Somewhere in this chaos, she would find her way home to her grandmother and sister. She repeated it like a mantra, each step bringing her closer, the sounds of destruction receding behind her. They would be confused and counting on her to help them make sense of the senseless. Bodies littered the streets and teared blurred her vision of them offering a watery veil of something slightly less awful.

  "Hang on guys," Carla broke into a run, heedless of falling debris. The city burned around her, but Carla ran on, hope and fear warring within her breast.

  Carla ran through the rubble-strewn streets, lungs burning with smoke and exertion. All around her, the city was coming apart at the seams. She stumbled over chunks of fallen masonry and twisted lengths of rebar, struggling to maintain her balance on the uneven ground. The air was choked with dust, limiting visibility to just a few feet. She could hear the screams and wails of the panicked populace, but could not see them through the haze.

  Another explosion thundered in the distance, and Carla felt the shockwave roll through her body like a physical blow. She was knocked to her knees on the cracked asphalt. A nearby building groaned and collapsed in a roiling cloud of debris that billowed outward. Carla threw up her arms to shield her face from the rain of pulverized polyester and clouds of ash. Fiery embers swirled through the air like hellish snowflakes.

  When the dust settled, Carla clambered back to her feet and pressed onward. She had to keep moving. Every step brought her closer to home, to her family. They were out there, somewhere, amidst the chaos and destruction. She clung to the fragile hope that she would find them unharmed.

  As Carla neared the heart of downtown, the devastation grew even more pronounced. Entire city blocks had been razed to the ground. Jagged stumps of steel girders protruded from mountains of rubble where sleek skyscrapers had once stood. The remains of autocars choked the streets, nothing more than twisted composites and charred husks. Bodies lay sprawled atop piles of debris, flattened by falling masonry or burned beyond recognition.

  Carla averted her eyes and kept running, though inwardly she was shaken to her core. How could so much destruction have been wrought so quickly? What kind of enemy were they facing that could bring a bustling metropolis to its knees with such ruthless efficiency?

  A harsh mechanical groan split the air, rising above the general din. Carla glanced up to see one of the larger remaining skyscrapers leaning precariously. The explosions had weakened its metal infrastructure. Before her eyes, the edifice toppled, slowly at first, then faster, crashing down in a thunderous explosion of shattered glass and concrete. The ground shuddered under Carla's feet from the colossal impact. A fresh cloud of debris came billowing outward. She turned and fled, pulse racing.

  By some small mercy, the prevailing winds carried the worst of the dust cloud away from her. When Carla finally staggered clear of the choking ash and smoke, she found herself in a semi-familiar plaza. Through the haze, the recognized the weathered limestone walls and arched facade of the old Alamo mission emerged. Somehow, the ancient structure had weathered the bombs and explosions that leveled so many modern buildings.

  Hundreds of terrified civilians milled about the plaza, many weeping or tending to injuries. They gathered in the meager shelter offered by the Alamo's walls and the shade of its trees. Carla moved numbly through the crowds, scanning faces, looking for anyone familiar, her neighborhood was close by possibly even that her family was here. Her eyes stung from the grit and tears streamed tracks through the grime on her face. But her grandmother and sister were nowhere to be seen among the traumatized refugees.

  Carla sank down onto the rim of a cracked fountain, head in her hands. She tried to gather herself amidst the wailing sirens and periodic rumbling of bombs. Was there anyplace that could still offer sanctuary? Anywhere to escape this nightmare? In her desperation, she found her gaze drawn to the enduring walls of the old mission. The Alamo had withstood far worse than this, she realized. It had survived an onslaught from a mighty army, symbolic of Texas' defiant spirit. Now, it stood as a sole reminder of endurance amidst the burning city.

  In that moment, Carla understood that the historic old mission embodied the same resilience and resolve that San Antonio would need to survive this crisis. The city may have been brought low, but it was not defeated. This was not the Alamo's end, nor the end of her home. The people now huddled in the Alamo's shelter were the seeds from which the city could regrow and heal. She only needed to help tend that spark of hope until the light returned.

  A fresh series of deafening explosions tore through the air, jolting Carla from her reverie. All around the plaza, people shrieked in renewed panic. Carla's gaze jerked upwards to see several of the last towering skyscrapers groaning and collapsing down on themselves, reduced to roiling clouds of ash and debris. The shockwaves rippled outwards, shattering glass and shaking the very earth. Carla braced herself against the heaving ground. She squinted through the dust, watching in mute horror as the city continued to come apart.

  Then, a deep, resonant boom sounded from disturbingly close by, louder than anything before it. The ground bucked wildly under Carla's feet, nearly throwing her from the rim of the fountain. Chunks of limestone came raining down as part of the Alamo's walls cracked and crumbled. Dust billowed outward, cloaking the plaza in a choking haze.

  All around Carla, people were screaming and fleeing as more of the ancient mission's walls gave way. Massive blocks of weathered masonry toppled outward, crushing any poor souls directly in their path.

