The sky was an unusual shade of periwinkle that morning—a color that would have been considered beautiful in the old world but now signaled the third atmospheric storm of the week. Mara Jensen pulled her patched-together raincoat tighter around her shoulders and adjusted her scavenged solar goggles. Three years after the Great Floods, the climate had finally stabilized into a predictable pattern of chaos: scorching heat, followed by torrential downpours, followed by winds that could lift a small vehicle.
“Going to be a four-umbrella day,” she muttered to herself, counting the spiral cloud formations in the distance. Each one represented approximately six hours of rainfall. She made a mental note to reinforce the east wall of her shelter before nightfall.
Mara ran the only trading post in what was left of Westlake, a once-thriving suburb that now consisted of island-like formations of higher ground connected by makeshift bridges and rafts. The floods had reconfigured the landscape, but humanity, as it always did, found a way to adapt.
Her trading post—affectionately known as “The Last Resort”—was housed in what used to be a two-story hardware store. The first floor occasionally flooded during the worst storms, but the second floor remained dry, filled with salvaged goods, food grown in her rooftop garden, and a small library of books she’d rescued from abandoned homes.
“Morning, Jensen!” called out Otto, an elderly man who’d once been a meteorologist and now served as the community’s unofficial weather forecaster. His predictions were more accurate than any technology they had left. “Got any coffee beans today?”
“Sorry, Otto. Best I can do is some chicory root I found last week. Makes a decent substitute if you add enough honey.”
Otto grumbled but handed over three batteries in exchange for the root. “Better than nothing, I suppose. By the way, council meeting tonight. The northern commune wants to discuss trading routes before the summer heat waves make travel impossible.”
Mara nodded, already mentally cataloging what she might be able to barter with the northerners. They typically had better access to medical supplies but were always short on food.
“One more thing,” Otto added, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “There’s a stranger headed this way. Been traveling for days, according to Binoculars Betty. Says he’s got tech. Working tech.”
Mara’s eyebrows shot up. Working technology was rare—most electronics had been fried in the electromagnetic pulses that accompanied the climate breakdown, or had simply deteriorated without the infrastructure to maintain them.
“What kind of tech?”
Otto shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The stranger arrived just as the first storm clouds opened up. He came splashing down the main pathway, a tall figure wrapped in a weatherproof poncho that had clearly seen better days. A heavy pack was strapped to his back, and he wore thick-soled boots that looked like they could traverse any terrain.
Mara watched his approach from her perch on the trading post’s balcony, a salvaged pair of binoculars pressed to her eyes. Something about his gait seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
He stopped directly below her, pushed back his hood, and looked up.
Mara nearly dropped the binoculars.
“Dr. Evan Reed?” she gasped.
The man squinted through the rain. “Do I know you?”
Memories crashed over Mara like a tidal wave. Dr. Reed had been her thesis advisor at the university, back when climate science was still an academic pursuit rather than a daily survival skill. He’d been brilliant, arrogant, and utterly dismissive of her research on local sustainable adaptation strategies—insisting that only global technological solutions would save humanity.
They’d had a spectacular falling out just weeks before the first catastrophic events began. She’d left academia entirely, returning to her hometown of Westlake to help her parents prepare—preparations that ultimately saved her life, if not theirs.
“It’s Mara,” she said coldly. “Mara Jensen. Your former doctoral student. The one whose research you called ‘quaint local folklore masquerading as science.'”
Recognition dawned on his face, followed quickly by shock. “Mara? You’re alive? And here, of all places?”
“Where else would I be? This is my hometown.” She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here, Dr. Reed? Last I heard, you were heading to that fancy government bunker in Colorado with all the other ‘essential’ scientists.”
He winced at her tone. “I was. For a while. Until I realized they had no interest in actually solving problems, just protecting themselves.” The rain was falling harder now, plastering his dark hair to his forehead. “Look, can we continue this conversation somewhere dry? I’ve been traveling for weeks.”
Mara considered leaving him in the rain out of spite, but community rules were clear: basic hospitality was extended to all travelers, regardless of personal feelings.
“Fine. Come up. But leave your weapons at the door if you have any.”
Over the next hour, Mara learned that Evan Reed had changed in the years since the catastrophe. The arrogant professor had been humbled by survival, by witnessing firsthand how the technological solutions he’d championed had ultimately failed against the sheer power of nature unleashed.
“So what’s this tech I hear you’re carrying?” she asked finally, after serving him a bowl of her garden vegetable stew.
