A woman in a closed casket was lowered into the ground, never to open her eyes again. Cancer had taken her too early from her family. A little boy stood next to his father. Heavy rain pelted against the umbrella the man held for his son.
The little boy, not yet five years old, asked his dad, with a voice full of fear, “Will you go to heaven too, Daddy? Can I ask god to give Mommy back? Can we visit Mommy ever again? I’ll come with you to ask nicely. I’ll behave and be a good boy, I promise.”
A harsh wind blew. Several extended family members stood around the father and son pair. A pastor blessed the casket, giving the last rites. “On behalf of a woman whose soul has departed….”
Unable to bring himself to lie to his son, the father said, “Daddy’s sorry, son. Mommy left to go to heaven early; we must wait to see her again. Mommy loves you, even in heaven. It’ll be a long wait, son.” The father’s shoulders shook, but he stilled himself, only for his son. He could shed tears later. He had to stay strong for his precious little boy.
Tears began to stream down the little boy’s face, “Is it because I was bad? Will you leave me too, Daddy? Please don’t leave me alone. I’m scared.”
The father lowered himself, his knees caked in the mud. He put a hand on each shoulder of the little boy; he looked into his eyes, mustering all the love and strong will he could for his son, “Luke, Daddy will never leave you alone. Daddy loves you more than anything in this world. Always remember that, my amazing baby boy.”
As the little boy, Luke, broke down into incomprehensible sobbing, Paul Wallace took his son into a tight hug, patting him on the back all the while.
“I’ll be by your side, my son. Daddy's not going anywhere.”
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Time rapidly spun, over the course of fifteen years, one could witness sea levels rapidly rise across the Earth. Coastal cities became a memory of the past. Having to resettle far inland, international trade sunk to a mere fraction of what it was fifteen years ago.
Great fires blazed, and hurricanes of cataclysmic magnitude dominated the oceans. Earthquakes shook entire regions. Twisters tore through nations, billions died due to lacking food production, ruined infrastructure, rampant disease and hostile climate.
For a short time, perhaps less than six months, the rapidly worsening weather stopped, returning to a calm only remembered by the older generations. The wealthiest and best geographically positioned nations that remained celebrated, humanity had weathered the storm.
The remaining hundred million people could rebuild, rejoice and remember.
If only it were so easy.
On the remnants of the Internet, similar forum posts abounded on one particular day.
- Can you guys see this?
- See what? Give details, man. No one can read your mind.
- There’s no way you don’t know what I’m talking about. All my friends have it, too.
- Troll, no one has time for your crap, post somewhere else.
- Alright, fine, I guess it’s not everyone, then? Has anyone else had this weird screen pop up in their vision that won’t go away? It’s a ticking timer, only a few hours left. All it says is, ‘You have been selected.’
- I thought I was going insane, so it’s not just me?
- Right, I see it too, anyone have any idea what’s going on?
- What are we selected for? Does this have something to do with the weather finally letting up?
- I don’t see anything, no screens, nothing, regular everyday vision here.
- Me either. These guys must be in an elaborate troll, not funny guys.
- I see screens.jpeg
- Making memes already? Damn, beat me to it.
Hours later.
- Guys.
- What?
- My entire family disappeared.
With that, over forty million people vanished off the face of the Earth all at once. An ether pulse brushed over Earth shortly after, nuclear processes stopped, the Internet permanently shuttered, and highly destructive bombs became inert. The world returned to the technological level of the nineteen sixties. Perhaps worse.
At least the weather remained relatively tame. Only slowly returning in destructive capability. America, one of only ten nations to stay standing, dropped to a population of twenty million. Unable to travel the oceans due to the permanent hurricanes in the middle of them, each nation became isolated even with the tamer weather on land. The international community, with the death of the Internet, completely dissolved.
Within weeks, people corralled around radios, propaganda, government efforts, religious sermons, and military recruitment blasted at every hour. Civil war embroiled the remaining nations, each fighting for scarce resources and the safe interior.
