The Seventh Age of Man
Part 1: Regeneration
By Kevin Gordon
Copyright 2011 by Kevin Gordon
Chapter 1
On every radio, television screen, cellphone and portable media player, on a crisp, cool day in late December, a countdown could be heard.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
Across the world, in every language, the non-descript male voice proceeded evenly, instantly drawing the attention of all who listened.
“Seven . . . six . . . five . . .”
The governments of the world scrambled, dove at their defense systems, scanning the skies for missiles, bombs, planes—anything to explain the sudden calamity they all now faced.
“Four . . . Three . . . two . . .”
Couples embraced, sharing a deep, a passionate kiss. Mothers clutched their children close, as men gripped their knives, guns, pitchforks and shovels, all eyes cast upward in anticipation of doom.
“One.”
Across the world, regardless of color, country or faith, the world’s population aged fifty years. All plant life, animal life, and human life, that was not underwater was affected. A third of the world’s human population died instantly, whether from the toll of the years or the stress of the shock. All plant life died out instantaneously, along with ninety-five percent of animal life. The Earth shut down in an instant, huddling under the proverbial covers, wondering what would happen next.
Chapter 2
There was no way Brian was sleeping tonight.
Overhead the springs creaked again and again. Starting slowly, they quickly built to the inevitable crescendo of groans and delicious screams. He tried to smother his head and cover his ears, but his mother was a moaner, with a deep, bass growl that penetrated the thickest of pillows. All he could do was wait it out.
Brian was the oldest of four children born to the Patrick family. At fourteen, he was born two years to the day after ‘the Countdown,’ as it was called. His parents didn’t want kids, but when the whole world loses over two-thirds of its population in less than a year, people do what they need to survive. The remaining three governments of the world ordered any and all sexually able citizens to procreate. Brian shared his bedroom with his three siblings, and knew more were definitely on the way.
“Can’t they just get it over with?”
Iris, his twelve year old sister, giggled in her bed. “I think it’s funny! They fight and fight all day, but as soon as night comes—bam!” Her sheets exploded around her, as her wide brown eyes gleamed in the moonlight. She had a face that favored her Hispanic mother, with olive skin, long, black hair and rounded cheekbones. “You should be happy. At least you don’t have to spend all day cleaning out the city.”
Brian nodded, as he lay his head back on the pillow. He knew he was one of the lucky ones. Every day, he helped at Scott Air force Base, just outside St. Louis in Illinois, learning systems of one of the recovered Space Shuttles, assisting in prepping the massive ship for launch. Most other kids he knew had to work on moving the dead bodies out of St. Louis—the next city in line for reclamation.
He turned to look out the small window in his room, which was slowly being caked over with dust from the dust storm outside. The one thing he loved about working on the shuttle was that he got to stand on the top of the maintenance scaffolding and breathe in the clear air. No dust, no smell of death, just pure air.
Finally his parents stopped, and Brian was able to relax and try to get some sleep. And just as he had dozed off, as his conscious mind finally folded away, Iris poked him insistently in his arm.
“What is it?!” he snapped, turning away and trying to bury his head in the pillow, but she would have none of it. She poked him again and again in the same spot and she wouldn’t quit, no matter how much he tried to ignore her. So he sat up, let out a long sigh, and resigned himself to facing her. “Whaddya want?”
“Nothing.”
A part of him wanted to beat her upside the head, but the rest of him was mildly amused. He always was the compassionate one, the listener, the patient boy who used diligence and persistence to solve a problem. And though he was only fourteen, he was effectively the man of the house. While his parents were both sixty-seven, they had the Effective Mentality of seventeen-year-olds. Seventeen-year-olds who had keep it together and raise a family, seventeen-year-olds who had to learn how to walk and talk, have sex, breast-feed, work, and clean. Seventeen-year-olds denied the typical idyllic adolescence, who now found themselves in bodies that were withering and fading away. For when the Countdown hit they were two years old, and in an instant their bodies were those of fifty-two year olds. They had sucked it up and accepted their share of the responsibility of rebuilding Earth, but once they were settled into a daily groove, once the electricity flowed as freely as the water and every home had its equal share of plasma TVs and DVD players, they tried their best to enjoy their mental youth, and were both more than happy to have a son that was the responsible one.
