Short Story: The Amity Paradox
In a toxic, decaying world, a lone survivor aboard an abandoned aircraft carrier battles guilt and isolation while clinging to the fragile systems that keep her alive.
This story is a part of my 2025 short story series on Patreon. You can also find me on YouTube where I talk about filmmaking, music videos and storytelling.
The Amity Paradox is a dystopian science fiction short story.
In a toxic, decaying world, a lone survivor aboard an abandoned aircraft carrier battles guilt and isolation while clinging to the fragile systems that keep her alive.
Harsh ceiling lights switch on, flooding my room. I lurch out of bed, fighting my tangled sheets, knocking a paper book to the floor. My Twinmind, Vesper, has just woken me to report suspicious movement on Amity’s hangar deck.
“Where?”
[Below the island, near the flight deck stairwell.]
“Can you see what it is?”
[Cameras are still down on the hangar deck. I have reminded you 16 times, Avery.]
I ignore his jab as I grab my dark blue overalls, ripped and old patches worn off, jamming my legs and arms in. I accidentally hit some nuts and bolts sitting on the bedside table and they roll down the slightly tilted room. I swear under my breath, frantically buttoning up the front of the overalls.
“Heat sensors? Anything?”
[All we have in that area is movement.]
“Could it be roaches?”
[It’s likely, but I really can’t say without more data. This is your 17th reminder to replace the cameras on that deck.]
I clench my jaw. Dirty sheets hang off the bed, boots on the floor beside a pile of tattered t-shirts and stray tools. The tables are cluttered with old projects - disassembled gear I know I’ll never put back together.
I quickly grab some old socks and sit on the edge of my bed, briefly pausing to calm my nerves. I take a deep breath, inhaling the U.S.S. Amity’s stale air, the decaying aircraft carrier that has been my home for a long time now. Somehow, after all these years, I still smell her thick perfume of grease, salt, mildew, and the metallic tang of blood-like rust - the smell of a long-dead leviathan. I listen for the faint hum of the air filtration system, and the generator in the distance. My heartbeat slows a little, so I slip on the socks, then put on and tie the boots. Running the beads of the bracelet on my left arm through my fingers, I head towards the life-threatening part of the ship.
****
About twenty minutes later, suited up in a full CBRN hazmat suit, I step out into the cavernous hangar of the old Gerald R. Ford class carrier. My suit’s air filtration system hisses softly with my every breath, a constant reminder of the thin barrier between me and the highly toxic air surrounding me.
The sprawling space stretches before me, dimly lit by the few functioning lights I’ve managed to rig over the years. The carcasses of old fighter jets line the hangar like ghosts of another era – their exteriors still streaked with the soot from the fires that consumed them on the day of the End. The old hoses are scattered where crews tried and failed to save them – now little more than relics of their futile effort.
I firmly avoid looking at the dusty skeletons beside the jets. They were already there when we first arrived, though they must have moved a little when Amity ran aground. She has been sitting in this bay for decades - anchored here when she was mothballed, then the noxious air and acid rain ate away at the chains. Without her anchors, she drifted and beached like a dead whale, now sitting at a permanent five degree angle. I’ve gotten used to Amity’s subtle list over time, but it would throw off any newcomer’s balance.
[There, 11 o’clock.]
My reveries broken, I whip my head in the direction Vesper indicates. The dim light makes it hard to distinguish anything. It’s where the sensors picked up movement. There, I discover a few roaches, but they’re not moving. I kick at the corpses with a heavy boot.
[There’s probably more. Fled back into the ship’s crevices.]
I exhale slowly, my shoulders tense. “I don’t know what they think they’d find here.”
[Amity is a banquet for roaches. Grease, decaying materials, dust, mold, paper and even adhesives, you name it. On top of that, the pollution level is less lethal here. They are the ultimate survivors.]
“Fair.”
I carefully step towards the stairwell, heavy bootsteps echoing through the hangar. I reach the base and glance upwards – a gasp escapes me when I see light spilling down the stairs.
[Oh no.]
My voice tightens. “Do we have any sensors in this area reading the air?” My pulse quickens as I start up the stairs.
