The Long April

Today is April 31.

Maeve Ashford was never supposed to survive this.

The plan had been simple: if the world ended, they would end with it — hands locked together. They had joked about dying in a zombie apocalypse. Finn said they’d be dead within five minutes; Maeve said ten. But no matter what, they would be together. They never planned for after.

Then the world ended.

On April 1, 2068, the world Maeve knew ended. Not with storms, bombs or disease, but with a quiet pulse.

It began like any other day. Maeve kissed Finn, who tussled their youngest’s hair as he walked out the door to head into Boston for a three-day conference. Their older two children had already left for school. And because the drive to Boston was only an hour-and-a-half drive from their farmhouse in western Massachusetts, the couple had lingered a few extra minutes around cups of coffee before Finn left.

After dropping their youngest off at daycare, Maeve was supposed to start work. She tried to focus on emails but her mind kept wandering. She went to take a hot shower.

Maeve removed her Iris and felt her mind calm. The clear, flexible contact lens wasn’t uncomfortable — you could hardly feel it — but the immense data projected directly in front of the eye felt unnatural to Maeve, even after wearing one daily for the past 10 years. The small earpiece was similar; removing it gave her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in awhile.

It left her disconnected from Finn and the children, unreachable if they truly needed her. She hadn’t been alone and disconnected like this in more than a decade. But most of the world had once existed like this, she thought. The world could wait twenty minutes.

She stepped into the shower and felt her body relax. After a few minutes, she started singing to herself as she washed her hair.

What Maeve couldn’t see was her Iris flash and turn black.

After she stepped out of the shower, she decided to go make herself another cup of coffee before getting redressed.

“Well, that’s weird,” she said as the coffee machine remained silent. She tried again. And again.

She grabbed a cup of water instead and headed back upstairs mumbling about how expensive the coffee machine had been.

Maeve forgot about the coffee machine by the time she went to put her Iris back in, noticing the lens had turned black. She held up the earpieces and jumped. A high pitched screech pierced her ears.

She attempted to turn on her TV and computer but both were the same black screens. As she stood frozen in confusion and fear, she remembered the coffee machine.

Nothing was working.

Maeve grabbed her shoes and headed to the car. The automatic doors remained tightly locked. She began walking down their long driveway to the neighbor’s house.

When Maeve arrived, nobody answered. By the third house, she began to panic. At the fifth house, she pushed open the front door and yelled, “Please someone help me!”

Nobody answered. Maeve ran through the house attempting to turn on any piece of technology she could. All of it remained black.

She stopped. She thought she had heard someone. She walked down the hallway and slowly twisted the handle.

A baby sat in a crib, still attached to a device linked to his parent’s Iris used to monitor his breathing. As the baby heard the door creak, he looked up at Maeve.

For a second, Maeve smiled. But the baby didn’t cry or coo. He just stared.

As Maeve moved closer, she noticed the baby’s eyes were pure black. She stopped walking. Then Maeve noticed the baby’s mother, standing in the corner. She too had heard the door and looked in Maeve’s direction.

As Maeve noticed the woman’s eyes matched her son’s, she slammed the door. She felt a thud on the other side as the woman began ramming her body into the door.

Maeve stood in shock.

As the woman’s hand broke through the door, Maeve sprinted out of the house. She was focused on finding her children.

When Maeve reached the doors of the school, she was met with a sense of relief seeing the bright brown eyes of the receptionist.

“Stop!” the receptionist yelled as she ran forward. Maeve only halted when the receptionist raised what looked like a taser.

“What the …” Maeve exclaimed. “Where are my children?”

“You’re OK? You’re OK, Oh! You’re OK,” the receptionist said, slowly lowering the taser.

“Where are Austen and Connor,” Maeve said.

“Oh, they’re OK too. Everyone here is safe,” the receptionist replied as she led Maeve to the cafeteria where they were holding all of the children.

On the walk across the school, the receptionist explained what had happened to Maeve.

On the morning of April 1, 2068, a radioactive pulse was sent through every Iris lens. In an instant, connected technology failed, and the minds of those wearing Iris snapped.

“But because we have a non-wearable environment during the school day, everyone here is safe,” she finished explaining. “Well, not everyone. One of the fifth grade teachers was secretly wearing his Iris while the students were at recess. He’s currently trapped in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Oh, and obviously we have tablets and old phones we use in case of emergencies that aren’t connected to Iris. We had to make a lot of calls before someone explained,” she added, as if reading Maeve’s mind.

Austen hit her first — full force, knocking the air from her lungs. Connor followed, quieter, but he didn’t let go.

“Can I borrow that phone,” Maeve asked, her hands still gripping both children. “I need to call daycare.”

