The Moon was alone, without the Sun as its partner. Ruby knew how the Moon would feel if it could feel. She’d just reached her adulthood, and should be paired off with someone as a lifemate, but it didn’t work out.

“Are you okay?”

She turned in surprise at the voice. It was Lainey, of course, the beautiful brunette with the full lips and dark eyes. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw her, as it had since she’d first been old enough to feel that way about another girl. And she knew that Lainey’s had always skipped the same way.

“No, I’m not,” she said. She was blue-eyed and blond-haired, and with alabaster skin the opposite of her dark-complexioned girlfriend.

Lainey joined her at the porthole and they looked out across the frozen expanse together. Without a word, she put her arm around Ruby’s waist, and the two girls leaned their heads against each other.

“New York City,” she said of the dark skeleton on the horizon.

“Yeah,” Lainey said. “It would be cool to go there. You know, in suits, just to see what it’s like.”

“It’s hard to believe people lived there. It’s hard to believe people lived anywhere that wasn’t under these domes.”

“My great-grandmother remembers living in New York,” Lainey said. “She played in the streets, where cars drove and people walked. And in the middle of that big city is a huge park—trees and fountains and places to run and play. But since the Sun went away...”

She trailed off. They all knew their history.

“I don’t want to go away,” Ruby said.

Lainey turned and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I don’t know what to say.”

The feel of Lainey’s soft breasts pressing against hers was almost enough, but not quite. “Say that you love me.”

“You know that I do. But... lifemates aren’t about love. They’re about keeping civilization together. We’re all matched by computer. And computers know that two girls don’t make good lifemates.

“But I don’t get a match! And now they have to send me to another dome, to be matched with someone I’ve never met—matched with a boy. That’s even if the computer there matches me. At least if I had a match in our dome, you and I could be together. Make babies with the boys and make everyone in charge happy, but be able to love each other.”

They hugged for a long time. Ruby fought the overwhelming urge to cry; she felt it just beneath her layer of self-control, tenuous and weak though it was.

“I’ve only ever been outside three times,” she said. “And never far from the dome. Now they’re sending me twenty miles away, to the nearest dome. And who knows, maybe on to another one, or another one. Some of the old people remember when computers all around the world could talk to each other, but not anymore. Now I have to get in a spacesuit and walk to the dome.”

She pulled from Lainey’s embrace, moved to the big porthole, and put her hands and face against the cold glass. When she spoke, her breath fogged it up.

“Why’d the Sun have to go away?” she asked, and the tears began to stream down her face. She didn’t care if Lainey heard the sobs now. “It went away and everything changed. We can’t be with who we love. Some of us might not get to be with anyone. We live in these domes. We can’t go outside. We can’t feel the warmth on our faces or breathe the air or anything. All because the Sun went away!”

Then Lainey’s tender hands were on her shoulders, and she melted a bit at her touch. “None of this was the Sun’s fault,” she said softly. “It’s humanity’s fault. We’re all just trying to survive.”

She turned to her lover, reaching for her heart-shaped face, cupping it in her hands. “I just want to be with you. Please, come with me. Maybe the next dome will find us both matches there. I’ve heard that different domes have different rules. Maybe if we get far enough way, going dome to dome—maybe the domes around Boston, or Portland. Maybe we can be together.”

Lainey sighed deeply, caressing her fair-skinned lover’s hips with her darker hands. “Baby, you know I love you. But the lifemate they’ve paired me with, Ricardo—he’s a nice guy. I mean, except for the part about me liking girls, the computer got it right. We’re a good match. I love you because we’ve known each other all our lives, but Ricardo is a good match for me. I might not get a match that good in another dome.”

Ruby sank out of Lainey’s embrace, feeling the cold fingers of rejection, like the cold glass behind her, grabbing at her heart. “So if you had a choice, you wouldn’t choose me?”

“I might, but I don’t have a choice. I have to trust in the computers and the scientists that Ricardo and I are the right choice.”

She turned away from her. “Leave me alone.”

“Ruby—”

“I said go away!”

Lainey lingered for a moment, but then he turned and shuffled off. Ruby stared out the window and cried for a long time.

Each one of the stars, she was told, was like the Sun. They all likely had planets. And almost certainly there were sentient beings on some of them. Ruby knew she might be looking at a star with a planet with a girl like her right then. Only, she knew, such a girl wouldn’t likely be looking back at here, because Earth had no star to serve as a beacon for wondering eyes.

