An age had passed since the disease spread, a unique, woman-made substance that did not discriminate between species - animal or plant. Though humans were immune – as it was designed – the rapid spread of destruction exposed their dependency on the status quo, and this was their downfall.
The majority of continental life (with the exception of bacteria, archaea and eukaryotes (which lacked the genetic components of more modern Phyla) was swiftly annihilated. Trees would cease photosynthesis; fungi would destroy their roots. Nowhere was sacred but one place: Pitcairn Island.
A doctor and failed hero in the thick of it all managed at least to produce enough vaccine and gather enough crew to create a semblance of a human race that may survive in a single protected square mile. Though genetic bottlenecking was an inevitable reality for the future of the society, there were more immediate concerns; Food, water and an island population full of increasingly depraved secrets*.
‘Killing them is not a - murdering is not, and never was an option. It’s especially not an option now!’
‘They rape their own children, their women live in fear! That doesn’t bother you? You’re good with that, are you?’
‘I, ugh, I didn’t say that, did I? There are greater things at stake here. Their children will not have some natural proclivity for sexual crime, our community will transform this cult. We will be civilized.’
‘You think they should have more kids? What, are you nuts?’
‘Maybe I am nuts! But What does it fucking matter anymore? I’ve done the maths, man. We need every single genetic component left on this island or humankind will be gone before the end of the century. Murder, in any circumstances, is no longer an option. You might think we’d be better off dead, but tell that to the children, to the ones with family, to your family.
There was silence. The chosen crew included family members willing to pull their weight. For the few that had family here, emotions were particularly high.
‘Then how do we make this patch of land safe. How do we eat?’ Yunk, one of the family men called into question the other immediate concern; survival.
Zhang explained his plan, one admittedly vague in draft at the time, but it seemed feasible. Something about going around the world in 80 days in search for Svalbard for culinary salvation.
But the group of listeners were paying little attention; something else lurked in their minds. What were the islanders doing, where were they?
Several crew members were on the hunt. 6 islanders, the dominant, arrogant elders had the women and children in constant submission to them. Using the bible as their moral compass, the church as their justification, they somehow found it righteous to fall into a cult of molestation and abuse. Not anymore, proclaimed Zhang
Who knew how long this had been going on? But looking through the hollow eyes of those women, it seemed almost routine on this island of hell. There were enough newcomers to protect the victims under one roof, but some of the crew were starting to wonder why. Why bother?
When earth was a civilization, a progressing force, there was no question. But now… why should women have the luxury of choice? Surely the island needs to procreate as soon as possible to restart civilization? It’s a noble sacrifice.
These thoughts were quickly diffused by a well-guided set of moral compasses, but the seeds were in place. In time, in stress, frustration, anxiety and fear, such thoughts thrive and bloom. Caving in to depravity was an inevitable reality on Pitcairn Island.
To be continued...
