I should have slept in. Listened to my tiredness. At least for an hour and forty-seven minutes. Wouldn’t have started the Apocalypse if I had. But the gravels had pummeled my mind. Forced me to wake up and go smuggle food and clean water to the Zielkkenhomville associated to my district—officially United States of the North, Wessex Capital Region Tenement Number 3, because those who lived there did not deserve a name, at least in the mind of the Chairman. The gravels, and my little siblings Ellie and Tim. They were strong enough to go on their own, but I didn’t want Tim to wheel Ellie alone to a terrorist hotbed, especially given my reputation among them. I knew the bastards were capable of killing innocent teens, children even.

Worst part was that if I had told them I was tired, not even that, if I had told them I wanted to sleep, perhaps they’d have chosen not to go. In solidarity. Because they were kind like that. But the ville’s orphanage had already gone without clean water for three days. One of the kids and a teacher had already died of dysentery even. And I didn’t want to be responsible for any more needless deaths.

I had already accepted my mission, the light yoke of my cross, but I would never be able to get rid of that thought. That I had set off the end of the world. Stupid mosquitoes of the mind. Never slept.

It was the first time the lights had gone out in Tenement Number 3 and its surrounding areas, but the local council was carrying out some renovations at the biomass power plant south of the capital, so I thought nothing of the lightless neighborhoods that encroached us. And, as every other day, raw Eugenex gunk streamed its stench and verdant currents from the Eugenex Manufacturing Facility up in Pearfanæg all the way to the tenement. Almost mechanically. As consistently as the foul tempests that purified our air from the radiation that engulfed us before the Day of Rebirth, and crashed into the hundred meter wide barbed wire gate that imprisoned the ville and severed it as a mountainous abyss, which gave birth to two cities within a city, two worlds within a world, where the smashes of the wind at least gave a sound, a voice, to those who could not speak, to those whose lives were not worth a voice. Every other hour the purified air knocked. Always. It brought me peace of mind, actually. Because you could know when things would stink, at least in the Natural section of the ville, the Enhanced one enjoyed scented air, but I had gotten used to the stench by that point. And so had my siblings Ellie and Tim. The people living there, not so much.

Our national flag, waved gallantly in the ville, pillared right in the center of the Natural section, so it would always remind them of what they missed. One onyx arrow and four orange ones clutched by the claws of a white wyvern against a crimson field that burst into the arrows as tributaries into a delta. Meant to represent the unity of the five classes that made up our nation. And the hope that someday, the Naturals would become Enhanceds as well. And that we would one day, return to the homeland across the pond.

I did not know about the last hope, but we would definitely not become Enhanceds. Eugenex would not slither through our veins. I would make sure of that.

The Natural section of St. Cruithnechán of Hope—how I had named the tenement because of its proximity to a cemetery that shared the name—housed the Naturals God had not blessed with the winning tickets for the Rícedryht, or People’s Fortune, the national lottery that determined which Naturals would live in the districts, like mine, and enjoy clean water, food, and electricity, and which would remain subject to the villes’ buildings, decaying carcasses of concrete where light didn’t enter, as light was of the Enhanceds. Windowless shells of hopeful people, with their mouths filled with waste water, as clean water was of the Enhanceds.

Though, these days, sadly, in a few cases, hope was not coming from God.

I would remedy that.

Ellie, Tim, and I sauntered to the orphanage, jumping past the waste water rivers and raw Eugenex currents that coursed its littered streets as natural waterways, eyes fixed straight ahead so we did not look at the graffiti that encased the ville’s low-story buildings. At least not more than we should have. I had taught them about situational awareness, being aware of your surroundings at all times. At first they bothered me, revolting drawings of me, the best of which were those who called me traitor—and not even my mom got spared—but now I had gotten used to them. They didn’t worry me.

The war ones did.

Those that clamored: Cael’s Law is not enough. Liberty awaits those who fight!

I heard Tim murmur the last sentence, but it didn’t worry me. He wouldn’t join the terrorists.

