Ten Years in the future:
Sam sprinted with all his might through the town, gasping for breath. He dragged Lana by the wrist, racing forward.
"Sam! I can run on my own!" She said. He released her, and she rubbed her wrists while they ran.
In the past ten years, he'd gotten a minimal amount of order over the town kids. The streets were actually clean. Sort of. Grass grew everywhere, thanks to a "freak" with an obsession with growing things.
"Come on!" He said. They sprinted up the street to his house. He jumped over the steps, slammed the door open, and ran to their bedroom.
She was still gasping and heaving. Dahra, Mary, Edilido, and Quinn stood around her. Little Pete, not so little anymore, was hunched in a corner. He seemed to have realized what pain his sister was in; he stared at her with unfeeling eyes.
"Astrid?" He gasped.
"I'm okay, Sam," She whispered. "I'm okay." She reached out, and their fingers entwined with his. Lana conferred with Dahra for a moment.
And then it started. Astrid, gasping, panting, crying. Lana yelling, "Push, damn it! Push!" Havoc around them as everyone tried to take care of her, and all Sam could do was hold her hand.
And then, when Astrid was exhausted and sobbing and her eyes glazed over, he heard a baby's wail. Lana cut the umbilical cord, and then held up the shrieking newborn.
"It's a boy," She said with a grin.
Twenty-Five years:
I can't believe this is happening to me. When I was younger, I used to hear horror stories about the fearsome desert beasts. But everyone knows that as long as you stay in the town, you're safe.
I'd just gone to the beach. And now they surrounded me.
I clenched my fists. I, Conrad Temple, wasn't going to let the stupid coyotes have the best of me.
The bright vivid flames started to grow and build within me. Any second, I could let it out. The coyotes circled, barking.
I would take care of these, and dad would be so proud.
A coyote lunged at me. I yelled and ducked underneath it. Its claws scraped my back, tearing shreds down my shirt and skin. I let out a scream of fear and pain.
They laughed in that way only coyotes can laugh. I heard that in that impossible time before the world, the FAYZ, coyotes couldn't even talk. Now they were are enemies, monsters, creatures of the night, the boogieman.
I wasn't going to let these monsters have the better of me.
"Come and get it," I hissed. Bright flames shot from my fists, illuminated the nighttime beach. The mutts whimpered and staggered back. "Come and get it, dogs."
Fifty Years:
Storm's fingers were numb from pressing them against flesh. She slumped against the ground, too exhausted to continue. Around her, the moans of the dying echoed through her.
Let mom take care of it. She closed her eyes.
Someone coughed above her. The sound was so out of place amid the cries of the hospital that she opened her eyes once again, and gulped at what she saw.
Her great-grandma. The first healer. Spitting mad.
"What are you doing?" Even sixty-five years old, Lana was still brave and strong and commanding.
"Grandma," Storm complained. "I'm only eight." She knew that wouldn't be a good excuse in Grandma's eyes, and so she stared at her feet. "This stupid war with coyotes isn't my fault. Why should I have to work myself to death?"
Her grandmother nudged her to her feet. "You help them because no one else can." She said. "We're the healers, Storm. It's in our blood to heal. You help people because no one else has the same powers as you. It's a blessing or a curse."
A hundred years:
Boring. Bor-ing. So boring. Hollow felt like his head was gong to explode if he had to listen to Fancy lecture him about his behavior any more.
Three hundred people in the FAYZ. Ten six-year-olds. How did she know it was him that had rigged up the bucket so it would explode with confetti when someone tapped against it?
"Hollow," She snapped. Just because she was ten years older than him, she felt she was oh-so-important. Raki, their leader, had put her in charge of looking after him. But that didn't mean he had to listen to his older sister. "You have a gift, okay?"
"I'm not a mutie," He argued. "I don't have a power."
Her eyes flashed. No one liked people using that word. It was disrespectful, rude, especially after the devastation of the mutant-versus-normal war. But Hollow hadn't even been alive during that time. So why should he care?
"Listen, little brother." She said. "You have a special gift. It's not a power, but it's still great. You can make anything. Shouldn't you use that power for good purposes?"
He stared out the window, at the bright hot sun. Kids were playing. She sighed and let him join them.
Five hundred years:
I swung through the branches, laughing with the speed at which I could propel myself. It was beautiful, being able to fly above the ground with nothing more that trees to aid us. I pitied those who weren't in charge of picking fruit from the tallest trees; they didn't know what they were missing.
I grabbed a melon, threw it over my shoulder into my sack, and then leaped to the next tree. My sack was already two-thirds full, heavy, weighing me down.
"Kristie!"
I looked down to the ground. Worn was on the ground before, his smile splitting his brown face.
"What are you doing on the ground?" I sang out. "Come join me in the air!" To demonstrate my point, I tipped my face to the sun.
"Careful!" He called.
"Aw, I'd never fall even if the entire FAYZ imploded!" I yelled back at him. It was true; I'd been one of the frutt-pickers since birth. Even as a child, I'd swung through the trees. Our leader was one of the great Healers, and she saw my abilities. At the age of sixteen, I was the best tree-swinger our there. I didn't need a power to lift myself off the ground.
"Well, then," Worn said with a smile. "Let me join you!"