Major, a mutt who made it into my boarded-up shack maybe five heatwaves ago, leans against my side. I’m gazing out to the wasteland. Nothing but dirt and heat. Immense, previously unimaginable heat.

Dirt, heat, and the compound in the distance. Clean steel and clear glass make a box-like structure that holds enough plants growing to feed the people inside three times over. The hum of its generator spits as smoke tumbles out. Even in a burning world, the fortunate find a way to condemn us even more. Though, this is nothing compared to the decades of damage that got us to this point. No one was surprised when things spiraled, but that didn’t stop the dread and terror that swept through the world.

At 3 degrees warmer, researchers began fleeing to underground bunkers, robbing the market of any perishables, plant seeds, bottled water, and so on and so on. Most of us on the surface without protection haven’t been updated on how much hotter the world has gotten since a bit before Major found me. We’ve been left to die in the dark, though the beating sun feels like it never sets. Every day I wonder if it's my last, or worse—Major’s last. What if today is the day?

I knew that having a dog in the current state of things was irresponsible. He takes up more of my limited rations than I do, and sharing my water with him proves tough as we lay still in the shelter, saving our energy. But when he walked in, skin and bones, ready to devote his life to me— I couldn’t help but take him in. I’d been low on supplies for months, waiting for the longer, hotter than ever before heatwaves to cease for just a week so I could scavenge. At least I was further inland, where the hurricanes and flash floods were less frequent. But, who’s really to say what’s worse?

It was a marvel to see another living being. We quickly became close, I would tell him stories about how I grew up, my family, my home. Soon they devolved into the stories of the slow collapse of everything. How, for people like me, it was a sudden desertion after resources were completely stripped from the shelves. Never knowing when to make that final call. We didn’t know secret bunkers were being built, or that the wealthy were prepping for end times. We just knew to stay inside. One day we came out and saw the compounds being built. That’s really when we realized our place. Our fate in the heat.

“Have you ever wanted to be in there? The bunkers?” I looked down at Major. “Everyone’s thought about it. The water, food, safety— the AC in every room. Would it be worth it if you had to watch the world die around you?” He got up and began licking my face. “Yeah, it would be pretty nice.” I gazed out the window, guessing how long it would take to be dark. Each day it feels like I change my mind. We go see the garden, I wish we were inside, I come home. We go see the garden the next day and I feel so angry I can’t help but scream at the walls, banging on the windows. The compound only highlights people’s inability to stop taking from the earth, the inability to put something else ahead of ourselves. To go head on into saving the planet before it’s too late, instead of building a concrete observation deck that pumps out toxic gases with every deep breath the elite takes behind its walls. Watching the world die, eating their crops, outliving only because of their greed, their lack of morals. They’ll outlive me, but what will they be by the end?

At the end of the day all I need is Major. Living in there knowing what it's like out here would feel utterly inhumane. “I’d rather be here with you, Bud, than live past my time and become something I’d hate.”

Somehow meeting Major gave me a new drive. I’d passed the glass windows and seen the green, glistening plants—- fit with shelters of their own, in a way. Lighting fixed for them, filtered water sprayed on a time interval, four walls that kept the heat out. Feeling jealous of a garden makes you wonder what’s really left of the world. Seeing his happy face despite being completely abandoned made me feel hopeful. If we were left to die, at least we had each other. Longing for something good when all else is lost must be a sign of humanity. A good thing to have when you face your reckoning.

The sun went down, so I looked to Major.

“Ready to go out, buddy? We can go see the garden again. See if anything bloomed. I’ve found seeds for 11 months; we just need one more to finish off the year. Maybe today will be the day.” His ears perked up, so I grabbed our outdoor gear. It wasn’t much, just an old beige dog jacket we’d picked up along the way and a long sleeve jacket with long pants for me. Nothing but coping mechanisms to get through the day, believing they could save us when we know the truth.

The compound looks out of place and dystopian. A land of ruins, hot air, and dry dirt lays around a large, bright building. The building has no doors, but windows on each side that reach almost to the roof. Was this to let light in? To observe the outside? Worse, to let the outside see in, see what they can never experience again? What’s the point of showing the outside the delicacies that only a select few can profit from? Greed and pride permeate the dead earth. It seeps down and returns in the boiling sun. Maybe I wouldn’t want to eat fruit from a poisoned tree. The cost of living in that box was too high. Taking more and more and leaving everyone and everything else behind. Being desperate enough to live as something lesser than who we once were— if we ever were something more.

I can’t help but stare at the beautiful plants thriving in their box. What I’d give to live in that box. To be confined to four sturdy walls, out of the heat, water at my disposal, fresh food to eat. A box of raisins was the closest I’d gotten to a fruit or vegetable since I was little. I’m brought out of my daydream by the sand’s heat bleeding into my shoes. Beads of sweat run into my eyes, I squint as they begin to sting. It’s hard to focus on much in the heat. Major barks, racing ahead of me.

I looked down to my backpack and remembered what I’d said to Major about our seeds. I counted out our rations and our water, enough for maybe one more day. What good are the seeds if I die tomorrow? I place my hand on the warm glass, no doubt cool on the inside. Our survival was right there. What kind of person starves the world to keep themselves alive, just to pump out more toxins that will speed the end of everything? Major barks again, panting to fight off the heat. The glass to the window fogs with his warm breath. What if today is the day? I pour out some water, disgustingly warm, into his bowl and he wags his tail. It's not enough. He begins to pant again when the bowl is empty. My poor Major. I turn to the lavish garden.

