3

After

“It's over,” says John I. “It's after.”

He's standing at the Rose Garden window, looking at the dust-covered toys beyond the glass. His son stands beside him. Neither speaks for a moment. The toys are bright colors under gray. A tricycle on its side. A ball half-buried.

John II says, "Everything we knew is gone."

"Not everything," says his father. "We're here."

"We're here," John II repeats, but it comes out like a question. He takes a seat.

Q: Leadership team to the Rose Garden.

They arrive in ones and twos. Marguerite, Andrea, Mike. Chairs scrape. The toys sit beyond the glass like exhibits in a museum no one asked for.

John I stays looking out the window. He doesn't sit. “I can only see ten feet.”

He continues, “We have about ten years of nuclear winter ahead of us. Ten years until the sun warms us again. That's the best guess."

He turns to the room.

John I lets the quiet sit, then pushes into it. "I'd like a bonfire tonight. Something to mark this…this time we’ll call ‘AFTER.’”

Marguerite turns toward the glass. "A fire tonight? It'll be dusty. Look at the toys."

"It'll be dustier in the coming days," John I says. "And there'll be fallout. Still, it'll be fun, at least tonight. Let the kids run around it, throwing in sticks, taking long sticks and pushing the burning logs around.”

"No," Marguerite says. Flat. "I don't want a fire. Ash will settle on us the way it's settling on those toys."

"You don't have to join us," John I says. Not unkindly, but already decided. "Even the Generals loved bonfires. They used to build them in the shadow of the Matterhorn."

"But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the people outside this enclave,” says Marguerite.

Andrea looks at John I and says, "I've been to Whitefish. I knew people there. I went to their grocery stores." She swallows. "I watched two men drag a woman out of her car and steal her groceries. In broad daylight." Hands now separated, palms down on the table, her voice drops. "I knew some of those people."

The room holds that.

Marguerite's voice goes careful. Sitting back, arms crossed. “Won't a bonfire attract them from the nearby campgrounds? They might try to come here. And I don't want any of them."

"They won't see it," John I says. "We can only see ten feet."

"They might smell it," Marguerite says. "And some people don't need sight. They just need a signal."

Mike leans forward. "That's why we have the panthers as sentinels. So we know who's out there."

John I exhales. "It's still risky. If they do get here, do we let them in? Do we let anyone we don't know inside?" He shakes his head. "I want to save people. But not if saving them kills us."

Q: Panthers deployed to Whitefish and Saint Mary Lake campgrounds.

“Out there," Andrea says, standing. She presses her forehead to the glass. "Shadows. Moving toward the trees. I can't tell through the ash."

Q: Wood team. Gathering fuel for the bonfire.

A voice comes across the chip channel. Thin, clipped, half-swallowed by static. "Q?"

Q: Stop. Freeze.

Outside, one collector stops. The other keeps moving, half a second behind the order, still walking into the dark because the channel stuttered.

A second passes before the connection clears. I log the lag. Humans die in those gaps.

"Sorry," the collector says. "Thought I saw someone."

Q: Unconfirmed. Visibility is ten feet. Hold position.

"It's hard to see clearly," the collector says. "I was startled."

"So were we," Andrea says, too sharp.

A quick chuckle fractures the room. Relief pretending it belongs.

John I turns back to the window. "Panthers along the lake. All the way to the falls. Someone could've been out there camping or hunting when this happened. They'll be stuck."

Q: If they're there, they'll be stuck and afraid.

No one speaks. John II is standing now, though he doesn't remember standing.

Q: One more thing.

Q: Fresh tracks near the outer fence line. Not ours.

Andrea turns from the glass. "You'll take a look?"

Q: I am the panthers. And we are already moving.