“Come on, Iris, what is it?”
She sat on the floor and leaned against the bed, pulling her pajama jacket close, as there was a chill in the air. She always let her long hair cover her eyes to hide her shyness.
“Are you gonna make babies with Rachel?”
He lay back on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He had blue eyes, like his father, and they more often were opened absently in a dream-like state. “I dunno. I guess I hafta.” All children were required to have a child by their fifteenth birthday, or risk having a mate automatically assigned. “She’s kind of cute.” He had just finished his sex education class, filled with movie after movie of pornography. It was the one class that was segregated by sex—males watched hard-core porn, while women watched films about the love a child can give – the need for family. At first Brian didn’t like it, but by the end of the term, he, like every other boy, had grown fidgety and frustrated, waiting for release.
Iris sulked. “I don’t wanna.”
He suddenly understood what the conversation was really about. He clambered out of bed, and scooted beside her on the dusty floor.
“You’re only twelve—you’ve got three more years yet. Why, is someone already interested?”
“Yeah. Two boys at school put my name on the list.” Iris was one of the most well-developed children, with a tall, strong frame, ample bosom, and deep brown, seductive eyes. She dressed in the most tomboyish of clothes, but she was given a gift that couldn’t be hidden or denied. Her mother’s curves always could be caught by a boy’s eye, no matter how thick the pair of pants.
“I’m . . . I’m scared.” She started to cry, and Brian put his arm around her, drawing her close. “Have you ever seen mommy and daddy at night? Have you seen what they do?! I just don’t want that.”
“I know, I know.” He forced her to stand, and walk over to the window. “But look out there, Iris. There is so much of nothing. So much death! You have to clean it up every day, so you know better than me.”
She moaned softly as she wiped the mucus from her runny nose. “I . . . I don’t wanna leave you, Brian. I don’t wanna leave my home!”
“You won’t be far, Iris. If you need me, I’ll always be there. All you’ll hafta do is call.”
“Why do we need to do this? Why can’t we just be left alone?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think anyone knows. Everyone’s just scared—especially the old people. They don’t know if another Countdown’s comin’ that’ll kill ‘em all like it did their parents. They all need to make sure that people will survive.”
“But you’ll figure it out, won’t you?” she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You’ll go u
p in that ship, go up to the Watchers, and they’ll tell you—right?”
I sure hope so. “Yeah, that’s what’ll happen. Now come on—we both have a lot to do tomorrow.”
The plate was literally thrown in front of Brian and by some miracle the pancakes didn’t fall off the edge.
“Look good?”
“Yeah, dad,” he nodded in reply, as he dug into the food. Joe crossed his arms, looming above him.
“Two pancakes, three slices of bacon, two eggs. Mmmm.” Joe looked like he could spit, he was so angry. “Just ‘cause you got a big brain, you get that damned food.”
“Sorry, dad,” he replied, with a meek shrug. He always apologized. It was a habit he acquired early on that seemed to save him from the coarser aspects of his parents. But lately, its charm seemed to have worn off.
“Sorry?! What you feel sorry for me?” He leaned down close to Brian’s head. “You don’t think I don’t take some of that, just for me? After all, who raised you? Who fed you? Without me as your dad, you might’ve just been another normal sack of shit like your sisters or brother, spendin’ every damned day draggin’ the dead outta their cars.”
Joe shoved Brian’s head, then sat down in front of the fish-protein cake he had for every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The fish were the only things left alive after the countdown, the only things that didn’t need to be brought back from extinction. For a short while, almost two years, everyone had a smorgasbord of treats from the now dead supermarkets that littered the landscape. But once the Homestead was established, once the government organized a militia, all food was put in storage, given only to those deemed important to the survival of the human race. For all others, there was an ample supply of fish, and that became their only sustenance. Fish and algae, with jellyfish for something special. Everyone Brian knew that didn’t work in the complex ate the fish protein for their meals and a part of him wished he could eat it with them, just so he wouldn’t feel this terrible guilt and shame. So he shoveled the eggs down right with the bacon and hurriedly slicked up the pancakes, just so it all would be gone and they couldn’t hate him so much.
