Was ending before their eyes.
As it should, Kasey couldn’t help but think, and startled as one of the twins began to cry. The sound was louder than she expected; she’d unwittingly drifted into the living room to better see the broadcast and as Mrs. O’Shea changed the channel, Kasey found herself staring at her dad. “The Planetary Protection Committee is set to convene at 17:00 Worldwide Time today,” came the broadcaster’s voice-over as David Mizuhara took the P2C podium. “Together, with Worldwide Union officers and delegates from the twelve territories, they will determine humanity’s next step during its most critical hour.”
The audio cut to her dad’s press briefing. His monotone voice filled Leona’s living room. “Here at the eco-cities, we thought to delay the crisis via lifestyle change, but despite the best efforts of P2C and those under its jurisdiction, the crisis has come to pass. Nevertheless, we remain committed to the health of this planet and its people. As such, we’ve been recruiting solutions for the better part of eighteen months now. And I can assure you…” A pause that would be misinterpreted as losing his place in the Intraface-fed lines but Kasey knew, from the way her dad pushed up his glasses, it was because he had seen a factual error. “I can assure you we have the best options, going forward, under our consideration.”
There it was. The factual error. The blatant lie, unless Barry had found a promising submission in the last—Kasey checked her Intraface time—eighty-four hours.
David Mizuhara went on to talk about Environmental Control and Alteration Technologies. But even if every outside territory followed ECAT cleanup protocols, the balancing agents being pumped into the atmosphere wouldn’t be able to neutralize the deadly compounds before their chemical bonds broke and re-formed into deadlier ones, the entire process expedited by increased global temperatures. It was as Linscott Horn had said, Kasey thought darkly. The dominos had been set centuries ago. One quake, and they all fell.
The people had brought this upon themselves.
“Live updates can be accessed through the Worldwide Union forum-feeds,” said the broadcaster, voice returning. “The world will be watching, and we will be unpacking developments as they occur.”
“See?” said Mrs. O’Shea to the twins. “Experts are going to make things better.”
She said more. The broadcaster said more. Both their voices faded as Kasey retreated back against the wall—the wall giving way to a door. It closed behind her, sealing her into the bathroom, Celia’s favorite space in the whole house. Eco-city showers relied on UV and pressurized air, and everfibers, like the sweaters Celia had gifted Leona, were self-cleaning. Using water for anything other than hydration was wasteful. But here, there was a tub and a non-fuel-bar sink. Kasey ran the tap to drown out the news, and as the water gushed, her rank flashed in her mind’s eye.
Rank: 2.19431621
Rank: 2.19431622
Rank: 2.19431623
Her heartbeat rose with her rank: 105 bpm. 110 bpm. 115 bpm. She looked up at the mirror over the sink. She imagined breaking it with her bare hands, like Actinium had.
Couldn’t do it, in the end.
* * *
The world will be watching.
Everyone will know you didn’t help.
No one saw Kasey leave the house, or run to the pier. She stopped when her toes met the edge.
Couldn’t jump, either.
The ache in her chest returned, metastasizing to her lungs. She took a deep breath.
And let the pain out.
||||?||||?|||
THE SCREAM SPLITS THE DAWN when I’m halfway to the house. It propels me into a sprint, over the porch steps and into the kitchen, my eyes darting around to see who’s hurt, who’s died, but it’s just the kettle, come to a boil on the stovetop.
Right. People can do more things than die.
Like prepare breakfast in my absence. “Morning,” says the boy, bustling about the kitchen with a towel tied around his hips like an apron. “Where’d you…”
He trails off when he sees my sorry state.
To paint a picture: I’m soaked up to the waist and dripping all over the floor. My feet are caked in sand and some stray kelp’s plastered around my ankle. I have no idea what I can say to dodge the boy’s inquiries so I don’t try, offering up “beach yoga” as my explanation before I climb onto the kitchen counter and toss the house key onto the highest shelf.
There. Now, I might fall and break an arm in the middle of the night, but at least I won’t wake up like I did this morning, standing waist-deep in the sea as the surf hurtled toward me.