America split into two factions: the Rapturists, closer to the Rocky Mountain range, and the Abductionists, closer to the Appalachian mountains. Both settled in America’s Midwest; Ideological differences sparked war within weeks after what was coined as the ‘Vanishing’ or, much later, ‘The First Wave’. Tens of thousands of people vanished per day, further fueling tensions.
Soon, the Rapturists declared war on the Abductionists. Every able-bodied young man without nationally critical skills became enlisted on the spot. Many bought into the lie they would be heroes, only to come back in pieces.
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“Private Luke, hit the target, shoot to kill. If you miss, they will not." Luke shot his rifle at a distant target dummy and missed yet again. “STAND AT ATTENTION.” A sergeant barked down Luke’s neck, unwilling to accept Luke’s current marksmanship skills.
Luke set down the rifle after clicking it to safe, and clamped his arms and hands to his side, stood straight, and said, “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“What did I say, you steaming pile of shit? SHOOT TO KILL. NOT SHOOT TO HIT GRASS. Stay at the range for another three hours and forget about chow; this floor better be full of hot brass and holes in the head of the target by the time I return. We only feed those worth more than the bullets they shoot.”
Gulping and ignoring the constant sweat and rising hunger, Luke repeated himself, “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
The drill sergeant nodded, “Recruits, except for Private Luke, gather, eat, shit, and attend. Be back here at 1300 hours.”
Young men across the shooting range screamed, “Yes, Drill Sergeant.” They gathered and left for the chow hall. Luke exchanged glances with one other young man, Josh Alderman. Luke nodded slightly at his pal.
Go on ahead, Josh—no need for us to both starve. Luke thought.
Josh hesitated but ultimately lined up. The Drill Instructor for the next squadron was informed of Luke’s predicament and assured the other Drill Instructor he’d whip Luke into shape.
Luke proceeded to miss the pinpoint target repeatedly; delirium from hunger overtook him. Another Drill Sergeant screamed at him constantly. Brass shells burned his skin. Exhaustion continued to build; constant drilling kept their sleep at a five-hour threshold daily.
After missing another shot, yet closer to the red dot than before, Luke internally hoped.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
For all that is holy, don’t put me on EC duty again tonight.
Cutting him out of thought was something being slipped into his pocket. Josh’s familiar back kept walking past, acting as if it had nothing to do with him. Managing to get a latrine break, Luke took out what Josh put in his pocket.
It was a plastic wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Luke devoured it, fighting back the tears. He’d continually failed at the shooting range and was constantly deprived of food as a result.
I’ll always have your back for this. Luke swore to himself.
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Luke held a black phone in the wired telephone booth. He excitedly spoke to his dad.
“Command said I’d be allowed leave after this assignment, Dad. I’ll finally be able to see you again after four months.”
“Glad to hear it, son. I’ll be waiting for you to return home safely. Any ladies you’ve got your eye on? It’s time you give me a grandchild!”
A finger tapped on Luke’s shoulder, “I’ve got to go, Dad; looks like time is up.”
The voice on the other end sounded hurried, “Luke, I don’t care what they say or threaten you with. Do whatever it takes to come home alive. Your Dad will always welcome you.”
Squeezing in his response before the line cut off, Luke managed a shaky, “I-I will, Dad. I will come back to you. I WILL see you again.”
The hand tapping his shoulder ripped him away, “Time to leave, Private Luke. You’re heading down range.”
Suppressing the emotion, Luke came back to the stone face he’d been beaten to learn, “Yes, chief. I’ll gather what I need for deployment.”
“See that you do; the Top Brass has a lot riding on this front; those dirty Rapturists won’t win this war.”
Luke nodded, rather than the war, all he wanted was to be home with his dad. Resentment grew within him, having to sacrifice himself for the gain of others who saw him as fodder. As he packed his duffel bag and cleaned his issued gear, Luke hid his expression but let his thoughts run wild.
I’ll never willingly give my fate to someone ever again. If I’m able, I want to stand at the top so no one can ever do this to Dad and me. I’m tired of never being around.
