Lithos’ ship smoldered in the remains of the capitol’s central park. The engines shuddered, moaned, and caught fire. The earth around the ship shuddered. From within the rubble of the cockpit, he groaned.
His fingers searched for the release to his harness. He reached out beside him to do the same for Enzokuhle. He shoved the shattered view screen off of him, wincing at the pain that shot up his left arm.
Sunlight found its way into the destroyed cruiser.
Lithos struggled to stand, his legs shaking and adjusting to the gravity of their world after so much time away. He turned to Enzokuhle’s chair, eyes wide at the shard of shrapnel stuck out of the bucket he’d placed over his own head. Lithos’ hands shook as he removed it. Relief washed over him to find how easily it gave, then again at his dear friend’s intact face. He checked his pulse, washed over with relief once more.
“Enzokuhle,” he said, urgently, “buddy, wake up. We gotta move.” He winced at the pain in his arm that simply got to be too much to ignore any longer. He glanced down to find pieces of his ulna and radius protruding from his skin. “Oh, shit,” he winced under his breath, a shiver of sweat breathing down his neck. “Fuck.” His eyes spun around the flaming remains of his cruiser, dizzy, nauseated, searching for something to wrap it with. He stumbled in the direction of the cabin, and caught the fires in the engines.
Oh, shit.
He heard Enzokuhle groan as he rushed back over, “Oh, ancestors.”
“I know, man, but we’ve gotta move and we gotta move now,” the urgency of his own voice was distant. It was pulling at Enzokuhle’s arm with his uninjured one. It was wondering whose blood was splattered across his arms. “Engines are on fire--”
Enzokuhle’s eyes shot open.
“--we gotta move, now.”
Enzokuhle stood and stumbled into him, shaky on his feet.
Together, they pushed through the debris. Enzokuhle clambered up the crater they’d dragged through the central green and offered a hand down to him. He ignored it, running up the slope. They bee-lined for the nearest avenue, coughing ash and smoke from their lungs, sneezing ozone and rocket fuel from their sinuses. Somehow, they’d made it; sore and bruised, certainly, but in far better shape than could be said for the majority of their fellow corpsmen.
Sirens blared, echoing off the glass planters of skyscrapers. They warned, “Alert: Evacuation of Aegea is in effect due to falling debris. Please, keep eyes to the skies, take cover when needed, and evacuate when possible. Take only essentials with you. Currently, the safest location is the Subterranean. Estimated time on foot is... one hour, thirty-two minutes. Travel by air is not recommended, unless piloted by trained CosmoCorps personnel. Repeat,”
It raised the hair on his arms, sent a chill down his spine (and then another one). His eyes flicked upwards.
Chunks of conquered StarCruisers burned up in the atmosphere. Some of the larger pieces crashed around them, shuddering the skyscrapers and shattering windows. The sky was burnt-orange, scarred with long lines of decaying orbits.
The streets were empty, but for the occasional small group darting from building to building--cover to cover--as they attempted evacuation. There were some that lay in unnatural positions that those able-bodied groups paused momentarily around, and then moved on without. They all could see the layer of dust and glass those who were immobilized were dulled and glittered by.
As they moved toward the central business district, Lithos noted citizens staring between them and their uniforms through the windows, their eyes wide (though, he wasn’t sure if it was in confusion, fear, or perhaps a bit of distrust). For their sake (and, for the sake of their cover), he unbuttoned his uniform and shrugged it off. He attempted to wrap his arm as they continued, but stopped dead in his tracks with the pain that shot through it and with the whine that accompanied it.
“Fuck,” he winced (cried, really). “Ancestors.”
Enzokuhle turned at the sound, eyebrows knitted in worry. He looked at his arm, clicked his tongue and winced sympathetically, taking the uniform from his shaking hands. “Lithos, stop.”
“We can’t,” he choked, “stop, Enzo, we have to keep moving!” He looked over his shoulder, stepped between windows. He pressed his back into the beam between them, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes.
In for five…
Out for five….
“I have to set this.”
He opened his eyes as a distant shockwave rumbled beneath them. Sighing, he nodded and conceded, “Quickly.”
Enzokuhle looked around, then ducked momentarily into a construction area. He stopped in front of a stretch of concrete foundation in the process of being poured with its lengths of rebar stretching a few feet above it, and pulled a laser knife from his pocket. He spliced lengths of the metal skeleton, and returned to scowl at his arm. “Well, my friend,” he sighed, “this isn’t gonna feel good.”
“I could assume as much,” Lithos said, closing his eyes tightly.
In for five--
His knees almost gave out (then did) as Enzokuhle shoved the bones back in place.
O-out for fi...ve….
Enzokuhle tied fabric around the lengths of rebar, cutting away the excess.
Lithos stared at him through the spots in his eyes, amazed at the skill his friend possessed. “Been taking notes?”
“Yeah,” he said, standing and offering his hand down to him. “What can I say? She’s a good teacher”
Lithos accepted it and rose, needing to rely on his comrade’s strength far more than he anticipated.
“Come on,” he smiled at him sadly, offering his own words back to him, “we gotta move.”
