December 1, 2023 • 31 mins
We are back with our ongoing fiction series with the second part of the Terminus trilogy! After the climactic finale of part one, part two finds our protagonists in a cold, dark forest evading enemies and pondering the future.
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Speaker 1 (00:05):
Hey, this is Annie and Samantha.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm welcome to Stefan never told you a production of iHeartRadio,
and we're back with it's minty Fiction yay, which it
feels like forever even though it's literally only been one month.
(00:29):
But the last minty fiction was the finale of our
previous ongoing spanty fiction, Terminus. This is the start of
the sequel. I was pondering waiting and giving it some
more time, but I just was like, you know what,
let's keep going, go it all the way in, let's go. So, Yes,
(00:50):
this is the sequel to Terminus. We are trying to
do a playlist thing so that it makes it easier
if you want to go back, I can just listen
to all those episodes. We're trying to do it with
a couple of installments, including your religion. Yes, so let
us know if that's something you're interested in. I don't
(01:11):
think it's too hard to search out those things, but
if it's something we can make easier, we're happy.
Speaker 1 (01:16):
To do it.
Speaker 2 (01:17):
Yes, this is the sequel to Terminus. It will make
a lot more sense if you go back and listen
to all I think eighteen ish of th those but
I can't tell you what to do. Also, congratulations to
everyone who did Nano Ramo national novel writing Monks, or
(01:37):
didn't or tried.
Speaker 1 (01:40):
I'm with you, my people who tried, I got it.
Speaker 2 (01:42):
I got you because the first one was my first
attempt at Nana Ramo successful attempt. I'll say this was
my second one, and then there is a third. This
is a trilogy, but this is once a month thing.
If it's not your thing, it is continuing. I did
want to ask you this, Samantha. Have you ever had
(02:08):
the deeply terrifying moment of losing an entire document on
your computer?
Speaker 1 (02:14):
Oh? Yes, oh terrible. But you know I come from
like pre internet, so.
Speaker 2 (02:19):
Of course, so I've When I was in college, I
had my final paper got completely erased. To this day,
I still don't know how. It just wasn't there and
I had to rewrite it. And I actually think the
second one I wrote it was better. It was on
a completely different topic. Because I was like, never again,
well I talk about that, but this I actually lost
(02:42):
this first half of this entire document. Ooh yes, I
was able to recreate some of it, but imagine the
heartbreak of trying to write something during Nano Ramo and
then losing the first half.
Speaker 1 (02:58):
About midway in. I would throw it.
Speaker 2 (03:02):
So this one, as always with these, I just I'm look,
I'm gonna be real with you. I'm not gonna edit it.
I'm not. I might edit some of it. I feel
like atroduction, I feel like I'm making it sound like
it's terrible. It's not. But I just I don't. I
didn't edit the last one either, right, but this one
(03:26):
I did. I was reminded of some heartbreak going back
up looks like, oh yeah, I totally lost all of that. No,
I don't think it's that noticeable. But you're a free
to correct me if I'm wrong. Everybody everybody writes it
that's okay. I think it's good. I think it's good.
I'm sorry I'm building this up point too much. I
(03:48):
just I had forgotten that that happened to me, Samantha
until I was I'm sure.
Speaker 1 (03:52):
That was traumatic. Even remembering it as traumatic.
Speaker 2 (03:55):
It was really traumatic. This one is also called big
things to a small because yeah, I'm a nerd for titles.
As we've said, yeah, because he's.
Speaker 1 (04:07):
So little so being literal.
Speaker 2 (04:13):
It's both. It's both. That's what makes it good, so
all right, content warning for discussion of hunger illness disease,
being cold and miserable once again. The last of us
had not come out at this point. I'm kind of like,
I'm amazed at some of.
Speaker 1 (04:34):
The Yeah you were a for thinker.
Speaker 2 (04:37):
Well, something was going on. I don't know what it was,
So very quick recap again, please, I think it will
make more sense if you listen to the first installment.
But quick recap. There is an illness called HSV five
that has wiped out much of the human population. It
makes it so that people who can get pregnant can't
(04:59):
after the first time having penis and vagina sex, and
so if you don't get pregnant the first time, then
that's it, and the population is slowly dwindling. We follow
Tilda and her son Madison. Tilda got illegally pregnant outside
of conception center because she was supposed to go to
(05:19):
a conception center so they can monitor all that stuff.
And she's been on the run with her son, Madison
for seven years. She was a priority number one case
and was never sure why she was trying to escape
all these enforcers of the government. She met some allies
along the way, she discovered there was a resistance, but
they weren't quite what they thought she was. She learned
(05:41):
there was not a cure, but there was a vaccine. However,
the state, who is also kind of run by this
religious organization, had destroyed all but one, so she her
risk going into their headquarters to get the vaccine for
her son, and it's she realizes that they are the
(06:03):
paternal grandparents, and they have been saving the vaccine for
him and him alone because they believe the human population
is full of sin and should die, but not him.
But yes, oh yes, But then it culminates. He does
get the vaccine, Darla and the wife and this equation
(06:26):
gets shot accidentally and presumably dies till the main character
gets to their broadcast system that they used to send
out their kind of this is how you should behave
messages and tells them that there is a vaccine, tell
broadcast that there is a vaccine and that they destroyed it,
(06:49):
and then escapes into the night. And that's where the
first one ends. So we're picking off kind of right
after that, so let's get into it. It was cold.
(07:14):
The air was heavy weighted with frostiness, as if tiny
crystallized shards were suspended in the thick fog of cold,
and every breath scratched and burned down the throat and
contracted the muscles a steady refrain of flaring ice headaches.
Tilda drew in breast slowly, carefully, fog popping out of
(07:34):
her mouth in a slow stream of smoke as though
she were smoking a cigarette. Tilda and herson Madison were
trudging slowly, clumsily through a forest, Snow crunched beneath their feet,
as it had for the last two days. Under the
layer of snow was a mushy carpet of dead leaves,
so that every step sunk and snow collected around their ankles.
