a piece of advice.   Gran had said that when someone fell ill they had a prescription from the doctor.  They exchanged the prescription for medicines at the Chemist, but, warned her Gran, you must always read the piece of paper that came with the medicine.  This told you what side-affects to look out for and thus ensure that the medicine wasn’t doing you more harm than good.   That was the crux of the problem with the Global Health Immunisation Programme, not only had no ‘piece of paper’ been issued, they hadn’t even bothered to find out if one was needed.  Stephie looked down once more at the Scrap Book, she would take it with them when they left, hopefully it would become Book One of a series of pressed flowers, if not, then it would serve to remind her of a time when flowers grew in sweet scented meadows.

Part Two – It’s no Holiday

Stephie took off her hiking boots and socks and was about to fill her water-flask before soaking her aching feet in the clear, cold waters of the stream when her husband, Joe, grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back,  “No love, I wouldn’t do that, you don’t know, you really can’t be sure.”   His voice was rasping, dry from lack of fluids.  “Oh for crying out loud Joe, we didn’t leave the Dome just to die of thirst.”  She snapped back.   They had left what was once a main highway, now all fractured and pot-holed, three days ago.  The going, which was mainly through wooded areas, had been hard, but not impassable.  They had frequently come across mounds of rubble and crumbling bricks, evidence that this had once been a residential area.  This had alarmed Joe.  “What happened to the people?  Why, and when, did they leave their homes?”  He wanted to know, Stephie was a lot more pragmatic, “They probably left their homes for pretty much the same reason we left the Dome, got bloody fed up of living there.”  But Joe continued to fret, and eventually convinced himself that there had been a worldwide disaster, involving some sort of germ and/or chemical warfare.  He had refused to let her eat any familiar fruits they came across, growing in what once had probably been someone’s back garden.  And now, fourteen days into their trek of discovery, with the food supplies and water they had brought with them gone, he was refusing to let her drink out of a perfectly clear stream.  She was thirsty, hungry, hot, and tired and her temper, which hadn’t been tested for many, many years, was being sorely tested now by Joe’s increasing paranoia.

 She pulled her socks and boots back on, and whilst securing the Velcro fastenings she looked up at her husband.  He was frightened.  He had come, at her persistence, out into a world he no longer recognised, one that he felt sure was unsafe.  She instinctively knew that if she suggested that they return to the Dome he would have run all the way back, eager to encase himself once more in the structure of slave-like routine and safety precautions.  But those were the very reasons she had escaped.  Since they had been away she had felt an uplifting of her spirits, she had felt free, unfettered by the numerous notices that were posted all over the Dome, advising the reader to take this precaution, or that precaution, she particularly hated the one that said, “Remember, another’s safety depends on your diligence.”  Well, she’d had enough of it, a hundred years of constantly washing her hands, wearing a snood over her hair to prevent dander getting into the air vents, sleeping on disposable bed linen and having to steam clean the mattress every day.  And as for that bloody purification unit they had to withstand when they came in from the fields……..  If she were to voice these thoughts out loud she knew they would sound petty and selfish.   A hundred and twenty-five years old, and although she looked and felt as though she was in her thirties, she didn’t know how much longer she had left to live; surely she deserved a chance at freedom.

 

She stood and taking Joe’s hand she said, “Joe, love, look, if you want to go back to the Dome, go back, I’ll understand.  But don’t ask me to go.  I can’t, I won’t.  I shall not live like that anymore.  Right now I am going to walk back a way and pick some of those apples we saw, you can stay here and see if there are any fish in the stream, if there is, try to catch them.”  As she went to move away Joe held her hand firmly, preventing her from going.  With his head bowed he softly said, “I thought it would be like a, a kind of holiday, you know, out here, just the two of us, but it’s no holiday is it?  It’s not at all how I thought it would be, it’s terrifying.  Could you forgive me if I left you, could you?  Because I can’t live like this, any more than you can live in the Dome.  And now you are asking me to catch a living being to eat, that’s what you meant, isn’t it Stephie?  If we stay here our lives will become one of savagery.”  “Oh stop being so bloody melodramatic!” she shouted, wrenching her hand free she squatted beside the stream and cupping her hands,  she scooped up and drank the sweetest water she had ever tasted.   She had managed a second scoop when Joe grabbed her elbow and dragged her upright, yelling,  “You idiot! You foolish woman!”  Spinning round to face him, her temper finally flared, like flood water bursting over a dam.  Her voice hissed though gritted teeth, “If, if I don’t collapse in writhing agony and die within the next five minutes, fill your flask, grab some apples, and go.  We’ve known each other a long time, but it is time to part.  It’s not as though we have lived as husband and wife for the last twenty years, is it?  Hopefully we can part as the friends we have become……….. Joe, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

No more was said about staying or leaving. They made a meagre meal out of crab apples and  water, and as the sun slipped below the horizon they laid out their sleeping bags, said a subdued ‘goodnight’ and crawled into them.  Sometime during the night Stephie awoke to feel Joe’s arm round her.  It had been over twenty years since they had slept together, in any sense of the word.  She knew that in the morning she would find him gone.  This was his parting.  His final contact with a wife he had known for so long.  The parting would not hold the deep sorrow of death.  That was the strange thing about living for so long, it was almost as though you instinctively knew that your life together had a limit.  In the old days it would have come about by the death of one partner or the other, now you just drifted apart to lead your own individual lives.