His blood pressure dropped and his head spun as they continued through the central business district. His ears were ringing
More debris, burned and shattered, careened down into buildings, parks, the very foundation they stood on.
How safe can the Subterrarean be with these kinds of impacts?
As they continued with Lithos’ autopilot leading them toward his apartment, the gravity of their dire situation swelled with each and every impact that kept them stumbling for balance. Occasionally, they’d exchange glances. Occasionally, they found themselves ducking into alleys to avoid collisions. Occasionally, they’d have to stop and hold on to the walls to keep from falling over from the shockwaves.
“Fuck,” Enzokuhle shouted over the thunder of debris, rubbing his face with his hands. “What do we do?”
“Enzo,” he shouted to be heard.
“What?” Enzokuhle shouted back.
Trying (failing) to modulate the panic, he continued, “I need to be able to use my arm!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Enzokuhle said, trying to keep his tone as gentle as he could, while still being able to be heard. “It’s broken... and... I don’t have the means to repair it!” He kept his face relatively expressionless while keeping pace with him, his eyes forward.
Another warbling woosh of what was left of a StarCruiser engine arched overhead. About five seconds later, deep and distant kaboom rang like thunder.
“You have to avoid using it,” Enzokuhle said, stopping and bracing for the shockwave.
“I would agree with what you said earlier,” he said, as it arrived.
Shrapnel continued to rain fire through the atmosphere. That shockwave shuddered through the foundation of every building.
They did their best to avoid the falling glass, but there was only so much that could be avoided. Broken windows laid like fallen snow in the streets, across the sidewalks, across the fallen. Ash collected atop them all.
“This is bad.”
“That was before you broke your arm,” Enzokuhle snapped, “and before we crashed.”
“Well--” Lithos asked, stepping into the middle of the street to check the skies. The threats were distant to physical self, immediate to the emotional. He shot a lazy glance over to him out of the corners of his eyes, his head still aimed skyward. He raised an eyebrow at him and offered a smile of miserable camaraderie to him before he continued, “--what would you call it now?”
Enzokuhle looked behind him down the empty sidewalk, and said, “Dark.”
They continued on to turn the corner and stopped in their tracks. A citizen lay, shimmering in blood and broken glass.
“I’d agree with you,” Lithos said, frowning at her. He felt green again, which had him shoot his eyes over to his friend.
“Oh, ancestors,” Enzokuhle said, covering his mouth. His hands shook and his eyes watered.
Before Lithos could reach over for comfort, another shockwave knocked them off their feet. There wasn’t a whine to warn them of that one. They looked up to watch a plume of smoke but a mile away suddenly rise high from one of the skyscrapers.
“What was that?” Lithos asked, managing to stand back up with the shockwaves left in his legs. He winced, trying to limit the number of abrasions through the glass with little success.
“I didn’t see,” Enzokuhle said, standing and shaking his arms out behind him; glass shimmered in arcs back down to the ground. “We gotta keep moving.”
“That’s north, right?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so.”
“That’s close to the hospital, then.”
There was too much smoke in the atmosphere, too much ash to tell for sure.
Dark.
They rushed onward. Lithos continued to crane his neck to see which buildings had what damage. He couldn’t ascertain.
This is dark.
They entered the residential district. The city was on fire, and it wasn’t safe to save it.
“Enzo--”
“What?”
“--the plan is we’re headed to our place,” he said.
“For what?” Enzokuhle leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
“I’ve got some comms and supplies there,” he said, his panting catching up with him (his panic, too).
“An Aaliyah, too, yeah?” Enzokuhle offered his miserable smile company.
There were tears in his eyes. He shifted on his feet, urgently needing to continue forward.
Even though his friend was visibly exhausted, he pushed off the wall and pushed on.
“An idea,” he whispered (though, with the sirens and their world exploding around them, he may as well have just mouthed it), “of where she is, at least.”
“Hospital, without a doubt.”
“We need those supplies if the building is still standing.”
“I get it, I get it.”
HomeBase reflected the sun through the ash and smoke in the atmosphere.
I’m all that’s left of the Three Nominal Departments, aren’t I?
“My friend?”
“Yes?” Lithos looked over at him in case he hadn’t heard him.
“This is dark.”
“I know.”
I’m the next in succession to lead the corps, aren’t I?
“And I’m sorry--”
“I know.”
I am, aren’t I?
“--to say this, but, you’re… uh--”
“Enzo,” he sobbed, “please, I know.” He couldn’t even look at him. The street in front of him was blurring and coming back into focus in sync with his blinking.
What are--
“What are we going to do?” Enzokuhle’s words took the question from his own thoughts.
“Have any PoSC-FPS maneuvers for locking administrators out of their access trees?”
“I need access to comms.”
“Okay,” he said, uncertain if there was another shockwave against the earth, or if it was just a shockwave to the foundation of self.
“Are we almost there?”
Lithos felt a chill run down his spine, and then another. “Yeah, just another block,” he pointed to his right with his thumb.
Enzokuhle nodded and stepped to meet the corner.
They both slowed their pace.
There was a singular Department of Nominal Peace vehicle parked at the base of his and Aaliyah’s apartment tower. At the doors were two officers adorned in the same dark purple (almost black) colors as Lithos’ rebar splint.
