El Dorado

Marshall Hubbard smiled through yellow teeth as the wine trickled into his glass like hot blood into a sacrificial chalice. The elder statesman set the empty bottle aside and deftly hoisted the glass off the food-laden table, sweeping his gaze across the men and women assembled around the dining room table. The candelabras placed throughout the opulent wood-paneled room cast a flickering pall over their expectant faces as Hubbard held the wine beneath his nose. He inhaled deeply, savoring the pungent aroma as it tickled his nostrils and brought a tingle of anticipation to his tongue. Finally he returned his gaze to the dozen men and women around him, his face beaming with pleasure.

“People may say what they wish about the current state of things in this world of ours, but I say that as long as I can lay my hands on a good bottle of wine, it will never be as bad as all that.”

The diners smiled and chuckled softly as Hubbard continued, gesturing toward the windows where a white blanket layered the lawn outside as fat snowy flakes continued to drift downward from the gloomy sky.

“This dinner marks the first anniversary of the Great Cataclysm. It has been one year since we took that first step toward the creation of the new world, casting away the trappings of the old dominion in favor of a brighter future. I know it has not been easy being cloistered within this bastion, and some of our number have lacked the necessary will and fallen by the wayside. It has been a hard year, but we have enough supplies for three more such years and a will that can last us infinitely beyond that. We are safe within these walls, and you may always take comfort in that fact. Once the earth has purged herself of the poison of man, we will again go out into the world and remake it, forge it into our own city of gold—our own El Dorado.

“Despite the dying world outside, we are still here to enjoy the fruits of our long labor. But as you dine this evening, I simply ask that you remember what we have been working for. Pleasures far beyond this base meal will be waiting for us at the end of our ordeal.” He held his glass aloft as the other attendees followed suit. “To El Dorado.”

“To El Dorado!” a chorus of voices echoed as each of them drank from his upraised glass.

A grin split his thin, skull-like face. “Now, let us feast!”

The attendees took their seats at the table and began to portion out the various dishes set upon the table. Hubbard sat down too, smiling at the dark haired woman next to him, but she returned the expression unconvincingly. Normally that smile could illuminate her still-beautiful face, but her paltry attempt only accentuated the crows’ feet in her world-weary face.

“Patricia, my dear. What on earth is the matter? You’ve been moping around for days.”

“It’s nothing, Marshall,” she said, waving away his concern as she pulled a side of roast ham onto her plate. “I’ve just been a bit depressed lately.”

“What is there to be depressed about? You have been my consort for months, and until recently, I have never seen you so unhappy.”

Patricia sighed wearily and lay her fork on her plate. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Hubbard asked kindly. “In private, if you like.”

She seemed to think a minute, studying his kindly face for any indication of what he thought. Finally she nodded. “Okay.”

Standing, Hubbard plucked both their glasses from the table and smiled at the rest of the dinner party. “Please excuse us. Patricia is not feeling well at the moment, and we are going to get her some medication. Hopefully we will return shortly. Please continue with the festivities.”

Still smiling, he led Patricia through the doorway and into the hall, threading through the elaborately furnished house before finally stopping at his private study. Shelves of leather-bound volumes stood along the walls like gloomy sentinels, and a heavy oaken desk dominated the center of the darkened room. A pale bluish light filtered in from the pair of windows that stood along the eastern wall, gazing out at the white-shrouded landscape beyond. Hubbard set Patricia’s glass on the desk, motioning for her to sit as he moved to the armchair behind it. As she tentatively seated herself, he sank into the plush leather, steepling his fingers in front of his hollowed face.

“Tell me Patricia, what has been weighing on your mind these past few days?”

She sighed, looking down at her feet. “I miss my family.”

“My dear, everyone here is your family. What more do you need?”

“I know Marshall, I know. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“The hard part was bringing about the Cataclysm—you were instrumental in it. Now all we have to do is wait for the earth to be reborn, so that we can remake it in the image we desire.” A smile broke out onto his face, lending him a maniacal look.

Patricia sighed again, standing from her seat and walking over to the window. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring forlornly out the glass. “So many people died, Marshall. I don’t even know what happened to my own family. It… It just doesn’t seem right anymore.”

