1Chapter 1

Brandon transplanted his heart onto the canvas. He sculpted two wide, red curves that culminated in a sharp point.

A smile widened as he colored in the outline, carefully, making sure to stay within the lines hed drawn. His nerves fluttered. His hands trembled. They tested his composure. His tongue protruded, the product of purpose. Fingers left prints upon the glass panel. Fiery shades of scarlet burst from his index finger.

His pulse quickened; excitement triumphed. He filled in the white space using thick, overflowing streaks and scribbled I love you across the top. The bell rang. Students scattered to find their parents. Once Brandon alone remained, he approached his art teachers desk.

Is something wrong?He hoisted the tablet high and presented his artwork.For me? she asked, waving over the image. It floated and reap-

peared on her crystalline desktop. Her fatigue washed away.Brandon nodded. He savored the joy spreading across her visage:

passion on account of him, intended solely for him. Her stare found his. Brandons face flushed. Warmth blossomed in his chest. He heard the tempo of his heartbeat.

2Christopher Brooks

Its wonderful, she said. Ill save it someplace special. Where are your parents?

On cue, the door hissed and clicked.Hey, Junior, werent we meeting outside? His fathers voice in-

terrupted his fantasy.The man strode into the room. He walked along a line of bright

red tiles. His hair was styled. He wore a tux. Its starched edges were more ridged than his jawline. Ive been waiting.

Brandons teacher minimized his drawing.His father clasped his hand. Whos this? the man said through

a grin, accentuating his white teeth, an unfamiliar sight to Brandon. The woman smiled wider and larger than before. A shade as rosy as Brandons heart tinted her cheeks. Her eyes devoured him. The boy disappeared: hands, and thoughts, and feelingsfading.

She shared her name.His father traded Brandons hand for hers. Its a pleasure.

The recollection went up in a whiff of smoke.Brandons eyelids crept open. Smoke began to obscure a cloudless

sky. Ash collected in the clean air. Leaves crinkled and fueled the smog. Brandon gazed into his compartments sole window. Earth was burning.The scenery wavered between two images. The transition summed

up decades. The fade-in and -out never lasted long enough. The land-scape of his boyhood neighborhood became warped, tortured. The smoldering accelerated. What once was green resembled the bark on a charred log of firewood, layers of gray embers flaked away. He waited for the pixels to settle into a static state.

Wonderland Windows. They promised to take you anywhere, images so real, you couldnt discern the difference. He hadnt forgot-ten the original advertisement. The Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, or Waikiki right outside some ranch home in Nebraska or remote

3The Gertrude Threshold: A Novella

outpost in the Arctic Wetlandsalthough truly they had become a luxury of underground living.

Hed set his window on an endless, looping seesaw. A real-time view of the world above now filled a wall of his compartment.

Tell me a story.The concrete streets blackened long ago. They resembled paths

paved in coal. Earthquakes reduced roads to rubble. They could crumble no further. Water evaporated from the earth. Deep, depth-less trenches bisected the terrain. The soil could get no drier.

A jolt of pain surged through Brandon. He squirmed in his bed, which had been relocated to the living room. He cradled sore wrists. A doctor had advised bed rest. What else had he to prescribe? Time further decayed Brandons frail bones. These filaments bulged, masked by sunspots on his loose skin. Rashes coated his limbs like flesh-eating armor. Dryness caused his fingers to furrow and bleed.

How was life before the Warming?Under the dome of cinders, no light penetrated, excluding waves

of ultraviolet no human could withstand. No insects buzzed or birds cawed. Organic life had shriveled and returned to dust. Radiation poisoned whatever hung around. Lifelessness issued from every granule of dirt and molecule of CO2. Stillness gripped the planet, a gigantic snow globe waiting to be shaken. Heat radiated off the earth. A bead of sweat danced down Brandons forehead. The wind howled. He coughed and tugged on his blanket.

Grandpa?Brandon flinched. His five-year-old grandson, Ky, lay across the

floor. When had he started calling him? How long ago had John dropped him off? The child relented. He resumed talking to a toy in his hands. This palm-sized orb proffered template responses. Ky snuggled with it.

4Christopher Brooks

He swatted at the smoke in his head. How many others were there? The fog had claimed the classroom. Did he love her? Any of them? Did it matter? Perhaps.

Grandpa Brandon, IGrandpa, he grumbled. Just Grandpa.All right, Ky chirped. A picture portal dropped into Brandons

lap. Who are these people? The boy stood on tiptoe and hoisted up the frame. Is she Grandma Lilly?

