Scorched
The air was hot and thick as the last rays of sunlight peeled back to be swallowed by the horizon, but the darkness that swarmed in brought with it an instant chill. The undulating silhouettes of cement structures grew rigid as heat waves gave way to frost. With the gentle crackling sound of rapidly forming ice crystals came the sharp clicks of lock tumblers shifting and the shuffling thud of footfalls in heavy boots.
The first to emerge were the lamplighters, covered from head to toe in several layers of fur and wool. They rushed to the lanterns at the four corners of the central courtyard to flip the sturdy switches on the solar generators that powered the lamps with the energy absorbed during the restricted hours. Once the bulbs of the primary lamps began to glow, the lamplighters trudged off in four separate routes to bring light and warmth to the rest of the town. As the darkness faded and the temperature bloomed, the townspeople crossed their thresholds and greeted their neighbors excitedly.
With each sunfall, there was a surge of hope. Ever since the scouts came back with the news of Intraterra there were fewer manufacturers of heavy cloaks and protein-heavy food replacements. The people stopped focusing on what they needed to simply survive and began dreaming of the promised future. Hatred toward their ancestors was overcome by hope for their progeny.
Merchants assembled booths and displays quickly in hopes of making one last exchange. A woman and her daughters laid out their finely crafted garments of delicate fabric made more for visual appeal than functionality. The neighbor to their left arranged a colourful assortment of shoes and sandals suitable for a more moderate climate. One eager man hung a banner that boasted authentic seeds of the purest quality, guaranteed to sprout into healthy, edible plants.
Tomorrow they would all leave this wretched place. The scouts had finally finished drawing up the detailed maps. The warehouse had finally collected enough provisions for each and every traveler. All that remained to be done was to disassemble the lamps and load the generators into the carts headed for Intraterra. Then, bundled up and masked, the inhabitants of the forsaken town would begin their journey through darkness.
If they kept their pace and remained on schedule, they would reach the channels that led to Intraterra before the sun could creep over the eastern mountains and ignite any organic matter left unshielded. The channels would usher them deep underground to a new home, free from the blistering heat and bitter cold. They no longer needed to curse the dead for the destruction of the atmosphere and the depletion of resources. Cradled against the molten center of the Earth, they would find a new life.
Once more the lamps would be extinguished. Once more the townspeople would retreat to their windowless, cement homes and seal their doors. Once more they would sleep through the restricted hours as the frost turned to steam and the sun ascended to scorch the surface of a forgotten world.
Just once more.
