The Last Human (a novel)

"Not that safe," Lionel told her.

Adrian interrupted. "They want us in Los Alamos because they've decided to evacuate the remaining population of North America to Europe — southern France."

Idris and Lionel could only exchange astounded expressions. "All three thousand of us?" Idris asked. "What in the world for?"

"Yeah, what for?" Lionel asked.

"The map," Adrian said. "Our human ancestors emerged from Africa and spread out through the Eurasian landmass."

"For a lousy map?" Idris asked.

Adrian scratched his head. "Reasoning is: remnant survivors of the human race will have a much better chance to link-up on the large Eurasian-African landmass. Maybe centuries from now."

Idris frowned and rubbed her hand across her mouth. She shook her head with noticeable distress. "Oh, I'd rather stay here."

"Why southern France?" Lionel asked.

"Lascaux cave paintings. Things like that," Adrian answered. "Their argument is: the human race survived the Ice Age there. First hints at civilization came from there during that time — cave paintings at Lascaux, Altamira, so-on."

"Interesting concept. Reduced to cave-dwellers," Idris noted. "But are we going to make this dangerous long move just for that?"

"For what that represents. In a generation or two that's about how the human race will live," Adrian told her. "Fred Flintstone and family. And that's how they could remain into the next Ice Age." "Sobering," Lionel said.

Idris knew the finality of government decisions all too well. "What's our deadline for Los Alamos?"

"Couple weeks," Adrian told her.

For two weeks Idris, Lionel, and Adrian sorted through their things and packed what they might want to keep and what might be worth keeping for the future of the human race in Europe through the next ice age.