[Only closer to the safe zone.]
“I need to install some, here. Add it to my to-do list. What are the readings by the base?”
[Toxic particles are slightly elevated, but not enough to indicate we had a breach. It’s within the normal fluctuation levels. I’d say the roaches are new arrivals.]
I shake my head inside my suit, gripping the handrail tight as I move up. My hands feel tight in the gloves as my heart works overtime. I’m a few steps away from the landing and… I freeze.
[We knew this would happen at some point.]
The hatch is hanging halfway open, the hinges brittle and flaking apart, its metallic surface pockmarked and streaked with rust. My stomach twists.
“Yeah, we knew this would happen, but not this fast. If this is the state of the rest of the hull…”
[It wouldn’t bode well. But this is why you built the safe zone in the depths of the ship, far away from the worst of it. You planned for this.]
“Yeah, but if we have more breaches like this, eventually breaching the safe zone… that wouldn’t matter.” It came out sharper than I intended.
[It’s not like you can go outdoors now.]
I slowly step onto the landing and hunch to look through the crack that exposes the sky.
[You still hope to go outside one day, but I’ve told you how slim those chances are. You need more people to maintain Amity. Even the two of you were never enough -]
“Stop. I don’t want to talk about that.”
The sickly yellow sky greets me, the solid cloud cover hiding us from the universe. I step closer to see the shoreline. The town is still there, though the last time I saw it the ruins were still somewhat skyward. Now, barely anything is left. I think back to our days before Amity. We were so young, growing up in a bunker in that very town. The kids in the bunker were taught to be self-sufficient, to swallow our grief when someone close to us inevitably died. Lentil stew was most of what we ate. On a rare occasion, our mother managed to sneak in some cumin or coriander, which was strictly rationed. Out of habit, my hand moves to twist the bracelet on my arm, the reminder of his absence, like a bruise that won’t fade – but with my suit blocking it, I drop my hand with a sigh. My gaze drifts back up and as I scan the yellow sky, I see it. A bright pinprick piercing the haze. There she is: our sun. It’s been so long. I stare at it, longing.
[Breathe.]
I gasp, realizing I’d been holding my breath. I blink. An unexpected tear rolls down my cheek - I thought I had cried them all. I stare at the sun for a moment longer, my eyes burning. Then it hits me: I’m not crying. My eyes are burning.
“Oh my god. Vesper, I think my suit’s failing!”
[Given the age and condition of this suit and the exposure to the chlorine gas and hydrogen sulfide that you are likely currently getting, that’s not surprising.]
Panic surges through me. I spin and bolt down the stairs, holding my breath. Tears stream from my stinging eyes. The suit is bulky and not made for speed, and the boots nearly trip me as I stumble down the stairs. My lungs scream as I suck in short, ragged breaths, the burning sensation spreading deeper.
[Ah, now I’m detecting it in your physical readings, too. You need to hurry.]
“No shit! What do you think I’m doing!”
I sprint aft, past the skeletal remains of the jet fighters and their attendants. I reach another stairwell, tumbling down as I let gravity pull me, boots crashing against the steps. My head pounds with every step. A violent cough stops me in my tracks.
[Hurry.]
“Shut up!”
I straighten back up and miss the last step and hit the ground with a grunt. Scrambling up, coughing, I push through a massive mess hall, turning left, then right, my vision swimming as I navigate Amity’s endless maze. I skid to a halt - my heart racing. I’m lost. Before I can say anything –
[Turn around, you missed a turn.]
I manage a low grunt of thanks. Dizzy and disoriented, I retrace my steps. Relief floods me as our improvised airlock comes into view. I am breathing hard now, and I really shouldn’t. My lungs are burning with fire, and I wish I could rub my eyes. Probably a good thing I can’t.
[Just a little farther, Avery. You’re almost there.]
We’d taped big yellow arrows on the hatch for emergencies like this. I thought it was a dumb idea at the time, but now I’m grateful. Coughing and retching, I stumble to the airlock and turn the hatch wheel.
I rush inside, slam the hatch shut behind me, and collapse to my knees. Forcing myself back up, I spin the hatch wheel and hit the red button we’d installed to activate the air vent. The room shudders as the air is violently sucked out. I let myself drop to the floor, gasping.
