The End Has Come

The answer could either be very long or very short. The stories of what had happened before and during the fall were terrifying and intriguing, but the ruins no longer held any hint of those tales. They were bones, in the process of disappearing. “It was sad,” she said finally.

“I’m still working through the histories,” he said. “For training, right? There’s a lot of diaries. Can be hard, reading how it was at the fall.”

“Yes.”

In isolation, any of the disasters that had struck would not have overwhelmed the old world. The floods alone would not have destroyed the cities. The vicious influenza epidemic — a mutated strain with no available vaccine that incapacitated victims in a matter of hours — by itself would have been survivable, eventually. But the floods, the disease, the rising ocean levels, the monster storms piling one on top of the other, an environment off balance that chipped away at infrastructure and made each recovery more difficult than the one before it, all of it left too many people with too little to survive on. Wealth meant nothing when there was simply nothing left. So, the world died. But people survived, here and there. They came together and saved what they could. They learned lessons.

The road curved into the next valley and they approached Southtown, the unimaginative name given to this district’s main farming settlement. Windmills appeared first, clean towers with vertical blades spiraling gently in an unfelt breeze. Then came cisterns set on scaffolds, then plowed fields and orchards in the distance. The town was home to some thousand people scattered throughout the valley and surrounding farmlands. There was a grid of drained roads and whitewashed houses, solar and battery operated carts, some goats, chickens pecking in yards. All was orderly, pleasant. This was what rose up after the ruins fell, the home that their grandparents fled to as children.

“Will you let the local committee know we’re here?” Bert asked.

“Oh, no. We don’t want anyone to have warning we’re here. We go straight to the household. Give them a shock.”

“Makes sense.”

“This is your first case, isn’t it? Your first investigation?”

“It is. And . . . I guess I’m worried I might have to stop someone.” Bert had a staff like hers but he knew how to use his for more than walking. He had a stunner and a pack of tranquilizer needles on his belt. All in plain view. If she did her job well enough he wouldn’t need to do anything but stand behind her and look alert. A useful tool. He seemed to understand his role.

“I doubt you will. Our reputation will proceed us. It’s why we have the reputation in the first place. Don’t worry.”

“I just need to act as terrifying as the reputation says I do.”

She smiled. “Exactly — you know just how this works, then.”

They wore brown tunics and trousers with gray sashes. Somber colors, cold like winter, probably designed to inspire a chill. Bert stood a head taller than she did and looked like he could break tree trunks. How sinister, to see the pair of them approach.

“And you — this is your last case, isn’t it?”

That was what she’d told the regional committee, that it was time for her to go home, settle down, take up basket weaving or such like. “I’ve been doing this almost twenty years,” she said. “It’s time for me to pass the torch.”

“Would you miss the travel? That’s what I’ve been looking forward to, getting to see some of the region, you know?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I wouldn’t miss the bull. You’ll see what I mean.”

They approached the settlement. Enid put her gaze on a young woman carrying a basket of eggs along the main road. She wore a skirt, tunic, apron, and a straw hat to keep off the sun.

“Excuse me,” Enid said. The woman’s hands clenched as if she was afraid she might drop the basket from fright. As she’d told Bert, their reputation preceded them. They were inspectors, and inspectors only appeared for terrible reasons. The woman’s expression held shock and denial. Why would inspectors ever come to Southtown?

“Yes, how can I help you?” she said quickly, nervously.

“Can you tell us where to find Apricot Hill?” The household they’d been sent to investigate.

The woman’s anxiety fell away and a light of understanding dawned. Ah, then people knew. Everyone likely knew something was wrong, without knowing exactly what. The whole town would know investigators were here within the hour. Enid’s last case, and it was going to be all about sorting out gossip.

“Yes — take that path there, past the pair of windmills. They’re on the south side of the duck pond. You’ll see the clotheslines out front.”

“Thank you,” Enid said. The woman hurried away, hugging her basket to her chest.

Enid turned to Bert. “Ready for this?”

“Now I’m curious. Let’s go.”