Future Lost

14

“We tried. But you weren’t sure what date Adam arrived here. I’ve been watching for the last week or so, but I never saw him. I’m sorry.”

Dammit. The new accelerator must have put me in the wrong point in time. But did I arrive after Adam…or before him?

Either way, I’m relieved by Paige’s words. If I found Adam in her past, I can find him now. We can both make it back alive. And once we do, we have a new mission: preventing this future from ever happening.

01:19

The car slows as we approach a metal wall that must be at least ten feet tall. It stretches between the buildings on either side of the road and is topped with barbed wire. A quick glance up reveals snipers in the windows, ready to take us out.

A gate slowly opens, and two people holding guns stand inside it, surveying the street. They nod at our car and let us drive inside. As we pass by, I notice they’re dressed similarly to Paige and Jesse, with dusty clothes that cover most of their bodies and their faces. Their eyes follow me through the slits, though I can’t tell if it’s with suspicion or simple curiosity. I suspect they don’t get too many outsiders here.

“Welcome to Miracle Mile,” Paige says. “The last survivor refuge in Los Angeles.”

With her words, I realize where we are. Every kid growing up in LA has been here on school field trips to visit the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the La Brea Tar Pits, or one of the many other museums in this area. We’re driving slowly down Wilshire Boulevard, but unlike downtown, this area is full of life and has been completely rebuilt. The buildings are covered in solar panels, and there are big rain barrels to collect water all around them. We pass the old El Rey Theatre, which now reads TOWN HALL MEETING: TUESDAY 6 P.M. below its neon sign, where it once spelled out the names of bands performing there.

People walk down the sidewalk past various shops selling clothes, household goods, books, or weapons. Another store, which used to be a Starbucks, judging by the faded green sign above it, has a sign that says SCAVENGED GOODS: RARE AND UNIQUE – BUY AND SELL. In the windows I see everything from jewelry to a kid’s bike to an old PlayStation.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask Paige.

“About fifteen years. Started out with a few survivors who holed up in the museums, partly to preserve the art and fossils in there, and partly because it had the best security around. Now we’ve reclaimed everything from Olympic to Beverly and La Brea to Fairfax. Our plan is to keep expanding outward until we have control of all of central Los Angeles again. Someday.”

“What about the government?” I ask. “Can’t they send help?”

Paige’s mouth twists. “There’s no government anymore. Not like you knew it, anyway.”

We continue down the road, past lines of people waiting to get water rations from a building that used to be an Office Depot. The Ralphs supermarket is still there, but it has guidelines posted along the outside about how much food each person or family is allowed per week.

“We’ve done our best to preserve and rebuild what we can,” Paige says. “We’ve turned the nearby parks into farms, and we make sure everyone has enough food and water. Kids still go to school, but now they learn a useful trade and how to protect themselves. We do what it takes to survive. But there are very few of us left.”

Jesse leans forward in the backseat. “There was another refuge in Santa Monica. That’s where I lived when I was a kid. But it was attacked by the Militia, and I barely made it out. My parents weren’t so lucky. Now this is the only safe place left in the city.”

“The Militia?” I ask.

“It’ll be easier to explain if we start from the beginning,” Paige says.

We drive past the La Brea Tar Pits, with the black lake full of asphalt in the front and the statues of mammoths stuck inside it, and then the large building housing the museum behind it. Except, as we get closer, I see there are people stuck in the tar pits too. Two of them, both men, one in his twenties or so, and the other one probably double that in age. The younger one glares at us as we pass by, while the older one yells, “Please let me out. I didn’t mean it!”

“What’s that about?” I ask.

Paige doesn’t even spare them a glance as she pulls into the parking lot behind the museum. “They’re criminals. One of them was caught stealing food; the other beat his girlfriend.”

“You leave them to die there?” I shudder. What a horrible way to go.

“Not usually. We’ll fish those two out when they’ve done their time. Might be a bit sick from the methane gas, but they’ll survive.” She glances at my face and chuckles softly. “I know it sounds barbaric, but we don’t have the space for a prison, and trust me, it works. We have very little crime and almost no repeat offenders.”

I’m horrified less by their methods than by how much Paige has changed. Gone is the optimistic, perky girl with boundless energy and a kind word for everyone. This future has made her hard. I’m almost scared to ask what happened to the rest of us.

Paige turns off the car, and we all hop out. She moves close to Jesse and speaks quietly to him, while I look around. I can’t make out their words, but after a minute, he nods.

“Got it, boss,” he says before taking off down the road.

Paige and I head for the museum entrance, which has pictures of ancient animals depicted on the stone above the door. Two armed guards nod at Paige and let us inside. The building is silent, and we seem to be alone. It’s warm and stale without any air conditioning, but a few lights are on, highlighting the displays.