Three minutes and eleven seconds later, we arrived at the orphanage. Everyone happy to see us. Though some shivering from the lack of heating sources, braving the particularly cold gusts of winter’s arrival. I always made sure to help them first, because I knew Ellie and Tim could have ended up there, had my mom not agreed to adopt them, with no one to spare them from dysentery and hunger.

We had adopted Ellie when she was seven, orphaned by Yellowstone, forsaken and blinded by the pandemic, about to die of hunger, but still trusting God, still at peace, and not afraid to die. She’d have gone instantly to Heaven, I knew. She still trusted Him, and didn’t let everything that had happened harden her heart, her soul. Even now at thirteen, still insisting on wheeling herself everywhere, Ellie was kind and caring, with a melodious voice, long cinnamon hair, and arms strong enough to haul a bag of rice at least fifteen seconds away. Wheat was no longer a staple.

We had adopted Tim when he was ten, orphaned by the post-pandemic economic collapse that annihilated the old world, and brought about the new one. He could have lost his soul had I not helped him. And despite his protests, I knew he’d have also gone to Heaven the second he died. Saints tended to think themselves the worst of sinners. Tim was a lanky, fourteen year old with black wavy hair and hints of a beard, whose brains and ease with technology rivaled even that of Enhanced PhD’s, though that didn’t stop him from complaining that his voice wasn’t as deep as he’d have liked.

Neither of them winced at my face, nor did those in the ville. Angular with a medium jaw, mantled by the scars my job brought about. Made my face look as if I had dunk it in scorching oil. I had thought about skin grafts before, but new scars would have again burned my skin, so it’d have been a waste of time and money. And my family didn’t care. Neither did my friends.

And quite frankly, I didn’t either.

Though I wondered if some of the ville’s people would have killed us if we didn’t save them from hunger, thirst, and dysentery. Those whom terrorists had deluded into supporting them.

Usually I’d have been with Ellie and Tim, helping them hand out the food and water, but now I could just protect them from afar in dim cold. Because the gate that severed the tenement had shut its doors a full two and a half seconds earlier than usual, crushing someone who couldn’t make it in time. I could hear his shattered bones. Absolute were the gates in their judgment. Regardless of anyone trapped inside their guts. I guessed sensors were not worth an Impure life, the lowest among the Enhanceds. Sole class that lived alongside Naturals. Only the Enhanceds were allowed free passage in and out of the tenement.

I wanted to rip the gates myself and remove the remains, if only so their stench did not engulf the ville, and compounded to the misery, but I just pretended I had heard a tree trunk being compressed. Not because I was callous or anything of the sort, but because that two second difference meant the bastard terrorists must have tampered with the gate. And I could not let sadness cloud my awareness. Not when they could strike at any second. Not when they might have been expecting me to go rush help someone.

I had told Ellie and Tim to notice anything out of the ordinary, but I still wanted to sprint toward them and warn them. That the Harmonists had—

Gunfire echoed from a nearby building. Terrorists escaped as cockroaches from an exterminator. Our soldiers shot at them. Secured their hidden weapons. Corpses clattered against the street. Made waves of the waste water rivers. A sight that should have petrified me, but they were terrorists. And they’d have killed their own mothers if their dear leader ordered them to. Had just seen them crush an innocent Impure. So I felt nothing as I saw them perish.

“Ellie, Tim,” I yelled. “Go inside. Take care of everyone. I’ll be there soon.”

But then I caught sight my friend. My best friend, Samuel Gieves. Not with the soldiers as I had hoped, even if I loathed the idea, because it was better than the truth. That the friend who had saved my mom and me when we first arrived as refugees from the European Federation was working with terrorists. That the friend who hid me and my mom until Zielkkenhom granted all refugees permission to stay in the country, though at a price, was working with those who would have killed me if they had the chance.

Samuel sprinted past the soldiers and crashed into me. Medium build, broad jaw, five seconds taller than me, and with straight raven black hair, I didn’t think he could run that fast, but new circumstances brought shattered limits. Sometimes.