The receptionist led Maeve and her two oldest children back to the front desk. Maeve sighed with relief when the daycare owner answered. They too were a non-wearable facility while the children were on site.

Although she already knew the answer, she tried reaching Finn. The line was dead.

The next few weeks were chaotic. Maeve had never planned to be part of the end of the world but she couldn’t leave her children behind. So, she began helping connect the surviving families at the school.

They didn’t have any answers as to why the shock had happened so all technology remained forbidden. While home getting clothes and food, Maeve went through the house throwing any piece of technology out into the yard.

Maeve hesitated as she threw the last digital picture frame over the fence. It was pictures of the entire family traveling to Maine last summer. The last photo she saw of her husband was him running with Connor and Austen on the beach.

Then she threw it. She saw it flicker and fall behind a large object. She felt a sob leave her body.

On April 31 — Maeve’s new way of counting time — the National Guard arrived, removing anyone with entirely black eyes and securing the town. They provided a few more details about what had happened: It had started with a group of rogue scientists — original creators of Iris. They had been pushed out when the company became a multi-billion-dollar empire. They hijacked the network as a final message.

But the National Guard didn’t help them with what would come next.

After weeks of feeling misplaced, Maeve and her children returned to their home, located within an approved fenced-in area of the town.

Maeve finally felt ready to stop waiting for the world to end again. Not because it was safe. Not because it was fixed. But because for the first time since April 1, it felt like she could face the thought of rebuilding.

Her children ran ahead of her through the yard, their voices loud in a way that didn’t feel like loss anymore. Maeve paused.

The house was the same. And still, it wasn’t. Nothing would ever be the same again. But that no longer meant nothing could continue.

She looked at each one of her children. Not as something she was trying to protect but as hope.

The day before, a flicker of hope would’ve frightened her. She would’ve pushed it deep down inside, refusing to let it linger too long. Today, it steadied her.

Maeve stepped inside. And for the first time since the world broke, she didn’t think about how to endure it. She thought about how they might live in it.

“When is dad coming home,” Austen asked her mother as they all settled into the king size bed. Her 6-year-old eyes were tearing up.

“He’s not,” Connor quickly answered, facing the wall.

Austen pushed her brother, causing him to roll off the bed. Connor jumped up and shoved his sister.

Maeve grabbed Austen and moved her to the other side of the bed, finally responding “We don’t know anything yet. We just need to figure out what we want life to look like so if he does return home, he’d be proud of us.”

None of her children responded. Maeve could hear Austen crying into the pillow next to her.

By April 55, life found a fragile normal. The children continued going to school and Maeve began working with a team to repurpose old devices, hoping to make connections to anyone outside their fence who might’ve been missed by the National Guard.

Maeve kept her hope to reach Finn a secret from the children. To them, all technology was banned.

But Connor had his own secret.

On the first night back in their house, Connor had noticed something under his parents bed. While his mother and sisters were sleeping, Connor slipped out of bed to inspect it.

It was his father’s old watch. Finn used to wear it every day but Iris had phased it out with the updated lenses. Connor hadn’t seen his father wear it in years. Still, it was his father’s.

Next to it was a charger. Connor plugged it in. A picture of Connor as a baby in his father’s arms lit up on the lock screen.

​​Connor knew he shouldn’t keep it. He knew what happened to people who stayed connected. But this was his dad.

He stuffed it in a drawer and got back into bed.

Every night for weeks, Connor would secretly plug in the watch, and whisper goodnight to a man who wasn’t there. As time went on, Connor found himself being drawn to the watch for longer each night.

One night, Connor stayed up far later than he should have, lost in the flickering memory of his father. In his exhaustion, he forgot to put the charger back in the drawer. The next night, when he returned to the watch, the charger was gone.

“Do you think I could sleep in my own room,” Connor asked his mother on April 55.

“I don’t see why not,” Maeve said, nervously. But she took it as a sign that Connor was feeling more normal.

That night Connor took out the watch and put it on. It still had a full battery from the last charge. He fell asleep staring at it.

Some nights, he swore the picture moved. Just slightly. Like his father was about to reach out and hug him.

But on April 63, the watch flickered and turned black. Connor clicked the watch face over and over. Nothing changed.

As his mother and sisters slept, he tore through the house looking for the charger. But his mother had gotten rid of everything long ago. He was furious.

He stopped talking to his mother. He could see she was hurt but he couldn’t voice why. Instead, he started spending more time outside.

About a month later, Connor was scanning the fence line where people had thrown all their technology and unwanted items from before April 1. He had spent weeks hoping to find a charger but hadn’t had any luck. Suddenly, he saw a long skinny black line.