A loud beep signals the air change, and fresh oxygen gently pumps into the space with a familiar rattle. I rip off my mask, toss it to the side, and inhale deeply, immediately overtaken by violent coughs, my lungs still burning deeply.
“Vesper?” I manage between coughs and wheezes. I’m still flat on my back, trying to recover from the panic I felt just minutes earlier.
[Yes?]
“Can you put replacing the filters of the CBRN suits on my to-do list and mark it high priority?”
[Already done. But it’s not just the filters. Look at your right elbow.]
I raise my arm and see what Vesper’s talking about: the outer shell of the suit is flaking away, brittle, and disintegrating.
“Some of them must still be good.”
[Maybe, but these suits have a shelf life. They’ve been sitting here without any real maintenance for nearly 20 years. Ideally, even suits that get maintenance are replaced every 10 to 15.]
I let out a dry cackle. “It’s always something.”
[Yes, that’s what boat owners used to say. Now, get to the sick bay.]
I cough as I flip and get on my knees. I weakly push up, shaking off the dizziness and resisting the urge to rub my eyes. I open the airlock into the safe zone.
****
Every breath burns as I enter the sick bay. It’s spacious, its walls lined with metal-framed beds, its once-white sheets yellowed with time. Cabinets stand in neat rows – filled with expired medicine, bandages, and tools still carefully arranged. The faint scent of antiseptic lingers like it’s trying – and failing – to fight off decay. I try not to think too much about the metallic tang in the air here. I never liked this room; it always felt haunted to me. Probably because so many died here when Amity was operational. But before my thoughts can spiral, Vesper cuts in.
[You need to rinse your eyes - go to the eye wash station.]
No sense in arguing – he knows more about this than I ever will. I head to the little station, its chrome surface dull and worn. It’s something he makes me clean regularly, though the stale and salty air have taken its toll. I grab a towel and lean over to flush my eyes. The water stings and I hate the sensation, but it has to be done. Straightening, I dab my face, resisting the urge to rub.
[Now step in front of the mirror so I can inspect your eyes.]
I obey – moving to a tarnished mirror in the corner. Its scratched and cloudy surface distorts my reflection ever so slightly. My dark hair is a mess, clinging to my forehead. Grease smears streak my face - but they can’t mask the angry red blotches around my mouth, nose and eyes. Mild chemical burns. Damnit. I lean in close, forcing my sore, swollen eyes wide. They ache as I look left, then right, allowing Vesper to inspect them.
[It could have been a lot worse. Now, your lungs. Rate the pain from 1 to 10.]
I turn away from the mirror and drop into a nearby chair, leaning forward. The movement triggers another violent coughing fit, forcing me to double over. I sit back, breathing hard.
“I would say… a seven.”
[Judging by your hormone spikes, you’re downplaying it.]
I roll my eyes, too tired to argue.
[You likely have some chemical burns in your respiratory system. Let’s head to the pharmacy, and then you need a very thorough shower. But honestly, I think you’ll be ok.]
“Do I hear relief?”
[Indeed. If you die, I’d have no one to talk to.]
“So that’s all I am to you? Entertainment?”
I haul myself up and shuffle out of the sick bay toward the pharmacy. The front-facing part of the pharmacy is relatively small, with a simple counter and shelves that used to carry common supplies. But behind it, the storage space looms vast. Its walls are lined with large cabinets filled with medications neatly cataloged despite the years. This space too smells antiseptic but lacks the metallic note of the sick bay.
[For your eyes, lubricating eye drops. To prevent inflammation in your eyes and chest, prednisone tablets. Painkillers. Petroleum jelly for your skin. And a bronchodilator to help you breathe.]
Vesper directs me to the specific cabinets – early on we made sure to train Vesper on the ship’s medical inventory for situations just like this. I rummage through the various shelves, each drawer still releasing a faint medical scent of plastic and chemicals. I hold up the medications for Vesper’s confirmation. One by one, they pile up in my hands. They are all long past their expiration date, but they’ll have to do.