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Bullets flew, smoke ruined visibility, and burned shrapnel covered the no man’s land. Old military planes flew, creating additional craters in the ground. Occasionally, Luke would lose yet another friend to one of those air raids.
But he wouldn’t lose this friend, not if he had any say in it.
Luke hid behind a trench dug at the cost of hundreds of lives. He shot over the stump, doing his best to cover Josh, who was currently running back to the safety of the trenches. He could see Josh bleeding all over his legs; black soot covered his face, and his helmet had flown off during the madness.
Luke accurately shot plenty of men despite the tiny area to land a fatal blow. The constant drilling over a year ago had borne fruit.
That’s three men down, at least another five to go.
He pushed aside the thought of becoming an unfeeling monster. He needed to do this, or Josh wouldn’t make it back in one piece.
Command had forced Josh on a crazy mission to plant something near the other trench; despite the odds, the mad lad pulled it off, and in a few more seconds, Josh would clear over to safety. Luke fought with all he had to protect his brother in arms; they had each other’s backs dozens of times by now. This was another day in the shit, as Josh would say.
Josh brought willpower from god knows where, and he sprinted even further down to the trench; right as Luke thought he’d make it, a bullet shot out, piercing Josh’s hip. The battle-hardened man crashed to the floor, trembling, unable to move further.
Luke traced where the bullet came from and coldly shot his rifle; he swore he heard a sickening squish after he fired the gun. All that mattered to him was that position stopped attacking Josh.
Looking over to the no-man’s land, Luke saw Josh attempting to crawl, but his arms wouldn’t listen.
Shortly cursing to himself, Luke thought, Bastards are going to kill Josh at this rate. Getting ready to stand, Luke sent two short prayers, one to whatever was powerful enough to keep him alive and the other to his dad.
If I don’t come back from this, Dad, know that I love you. But you raised me to be the sort of man who refused to abandon his friends.
Luke’s ears rang with multiple thumps, and his heart pounded. To simmer down his shaking hands, he bit his thumb. Closing his eyes and opening them, he stood up, diving immediately.
Bullets flew over Luke’s head, he got into a crawling position, doing his best to focus on the mission at hand, his vision clouded.
One. Two.
One. Two.
One. Two.
As he reached Josh, he forced the man over his back and then dragged him along.
“What you are doing, Luke? Leave me here, man! You’ve got your dad waiting for you. Don’t risk this. You’ve done enough for me.”
Luke continued to drag his friend, a piece of shrapnel hit his calf. The adrenaline in his veins practically made the pain disappear.
“And you’ve got Rebeca waiting for you, you stubborn bastard. Either we both leave this hellhole, or neither of us does. Don’t argue. Let’s get you to the trench.”
“Luke, you’re leg… it’s hit, man. We’ll need gauze and disinfectant, and the depot ran out weeks ago.”
“We’ve got bigger issues, like reaching the trench.”
Bullets continued to fly over them; a bomb exploded far enough to miss them but near enough to make Luke lose his hearing.
He repeated the same mantra to himself as he took his friend out the clutches of war.
One. Two.
One. Two.
One. Two.
Finally in range, Luke exerted his muscles beyond their natural ability and flung Josh over into the trench; he rolled right after, landing hard next to his buddy.
He spoke, looking out in the smoke-filled sky, his chest heaving, “I swore to myself I’d have your back. And I meant it.”
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Josh had vanished, as had millions of others by now. People were increasingly at their wits’ end, believing the end times arrived.
End times or not, Luke’s dad was behind this front line; they’d been pushed back, and he wasn’t going to let the Rapturists capture New Hope, the city his father lived in.
Dad. I’m sorry, but your son would rather he goes than you. I’ve waited long enough for Mom.
Luke controlled his breathing, most of his position was compromised, a bomber completed its mission precisely as desired, much to Luke’s detriment. But what lay behind him was something the young man would rather die than give up. Around him were the dead bodies of his entire platoon; by using cover and the two Corporals next to him taking the brunt of the blast, he lived but was in bad condition.