  Carla remained rooted in place, ears ringing from the explosion's force. She stared numbly at the gaping holes blasted through the Alamo's facade. The historic mission was coming apart along with the rest of the city. This was no mere bombing run. The attackers meant to erase everything, old and new alike.

  As the dust began to clear, Carla saw dozens of lifeless bodies strewn about the plaza amidst the rubble. Men, women, children - all dead in an instant, seeking shelter where there was none to be found.

  She sank again to her knees amidst the bodies and shards of limestone. Tears carved tracks through the grime on her face. After surviving for so long, the Alamo had finally fallen. Was this truly the end? Could there be any hope of recovering from such devastation?

  In her heart, Carla wanted to believe there was still a chance. But surrounded by death and ruins, it was getting harder and harder to cling to hope. The light she had seen before was dimming, like the last embers of a dying fire.

  The historic mission had endured for so long, a symbol of strength and resilience. Now its shattered walls mirrored the broken spirit of the city. If the Alamo could not withstand this onslaught, what chance did San Antonio have? This…this was the end.

  Carla closed her eyes.

  Chapter One

  May 4th, 2074

  The acrid smell of smoke lingers in the air, a grim reminder of the attack that leveled half the city. The world hadn’t ended, at least not completely. Well, not yet, anyway.

  Carla furiously tapped away at her comms unit, trying to maintain a sliver of hope. She was surrounded by others who were just as clueless about the state of the outside world. Her frustration mounted as she scrolled through countless failed attempts to connect with any form of communication beyond the city walls. The satellite systems were down, along with the Weblink, Skyfi, and even the much older Starlink systems. Now all she had left was the radio app on her SmartComms, but it wasn't designed for this kind of situation. Yet she couldn't give up; there had to be someone out there who knew what was happening. But as each attempt failed, a haunting thought crept in - could it be possible that the chaos had spread to every corner of the world?

  Carla waited anxiously for a response, but there was only deafening silence on the other end. She sat there for what seemed like hours, waiting for a response that never came. Finally, she gave up and slumped back against the wall of her makeshift shelter.

  She had no idea what had happened to the world. All she knew was that everything had gone silent. No radio transmissions, no internet, no nothing. The only thing she had left was her useless comms unit, and that was rapidly losing power.

  It had been fourteen excruciating days since the brutal attack ravaged the city. Carla had stood frozen in terror as a barrage of missiles mercilessly rained down from above, their fiery warheads exploding on impact and sending shockwaves through the air like thunder. The deafening blasts targeted vital structures - the heart of the financial district, government buildings, public transportation hubs, and power grids all reduced to rubble in an instant. Billowing clouds of thick ash and debris shrouded everything in sight, turning day into night and choking out any remaining signs of life. Cut off from all forms of communication, Carla was left stranded in a desolate world with no answers and no hope for escape.

  The desperation that had gnawed at her for two weeks was still present as she reached out once more. There was no answer on the other end; no one was coming to help, or even to offer a sliver of comfort. She wanted to give up, lose herself in depression like so many others, but it wouldn’t help her family. Almost everywhere she looked, there were other hopeless figures wandering the streets with no idea what their next move should be. She could feel their despair seeping into her very soul.

  The number of mourners and survivors looking for their loved ones had finally started to diminish. There was no hope for the souls of the missing people; perhaps even less for individuals like her who were still alive. She noticed the scraps of paper, letters, pictures, and cards fastened to anything that remained upright. The memorials that probably no one would recall in just a few more months.

  Carla couldn't continue living like this. Being a teacher had its rewards, but it also came with the weight of responsibility and endless demands. Sometimes, she wished she could just walk away and leave it all behind. But at the same time, she knew that teaching was her calling and she couldn't abandon her students. She longed for life to be simple and stable again, but deep down, she feared that may never be the case.

  Her shoulders sagged as she stuffed the comms unit back in her pocket, resisting the temptation to hurl it at the nearest wall. Working tech was such a rare commodity these days she couldn’t even think about destroying it. It might be the only lifeline her community…her family had. If she could find the right people, then perhaps she could exchange it for food credits. She’d heard a few transmissions on it earlier but nothing meaningful; codewords and shouts that might have been police or military reverting to the civilian commlinks.

  As she watched the man slowly shuffling towards her, Carla recognized his face, one all too familiar. It used to grace the billboards that adorned the bustling city streets, advertising his success as a top lawyer. Now, he stood before her, a shell of his former self, begging like so many others she had come to know. But there was something in his eyes that tugged at her heartstrings, stirring an unfamiliar urge to help him despite her own reservations. Perhaps it was the realization that their roles could easily have been reversed, or maybe it was a twinge of guilt for all the times she had turned a blind eye to those in need. Whatever it was, it left her feeling conflicted and torn between the desire to assist and resentment towards him for reminding her of her own privilege.

  Carla wasn’t cut out for the role of a cop. But there was so little in the way of law and order anymore. What was left of San Antonio was under a strict emergency mandate and curfew. The acting mayor had moved the government office into the bedroom community of Lehigh. He preferred keeping the bulk of the surviving law enforcement close. Others, like her, just needed to keep the peace in their own communities. And the offer of extra food from the emergency supplies was all too enticing to Carla and the others. with whom she now worked.