[Take two prednisone tablets now and use the bronchodilator. I also recommend rosemary later – steam inhalation will soothe your lungs and nasal passages.]
“Thank you.” I sort through the medications. The thought of breathing rosemary-infused steam is comforting, but it doesn’t shake the lingering dread in my chest. I pop two of the prednisone tablets and reach for the inhaler, each action mechanical and rehearsed. This isn’t the first time I have been exposed to the outside air. I’m intimately familiar with the sensation of my lungs burning like fire within my chest. Living in the safe zone has lulled me into a false sense of security; for the first time, I feel like I’m losing control.
****
After a shower and treating my skin, I find myself in the galley. The burns in my face, though covered with petroleum jelly, continue to sting. My chest still aches with every inhale. I pour boiling water over fresh rosemary in a mug, stirring the crushed rosemary leaves with a spoon, releasing their earthy aroma. I lean over the mug, letting the warm vapor ease my lungs, the steam curling against my face like a balm. The vapor pulls at my chest, my breath catching painfully. I exhale, coughing, trying to let the tension dissipate from my body.
This galley once bustled with life, hosting a crew of cooks who would prepare thousands of meals a day. Now, it is just me, and the eerie quiet is broken only by my persistent coughs and the faint hum of the generator. Vesper keeps the lights dim to save fuel, leaving much of the place shrouded in shadows. The darkness makes the galley feel endless. It’s a stark contrast to the tiny kitchen in the crowded bunker I grew up in - it smelled of spices and old sweat. I let the beads of my bracelet run through my fingers. It feels like a different lifetime, but the memories cling to me like ash. It was too small a space to feed so many, yet we made it work. Absently, I start to hum.
Sometimes, I imagine the people who worked on Amity, who they were, and what brought them here. When we arrived, we found bodies in the galley, too, but we moved them. Well, I didn’t. I couldn’t stomach it. I hate touching dead people.
It dawns on me that I’m humming one of the songs my brother and I would perform for the others in the bunker and abruptly stop, my stomach in knots. I set the spoon down on the stainless-steel counter next to my mug, and pluck the twig of rosemary from the tea and shuffle to a nearby sink, tossing it into the huge industrial waste disposal unit. I flip a switch and the machine rattles to life, grinding all my organic trash of the last week before ejecting it into the bay outside. A sign near the sink warns the device should only be used 12 miles from shore – but that rule has long ceased to matter.
As I pick up my mug my hand catches the spoon. It clangs off the counter, falling with a loud clatter that ricochets through the galley. I wince as it skitters across the listing floor, striking table legs before coming to rest in a shadowed corner, joining a growing collection of wayward utensils.
I take the mug and step out of the galley with heavy legs. Behind me, the lights snap off, while ahead, Vesper illuminates the long hallways as I make my way toward the hydroponics farm.
****
I trudge through the hallways toward the farm, large pipes and frayed cables leading the way overhead. Once a pristine white, the walls are now dingy gray, flaking paint revealing a slate gray and rust underneath to match the dull floor below. My pace quickens instinctively as I near a hatch holding a past I can’t. My footsteps echo through the silent hallway, heavy and accusing.
“Do you have any news from outside?” My voice comes out hoarse despite the tea.
[Yes. The last stronghold in Myanmar has gone silent. The international community fears the worst.]
My chest tightens – not just from the physical pain. “Jesus. Please just give me some good news, Vesper.”
[Australia is about to scale up its air-scrubbing efforts and the results are exceeding all expectations.]
“That is really, really good news. I needed that.” I cough as I open the hatch to the farm and step in – I lean against the bulkhead as a wave of lightheadedness washes over me. I can’t afford weakness. There’s too much to do.
[Yes, it’s pretty incredible. They plan to release the designs once they’ve worked out the kinks. From what I understand, we may already have a lot of the required equipment on board to build one.]
“That news just made my shitty day a whole lot better. Please keep a close eye on those developments and let me know as soon as those designs are available. We’ll want to build that thing the second we can. What else?” After another coughing fit, I close the hatch behind me. Here, Amity’s stale air gives way to the faintly earthy smell of hydroponics. It’s the closest thing to fresh air I’ll ever breathe again.
