The Sowing

The images flicker to the surface, where massive ships are tearing their way through the ice. I flinch as chunks of simulated ice are flung in our direction. Soon a montage replaces the ships: massive machines digging through the snow, enormous pipes excavating the surface, destroying all that beauty.

Cassius shakes his head. “Unfortunately, our ancestors became obsessed with exploiting all our natural resources as energy became scarce. This led to rises in sea temperatures and levels, which triggered the sudden release of enormous amounts of methane from the compounds buried in the ice.”

I shake my head. “Isn’t methane a pretty powerful gas?”

Straton nods. “The effect was like firing a massive gun. Once the methane was released, it created a greenhouse effect in the atmosphere, increasing temperatures even further—”

“And further destabilizing the methane clathrate in the ocean,” I say. The awe I’ve been feeling turns to horror.

“Yes,” Straton replies. “It was like a runaway train, warming the planet in less than a human generation.” He points to the images, shaky cam shots of dying animals, dead fish floating in the oceans. “Explosions of burning methane covered the planet in smoke, dust, and ash, firestorms that remained in the upper atmosphere for years. Large land masses flooded and created a global cooling that scrubbed out animal life both above and below the surface.

The once-beautiful horizon is now a grit-filled field of darkness and dust. Digory squeezes my hand.

“This lead to a widespread panic and mass food shortages,” Straton continues.

Holos of massive crowds and mass chaos surround us. Suffering, dirty faces, all filled with hunger and fear. Even after all the horrors I’ve witnessed firsthand, none comes close to capturing the utter devastation filling my eyes at this moment.

Cassius sighs. “Due to the raised levels of methane and derivative carbon dioxide flooding the atmosphere, alternating seasons of intense heat and cold rocked the population. Crop production was devastated, and weather patterns were forever thrown into chaos. Back when the city above us was a thriving metropolis, it was blanketed in winter this time of year, while it was warmer the Parish.”

Next, it’s like we’re in the middle of an intense snow storm where I can barely see an inch in front of me. Then the screens shift to images of arid, cracked earth and withered plant-life.

“The less industrialized nations perished first,” Straton explains. “But those countries considered super powers in the day fought to horde what was left of the precious resources. Allies turned on each other. There were military strikes. In some cases, there were governments who destroyed their own meager resources rather than see them fall into the hands of another. A series of wars ensued, wars fought in darkness and fire—”

“The Ash Wars,” I whisper.

Cassius’s eyes meet mine. “Yes. The few who survived came to call it that.” He shrugs. “It was a conflict that nobody won. After much bloodshed, the planet settled into quiet, the few pockets of survivors taking refuge underground.”

The images fade and the lights come back up. I look around me, then back at Straton. “This place. Sanctum is—was—a refuge against the cataclysm.”

“Yes. Our ancestors built it generations ago, one of a nexus of underground bunkers to preserve society. But over the generations, it’s become so much more.” Straton leads the way out of the observatory and into the elevator. “Scientists, and those deemed to have the technological and agricultural skills necessary to rebuild a society, were chosen to operate these underground installations. They were constructed across what was once known as the United States of America.”

“Usofa,” I whisper to myself. Digory and I exchange surprised glances.

The elevator begins its rapid descent. “You mean there are other hidden facilities like this one still around?” I ask.

Straton shakes his head. “No. At least not to our knowledge. According to the data that survived from those early days, it seems the nexus maintained communications in the beginning. But after the atmospheric conditions became more intense and the satellites began to fail, many of the installations were either breached during the ensuing wars or destroyed by natural forces. The only documentation we’ve been able to recover points to a complete loss of communication that was never re-established again.”

“But still, there could be other installations, isolated, wondering if others survived…” I mutter.

The elevator doors open, interrupting the possibilities swimming through my mind.

Straton beckons with a wave of his hand. “Come.” We’re marched out of the archive building and back into the transport.