“Cael, please,” he muttered. Fright in his voice, though he didn’t turn to glance at the soldiers, so I didn’t think that was what brought terror into his eyes. “I’ll explain later, but for now …” He glanced at an alleyway nearby where he could hide.

I shoved him aside to protect him from incoming shots. “Terrorists, Samuel?” I wanted to yell at him, punch him even, but I had seen the scars Zielkkenhom’s rebirth had brought about in his face, his body. Though I couldn’t justify him helping them, I could understand why Samuel would. Somewhat. So I just said, “I’ll stall. Go.” Hoped it was enough time to hide, as a soldier already encroached upon us.

I thought Samuel would have stayed silent, but he just picked up a knapsack and said, as coolly as if he had stated a fact, “The Harmonists are not mere terrorists.”

The Harmonists. Officially the Society of Harmonious Friends United in Constitutional Righteousness. The name Freedom’s Voice, their supreme leader, had granted his rabid sycophants. And though Samuel was my friend, I could not consider the Harmonists freedom fighters.

Freedom fighters didn’t massacre innocent people.

I thought the advancing soldier would have detained me upon sight, or questioned me about Samuel, but he first stopped to pick up some energy bar wrappers, various plastics and litters, as well as other wrappings of sorts the Impures tossed from their spacious subsidized apartments into the Natural section of the ville, and placed them in their respective recycling bins. Gloveless. As he knew I would not escape if it meant forsaking Samuel.

Only one soldier I knew would deign to help the Naturals like that. And he tended to make grand entrances when he could, though not out of vanity, but to showcase the magnificence of Zielkkenhom’s Eugenex.

“Cael Cavanaugh, I suppose you were not in agreement of Samuel Gieves’ use of your national ID card to purchase high-grade military weaponry for terrorists?” soldier Tygo Ágneshláfordhylde declared. Stately. Hovering some five seconds above the tenement’s gate. White thorns streaked Tygo’s onyx hair spikes, with an athletic build and strength that could rival even that of the highest Enhanced class, even though he was an Esne, the class that made up most of the military—the Ánwealdesbord, or Royal Shield—and which replaced the police when Zielkkenhom announced his Age of Rebirth. Tygo could even hurl a 500 pound kettlebell as if it were a potato, but his perpetually slouched posture with flexed knees made him look shorter and less imposing than he could have been.

Lean, muscular, agile, though not as much as Tygo, the Esneas monitored the surface, and kept tabs on the lower classes, among other functions. I always made sure to be on their best graces, which helped when you had to break the law to smuggle clean water into the Zielkkenhomvilles, and needed them to pretend you had done nothing. They tended to be more like Naturals and Impures than Achroites. I liked them.

Though Tygo knew he could participate in Zielkkenhom’s program for distinguished citizens to opt for a subsidized supply of a higher grade Eugenex than his own, he wanted to remain an Esne. By his honor he’d have not progressed through the classes. “In a corrupt society, only the unjust advance,” Tygo told me once. Committed to protecting his country in the trenches. Not in the comfy chairs of the politicians’ high rises.

“So what if I did?” I guessed I should have told Tygo the truth. I didn’t want to lose him as an ally. I needed as many Enhanceds as possible to back my plans. But agreeing to Tygo’s absolute justice, a rarity among the Enhanceds, meant betraying Samuel. Meant betraying my friend. Tygo was also my friend. But Samuel had saved my life. Tygo had not. And Tygo was not at risk of joining the Harmonists. Not by a long shot. Samuel was. I knew who I would protect.

“It is unlawful to arm Harmonists and their sympathizers,” Tygo said. “The mandatory minimum is forty years in prison up to execution at Zee Gevangenis.” His voice solemn, though with a stab of remorse, as if he did not believed his conscientiously memorized words. At least I hoped that was the reason.

I leaned back against a graffiti-sprayed wall, and darted a glance at the waste-filled alleys that streamed through the Zielkkenhomville.

It was for them.

My hands on my pockets, legs wide, and my expression one of arrogance, as if it inhabited my veins, as if I were one of them, with money as my idol. A snow spear spiked my veins. At the thought I could feign pride so well.

