Apokalupsis

“I have a vision,” he said.

“Religious? Heat induced? Visual aberration?”

“No, silly. Look here,” he said, handing her the telescope, and putting his arm around her instead.

“Well there’s a bunch of ruins,” she said. “And a whole lot of rusting junk.”

“Further up the hill. See the slope?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Perfect for growing grapes,” he said.

“I didn’t know you liked wine.”

He sighed. “Just an idea, really. Probably too much work to clear everything.”

“Let’s go to the beach,” she said, changing the topic.

There were still recognizable hulks of cars parked along the boardwalk, and far less sand on the beach than when people were around to maintain it. She spread out the huge solar blanket, and he collected bits of driftwood and flotsam to anchor it in the gentle breeze.

She popped open the port on her arm, and plugged herself in to recharge. It would be some years yet before he needed to swap out his thorium battery. Years in which to find a replacement, if any such still existed.

“What are you listening to?” he asked. Her head bobbed infinitesimally to an unheard beat.

“Keldian,” she replied.

He snorted. “I didn’t know you were a metal head.”

“Well its all sci-fi themes. I just find it ironic.”

“Yeah, two androids sitting on an empty beach listening to epic sci-fi metal.” He laughed, and she slapped his arm playfully.

“Do you think there are any humans left?” she said.

“I ran into a few feral ones, years ago,” he said. “Before I met you. They tried to disassemble me.”

“What happened?” she said, sitting up.

He aimed his finger at a seagull and made a popping noise.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“That’s sad,” she said.

“I know. They might have been the last ones left.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the waves and the cries of the seagulls.