I, Cassandra

75 | AMADI EZENWA

I lay back into the gentle lap of the water and gaze at the sky, it's a darker blue now, and there's a tinge of yellow along the horizon which means night is upon us. The air is still hot even if the sun is lower; the 'nights' are too short for the land to cool down and the brief, sharp rainfalls that hit once or twice a day only deepen the humidity. I take my time and try to clean myself as best I can. I wish I could find a way to cut the disgusting tangled mess my beard has become. What I need is flint, but I haven't found any yet. Maybe further south I'll find some, if I ever get there.

The lake's waters soothe me. After a week of feeling like total shit, I drift, my eyes closed and lose myself in plans of how I will design the shelter to weather the passage of time in case I am here for the long haul. Deep into my plans, the heat of the sun intensifies against my face. I sit and squint into the diamond glint of its light reflected across the peaks of the waves, a brilliant carpet of light. A glance into the sky tells me what I don't want to know. It's late. Very late.

Panic grips me so hard I almost leave the basket of nests behind. I know it's senseless to feel such fear when the pod has been silent for ten millennia but all at once it occurs to me at every moment there is a fifty percent chance the pod could open, which preys on my mind in a way that makes me think I have fucked up again. Like it's personal. Like I am always one step behind. I curse myself for not having left a message in the sand by the shelter. The fire has probably gone out, too. They will think there is no one there and wander off. Dogged by self-recrimination, paranoia and fear, I hurry back as fast as the infuriating, endless tangle of vines will allow me. I can't fuck up again. I can't.

I stagger into the clearing on the cusp of madness, convinced I have failed, certain the pod's passenger is already hours away. The pod sits closed, silent and aloof, its infuriating permanence a mockery of my fleeting terror. Weak with relief, I stumble over to it to cool myself against its metal skin. For once I didn't fuck up. I lay over it, to soak in its radiant coolness, but it doesn't feel cold at all. I remember it being much cooler than this before. But I don't dwell on it, trapped in the pleasure of my reprieve my thoughts race ahead, determined to make sure this never happens again. Next time I will leave a message plus extra fuel for the fire and—

A faint hiss erupts from the pod and scares the shit out of me. I jump away from it as the hiss intensifies. Several jets of steam spurt from its base. The screen bursts to life and streams with data, faster than I can read.

I'm ashamed to admit it takes me longer than it should for me to understand what's happening and even longer to realise I am butt naked. I run to the shelter and put on what's left of my clothes, brush them down in a frantic attempt to try to make myself presentable. It's hopeless though. I look like total shit and stink of sweat.

Welcome to the future.

The pod is still hissing and jetting steam when I return. I edge up to it, cautious of the jets of steam that erupt every now and again. The lid eases free of its seal with a soft release of pressure and lifts just enough to let air in. I wait. When I woke up the lid was wide open. Though I am tested to push the lid open, I hold firm. I'm not going to do anything to make this go wrong. Not this time.

It's a long wait. The screen continues to stream data. The sun makes its lazy dip back to the horizon, and the sky turns a deeper blue. Clouds gather. The world turns grey. A distant rumble of thunder warns of what's to come. The wind picks up and even as the shelter wobbles in the gusts, I stay where I am, patient, a promise. This time someone won't wake up alone. I'm here. I'll make it right.

The rain starts, hard and sharp. I'm used to being rained on. It's a good way to get clean, but it's going to be a rude awakening for this world's newest resident straight out of Alpha VII. A deafening clap of thunder explodes over what's left of Alpha VII. In the distance, twin strikes of lightning slash into a distant strut. When I look back at the pod, the lid is open, rain pelting its passenger who lies still as death.

I move closer. Rain sleets into my eyes. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman yet, but it's definitely an adult, not a child, thank god. The rain continues to pound down, but they remain motionless. I ease up to the pod's side, divided into equal parts of hope they are asleep and fear they are dead. I have no idea how long I slept with the pod's lid open before I woke. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.