https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/39d6d5e907535349cebd9b9303115a5d.png 6ee9f12198531fe5be4f6775673d9591 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource After The Rise ... Description An account of the resource Using elevations and water level projected on EyesOnTheRise.com, these speculative fictions explore the world that was Miami after sea levels rise 6 or more feet. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Administrator Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. Vin's boots squelched in the partially-flooded room as he stepped gingerly into the hallowed ruins of the fire rescue station, each footfall like a disquieting symphony of irradiated water and decay. Outside, the ashen sky wept a mournful drizzle that seeped through the gaping maw of the collapsed ceiling, a testament to the cataclysm that had laid waste to the world he once knew—that dreadful, explosive ending to the global conflict which itself had already flooded the world. In the far corner of the derelict station, a forlorn figure floated in the water on the first floor, drifting against the shattered remains of a fire engine, its paint scorched and flaking like the charred skin of a fallen leviathan. The figure was clad in a soldier's uniform, once a proud testament to his allegiance, now tattered and stained with the filth of a world gone mad. The soldier's face was a gaunt mask of despair, his eyes closed as if in eternal slumber, and his pallor a sickly shade of blue-tinged white. Rivulets of rainwater coursed down his cheeks, mingling with the dirt and grime of a world gone awry. Vin bowed his head, offering a silent respect for the fallen warrior and the countless others who had perished in humanity's twilight. Gingerly, he dragged the corpse to higher ground — being a slightly elevated portion of the station. He took hold of the soldier’s rifle, setting it aside for himself — such was the desperation the apocalypse spawned. He prepared himself for the nauseating task of taking the bulletproof armor off of the figure. But then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, the soldier convulsed, his chest heaving as he coughed up a torrent of murky water. Vin stumbled back in shock, his heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his ribcage. Vin acted quickly, his instincts honed by the unforgiving crucible of the post-apocalyptic world. He remembered the lessons of a life long past, when such skills had been mere novelties, practiced in the safe cocoon of a world not yet ravaged by destruction. Now, they were a lifeline, the thin thread that tethered the dying soldier to the land of the living. With a sense of urgency, Vin knelt beside the man, carefully positioning him onto his back, flat against the sodden floor. He tilted the stranger’s chin upwards, opening the airway and allowing water to drain from his mouth. Vin placed his ear close to the man's lips, listening intently for the desperate dance of breath and life. Hearing only the faintest whisper of a breath, Vin knew that he had to act. He interlocked his fingers and placed the heel of his hands on the center of the soldier's chest, elbows locked and shoulders aligned above his hands. With a steadying breath, Vin began the rhythm of chest compressions, pushing down firmly and steadily, the beat of life pulsating beneath his hands. One, two, three, four... the count echoed in his mind as he continued the compressions, forcing the water from the man's lungs and compelling his heart to beat anew. The dance of life and death played out beneath Vin's hands, the soldier's fate hanging in the balance. Finally, after an eternity of exertion, the man's breaths grew stronger, the rasp of his lungs a symphony of life reborn. He thought of leaving the man there, unconscious but likely to survive, but his consciousness forbade it. So, Vin hoisted the soldier's limp form onto his shoulders, the man's body a heavy burden, both physical and emotional. The rain pattered against his skin, a mournful dirge as he trudged towards the small oar-driven boat that awaited them outside the ruined station. Each step was a defiant declaration that the last vestiges of compassion and hope would not be snuffed out in the face of adversity. As he reached the boat, Vin gently lowered the soldier into its weathered embrace, his body cradled by the timeworn planks like a benediction. The boat creaked in protest as it accepted the weight of its new passenger, but Vin knew that it would hold, buoyed by a purpose greater than the sum of its aged parts. Vin set the rifle down next to himself, the weapon's cold metal a silent, lethal sentinel as he began to row the boat. He began to row his ancient, rotting vessel across a nauseous expanse of blackened, irradiated water. The forsaken landscape loomed about him like a necropolis of drowned buildings and, though