(07:58):
Icicles clung resolutely from barren branches in cool green pine needles,
tinkling like bells, with sudden, gentle breezes that preceded brutal,
swirling gust of wind that pierced the skin and threatened
to knock them off their feet. Alongside them was a creek,
mostly frozen over. It occasionally gurgled and dripped, but for
the most part the woods around them was eerily silent,
(08:20):
except for the whailing and whistling of the wind, the
bell like icicles, and the snapping of limbs. Overhead, the
sky was a blanket of soft gray clouds that foretold
of more snow to come. They had yet to see
the sun since the snow first spell a few days ago,
and the forest was in perpetual twilight. During the day.
A desolate loneliness hung over them, so palpable that Tilda
(08:44):
felt like a very unwelcome intruder. They were making their
way south through a large national wildlife reserve in Virginia.
They had strayed from the main roads in the most
general sense of the word, in an effort to avoid
any possible pursuit of violence in the wake of Tilda's broadcast.
As they fled d c perhaps she was being overly cautious,
(09:05):
but the sounds of chaos, the sight of tanks thundering
toward Washington, rolling past her and Madison as though they
were bugs that could be unknowingly smushed, unnerved her. Then
came the sudden influx of people on the roads, some
in dusty cars, put many on foot. A small army
with slack faces, somehow still drawn and determined, suspicious eyes
(09:28):
roving to Tilda's face, then to the rare breed of
human a child at Tilda's side and snapping up to
her again. Calculating wondering at the woman and her son
heading in the opposite direction of the influx to d C,
where a vaccine and some answers supposedly waited. Lumbering towards
hope and revenge, Tilda opted for smaller roads, Overwhelmed and
(09:52):
on edge at the sight of so many people, but
even they proved to have cars speeding north, slowing down
after they passed the pair of mother child. The tension
eating at her muscles and churning in her stomach led
Tilda to decide to abandon the roads altogether and continue
their southward trek through the George Washington, Virginia State Park
and Wildlife Refuge. They'd stopped at a few camp stores
(10:15):
located near the entrance to restock on what supplies they could.
Granola bars later discovered to be hard as rock, packets
of nuts, trail mixes, protein bars, and an armful of
tiny water bottles, all packed carefully away in a new
waterproof camping backpack. She'd also grabbed them compact sleeping bags,
a lighter, flashlights, and some batteries, a two man tent,
(10:39):
some fleece pullovers, and waterproof parkas, warm camping clothes and shoes,
though unfortunately she couldn't find any in Madison's size. Tilda
had also picked up a decent sized knife. She told
herself it was for hunting. The backpack was hefty, but
not overly so. Most of the items she'd picked up
(10:59):
were designed for her campers and meant to be light weight.
The clothes were effective in keeping them warm and dry.
She'd even found gloves and hats for them both, but
after two days in the snow, the cold had seeped
in and become a part of them. Tilda imagined ice
collecting along her muscles, making her stiff, her blood sluggish.
The damp chill was bone deep, her lips were numb,
(11:22):
her nose and ears tingled, her cheeks burned, and she
couldn't feel her toes or fingers no matter how she
flexed them. When they first entered the park, they'd followed
trails and markers passed for hikers and campers, but years
without upkeep made it difficult to stay on track. She
hadn't anticipated the snow, glistening white powder and ice obscuring
(11:47):
whatever trails had been left. Tilda had taken to following
the creek, which she had determined using what little she
could glimpse of the sun, was flowing southward. Even with
their new supplies, things were looking The cold had frozen
most of the thought processes in her brain other than
put one foot in front of the other, but she
could feel a barely contained terror, like a gray shroud
(12:10):
in her mind, in her heart. She was so scared
for Madison. He'd been largely silent, huddled against her side
and stumbling clumsily against her with his shuffling footsteps. Once
the cold had seeped through their coats and their thermals,
his body had been racked with shivers, but now only
the occasional shudder overtook him. Tilda carried him off and on,
(12:33):
but her cold body refused to cooperate. He stumbled against
her again, swallowing her throat parched, Tilda rasped all right.
Her eyes darted to the dead forest, searching for some
kind of an end. Were they making their way out
or were they only making their way deeper? In A
(12:54):
mumble was Madison's response. She jiggled the tiny hand she
held in hers muttered, it's cold, I know, baby. She
glanced up at the sky, fretful at its mercy, tell
me a story, okay about what He sounded somewhat annoyed
at her request, but mostly exhausted. What's the warmest thing
(13:18):
you can think of? Her lips chattered suddenly and stopped.
A breeze swirled past them, whipping an icy lock of
hair in her face. A moment's hesitation, the wind wailing
in the distance, Mercury. Tilda gave a hoarse laugh of surprise.
Madison did not acknowledge her amusement. Okay, tell me a
(13:42):
story about Mercury. The boy sighed a very adult like
sound and said, in a very clipped and rehearsed tone,
it's the smallest planet, is closest to the sun, it's hot,
and no one lives there. His voice sounded very thin
and reedy as brittle. The dead tree branches snagging their
coats somehow loud and fragile, and the dead quiet around them.
(14:07):
That's not a story, Tilda chided him gently, those are facts.
Heavy sigh. A smile twitched at Tilda's lips. Despite the situation,
on the one hand, conserving energy was probably very wise,
but on the other, on the other, taking his mind
off the cold invading his body, the cold that would
(14:30):
not relent, not yield, but only worsened as his step slowed,
his resolve weakened, until the sun made its existence snow,
and once again, that was worth it. She could almost
feel Madison relent. To hear him thinking, She pictured his face,
his brows furrowed, biting his lip as he often did
when he was thinking. He started quietly. There was a
(14:55):
boy who had a glass fall. He found it one
day when he was out exploring, digging the dirt. It
was glass, clear like crystal. But at night he was
scared the dark. He didn't know what was out there,
but he could sense it in the dark, something watching
(15:15):
waiting tilt a slow, subconsciously, cold fingers dancing up her spine.
Often these stories were fanciful products of a boy's imagination
allowed to roam free, but just as often they were
insights into Madison's state of mind. She was suddenly irrationally
afraid of what he might say. Madison sniffled and swiped
(15:36):
the back of his hand across his nose, continuing, he
was alone and cold, so he got out his glass ball,
and he held it in his hands, pretending he could
see another world there, a warm one, bright and safe.
