"Hello? Blue? You with us?" Cassie's elbow nudges me, returning my attention to my room at Silver's.

Well, it's not really my room anymore. We've turned it into a sort of living room for all of us. Just a few couches, a table, and some long-term storage for us to share. Plus a little entrance built into the window giving Corax and the few birds who stayed in the city a way in, and a nest not nearly as nice as he deserves. It's far more pleasant than trying to fit all of us in Lucas' room for game night.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. A kid was trying to graffiti the tower on a dare. I was talking to him."

"They know you have cameras everywhere, right?"

"I think that was the point. I'm pretty sure his friends were trying to get him in trouble. He's just trying to fit in."

"I don't doubt it." Vince says. "Kids can be awfully cruel when they don't know what consequences really mean yet."

"Yeah. I asked Emma to talk to his friends for me."

"Glad you're finally delegating." Lucas jokes.

"Took her long enough." Ivy adds.

"You're not going to zone out when I actually start telling my story, are you?" Vince asks.

"No, I'll tell you when something else needs my attention."

"Alright, good." Vince leans back and rests one foot on his other knee. "Let me start by saying I don't have a perfect memory, far from it, in fact. I've spent an awful lot of time trying to forget an awful lot of things. Don't take what I say as gospel, but I'll do my best to share what I experienced. I guess the only place to start is with the end of the world."

I spent the school years with my mother, and went off to help my father on the farm during the summers. My mother was strong, a lawyer living in the heart of Dallas, and busy beyond belief. I was around twelve then, didn't really understand at the time just how much she did for me.

It was the middle of the school year, 2022. We all knew something was happening. As much as the adults tried to insulate us, we could see the grass struggling, the trees wilting, dirt drying out quickly after every storm, food growing rarer at supermarkets and prices soaring. Not to mention finding grains of sand in every field and blown across every road. It'd been going on a year and a half at that point. Plus at the time we had the internet. The whole world was connected, everything unfiltered and right there at your fingertips. You can't keep kids away from that.

"Vincent!" My mother's voice woke me up, along with a strong knock on the door. I didn't shorten my name for a few years yet. I still hear that voice in my dreams. Just sheer, thinly veiled terror. She always tried to keep a strong face. It wasn't like her to show so much emotion. "Vincent come here!"

I sprung out of bed and threw open the door. She was fully dressed already, wearing her work suit, hair pinned up, even before the sun was up. She had this look, the same look she always had when she was poring over a case. Pure, cold seriousness. If I didn't already know something was wrong, I would have run for my life.

"Vincent, you're going to your father's. Grab your stuff."

"But what about school?" Can you believe that? The world was ending and school was my biggest worry.

"I already talked to your teachers, it's ok for you to leave." Lawyers always were known for lying. "Come on, grab your bag. We'll have breakfast in the car."

"Alright." Despite my fear, I got to work.

Even as a kid, I knew something big was happening. I didn't even take off my pajamas, just threw everything I had in a little travel bag, and stepped into the living room where she was already waiting. I was really good at swapping houses, it only took a couple minutes.

She didn't even say anything, we just took the stairs down and headed for the parking garage.

Even that early, way before the sun rose, the streets were already packed. Everyone was trying to get out of the city. I didn't know at the time why everyone was panicking, but it certainly didn't help the growing pit in my stomach.

Traffic was crazy. Horns going off every moment, people cutting each other off, a car swiped ours and we just kept going. Mom stayed calm through the whole thing. For my part I just put in some headphones and played a little game I had, tried to bury my feelings.

Father lived a couple hours out of the city. We didn't say much on the drive. It was just me absorbed in that stupid game. I hardly even remember anything about it. I'd give almost anything to have had one final conversation with her.

I ended up falling into a restless sleep in the car and we were there before we knew it.

"Vincent." My mother's voice woke me up. "We're here."

Dad had a two story homestead, hand built by his father, so far out in the middle of nowhere he didn't even have a cell tower nearby. Uh, imagine if your tablet was connected to every other device on the planet, that's basically what it was. If you were close to the tower, you were connected, if not, you were out of luck. We had to drive into town if we wanted to call anyone. He was waiting on the porch when we arrived. His dog, Rusty, was alert next to him. He was a blue heeler, funnily enough.

"You be good for your father, alright?" She asked. "Always listen to him."

"I always do." I reminded her.

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"Good." She let out a massive sigh. "I need to go home, love you, son." She reached over, embracing me. I hugged her back.

"Love you too." I mumbled into her.

I stepped out, she put the car in reverse, and disappeared down the driveway. That was the last time I ever saw her. Her name was Mariah Patterson, born October 28th, 1982. Died at some point, certainly, although I never even found a body.

Vince doesn't hide his tears, he reaches up to wipe them away, and Ivy places a hand on his knee.

Anyway, like I said, father was waiting on the porch. He woke with the sun, and went to sleep only a few hours before that. He was waiting in this rocking chair, that thing shrieked like a banshee with every movement. Water catchers were spread around the house, we still had rain in those days, still would until the oceans fell through.

"Vincent, go put your stuff away and let's get to work." He was all business. Always showed his appreciation, just never directly.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"We're doing a harvest. Now come on. Meet me in the field." He didn't even wait for me to respond, just stood up and headed straight towards the barn.