he tried to think infrequently about it, people. As the boat sliced through the murky waves, the soldier stirred, his eyelids fluttering like the wings of a moth caught in a tempest. His gaze, still hazy from the clutches of unconsciousness, fell upon Vin, a wary flicker of uncertainty igniting within his storm-gray eyes. Vin felt the soldier's scrutiny like a physical touch, the air between them seeded with tension as thick as the fog that swirled around the boat. The soldier's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between Vin and the rifle that lay between them. The weapon's dark form seemed to loom like a specter, its presence a malevolent force that threatened to shatter the fragile truce between the two strangers. The soldier's hand twitched, a subtle movement that betrayed the desperate calculation racing through his mind. His eyes, now alight with a primal fear, locked onto the rifle, the gun’s siren call a tantalizing whisper of safety and security. Vin couldn't shake the sensation of a precipice beneath his feet, the yawning chasm of mistrust that lay between them, so he, sensing the storm of doubt that raged within the soldier, eased his grip on the oars. He offered a tentative smile, a flicker of warmth in the gathering gloom, and spoke in a voice that was soft, yet steady. “I'm not your enemy,” he said, his words hanging in the air for a moment. The soldier propped himself up against the side of the boat, his gaze an inscrutable storm, turned to Vin and asked in a voice roughened by the weight of a thousand unspoken battles, “Hmm… You believe your own words, even if I do not. Do you have a cigarette?” Vin blinked, taken aback by the request, and let out a short, surprised laugh. “A cigarette? I didn't think anyone smoked those anymore. I've got something better, though.” Vin reached into the pocket of his white button-up and produced a stick of incense. The soldier watched in confusion while Vin pulled out a well-worn lighter and lit one end of the stick and placed the other end in his mouth, inhaling deeply. The soldier just stared at Vin, completely baffled by what he was seeing. "What the hell?" he asked. Vin exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke and smiled. “I'm smoking,” he said. “But not in the way you're used to.” “...Hey, why not?” As their journey progressed, and the desolate landscape stretched out before them like a ghastly mural, the soldier found himself pondering the unusual situation in which he found himself. Vin regarded the soldier thoughtfully, an unspoken camaraderie beginning to blossom between them. “Where should I let you off, man? Got somewhere to stay?” Vin inquired. The soldier hesitated, his eyes growing distant as he was gripped by a dark recollection. His expression crumpled, and it seemed as if he might break down in tears. “I can offer you my place for a while, at least until you get on your feet again, man. I’ve got water’n some nonperishables.” The soldier looked at him for a moment. He was skeptical; strangers were not to be trusted in the apocalypse—especially being who he was. Yet, there was something in Vin's demeanor that assuaged his fears. “Very well,” he replied, his voice resolute. “...Thank you.” They lapsed into silence once more. Vin felt the tension ease slightly, and ventured to ask the question that had been nagging him. “So,” Vin said, inhaling a cloud of aromatic smoke, “you're a long way from home. How come you still wear that PLA patch?” The soldier's eyes narrowed, and he looked away, his expression a mixture of wariness and pride. He seemed to be considering whether or not to answer the question. “It’s not every day you encounter someone with the perseverance to stay in such an unfriendly place with an allegiance like that,” Vin said. “I can imagine there's a story behind that.” The soldier seemed to relax a bit, realizing Vin wasn't looking to antagonize him. “Maybe there is,” he admitted. “But it's not as grand or courageous as you might think. Not much there is left to fight for. I wear it simply because it's the only connection I have left to my home—not my nation, but my home. Maybe that is not so wise of me. Maybe it will get me killed one day by someone who still feels strongly.” “I don't hold grudges, man. We're all in the same boat now, literally and figuratively. Name’s Vin, by the way.” The soldier glanced at Vin, a ghost of a smile flickering across his weary face. “Apologies. It has been so long since I spoke with anyone outside of struggling for my life. My name is Chen,” he offered, the words a fragile bridge between them. Vin nodded and continued to row. The landscape around them had transformed into a twisted maze of decaying structures and forsaken debris, a grim testament to humanity's hubris. “Can you teach me?” asked Chen suddenly. Continuing to row, Vin replied: “Sure! Teach you what?” The soldier diverted