“You can charge me if you want, Tygo.” I said, voice oozing pride, a bitter aftertaste soiling my throat. “But I don’t know what judge or prosecutor will sentence the only Class A+ bridger who charges them reduced rates.” I shot a glance at Tygo’s colleagues removing the terrorists’ corpses after the shootout. “And I don’t know how your fellow guard buddies will react when they find out you imprisoned the only Class A+ bridger who charges them nothing for his bridging services.” Poor choice of words. Tygo didn’t care about the opinion of others. For better or for worse. So I changed tactics. Though still with that bitter aftertaste in my throat, which I thought would have vanished by now, I added, “And I can still call a mass strike.”

A mass bridger strike I meant. The sole mention of which made Tygo wince, and his face turn into a statue dozens of ice spikes had slashed. He even leaped toward me.

I thought Tygo would have backed down. I thought he’d have let go. But he’d have died by his honor. I didn’t mind, though, because at least Samuel was safe. Because at least he’d have his freedom and his life, just as he preserved my mom’s and mine.

“When I signed up for the Ánwealdesbord,” he said. “I made a duty to follow the law. I made it my life’s mission to safeguard the peace, stability, and social cohesion of the United States of the North.” That last part the military’s motto. Tygo’s eyes glinted hope, pride of the good kind. Not the haughtiness I pretended to have. Not the usual pride that streamed through Enhanced veins. Most Enhanced veins. “And it is not beneficial, nor just, for a political system, for a society, when power resides in the hands of the few, be they royals or emperors, oligarchs in a pseudo-democracy—” He shot a glare at me. “—or civilians with excessive influence over judicial and political matters.”

“I guess I’m the civilian in your example.”

Tygo stepped back. Crossed the waste waterway at our feet. He must not have wanted to be friends with an oligarch. A well of sadness compressed my chest. So I stood up and walked toward him. “You have to follow the law, I know, and that’s why I oppose the blood-soaked vengeance the Harmonists want to impose upon us,” I said. “But some laws are unjust, and there’s no law against helping others. There’s no law against saving lives. There’s no law against—”

“Would you go so far, Cael,” Tygo said. Anxious, more than enraged. “As to defend a terrorist because you consider him a friend?”

“Samuel’s not a terrorist,” I shot. As confidently as I could. As if saying it strongly could convince myself it couldn’t be true. “If he is, I’ll hand him in myself.”

Tygo sneered. “I trust you, but I don’t believe you on this.”

I guessed he had a point. Deep down, I still didn’t know what I’d have done if Samuel was working with the Harmonists. But I needed to find out. Soon. Before it was too late. “You’re honorable, Tygo. Your virtue is your strength. That’s why I can’t buy you with Eugenex or free bridging services as I can do with your comrades, but I will not stop smuggling food and clean water just because it’s against the law. I’m not going to sell out the friend who saved my life because you think he’s a terrorist.” I paused a second, so the wind blasted the words into Tygo’s mind. “And I know you believe there should not be laws against Naturals. I know you think some laws are unjust.”

Tygo shifted his gaze at the street for a second, as if he did not want to admit I had read his mind. “That might be the case, Cael, but we don’t get to choose whic—”

“We’re all the Chairman’s pawns until we reform the system for good. So we’re all treated the same under the law.” I extended my arm at him. “Justice is not absolute. Okay, drút?”

Drút. Friend.

Tygo and I shook hands. Our smartwatches the only light amidst the darkness that engulfed us. “I understand your position, but I’ll have to charge you anyway, if you insist on taking the blame for Samuel Gieves. Smuggling and illegal arms dealing.” He remained silent for three seconds, but then he chuckled and sighed, and said, “Though I hope the judge who reviews your case is lenient.”

I smiled back at him. Samuel was safe.

Raw Eugenex stench lingered with the purified air, but Tygo didn’t seem distraught. “I would not want you to end up jailed,” he said. “Your sister should not suffer anymore, though I think she could handle it better than you.”

