In the thirty seven years since The Event I have had ample opportunity to regret the fact that my colleagues in the hard sciences were not more correct in their assessments. Had they been, my cold tea with no one to re-warm it would be a non-issue. Had they been more precise, we would have all ceased to exist on that predicted fateful day. We did not. Just enough of us survived that imprecisely named “extinction-level event” to have to worry about what to do next.
Oh, the meteors did impact the planet exactly as they postulated. In the blink of an eye, seven billion died with impotent screams of denial and rage on their lips. Those of us who climbed out of the rubble of our world were the true victims. We still lived, we still breathed, we had survived.
I could direct them to the wing of tomes describing in infinite detail the means by which viable political leaderships are maintained. They prefer to war and battle amongst themselves. I could present to them countless studies on the exigencies of hydroponics and minimal-asset agriculture. They prefer to scrape the irradiated earth in pointless pursuit of sustainable food sources. I could spend an entire week bringing forth the manuals on field hygiene and disease control regimens. They would choose instead to perish of minor maladies and preventable contagions.
It would seem that, unlike the bulk of those maladies...I’m terminal, not contagious. To them I am but a worthless librarian.