And Lainey, she had been Ruby’s beacon—her star that lit up a bleak life. Now she was paired with a boy, and had even lost interest in her. Ruby didn’t want to live.

Far off to the north, she knew, was her new dome. Suddenly, she thought of the dome as being like another star in the sky—perhaps there was a girl who would be right for her, and a dome community that would tolerate them. Was it worth the chance?

She had no other choice, she knew. The Sun was gone, and everyone was left with very limited choices.

Ruby headed to the nearest airlock station. She hadn’t decided if she’d put on a suit before leaving.

“Children”
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Thomas sat naked on his bed in the one-room cabin. He was tired, but he couldn’t take a break. He wanted to leaf through his scrapbook on the nightstand, and remind himself that he was a good man, but the next knock came at his door. It was a ritual of manners that was no longer needed, but he took a deep breath and said, “Come in.”

As the door opened, he could hear the din far beyond, like a low, endless murmuring, but the woman was inside and shut the door just as quickly. In the dim light, he could see her. She was pretty, perhaps thirty, with long dark hair in a ponytail, and she looked nervous.

“Come closer, so I can see you,” he said.

She did so, and he could see her looking at his exposed genitals. She was both trying to look and trying not to look. It was amusing in a sad way.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She met his eyes, and hers were a bit wet—not crying, but maybe trying not to cry. She was trembling. “Does it matter?” she snapped.

“It matters to me.”

She drew a shaky breath. “Delia. Delia Meyer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Delia. I’m Thomas Crane.”

“I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are.”

He wasn’t sure if she were just nervous in general, or if she were wishing she were not there. “You don’t have to do this, Delia. This is entirely up to you.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I really do want to do this. It’s just... I’m nervous, you know? I was raised in a very religious household, and... I expected marriage, a husband, baptisms, all that. It’s nothing against you, you know?”

“I know.” He’d heard it all before. He knew she needed to talk herself into it.

“But we have a responsibility, right? We have to do this.”

“Others will take the responsibility. Not everyone has to. I’m not a rapist.”

“I know that,” she said. “Thank you.”

As if a mental switch had thrown in her mind, she moved to him then, unbuttoning her blouse. By the time she was naked, her eyes burned with desire, and she climbed onto him in his bed. He made love to her. He didn’t screw her. He would never do that, not to anyone. Before the world had changed, sure, but no longer. This was such a solemn thing—truly a responsibility. She deserved love, even in a few minutes of sex with a perfect stranger.

*   *   *

He had a while to get himself together, so he ate food and drank a lot, which he always did, because he had to replenish everything. He was leafing through his scrapbook when the next knock came. He closed the book and bade the knocker enter, and he sized her up immediately. She was older, perhaps in her forties, and she hurried in and slammed the door. Without a word, and without looking at him, she stripped down and sat on the bed beside him.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, and she sounded disgusted.

She was a little overweight, with the wrinkled paunch and stretch marks of a woman who had borne children. She was beautiful, though, in a grown-up way

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Just make it fast.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, we do. We all do. And who knows how many years I’ll be able to do it at all? So let’s get this over with.”

“We don’t do this until I feel right about it. And that means I have to have a personal connection with you.”

It was his line in the sand. She was doing this out of responsibility, but didn’t want to. He understood. And now she understood his rules. She sighed and said, “I’m Tina Jackson.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tina. I’m Thomas Crane. Did you have a husband?”

“Yes. We had children, but... all of them boys, and...”

She began to sob, her body jerking as she did. Thomas scooted to the edge of the bed and put his arm around her. She leaned into him and broke into a long bout of crying, and the dam opened up. She told him about her husband and their sons, their family life before the outbreak. She told him how easy her three pregnancies had been, how easy childbirth had been. By the time she was ready to do what needed to be done, she was smiling and had some tiny bit of happiness.

And when he laid her back and kissed her, he was in love with her, as he was with all of them, and he knew she was a little bit in love with him. It didn’t matter what terrible things he had in that scrapbook; he was a new man now. He made sweet love to her, and he made her cry again, but this time with happiness and fulfillment.

*   *   *

Another meal, a lot of fluids, and finally a knock.

“Come in,” he said.

She was silhouetted against the bright day for a moment as t

he door was open. She was short and thin, but with wide hips and full breasts. She approached, head down, hands on her thighs, face obscured by long, blond hair. She moved to his bedside, her hands shaking.