The crash-landed pair had a collective realization about the likely iris color of both officers. Terror gripped Enzokuhle’s eyes.
“Don’t panic,” Lithos whispered, tapping his arm for his attention.
“Lithos,” he sobbed, “this is dark.”
“Up the alley,” he pointed.
This is dark. This is really dark.
They cut the vehicle from their sights. Another thunderous woosh thrummed down the alley with them. They circled to the back of his building, stiff and wide-eyed.
“Take off your uniform.”
“What?” Enzokuhle asked.
“I don’t want to draw attention.”
“Alight,” he said from the inside of his shirt. He tucked it under his arm.
“If our eyes aren’t red, I don’t think there’s any ‘blending in...’” Lithos frowned, “unless you have sunglasses.”
“Right,” Enzokuhle shuddered. “Aalie have any I could borrow?”
He smiled, weakly.
“What’s the plan?”
“All I can think of is fire escape or trash chute,” Lithos said, lifting his broken arm without breaking his eyes from the unbroken chute that crawled up the side of the building. “I’m not excited about either.”
“I, uh,” Enzokuhle followed the fire escape up the side of the building with his eyes.
They both did, and they both frowned at the most crucial, fatal crumbling of it a floor below the apartment.
“Though my least favorite option...” Enzokuhle trailed off, scowling.
“It’s only a couple stories, right?” he lied to himself. “No big deal.”
“Use this to add extra padding around it,” he said, handing him his soiled white uniform shirt. “You’ve got an open wound, friend.”
“We have to try,” he said over the sound of crescendoing rumbling. “My arm won’t fall off.”
Enzokuhle frowned at the dumpster door, glanced over at Lithos (his arm), then pulled the door open.
Fetidity fell out. It was about as bad as Lithos expected it to be. That didn’t keep either of them from gagging as the red alarm light of the chute’s teleportation interruption illuminated the collection chamber.
“Should I go first, or you?” Enzokuhle choked.
“You,” Lithos said, grateful for what aural absorption the chamber provided.
At least I can fuckin’ hear you now.
Silver linings.
“Okay,” he whispered, staring up at the chute. “How many floors?”
“Just a few.”
“Hm?”
“One per floor the first few floors,” he said, tying Enzokuhle’s Department of Technologies uniform around his makeshift splint.
“Mm,” Enzokuhle noticed and moved to help him cover the gaps in his makeshift dressing.
“One vehicle has up to six officers,” he continued. “Two at the front door, lets assume one per landing between floors instead of two at landing one, etc.”
“Mmhm.”
“Officers up to landing four.”
“Between forth and fifth floors?”
“Mmhm.”
“So the sixth floor?”
“Mmhm.”
“Oh,” Enzokuhle laughed nervously.
“It’ll be fun if we fall and the gravity catch still works.”
We won’t have to care, otherwise.
Enzokuhle’s face darkened as though he’d heard his thoughts. He hunkered down, then jumped up, managing to catch the chute and shimmy his way up. Occasionally he’d slip (and gag).
Lithos followed behind him, cringing and grateful for the extra layer between his arm and guaranteed infection.
It took time. Every whine of the destruction outside made them stop and brace the best they could. Just past the fourth floor chute’s door, a shockwave hit that almost knocked Lithos all the way back down.
Enzokuhle inhaled to ask a question, and Lithos interrupted him, “If it’s about what I think, don’t ask, I’ve tuned it out.”
“Okay,” he panted. “Two more?”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” he groaned, continuing upwards with some strain.
His arm throbbed and wailed at him to give up, regardless of how much he pretended to have tuned it out. It shook at him in protest. He tried to shift his weight to his shoulder, instead. It was only mildly helpful.
Enzokuhle aimed to open the chute door quietly and slowly, but that door always had and always would squeak open. He cringed at the sound as he squeezed himself out. He threw his arm down to help Lithos through.
Lithos grabbed his forearm, using the assist to make a break for fresh air.
His friend overcompensated and stumbled backwards.
He crumbled in front of him, gasping for air.
“How’s your arm?”
“Sh!”
He didn’t say anything else.
Lithos pointed in the direction of the stairwell as he struggled to his feet.
Enzokuhle helped him up, and they continued upwards as quietly as they could. The foundation rumbled, but the thunder was becoming less frequent. This had them exchanging worried glances for eight more floors. Neither footsteps nor voices kept them company vertically; only dwindling thunder and incessant sirens did.
They watched smoke billow past from the partially shattered windows. They were quick over the shattered glass. Finally, they reached his floor. No one was there to greet them; only the howling wind and the sirens did.
Lithos made his way to his door, pulled the key for electrical failures from its hiding place under the welcome mat, and clicked it open. Enzokuhle was right behind him.
“Aaliyah?” Lithos called with a breaking voice, “Honey?”
Their home muted the sounds of apocalypse, but hardly. They were lucky enough to have their windows intact. It was a hint of sorely needed normalcy.
Lithos kept calling for her with a voice that shattered each iteration, but there was no one there to greet him; only the terror pouring down his face in rivers and the thoughts racing through his mind did.