his eyes from Vin’s, struggling to tear down the cold walls of stoicism he’d erected around his tender soul. “The… ehm… incense thing. How do you do it?” “Of course, I'd be happy to teach you,” he said, his tone gentle and inviting. He reached into his pocket and produced another stick of incense, handing it to Chen. “First, you'll need one of these. It's just a simple incense stick, but it does the trick."” Chen accepted the incense, examining it with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. He'd never considered using incense in this way—Chen was sure nobody, in the history of the world, had ever done so before Vin and now him. “Now, take the lighter,” Vin continued, offering Chen the worn tool. “Hold the flame to the end of the incense until it catches fire.” Chen followed Vin's instructions, watching in fascination while the incense began to smolder, tendrils of fragrant smoke curling into the air. Vin nodded in approval, then said, “Blow out the flame, so it's just smoldering.” Chen did as he was told, and the flame flickered out, leaving the glowing tip of the incense stick smoldering. Then, he smoked it. As the incense smoke drifted lazily between them, the barriers of mistrust and suspicion slowly began to crumble, replaced by a tentative understanding and, perhaps, even the beginnings of friendship. As they continued their journey, the desolate landscape began to yield to a more unusual sight: a cluster of pre-war stilt homes, their aged foundations rising from the blackened waters like the legs of some long-forgotten, aquatic giants. The structures, though battered and weary with their windows blown out by a nuclear shockwave, still stood defiant against the encroaching decay, their very existence a testament to resilience. Vin steered the boat towards one of the stilt homes, its exterior worn and weathered, but still sturdy and sound. The once vibrant paint had faded to a muted pastel, its hues softened by the relentless passage of time. Moss and lichen clung to the wooden stilts, thriving in the damp and desolate environment, but the house itself remained surprisingly intact. With practiced ease, Vin guided the boat to a small, makeshift dock that extended from the front of the stilt home. The dock, cobbled together from salvaged wood and bits of rope, was a humble addition, but it served its purpose well. As the boat bumped gently against the wooden planks, Vin deftly secured it with a length of frayed rope, ensuring that it wouldn't drift away. The front of the home’s windows had been shattered by the nuclear blast, so it was easy to see the open ‘living room’ and kitchen behind it, as well as the first hint of a hallway that led to some other part of the home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Vin said with a wry grin, gesturing towards the stilt house as they disembarked from the boat. Chen nodded, his eyes taking in the faded exterior, its silent defiance against the odds speaking to the strength that lay within. “It… has character,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Vin led the way inside, navigating the precarious remains of the front door. The interior of the stilt house was a curious mix of pre-war relics and post-apocalyptic resourcefulness. The living room was dimly lit by the gray light filtering through the shattered windows, casting eerie shadows across the threadbare furniture. A worn, once-plush couch sat against one wall, its fabric stained and frayed. The kitchen, though small, was surprisingly well-stocked with non-perishable foods, its shelves lined with cans and jars of various sizes, their labels faded but their contents still viable. A small, wood-burning stove squatted in one corner, its blackened surface a testament to its frequent use. The hallway that was generally hidden from outside view led to a simple bathroom, its plumbing long since rendered useless by the cataclysmic events that had befallen the world. Beyond it lay a modest bedroom, its walls adorned with faded photographs and mementos, silent witnesses to a life that had been irrevocably altered. As Chen took in his surroundings, Vin studied the soldier's reaction, wondering if the humble accommodations would be enough to bridge the gap between their disparate backgrounds. There was an almost tangible air of tension between them, as though the fragile peace they'd established on the boat was poised to shatter at the slightest provocation. “You can have the bedroom,” Vin offered, breaking the silence. “I can sleep out here on the couch. You look like you could use a good rest.” Chen regarded Vin with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I... appreciate your kindness.” His eyes lingered on a faded, sun-bleached poster that hung on one of the walls and around the home itself. “It has been a long time since I have seen anything like this,” he murmured. Vin followed his