The Luminosity Series (Book 1): Luminosity Read online

  A part of me wanted to listen to him—to stay, to face this together. What he didn’t understand was that clinging to the things that mattered would kill me every day until the end, each in a more painful way than the last. I couldn’t do that to myself, nor would I do it to him. To move forward, they told us sacrifice was necessary, and that included relationships. There was no choice now. We couldn’t hold onto the could-haves or would-haves. We couldn’t pretend we had a chance. And holding onto possibility would only make the truth harder to swallow.

  The entire world was given a prognosis that year. Like cancer, the disease would slowly flourish until one system after the next failed. Accepting our fate would only be the beginning. But returning to our everyday agendas felt impossible. That summer, life became a meaningless contradiction—a glimpse—a flicker of light before we’d all burn out like dying stars. And all I wanted was for it to be over with.

  Part 2 : After

  5 REDEMPTION

  Three Years Later

  I played a ghost in a world of unpromising days. Call me foolish, but back then I thought I could outrun my doomed future instead of confront it. For three years, I resisted the curiosity—the notion of how life would have unfolded if I hadn’t taken off that day. Now at age twenty-three, fighting it was impossible. The old life haunted me with memories, but the new life was a thief, robbing the pieces that once made me whole. Amidst the chaos, I settled for a life of imprisonment—one filled with walls, fences, curfews, and guards. After global collapse, the country was left in ruins, demanding rule from our leaders for the sole sake of survival. It didn’t matter if we lived a satisfying life, just so long as we fulfilled the orders given to us. We carried on without the promise of tomorrow.

  Assisted suicide became lawful in all territories. Many of the poor and homeless had to choose between ending their lives and suffering through deprivation or illness. Some rioted, but they never stood a chance. After witnessing their suffrage, I already felt dead on the inside. Not like I hadn’t before. Still, the need to redeem myself for their deaths nagged at me for months, as if mending my broken past would make up for it. Even if it couldn’t reverse what happened, perhaps it’d be enough to forgive myself for leaving. Perhaps it’d give me a reason to fight.

  Putting on a mask was the only escape. With it, I fought through the endless masquerade every day, striving to find my place within the new world. But after hiding in the shadows for three years, a fire rekindled in me. Now, it seemed the only thing left to do was to undo my mistakes, to return home to my mother, to regain closure about my family’s unspoken past before this ended. Redemption became my only method of survival. Even if my future was obsolete.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Turning around crossed my mind several times before I arrived at the barricades blocking the entrance to the landing pad. Knowing it was too late to have second thoughts was the only thing that kept me moving forward. Even if returning home meant admitting I was wrong, convincing my mother I still cared about her despite her decisions was all I had left now. Closure would heal the emptiness.

  As we soared upward aboard the transport helicopter, an infinite series of over-sized army fleets and Humvees made their way west on the interstate, distracting my view of the land beyond them. For miles, nothing but large cargo trucks and tanks were visible out the windows. To take my mind off them, I observed the other transfers sitting in the seats across from me. Beside myself, there were only seven of them, most focusing their sad, rugged faces at the floor. Two of them slept with their heads pressed up against the wall. And at the back and front end stood an armed military guard, guarding the exit doors.

  As if any of us had the strength to resist them.

  After tightening travel restrictions, only a selected number of people could transfer between bordered cities. It was risky to do so, but for some, it was the only choice to reunite with their families. Transferring from an entire territory to the next, however, was even rarer. Only those who were granted special pardons could do so.

  To distract myself from my fear of heights, I turned the dial on the radio of my sister’s ancient, battery-powered Walkman. Music didn’t come in now, but there were still a few a.m. stations on air. Sometimes between the white noise, I imagined the old classics my father used to play when I was a little girl. The way he’d force me to sing along with him in the car before the song ended. Before he’d drop me off at school, dressed in his usual, overly formal work attire. Before he disappeared. The memory served as comfort, yet brought me back to a past I struggled to hide within. And as I got closer to my hometown, the familiar static convinced me I wasn’t far.

  After passing through the entrance security barricades, we made our way to inspections before boarding the bus. I took my seat, staring through the barred, jail-like windows in awe. Before my arrival, I pictured it in my head a thousand times. In my imagination, the town was just as how I remembered it—the high school, the antique shops downtown, the annoying, synchronized traffic lights that always forced you to a screeching halt, even if no traffic was approaching. The old, uneven residential roads with their cracked pavement and loose gravel giving away their age. But in reality, the future grabbed a hold of this place, gripping and squeezing the warmth and life right out of it, like the sun had already turned its back on it.

  Much of Golden resembled a ghost town already. Shop windows became wooden boards. Red X’s covered the siding, the entrances to the doors blocked by thin, rusty, decaying fences. And you couldn’t find one road unguarded by military. But despite how hollow it felt, I hoped the people wouldn’t be as empty.

  After all the other transfers were dropped off, I began the short journey to my mother’s house, an area of countryside just south of downtown. Although my mother’s land was still within city boundaries, it stayed secluded from the high security, probably due to its remoteness and proximity to the mountains. Thankful to see less military guards out here, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  After exiting the bus, the dust from the tires swirled in front of me, forming a whirlwind in my path. As it vanished, my mother came into view, sitting on the porch steps before standing up in anticipation for my arrival. Following the gravel driveway, the lift in her droopy eyes became clearer the closer I got, as if the weight of my presence ascended from them.