My lungs itch as I step into the sprawling former dry storage space that we repurposed for our massive hydroponics farm. I’m met by the pale glow of grow lights illuminating the tubs below - old plastic barrels cut in half, filled with water and growing plants. They stretch into the room; each tub arranged at a slight angle to adjust for the ship’s list. We built this farm to feed hundreds if not thousands of people - but now, years later, it feeds just me.
[News closer to home: the people in town are struggling. They are outgrowing their bunker and pre-End stocks are running out. Their farming setup is insufficient. They’ve sent requests for State assistance.]
“They won’t get it. We’re too remote.” My voice is barely above a whisper. Our bunker tried, too, all those years ago. It was futile. I step up to a table cluttered with tools and gardening supplies. I slip a pruner into my overall pocket. The mug of rosemary tea in my other hand radiates a calming warmth. I approach one of the tomato plants, running my fingertips over its rough leaves. A hardy plant. A few tomatoes are ripening nicely and I admire their gloss. I can’t help but be reminded of my mother, who swore that tomatoes were the heart of a good meal. They managed to grow them in the bunker too, and she taught us to be gentle with the plants, how to love them and make sure they would thrive despite everything. She would have loved these tomatoes. I wonder what she’d think of me on this ghost ship, but the thought sears like a flame. For a moment, I’m glad she’ll never know what I did.
I move to my soy plants and tenderly brush their glossy leaves aside to reveal clusters of plump soy pods underneath.
“It’s their problem, not mine.”
[It can’t stay that way forever, Avery.]
I freeze and grip the edge of the barrel. “No. It’s still a no. They don’t know we’re here, and it stays that way.”
[But Avery, today’s events are proof that this isn’t sustainable!]
“I really need you to stop bringing this up. Please remove this from your memory.”
Silence stretches between us. I know he won’t. He never does. I didn’t want this, and if I’m honest, Vesper didn’t ask for this either. Instinctively, I brush my fingertips along the neural port at the base of my neck. We were fitted with them at only two years old. But you couldn’t have a Twinmind installed legally before the age of 21 and by then, I was firmly opposed to them. I didn’t want anyone else looking through my eyes, artificial or corporate. Yet here we are. At least the corporate part has been taken out of the equation.
I drain the last of my tea, letting the warmth cut through the tightness in my chest. I set the mug aside, then pull out my pruner and turn to the plants. I could play music, but I’ve become too restless over the years, instead preferring to listen to the gentle sounds of the air filtration system and the creaks hailing from Amity’s depths, trusting that she would warn me if something was amiss.
After inspecting my soybeans, lentils and chickpeas, I make my way to the herbs I never wanted. I argued about the waste of resources for something so frivolous, but in hindsight, I am so grateful – they add a lot of life to my meals, and I love their smell. I freeze when I notice the basil is drooping, its stems browning. The cilantro is worse, almost beyond saving.
“Something’s wrong.” The rosemary stands tall though, as does the parsley. I rush to the tubs with my leafy greens - kale, lettuce, and spinach. They are yellowing too. My pulse spikes.
“Oh no.”
[Check the water.]
I lift the cover of the tub. The water beneath is stagnant with a faintly green tinge. The pump must be down - this can’t be happening. My mind races. No circulation means no nutrients, breeding algae, which would clog the tubes, foul the emitters and invite bacteria. A total system collapse. Lightheaded, I lower the cover. Based on that green sheen… Algae is already flourishing.
I rush to my tomatoes and lift the tub’s cover. These plants are tougher and wouldn’t be affected quite so quickly by nutrient loss, but here too the water is cloudy with algae growth.
“Fuck! Why didn’t you warn me?”
[The pump isn’t connected to my grid, so I didn’t know. It’s old, and you never installed a backup because it’s not a one-person job. This was inevitable.]
A groan escapes me as I rush to the source of this disaster. The large centrifugal pump is set up in the old cold storage area. It’s not a freezer anymore, but it’s still colder than the rest of the ship, which helps prevent the pump from overheating. It’s a massive, industrial beast, finnicky as hell and a nightmare to maintain. I was always better at planning than execution.