“We must cull the weeds from the garden if we expect the flowers to thrive. What we did was necessary to meet our goals.”

“But things didn’t work out the way they were supposed to,” she said doubtfully. “When we convinced Israel to launch their warheads, we didn’t expect Iran to have so many nuclear weapons. We didn’t know that all of ithis/i would happen,” she said, spreading her arms as if to accompany the dead landscape outside.”

“But in the end, it has all worked out. We have cleared the land of its taint, and all we have to do is wait for the earth to replenish herself. Then we can begin anew.”

“I know that,” she replied weakly.

“Then why has your faith waned?”

“It hasn’t. I mean, not really. At first, I believed it as much as anyone. But Marshall, the ash storms are getting longer and longer. You said the nuclear winter wouldn’t last more than six months, but we have been here a full year, and nothing seems to have gotten better. Don’t you see?”

For a moment, Hubbard didn’t respond. Patricia glanced back at him in time to see him close one of the drawers in his desk and stand, picking up their wine glasses. Smiling, he approached her at the window, offering a glass to her.

“Perhaps you are right. We should bring it up to the others tomorrow and see they feel the same way”

She smiled with relief, accepting the wine. “That sounds like a good plan to me. Thank you for being so understanding, Marshall.”

He stepped up behind her, placing a hand on her waist as she turned back toward the window, taking a sip from her glass. “Of course, my dear. You know me better than to think I could be angered by such a thing.”

“I know, but… all of this talk about El Dorado. You get so caught up in it that sometimes I wonder if the radiation hasn’t gotten to you.”

“Nonsense, Patricia.”

“Of course. It’s just…” she gestured out the window. “All this out here looks more like Ragnarok to me—the end of the world, not the beginning of a new one. You talk about El Dorado like it is lurking just beyond the clouds out there.” She yawned, blinking sleepily as she turned back toward him. “But Marshall, the city of gold was a myth. It was just a manifestation of man’s own greed.” She grabbed his shoulder as if to steady herself. “What if the civilization beyond all of this is just a myth too?”

Hubbard made the pretense of frowning. “My dear, are you alright?”

She blinked, teetering unsteadily on her feet. “I don’t—“ Her voice broke as she looked up at him, glassy eyes registering understanding. “You…” The rest of the words wouldn’t come out.

Hubbard continued to smile. “What ever is the matter?”

Patricia’s eyes rolled back into her head as her legs went to jelly and the wineglass fell from her hand Hubbard passively watched as she toppled backward like a disjointed doll. Her head struck the window sill with a crack, and her limp body slid to the ground, trailing a slight smear of blood down the wall. She lay motionless as the wine from her shattered glass mingled with the other shade of crimson slowly pooling beneath her head.

Taking a sip of his drink, Hubbard shook his head sadly and calmly turned back toward the door. He made his way along the hallway until he arrived at the dining hall once more, somberly stepping through the doorway.

As he arrived, the gathered diners were still engaged in talk and laughter. As soon as they saw the grim expression on his skeletal face, however, their mirth died.

“My dear friends,” he began somberly, “I have some dreadful news. It seems that Patricia’s malady was worse than I feared. Shortly after we left, she began feeling worse and passed out, hitting her head in the process. I believe it was some kind of latent radiation poisoning that has just now come to the surface. I am afraid poor Patricia has passed on.”

There was a collective intake of breath. The diners looked about in shock as a frightened murmur sprang up around them

“Are the rest of us in danger?” one panicked voice asked.

Hubbard smiled reassuringly. “No, no. We are still safe inside these walls. Patricia must have come into contact with the radiation in her duties abroad, before the Cataclysm, and it just now made its effects apparent over the last few days.””

The frightened murmurs died down as the men and women realized their own lives were not at stake.

“While there is nothing to fear,” Hubbard continued, “that knowledge does little to assuage the sorrow of our dear Patricia’s passing. She may be gone, but we should not forget the great work she has been a part of.” He lifted his glass, and the others followed suit. “When our paradise has been attained, her memory and the memory of her deeds shall live on forever—in the streets of El Dorado.”

As one, the diners lifted their glasses in tribute. “To El Dorado!”