 

Part Three – The Reality

Bird song awoke Stephie in the morning.  She lay there just listening, not thinking, just feeling the world around her.  The Autumn sun still held a fair bit of warmth and the nearby wooded area gave off an aroma of damp leaves and rotten wood.  The space beside her was empty, as she knew it would be.  Joe had quietly rolled up his bed roll, filled his flask and left to make the long trek back to the Dome, his home, but not hers.  Suddenly she sat up and grabbed her back pack, letting out a sigh of relief and clasping the pack to her chest, she laid back down.  Before he had left Joe had slipped her Scrap Book into her pack from his,  the Scrap Book ad become her banner for what she was trying to do, a symbol of her reason for being here.   Her stomach gave a loud rumble, which made her at first jump, and then smile.  She was still not used to the natural signals of her body, hunger was not something that happened back at the Dome.  She crawled  out of her bag and stretched.  Before she could think of finding something to eat, there was another natural function she had to attend to.  Pulling on her boots she grabbed the short handled latrine shovel from her pack and made her way to the woods.  After, she noted with some concern that her small bottle of ‘Medi-wash’ was nearly gone.  She could only hope that by the time it had completely run out, her body would be used to the germs and bacteria that her surroundings held.  She should be OK, after all,  she had spent the first twenty five years of her life outside the Dome, and it was surely just a matter of re-introduction.  Returning to what she now considered ‘her camp’ Stephie once more made a sparse meal from crab apples and water, she then set off to near where the crab apple tree was.  There was a remnant of what could have been a garden there.  She knew that any vegetables or fruit would, if they had managed to re-seed themselves, be small and feral, but they would be edible.

 Her foraging turned up meagre fare.   More crab apples, a handful of blackberries, and tuberous roots that could have been the wild ancestors of carrots and potatoes.  There had been abundance of red berries, and of course mushrooms, but she had no way of knowing if they were poisonous or not.  She had seen fish in the stream, but again her lack of knowledge gave her no real clue of how to catch them.  Even if one had by chance jumped into her hands, she had no way of cooking it.  Stephie realised that although there may have been a lot of things a person could know about, there was little they fully understood.  She knew about fire, everyone knew about fire, but she didn’t have the first clue how to get one started.  With sad acknowledgement she understood this much, unless she found other people, and soon, she would not survive.  She had not realised how ill equipped she was for life in the Wild.  She had honestly believed that a lost tribe of people would welcome her with open arms within a few days of leaving the Dome.  That she would settle with them in a life style that was both natural and free.  The Dome, for all its restrictions, had at least kept her warm and fed.

Part Four – Reflection and Conclusion

The days, especially the mornings, were getting chillier.  Stephie had fashioned her sleeping bag into a cloak, and as the days past, she noted, initially with concern, and then just noted, that she could wrap the sleeping bag/cloak around her more.  She had risked eating some of the mushrooms from the woods.  Suffering no ill effects she had added that particular variety to her menu.  She had even tried eating a fish raw.  A large bird had swooped and plucked it out of the stream.  A hastily thrown stone had chased it off its kill.  She ate it quickly, trying not to think of the all but tasteless cold and slimy flesh slithering down her throat, and had promptly thrown it back up again.  Obviously, a lifetime of veganism had made any kind of flesh indigestible.  She had to find people soon,  she knew from working in the Dome’s fields that Winter would bring a cessation of plant growth, she would die.  She had started to sigh at thoughts of the Dome, wistfully, wondering what Joe was doing, how Joseph was getting on, would he miss her?  She missed him, desperately.

 At night, wrapped in her cloak and buried under an insulating layer of dry leaves and twigs, she would think of Joseph.  She would picture his little face in her mind, and recall how his warm little body would snuggle close to hers whilst he read to her from his digital reading tablet.   She knew she would return to the Dome in the morning.  It hadn’t worked, and if she left it too late she would die out here.  She wanted to see her husband and their daughter, and their granddaughter, but she especially wanted to see Joseph, her one and only great grandchild.  She found herself doing something she hadn’t done since her own childhood, she was praying, fervently praying that she had enough strength to return home to the Dome, home to her family, home to the safety and security of a worry free life.

The man had scraped away the leaves and twigs from the odd shaped mound he had stumbled over whilst collecting firewood.  The material he uncovered was strange, but he only mused over it briefly, for underneath it, in fact it wrapped entirely around,  a dead woman’s body.  Although she was very emaciated he could see she should have been in the prime of womanhood, thirty or forty years old.  Hoping to gain some clue to her identity, she must have family, everyone has family, they needed to know, he gently slipped her travel bag out from under her head.  The only thing it contained was a book.  He presumed that the strange markings on the front cover were writings of some sort, but none that he had ever seen.  Looking through he soon made out that it was a collection of dead plants.  It was beyond him to understand why someone would want dead plants.  Not ten minutes’ walk away were pastures and meadows full of plants, alive, and beautiful, some even growing in this cold time of the year.  He shook his head sadly, obviously the woman had been wrong in the head and had strayed from the protection and love of her family.  He would return to his homestead and get his sons to bring her back on the hand cart.  She may be lost and nameless but at least she would have a decent burial, with her book, which had seemed to be so precious to her.