“I’d like to see your face,” he said, gently and with a smile.

She looked up, and the lamplight by his bedside showed him such a young and pretty face. But... too young.

“How old are you?” he said.

“Thirteen,” she said.

He froze. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. He hurriedly covered himself up with his sheet. “What’s your name?”

“Lucy Harrington.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lucy. I’m Thomas Crane. Lucy, I’m afraid you’re too young for this.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “My mother says I have the hips for it, and I’ve had my period since I was eleven.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t do this with young girls.”

“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. I’m ready for this, Mr. Crane. I want to do my part.” And her eyes were wide and pleading with him. She really wanted this to happen.

“You’re thirteen. There’ll be plenty of time.”

“Mom said you’d say that. She said you’d try to stop me. But she told me how to change your mind.” And she began furiously unbuttoning her blouse.

“No!” Thomas said, and he came off the bed and grabbed her hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“Mom said you’re a man, and men can’t resist women, so all I have to do is try harder.” Lucy wrapped her arms around him, looking up at him with wild eyes. She ground her pelvis against his manhood, and it began to react. “See? You can do it, Mr. Crane. You can—”

He tore himself from her, grabbed up his sheet, and wrapped about himself like a makeshift toga. “Lucy, this isn’t happening,” he barked at her, and she recoiled in shock. And then she burst out crying, like the little girl that she was.

“You don’t like me,” she sobbed. “I’m not pretty enough!”

And he took her in his arms and sat with her, and for a long time he held her and talked to her. She was a mess of young-teen hormones, and the man she tried to give herself to had just rejected her. So he told her how she had so much time left to do this, and that there was no rush. He told her how beautiful she was and how wonderful a person she was, and that when she was older they could get together. When he finally felt that he had soothed her, he found his pants and put them on so that he could walk her out.

“You tell your mother that there’s no hurry,” he said.

She nodded. “Okay.”

He walked her to the door and opened it to the blinding sunlight. He stepped out with her and beheld the sight.

The cabin was at the top of a small hill, and below the women were encamped. There had to be a thousand tents there, some with one woman, others with several. Mothers came with daughters, sisters camped together—all of them for the chance to be with him. At the bottom of the hill was a group of women—those who were ovulating, those who had the best chances of becoming pregnant—and the next in line began to hurry up the hill.

“Are there more today?” he asked Lucy.

She nodded, leaning her head against him. “A caravan showed up today. Another hundred. They said that there was a man a few days away who had been doing what you do, but he died. So the women went to find new men. There aren’t many left.”

“I know,” he said.

“The new women said the other man wasn’t like you,” Lucy told him. “He was mean and cruel.”

Visions from Thomas’ life flashed through his head—visions of the things in his scrapbook. The arrest record, the convictions, the mug shots. The assaults and batteries, the rapes, the murders. The things he’d been caught for, and the many more they’d never suspected. People had always told him he had to change—family, friends, social workers, parole officers—but he’d never listened. Not until the outbreak happened, and he ended up one of the last men alive on Earth.

“Men have always been mean and cruel,” he finally said. “Most who are don’t change. Some do, if it truly matters to them.”

The out-of-breath woman arrived at his porch. She was a freckle-faced redhead, green eyes bright with excitement. She wanted to have a baby, he knew, but he could also see that she also wanted to get laid. He’d had countless thousands of women in the last two years, sometimes twenty or thirty a day. He could size up a woman every time.

He watched as Lucy hurried down the hill into the crowd, and heard her mother began crying because her daughter hadn’t done what she’d come to do. In the crowd below, Thomas saw lots of pregnant bellies—all his children, all his contributions to repopulating the Earth. He laughed silently at how, as a young man, he’d have loved the idea of this scenario. Reality was very different, though.

“I’m Eileen,” the redhead said, her hand running down his bare stomach to his belt and lower. “I am so ready for this.”

He sighed and faked a smile. “Me too, Eileen.”

He led her into the cabin and closed the door on the world around him. But he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

 

CLOSING NARRATION:
The last man on Earth, collecting cars and wishing they were people. A lonely girl in a dome, wishing for love and considering death. And a terrible ex-convict who is atoning for his sins, and wishing he could do more. Three people, three wishes, three apocalyptic scenes. They might do well to sit down together and discuss their problems. But they never will, because these three characters, and their three tragic ends of the world, all live in very different corners... of The Twilight Zone.

 

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.