At first, all he saw was was glass, not even
his own reflection. But then a sort of orange and
(15:58):
yellow smoke filled the glass ball, and the ball got
warm in his hands. The light grew and grew and
made a circle around him. Light and heat like a bubble,
and it looks like mercury's surface. He trailed off with
a breathy gasp, stumbling to his knees. Madison Gingerly Tilden
(16:20):
knelt beside him, attempting unsuccessfully to pull him to his feet.
Her heart was thumping wildly, sudden starts and stops, as
the blood rushed to her head at the change position,
pounding in her temple the sound, Madison asked, whispy and frail.
Tilda's mind sluggishly wondered if he was hearing her heart beat,
(16:41):
Her ice addled powers of concentration, finally coming to the
conclusion that as ridiculous as impossible as it seemed, the
sound was not her heart, but that of a horse's
hoofs distant now but fast approaching. Her stomach plummeted with
a chill that had nothing to do with them. As
she struggled to her feet, pulling Madison up with her,
(17:03):
she glanced around wildly as they greened haphazardly forward, knowing
that the tracks they left in the snow would lead
the rider straight to them. Desperate, Tilda steered them towards
the creek. Gracing herself, she stepped through the ice, her
boot sinking angle deep and freezing water. Creaking joints lifted
Madison into her arms. Whencing and momentarily terrified she'd be
unable to carry him, that her strength would give out,
(17:26):
she followed the creek back the way they came, teetering
with each frantic step. The hoofs grew louder quicker. As
they reached a mossy rock face covered patches of ice,
water from melted snow streaming in small rivulets down the side.
Hang on, Tilda whispered shakily. With a gloved hand, she
grasped a rock outcropping on the side and pulled herself up,
(17:48):
the momentum from almost falling back, smacking her cheek against
the rock, but helping her hoist her body against the
slippery surface. Her foot big and clumsy with the boot
on needed to be jammed with painful force to a
small gap between the rocks, jolting her frozen toes. Pushing
off the ground with her other foot, she reached with
her other hand and gripped the edge of the slab
(18:08):
of the rock. Her chest seized with effort, her lungs
unable to draw breath as she heaved herself up. Black
spots danced in her vision as she pulled herself and
Madison over the edge, the fabric of their jackets scraping
against the rock. She scooted backward on her butt, expecting
to see the horse and its rider appear at any moment.
The creek continued in an upward slope, ending in another
(18:31):
cliff face, where a waterfall only beginning to melt, now
covered the entrance to a tiny alcove with a sheet ice.
Crawl in. Tilda instructed Madison, releasing him with jerky movements.
Madison slithered under the sheet of ice where it had
melted away on the lower left, kicking slippery, squeaking soles
against the slicker rocks to propel himself underneath. Tilda followed
(18:54):
his lead. The cold water like a shock against her back.
They huddled in the dark, with their knees against their chest,
their breath fogging with every short pant, loud and harsh.
In the small cave they'd taken refuge in, their view
of the outside was distorted through the ice. Sound muffled,
and far away. A dark object came into view the horse.
(19:16):
A man in a thick jacket with long, dark hair,
rode astride it. The horse had slowed to a trot.
Tilda could only assume the man had seen their tracks.
Fumbling slow fingers reached for a knife, not believing as
she reached for it that she could ever use it,
not believing it would do any good, Madison whimpered, impressed
himself closer to her. The horse whinnied, shuffling in the snow.
(19:40):
The man called out, deep and commanding, but Tilda couldn't
make out the words. A gray fog, much like the
one that had surrounded them in the journey through these woods,
was making her thoughts slow and disjointed. The man directed
his horse forward, following their path out of sight. Had
he followed them here? Had he been searching for them?
(20:01):
They waited, watching through the glass, the wet from the
rock walls and stones underneath them, making their already frigid
bodies even colder. Tilda could make out the occasional sound
enough to know that the man and his horse were
still close by. If out of sight, Tilda could only
hope he chose to follow the creek's south, the direction
they'd been traveling all along, guessing that they would stay
(20:23):
on their current trajectory. That he'd guess the pair of
them would have been unable to climb up the rock face.
Silence stretched on as Tilda's tension grew. The man called
out again, and Madison jumped. Though she couldn't make out
the words, she could tell by the intonation that it
was a question what if he was calling for someone else,
What if there were more of them? Madison had resumed shivering,
(20:47):
bearing himself against Tilda's side in a desperate search for heat.
Tilda flexed her fingers, willing some of the blood to
flow back into them, willing herself to feel them again.
The man's face came back into sight on the other
side of the creek. It was disconcerting being able to
see his face but not make out any of the
features on it, not knowing where he was looking his
(21:09):
head moved slowly from side to side, scanning, Tilda assumed
for any trail to follow, a clue as to what
direction they had gone. A particularly strong gust of wind
swirled and kicked up snow and stripped some bark from trees,
a muted screaming, forcing the man to shield his face
with his arm. The horse neighed almost nervously, turning away
(21:30):
from the blast of air. Tilda suddenly had the fleeting
idea of attempting a surprise attack to secure the guy's
horse and ride her and Madison to shelter, but dismissed
it almost immediately after the wind had died down. The
man lowered his arm cautiously. He gave another tentative look around,
then coaxed his horse forward gently back the way they came.
(21:53):
For what felt like a long time but was probably
only a few minutes, Tilda stared through the distorted glass
that was there world, her ears strained, trying to discern
the sounds of hoofs or feet through the wailing of
the wind. A sharp but weak intake of air by
her side drew her attention to Madison. She looked down
at her son, his mop of mousy brown hair almost
(22:15):
black with water. His lips were blue. Come on, she murmured.
She wriggled out on her back under the break in
the ice. She held her hand, motioning for him to
follow her. Til to frowned when he hesitated his movement slow.
He crawled out on his stomach, his face deathly pale.
