We were once people of the sky, the endless dirt and rocky roads. But, that all changed one year.
The waters have been in our town since the beginning of the Second Shift. Before it all, we were hardly considered a coastal city, but when the great glaciers began to thaw, waters rose across the globe. Thousands were displaced, and communities had to rebuild and find ways to not only move on, but also cope with the loss of life, the change of times.
Our small town was drenched, with newcomers and bodies of water. A large coast formed to our west and north, (and weirdly enough, the water flowed out to more of the west, rather than inwards to our new coasts. The water always moved from west to west) creating a massive sprawl of beachland and inner rivers and lakes. Once a collection of high mesas, red rocks, and dirt roads - streams and ponds of deep blue water filled into the cracks of our beautiful sky-high city, ACOMA.
Many turned to religion again, looking for signs in all these unnatural occurrences and phenomena that became our new realities. Priests and Imam came from across the highlands to see the massive lakes, to touch the water and bless it. Our mesas hadn’t seen any consistent water in centuries, and for a long time, the droughts got worse year after year. It was unexplainable; some considered it magic or prophecy. However as time went on, the bad far outweighed the good. Especially when our neighbors began to disappear into the waters.
Well, first there was old man Zeeck Ferrell. This slim, big glasses type guy would walk around the neighborhoods early in the mornings and would go on long geology explorations and camping trips. Somewhat an off-the-grid type, but all around just a loner at heart - no one bothered him and he didn’t like being around people much after his beloved wife passed some off 17 years prior. Loved his dog Chewy - I mean, that’s actually how people found out he was missing. The place smelled like shit even from the outside, could hear the dude howling all night long from the end of the block and I guess some neighbors finally did some exploring.
The dog ended up being fine, they released him into the wild or something after a few days of the big town search for old man Zeeck Ferrell began, figured if the dog found him there would be lots of barks and howls. Those same neighbors headed the FIND OLD MAN ZEECK search parties, gathering anyone they could and creating 10, 20, 30-mile radiuses of searchin’. Called the local news and ran stories in the Acoma Daily and the next two towns over.
That went on for about 9 days before finally giving up and packing those little orange reflective bags and flashlights deep in their closets in sorrow for a failed mission done badly. Donated all the snacks and “WELCOME HOME” decorations to a children’s foster home down the road.
Nine more days passed, and little Eon who played outside on his bike just on the edge of the city on his parent’s long driveway and liked to ride his bike just a little outside of the lines but not so far but not so close to the strict boundaries his parents had set for him but was fast enough to go far without his parents noticing and still be back in time, saw something. It was approaching sunset, and from anywhere in the city during sunset you could see glistening water sparkling on the horizon line if you just looked west. Little Eon saw a man, covered only with a waist-length jacket tied around his upper hips walking slowly, softly, begrudgingly into town from the horizon.
The water behind him, our sun created a dark silhouette that blocked out any noticeable features a seven-year-old would need to confidently identify someone. Or at least that’s how Eon explained it the next day at school in so few words. Eon stood there, paralyzed in fear and awe for almost a whole minute before calling out in screams. His mother and father came running, hell, half the town came running. Eon crying, pointing his finger directly at the man’s head, the sun glistening behind that head, the crowd in front of that head’s eyes trying to distinguish from afar if it was really the man who they all thought it couldn’t be.
There were gasps, screams, suddenly “It’s Zeeck! It’s Zeeck! It’s old man Zeeck! He’s alive!” began to bellow and holler from within the belly of the crowd. Bodies went flying down the road, and before anyone got to him, you could see Old man Zeeck’s figure drop to the ground. On his knees, he swirled in slow motion before hitting the concrete, the sunset catching him with little effort, his body paralleling the horizon line.
We got to him in what amounted to seconds but felt like hours. Zeeck lying there motionless, a corona of heads above him attending to his new wounds and exhausted body. I didn’t see much, but I did see his eyes. They rolled back and forth from the top of his head to the bottom of his tear duct, everything pink but the red veins and a black, distant eyeball. I was pushed to the back of the crowd, and Zeeck was lifted above all of our heads and scurried to the town emergency room.
The rest of us stood there for a few moments, and many dispersed after some more moments, but not me.
I would’ve stood there all night, I never took my eyes off the horizon.