Chapter 2
Unsustainable Paradise
Five days following the isolated insurrection within his enclave, the chatter had quieted to something manageable. Leon felt satisfied enough, and he’d acquired a new protégé from the mix, so he couldn’t complain. The long days of summer slowly faded, and the chilly fall winds were on the forecast.
A high noon sun beat down on his face while he took a stroll with the young man. Leon wore his duster and covered much of his sunburnt face with a wide brimmed hat. He walked with a new staff eating into the dirt with each step; nothing special, just a new piece of driftwood he’d plucked from the dried lakebed south of the enclave.
The youth, Jackson, a man in his early twenties, followed a step or two behind him, close enough for earshot, but not enough to keep a constant watch. He carried a short knife tucked by his side. Always a good idea to carry protection in the wasteland, and he could tell that Jackson felt a little intimidated. There weren’t many immortals left and though Leon had served as leader of the Midwest enclave for longer than he’d been alive, last week had been the first time Jackson had seen an immortal in action.
A carbine such as the one the late Morgan wielded could certainly kill any man, immortals included. Administered prior to the collapse, the cure rendered Leon immune to age, some diseases, cancer and little else, a sad fact that a number of immortals had faced at one point or another. He’d amassed his fortune and followers through careful planning and rich embellishing.
“You probably have some choice questions,” Leon said, continuing his pace. “I can answer three today, so choose wisely.”
“Why three?” Jackson asked.
“For reasons of arbitrary pacing, boy. You have two left.”
He caught the light curse Jackson uttered beneath his breath. Leon kept his brisk stride while he waited patiently for a reply.
“What was life like before the collapse?”
Leon stopped and slammed his staff into the charred, cracked dirt and smiled. He spun around to face the boy. Jackson wore some tattered garbs that resembled a tunic and some studded body armor. His short, dirty blonde hair ruffled a bit from the afternoon winds but otherwise stuck in place.
“Now, that’s a good one,” Leon said. “In a word, paradise, at least compared to this sweltering rot hole. I honestly recall very little though. Of the surviving immortals, I was in the fifth generation, so I was about ten when my parents moved us out into the wasteland. It was a smart move, considering the economic climate at the time. Demand for food and medicine outstripped the supply.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Jackson said. “How could a perfect civilization collapse all of a sudden?”
“It’s not so hard when you think about it, Jackson,” Leon said. He poked his staff into the ground and drew two circles through the dirt. He crouched down and place three rocks in one and five rocks in the other. “Imagine a world without any crisis of any kind. Resources are plentiful.” He paused and grabbed a pile of rocks from the side. “One day, around three centuries ago, some bloke patents an immortality drug. It’s cheap and easy to distribute, so naturally everyone and their uncle’s going to want a slice. Think of a world where you never need to say goodbye to your grandma. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“It actually does,” Jackson said.
Leon smiled and dropped the pile of rocks he’d been holding.
“Well, now you’ve got a problem. There aren’t enough resources to go around and in five generations, infrastructure declines irreparably and factions fight over increasingly scarce resources. Bombs drop, and rivers dry up. It’s not so nice anymore, is it?”
“Why didn’t people just stop having children?” Jackson asked. “They’re already living forever.”
Leon sighed. “Son, institutions across time have tried and failed to curb procreation. It can’t be done, and believe me, the government tried. Chemical castration was on the table at one point, or so I heard.”
Leon stood up and dusted off his coat for show. He adjusted his hat and kept his eye planted on the horizon. The wasteland stretched on until the heavens met the ground ahead on the horizon. The land bent and swayed but ultimately faded into a soft blue atmospheric tint. A bright sun drifted high in the sky but had begun its descent to the west.
“This was a nice chat,” Leon said. “We should head back though.”
Jackson nodded, and Leon strode past him toward his enclave’s relative direction. He tipped his hat down to block out the sun’s rays and popped his staff against the soil as he made his way. It was true, more or less. The populace of centuries past had proved so resistant to population control measures that, at one point, people had boycotted the drinking water.
The cure was a disaster, not a godsend, and it left humanity nearly extinct. Leon knew of about two other enclaves in North America and a handful of others across the world. Humankind had dwindled down to the thousands, with war and disease killing more off every year. The one thing he didn’t know was how many immortals remained. He’d heard of some in China and Australia but none around here.
“Sir!” Jackson said, grabbing his arm. Leon froze on instinct, and a flare of his nostrils caused the young man to pry his hand. “I’m sorry, but I saw some movement to the north.”
Leon turned and eyed the dust clouds gathering in the distance. A sizable cluster kicked up and floated across a tiny section of the wastelands to the north. He squinted to make out some basic geometric shapes. He couldn’t discern human figures, but the brunt of it told him what he needed to know. Combine motorists, the lowest of scavengers, wanderers without an enclave. He held no delusions of outrunning them, so he sat down and fished out some reading material.