For the Love of Mankind

Billy lay in the wet grass and watched the wood and canvas aircraft circle in the sky above the fjord. It was a warm day, the sun beamed down on the wet Antarctic ground, giving fuel to the rapidly growing moss and small plants that now called the once barren land home. The airplane-- which Colt had named Monarch, after the butterflies which once roamed his homeland-- was the first flying machine to take flight since the disaster. Billy and Colt worked tirelessly over the course of four years to repurpose pieces of one of the engines of their downed Stratofortress into a workable engine small enough, but powerful enough, to lift their paper airplane into the sky for limited flight.

The project was a welcome distraction from their lives, from their world, and from their choices. Although Billy let Colt make the first test flight that morning, the project served Billy’s spirit far more than Colt’s. Colt was content with their new lives and their new world, he harbored no regrets, but Billy had second thoughts. Having something to focus on for four years kept Billy grounded and, though he would never tell Colt, the project kept him from ending it all. Billy watched the Monarch circle the fjord twice more before getting up, brushing the mud from his pants, and walking back toward their “house”.

The Monarch zoomed overhead, flying low as it came in for a landing. The wobbly plane’s skates touched down against the thick muddy slush and the machine skidded to a halt next to their dwelling, the remains of their bomber. Billy pushed down the urge to run excitedly to Colt and ask how the machine handled-- if it's done, then what will I do? Colt, however, ran excitedly around the Monarch, checking the plane for damage. He peeled off his penguin-leather helmet and retro-fitted flight goggles, a bright smile stretched across his bearded face as Billy approached.

“It’s perfect!” Colt exclaimed,

“We’ll have to tow it North if we want to make it to Chile. We’ve already used half our fuel on the tests alone.”

“It won’t be such a bad walk now, with most of the snow melted.”

“Snow would have made it easier to drag the skates.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Billy.”

Billy mumbled a halfhearted response which Colt ignored. Colt dragged the Monarch through the mud, beneath the wing of the plane which had been converted into a makeshift hangar by draping tanned seal leather from the wings. While Colt stowed the Monarch away, Billy took stock of their supplies. Penguin jerky, seal jerky, whale jerky-- jerky, jerky, and more jerky. Billy hated the taste, but if left to choose between the jerky and what was left of their dried fruit, he would rather have the tough, tasteless, leathery meat.

Before the thaw, when the Antarctic fjords were still covered in snow, Billy and Colt were able to get fresh meat and sometimes even giant eggs from the penguin’s nests. Now that the snow was rapidly retreating inward, toward the South Pole, the two survivors had to venture further and further every hunt. It had gotten to the point where the live animals were too far away to hunt and drag all the way back. Coupled with the warming temperatures, Colt figured the nuclear winter was ending and it was time to head North to search for other survivors-- hence the rapid production of the Monarch.

It took the pair three of their four years to get enough seal hides to make the wings, heat the metal shards of their plane to forge into struts and structural supports, and just get the shape of the Monarch ready-- now, it looked like a cobbled together replica of the Wright Flyer. Once the food ran out, they finished the engine and started running test flights in less than half the time. Funny how the threat of starvation increases work ethic. In those four years, both Billy and Colt had turned from prim and proper soldiers to burly, bearded wildmen.

Billy grabbed a strip of penguin jerky, which went down easier than the seal jerky, in his opinion, and watched Colt work from the door of the Stratofortress. This is his fault, Billy glared at Colt as the bearded man lit a fire in a small circle of stones and started roasting the last of their fresh meat. Colt figured they could afford to splurge a little tonight since tomorrow they would start their trek North-- taking only what they could carry, towing the Monarch through the mud on its skates-- to fly upward to the tip of Chile and search for civilization.

It must be long enough now, Colt watched the penguin meat turn in the fire as he twisted the spit, if the snow is melting here, it must be melting everywhere. Colt chuckled quietly to himself, wasn’t it so novel that they were living in Antarctica and thriving? Maybe, a thousand years from now, mankind would live in the fjords and natural harbors of the once forbidden continent. The beauty of the sunset against the rising ocean confirmed to Colt that he’d made the right choice.