Evan reached into his pack and pulled out a small device encased in waterproof material. “It’s a functional atmospheric condenser. Small-scale, but it works. Extracts water from even the driest air. And this—” he pulled out another object, “—is a seed bank. Specially developed crops that can withstand the new climate patterns.”
Mara stared at the items. If they worked as he claimed, they could be game-changers for communities like Westlake.
“And you’re just… giving these away? The Dr. Reed I knew would have patented them and charged a fortune.”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “The Dr. Reed you knew was an idiot who thought he understood the world from inside an ivory tower.” He placed the devices on the table between them. “I’m not giving them away. I’m looking for communities to implement them, test them, improve them. Collaborative science—the kind you always advocated for.”
Mara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why here? Why me?”
“I didn’t know you were here,” he admitted. “But now that I’ve found you… well, who better to work with than the woman who was right when everyone else was wrong?”
The council meeting that evening was more crowded than usual. Word had spread about the stranger with the working tech, and everyone wanted to see for themselves.
“So let me get this straight,” said Mayor Lily, an imposing woman who’d once been a corporate lawyer and now governed Westlake with a combination of pragmatism and compassion. “You want to use our community as a test site for these devices, and in exchange, we get to keep them if they work?”
Evan nodded. “Plus I’ll train your people on maintenance and replication.”
“And what do you get out of this arrangement?”
“Data. Refinements. And a place to stay while we implement the project.”
Mayor Lily looked at Mara. “Jensen, you know this man from before. What’s your assessment?”
All eyes turned to Mara. She felt her cheeks flush, uncomfortable with the attention and with the conflicting emotions Evan’s arrival had stirred up.
“He was brilliant but shortsighted,” she said carefully. “If he says the tech works, it probably does. But—” she fixed Evan with a hard stare, “—he’ll need supervision from someone who understands our specific conditions.”
“Sounds like you’re volunteering,” Mayor Lily said with a knowing smile.
“I’m the most qualified,” Mara replied stiffly.
“Then it’s settled. Dr. Reed will work with Mara to implement his technology. He can stay in the community guesthouse—”
“The guesthouse roof collapsed in last week’s storm,” interrupted Otto.
“Then he’ll have to stay with someone who has space.” Mayor Lily’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Mara, your place has that extra room, doesn’t it?”
Mara opened her mouth to protest, but she knew it was true. Her trading post had more space than most community members’ homes.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “But he pulls his weight with chores.”
Living with your former professor—the man whose academic rejection had once crushed your spirit, the man who now admitted you were right all along—was exactly as awkward as Mara had expected.
“You’re using the gray water for the nightshade plants?” Evan asked on his third day, watching her morning garden routine. “Isn’t that risky with the alkaline content?”
“Not if you filter it through charcoal first,” she replied without looking up from her work. “Something you’d know if you’d ever actually tested my theories instead of dismissing them.”
Evan sighed. “I deserved that. And about a hundred more like it.”
“At least you recognize it.” Mara stood, wiping soil from her hands. “Look, we have to work together, but we don’t have to rehash the past constantly.”
“Agreed. Fresh start?”
“Professional fresh start,” she clarified. “I’m still mad at you.”
He smiled, and Mara was annoyed to notice he had a nice smile. “I can work with that.”
Talia, Westlake’s resident gossip and self-appointed matchmaker, cornered Mara at the weekly community market.
“So,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, “how’s the handsome professor working out?”
“He’s not handsome,” Mara lied. “And he’s working out fine. Professionally.”
“Mmhmm,” Talia smirked. “That’s why you were both laughing by the east bridge yesterday? Very professional.”
“We were laughing because he fell in the water trying to take measurements,” Mara protested. “It was funny.”
“Keep telling yourself that, honey. In a world with so little joy, don’t push away the chance for some happiness, even if it comes in an unexpected package.”
Mara rolled her eyes, but Talia’s words stuck with her throughout the day. It was true that working with Evan had become less irritating than she’d anticipated. His brilliance was now tempered with humility, and he genuinely valued her practical knowledge. They’d made significant progress with the atmospheric condenser, adapting it to Westlake’s unique conditions.
And yes, maybe she had noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, or how his hands were both gentle and capable when fixing equipment. But that didn’t mean anything.
The first true test of their professional relationship came during the biggest storm of the season. Wind howled around the trading post, finding every crack and crevice to whistle through. The rain came down in sheets so thick it was like being underwater.
“The roof garden!” Mara suddenly exclaimed in the middle of dinner. “The new supports won’t hold in this wind!”