Rusty stayed with me, which was abnormal. Dad only got him a summer before that one. I hadn't spent much time with him. Regardless, he trotted along right at my heels.

I let myself in. The kitchen and living room were both full of big 55 gallon drums of water. We had a well on the property, but when that started running dry, he made sure we wouldn't go thirsty. He was always a bit of a prepper, you don't live that far out in the country without being a little bit of one, but this was something else.

I just headed straight to my room, threw my bag on my bed, put on some overalls, and headed back outside.

Father was hooking up both tractors when I arrived. I won't bore you with all the intricacies of farming.

"You're lucky, he's never held himself back before." Cassie whispers conspiratorially.

"Well if you're going to complain…" Vince says.

"No no! It's fine!"

Anyway, point is that farming is a two person job. Well really you need as many people as you can get, but we didn't exactly have farmhands at, well, hand.

We didn't even say anything, just got to work. He had a big trailer that did most of the work. It ripped everything out of the ground and tossed it to the side. I just drove next to him with a big bucket on wheels and caught everything. He had a small farm, and even then it took days to get through it all.

The dust in those days was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Every turn of the wheels kicked up more. It got in everything, every crevice on your body. It got under your clothes, rubbed everything raw. It replaced the oxygen in your lungs, choking the air. Even with a bandana pulled up over my nose, my chest burned with every breath, my eyes poured water, desperately trying to get out the endless dust. Even the tractors gave out a couple of times, choking on dust. But I did my job, and we got it done.

We worked all day and long into the night. Started up again at sunrise, still never saying anything. It took days to get everything out of the ground. Grain got stored in silos, and what vegetables were still edible got canned.

It was the worst harvest I'd ever seen. A quarter of the plants came out of the ground already dead, shriveled up and rotten. Not much water was in the ground, even that early into things. We were trying to grow stuff in dead dirt. Plus, the plants just couldn't pull nutrients out of the sand.

Even with the miserable harvest, we still had more food than you can imagine. We could have lived off that for years and years. As long as you ignore what missing vital nutrients does to the human body that is. But that's what the chickens were for. Point is, food was never the issue, water'd run out years earlier.

I carried the last box of cans downstairs, organized, and headed back up.

"Is the world ending?" I was the first to speak.

Father's face told me everything I needed to know.

"I don't know." Farmers aren't nearly as good at lying as lawyers are. I just stared at him. "Look, doesn't matter what the world's doing. We've got water, we've got food. Nothing else we need. Now come on, can't imagine your mother kept up with taking you to the range."

"She didn't." I agreed. The two of them fought about that often.

My father kept a gun safe near the front door, and kept the key around his neck. He opened it up and grabbed an old single shot, .22 rifle he had. He handed me clay pigeons and some ammo to carry, and the two of us headed out into the… well, I guess you couldn't call it freshly tilled soil when it's half sand. He dragged a table behind us, and I spread the ammo and pigeons across it.

"What's rule one?" He carried a pistol on him at all times. Cassie's pistol, actually. He'd be happy to know just how well it's served our little family.

"Always treat a gun as if it's loaded and about to fire." I rattled off.

"Good. Let's see if you remember how to clean these." He pushed the pistol towards me.

I was clumsy back then, but I still remembered. We practiced every summer since I was old enough to understand the seriousness of what I was holding. I cleaned the pistol, and the rifle, and we got to work.

My father would throw a pigeon, I'd miss, and Rusty would retrieve the unbroken disc, tail wagging as fast as he could manage. That dog never cared about gunfire. I think he was born without any sense of self preservation.

My father pulled, and a lucky shot made the target explode. He nodded with satisfaction.

"Let's see if that was just luck." He said, and tossed another into the sky.

I took my stance, aimed, squeezed the cold steel in my hands, and the target fell to the ground, pristine and undamaged. Rusty retrieved it for us, as happy as could be.

"Watch your breathing. Only thing that matters is staying calm." That was the only advice he gave me before tossing another target.

It didn't do anything to help me of course, it'd be a few years yet before I really learned what he meant. He gave me a few more shots before he started correcting my mistakes.

"Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. You're flinching before you fire, anticipating the recoil, it's throwing your aim off. Exhale before you fire, you'll be more consistent that way. Keep your focus on the target, not your gun." He'd rattle off a different thing I was doing wrong after every shot.

That helped. I sure wasn't a good shot, but I shook the rust off quick. I stuck with the pistol for the most part. The rifle was a little big for a twelve-year-old kid.

Dad took his turn only after I burned through most of a box of ammo. He was a good shot. Not as good as Ivy, not many people are, but good. Rusty had way less fun while he shot, he didn't leave many targets unbroken. I grabbed a nearby stick to keep him entertained, don't worry.

The two of us didn't break for dinner until the sun was too low to see the targets. I think he knew what was coming, even if he never said it directly. He knew he'd have to prepare me for something.

We had chicken for dinner. He left me to pluck the carcass while he did some work around the house. Always did hate eating those little guys, but calorie for calorie? Grain is more efficient to eat directly, and a chicken not producing eggs didn't do anything for us.

"We're going to practice again tomorrow, go get some sleep." He said after dinner.

"Ok." Wasn't my place to question him. I laid awake for hours in a room that never quite felt like home.

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