Michael Soll - Scorched

Her name is Kaolin, and some say she’s the future of our colony. She’s in her 14 thcycle and her job is to wait. Wait until it is her time to breed. She is the only young female in the breeding zone and the colony’s longevity sits upon her ovum. And if I’m chosen by the elders, for one day, some time in the future, she and I will create a future and I will have a child to build my own cubby for. It’s one of several thoughts that float within my mind, but at the moment, her body is not ready and when it is, Cotta and I will already be long gone.

I fill my lantern and we leave behind wandering eyes. We make way for the normal excavation site in case we’re being followed, but then we double back and reach our secret exit point. Years ago, after the quake that decimated our old colony, a new initiative was put forth to build a smaller and more durable home. After the new colony was created, the elders demolished the opening to the old as they deemed it dangerous. But after a cycle of chipping away at rock and stone, we could feel the gap only inches away.

Cotta twirled his ax carelessly as we pushed forward. “How many grains of dirt in the world do you think there are?”

Cotta had an affinity toward questions that could not be answered. Not the ‘ifs’ and ‘whats,’ but the ‘how manys’ and the ‘could there ever bes.’

“I mean, I know there’s a lot and everything, but I guess it’s probably impossible to know. You think there could ever be a device made that could figure it all out?”

We hunched through the back tunnel and came to The Great Divide, the place where one path turns into dozens. We hoisted ourselves up to Rungded Route and crawled up the narrow path. The tunnel is one of the oldest in our new colony, having been constructed after the Great Quake.

Cotta went first since he’s smaller while I anchored behind. The tunnels created in the last several cycles are fairly sturdy (having been reinforced with clay) and collapse is fairly rare, but there is some danger in traversing through the older tunnels. Another risk is the bacteria we’ve cultivated for oxygen. In the main colony, we have constructed large tanks to grow the bacteria, flooding the cubbies and centralized tunnels with breathable air, but in the routes further from the central hive where the oxygen is thinner, the bacteria has spread within the soil. It benefits us in that we have air to breathe, but were we to have some sort of cut or abrasion and come into contact with it, it would mean certain death.

“How many people do you think have ever existed in the entire world?” Cotta pushed himself out of Rungded Route and we hunched through the larger tunnel until we came to our excavation site. It had once been the tunnel leading from the old hive to the new, but now, only dirt and rocks were left. We pushed a couple boulders aside which we had used to disguise our entrance. We looked up at the winding path we had dug—

“Who’s going first?” I asked, eager to be the one to finally break through.

“You went first yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you went last yesterday.”

Cotta twirled his pickax. “Fingers? Best of three?”

“Best of one.”

Fingers is a quick game a lot of us play to decide generally mundane tasks. Each player puts out a fist and on the count of three, holds out how many fingers they want to play. The person who holds out one more finger than the other wins (1 finger counts as one more than 5). It’s considered a draw if there isn’t a one finger differential and the play continues through the next round.

We held our hands out and I played a four while Cotta played a three. “You play a three every time.”

“I know, but I was hoping to trick you into thinking I was going to play a five to beat your four.”

“But that would mean you would think I was playing a one, so you should’ve gone two.”

“Oh, yeah, guess you’re right.” He smiled at me. “Guess you’re going first.”

I gave him a questioning look and then squirmed my way through the narrow tunnel, ax and lantern tightly in my hands. I crawled for awhile until I reached the end of our path. I looked up at the rock I would soon demolish and there, a picture very recently drawn in with charcoal stared me in the face.

It was a picture of a giant penis.

The light in my lantern flickered as the methane sputtered out slowly. It was about time to get back. In the tunnels without light, you’re dead. It’s as important to our society as food, water and oxygen. One time, before the buddy system was implemented, a collector by the name of Chip was out excavating when his methane ran dry. He was on a newly built trail when it happened and he hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the routes’ nuances. He yelled for help, but deep within the tunnels, it’s impossible to know where the echo’s coming from. He was found a week later, having fallen into another tunnel and broke his neck.

I’ve heard in past civilizations that death is mourned, but when somebody in the colony passes, we celebrate the person’s life and don’t dwell on their death. Not just because all life is to be celebrated and appreciated, but with their death comes a feast for the rest of the village. A ceremony is held for the individual, culminating in a thanksgiving meal.

Every part of the body is used. The blood is siphoned and evenly allotted to the community. The organs and meat are cooked thoroughly on clay pots over hot coals, and the bones, skin and hair are used for tools and household items. And the heart is given to the closest relative of the deceased. It’s more of a symbolic gesture than anything else, but it’s also one of the most nutritious parts of the body.

Luckily for us, even if our light were to go out, Cotta and I would be okay. We know these tunnels like we know our cubbies and we’d be able to make our way back safely. So, our hearts for now are our own.

I sat beside our makeshift tunnel waiting for Cotta to finish his shift. There was nothing more I could do than just sit and stare at the grains of dirt all around…

I never met my father’s father. He passed a couple of cycles before I was born. Each person has their own unique heritage that dates back to the beginning of the new world when Man moved below. My ancestor who once lived on the surface was named Janathon Weshington. So the story goes, passed on from parent to child, Janathon was a machine operator, a doctor who fixed cars. On the surface, cars were the main source of transportation with rounded wheels and exploding engines which would propel the machine forward at incredible speeds. When parts would fall off the cars, Janathon would find and replace them.

On the day of the solar flare, Janathon was with his breeder and son touring a coal mine. When the surface was scorched and atmosphere incinerated, the mine sealed off and he and the survivors began the first underground colony. And the rest is history…

I think about that story often. I think, what if Janathon had decided not to tour the mine or if they had left early or gotten there late. Such an irrelevant decision at the time has had such great consequences in my life. I would not be were it not for those series of events. I think about the moments I spend while awake, the moments I spend digging and thinking and how inconsequential certain decisions may seem at the time. Often, I consider leaving early from scavenging because I’m tired, while other times I decide to collect longer. I might find some extra larvae or bits of clay, but staying longer or leaving early doesn’t wholly affect me at that time. But what if each choice, though meaningless at the moment, is the reason a future child lives and breathes and thinks of me? What if my thinking this right now sets off a series of events that will ultimately lead to somebody’s demise or somebody’s saving? Every choice I make, every seemingly meaningless decision now is undoubtedly a cause to an effect, cycles in the future. And then, that effect is a cause to another effect.