  Every day for most of the past two weeks, Carla had dragged herself to the barricade that separated her district from the rest of the city. She reluctantly met with one of the mayor’s representatives, dreading what he might say…or not say. The man disturbed her by his seeming disconnection from the destruction all around. Was he truly unaffected by the chaos and destruction in her neighborhood? It was no longer a secret that it had been a targeted attack, leaving everyone shaken and paranoid. Even the once vocal conspiracy theorists were now silent, and those who thought it was a punishment from above were questioning their beliefs. Carla couldn't help but wonder if anyone truly knew the truth behind what had happened.

  The man wordlessly nodded a greeting as he glanced around, rubbed the sweat from his brow, and held a small device to her smartwatch which immediately topped up the number of food vouchers in her account. Every other asset in her world, all her savings in banks, the crypto fund stored on her token rings..It was was gone. Okay, not everything…that wasn’t true, but days like this it sure seemed like it.

  Carla grimaced as she began her rounds, turning into a street to see that more of a building had collapsed overnight. It was essentially suicide to be walking around the ruined suburbs so soon after the bombs had hit. As far as she was aware, there was no nuclear fallout, but anyone walking around the warzone either had a king-sized death wish… or were so desperate to survive, they’d walk straight into hell just to experience a slice of heaven or even a can of beef stew. God, life had changed so much. So many had been killed those first days, but so many more had simply given up in the weeks since.

  She longed for the days back in the classroom. The normal trials and triumphs of her teaching career that had, with hindsight, felt relatively carefree. She wished she had taken more time to appreciate how mundane it had been. The daily struggles she’d had with parents, moody girls, and the rowdy hormone-laden teen boys, as well as the administrator’s absurd policy changes, all seemed so trivial now.

  Two months ago…

  Carla picked up the broken coffee mug. It was red, fragments of the white logo for a restaurant she'd once enjoyed now unrecognizable.

  “Please, sit down again,” she instructed the young man. He was at that stage of life where he felt awkward and out of place, and she could see how his classmates teased him mercilessly. The old mug made of ceramic meant a lot to her, but only for sentimental reasons. She caught a whiff of this morning’s coffee still lingering inside it, which brought back memories of her mother. And with that thought, an idea sparked in her mind.

  She deviated from the AI-crafted lessons plans far more often than what was advised by the lead teachers, but her students seemed to appreciate her more personal lessons all the more for the change in pace. One of her university professors had always said, “Never miss an opportunity to expand their minds.” The admins would be watching and hating it, but she pushed forward.

  Carla was standing in front of the large windows, the full skyline of the San Antonio metroplex seen in the distance. She held a large fragment of the mug for her students. They watched her with puzzled expressions. Even the ones here virtually seemed to be paying attention for a change.

  “Class, tell me in 1000 years or say...5000 years, if somebody digs this out of the ground, what could they tell about our civilization, about your life, about this city, this time, this age?” Her students looked at her in confusion, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Their teacher was holding a broken coffee cup and asking a question that didn’t seem to resonate with any of them.

  She turned to face the class, unfazed by the vacant expressions on their faces. Summer break was just around the corner, and it seemed like many of them were already mentally checked out of school. "I'm attempting to educate you about history; how we examine it and what we often overlook or even forget," she stressed, as if trying to inspire their creativity.

  Carla rarely opened up to her students, but she knew that if she could create a personal bond through stories of her own life, then the lesson would be permanently seared into their memories. She wanted them to take away some part of the lesson and carry it with them on their journey through life.

  “My mother’s name was Santina. We didn’t come from Mexico. Not originally. My family came from Central America from an area in a country called Belize.”

  Some of the students groaned, the lack of enthusiasm infuriating Carla. “Who can tell me where Belize is on the map?” Not a single hand was raised.

  “It’s not the biggest country. It’s not even considered important by any stretch of the imagination. Belize is mostly covered by thick tropical jungle, not a lot of towns. But the Mayans ruled that land for thousands of years. My ancestors. What language do you think the Mayan spoke?”

  Several meekly said Spanish as Carla had expected. “Sorry, no. The Spaniards came many, many years later. They are a relatively recent influence. The survivors of the Mayan civilization were absorbed into the Spanish culture; their language, their names, their mannerisms, their foods, eventually translated into that of Spain. There are some spoken languages that claim to be Mayan, but all of those seem less than authentic. We do, however, have examples of their written language.”

  She did a quick query on her datatab, tapped on the Simulation app and brought up a floating hologram of a white clay pot with intricately designed symbols covering every inch of the surface.

  “This was recovered from an ancient city in Belize called Caracol. The pottery shards were carefully restored. Some people can still read much of the language. These codices, that is what the written language is referred to, tells us of a Battle of Khartoum. It happened somewhere around 700 years BC.” Carla held up a piece of her own broken mug. “Was this essentially their version of a coffee mug? We don't know. We can only tell so much from examining the fragments of a culture that has been lost.”