His eyes had a plea in them. Here, darling. She
(22:39):
grasped his hands, afraid her fingers would snap off as
she curled them around his fingers, swallowing till to surveyed
their surroundings, senses heightened with danger, hazel eyes darting from
tree to tree. For now, they followed the creek's south,
she decided, eyeing the hoof prints heading east. Warily, but
they needed to find shelter her It started to flurry,
(23:03):
so beautiful, fun even, but now so deadly. They climbed
back down the rock face till to going first and
then reaching her arms up for Madison. He tried to
curl up in her arms, but failed and settled instead
for just neztling into her neck till the side, stroking
the back of his head, and resolved to carry him
as long as her arms allowed. She rubbed his back,
(23:26):
hoping to get some flood circulating, and helped him wrap
his legs around her waist. She began her slow, hopeless journey,
every step treacherous, the cold winter water threatening to soak
through her boots. Her mind was too afraid to process
any clear thoughts other than that they were in serious trouble,
a burning fear that she was almost distant from because
(23:46):
she was too cold to register it. As her foot
punched a hole and the ice still covering most of
the stream's surface, she tried to remember what it felt
like to be warm, and couldn't. It felt foreign to
her that could no longer exist, not for her, not
for Madison. A branch snapped near them. She would have
(24:07):
jumped if her muscles had the strength. Dear, Madison murmured
in her ear, baby, dear, Sure enough to Tilda's left,
a gangly, white spotted creature bounded off, clumsy and loud fawn.
Tilda clarified. Madison repeated the word to her, sounding as
one hypnotized. Tilda's sloughed towards with more determination, blinking snowflakes
(24:32):
away from her eyelashes. For a long time, she continued
most of her body shut down to anything else other
than the next step. The snow continued to fall, a
pottery frosting to the layer of icy slush, still blinketing
the carpet of leaves, the wind whistled around them. Her
eyes felt heavy. Are we going to die? Tilda blinked,
(24:54):
thinking she'd imagined the whispered question in her ear. Eventually
they found a cabin, dilapidated and barely standing, but like
a beacon in the dark night. Tilda stumbled in, Madison
still in her arms, checking, listening to see if anyone
else was in there, but it was empty. She shut
(25:15):
the door of the creek, grateful that all of the
windows seemed intact, even if everything else seemed transact. And
barely standing, slowly, she lowered Madison to the ground, the
wind howling outside of the cabin. Tilda fumbled with the
zipper of her pack, her hand alien and heavy. The
water bottles were cold. She gripped two in her fingers,
almost dropping them. She had to work slightly to twist
(25:38):
off the cap. Tilda helped Madison into a sitting position
and hand him the bottle, not transferring the weight until
she was sure he had a good grasp on it.
She watched, worried as he struggled to command his fingers.
He brought the bottle to his lips slowly and took
a clumsy sip that drippled down his chin, reflecting moonlight. Slowly,
she reminded him when he sputtered, coughing as he tried
(25:59):
to gulp too quickly. The bottle was already almost empty.
Twisting off the cap of her own water, Tilda took
a tentative sip, wincing when the cold water came into
contact with her parched throat. She swallowed painfully, the liquid
like a cold stone in her empty stomach. In silence,
they drank. The thin, jagged shadows of tree branches projected
(26:20):
on the cabin walls, changing as the clouds moved over
the moon. Madison stared at his empty bottle. Tilda watched him,
wondering what he was thinking. Still thirsty, Massen curled into
the feet of position under the blanket that Tilda had
pulled out. I'm okay, he murmured, but Tilda knew he
(26:41):
was not cold. She prodded, grimacing around another mouthful of water.
He nodded, It's not so bad now, Tilda wished she
knew more about prolonged exposure to cold. That's good. She
ran her hand through his hair and along his face.
His skin was still quite cold. Any pain A long pause,
(27:06):
Tilda stroked his arm. I think my bones hurt, my throat,
my head, he halted, assessing how much to tell her
fingers and toes. He turned his face up to hers.
I'm okay, though, right, we're both okay, till since an
(27:27):
undercurrent something else he was asking, what are you thinking?
His eyes were searching overly bright in the moonlight. He
shrugged with a quiet sigh. She gave him a tiny smile. Yeah,
we're okay. It's just taking time for our bodies to
warm up. We were so cold we lost some feeling
(27:48):
in our hands, in our feet. She jiggled his foot,
so now we can feel the pain in them. Another
weighted moment settled over them, till the new Madison was debating,
trying to find the for what he really wanted to ask,
but instead he said okay. Tilda nearly sighed again, running
fingers that still felt disconnected from her hand through his hair.
(28:11):
She watched him, trying to discern what thoughts He was
too afraid to voice. She could only guess it adds
something to do with all the revelations of d C,
why they'd been there and why they'd fled. It chased
after them, A menacing shadow with such a presence, she
often expected to turn around and see it, a dark
creature with claws and jagged teeth, ready to devour them.
(28:33):
But as ashamed as she was to admit it even
to herself, she was too tired to summon the courage
to have the long put off but necessary conversation. She'd
found reason after reason not to have it. First, she
needed time to process everything they'd learned and experienced herself.
Then she needed to put distance between them and DC.
Her last excuse, and most cowardly, was Madison hadn't asked.
(28:58):
Madison turned away from her, Tilda remained sitting up, staring
at his back, thinking about all that was left unsaid.
She'd eased herself down and pulled the blanket around them,
once more, promising herself they'd talk that they were fine,
really and truly, But she honestly didn't know. That thought
kept her awake for a long time, and that brings
(29:43):
us to the end of this first installment. Of big
things start small. I'll probably just call it terminus too
to make it clear, but that's what it's really called.
Speaker 1 (29:52):
In my head.
Speaker 2 (29:54):
It is shorter than the first one, and the third
one's even shorter than this one. But but I'm excited
to share it with all of you, and I hope
that you enjoy it. And I really do appreciate it
when people write in whatever your thoughts are, our theories are,
and if you have any if you have any stories,
you want to share any Nanarima thoughts or anything we
(30:16):
can read in the public domain that we could have
sound effects and do something like this. We love doing
this kind of stuff. We can't do it too often
because it is a bigger thing for Christina, who is
amazing and makes these happen.
Speaker 1 (30:28):
Yes, a lot of things on her plate.
Speaker 2 (30:31):
There are a lot of things on Christina's plate, but
we do like to do them. So if you have
any suggestions or something like that, please let us know.
You can email us at stephaniea moms Stuff at iHeartMedia
dot com. You can find us on Twitter at mom
Stuff podcast, or on Instagram and TikTok at stuff. I
never told you. We have a tea public store, and
we have a book and an audiobook where you can
(30:52):
get wherever you get those things. Thanks as always to
our super producer Christina, our executive producer Maya, and our
contributor Joey. Thank you and thanks to you feel listening.
Step On Never Told Me is production by Heart Radio.
