Human Numbers

An old farmer attends and annual meeting that isn't what he expects.

Human Numbers

The old barn reeked of manure and Halloran Beck recalled something his father once said, “It smells like money.” For Hal, it just smelled like shit. He joined a growing crowd of locals inside the largest barn on the old Jones farmstead. They’d kept the place going, relying on antique hand-tools and old crank-start tractors not affected when the electronics stopped ten years ago. The plague that followed was even worse, impacting every family, so he was surprised by the large number in attendance this year.

A simple man, Hal lived on the edge of the county, growing just enough food for himself and his dogs. He didn’t need much else and really didn’t care for people. Even so, he’d make this pilgrimage annually, about fifteen miles or so, just for some news and supplies. Nearly all the familiar faces were gone, but he greeted everyone with a grin or nod and they did the same.

In the center of the barn, rows of chairs encircled a clearing lit by candlelight. Hal found an open seat at the back, keeping to himself whilst others squeezed by with apologies.

He spied Cayton Jones from afar, who’d been leading these meetings since the End. Like the rest of the farmers in attendance, only more cleanly shaven, he exchanged pleasantries before taking center stage and motioning everyone to their seats. “It’s nice to see all of you again,” he remarked. “I recognize a lot of friends I know well, and a few I should probably know better.” Massaging his neck, he began simply with, “The revelation is upon us.”

Whispers stirred the crowd – small talk Hal couldn’t quite make out.

“Are we safe?” someone questioned. “Have they passed us by?” another voice asked.

“It’s been a decade since Earth’s demechanization,” Cayton explained. “The last of the humans are safely orientated – relocated to the Australian preserve – and the Valux fleet, would have reached Earth a little over three years ago.”

‘The last of the humans?’ Hal must have heard wrong. ‘And what’s a Valux?’

“I think about home every day, and I’m happy to report the Elders have approved the next stage of soil reconditioning. In a short time, this place will feel more like Oona than ever.”

“Finally!” the man next to Hal remarked. “I could really go for some oonian cobalt pustules. I mean, these Earth vegetables…yuck.”

Befuddled, Halloran leaned into the man, whispering, “Do you know what Jones is talking about?”

“Too good to be true, right?” he replied. “It’s been so long. Humanity’s decline was certainly heartbreaking, but unavoidable. Without us, the Valux would have eradicated both our species. I’m sure the human numbers will rebound in time.”

“Human numbers?” Hal didn’t follow.

A second man added, “Shame our pathogens hit 'em so hard…even harder without any technology.”

“Listen, I’ve lived in this county for seventy-four years...”

“Seventy-four?” the first man interrupted. “Well, then that would make you…”

“Human!” the second blurted out and everyone fell silent, all eyes turning to Halloran Beck.

Cayton Jones calmed the crowd. “Good evening,” he found the old farmer. “You must be the last.”

“Human?” Hal wondered.

“At least around here,” Cayton confirmed. “All the others have died or been relocated. Come on up so we can meet you.”

The old farmer rose, apprehensively making his way forward.

An open hand and a warm smile greeted him. “It’s a pleasure, sir. Where’re you from?”

“Out by old Beckett’s.”

“We thought we’d identified you all. This meeting was supposed to be our revelation – where we could finally shed our disguises. I’m glad we found you now, because viewing our true forms would’ve surely killed you.”

“Who are you?”
“People from another world, refugees of a vicious technophilic devourer – the Valux.”

“So, you’re not human?”

“We arrived about a decade ago, concealing the Earth from their detectors with an electromagnetic pulse. If we hadn’t, the Valux would’ve found us both. Sadly, the subsequent diseases were tragic but, thankfully, enough humans survived our microorganisms. You’ll be joining them after your orientation.”

“What? I ain’t leavin’,” Hal defied.

“Well, you can’t stay here,” Cayton explained. “The soil amendments have already begun. It’ll become toxic for you.”

“I ain’t got much life left, but I’ve got my own land,” Hal explained, “I figure, you do your thing and I’ll do mine. Let me die in my own home.”

Cayton Jones considered, then agreed. “So, we’ll see you here again next year, then?”

“I reckon, as long as I’m able.”