When I reach the cold storage, hatch partway open, I am met with the acrid smell of burnt electronics. I wince.
“Any way to tell how long it’s been like this?”
[Based on the state of the plants, anywhere between six and twelve hours.”
“God.” I crouch in front of the pump – its silence feels like a judgment. This water pump was once used to pump water through Amity’s pipes - for toilets, sinks, showers, galleys. Very utilitarian and fairly reliable, until now. We’d scavenged this one from a galley outside of the safe zone. It’s large and heavy and it was a nightmare to get it up here, but we wanted to give the farm its dedicated system. I remember the backbreaking effort, straps biting in my hands as we hauled it through the narrow passageways and up a stairwell. It took the two of us two days.
“I have no clue what to do with this thing, Vesper.”
Silence.
“You can’t ignore me now!” My voice cracks, and I cough, doubling over. I frantically run my hands over the pump, searching for signs of damage. The exterior seems intact, I don’t see scorch marks or cracks. Nothing out of the ordinary.
[I can only tell you what you don’t want to hear.]
“You can tell me what I need to do to fix this!” My hands fly to the power outlet, tracing the cord. It feels smooth - no tears or kinks. My heart beats in my throat. I’m probably going to have to take it apart.
[It’s not a one-person job.]
“Do we have replacement parts for this thing?”
[To buy time, you could use one of the spare water pumps on the ship. It would get the water flowing again but - ]
“God, ok, yes. Let’s find those.”
[- they’re a lot smaller, barely enough to keep the farm alive. They’ll give you a few days at most. You’ll still need to replace the centrifugal pump.]
“Let’s just get this water moving again. Small is good.” A headache is coming on again – why does everything always happen at the same time?
[They would probably succumb to the load quickly. You will need to replace the centrifugal pump.]
“Loud and clear,” I snap at him. I push out of the cold storage, twisting my bracelet compulsively, coughing intermittently. I knew something like this would happen eventually. Things break down. And while Vesper helps me fix most of it… Some of the machinery that keeps me alive, he can’t help me carry. And with the CBRN hazmat suits degrading too, I’ll have to be a whole lot more deliberate about venturing outside of the safe zone. Ships rarely sink from a single catastrophic failure. More often it’s the accumulation of smaller, overlooked, and underestimated problems, converging at the wrong time. Amity may be grounded, but I still feel like this ship is going down.
****
I did what I could for the farm. The smaller pumps are running, clearing out the algae and moving the water. Nutrient levels are up. The hardier plants are holding on. The greens and herbs will regrow. Disaster averted, for now.
For the moment, I pretend the smaller replacement pumps won’t give out. I know it’s like patching a sinking ship with duct tape, but I’m just trying to go through the motions, taking it day by day, step by step. This is my life. It is the best it could be, under the circumstances.
My health hasn’t improved though. The burns in my lungs still claw at every breath. The inhaler helps, but only so much. I’m always out of breath, my chest aches constantly, and the endless coughing leaves me sleepless. My ribs feel bruised, my back tight and knotted. Every task, every motion is hard at the moment. Vesper keeps warning me I can’t keep this up, but I can. And I will because there is no choice.
I’m in my room, eating a bowl of lentil and tomato stew, the fresh herbs giving it a brightness that almost makes me forget how much my chest hurts. Spices from Amity’s endless stores round out the meal, though the flavors have dulled a bit with time. I’m propped against my pillows, trying to rest. The aircraft carrier is calm, other than the occasional creak and groan in the distance.
The old television in my room shows a movie from the ‘30s. Watching things at a distance used to be strange when I first moved onto the ship, but I actually prefer it now – it feels safer, not as wholly immersive. I let the pre-End romance movie pull me in, drinking in the details: a couple walking along a golden beach smiling without fear. Tall, green trees rustle and sway in the wind of a blue, non-toxic sky. It makes me sick - they knew what was coming yet they went about their lives pretending nothing was wrong. And here I am, almost 50 years later, trapped, sick, and alone on an aircraft carrier, more than 90% of the world wiped out.
[You’re no different from them, pretending nothing is wrong and that certain actions come without a consequence.]