For more podcasts on my heart Radio, you can check
out the heart Radio app Apple Podcasts, or if you
listen to your favorite shows,
Hey, this is Annie and Samantha.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm welcome to Stefan never told you a production of iHeartRadio,
and we're back with it's minty Fiction yay, which it
feels like forever even though it's literally only been one month.
(00:29):
But the last minty fiction was the finale of our
previous ongoing spanty fiction, Terminus. This is the start of
the sequel. I was pondering waiting and giving it some
more time, but I just was like, you know what,
let's keep going, go it all the way in, let's go. So, Yes,
(00:50):
this is the sequel to Terminus. We are trying to
do a playlist thing so that it makes it easier
if you want to go back, I can just listen
to all those episodes. We're trying to do it with
a couple of installments, including your religion. Yes, so let
us know if that's something you're interested in. I don't
(01:11):
think it's too hard to search out those things, but
if it's something we can make easier, we're happy.
Speaker 1 (01:16):
To do it.
Speaker 2 (01:17):
Yes, this is the sequel to Terminus. It will make
a lot more sense if you go back and listen
to all I think eighteen ish of th those but
I can't tell you what to do. Also, congratulations to
everyone who did Nano Ramo national novel writing Monks, or
(01:37):
didn't or tried.
Speaker 1 (01:40):
I'm with you, my people who tried, I got it.
Speaker 2 (01:42):
I got you because the first one was my first
attempt at Nana Ramo successful attempt. I'll say this was
my second one, and then there is a third. This
is a trilogy, but this is once a month thing.
If it's not your thing, it is continuing. I did
want to ask you this, Samantha. Have you ever had
(02:08):
the deeply terrifying moment of losing an entire document on
your computer?
Speaker 1 (02:14):
Oh? Yes, oh terrible. But you know I come from
like pre internet, so.
Speaker 2 (02:19):
Of course, so I've When I was in college, I
had my final paper got completely erased. To this day,
I still don't know how. It just wasn't there and
I had to rewrite it. And I actually think the
second one I wrote it was better. It was on
a completely different topic. Because I was like, never again,
well I talk about that, but this I actually lost
(02:42):
this first half of this entire document. Ooh yes, I
was able to recreate some of it, but imagine the
heartbreak of trying to write something during Nano Ramo and
then losing the first half.
Speaker 1 (02:58):
About midway in. I would throw it.
Speaker 2 (03:02):
So this one, as always with these, I just I'm look,
I'm gonna be real with you. I'm not gonna edit it.
I'm not. I might edit some of it. I feel
like atroduction, I feel like I'm making it sound like
it's terrible. It's not. But I just I don't. I
didn't edit the last one either, right, but this one
(03:26):
I did. I was reminded of some heartbreak going back
up looks like, oh yeah, I totally lost all of that. No,
I don't think it's that noticeable. But you're a free
to correct me if I'm wrong. Everybody everybody writes it
that's okay. I think it's good. I think it's good.
I'm sorry I'm building this up point too much. I
(03:48):
just I had forgotten that that happened to me, Samantha
until I was I'm sure.
Speaker 1 (03:52):
That was traumatic. Even remembering it as traumatic.
Speaker 2 (03:55):
It was really traumatic. This one is also called big
things to a small because yeah, I'm a nerd for titles.
As we've said, yeah, because he's.
Speaker 1 (04:07):
So little so being literal.
Speaker 2 (04:13):
It's both. It's both. That's what makes it good, so
all right, content warning for discussion of hunger illness disease,
being cold and miserable once again. The last of us
had not come out at this point. I'm kind of like,
I'm amazed at some of.
Speaker 1 (04:34):
The Yeah you were a for thinker.
Speaker 2 (04:37):
Well, something was going on. I don't know what it was,
So very quick recap again, please, I think it will
make more sense if you listen to the first installment.
But quick recap. There is an illness called HSV five
that has wiped out much of the human population. It
makes it so that people who can get pregnant can't
(04:59):
after the first time having penis and vagina sex, and
so if you don't get pregnant the first time, then
that's it, and the population is slowly dwindling. We follow
Tilda and her son Madison. Tilda got illegally pregnant outside
of conception center because she was supposed to go to
(05:19):
a conception center so they can monitor all that stuff.
And she's been on the run with her son, Madison
for seven years. She was a priority number one case
and was never sure why she was trying to escape
all these enforcers of the government. She met some allies
along the way, she discovered there was a resistance, but
they weren't quite what they thought she was. She learned
(05:41):
there was not a cure, but there was a vaccine. However,
the state, who is also kind of run by this
religious organization, had destroyed all but one, so she her
risk going into their headquarters to get the vaccine for
her son, and it's she realizes that they are the
(06:03):
paternal grandparents, and they have been saving the vaccine for
him and him alone because they believe the human population
is full of sin and should die, but not him.
But yes, oh yes, But then it culminates. He does
get the vaccine, Darla and the wife and this equation
(06:26):
gets shot accidentally and presumably dies till the main character
gets to their broadcast system that they used to send
out their kind of this is how you should behave
messages and tells them that there is a vaccine, tell
broadcast that there is a vaccine and that they destroyed it,
(06:49):
and then escapes into the night. And that's where the
first one ends. So we're picking off kind of right
after that, so let's get into it. It was cold.
(07:14):
The air was heavy weighted with frostiness, as if tiny
crystallized shards were suspended in the thick fog of cold,
and every breath scratched and burned down the throat and
contracted the muscles a steady refrain of flaring ice headaches.
Tilda drew in breast slowly, carefully, fog popping out of
(07:34):
her mouth in a slow stream of smoke as though
she were smoking a cigarette. Tilda and herson Madison were
trudging slowly, clumsily through a forest, Snow crunched beneath their feet,
as it had for the last two days. Under the
layer of snow was a mushy carpet of dead leaves,
so that every step sunk and snow collected around their ankles.
(07:58):
Icicles clung resolutely from barren branches in cool green pine needles,
tinkling like bells, with sudden, gentle breezes that preceded brutal,
swirling gust of wind that pierced the skin and threatened
to knock them off their feet. Alongside them was a creek,
mostly frozen over. It occasionally gurgled and dripped, but for
the most part the woods around them was eerily silent,
(08:20):
except for the whailing and whistling of the wind, the
bell like icicles, and the snapping of limbs. Overhead, the
sky was a blanket of soft gray clouds that foretold
of more snow to come. They had yet to see
the sun since the snow first spell a few days ago,
and the forest was in perpetual twilight. During the day.