Mow them down, or they’ll put Dad in danger.
His vision spotted a mounted fifty-caliber turret; he dragged himself to the weapon. And rained hell upon the dozens of men charging the no-man’s land. The stream of bullets sprayed from the turret, heat brushed against Luke’s face. Body after body exploded, as a fifty caliber bullet turned them in blood stains, often only their legs remaining.
Luke decimated their charge, but they never ended. After creating piles all by himself, eventually, one intrepid soldier sprang by and put a pistol to his head.
“Hands off the turret, now.”
Luke put his hands to his sides, off the turret handles.
“Good, now raise them up, slowly.”
Taking in a shaky breath, Luke complied.
Men continued to surround him, guns in all directions—a voice called out behind the ranks of soldiers.
“Capture him and stage an execution by firing squad. Should be enough to honor our dead brothers he needlessly killed. The scum of the Earth, should’ve been vanished too.” A grizzled African American man came out of the ranks and ordered his soldiers.
They kept their guns trained on him as they blindfolded Luke, gagged him, and then put something over his hands. After they secured Luke, he heard the same voice again.
“With this victory, the war is all but won. The rapture is nearly complete.”
Luke couldn’t help but think, I hope Dad gets away safely.
A blunt force knocked him into a state of semi-consciousness. At some point, likely hours later, water was splashed over his face, and he came to. Luke felt his knees against cold snow, his hands bound with rope.
He strained his body against rough tree wood. He faintly heard the click of loading rifles.
“Make sure the Abductionist’s sheep is awake to feel the pain.” Luke couldn’t identify this voice.
Luke felt a hand brush roughly against his face and slightly lift the blindfold before putting it back down.
“Reporting, Colonel, the prisoner of war is conscious.” Another voice called out.
Luke’s deadened heart pumped with fear. The end was here; his mouth became dry, palms streamed sweat, and breathing became erratic. He wanted to curse them aloud, but the gag prevented that.
“Excellent, at my command.”
Luke’s mind raced, and survival instincts raged as he fought against his binds. Whispers of defeat clouded his mind, breathing heavily, Luke begged within himself.
If there’s anyone out there listening. I don’t care what the cost is, whatever your condition, desire, or need of me. As long as you give me a chance to see my Dad one more time, I will pay any price.
“Ready and…FIRE!”
ANY PRICE.
An emotionless voice transmitted directly into his mind.
[You have accepted the position of ‘The Last’]
Luke heard the rifles click, but no bullets came out. No confused voices followed. All that informed Luke’s senses was deafening silence. After waiting for minutes, Luke grew confused but pushed it down. First, Luke worked his rope binds against the tree he was bound to.
After what seemed like hours, they came apart, his wrists suffering from severe rope burns. He took off his blindfold and ripped out the gag. Gasping for crisp air, Luke coughed and struggled, snow falling on him. Opening up his eyes, Luke saw…nothing. All the people around were gone. Guns lay in the snow.
Gray clouded over the air, and time slowed. Control returned to Luke.
“I see. This entire time, it was my fault.”
Another part of him spoke internally: Do you regret it?
“No. I made that pact, and even knowing the price would be a year stranded on Earth and forced into a death trial right afterward, I’d do it again. And again. As many times as it takes.”
Why? The second vanishing happened because of that wish.
“Ha, you’re me. You already know why. Anything for dad.”
What are you? A soldier?
“No.”
A failure, a coward, an abandoned reject?
“No.”
A broken man? An unfeeling monster?
“No.”
Then say it. What are you, Luke Wallace?
“I…” The last man on Earth looked to his right hand; essence swirled to the surface.
“I am…” Luke clutched his hand; a resolve settled over his body.
“The Reaver.”
Cracks formed in the grey paused world, and the Illusion shattered. Luke overcame the hurdle that stopped the weak-willed from ascending.
Facing the hell within themselves and accepting it.