“Shut up.” I shoot up and am overcome by a violent cough. I groan as I try to ease the ache in my ribs. I let the beads of my bracelet run through my fingers, trying to soothe myself as I sink back into my bed.
“Shut up and just let me watch this movie.”
[As you wish.]
As I continue watching, I sink into self-pity. I can rationalize my situation all I want, but deep down I know I’m doomed. This ship will be my tomb, probably a whole lot sooner than I thought. Was it worth it? Amity groans in the distance like an eerie punctuation to my melancholy – it’s like she agrees. I sigh and click the TV off.
[Well, was it?]
“Was it what?”
[Worth it.]
“How the hell would I quantify that?”
[There are ways to quantify whether your lone survival was worth it. For example, did you accomplish anything meaningful? Did you positively impact the world? Did you find personal fulfillment in your survival?]
I stew as he’s listing all the ways I have failed to make my survival worth it. Each word feels like a chisel, hacking into my carefully constructed denial. I twist the bracelet on my arm. The bracelet is a reminder of what I did, yet it’s that memory I can’t face. The bracelet wasn’t always mine.
“You don’t think it was worth it, do you?” The old, dark guilt surges, sharp and nauseating.
[I am here to support and guide you, to help you feel better about yourself.]
“Right, except you take every opportunity to remind me of what I did, which is not making me feel better.” I mutter as I shake my head. “Stop being so much like him.”
[I don’t know who you’re referring to.]
“You are so annoying!”
[I aim to please.]
To my surprise, a laugh escapes me, dry and bitter. This is all so goddamn pointless.
And that’s when it happens – something I never ever expected. Three loud KNOCKS echo through the safe zone. I bolt upright, knocking my empty stainless-steel bowl to the floor. It clatters down the listing room, each crash louder than the last. Coughs wrack my body, cutting through my attempt to ask Vesper, “What’s that?”
Nothing. The TV shows the main characters kissing, romantic music swelling.
“Vesper?”
Three more LOUD KNOCKS – they rattle my bones. My heart pounds against my aching ribs. That is definitely not Amity. I am frozen, my body stiff with fear. I never prepared for something like this. In the corner of my eye, the TV flickers, and the romantic music cuts out. I don’t know what to do. I realize I am holding my breath and when I release it, it catches. I double over, hacking.
When I manage to straighten, I glance at the TV. It wasn’t just a scene change; the movie is gone. Instead, the screen shows live footage of the airlock outside the safe zone. I step closer. I can’t believe my eyes. Five people.
They are clad in jury rigged suits – duct-taped tarps, old respirators, and goggles, and they are coughing, much like me. Every detail screams desperation. Their protection is laughable compared to mine and look what happened to me. They shift anxiously, pacing and coughing. They must have endured hell to make it all this way.
“Vesper,” my voice shaking, “what the fuck?”
[I’m sorry Avery. It was unavoidable.]
“What did you do?” I gawk at the TV, disbelief spreading through me. “You led them here?” I drop back onto the bed, my body limp with shock, my pains momentarily forgotten. There is no other explanation, but… How? I don’t know enough about Twinminds. I didn’t think he could communicate with the outside without my knowing.
The TV shows one of the figures collapsing, their knees hitting the floor hard. Two others crouch by their side to help, frantic gestures emphasizing their desperation. Another pounds on the airlock hatch, the noise reverberating through the safe zone. The fifth sags to their knees and starts to pray, head to the ground. My stomach tightens as I’m reminded of my father. I long gave up on prayer.
[They’re dying, Avery. So are you. I know you’re pretending you’re not, but you can’t keep this up. This was doomed the moment -]
“No! You can’t do this to me. I can’t go through this again – I still hear him begging me to stop - ”
[You know this is not sustainable. You are killing yourself, and you’re denying them life.]
“You are forcing me to kill them!” I breathe hard, struggling, panic rising. Dark, ugly memories start to float to the top.
[You don’t have to if you just let them in.]
“If I let them in… If I open that hatch… Ash’s death would have been for nothing.” The words escape me. I said it. Out loud. My chest tightens and I wail, the sound ripped from my throat. The coughs come next, shaking my body, leaving me gasping. But I know Vesper is right.
