Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalipse

Tobias S. Buckell is the author of the novels Crystal Rain and Ragamuffin, as well as many short stories, which have appeared in magazines such as Analog and Nature, and the anthologies Mojo: Conjure Stories, So Long Been Dreaming, and I, Alien. Forthcoming is a collection, Tides from the New Worlds, and his third novel, Sly Mongoose.

A native of the Caribbean, Buckell lived for a time aboard a boat powered by a wind generator. As a result, he has long felt it would be natural to bring wind power to a flat, desert-like area, and when he began speculating about a fossil fuel-less future he looked to his own background for an alternative.

Buckell says that post-apocalyptic SF is often a way of doing literary penance for all our imagined or real modern sins. This story, however, is perhaps the most optimistic in this volume.

An audio version of this story is also available for free at Telltale Weekly.

The Zephyr was almost five days overdue.

Wind lifted the dust off in little devils of twisting columns that randomly touched down throughout the remains of the town. Further out beyond the hulks of the Super Wal-Mart and Krogers Mara stood and swept the binoculars. The platform she stood on reached up a good hundred feet ending in the bulbous water tank that watered the town, affording her a look just over the edge of the horizon. She strained her eyes for the familiar shape of the Zephyr’s four blade-like masts, but saw nothing but dirt-twisters.

The old asphalt highway, laid down back in the time of plenty, had finally succumbed to the advancing dirt despite the town’s best attempts to keep it out. The barriers lay on their side.

Mara still knew the twists and turns of the highway she’d memorized since twelve, when she’d first realized it led to other towns and people.

"Mara, it’s getting dark."

"Yes Ken."

Ken carefully put the binoculars into their pouch and climbed down the side of the tower. Pushing off down the dust piled at its feet she trudged down to Ken, now only a large silhouette in the suddenly approaching dusk.

"Your mother still wants to talk to you."

Mara didn’t respond.

"She wants to work it out," Ken continued.

"I’m leaving. I’ve wanted to leave since I was twelve, come on Ken… don’t start this again." Mara started walking quickly towards the house.

Ken matched her pace, and even though she could see him wondering what to say next, she could also see him examining the farm out of his peripheral vision. Their farm defied the dust and wind with lush green growth, but only because it lay underneath protective glass. Ken paused slightly twice, checking cracks in the façade, areas where dust tried to leak in.

"Their wind generator is down. They need help, Mara. I said I would go over tomorrow."

Mara sighed.

"I really don’t want to."

Ken opened the outer door for her, stamping his boots clean and letting it shut, then passed through as she opened the second door. Dust slipped in everywhere and covered everything despite precautions. Brooms didn’t quite get it all. Although Ken thought them a useless necessity Mara thought the idea of a vacuum cleaner quite fetching.

"I need you help Mara, just for an afternoon. You wouldn’t feel right leaving someone without electricity, would you?"

Ken was right, without the wind-generator her parents would be without power.

"Okay. I’ll help." Ken, she noticed, ever the wonder with his hands, already had a dinner set for the two of them. Despite being slightly cold from sitting out, it was wonderful.

#

The Zephyr was six days overdue.

Mara shimmied up the roof and joined Ken. He already had parts of the wind-generator laying out on the roof. She had just managed to brush past her father without being physically stopped. Mother stood around, looking wounded and helpless.

Ken made a face.

"The blade is all right. But the alternator is burned out."