“T-minus 50 minutes to launch.”

  The announcement more amplified as it echoed its way through the empty launch base. A reminder that time was running out, and fast.

  The stitching and glue that kept my boots together were only just holding on with each step as I frantically searched for the elevator to get me where I needed to be.

  They had been through a lot with me, those boots. Months upon months of fighting, walking and running. Only to be running around in circles in the last hour — the final hour.

  One hallway after the next, all empty before I finally lucked out. There it was. A single small elevator with a little yellow gate that screeched as I closed myself in.

  The elevator clicked as it gradually climbed and the howls of wind let me know that soon I’d reach the top which was quicker than I had thought and started to strike a nerve.

  Was I too late?

  It wasn’t too long before there was a loud clunk and a slight lifting sensation in my stomach. I had reached the top, pushing my way past the screeching gate and stepping out onto a dust covered platform.

  The platform wasn’t entirely enclosed and the loud whistles of wind carried the dust across its floor. The walls and ceiling were constructed with reinforced bars that criss-crossed with a shell plopped over it, but the walls didn’t entirely meet the floor.

  Another announcement rang out, drawing my attention upward and across a similarly constructed access arm where I got the first glimpse of anyone since I arrived here.

  At the end of the walkway were three crew, stood there with arms crossed and no doubt waiting for the last stragglers to make it before cut-off — and behind them — the last ticket off Earth.

  It had been hard to miss the constant launches over the last several years. I had even been close to one at one point in time, but I wasn’t prepared for the true size of an evacuation rocket (or Ferry we began to call them) up close and personal.

  Vapour cascaded down the sides of the mass of meticulously engineered metals. It appeared way too heavy to launch, even before considering the amount of passengers and equipment that were aboard it.

  “Okay deep breath,” I muttered.

  There’s no guarantee they would have made it right? The person whose seat I took?

  It was only the end to the start of my journey and a flicker of guilt had me motionless while a raging debate between logic and anxiety exchanged across my mind. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be on this rocket or then again, maybe I was.

  So why am I so hesitant? I need to push on.

  The boardwalk swayed in concert with the gusts of wind and the creaks of the support beams. It offered no reassurance that it would hold up and I was reluctant to step onto it, but time was still ticking.

  I took that first step. And another. Until each step slowly relinquished any doubt as I gained on the rocket and cast my eyes out to the charred and dying landscape.

  I paused for a moment to quickly take it all in one last time. My hands clenched hard around the support railing. There wasn’t much to say goodbye to. No green grass or trees. Just dust and a dying planet right out to the horizon.

  Billions of people are out there still. But they gave up or the ones who didn’t. Well. They would kill me to be in this position.

  It’s a narrative I often had to tell myself to suppress my guilt at the mass causalities of the unlucky who didn’t get to evacuate. One that was interrupted by an unexpected voice and slap on the back.

  “How you holding up there?” Said a man’s voice, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Jeremy,” he added.

  Jeremy extended his hand in introduction, pushing further into my field of vision.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Uh. Alex,” I said hesitantly, shaking his hand whilst rolling my shoulder to dislodge the unexpected small talk.

  It caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting a casual run-in with another person and I had no idea where he had come from.

  He had thick framed glasses resting atop of a smile that seemed genuine though misfitting the situation. His smile was the only tell of youth on his exhausted face —looking late-thirties rather than the mid-twenties that he’d likely be. Despite that, he was clean cut and well-dressed compared to my beaten and exhausted appearance. An obvious sign that we had two very different journeys up to this point.

  As we made our way to the boarding crew, it was easy to tell that Jeremy’s seat on the ferry was a sure thing. He was calm and collected, even when faced by one of the thug-like crewmen.

  Due to the sheer scale of the evacuation, the manpower used to undertake it often led to an odd mix of people from all walks of life, including some less than ideal individuals like the crew ahead.

  The first of the crew threw a suit at me. The second, a helmet. The third, well, he was aggressively helping Jeremy with his suit.

  “You payin’ attention!? You guys are the last to board and I ain’t wasting anymore time on this hellhole,” the crewman shouted.

  Oddly enough, the smile didn’t fade on Jeremy’s face, even quipping to the crewman “life as a ferryman a bit lonely is it?”

  The crewman locked in his helmet and swung Jeremy through the door where he went crashing to the floor.

  “I’ll see you up there” spat the crewman, pointing up to the sky with eyes locked on Jeremy. Then, turning to me, he snatched the helmet from under my arm and slammed it over my head before pushing me through the door with a final “good luck.”

  “T - 20 minutes to launch.”

  Stuck on the ground, the pain was still shooting from my finger tips as it ran down the nerves from my shoulder when the next countdown update was announced.

  Pushing myself up I was already disorientated with the suit and helmet that were unfamiliar to me — there was no training or practice for these evac ferries, just a get on and pray kind of deal.

  My breathing became rapid almost claustrophobic while I scanned the room looking for where to go next.

  It was a small white room that had subtle curves around the edges with only one feature that stood out. A ladder etched into the wall that stretched from the floor up to god knows where.

  I panicked and stumbled toward the ladder, fumbling to get a grip onto the first rung. The suits weren’t bulky. Quite the opposite. They were slim, similar to clothing but still nothing like the sense of naked touch.

  I could still breathe properly at least. Thankfully they put a lot of effort into the suits and it didn’t require an 02 tank when in breathable air. Instead, it was recycled through the back of the helmet. A nice touch and I was thankful I didn’t have luck extra weight.

  I finally pulled myself up onto the first rung, ready to try and coordinate myself for the climb.

  What the hell.

  I was pulled straight back off. It was Jeremy. I guess he had been standing behind me, I assumed he made a climb for it and left me behind.

  he was pressing against the chest piece of his suit and trying to talk but when I tried to do the same a little yellow mute symbol next to the words voice-link flickered on my visor.

  Unable to hear through the helmets and with no voice-link, he motioned me over to a hatch further to the left.

  Inside there were tensioned steel ropes hanging down the long vertical shaft. Reaching into a compartment, Jeremy grabbed a couple of harnesses, hooking himself, then me. There was little time at all to consider how he knew it all before we were zipping up, stopping at each seating break to check for vacant seats.

  “T - 5 minutes to launch”

  Shortly after the countdown hit five minutes we found a break-point with a vacant seat.

  I scrambled through the hatch door and clipped my harness to the steel line that was embedded into the floor. The seating was facing a ninety degree angle, toward the sky and I had to shimmy myself over to the vacant seat.

  I turned to wave a ‘thank you’ at Jeremy but all I caught was the hatch door slamming shut behind me. I felt alone and hardly noticed the burning death stares from the other passengers as I not-so-gracefully pulled myself across and stepped on a bunch of legs of passengers below me.

  My hands and body trembled as I made it to the vacant seat and tried to untwist my harness, until finally, I felt the clicks of the buckles locking into place.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief after accidentally holding my breath while I frantically screwed around with my harness that I was left with hardly any time before the countdown struck single digits.

  “Five. Four. Three. Two. One”

  The lag between the countdown hitting zero and the engines igniting felt like time stood still, leaving me plenty of time to imagine several disaster scenarios in rapid succession. Suddenly the muffled roar turned ferocious as the vibration finally reached my seat as it made its way through the whole rocket. My body trailed behind my mind as it was pushed into the seat - a feeling unknown to nor one I was prepared for. The pressure of sudden acceleration left every bit of anxiety back on the ground replaced by a clear, adrenaline filled mind that could hear every noise and feel every adjustment on our way up.

  An overload of new sensory experience and force had my vision flickering like a faulty lightbulb and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last before it blew.