Brandon groaned and examined the grimy glass. He tried re-calling the time and place. He encountered merely unfinished sketchespuzzles lacking a border or beginning or endnothing genuine. Having to discern anything from his memory pained him. He squeezed the frame. The plastic and his knuckles cracked. He thumbed away the dust.

A womans face. Lilly. His fingertips grazed her cheek. Her skin was soft, warm. She embraced him. Her arms draped over his shoul-ders. Her touch triggered a landslide. She and he stood arm in arm with friends posing for the picture. They relaxed in a forest clearing. Hiking backpacks were cast off at their feet. Birds chirped. Leaves swayed overhead, forming a dynamic mosaic. Tree trunks ruled the land. The sun warmed Brandons back. Branches cast shadows. Hot and cold and ambiguity. Laughter echoed; it bound them together. He inhaled and drank in the unfiltered air. Hints of environmental decay showed in the suns intensity and the density of their silhou-ettes. Brandon wheezed. He was younger then. Vitality hadnt yet abandoned him.

Yes, he replied.Do you miss her? Ky asked.

They broke off. The group explored the hallowed grounds. Lilly adhered to him. She nestled her head into Brandons shoulder and whispered into his ear. Can we stay longer?

5The Gertrude Threshold: A Novella

Another day here would be nice, he replied. He savored the tini-est sounds. The grass whistled. The forest canopy mimicked the roar of the rising tide. We have enough food. Sure.

Lilly nibbled on his ear and gave it a tug. How about a week, a month, a year? Lets never leave or look back.

What? He turned to confront her. When Lilly was sad, she un-consciously widened her eyes. This morning, they were wide enough to absorb the whole world.

Come on.What about John? Its barely been a week. Give it time.Hes six and angry. He wont talk to me, ever. Besides, his father

will watch him.Disappear? You and me?Yes. What do you say?Youre high. He kissed the top of her head.So what? You wanted me. Im yours now. This is your chance to

have me forever. What are you waiting for?

Brandon discarded the frame. The recollection tagged along. It flopped on the mattress. Take it away. Put it back where you found it.

Sorry, Ky said. He scampered across the room. I put it back. See. Please, dont be mad.

Im not, Brandon replied. Really.Uncoiling his fingers, agony emanated from their tips to his toes.

Each second passed in silent torture. Not much longer now, he con-soled himself.

What should we do? Ky asked his toy. Im bored.How about we go on an adventure? the A.I. suggested,

dispassionately.In the window, the darkness deepened. A Fire Storm amassed

on the horizon. Ky embarked on a journey around the small

6Christopher Brooks

compartment. Brandon followed him. Broken antiques perched on disorganized shelves butted up against furniture covered in sheets. Outdated books, music, and movies of a forgotten era in unusable formats sat in piles. Upon turning away, Brandon heard Ky gasp in wonder.

Will you calm down? Brandon snapped. Did Ky realize how little time he had? He was a selfish mistake Lillys son and Ellen had refused to terminate. Born only to die. Kys world was a squared, walled existence. Too young to grasp his fate. Did that make it merciful?

Ellen had proved to be a wonderful woman. She made John whole again, or so Brandon told himself. What caused her to give this boy a fraction of a life? That question lingered. Mysteries multipliedabout her and John; about family. Hed never resolve them. Ellen wouldnt be back. Each of her weekly visits, he mightve asked her. Why didnt he?

Whats this? Ky wondered. It says your nameIts not me, Brandon quickly clarified. And, its a book. My

fathers. He wrote it and those after that one. He gestured to the top row of his bookshelf.

Ky turned the pages and marveled at their texture.Read to me.No.Ky whimpered, torn between love and loathing. He blinked away

the mist on his lashes. He slowly traced and retraced the embroi-dered letters of the authors name and spoke it aloud. That epithet triggered his orb to display an encyclopedia entry of Brandons father. Ky asked the A.I. to read as he turned the pages.

Brandon fumed. He shouldve discarded those damn books years ago. After all, his father had faded into the haze of yesteryear, though incinerating the books today was pointless. As the robot spoke, its words reconstructed the mans portrait upon phrases, patterns of

7The Gertrude Threshold: A Novella

speech, and idiosyncrasies. Memories orbited that tome: his fathers locked office, the far-off tapping of keys, empty dining room chairs, uneaten meals, curt transmissions, and the inevitable film adapta-tion. Countless hours of labor . . . of love?

Kys interest waned. His toy and he played a game. Did you have lots of friends growing up, Grandpa?

II suppose I did.The past manifested. Acquaintances, periods, and places blended

together in an unostentatious tableau. Regardless, he discerned the faces of lovers, brothers, sisters, and soul mates, the sounds of their voices, and the features of their personalities. His swollen heart ached. Those friendships were shimmering lights emerging from a fog.