A desolate loneliness hung over them, so palpable that Tilda
(08:44):
felt like a very unwelcome intruder. They were making their
way south through a large national wildlife reserve in Virginia.
They had strayed from the main roads in the most
general sense of the word, in an effort to avoid
any possible pursuit of violence in the wake of Tilda's broadcast.
As they fled d c perhaps she was being overly cautious,
(09:05):
but the sounds of chaos, the sight of tanks thundering
toward Washington, rolling past her and Madison as though they
were bugs that could be unknowingly smushed, unnerved her. Then
came the sudden influx of people on the roads, some
in dusty cars, put many on foot. A small army
with slack faces, somehow still drawn and determined, suspicious eyes
(09:28):
roving to Tilda's face, then to the rare breed of
human a child at Tilda's side and snapping up to
her again. Calculating wondering at the woman and her son
heading in the opposite direction of the influx to d C,
where a vaccine and some answers supposedly waited. Lumbering towards
hope and revenge, Tilda opted for smaller roads, Overwhelmed and
(09:52):
on edge at the sight of so many people, but
even they proved to have cars speeding north, slowing down
after they passed the pair of mother child. The tension
eating at her muscles and churning in her stomach led
Tilda to decide to abandon the roads altogether and continue
their southward trek through the George Washington, Virginia State Park
and Wildlife Refuge. They'd stopped at a few camp stores
(10:15):
located near the entrance to restock on what supplies they could.
Granola bars later discovered to be hard as rock, packets
of nuts, trail mixes, protein bars, and an armful of
tiny water bottles, all packed carefully away in a new
waterproof camping backpack. She'd also grabbed them compact sleeping bags,
a lighter, flashlights, and some batteries, a two man tent,
(10:39):
some fleece pullovers, and waterproof parkas, warm camping clothes and shoes,
though unfortunately she couldn't find any in Madison's size. Tilda
had also picked up a decent sized knife. She told
herself it was for hunting. The backpack was hefty, but
not overly so. Most of the items she'd picked up
(10:59):
were designed for her campers and meant to be light weight.
The clothes were effective in keeping them warm and dry.
She'd even found gloves and hats for them both, but
after two days in the snow, the cold had seeped
in and become a part of them. Tilda imagined ice
collecting along her muscles, making her stiff, her blood sluggish.
The damp chill was bone deep, her lips were numb,
(11:22):
her nose and ears tingled, her cheeks burned, and she
couldn't feel her toes or fingers no matter how she
flexed them. When they first entered the park, they'd followed
trails and markers passed for hikers and campers, but years
without upkeep made it difficult to stay on track. She
hadn't anticipated the snow, glistening white powder and ice obscuring
(11:47):
whatever trails had been left. Tilda had taken to following
the creek, which she had determined using what little she
could glimpse of the sun, was flowing southward. Even with
their new supplies, things were looking The cold had frozen
most of the thought processes in her brain other than
put one foot in front of the other, but she
could feel a barely contained terror, like a gray shroud
(12:10):
in her mind, in her heart. She was so scared
for Madison. He'd been largely silent, huddled against her side
and stumbling clumsily against her with his shuffling footsteps. Once
the cold had seeped through their coats and their thermals,
his body had been racked with shivers, but now only
the occasional shudder overtook him. Tilda carried him off and on,
(12:33):
but her cold body refused to cooperate. He stumbled against
her again, swallowing her throat parched, Tilda rasped all right.
Her eyes darted to the dead forest, searching for some
kind of an end. Were they making their way out
or were they only making their way deeper? In A
(12:54):
mumble was Madison's response. She jiggled the tiny hand she
held in hers muttered, it's cold, I know, baby. She
glanced up at the sky, fretful at its mercy, tell
me a story, okay about what He sounded somewhat annoyed
at her request, but mostly exhausted. What's the warmest thing
(13:18):
you can think of? Her lips chattered suddenly and stopped.
A breeze swirled past them, whipping an icy lock of
hair in her face. A moment's hesitation, the wind wailing
in the distance, Mercury. Tilda gave a hoarse laugh of surprise.
Madison did not acknowledge her amusement. Okay, tell me a
(13:42):
story about Mercury. The boy sighed a very adult like
sound and said, in a very clipped and rehearsed tone,
it's the smallest planet, is closest to the sun, it's hot,
and no one lives there. His voice sounded very thin
and reedy as brittle. The dead tree branches snagging their
coats somehow loud and fragile, and the dead quiet around them.
(14:07):
That's not a story, Tilda chided him gently, those are facts.
Heavy sigh. A smile twitched at Tilda's lips. Despite the situation,
on the one hand, conserving energy was probably very wise,
but on the other, on the other, taking his mind
off the cold invading his body, the cold that would
(14:30):
not relent, not yield, but only worsened as his step slowed,
his resolve weakened, until the sun made its existence snow,
and once again, that was worth it. She could almost
feel Madison relent. To hear him thinking, She pictured his face,
his brows furrowed, biting his lip as he often did
when he was thinking. He started quietly. There was a
(14:55):
boy who had a glass fall. He found it one
day when he was out exploring, digging the dirt. It
was glass, clear like crystal. But at night he was
scared the dark. He didn't know what was out there,
but he could sense it in the dark, something watching
(15:15):
waiting tilt a slow, subconsciously, cold fingers dancing up her spine.
Often these stories were fanciful products of a boy's imagination
allowed to roam free, but just as often they were
insights into Madison's state of mind. She was suddenly irrationally
afraid of what he might say. Madison sniffled and swiped
(15:36):
the back of his hand across his nose, continuing, he
was alone and cold, so he got out his glass ball,
and he held it in his hands, pretending he could
see another world there, a warm one, bright and safe.
At first, all he saw was was glass, not even
his own reflection. But then a sort of orange and
(15:58):
yellow smoke filled the glass ball, and the ball got
warm in his hands. The light grew and grew and
made a circle around him. Light and heat like a bubble,
and it looks like mercury's surface. He trailed off with
a breathy gasp, stumbling to his knees. Madison Gingerly Tilden
(16:20):
knelt beside him, attempting unsuccessfully to pull him to his feet.
