Anne Winchell - The Last War

She went to the bathroom and cleaned up, then they switched places and she got dressed. She would have preferred to take a shower, but time was pressing. She hoped Medane and Scott didn’t guess what she and Raven had been doing. Once she was dressed she turned the light on, just as Raven came out of the bathroom wearing nothing. To her surprise, he looked embarrassed and tried to cover himself. Apparently she wasn’t the only one unused to being naked around others. She politely didn’t look, aside from a quick peek. He was beautiful.

He pulled on a pair of pants and seemed to regain his confidence with the clothing. She kissed him.

“Goodbye for now,” she said. “But only for now.”

He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

Scott took a deep breath before he finally left the aerostation. Medane and Nalia had dropped him off at Paris before continuing on to NeoLondon, and the city had a panicked look to it as people rushed about their ordinary lives. No one knew whether there would be a second attack, so even the normal traffic had a frantic air as people went about their business and prayed it wouldn’t be their last action. Scott knew that a lot of the people were staying home, or traveling to be with loved ones. A war was starting and even though life continued, everyone had learned about the Last War and knew how war could topple governments and the status quo in a matter of days. Grabbing a cab, he went the housing complex of one of his friends. Taking the elevator to the 14 thfloor, he rang the doorbell and ran a hand through his hair.

He looked reasonably presentable, he knew. Medane had lent him a suit, since all he had brought was casual clothing, and the suit—though indisputably nicer than any in Scott’s usual wardrobe—hung on him slightly and didn’t quite fit right. It looked like he had found it at a discount shop and that took away from the niceness of the suit. Still, he was grateful for Medane’s thoughtfulness. It was likely that all of Scott’s belongings had been destroyed in the attack on NeoLondon. Not that material possessions mattered much. He was still waiting to hear from the moon to see if Lydia’s shuttle had made it out safely.

The door opened to reveal an elderly man, wide belly neatly tucked into a clean suit. His pale grey eyes widened at Scott’s sudden appearance and the man welcomed him in.

“Scott, old friend," he said. “I thought..."

“No, I wasn’t in NeoLondon," he answered the unspoken question.

“What a relief!" the man exclaimed. “I’m so glad that you’re here! Er," he paused. “Why are you here?”

“You’ve probably noticed that another world war has started," Scott said. At the man’s shock, however, he frowned. “It hasn’t been announced? Do you have somewhere I could write up a story?”

His friend pulled up a chair and computer as his wife strolled into the room, staring down her nose at Scott’s ill-fitting attire. He swept up her hand, planting a kiss on it.

“Madame Alma," he murmured, watching her look of shock turn to pleasure.

“Scott! I almost didn’t recognize you! What’s happened?”

“Quite a bit, really. If you want to hear about it, you’ll have to wait though, this needs to get written.”

The man nodded his approval. “Your paper knows where it’s at, really. Can’t believe the courage it must’ve taken, letting the world know about that bomb only minutes before it went off. Yes," he continued, oblivious to Scott’s sudden inhalation. “You reporters have a noble calling.”

“What happened?”

“That editor of yours, Sandra something. Instead of finding a spot to hide from the radiation, she wrote up a beautiful story warning the world what was happening and sent it out. Dedication, that’s what it is.”

Scott stared at the ground. He knew from Medane that the people of NeoLondon had about ten minutes warning, and Medane was hoping that there were survivors because of those precious minutes. Had his paper helped? Had Sandra’s sacrifice saved lives? At the very least it seemed to have alerted the world to what was going on, although it was shocking that his friend didn’t think another world war had started. NeoLondon had just been bombed; how could a war not be starting? He took a deep breath and thought of all the times he had hassled Sandra about his stories and deadlines. He had secretly hoped she would still be alive. If she was dead, then what chance was there that Lydia was alive?

Alma glanced apologetically at Scott, and dragged her husband into another room. “We’ll be in here when you’re done," she said.

He nodded his thanks, and started writing. John and his wife were ideal starting places, due to their connections in high society. Once he had their support, he could get a strong network of people to help support Medane and, ultimately, Raven. Medane’s plan to propose Raven—Bryce—as the new president was a good one, but it would require quite a bit of legwork so that people were willing to accept him despite his reputation.

He couldn’t help but check on the status of the moon shuttle, but once again it was undetermined. He cursed. Surely the shuttle was in contact with the moon, even if it hadn’t docked. The only reason they wouldn’t know at this point was if the shuttle was destroyed, but even though he was bracing for that reality, he still wasn’t quite sure how he would react. Lydia couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t be. She was his world.

Scott took another deep breath and pushed the shuttle out of his mind. He was going to try his best to make sure that when the war ended, not only would Atheus be defeated, but the world would elect a new leader to lead them out of the chaos. That leader would be Raven.

The city was gone. Nalia stared out the window in shock as they flew over what used to be NeoLondon. Crumbling wrecks, scattered spires reaching a floor or two before giving in to gravity, everything had been leveled. Medane had been absolutely still when they flew over the city to drop her off at the slums, and Nalia wondered how he felt. He had lived through the Last War, after all, and had seen scenes like this before, even right here in NeoLondon. What was it like seeing his worst nightmares come to life again? Despite herself, she felt sympathy for him and she knew her task of persuading the rebels to side with Medane until the war was over would be slightly easier now that she herself believed in it. He would never let this devastation happen anywhere else, not if the grief on his face were honest.

After being dropped off in the middle of a desolated street that Medane said showed plenty of heat signatures and that she vaguely recognized as her home, she had wandered to Grader’s Inn to find her father. She was stopped on the way by a pack of rebels, armed and confused. They were all young, and bore signs of the bombing in the blisters and sores covering their bodies, not quite hidden by the layers of filthy clothing they had wrapped themselves in. Nalia shuddered. It looked like a scene from a horror vid.

“Who are you?” the eldest demanded, a woman that Nalia vaguely recognized as Jess, one of her friends before the attack.

Jess wore a scarf that covered most of her face but couldn’t hide her lack of hair or the open sore running across her right cheek. It looked as though she had found partial protection from the worst of the radiation. Nalia had worried about the radiation, but Medane had assured her that díamonts didn’t suffer from radiation poisoning and they would be safe. His goal, he said, was to locate survivors and get them to medical care while her goal was to revive the rebellion and convince the rebels not only to move out of NeoLondon but also to support Medane in this new war.