I start slamming my fist against the glass. I felt hotter and hotter, intensely angry about my lack of control. We all knew who’d done this to the earth, and we were all too aware of who was paying the price. Major began to bark at me, digging at the ground beneath him. I slammed my fist harder, and harder, feeling tears begin to well up in my eyes. In all the heatwaves I’d survived I hadn’t felt my blood boil as hot as I did now.

I realized that Major stopped barking. I begin to look around, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Feeling bruises setting in on my hands. Stretching my hands and examining the small splits in my knuckles, I try to take a deep breath but can’t fill my lungs. Dangerous to use so much energy in such poor air quality. Exasperated, I scream out, “Major?” and I hear nothing but the generator’s ominous hum.

I become frantic. Throwing my backpack to the ground, begging him to appear.

Where could he have gone? I just heard him bark, maybe a minute ago. There isn’t much to block my view anymore, the wasteland goes on for miles filled with dry earth.

I begin to retrace our steps from the day. First we woke up at the shelter, when the sun went down we went out and scavenged, then we came to the garden— or did we go out yesterday? Had we been out for one day or two? I look down to my clothes— they’re drenched in sweat. How long had I been looking for him?

I began looking around for footprints, hoping to see some semblance of a path he’d taken. I look everywhere and arrive back at the garden. Suddenly I realized that our path here didn’t have two sets of footprints. Strange. I remember Major coming with me, I rarely leave without him. He led me right up to the garden window. I remember him digging a hole— till I realized there was no disturbed ground. The footprints he’d made, the hole he dug in front of the window, the fog on the glass from his breath, all of it was gone. Did I really not bring him with me today?

I stumble over to my backpack, its spilled contents laying in a patch of dry sand. I came across the seeds I’d been collecting. A set of twelve every year I’d been alone. Well, alone besides Major. One a month. I’d gotten to 35 seeds, one species left before I completed this arbitrary goal. There was no chance the seeds would ever grow in the dead soil, but somewhere in my head I believed I’d plant them someday, grow my own crops when the earth cooled. I lay them aside as I reach into my backpack and find the tan dog coat I’d put on Major before we left the shelter. That didn’t make any sense.

Whether I’d left today, yesterday, the day before yesterday— I would’ve put his coat on him, not brought it with me. I shake everything from my bag and sort it in front of me. I wipe sweat and tears from my eyes, feeling the heat radiate through me as I kneel on the ground. My rations, my water, Major’s coat, my seeds, my notebook, a photo of my family, Major’s water bowl— wait, a photo of my family? I thought I’d lost this two heatwaves ago, when I had to abruptly move shelters. I lost most of my supplies, I figured I’d lost this, too.

I stared down at the photo in disbelief as I looked at each family member. This photo was taken when I was much younger, at least 10 years ago. My mother and father standing with myself and my little sister sitting on a bench— with a mutt sitting between us in a beige dog coat.

Major?

Tears welled in my eyes as my body understood what was happening before I could mentally take it.

I had been alone for 3 years. Truly alone. My family gone 4 years ago. My family including Major.

As I traced the outline of Major in the photo, memories of the Christmas we got him flooded back. The heat must’ve really begun to test me. He’d been gone long before the world got too hot to go outside during the day. At least he never had to see it like this.

I laugh to myself through tears. Even completely alone and losing my mind, even in times like these, I’m still human. Still in search of love, companionship, hope. So much so I might even imagine our family dog, long since passed, has come to find me and give me a new life. “Undoubtedly human,” I think, as I walk back to the garden, admiring the green, blossoming plants. I find a new clarity.

I’d last for two more days with what supplies I had left. Who would I be in two days?

I begin digging small holes in the dry dirt, two feet apart. I take the rest of the night creating my very own makeshift sanctuary where the seeds might never grow. I place a seed in each hole, spreading out my work of the three years I was alone across the dead earth. I resolve there is nothing else to do, but to hope I’ve done good in my life. Destitute, but devoid of sadness. Instead, a new hope rises in me with each seed I plant. Nourishing my soul as I steadily mark this day as the day. I take the last of my water and spread it over my new garden.

Holding the picture of my family and resting my head on Major’s coat, I lay in the middle of my contribution to the future. Our past has caught up, Mother Nature taking back the planet we ruined. In view of the compound, I hope the large windows highlight my last moments. Undoubtedly human to the end. Aiming to nourish instead of hoard. Sowing seeds of a new world, giving back to the earth in a small retribution, dying so the seeds take my body to the earth, making sure they grow their crops in view of an all-righteous form of compost. I hope they enjoy their fruit from their poisoned trees and never lay their hands on a harvest they would never understand or deserve.

Today is the day. I won’t fight to live as something less. In my last moments, I will still be human.

Today is the day. I won’t fight to live as something less. In my last moments, I will still be human.

I wrote this story after using Claude AI to brainstorm ideas surrounding a young girl facing the wasteland with her dog. After getting the generated ideas and drafts, I did not like the emotionless feeling and decided to write it myself with a mix of the different concepts. I plugged the story back into Claude AI and prompted it to highlight which areas of the story were not getting my point across, though I did not find it overly useful and edited these areas myself in the end. For example: “Does the theme of humanity tie in well? Does the repeated phrase “today is the day” stand out?” and then I would end up changing a sentence or two.