Her heart was thumping wildly, sudden starts and stops, as
the blood rushed to her head at the change position,
pounding in her temple the sound, Madison asked, whispy and frail.
Tilda's mind sluggishly wondered if he was hearing her heart beat,
(16:41):
Her ice addled powers of concentration, finally coming to the
conclusion that as ridiculous as impossible as it seemed, the
sound was not her heart, but that of a horse's
hoofs distant now but fast approaching. Her stomach plummeted with
a chill that had nothing to do with them. As
she struggled to her feet, pulling Madison up with her,
(17:03):
she glanced around wildly as they greened haphazardly forward, knowing
that the tracks they left in the snow would lead
the rider straight to them. Desperate, Tilda steered them towards
the creek. Gracing herself, she stepped through the ice, her
boot sinking angle deep and freezing water. Creaking joints lifted
Madison into her arms. Whencing and momentarily terrified she'd be
unable to carry him, that her strength would give out,
(17:26):
she followed the creek back the way they came, teetering
with each frantic step. The hoofs grew louder quicker. As
they reached a mossy rock face covered patches of ice,
water from melted snow streaming in small rivulets down the side.
Hang on, Tilda whispered shakily. With a gloved hand, she
grasped a rock outcropping on the side and pulled herself up,
(17:48):
the momentum from almost falling back, smacking her cheek against
the rock, but helping her hoist her body against the
slippery surface. Her foot big and clumsy with the boot
on needed to be jammed with painful force to a
small gap between the rocks, jolting her frozen toes. Pushing
off the ground with her other foot, she reached with
her other hand and gripped the edge of the slab
(18:08):
of the rock. Her chest seized with effort, her lungs
unable to draw breath as she heaved herself up. Black
spots danced in her vision as she pulled herself and
Madison over the edge, the fabric of their jackets scraping
against the rock. She scooted backward on her butt, expecting
to see the horse and its rider appear at any moment.
The creek continued in an upward slope, ending in another
(18:31):
cliff face, where a waterfall only beginning to melt, now
covered the entrance to a tiny alcove with a sheet ice.
Crawl in. Tilda instructed Madison, releasing him with jerky movements.
Madison slithered under the sheet of ice where it had
melted away on the lower left, kicking slippery, squeaking soles
against the slicker rocks to propel himself underneath. Tilda followed
(18:54):
his lead. The cold water like a shock against her back.
They huddled in the dark, with their knees against their chest,
their breath fogging with every short pant, loud and harsh.
In the small cave they'd taken refuge in, their view
of the outside was distorted through the ice. Sound muffled,
and far away. A dark object came into view the horse.
(19:16):
A man in a thick jacket with long, dark hair,
rode astride it. The horse had slowed to a trot.
Tilda could only assume the man had seen their tracks.
Fumbling slow fingers reached for a knife, not believing as
she reached for it that she could ever use it,
not believing it would do any good, Madison whimpered, impressed
himself closer to her. The horse whinnied, shuffling in the snow.
(19:40):
The man called out, deep and commanding, but Tilda couldn't
make out the words. A gray fog, much like the
one that had surrounded them in the journey through these woods,
was making her thoughts slow and disjointed. The man directed
his horse forward, following their path out of sight. Had
he followed them here? Had he been searching for them?
(20:01):
They waited, watching through the glass, the wet from the
rock walls and stones underneath them, making their already frigid
bodies even colder. Tilda could make out the occasional sound
enough to know that the man and his horse were
still close by. If out of sight, Tilda could only
hope he chose to follow the creek's south, the direction
they'd been traveling all along, guessing that they would stay
(20:23):
on their current trajectory. That he'd guess the pair of
them would have been unable to climb up the rock face.
Silence stretched on as Tilda's tension grew. The man called
out again, and Madison jumped. Though she couldn't make out
the words, she could tell by the intonation that it
was a question what if he was calling for someone else,
What if there were more of them? Madison had resumed shivering,
(20:47):
bearing himself against Tilda's side in a desperate search for heat.
Tilda flexed her fingers, willing some of the blood to
flow back into them, willing herself to feel them again.
The man's face came back into sight on the other
side of the creek. It was disconcerting being able to
see his face but not make out any of the
features on it, not knowing where he was looking his
(21:09):
head moved slowly from side to side, scanning, Tilda assumed
for any trail to follow, a clue as to what
direction they had gone. A particularly strong gust of wind
swirled and kicked up snow and stripped some bark from trees,
a muted screaming, forcing the man to shield his face
with his arm. The horse neighed almost nervously, turning away
(21:30):
from the blast of air. Tilda suddenly had the fleeting
idea of attempting a surprise attack to secure the guy's
horse and ride her and Madison to shelter, but dismissed
it almost immediately after the wind had died down. The
man lowered his arm cautiously. He gave another tentative look around,
then coaxed his horse forward gently back the way they came.
(21:53):
For what felt like a long time but was probably
only a few minutes, Tilda stared through the distorted glass
that was there world, her ears strained, trying to discern
the sounds of hoofs or feet through the wailing of
the wind. A sharp but weak intake of air by
her side drew her attention to Madison. She looked down
at her son, his mop of mousy brown hair almost
(22:15):
black with water. His lips were blue. Come on, she murmured.
She wriggled out on her back under the break in
the ice. She held her hand, motioning for him to
follow her. Til to frowned when he hesitated his movement slow.
He crawled out on his stomach, his face deathly pale.
His eyes had a plea in them. Here, darling. She
(22:39):
grasped his hands, afraid her fingers would snap off as
she curled them around his fingers, swallowing till to surveyed
their surroundings, senses heightened with danger, hazel eyes darting from
tree to tree. For now, they followed the creek's south,
she decided, eyeing the hoof prints heading east. Warily, but
they needed to find shelter her It started to flurry,
(23:03):
so beautiful, fun even, but now so deadly. They climbed
back down the rock face till to going first and
then reaching her arms up for Madison. He tried to
curl up in her arms, but failed and settled instead
for just neztling into her neck till the side, stroking
the back of his head, and resolved to carry him
as long as her arms allowed. She rubbed his back,
(23:26):
hoping to get some flood circulating, and helped him wrap
his legs around her waist. She began her slow, hopeless journey,
every step treacherous, the cold winter water threatening to soak
through her boots. Her mind was too afraid to process
any clear thoughts other than that they were in serious trouble,
a burning fear that she was almost distant from because
(23:46):
she was too cold to register it. As her foot
punched a hole and the ice still covering most of
the stream's surface, she tried to remember what it felt
like to be warm, and couldn't. It felt foreign to
her that could no longer exist, not for her, not
for Madison. A branch snapped near them. She would have
(24:07):
jumped if her muscles had the strength. Dear, Madison murmured
in her ear, baby, dear, Sure enough to Tilda's left,
a gangly, white spotted creature bounded off, clumsy and loud fawn.
