A Conversation on the Way to the Surface

“Christmas?” the kid asked the old man.

“A snow-covered pine cone,” the old man answered.

“Halloween?”

“Cheap candy and burning pumpkin flesh.”

“That’s two things. I said to pick only one scent that recalls that holiday.”

“Okay,” the old man responded unfazed that he had forgotten the one rule of the game. He skillfully picked his footing gesturing to the kid to follow his every step as he changed his answer. “For Halloween I’d have to go with burning pumpkin flesh, definitely.”

“That’s a bit morbid,” the kid stuttered not out of fear of the old man but because he was preoccupied with getting the right footing.

“Halloween’s supposed to be morbid,” the old man responded, “But morbid in a fun way, though. Know what I mean?”

“I really don’t. But then again I’ve never celebrated any surface holiday.”

“That is true. Besides, there are so many other holidays that cheap candy makes me think of anyway. That leaves me with only the one choice.”

“Fair enough. What about the first day of school?”

“That’s not a holiday.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I might not ever know what life is like on the surface beyond foraging for food with you and hopefully, one day, by myself. And I hear school was different back then.”

The old man was unsure how to respond. He never liked school and realized that the kid would never hate school the same way he grew up hating school. The old man decided to play along. Besides, he liked having someone to converse with, especially about surface life before the dark days.

“Very well then,” the old man said as he spotted a rock that the two could rest on safely for a few minutes. Experience has blessed the old man with the ability to sense and cater to the needs of others without having to put them in an awkward position to ask for his help. The kid needed a breather, possibly from all the talking. “First day of school… The answer would have to be freshly sharpened pencils.” The old man took out his lantern with the halogen lamp, turned it on and set it against one of the smaller rocks. He turned around and grabbed the kid by the arm helping him up onto the rocky abutment. The kid turned on his lamp and laughed as if he had just escaped death. The old man thought the laugh was premature. But he liked him and smiled anyway.

Foraging was a job usually reserved for those who had lived on the surface. Unfortunately, one of the last few surface dwellers young enough to still go on supply runs was the old man. It soon dawned on everyone else that a new generation of foragers had to be trained. There were too many factors that could cut off their supply of food, water, and medical supplies. One could easily get lost if they didn’t know the layout of the streets or the land. There were wild animals everywhere many of them dangerous if encountered. And the sheer space of it all aboveground, the openness of the sky and air could easily intimidate someone who had lived an entirely subterranean life. And of course there were the remnants of the war which had ended some time ago but battles still continued.

The two sat for a few minutes and the kid took out his canteen and took a swig of water into his mouth before digging into his rations. They had more than enough to go on a supply run but the old man couldn’t help but laugh at the kid’s gluttony.

“Do you actually like that stuff?” the old man asked.

“It’s all right, I guess,” the kid answered.

“So, why are you eating it?”

“I was in the mood for a snack,” the kid answered nonchalantly before shooting back up and wrapping up his half eaten ration. “Why? Can we run out of rations before finding everything?” Even though the old man nodded in the negative, the kid put away his snack and took one last conservative sip of water.

Normally, the old man wouldn’t have even bothered taking a breather but he knew that the kid wasn’t used to the physical demands of the job. The kid looked around and saw no other rock other than the one he sat and leaned on. It was just shadow everywhere else. They might as well have been floating. This underground world the kid had grown up in felt enormous and claustrophobic in a way that just increased his anticipation to see the surface.

“I hear it’s horrible up there,” the kid finally remarked, “Like, it’s nothing but ruins and ash up there. You know, from the war?” There was no response, the old man just nodded no.

“That’s what all the other guys my age said.” The kid’s voiced softened as he realized this was the farthest he had ever been from home, “But how would they know, right?” The old man nodded yes as he stood up to stretch, antsy from not moving up the wall as quickly as he was used to.

“I hear war’s a pretty glorious thing to see. People fighting for something they believe in.” The old man just glared at him. But his eyes wandered to something behind the kid.

The old man’s eyes widened. He walked towards it. The kid was nervous, thinking there was some strange creature preying on them. The old man seemed to form a smile the closer he was to the kid. Without looking he took the kid’s hand and lifted it over the kid’s head.  The kid flinched, only half resisting, thinking he would end up losing a finger or two but he only felt a subtle warmth at the palm of his hand. It was a kind of warmth he was not familiar with. It wasn’t the subtle warmth of holding a girl’s hand or the intense heat of holding his hand over the fire. There was no way he could describe it so he opened his hand and saw a white circle drawn on his hand.