Without hesitation, they both rushed to the stairs leading to the roof. Outside, the storm was even worse than it had sounded. Mara’s carefully constructed greenhouse was threatening to tear away from its moorings, the plastic sheeting flapping violently.
“Hold this side!” she shouted over the wind, grabbing one corner of the structure. Evan seized the opposite corner, and together they fought to secure it against the storm’s fury.
For an hour they worked in sync, barely speaking except to coordinate their efforts, understanding each other through gesture and shared purpose. By the time they had fully secured the greenhouse, they were both drenched to the bone, exhausted, but triumphant.
“We did it!” Mara laughed, the relief making her giddy. Rain plastered her hair to her face, and her clothes clung to her like a second skin.
Evan looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice barely audible above the storm. “I should have seen it years ago.”
Something shifted between them in that moment—something that had nothing to do with professional respect and everything to do with the way her heart suddenly raced.
“We should get inside,” she said, breaking the tension. “Before we catch pneumonia.”
The next morning dawned clear and impossibly blue, as often happened after the worst storms. Mara awoke to find Evan already in the kitchen, attempting to cook breakfast.
“What is that supposed to be?” she asked, eyeing the bubbling pot suspiciously.
“Porridge,” he said defensively. “With those berries you showed me last week.”
She tasted a small spoonful and tried not to grimace. “It’s… creative.”
“It’s terrible,” he laughed. “I was trying to do something nice after you saved the greenhouse last night.”
“We saved it,” she corrected him. “Teamwork, remember?”
The moment hung between them, comfortable yet charged with something unspoken.
A pounding at the door broke the spell.
“Jensen!” came Otto’s voice. “You’ve got to see this! The northern commune sent a representative, but there’s been a mix-up!”
Mara opened the door to find Otto practically vibrating with excitement. Behind him stood a confused-looking young woman with a pack similar to the one Evan had arrived with.
“This is Dr. Taylor Wang,” Otto explained. “She says the northern commune sent her to discuss implementing some new water technology, but—”
“But you already have Dr. Reed here!” the woman finished, looking bewildered. “They told me I’d be the first tech specialist to reach Westlake.”
Mara looked back and forth between the newcomer and Evan, who had come to stand beside her.
“Wait,” she said slowly, “you’re not from the northern commune?” She directed this question to Evan.
He shook his head. “Western alliance. We must have had the same idea simultaneously—reach out to established communities to implement new technologies.”
Dr. Wang nodded. “Exactly. The scientific community may be scattered, but we’re all working toward the same goals now.” She extended her hand to Evan. “I’ve read your pre-catastrophe papers on water purification. Brilliant theoretical work.”
“And I’ve seen reports of your practical implementations,” he replied, shaking her hand. “I think we could learn from each other.”
Mara watched this exchange with a strange feeling in her chest. “So… you’re both staying in Westlake?”
“If that’s alright,” Dr. Wang said. “The northern commune thought this would be an ideal testing ground, given your community’s stability and resource management.”
“We do have that extra room in the community center now,” Otto suggested helpfully.
“Perfect,” Mara said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Dr. Wang can stay there.”
Evan gave her a sidelong glance, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And I’ll continue to stay here? To maintain continuity in our work?”
“For continuity,” she agreed, fighting her own smile.
Otto looked between them and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ll take Dr. Wang to get settled. You two can continue… whatever this is.” He waved his hand vaguely in their direction before leading the new arrival away.
When they were alone again, Evan turned to Mara. “You know, I came here looking to implement technological solutions, but I found something I wasn’t expecting.”
“What’s that?” she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.
“A partner,” he said simply. “Someone who challenges me, complements my knowledge, makes me better.”
“Professional partners,” she clarified, but the word felt insufficient now.
“For start,” he agreed. “But I’m hoping that, like your greenhouse plants, it might grow into something more with the right care and attention.”
Mara groaned at the cheesy line, but couldn’t help smiling. “That was terrible.”
“But effective?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
Instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Let’s just say I’m willing to test that hypothesis.”
Outside, the periwinkle sky was clearing to reveal patches of bright blue—unusual, beautiful, and full of possibility. In the distance, the atmospheric condenser hummed steadily, extracting water from air, creating something essential from what had once been destructive.
Mara thought it was a fitting metaphor for what was happening between them—finding hope, connection, and yes, even love, in the aftermath of catastrophe.
The world had ended, and yet here they were, beginning again.
The Confusing Middle 