Tilda clarified. Madison repeated the word to her, sounding as
one hypnotized. Tilda's sloughed towards with more determination, blinking snowflakes
(24:32):
away from her eyelashes. For a long time, she continued
most of her body shut down to anything else other
than the next step. The snow continued to fall, a
pottery frosting to the layer of icy slush, still blinketing
the carpet of leaves, the wind whistled around them. Her
eyes felt heavy. Are we going to die? Tilda blinked,
(24:54):
thinking she'd imagined the whispered question in her ear. Eventually
they found a cabin, dilapidated and barely standing, but like
a beacon in the dark night. Tilda stumbled in, Madison
still in her arms, checking, listening to see if anyone
else was in there, but it was empty. She shut
(25:15):
the door of the creek, grateful that all of the
windows seemed intact, even if everything else seemed transact. And
barely standing, slowly, she lowered Madison to the ground, the
wind howling outside of the cabin. Tilda fumbled with the
zipper of her pack, her hand alien and heavy. The
water bottles were cold. She gripped two in her fingers,
almost dropping them. She had to work slightly to twist
(25:38):
off the cap. Tilda helped Madison into a sitting position
and hand him the bottle, not transferring the weight until
she was sure he had a good grasp on it.
She watched, worried as he struggled to command his fingers.
He brought the bottle to his lips slowly and took
a clumsy sip that drippled down his chin, reflecting moonlight. Slowly,
she reminded him when he sputtered, coughing as he tried
(25:59):
to gulp too quickly. The bottle was already almost empty.
Twisting off the cap of her own water, Tilda took
a tentative sip, wincing when the cold water came into
contact with her parched throat. She swallowed painfully, the liquid
like a cold stone in her empty stomach. In silence,
they drank. The thin, jagged shadows of tree branches projected
(26:20):
on the cabin walls, changing as the clouds moved over
the moon. Madison stared at his empty bottle. Tilda watched him,
wondering what he was thinking. Still thirsty, Massen curled into
the feet of position under the blanket that Tilda had
pulled out. I'm okay, he murmured, but Tilda knew he
(26:41):
was not cold. She prodded, grimacing around another mouthful of water.
He nodded, It's not so bad now, Tilda wished she
knew more about prolonged exposure to cold. That's good. She
ran her hand through his hair and along his face.
His skin was still quite cold. Any pain A long pause,
(27:06):
Tilda stroked his arm. I think my bones hurt, my throat,
my head, he halted, assessing how much to tell her
fingers and toes. He turned his face up to hers.
I'm okay, though, right, we're both okay, till since an
(27:27):
undercurrent something else he was asking, what are you thinking?
His eyes were searching overly bright in the moonlight. He
shrugged with a quiet sigh. She gave him a tiny smile. Yeah,
we're okay. It's just taking time for our bodies to
warm up. We were so cold we lost some feeling
(27:48):
in our hands, in our feet. She jiggled his foot,
so now we can feel the pain in them. Another
weighted moment settled over them, till the new Madison was debating,
trying to find the for what he really wanted to ask,
but instead he said okay. Tilda nearly sighed again, running
fingers that still felt disconnected from her hand through his hair.
(28:11):
She watched him, trying to discern what thoughts He was
too afraid to voice. She could only guess it adds
something to do with all the revelations of d C,
why they'd been there and why they'd fled. It chased
after them, A menacing shadow with such a presence, she
often expected to turn around and see it, a dark
creature with claws and jagged teeth, ready to devour them.
(28:33):
But as ashamed as she was to admit it even
to herself, she was too tired to summon the courage
to have the long put off but necessary conversation. She'd
found reason after reason not to have it. First, she
needed time to process everything they'd learned and experienced herself.
Then she needed to put distance between them and DC.
Her last excuse, and most cowardly, was Madison hadn't asked.
(28:58):
Madison turned away from her, Tilda remained sitting up, staring
at his back, thinking about all that was left unsaid.
She'd eased herself down and pulled the blanket around them,
once more, promising herself they'd talk that they were fine,
really and truly, But she honestly didn't know. That thought
kept her awake for a long time, and that brings
(29:43):
us to the end of this first installment. Of big
things start small. I'll probably just call it terminus too
to make it clear, but that's what it's really called.
Speaker 1 (29:52):
In my head.
Speaker 2 (29:54):
It is shorter than the first one, and the third
one's even shorter than this one. But but I'm excited
to share it with all of you, and I hope
that you enjoy it. And I really do appreciate it
when people write in whatever your thoughts are, our theories are,
and if you have any if you have any stories,
you want to share any Nanarima thoughts or anything we
(30:16):
can read in the public domain that we could have
sound effects and do something like this. We love doing
this kind of stuff. We can't do it too often
because it is a bigger thing for Christina, who is
amazing and makes these happen.
Speaker 1 (30:28):
Yes, a lot of things on her plate.
Speaker 2 (30:31):
There are a lot of things on Christina's plate, but
we do like to do them. So if you have
any suggestions or something like that, please let us know.
You can email us at stephaniea moms Stuff at iHeartMedia
dot com. You can find us on Twitter at mom
Stuff podcast, or on Instagram and TikTok at stuff. I
never told you. We have a tea public store, and
we have a book and an audiobook where you can
(30:52):
get wherever you get those things. Thanks as always to
our super producer Christina, our executive producer Maya, and our
contributor Joey. Thank you and thanks to you feel listening.
Step On Never Told Me is production by Heart Radio.
For more podcasts on my heart Radio, you can check
out the heart Radio app Apple Podcasts, or if you
listen to your favorite shows,
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