Stage 3 - Bargaining

Posted on Thu Jan 30th, 2025 @ 5:45pm by Niyah Monroe

1,301 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Towers of the Void (Series Premiere)
Location: D.C. Outskirts

There was enough one could say about the Ford truck she had basically stolen from her neighbour, but it had helped Niyah get around the abandoned husks of vehicles in the road. D.C. loomed in the distance, the familiar skyline broken and jagged. Pillars of black smoke darkened the already gathering dusk. She hit a bump in the road, the duffle rumbled in the passenger seat. She reflexively put a hand out to prevent it from rolling off, pulling it back onto the seat fully. “Don’t worry, Liv,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the engine’s steady growl as she steered around a burned out Tesla. “I’m coming.”

The closer she got to the city the more frequent the destruction became. Cars started to litter the road, she spent more time next to the road than on it. Some vehicles bore scorch marks, their windows shattered inward, while others had their doors flung wide open, belongings spilled out as if the owners had vanished mid-escape. It wasn't long before it became impossible to continue with the truck.

A delivery truck had jackknifed across three lanes, surrounded by a cluster of burned-out sedans. Niyah killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the scene. Her pulse quickened as the silence pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of the wind through the wreckage. She wanted to reverse, find another way in. But she knew there wasn't going to be one, and the longer she'd take to get to where she was going the higher the chance..

"No." She couldn't allow herself to think anything of the sort. "We've always been good. We've always recycled." She got out of the truck, pulling the dufflebag with her. "We've donated to charities." Her shoes crunched on glass and debries on the ground. She didn't dare look inside the cars. There were people that had been in them when whatever invading force had struck weren't as lucky as her.

It seemed odd to speak of luck under these circumstances. Perhaps thirsty that had been swiftly taken out had been the lucky ones. Niyah was pushing through the remains of a thriving city. Glass shattered over the ground, shells littered among them. There wasn't a steady step to take in the streets of Washington D.C.. Heading for the Smithsonian, it started to become more and more clear that whoever did this was ruthless. Entire buildings had been set ablaze. Rows upon rows of cars riddled with bullets.

Men. Women. Children. None had been spared.

No, she couldn't think like that. Some had to have been spared. She had been spared. Olivia could've been too. She had to believe that. She would give anything for that to be true. She was getting into the more urbanised areas of D.C. and it was clear there had been a thorough effort to cull the local population. The smell was starting to become thicker, and it joined with the black smoke making it more and more difficult to breathe.

Niyah had to suppress a cough when she heard the hum of machinery. She froze mid-step. Breath caught in her throat, straining against the smell and smoke. She ducked behind the twisted remains of a car, her heart pounding. A drone hovered several blocks ahead, its pale blue searchlight sweeping methodically across the road.

“Shit,” she whispered, clutching the duffle bag tighter.

She crouched lower, pressing herself against the cool metal of the car as the drone drifted closer. Its mechanical whirring was almost hypnotic, a relentless, alien sound that seemed to vibrate in her bones.

'Please don’t see me. Just keep moving.'

The thought repeated in her mind like a prayer. She wasn’t sure who she was praying to—she never believed anyone was listening—but in this moment it was all she had. A sudden realisation about the common aphormism about there being no atheists in foxholes. It felt hypocritical.

The drone hesitated, its searchlight lingering on a burned-out car a few yards away. Niyah’s nails dug into her palms as she held her breath, choking down a cough, eyes watering from the smoke. Then, as if suddenly distracted, the drone turned ninety degrees and drifted down a side street, its hum growing fainter and fainter.

Niyah almost didn't dare to exhale, and did so as quietly as possible, her hands shaking and sweaty. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

She kept trekking through downtown until she made her way to the National Mall. It stretched out before her, its once-pristine lawns now churned into a wasteland of mud and ash. The Washington Monument rose in the distance, its obelisk cracked and crumbling, its broken tip leaning precariously. The Reflecting Pool was dry, its concrete basin fractured and littered with debris.

She stepped onto the edge of the Mall, her boots sinking slightly into the mud. Her gaze lingered on the Washington Monument, a memory tugging at the edges of her mind. She and Olivia had stood here once, hand in hand, laughing as tourists jostled for the perfect photo.

“Take one with me,” Olivia had teased, pulling her close. “You’ll want to remember this someday.”

Now, the scene before her was impossible to reconcile with that memory. The world they had known was gone. But Olivia wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

It was only a short walk from there to the Smithsonian, the moment it came into view she saw its iconic domed roof partially collapsed. Getting closer it became clear that it too was hit quite hard. The grand staircase leading to its entrance buried beneath rubble, bodies buried beneath that. Niyah choked back a lump in her throat and climbed carefully over the debris.

Inside, the air was thick with dust, her flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. The shattered remains of exhibits littered the floor—glass cases reduced to shards, priceless artifacts buried beneath concrete and steel. She passed a toppled display on ancient civilizations, the placard still visible: “Preserving the Past for Future Generations.” The irony made her stomach turn.

Her flashlight danced around the horrible scene in front of her, trying to remember the direction of the offices. She had been there before, of course, but the current sight did nothing to jog the memory. She wandered as if in a haze. Her legs carried her without her head giving any true directions. She couldn't remember how she got there but it seemed like the blink of an eye that she was now in front of an office door. A metallic nameplate stuck to it.

Olivia Flowers, M.A.
Cultural Heritage Specialist
Department of Digitization and Preservation
Smithsonian Institution

Heart pounding loudly in her chest, vision blurred by tears, Niyah put a hand on the doorknob, but she didn't push down. She simply stood there. Cold metal in the palm of her hand. Staring at the name. She closed her eyes and pushed the door open.

Immediately a rush of fresh air passed her, and she opened her eyes. The far wall of the office was completely gone, looking into the courtyard that Olivia always boasted of looking out over. Niyah felt her legs refusing to step forward. There was nothing left. Nobody there.

Staggering back, tears streaking down her face, her legs buckled. She collapsed against the wall across from the office and just started sobbing in her hands. "This can't be happening." She pleaded between sobs. "This can't be it." Her breaths were becoming less regular, but no matter how deep she breathed she couldn't seem to get fresh air in her lungs.

“I can't lose you,” her voice a broken whisper, “I’ll give anything—everything. Just… please.”

 

RSS Feed