Burning

“Burned”

The isles of the store were nearly empty, most of the food being frozen and decomposed. The light of my H-SUIT reflected off the icy metal shelves. I had eaten all of the freshla from the store closest to my home, so I walked twelve miles to get to this one. The sky was its usual dark, but when I looked through the store's broken roof, I swear I could see stars through the clouds. 

   “Ahhh, there it is,” I turned the corner and found three packets of the life-saving food on one of the shelves. Grabbing the freshla, I turned and walked towards the exit. 

That’s when the light on my H-SUIT flickered off. “Dang it,” I said, pounding it with my fist. The light flickered on, then off again. Mad now, I continued walking towards what I thought was the exit, engulfed in darkness. 

   My boot hit something hard, and I flew forward. My head slammed into the concrete and my light sprang back to life. My head was ringing and beeping. Why is my head beeping? I thought to myself. I looked around me for what I tripped on. A round, black bomb was ticking at my feet. 

   Everything inside me dropped. I stood up, my head spinning. A bomb. I looked closer and almost threw up. A Russian 023 0.3 meter atomic bomb. I just tripped over a nuke. And activated it. 

   My brain was going haywire now, trying to remember back to when my sister taught me how to disable bombs. Pry off the metal lid, break the wire protection wall, reach through the wire, and put your fingers through the ignition hole. Crush the metal plate. I did as my sister told me. But the fingers of my gloves were too wide to fit through the ignition hole. In my head, I knew I had about thirty seconds before I became nothing but air and fire. I would never make it out. Not unless I shattered the metal plate inside. 

   My decision was quick, there was no time to think. I ripped the glove off my hand and reached inside the bomb. I could feel the blood in my fingers begin to freeze. Ten… nine… I gritted my teeth and began working my way through the wires. Six… five… what was left of my nerves felt the ignition hole. Three… two… All I could do was hope it worked. My fingers were useless and dead. My vision was blurry. It’s been three seconds since my mental countdown ran out. Worrying I miscounted, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. But I was never wrong. Never.

“It worked,” I laughed. “It really worked.” 

   I began to move my arm out of the bomb, glancing quickly at my darkened, flaking hand before I shoved it into my glove. Walking home, the image of my frozen fingers was the only thing on my mind. I couldn’t move my fingers or feel anything. I might as well not even have a hand. My skin reminded me of something. Something I forced myself to forget and never think about again. 

“Poppy, the wood, it's falling apart.” 

   “I see that Evie, give me time to think.” My sister’s voice had been bitter and sharp, nowhere close to her usual smooth sing-song voice. We were close to shore, only half a mile away. The ice here was in thin pieces, so the brown-red water showed through. 

   “We don’t have time, Poppy!” I yelled at her. Tears streamed down her pretty cheeks, pooling up at the bottom of her helmet. The wooden raft we made was crumbling under our weight. It would break soon if we didn’t arrive at shore. The strong wind was pushing us further and further away, and the beach ahead of us was slowly shrinking. The toxic water, steaming and venomous, was melting the wood beneath our feet.

   “I’m going to have to push the raft.” Poppy’s voice was blank now. The sort of voice you hear when someone knows they are about to die. Their eyes go cold, and the blood sinks from their face. 

   I stared at her, and when I spoke my voice was weak, “Poppy, you can’t push us without getting in the water. You’ll… you’ll…” My voice faltered. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.    

“Yes Evie, I’ll die. And I won’t be pushing us. I’ll be pushing you.” Then she lowered herself into the water, wincing at the hiss the water made.

After the first 500 feet, the water had officially melted through her H-SUIT. After 1000, she could no longer feel her torso. With only 500 feet to go, the toxic water had taken most of her lungs. 100 feet from shore, she was dead. Of what I could see of her burned face, she had died in pain. 

Six years. It’s been six years since we washed up on that beach. Six years since I’ve seen another person. But today, I was going to end that streak. 

Twelve miles later, I arrived home. The rocket was in my workshop. Its metal sides, rusty and multicolored, had a thin layer of frost on their edges. Three years, twenty-two junkyards, and 6,000 gallons of gasoline later, it was ready. My one-way ticket to freedom. 24,000 miles away was the rest of the world. Two million people living on the moon in safety. And I was going to find them. Find him.

My sister once told me about our father. Poppy described him as horrible. 13 years ago, the last shuttle to the moon took off. We only had enough money for one ticket. My father took it. That was the last we had seen of him.

Today was the day. There hadn’t been a storm in weeks, so the cloud layer was thin. The wind was picking up slightly, just enough that I stumbled when I stepped outside. 

I gathered the little of my things that would fit in the rocket. Five packets of freshla, a book, and a deck of cards.

I wheeled the rocket out of my workshop and into the empty street. Once inside, I looked through the windshield towards the sky. The windshield was small, so I could only see straight ahead of me. 

I began to start the takeoff protocol. It would take about an hour to finish, so I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes. 

An hour later, the quiet beeps from the control panel woke me. It was time. But something was wrong. I looked out the windshield and the sky was white. The rocket was shaking from the wind. A storm. 

“Dang it!” I shouted to myself. My fingers typed furiously at the controls, trying to disable the launch.  

Something hit the rocket from the back and threw me forward. My helmet hit the control panel, and the glass cracked. My vision was blurry, but I heard the engines start. 

When I hit my head, I initiated an automatic launch sequence. This was a newer generation rocket that had landed on the street a few miles away. I had forgotten newer rockets had an automatic start. I cursed science and safety laws as the rocket began spitting out smoke. This rocket was taking off whether I liked it or not. 

The storm was worse in the sky. The wind was tossing the rocket around, and I had to keep my hand on the steering throttle to stop it from being flung into the ocean. Shaking, spinning, burning, the rocket flew in every direction. In order to land, I would have to disable the automatic launch sequence. That meant cutting the wires under the control panel and shutting down the rocket’s system. Yesterday I could have done it, the day before. But my hand was useless to me now. I tried to stabilize the throttle with my elbow, as I reached down to rip the wires. 

A gust of wind threw the rocket sideways, and my elbow slipped off the throttle. The rocket let out a burst of speed and spun out of control. The hard ground, cold and grey, came closer and closer until that grey was replaced with black.