When the meat was cooked, Billy joined Colt by the fire. A galaxy of stars-- unaffected by the harrowing troubles on Earth-- glimmered overhead. Even Billy had to admit it was beautiful. The two finished eating and lay down on the ground, next to each other, holding hands and gazing at the heavens as an aurora australis danced overhead. Before the disaster, it was hard to see the night sky clearly anywhere. Now, all of Heaven watched the Earth’s reformation with eager eyes.

Billy looked at Colt, was it possible to still love him? Of course it was… Billy hated that. Colt looked at Billy and smiled. The other half a dozen crew members of the Stratofortress lay buried in a storage room at the back of the plane-- when it was cold, it was the only place to stow the bodies. The ground was too hard or too snowy to dig proper graves. Maybe now with the thaw, they would bury their comrades before departing. Colt smiled because he was happy Billy survived the crash with him. He smiled because the old problems of the old world were wiped out. He smiled because the world could start anew. And he smiled because, for a brief moment, under the stars with Billy, it felt like the old days.

Colt rolled on top of Billy and kissed him for a long time. The fire of their pre-war romance was still very much alive in Colt’s heart, but in Billy’s, it was as cold as the nuclear winter Colt had forced them to endure. Billy accepted the kiss, mostly out of boredom and routine, and, for a moment, he felt bad for hating Colt. Was it so bad that Colt was a dreamer? Was it so bad that he took steps to fix the world the only way he knew how? Yes, Billy wrapped his hand around Colt’s neck, This is all his fault.

“That’s rougher than usual.” Colt whispered in Billy’s ear,

Billy let go of Colt’s neck, pushed him off, and stood up. Colt silently watched Billy walk back toward their shelter. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars. He shouldn’t blame me… I gave the world a chance it never would have had otherwise… he shouldn’t blame me. Colt clenched his fists and hit the ground next to him. Tonight, he would sleep outside. If Billy was going to kill the mood, it was better to sleep outside anyway.

Within the dark hull of the Stratofortress-turned-snow shelter, Billy eagerly dug through boxes of supplies. The Monarch was done. Billy knew it would fly. He knew it could carry both of them. He knew that, with enough luck and caution, it would make it to Chile and he and Colt’s exile would end. But Colt didn’t deserve to return to what remained of civilization and neither did Billy. They dropped the bomb. They ruined the world. They should stay in Antarctica and starve… or they should end it all tonight. When Billy couldn’t find the gun Colt hid months prior, he stood up angrily and kicked over a box of jerky.

I could ask him where it is, but he would never give it to me… I could say we need it to hunt, but he would say we’re leaving tomorrow… Billy paced anxiously around the plane, looking over every box, every storage compartment for anything he could have missed. Then he stared into the abyssal darkness which led to the back of the plane. One of their comrade’s bodies might still have a weapon. Slowly, Billy walked down the dark hall toward the crypt of their fallen brothers. When he reached the door to the storage room turned tomb, he stopped.

Could he really do this? Would he disturb the eternal rest of the innocent crewmembers who died in the crash? Would he kill Colt? He loved Colt, didn’t he? Before the war, before their orders came through, they went on dates, walked along the beaches, planned out their futures together. It couldn’t be Colt’s fault, Billy sank away from the door. For four years I’ve been blaming him for carrying out our orders. It’s the general’s fault for-- Billy’s mind went silent. I… never saw the orders come through. Colt told me that--

Billy yanked open the door. The smell of thawing, rotting flesh stung his nose, challenging him to force down reactionary vomit. Trying not to look at the faces of his crewmen, frozen in eternal horror, he dug through their uniforms until his hand wrapped around the familiar cold grip of a pistol. Billy pocketed the gun and turned to leave. Before he left, he spotted a dull black box, about the size of a football, in the corner of the morbid mausoleum. The flight recorder. Billy snagged the device, shut the door, and walked slowly, quietly, to the cockpit.

He plugged the device into one of the monitors he and Colt fixed years ago to try and ascertain the global situation. It had just enough power to read the data-- they had only used it once before shutting it off. Billy scrolled through the final flight logs, he saw the crash, the audio files of the crew arguing where to land, the indicator that the bomb had dropped, triggering armageddon. But where was the general’s order? Where was the order Colt swore came through to drop the bomb? Where was the report of the enemy firing first?

Billy shut off the monitor. He lied to me…

“Colt!” Billy shouted, under the starlit sky.

“Huh?” Colt shook himself awake, “Did you change your mind--”

“What was the general’s order?”

“What?”

“What did he instruct you to do?”