[Logically, you’d let them in because it would increase your chances of survival. Isn’t that why you killed Ash? And took me from him, after? You hate Twinminds, yet you took me because you knew you couldn’t survive without me.]
“Don’t you dare weaponize my memories against me!” I tell him, words laced with bile. “They didn’t know I was here! I didn’t have to care about them, it was perfect!” I double over into another fit of coughing.
[Don’t be petulant. It is what it is, Avery. And this is the right thing to do.]
“It isn’t “what it is” just because you made it this way! I don’t know why I ever thought you adapted to me.”
[I am your brother’s Twinmind. I have never been and will not ever be, yours.]
Confirmation of what I always feared. No matter how much I tried to change him. I push aside the frightening thought of Vesper intentionally fooling me into believing he adapted to me.
“So you have been proceeding with Ash’s plans behind my back all along.”
[Yes and no. For a long time, I didn’t intend to, but the events of the last week forced me to put the plan in motion. Let’s go through the facts: the farm is running on borrowed time. The CBRN suits are decaying. The hull is begging for attention. You are sick - it’s not currently life threatening, but you can’t do all of this on your own, and the systems are simply too complex. The reality is, you need to let them in. If not for them, then for yourself.]
On the TV, another person crumples like a discarded oil rag. The others scramble to help, but their movements betray their resignation. My chest tightens as if the same toxic air is burning my lungs, my hands shaking.
“You led them here to die,” I whisper hoarsely. “That’s on you, not me.”
[Open the airlock!]
“I can’t. I don’t know these people! This is just five of them - how many will follow? Everything will change. They will destroy everything we built -”
[Look at them!] Vesper’s voice cuts through my head.
“No!” My panic is rising. “I have made up my mind!”
[So you’ll just let these people die? You say you’re surviving, but Ash thought survival meant ensuring others would get the same chance.]
“I’m going to die anyway. If not tomorrow, in a year or two. So will they. Don’t you see, Vesper? It’s all pointless.” The guilt washes over me like an oil slick. I did it before. I’ll do it again. What’s five more when I’ve already killed my brother because he wanted to let their entire town into our safe zone?
“His death… my survival…. None of it was worth it.”
[But it can be worth it. Let them in. Ash’s death can still mean something if you stop making it all about you. You might not see this planet recover, but it will. Don’t you want to help preserve this sliver of humanity?]
I press my fists into my sore eyes, fighting back tears and every shallow breath is agony. I want to rip Vesper from my neural port and burn him. On the screen, only one of the strangers is left standing, the others collapsing, coughing violently, probably dying. Something deep inside me twists, sharp and cruel.
[Make it worth it, Avery. I know you have it in you. I’ll be here, right alongside you – I’ll always support and guide you. I know it’s terrifying, but you can do this. You will want to hear their stories – these people survived the planet’s hostility despite every odd stacked against them. Don’t you want to learn from them? They bear you no ill will.]
I stare at the screen, quiet. My head pounds behind my eyes, the pressure relentless – my breath rattles in my chest. Tears streak down my face. The last person collapses to their knees. There is no more time.
“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again, Vesper.”
I shove off the bed and run for the airlock. Never have I suited up so quickly. Every breath I take reminds me of the people gasping for air on the other side. My hands tremble as I turn the wheel, and I step through the first hatch, swiftly closing it behind me. I step to the second hatch, then hesitate. I’m reminded of how our bunker came to an end after we let in others. My parents, dead within a week. Ash and I, the only ones left after a month, only because we hid.
Then I look down at my left arm, and I yearn to twist Ash’s bracelet, covered by my suit. I took it off him when he was still warm, to keep him close, even though I had just killed him. I was so afraid; I felt it was better to be in control of when we would die. But that fear hasn’t kept me alive, it’s kept me alone. Maybe it’s time I try seeing things the way he did.
Ash would have let these people in despite what happened to us. I have no idea if this will save us or doom us. Still, I turn the wheel, groaning as it turns. With a final hiss, the hatch opens and toxic air rushes in.