Iris bounded in, with Jacob and Mary in tow. Jacob and Mary were twins, but their father kept it well hidden, because twins were thought to possess a gene for larger quantities of children, and while he didn’t like Brian, he did love Jacob and Mary, and didn’t want anything to happen to them.
“Come on, you need to finish all your breakfast. The bus’ll be here any minute!”
“Yeah dad,” they all moaned, digging into their fish patties. Iris kept glancing sideways at Brian, and he couldn’t figure out why.
“Another fine day!” yelled his mother, Jess, as she stumbled into the kitchen. Perpetually drunk, she could afford to be, as all women with four or more children were exempt from work. She spent her days cleaning the house, bitching to her other stay-at-home neighbors, and trading with some of the rogues that trolled the neighborhood, giving up this or that bauble for any and all alcohol she could get. “So how long’ll you be at work today?”
“Long enough to get us the food we need,” retorted Joe. “Why don’t you try to stay in today? We’re startin’ to run outta things for you to give away.”
She slapped him hard, and he slapped her hard back. Brian and Iris cringed, while Jacob and Mary chattered and laughed, enjoying their patties.
Joe wolfed down the last of his patty. “God, I hate you.”
“I hate you right back,” she spat, slamming some pots into the sink. She threw open the door to the fridge, slamming bottles and cans around. Iris took one last look at Brian, and cleared her throat.
“Dad, do I hafta go to school?” she asked.
“‘Course you do, sweetie,” answered Jess, slurring her words. “How else are you gonna learn? Besides it’s only for an hour. Then you get to spend the rest of the day playin’ hide-and-seek with the dead people.”
“Yeah, but, well . . .”
Joe slammed down his beer with a loud thud. Brian never understood how with food so hard to come by, there always seemed to be an ample supply of beer. “Come on sweetness, spit it out.”
Iris paused for a moment, before saying; “a couple of boys have already put my name up, you know, for . . .”
“Children,” blurted Brian, hating to see his sister suffer. “They got her marked already.”
“So what?” asked Joe with a sneer.
“She’s only twelve!” shouted Brian. “She’s too—”
Joe wound his hand back, behind his head, and slapped Brian so hard everyone in the room could hear something snap, as droplets of blood flew onto the plates.
“Do you know how old we were when we had you?! We had an Effective Mentality of two-years-old, two-years-old! I can remember it like it was yesterday. I could barely say ‘momma,’ when they made me do your mother. You want to talk about bein’ afraid? When I was cummin’ in your mom, I still didn’t even really know what a ‘baby’ was. I didn’t even know what the world was! All I did know was that somethin’ real bad happened, and I had to do my duty. And when your ma started cryin’ under me, wailin’ like she was gonna die, all I wanted to do was stop.” He began to break down, as Jess came out from the fridge, to put a hand on his shoulder. “All I wanted to do was stop! But they pushed me down, and pulled me up, back and forth, ‘till I was done, just because she and I had these adult bodies. And all I know is that everything in here,” he said, pounding on his chest where his heart would be, “hurt like I was gonna die myself! And that look on your ma’s face.” He leaned back in his chair, all his strength gone. Jess threw her arms around him, and cried with him.
“Iris, I know it’s hard, but you’ve got a lot more of a chance to be ready than I ever had.” Jess wiped the tears off Joe’s face tenderly, kissing him on his cheeks. “Now you don’t need to be with a boy that’s mean to you, that’ll beat you, but you need to be with a boy, and the sooner you choose, the sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get on with the rest of your life.”
Iris nodded in silence, afraid to say a word. Brian gathered her things along with his, and helped her out the door, as their mother and father slowly resurrected their souls from their dark, private graves.
Chapter 3