  Taken by the summer heat and stiff from traveling, I trudged forward, dreading the emotion rising in me. The large tote slipped down my arm, the pull of gravity forcing me to flinch. The small rolling suitcase remained by my side, tumbling through the jagged rocks. My mother seemed hesitant to approach me at first, almost as if she was afraid she’d scare me away. The wrinkles in her face appeared weathered now, like she had survived the harsh storm of life for too long. Her grim stare signified a longing for the past—a desperate plea to return back to the days prior to my departure.

  I blinked back the guilt building in me as I walked toward her. She wiped a tear away before putting her arms around me.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said in a low tone as I avoided tears.

  “It’s okay, mom. I’m here,” I said, closing my eyes while I returned her embrace. It was all I had to say before her grip on me got tighter.

  “You look exhausted. Have you eaten anything today?” She pulled away to stare at my slim figure. I shook my head.

  “You should eat something,” she said. “I’ll make you something while you unpack. How was the ride down? Did the soldiers give you any trouble?”

  “No. It was fine. I’m fine.” My mother opened her mouth to say something that never escaped. “Really, I’m okay,” I reassured her, even though I wasn’t sure I was.

  “I have your room ready upstairs. Let me help you with your things,” she said, glaring at my suitcase. Aside from my clothes, I kept most of my belongings with her when I left. Transfers were only allowed a strict list of belongings. Besides, they were worth more to her than me, I presumed.

  As I followed her
inside, flashbacks of the past filled my head. Even now, the distinct scent of the house hadn’t faded, still smelling of old candles and perfume. The coolness of the hardwood floors and dryness of the air brought me back in time.

  When I entered my room, I paused before setting my things down. Sitting in the far corner was the full-sized bed beside the old, antique dresser. Its large oval mirror had a thin layer of dust on it, like it remained that way to preserve my reflection. Thankful for the familiarity, I let the memories sink in as I took in my surroundings, breaking away from my gaze as she snapped open the curtains. The window formed a single beam of dusty light from the early evening sun, the brightness of its burn revealing my tears.

  My mother hesitated before speaking.

  “Why don’t you get settled in…I’ll give you some privacy while I prepare something to eat.” She glanced at the boxes aligning the floor. I wiped the tears from my eyes as she aimed her focus at me.

  “I’m not asking you to do that.” I felt guilty already.

  “Don’t waste your energy feeling bad for me. You’ve been ordered around by military all day. You’re exhausted, and you need to eat something. You’ve gotten too thin,” she pressed, looking concerned. I wasn’t frail, or one of the several starving people back in Grand Junction, but I had dropped weight within the past three years. After food became more insufficient for demand, we survived off of scraps, leftovers, and cheap, imperishable foods.

  “Okay.” I gave her a weak smile of gratitude.

  When the food was ready, we sat at the dinner table in silence. I knew what she must’ve been thinking about, but I aimed my sights on the generous portion of chicken, potatoes, and vegetables in front of me to evade the thought. She peered at me a few times before speaking.

  “I know it’s taken a while to adjust to this, but I’m glad you came back here. And I promise I’ll do a better job handling things from now on.” The way she said it hadn’t convinced me. She poked her beans with her fork before bringing them to her mouth. I swallowed my food before staring at my plate. She sensed my discouragement as the guilt revealed itself through my eyes again.

  Since the collapse, my mother’s dependency on prescription drugs had gotten excessive. It was only a matter of time before medicine ran out, and therapy and counseling efforts only provided temporary relief to our fears. Knowing it was her only method of coping, she stole and hoarded medications while volunteering at the local hospital earlier that year. And after being caught by authorities, she paid the ultimate price—her chance to qualify into a colony. To prevent being imprisoned for her actions, she’d exchange her future for her services at the food bank, where she provided food from her garden to the town’s supply.

  Before I could look up, my mother dropped her fork against her plate before putting a napkin to her face, the cling! making me flinch.

  “I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. My actions weren’t your fault, Aubrey,” she said, grabbing onto my hand from across the table.

  “I should have been here for you, mom, but I left. Maybe if I hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened, and you’d still have a chance,” I said with conviction, staring into the space ahead of me.

  “It’s too late for that. Besides, you know at my age my odds were never that great. And I don’t blame or judge you for running, especially under these circumstances.”

  “Then that doesn’t give Andrea the right to blame you for what you did either,” I said. My mother blinked before speaking again. I knew the real reason behind her emotional issues. There was more to her story than our uncertain future—our family’s history, it plagued her just the same. To this day, she continued to be hard on herself, in fear I still resented her for the outcome of our family’s separation, and for losing our father.

  “She has her reasons for wanting to stay there, just like you had your reasons for leaving here,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean it’s okay for her to keep avoiding you. She needs to learn to forgive you and stop holding this stupid grudge against you before this is over,” I snapped. Just then, my mother looked up at me in hesitation.