Relief made its home in my veins when I saw I hadn’t lost Tygo. Or at least it didn’t seem that way. But Tygo wasn’t one to lie. Or try to conceal his emotions. That’s one of the things that separated him from the other Enhanceds. “She’s a resilient one,” I said. “Her joy real, not a mask for the world.”

Disbelief burst in Tygo’s face, but before he could ask more questions, he saw his platoon struggle to carry the corpses that remained in their operation’s aftermath.

“God,” I said. “In case you wondered about the source of Ellie’s joy.”

Pikes of confusion punctured Tygo’s face, who must have thought of Ellie and I as naïve fools, but he stood still for a second, thinking, that perhaps our foolishness was more truthful than the Chairman’s ríceablæd, the People’s Spirit. Zielkkenhom’s ideology, his vision for the world, and our national spirit.

He then marched back to his fellow soldiers, his now family, as was expected of any Esne. Which is why I had never heard Tygo mention his blood family before. Or at least I hoped that was why. But not even the purified air gusts could drown Tygo’s platoon’s grumbles. About the raw Eugenex stink perhaps, but most likely because he had survived. Tygo always halted unnecessary beatings and unwarranted tortures, except when he thought them necessary. But still, Tygo was one of the few Enhanceds I could trust.

With Tygo no longer in sight, and Ellie and Tim hunkered down safely in the orphanage, I skulked behind Samuel and pressed my foot against his hand right before he picked up a grenade he had tossed in the waste waters that drowned our feet. Shock in his face. Loss in his balance. Clatter of seven grenades crashed into the waters from his dropped knapsack. Thank God not activated.

Samuel knew that to be an efficient bridger, you needed swift reflexes. That, and exceptional senses. So I didn’t know why he thought I wouldn’t catch him. Or any Enhanced soldier who didn’t believe Tygo’s report for that matter.

“So of all people, I’m the one you stop?” Samuel stepped back, faced me. His feet now out of the waste water stream. “Figures.”

“I just saved you from rotting in prison, execution most likely, you …” Rage pulsed through my veins, ingratitude tended to irk me, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to do things expecting a thank you, but it vanished when I saw Samuel’s face. Dejected. And he hadn’t even sneered at that last comment. So I stepped toward him, kindly. “Did something happen? To you? Mildred?”

Samuel suppressed a step back, but I had noticed the shift in his facial expression. And a slight drop in the shoulders. Less than a quarter of a second.

Grief pummeled my heart. Samuel’s wife Mildred was just four years older than me. And she gleamed as the moon in a starless sky. She assisted in orphanages, hospitals, shelters for people with lifelong illnesses. Always with a smile. Always with a motherly disposition. And treated everyone the same, Natural or Enhanced. Which is why she was helping me in the reforms I wanted to pass.

The last one did not go so well.

“Samuel, if something happened to Mildred, I—” My smartwatch rang, to a familiar tune.

“A job request,” Samuel said, trying to suppress a smirk because I couldn’t interrogate him further. “You should get going, amicus. A Fengel request. You wouldn’t want to lose a point in your rank.”

I wanted to talk to him. Ask him what had happened. Console him if he had lost his wife, but if I didn’t take the call, I could have set back my plan for months, maybe more. All days the Harmonists could have used to brainwash more people into supporting their stupidity, more time for them to convince Samuel. And if he had just lost the love of his life, the only woman he ever loved, then they could have brainwashed him to do anything.

Sometimes a broken heart was the worst weapon of all.

So I just said, “Don’t lose your soul, a mhac. I’ll talk to you after I return.”

After I return. Those last words, an axe to my mind. Because bridging never stopped. Not even to save your own.

I didn’t want to leave Ellie and Tim alone in a terrorist den, but I knew them strong enough to defend themselves if they had to. Besides, the lights had returned, brighter than ever, so it was safe now. Safer. And Samuel had vowed he’d take care of them while I was gone. And I trusted him.

So I leaped into my smartwatch, into the Bridge, into the job request that led to the Apocalypse.

Hi, my fellow bridgers! Thank you so much for reading The Last God. It means a lot to me that you took time to read my story. Being able to share this story with others has been an amazing experience.

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