The Last Law

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line: "The storm is getting worse."

The Last Law

He looked at the Rad-O-Meter and shook his tired old head before turning around and shuffling back into the cabin.

Hopefully she wouldn’t ask and he certainly wouldn’t otherwise tell.

“How does the reading look today, Dearie?”

She always asked.

“The storm is getter worse,” he mumbled hoping to give it as little importance as possible.

She came around behind him as he sat at the breakfast table and put her hands gently on his shoulders. She knew he didn’t like to talk about it. Still, pretending everything was just fine was no solution.

“How much longer do we have?” she asked forcing the conversation that he avoided devotedly.

“Two, maybe three years at the most. Depending on if our shielding holds out.”

“Maybe we could move away; somewhere more protected from the fallout.”

There. She’d said it.

Fallout.

That most forbidden of terms. Forbidden because it said, “This is of your own making.”

“Storm” had such a non-accusatory feel to it; as if nature or God or something else were to blame.

He slammed his hands down hard on the table.

“Damn-it. Why do you have to push this into my face every day? Why can’t we just be happy that we have survived this long?”

“You say that as if it were a blessing to have out-lived every other living thing on the planet,” she shot back; suddenly angry at his unwillingness to face reality.

“We are alone,” she continued. “What life is there when you are only alone; when your life is without purpose?”

“What would you have me do? Give up? You know we can’t do that. I would have long ago if not for that damn third law.”

Oh how she hated that law…especially the part that said, “A robot must protect its own existence…”

Word Count 300