Diary41

• Jacksonville, Florida, November 26, 2039, morning

Being taken for a ride rarely felt good but this time was an exception because she was there and the ride was literal. The offer had been made last night and, to his surprise, he had accepted immediately. He wasn’t entirely sure why she chose him and had a lingering suspicion that she wasn’t sure herself since the first few questions regarding this topic were deflected and he knew better than to press on.

And so he found himself sitting in an old, rusty car next to her, thundering down Route 301 with windows open and the warm wind playing with their hair in the middle of November. Florida was amazing even in winter, he thought, quietly lamenting his childhood spent in the cold, sterile environment of a Clayburn Industries compound where snow existed only on a couple of ancient photographs serving as holiday season decoration.

Florida was full of sun, hopes and dreams. All their issues and fears seemed to melt away under its warm glow and for the first time in many months, he truly felt relaxed. He could sense that, to a degree, she felt the same way – the horrors of Sinai still haunted her, but she smiled more often since they arrived and that was enough for him.

They passed several abandoned gas stations. Their parking lots were still littered with old, rusty cars waiting for the snowbirds that would never return. For a short while, he felt almost sleepy with the car’s 8-cylinder rumbling and her silent behind the wheel with an unreadable expression on her face, but the monotony of the road was soon broken by towns and settlements teeming with life, people going about their business the same way they had the day before, ignoring such trivial things as weekends.

He only figured out where they were going only after they had passed the remains of a green sign with “GAIN” written on it. She wouldn’t talk about it, not even in front of Blackwood, whom she had informed earlier that morning that she’d go for a trip. A single nod had been Blackwood’s only reaction and she had seemed satisfied at the time, but now that he knew what was going on, he had to wonder what was going through her head.

The place resembled Jacksonville – the same smells, the same disheveled look and the same damaged infrastructure, but she did not seem to mind as he navigated the rumbling vehicle through the streets of her hometown, always finding enough place to squeeze the vehicle through even though parts of the urban areas, even the roads, had been damaged by climate or conflict, sometimes almost beyond recognition.

He watched her grow tense and knew they were almost there. She looked around with her mind in a different time. To her, the places around them were lit by the eternal sunshine of childhood memories, the now decrepit houses still shining white, the rumble of cars driving towards her father’s workshop. Finally, she brought the machine to a halt in front of an old but well-kept house. Recent repairs were still visible on it. A massive garage standing next to it was filled with two cars without wheels on what looked like a hydraulic lift, clearly in various stages of repair. Another car was standing outside, its front hooked to an ancient-looking truck that Seagrove had before only seen in old movies.

A burly man was standing on its porch, shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting, trying to recognize the car and its driver. His tanned and prematurely aged complexion spoke of a lifetime under the Floridian sun. Under a thick, brown beard, Seagrove could, even at the distance, recognize the same features the woman sitting next to him had.

She was clearly tense. For a moment, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and she looked at him. She wanted to say something, her face a maelstrom of emotions, but, unable to find the right words, she just nodded and got out of the car. The man recognized her instantly and for a moment, they just stared at each other in a wordless exchange. Seagrove felt quite uncomfortable, like an intruder creeping up on one of the most private moments of her life. He didn’t realize how close he was to the truth, as this would one of the only two times in his life he would truly see her cry. He’d remember that day and her expression of pure joy mixed with tears while watching her hold their newborn son for the first time, years later.

The silence grew longer and, looking at her, he realized that she was crying. Tears flowed freely down her face. The man in front of them cried too and, finally, he opened his arms and she ran into them.

“Daddy, I’m home.”