The town used to be called Fairlane. Now it’s ju
st "the ruins."
I keep the lights low, even though Edison still
runs the generator. He's the reason the machines
work. And why I stay.
"Your hands are shaking again," Edison says.
I don’t answer. He knows why.
He was a billionaire before the bombs fell. Befo
re the NFL folded and the Cold War turned hot.
Now he’s just a man with a scarred face and a he
art that skips like a stone across a pond.
The clinic hums with old jazz—his choice.
He says it reminds him of better days. I say it’
s a waste of power.
But I never turn it off.
I was a nurse when the war started. I’m the only
one left who knows how to keep people alive.
That makes me valuable. That makes me dangerous.
A knock at the door.
Not the kind that asks. The kind that demands.
Edison sits up. "Don’t answer."
I ignore him.
The man on the threshold is bleeding out.
Army jacket. Dog tags. Eyes that know me.
"Lieutenant James Callahan," he says.
I remember him. From the campus rally. Before th
e war.
Edison’s voice cuts through the silence. "He’s n
ot welcome here."
James doesn’t move.
"He needs help," I say.
"He’s a ghost with a gun," Edison replies.
I patch James up while Edison watches from the s
hadows.
No one speaks. The music plays on.
"You still believe in the war?" I ask.
James looks away.
"The war’s over," Edison says. "
We lost."
"Not all of us."
Later, James whispers, "He didn’t save you. You
saved him."
I pretend not to hear.
Edison built this place after the cities burned.
Said he owed the world something for all the mon
ey he stole from it.
I stayed because I had nowhere else to go.
And because I thought he might still be human.
James tells me the truth when the lights flicker
.
They’re coming. The last faction. They want Edis
on dead.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because he knows the truth about the war."
Edison won’t leave.
Says he’s tired of running. Says I should go.
I don’t.
James says, "You love him?"
I say nothing.
The attack comes at dawn.
Shells light up the sky like fireworks from the
jazz age.
Edison stays in his chair.
I drag him out as the clinic burns behind us.
James covers us. Gets hit.
I don’t leave him.
We make it to the bunker.
It’s old. Cold War. One of Edison’s toys.
Inside, files. Tapes. Proof the war was never ab
out freedom.
Just money. Just lies.
Edison looks at the footage.
And for the first time, he cries.
James dies two days later.
He says, "You were never alone."
When the silence comes, I take Edison’s hand.
We don’t speak.
Outside, the wind moves through what’s left of F
airlane.
The past is gone. But not forgotten.
I’m still a nurse.
And I still have work to do.