  “Look, we’re all dealing with our new lives in different ways. Your sister’s never handled your father’s death well, that’s all. How’s your food?” she asked, changing the subject. The same uncertainty shrouded her eyes, the same dismissive glance as Andrea’s. But I wouldn’t accept it anymore.

  “Why won’t she tell me how he died?” I asked, looking up with a wince. She seemed blindsided by the question.

  “Aubrey… we’ve been over this,” she sighed, looking away for a second.

  “Why are you both so afraid to talk about him?” She stayed silent for a few moments, gathering her memories while I analyzed her reaction.

  “His relationship with this family was complicated, that’s all…” she said under her breath. But I ignored her comment.

  “The guards took something from her, something of dad’s. I didn’t even know she had anything of his until after it was gone. What was it?” I asked. My mother drew in a heavy breath as she closed her eyes.

  “The year before your father died, he left something behind for each of you girls to hold onto. He was going to give them to you when you were eighteen… when you were old enough to understand,” she said, wiping her nose with her napkin.

  “Understand what?”

  “How much he loved you. I never had the chance to give you yours because—well, because we were too overwhelmed with the news. And because it was the only piece of your father I had left. Not long after you moved in with Andrea, the guards confiscated it during a routine inspection. I should have locked the damn thing away somewhere,” she said.

  “Why? What was it?”

  “It was a compass made of real gold, which is why they took it. Those assholes. You know they don’t allow civilians to have valuables anymore,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Look, mom, I don’t need something valuable to remember him by. I just wish I knew more about him…” I said in a low voice.

  “Your father was a good man who did everything he could to protect this family. Sometimes things happen in life that can’t be explained. But he loved you, Aubrey. And that’s all that matters. Now, please let this go so we can move on from this. For him,” she said. I blinked.

  “Only if you forgive me for leaving.”

  “I already have,” she said. She stared at me with a serious eye before giving me a faint smile. In exhaustion, I nodded in agreement. I wanted to let it go, but something about my father’s death didn’t add up. So long as they kept his death a secret, it never would. And as she glimpsed out at the mountains in the distance, she had the same desperate look, the same will to escape behind her eyes—the same instinct we all had.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The next morning I woke to the summer wind whistling through the cracked bedroom window. It was late August—a time when the heat of the summer solstice would diminish, and the chill of autumn would arrive. Anxious to get out before the sun rose, I snuck out the door before my mother woke. I began my walk along a familiar path that led up into the mountains behind my mother’s old house—one I used to hike growing up. But now, the trail was blocked by a weather-beaten fence and a sign that read “Trail Closed - Military Access Only - No Trespassing.”

  The light of dawn glowed upon the horizon’s verge as I gazed at the steep path beyond the fence. I had to hurry. Still uncertain I wanted to take the risk, I glanced back at the house, second guessing my decision to venture into restricted area. The warning was there for a reason—the trail ran parallel to the border wall, and danger could be lurking along its perimeter, especially in the military’s absence. But nothing was visible past it. Just the wasteland of abandoned cities, mountains, and wilderness. And with my thirst for solitude, I pressed on.

  As I got higher up the mountain, the sight of the isolated town below struck me. Its grim appearance served as a cruel reminder of what had hap
pened to our country. Colorado became only one of fifteen territories. The other states were evacuated after the war, leaving most cities deserted. Now, only thirty percent of our population lived within the boundaries of governed land. The remaining seventy percent was unaccounted for, casualties of war, or living with the rebellion. Our military protected those who dwelled on the inside. But many rumored that our protection meant hunting the millions still out there clutching to life—the image of it infusing me with endless nightmares.

  When I turned around to change my viewpoint, I became mesmerized by the unfamiliar sight on the horizon. High atop the taller mountains nestling the town stood a cluster of giant wind turbines, reaching hundreds of feet in the air. They were hard to miss. Their white, angular, needle-like beams stabbed through the morning mountain fog as if they could scratch the sky. After three years, the frequency of solar flares knocked out power to the grid. So for now, civilization relied on wind energy, batteries, and generators. But it was unreliable, and it didn’t stop the disruptions, or the harsh geomagnetic storms. And it would never stop people’s hunger for the luxuries of our not-so-distant past.

  Six a.m. approached as I reached the top of the trail. I beamed at the horizon as the sun lifted that morning, watching it glow in a straight line across the far side of the sky. In the distance, military Humvees rolled in one by one along the dirt road. They headed toward the fields in the north section of town, creating tornadoes of dust behind them, much like the dust storms that plagued the rugged, sun-scorched countryside. Within the walls, many underprivileged working-class citizens were assigned to labor at the supply fields. Out there, the lower-status citizens divided and shipped supplies to the colonies—food, water, medicine, clothing, anything we could still produce locally. Most of the workers there were men, much like our military personnel. But with added benefits distributed to our military branches, many women considered enlisting. Doing so provided higher chances at colony selection, even though joining the war wasn’t a feasible option for everyone. Other civilian duties were limited to the hospitals, clinics, and food shelves. But regardless of what duty you held, all lives depended on it. Our efforts kept our society moving toward the survival of future generations. Order, they claimed, was the only thing still keeping humanity alive.