gaze, and his face softened. “Excuse my rambling; I will rest now, if that is okay.” With that, Chen made his way to the bedroom, the weight of his exhaustion and the events of the day pressing down upon him like a heavy shroud. Vin watched him as he went, retrieving a bottle of water from the kitchen and sitting on the porch, contemplating the latest. After some time, the stilt home was jolted from its reverie by the guttural growl of an approaching engine, a kilometer or two away. As the din approached, the twilight gloom relinquished its grasp on a vessel that emerged from the shadows. The boat's hull was adorned with a ghastly array of hoops of rope, crude symbols and tattered flags, their sinuous forms twisting and fluttering in the wind with a menacing elegance. Its occupants were a motley crew of nefarious pirates, their visages etched with the marks of a thousand unspeakable deeds. Their rough hands clutched at bolt-action rifles with the familiarity of a lover's embrace, while rusted machetes hung at their sides, their scarred and pitted blades gleaming with an insatiable hunger. These were people who had long since abandoned the constraints of civilized society, their souls steeped in the darkness of the fallen world, and they approached with a grim inevitability. As the ominous vessel drew ever nearer, Vin knew that the time for idle contemplation had passed. With a sense of impending doom settling like a shroud over his heart, he abandoned the porch and leapt into action. He sprinted to the boat, his feet pounding the weathered planks with a desperate urgency. There, nestled amidst the detritus of their meager existence, lay Chen's rifle. The sinister pirates began to unleash a hail of indiscriminate gunfire, their bolt-action rifles cracking like thunder in the ominous twilight. The malicious crew took pot-shots at Vin, their cruel laughter echoing across the water as they reveled in the terror they inspired. Gripping the weapon tightly, Vin raced back towards the stilt home, ducking slightly as bullets whizzed past him, each stride fueled by the knowledge that every moment counted. He burst through the door, the rifle held aloft like a grim totem, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he sought out Chen. The soldier sat upright in bed on instinct, scrutinizing eyes watching Vin. “Trouble, Chen!” he said, voice shaking. Bleary-eyed but alert, Chen sprang to his feet, the instincts honed by years of soldiering surging to the fore. “Here,” Vin panted, thrusting the rifle into Chen's waiting hands. “Pirates are coming. We need to defend ourselves.” Chen, took hold of the rifle with practiced ease. His fingers found their familiar place along the weapon's contours, while his gaze met Vin's, the storm-gray of his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation. “I heard the gunshots,” Chen said, his voice steady despite the encroaching threat. "We will stay cautious and prepared. They will not find us easy prey. From where are they coming? What weapons?” he asked. “The front of the house. Looks like one boat with… I don’t know how many… guys in it using swords and hunting rifles.” “Do you have a firearm?” asked Chen, who received a hesitant nod. Chen's mind raced, quickly formulating a plan to fend off the invaders. “We should take up defensive positions. You and I will be in the windows facing the dock; they have to bring the boat there anyway, otherwise they will not be able to enter the home. If they are getting close, then we will move back—you to the hallway, where you can peek out to attack, and I to the kitchen.” Vin nodded in agreement, then dashed over to retrieve his trusty .38 revolver from a nearby drawer. He quickly pocketed several speed-loaders and checked the cylinder to ensure it was fully loaded before rejoining Chen. “And, Vin… Thank you, my friend,” he said, before they moved to take their respective positions in defense of their sanctuary. As they settled into their positions, the tension between them was palpable, a tightly coiled spring ready to snap at a moment's notice. The pirates' boat drew closer, its sinister occupants taunting them with their cruel laughter and sporadic gunfire. Vin swallowed hard, the weight of the revolver in his hands both a comfort and a reminder of the grim task that lay ahead. Chen's eyes narrowed as he watched the approaching vessel, his mind flashing back to countless battles fought in the name of a long-forgotten cause. The memory of war was etched into his very soul, and as the pirates drew nearer, he felt the familiar fire of adrenaline surge through his veins. He was ready. The pirates' boat slammed against the makeshift dock, its impact sending shudders through the stilt home. The motley crew wasted no time in beginning their assault, their greedy eyes fixed on the house as they leapt onto the dock and began their advance. The moment the pirates came within range, Chen's finger tightened on the trigger, his instincts honed by years of warfare taking over. A gunshot rang out, the sharp report echoing across the desolate landscape like a thunderclap, the acrid smell of gunpowder mingling with the briny tang of the sea air. Chen's rifle roared like a vengeful beast, its muzzle flashing with the fury of a thousand suns. A pirate, caught mid-jeer, suddenly found his head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull with unerring precision, painting the air with a grisly spray of blood and bone. