The End of Men(100)
“The news coming out of China is positive. Fei Hong has been elected as president of the Fifth Chinese State encompassing much of central China. Small outbursts of disruption continue in Two and Six; however, Fei’s election appears to suggest Five remains the most stable of the twelve.”
It still feels so odd that China doesn’t exist anymore. We refer to it as the “Twelve,” which sounds either religious or like the villainous organization in a Bond film depending on when I last went to church. Hong Kong remains an incredibly helpful ally, now that it’s completely independent. We have to find our silver linings where we can.
“France is working with states Five and Eight on voluntary repatriations. We have over fifteen thousand people who have been unable to travel home since the outbreak of the Plague.”
That’s a good idea. We should maybe steal that.
I think about Fei Hong’s big acceptance speech, which she finished off with a nice little sound bite that’s been repeated more times than I care to count. “We lost great minds who could have changed the world and we lost friends, brothers, sons, fathers, husbands who could have changed our lives. But we made something positive rise from the ashes of despair. We are now free, and that is worth everything we went through,” Fei said. I should be happy about the peace and democracy. I really should, but it’s my job to anticipate problems, not to sing “Kumbaya.” Still, good for them.
REMEMBRANCE
CATHERINE
London, United Kingdom (England and Wales)
Day 1,745
March 1, 2031
The sight of a warm, brightly lit bookshop bustling with people in the midst of a rainy March evening is a sight that thrills me. I’ve wrangled an invite to the book release party for one of the most anticipated memoirs of the year. Dear Frances, Love Toby, a memoir by Toby Williams, the man whose wife, Frances, famously saved him from starvation on the Silver Lady, a ship off the coast of Iceland.
I’ve been in touch with Toby about including his letters in my project and he invited me to the party and assured me, as the letters will be included in his own book, that I can use them in due course. The room is cheerful and packed with people excitedly drinking acidic white wine. I try to look supercilious because it’s easier to look off-putting than eager when you don’t know anyone. While I’m here, I might as well have a mosey around the shelves. There haven’t been many publishing phenomena since the Plague but the ones that have struck a chord have sold millions, as we all search desperately for meaning and connection in these brutally lonely times.
There’s the awkward sound of someone clinking a glass and coughing, and the room quiets. Toby looks at his wife standing by his side, with a look of such joy and tenderness it brings a lump to my throat. I can’t begrudge them their happiness; they earned it. She fought for him to survive.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” he says, his voice lower and richer than I expected, with a pleasant hint of a Yorkshire accent in the flat vowels. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to be here, alive and well, Frances by my side and my lovely Maisy here with her Ryan. I know how lucky we are. My story has been a popular one. You’ve all probably heard me banging on about my time on the boat on the TV or the radio, or seen one of my five thousand articles on it for the Guardian.” A sprinkle of generous laughter.
“The people I was on that boat with made a lifelong impression on me and I’m sorry more of them can’t be here with us. Only seven people survived of the three hundred originally on the boat. As you probably know, this book is the story of the two years I spent on the Silver Lady, the letters I wrote to Frances and the story of some of the people who died beside me. I needed to know what happened to their families, and their stories. Lots of you have read the book already and the person people ask me the most about is Bella. What happened to her husband, her son and her daughter? I wish I could tell Bella that everything was okay, but like the story so often is with the Plague, it is a sad one with a chink of hope. Bella’s husband and son died in the Rome outbreak and her daughter nearly died of starvation, alone in their apartment for over six days. Thankfully, Bella’s sister-in-law, Cecilia, traveled by car, bus and foot from Puglia to Rome to rescue her niece. Bella’s daughter, Carolina, now lives with her aunt in Puglia and is a very happy child. Cecilia kindly allowed me to include a transcript of my conversation with her in the book, for which I’m very grateful.” He pauses, and it looks like he’s bracing himself.
“There’s obviously one person I wish could be here more than anyone else. My brother, Mark.” An awfully long moment stretches out in the room as Toby visibly tries to control his breathing so he can talk again. He makes a now-familiar face, looking into the distance with an expression of total despair fighting with the desire to hold it together. I can practically see the ribbons of connection between him and Frances as her eyes implore him to be okay, to recover, to keep going.
“Mark got me through months on that god-awful boat,” Toby says shakily. “And then, right when our rescue began and food appeared from the sky as if from God himself, he died. It feels unfair, and you can read more about it because it’s too painful to talk about for too long. I just want you all to know he’d have been so pleased to see you all here. He really would.”
The room erupts with the relief of a British crowd that’s just watched a barely contained emotional admission. I realize I’m running late, offer a quick good-bye to Toby and Frances, who are surrounded by well-wishers, and walk through London to a very important date.