Where are they now?Dead.Gone, Brandon said. He searched the desolate compartment.

Books and snapshots reflected back. His chest caved in.Gone where?When are your parents picking you up? he snarled.I dunno. Mommys at church.No wonder Ellen had been glued to her watch earlier. God was

a taskmaster, although punctuality wasnt one of his talents either.And Daddy had to help someone.Brandon smirked. A lot of help hell be. Did shrinks bill double

on doomsday?When people are scared, Daddy says they do strange things, Ky

added. Talking helps.What did that ever solve? Words between people expired faster

than milk left out in the warming sun. One couldnt box them up, keep them safe, or treasure them. Relationships had no record.

He says many people are scared today. Are you?What?

8Christopher Brooks

Scared.Course not.Me neither.Brandons jaw locked. He hated Ky. Hated his youth, his fear-

lessness. Did he comprehend hed never wake up tomorrow? His fists balled. They assumed a paler shade of white. Ellens prayers would be returned to sender, and Johns patient would die before any advice sank in. Why not surrender? What pushed this couple forward? Tension seized his arms. Pain rippled across his muscles. Why burden this boy with life? These riddles were the function of exp(x), multiplying exponentially. He relaxed his hands and ex-haled. Maybe if Ky had fifty years, like his parents, or eighty, yes, a full life. This boy couldve made something of himself, regardless if the Warming guaranteed no one would survive to notice.

What was your job when you were young? Ky asked.Never had one. Not one that Id brag about or call myself

doctor. None of them did.Why?Because they were the last. Careers or scholarly pursuits seemed

pointless, precisely at the age when enthusiasm mattered most. The fruits of their labor, or anyones, had no future.

We were the children born at the start of the Warming. The year the planet started to kindle. The last kids able to grow old. Yet they were dead on arrival.

How bleak Stans initial prognosis: everything that was or ever had been would burn. Their species entire footprint, from stone to space age, expunged. The Warming permitted no heirs.

Families had no future, Brandon continued. Our parents abandoned us. Their newborns had failed them at birth, a fact Ky wouldnt understand, he cautioned himself. Our moms and dads preferred to live out their days freely. Selfishness had no shame under the threat of death. Thousands left their infants in the streets.

9The Gertrude Threshold: A Novella

Orphanages burst at the seams. Many died. Others lived, on the fringes.

What did you do? Ky asked again.Whatever I wanted. Drifted around.A majority of those Brandons age never learned to read or mul-

tiply four by three. They fixated on the moment, because thats all they figured they had. An entire generation lived on a whim, for nothing and no one.

Took random jobs.Left school at age fifteen; worked on a ferry; saw the country; slept

on the sea and the land, in an alley, and in an apartment; bought, abused, and sold drugs; ripped off the wrong people; biked across the desert; fought a friend, nearly killed him; was born an honest man, became a devil; lived long, loved briefly; managed a gas station for a spell; grew old.

Brandon recreated these memories in words alone, endnotes lack-ing antecedents.

No school. No homework. No chores, Ky reiterated. Lucky! Moms always givin me lessons.

What about your friends? Did their mothers teach them?Ky avoided his gaze and palmed the orb in his hand.Never mind.Lucky. The word lingered on Brandons tongue, a dry, sticky paste

that thinned his breath. He dared not repeat it. When scarcely older than Ky, he had thought similarly. Jobs, bills, and family. The weight of life demanded all ones strength to inch forward. Hed been re-lieved of that penance, except not the punishment of growing old. Confined to bed, one had days to reexamine hours under a micro-scope. He again surveyed his empty compartment, followed by the desolate, blackened streets in his Wonderland Window.

What are you looking at? the boy asked.Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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The Earth groaned. Brandons stomach moaned. The ground and sky shuddered. His midsection trembled. The planet deteriorated on its deathbed, one storm from dissolution. How would it end? He envisioned a slow, triumphant burn, or continents crumbling into themselves. The outcome stayed the same: a lifeless sphere of scorched rock. Their underground network of tunnels would be torched and crushed. His home would be ashes; his fathers books as well.

Do you want to watch a movie? Ky asked.Whatever . . .Ky queued up a film. Brandon paid no attention to the selection.

The boy approached the bed. He hesitated before climbing in.Grandpa, he asked. Whats the Gertrude Threshold? Mommy

and Daddy talked about it this morning. Is it a secret?Ask them later.When are they coming back?Beats me. Brandon sighed. Press Play.Ky tapped the command and begrudgingly settled into his seat.

The toy projected an image between them. The opening cred-its rolled.