“It’s sunlight,” the old man said. “It means we’re close to the surface. We should keep going.”

The two didn’t say much to each other the rest of the way save for a few words from the old man telling the kid where to plant his feet or dig his fingers. The sounds echoed differently the closer they were to the surface. There were even a few moments where the kid would dig in extra deep into the rock so that when he let his grip go he would let the pebbles drop into the dark abyss and he’d just listen to the dull pings against the solid earth.

Just before they reached the crevice where the sky was visible, the kid made the mistake of checking on his progress and looked down. The sunlight reflected off of the top of the entrance into the surface and the kid could nearly see all the way down since his eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to sunlight just yet. In that moment he realized how precarious a height they had climbed and it was dizzying. The vertigo struck the kid who nearly lost his grip and if it wasn’t for the old man’s gruff barking, the kid would have.

“Never look back,” the old man grumbled, “Easiest way to fall off is to think too much.” The kid caught his breath and climbed back up, close to the old man. Once the kid got a good look at his progress he kept thinking of how close he was to falling to his demise. That incessant fear of what could have been must have occupied the part of the brain that controlled his hands and feet for a brief second. But now they were at the surface.

The sun was even warmer than he had imagined. The smell of the air without the moist, stale smell of earth was unfamiliar to the kid. There were flying creatures around that he had never seen before. The larger ones were called birds, the smaller buzzy ones were called insects, the old man said. The kid looked around and could barely fathom the idea that the blue above them was infinite sky and not a dome of rock and stone. All the tastes and smells and the feeling of a cool breeze with the warm sunlight was all so overwhelming for the kid who barely held back a single tear from rolling down his face.

“It’s gorgeous up here!” the kid exclaimed. “Absolutely gorgeous! It’s incredible!”

“What were you expecting?” the old man asked, looking around for something the kid was oblivious too.

“We were taught that we were driven underground by this Great War but it’s beautiful up here!” The kid saw a butterfly and wondered if all insects were that beautiful and delicate. The butterfly flitted its way across the field from which the kid and old man emerged. There was a small ridge lined with more colorful flowers where the butterfly was headed. The kid was eager to be the butterfly’s companion for a few more seconds and followed it up the ridge.

In the distance, the kid saw a dilapidated road leading to a great city in the distance, perhaps 30 miles from where the kid stood. Structures resembling perfectly symmetrical rocks jutted out from the ground. They were called skyscrapers, the old man said, and that’s just what they looked like. Not only had nature instilled awe in the kid’s eyes but the man made wonders as well.

“It’s a city,” the old man continued, “Depending on the size, thousands or even millions could live in a single city.”

The wind picked up considerably.

“Why don’t we all just move back up here? In that city?”

There was a deafening whooshing that resembled the buzz of an insect only infinitely larger. The old man grabbed the kid and tackled him down the ridge opposite of the city. Another warmth, this one as large as the sun and as intense as fire engulfed the entire area. The devastating wind changed in the exact direction and the sky flashed before turning blood red. The kid and the old man got back on their feet and back to the top of the ridge. The city had crumbled and in its place there was a cloud shaped like something the kid was used to seeing in the cave. But he had never seen a mushroom that large before. Just as impressive as humanity’s ability to raise cities, the kid thought, was our astounding efficiency in razing them. The kid just stood there in disbelief that the war still found reason to destroy something in a world so beautiful. The old man stared regretfully at the city searching for something seemingly unfazed by the carnage.

“Let’s go,” the old man finally said, “we’re going to have to get going if we’re going to find another place to scavenge supplies if we want to get back before dark.”

“Yeah,” the kid said. That’s all he could say. Something so beautiful was there just a second ago, and now it’s gone. He saw the calm in the old man’s face and realized that that wasn’t the old man’s first mushroom cloud. To be a strong forager, he would have to look past the beauty and cruelty of the surface. There would only be the supplies and the trip home.

“I shouldn’t have eaten that ration,” the kid said. “War can be a wasteful thing.”

The old man knew that the kid was aware that there were more than enough rations to last them this trip. But the old man kept walking, not looking back at the kid who followed behind. The kid fidgeted with his rations and canteen compulsively making sure everything is in order and looked back one more time at the ruins of the city just over the horizon.