“He told me to drop the bomb at the edge of the glacier to trigger a tsunami because the enemy--”

Billy threw the flight record into the mud at Colt’s feet. Colt looked at the black box. In his sleepy haze, it took him a moment to recognize what it was. He sighed out slowly and rubbed his forehead. How could he expect Billy to understand? He thought hiding the black box with the bodies would keep Billy from looking for it.

“Billy--”

“Don’t ‘Billy’ me. You lied to me!” Billy shouted so loud his throat strained, “You destroyed the world, Colt! The world!”

“The world was already dying, Billy! All I did was--”

“You always hated everyone! You always hated everything! What made you think you had the right to judge? What made you think you had the right to-- to--” Billy choked on his own tears, “Eight billion people…. Colt… how many are left? How many people did you make me kill?”

“I didn’t do it because I hate the world--”

“Yes you did.”

“No, I didn’t--”

“Yes you did.” Billy cried,

“I don’t hate the world--”

“You did. You always did--”

“I DON’T HATE THE WORLD, BILLY! I SAVED THE DAMN WORLD!”

“YOU KILLED EVERYONE!”

The polar night fell silent and still. The only movement was the aurora australis dancing above. The stars were still, eagerly watching the lovers argue in the wasteland of the Earth. Billy felt the piercing stares of the burning stars cut through his body. They were the billions of souls he and Colt had killed, casting their judgement through him. Accusing him. Taunting him. He pointed the pistol at Colt with a shaky hand.

“Where did you get that?” Colt asked, coldly,

“Why did you do it, Colt? Why did you lie? Why did you drag me into this?”

“I wanted you to survive with me. I love you--”

“You don’t love anybody.” Billy cocked the gun, “You don’t love anybody.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t… but I love you…”

Billy couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. Against every instinct, against every fiber of his being, he still loved Colt. But Colt had to be punished. He didn’t deserve to return to the world he destroyed. Billy pointed the gun toward the side of his head. He would force Colt to be alone. He would abandon him to suffer with the consequences of his own choices. Colt stood coldly still as Billy squeezed the trigger. Click. The gun was empty.

Billy and Colt stared at each other. Billy looked at the dying fire in the fire pit and then glanced at the seal-skin aerodrome which housed the Monarch. He sprinted, grabbing a burning log from the flames, he ran toward the Monarch. There was still fuel in its engine. He would destroy it and burn himself with it, abandoning Colt to an eternity alone in the barren wasteland of Antarctica. Colt chased after Billy, how could he make him understand?

“Billy! Don’t burn it!”

When he reached the wing of the Stratofortress, Billy pulled back the seal skin and stared at the airplane. The project which kept him alive for four years would now be his funeral pyre. It was fitting. It was what they both deserved. Billy raised the torch, screaming, and hurled it forward-- thud. Billy dropped the torch on the ground, inches away from the Monarch. The mud soaked ground snuffed out the flame. Billy reached up and felt the aching back of his head. He looked at his hand, blood.

Billy tried to turn around, but lost his balance and collapsed. He looked up at Colt standing over him with a wrench in his hand-- Billy’s blood was smeared across it. Billy tried to speak, but couldn’t. Colt threw the wrench aside and sat next to Billy as everything went dark. He held his hand, but wouldn’t look him in the eye. Colt buried Billy in the morning and spent the next week and a half hauling the Monarch through the mud toward the narrow part of the sea which separated him from Chile.

The Monarch took off with ease. Far above what was left of the world, Colt thought of Billy. He looked down at the melting snow and the muddy landscape of the fjords. Billy could never understand why Colt did what he did. Billy thinks I hated the world… but I didn’t hate the world. I didn’t. I love the world.

“Billy,” Colt whispered as the Antarctic ground disappeared and turned to choppy ocean, “I am so in love with the world. I am so in love with the world that I had to save it from itself.”

The Monarch flew low. This was the longest flight it had ever attempted. Even the Wright Flyer which its design was based on only ever flew a few minutes. But it would make it. It had to make it. Colt had to see the new world he made. A world free from warring states, free from pollution, global warming, and money. Free from politics, free from desire. Free from hatred. Colt loved the world. He had to see what fruit his love had yielded, so he pushed on, even as the plane dipped toward the stormy sea.

There was a large wave. Colt closed his eyes and thought of Billy.