It didn’t look like a charger Connor knew but he was desperate. Using wire, an old hook and some sticks, Connor was able to reel in the technology. He stuffed it into his coat pocket and tried to walk as normal as possible past Maeve and into his room.

He locked the door and plugged it in. Connor was just about to lose hope when the light of the watch flickered on — his dad finally looking back at him again.

This time, Connor noticed a low, steady hum — like something vibrating through the air. At first it gave him headaches. Then it stopped bothering him. Weeks later, he found it comforting.

“Connor, wake up,” Maeve yelled as she knocked on his door. “I’m going to come in there if you don’t open up.”

Maeve was growing very worried with her oldest as he remained distant. She tried everything she could think of but nothing worked. She missed Finn.

Connor was going to bed earlier and waking later. He was eating less and wasn’t interested in playing with his sisters anymore. She hoped he simply needed time.

But it had nearly been a year since April 1 and it only seemed that Connor was getting worse, Maeve thought.

On April 345, Maeve began thinking she needed to do something drastic. She put her two daughters to bed in her king bed and went back to Connor’s room.

The door was locked.

“Connor, open up,” Maeve said. “I think we need to talk.”

The door slowly creaked open and Connor returned to sit on his bed.

“I’m really worried about you,” Maeve started. She had a big speech planned.

“I think I might have the stomach flu,” Connor replied.

“Oh,” Maeve responded, thrown off from her plan. She reached her hand up to check Connor’s forehead. “You’re not hot.”

“My stomach hurts,” he responded.

Maeve signed and told him to get some sleep. She wasn’t sure his stomach pains were real but she knew she wasn’t going to reach him tonight. She’d try again tomorrow.

Connor didn’t get better.

By April 350, the whites of Connor’s eyes began turning darker — almost a shade of light grey. Maeve, panicking, called the town doctor — the town veterinarian prior to April 1.

After examining Connor, the doctor asked to see Maeve outside.

“I can’t be certain,” the former veterinarian said, “but I think he’s being poisoned by something radioactive. Do you have technology?”

“No,” Maeve said firmly.

“I told you I can’t be for certain,” he said, looking at his feet. “But I’d check his room again.”

Maeve ran back into the house. She threw open Connor’s door and began yelling at him, asking if he had any technology.

He refused to look at his mother.

She tore through his room, looking in drawers, in the toy bin and in his closet. She stopped and stared at him.

Suddenly, she heard a strange hum. She looked at his bed. Grabbing his covers she shook them out. Then she grabbed his pillow.

Out fell the watch. Finn’s face lit up in her hand.

She froze, drifting off into a moment she would do anything to return to. Connor as a baby. Finn smiling. For a second, Maeve forgot everything.

Then she heard the hum again. As she raised it to her ear, Maeve's vision swirled.

Maeve, with tears in her eyes, ran out of the house. Connor tried to follow but was too weak. She chucked the watch over the fence.

Connor spent the next few days in the town’s makeshift hospital. The town officials called for the National Guard to come or send them a real doctor. But all they received in return was confirmation that the request had been noted.

“It’s time to take him home,” a nurse told Maeve.

“But he’s not better,” she replied.

“I know,” the nurse said. “Go be together as a family.”

Maeve took Connor home and tucked him into the king size bed with the rest of the family.

“Dad?” he said.

She grabbed his hand. “It’s mom.”

“I love …”

He suddenly stopped talking. Maeve grabbed his shoulder and Connor turned toward her. His eyes were black.

She grabbed her daughters and raced out of the house.

On April 365, Maeve Ashford stood above a freshly covered grave.

She was never supposed to be here.

Not here. Not after. Not still counting days that shouldn’t exist.

The earth was still loose beneath her feet, like it didn’t know how to hold what had just happened. Behind her, her daughters were inside the house, waiting on her.

Maeve didn’t turn around.

She had finally planned for the end of the world — making plans for what comes after. As if preparation could outrun loss. As if imagining what came next could keep her and those she loved from breaking apart.

But it hadn’t worked that way.

A small voice called from the house.

Maeve didn’t respond. She closed her eyes.

She felt like she could still hear it. That low, steady hum. The one Connor said he stopped noticing. The one she hadn’t heard until it was too late.

“I’m counting on you and your dad to keep watch over us,” she said softly. “At least until the end of April.”

A small smile flickered as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Maeve stepped back from the grave and walked toward the house. As she crossed the yard, something in her lightened — not because it hurt less, but because she finally understood it wouldn’t stop hurting.

You can plan to die with the world or plan every careful step to survive it. But both options fail you.

The world doesn’t follow your plans, and grief doesn’t arrive the way you expect it to.

Maeve reached the door. Behind her, the grave stayed still. Ahead of her, life continued — messy and unfinished.

And for the first time since April 1, she didn’t try to control what came next. She just lived.