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor of the boat, the mocking words dying unspoken on his lips. Before the other pirates could react, Chen had already chambered another round, his movements swift and sure. The rifle barked again, its report echoing across the desolate landscape like the tolling of a funeral bell. Another pirate's head exploded in a gruesome shower of gore, his scream of terror abruptly silenced. Vin watched with some level of terror as Chen transformed into a terrifying machine of death, his rifle spitting fire and destruction with each squeeze of the trigger. The other pirates scrambled for cover, their faces twisted with shock and fury. Vin hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before he too squeezed the trigger of his revolver. The .38's report was less resounding than the rifle's, but the sound of the bullet striking wood was unmistakable. Vin's shot had gone wide, but it was enough to send another pirate ducking for cover. The pirates returned fire, their bullets peppering the stilt home's exterior with a lethal hailstorm. The constant barrage of gunfire and the pirates' frenzied shouts combined to create a cacophony of chaos that threatened to overwhelm them. Realizing that they were quickly becoming overwhelmed, Chen shouted to Vin, “We must fall back!” Vin nodded, his face pale but determined, as they retreated further into the stilt home, Vin tucking himself in the alcove of the hallway. After a particularly effective burst of gunfire, Chen found himself with an empty magazine, his ammunition spent from the fierce firefight. His fingers fumbled to reload, the once-familiar motion hindered by the stress of their dire situation. The remaining two pirates, emboldened by the apparent weakness of their prey, charged forward with their machetes, their eyes filled with a malicious glee. Chen's heart raced, knowing that he was moments away from a grisly end if he didn't manage to reload in time. The gleaming blades glinted menacingly as they caught the faint light filtering through the shattered windows, their cruel edges promising a swift and brutal end. Vin, from his position in the hallway, could see Chen fumbling to reload his rifle, his usually deft fingers trembling with the sudden urgency of the moment. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the impending doom looming ever larger as the two pirates with their machetes raised charged towards Chen, their eyes filled with a savage glee. The room fell silent for a split second, the tension reaching its breaking point. Vin, gripped by a primal fear for his newfound friend's life, acted on pure instinct. He raised his revolver, his hands surprisingly steady as he took aim at the two pirates, sweat beading on his forehead. In the blink of an eye, Vin squeezed the trigger, the revolver's thunderous report echoing through the stilt home. The bullet found its mark; a look of shock flashed across the pirate's face, his eyes wide with disbelief, as he registered the lethal pain in his heart. Blood blossomed from the wound, a crimson flower blooming on his torn shirt, and his knees buckled beneath him. He crumpled to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant, like the snuffing of a candle's flame. The second pirate faltered for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden demise of his comrade. Seizing the opportunity, Vin took a deep breath and fired again, his aim unerring as the second bullet slammed into the remaining pirate's skull, dropping him to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. The two lifeless bodies slumped to the ground, their machetes clattering against the wooden floor with a chilling finality. Chen, finally managing to reload his rifle, looked over at Vin, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude. Vin let out a shaky breath, the weight of his actions crashing down upon him, but he knew that he had saved his friend's life in that crucial moment. The bond between them, forged in the crucible of battle, had grown stronger than ever, and together they had overcome the direst of threats. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Radiation Elysium 2044 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Steve H Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 04/19/2023