Wasted. 2021.

It was dawn. Fuzzy rays of gold poked through the acid green haze that clouded the sky.  Motes of ash gleamed in the morning light.  Craggy sunbeams illuminated the reddish expanse that lay barren and brutally cold.  Soon, the thick atmosphere would capture the dawn’s rays and it would become unbearably hot.  The nighttime snowfall quickly caught flame and disappeared in a soft sizzle of vapor.  Another day that should not be.

The land was dead, dying, abused, forsaken.  It bore nothing, it killed everything.  Centuries of misuse and consumption ravaged the planet until it could no longer support life as we knew it.  Populations grew, resources dwindled, war spread and civilizations crumbled.  Boundaries blurred.  Humanity became irrelevant.  The time came to choose between adaptation or annihilation.  The future became clear: evolve, or perish.  In a last gleam of hope, we manipulated our genomes and those of the plants and animals around us to endure the wasteland we made. 

Most did not have the fortitude to endure this new reality.  Most died, or chose to end their lives.  Some would not surrender so easily.  Genes were synthesized and incorporated into ardent resisters who needed superhuman strength, protection from disease and radiation, cold and heat tolerance, infrared vision, reduced dietary needs, increased adrenal function.  This was the age of modified humans.  This was the age of perdition.  But hell was better than no life at all, for some.  For one.

Lyla awoke as the dawn air began to warm.  She rolled over and cast off her furs.  Neneru stirred at her side.  She stroked her companion with affection.  Neneru was a sand cat.  She was reminiscent of a mountain lion, but contained genetic material from over a dozen feline and canine species across the world.  She was designed as a fearsome guard animal.  She was seldom disobedient and frighteningly intelligent.  She was adapted for the extreme temperatures of the time. 

Lyla sat up and surveyed her surroundings, blinking in the growing light. They sat atop a plateau in the hollow of a dead tree. A vast expanse of desert contained them on all sides. Already the air temperature was rising.

“Morning, Neneru. How are you today?” Lyla asked.

Neneru responded with a steady gaze of molten metal. Her amber eyes blended into her dun coat that was speckled with grey and black. She licked Lyla’s hand to indicate her contented mood, as her long tufted ears flicked back in a relaxed posture.

“Good. Me too.”

It had been over four hundred days since Lyla had spoken to another human.

“Let’s see what we have to eat,” she mumbled cheerily.

Lyla rifled in her belt for a handful of water-rich cactus seeds and a few dried insects. She and Neneru’s altered bodies required very little sustenance; however, water and protein were unavoidable. She could no longer remember taking pleasure in food and drink, although there must have been a time. She popped half of the meager meal into her mouth, and palmed the rest to feed to Neneru. She knew her companion could hunt for herself; indeed, Lyla would make excellent prey. But the she-cat gently lapped the offering from her hand, her warm breath gently tickling her skin.

Lyla grabbed a small leather notebook off of her belt. Day four hundred and eight without human contact. She flipped through pages and pages of tally marks, notes, diagrams, ramblings, pleas. The initial isolation was not easy to bear. With time comes acceptance, resignation. Lyla wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet another person anymore. What was it like, being utterly alone? She tousled Neneru’s scruff and hoped she never had to find out.