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I've come home from work and I hadn't slept well last night, so I went straight upstairs for a nap. "Aha," said my brain, "I'll make you regret that!"
It was a Fallout-related dream. Don't stop reading yet.
The first bit was fairly silly stuff. I had a lot of knowledge of both regions that we've seen (East and West coast) and an AI was demonstrating to me a prototype flatbed truck that would scoop up garbage, compact it and use any nearby vegetation to make woven bags to hold it in. This was in Northern California, and I told the AI the east is more damaged and could really use technology like that.
There were also fishmen, yet another DNA splicing experiment. From the east coast, a different fishman had arrived... spliced further with lizard DNA to make a man-lizard-fish hybrid. He took off his glasses (losing his +2 perception bonus) and gave them to the leader of this fishman tribe. They lived in a sort of gully, in a dry riverbed between the testing area for that waste disposal company and an old rustic motel.
I found myself on the night of October 22, 2077, the day before the bombs fell. A family with two small children staying in the motel, they'd figured out what was about to happen and were trying to get to the husband's tribal reservation in Oregon, away from the cities and where they could wait it out. They had two daughters. One was barely out of 'baby' stage, shuffling around in huge (for her) hand-me down shoes. The other was about four. As their parents tried to pack up and not panic, "Kate" (it wasn't really her) and I were watching the kids play in the hallway. I wasn't really me either... I was alive and could interact with people and be seen, but I felt strangely detached from the goings-on around me, as I sort of had up until this point.
We were sitting on the floor with the two girls between us. The younger cheered and garbled with delighted baby talk to herself.
[You can teach babies sign language before they're able to talk, to understand them.] I signed to Kate.
[Really?]
[It takes work, but yes].
The youngest looked up at me and quizzical tried to copy one of my signs, as if to prove my point.
Their parents arrived and carried them up the outdoor stairs to the gravel parking lot, little more than a circular clearing in the pine forest. A long driveway lead out to the highway. It was starting to get dark.
"Where are you folks headed?," I asked.
"We're trying to get to his tribe's land," replied the woman.
"Whereabouts is that?"
"Oregon."
"You'll be lucky to make it at this rate."
They stiffened a bit, still trying to conceal their feelings from their kids.
"Whoever is lending you their car, they're late. You might not make it now." I said.
At this point a car did appear on the driveway, but it wasn't the blue van they were expecting. It was a small gray family car, driven by a woman (who looked rather like someone from work). She parked, opened the trunk and hurried downstairs to collect her own child and begin loading things.
"See, this is awful. Another parent. She'll sense what's going on. But you can't all fit in there. You might not even be going the same way. Are you more entitled to that car than her?"
I wasn't trying to be cruel, these were the facts at a moment like this and I was merely voicing them. They knew full well how much they'd have loved to have that car. They decided to try and entertain their two daughters, and got out a tiny baseball bat and a large, dirty grey plastic ball. The older daughter was thrown a gentle underhand pitch and easily smacked the hollow plastic ball a great distance. It bounced off several trees and rolled around in the grass and fallen needles on the edge of the gravel area.
"You'd better find it," I said, "soon nobody will make them any more."
Again, the parents realized the significance, that even something as simple as a child's toy ball would be impossible to manufacture this time tomorrow. They ran to try and collect it before it rolled into the darkness of the trees. The other mother decided to stop and help. Wind blew gently, causing the branches above to rustle. The sun was setting. My last statement had stirred something in me too.
"Catch!" the parents called, from about 15 feet away, the mother crouched ready to throw another gentle underhand to the daughter. This was a crucial moment in her life, I thought. She might not remember it clearly in the future, or it might be something she uses to give her hope, to tell her own children about. I had to do it.
We were standing by the back of the parked car. The little girl was looking up at me, ignoring her parents. I crouched down next to her.
"Sweetheart, I want you to promise me something...," I said.
"Okay."
"Catch!," yelled her mother again, gently tossing the ball, it landing short and rolling up to the back of the girl's legs. She didn't notice. I picked the girl up.
"Promise me, this is important."
"Okay."
"Look at the sunset," I said, turning so we could both see it.
"Sunsets are so pretty." she said.
"Feel the grass blowing in the breeze," I said, pending so she could extend her hand and feel the tops of the long grass.
When we straightened back up, she looked at me, fear in her eyes, but also understanding that whatever this was, it was important and to listen.
I wanted her to remember the world when it was still beautiful. Sunsets, trees, grass, the cool autumn air in the evening. I want to make sure she would take that with her into the future that was about to arrive, when all this was going to be burned into ash.
The sheer tragedy and desperation and horribleness of the whole thing became overwhelmingly upsetting, and I woke up with a start, glad it was over.
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