Chapter Two: The Appointment

  The government van arrived late. It always did, as if the officials enjoyed the power of making people wait. Rizer stood outside the house, jacket zipped to his throat, staring down the road like he could will the damn thing into showing up. The sky was bleached white, clouds threatening rain but holding off, as if even the weather was waiting.

  Elias clutched Grandma’s hand, quiet, cheeks pink in the cold. His paper plane poked from the pocket of his coat. Rizer had tried to get him to leave it home. He wouldn’t.

  Kiera stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed, scanning the skies instead of the road. “If they’re this late tomorrow,” she said, “we’ll miss the launch window. Not that they’ll care.”

  “They’ll launch with or without us,” Rizer muttered.

  Grandma gave a thin, sad smile. “You’d be surprised how many launches fail. Overload. Panic. Even a cough at the wrong second.”

  The van finally pulled into view, a matte black transport with mirrored windows, red lights flashing in the grill like eyes. It hissed as it parked, side door swinging open.

  Inside, the sterile smell of antiseptic and plastic. Rizer slid in beside Elias. Kiera watched them go, unreadable, then turned back toward the house.

  The facility was buried beneath District-7’s old stadium, turned into a registration center during the second viral wave. Now it was little more than a checkpoint, scanners, white suits, guards with rifles and cold eyes. Rizer and Elias were directed to a room where a nurse scanned their trackers. The woman flinched at Rizer’s results. Not visibly, but Rizer caught the change in her eyes. The way her jaw shifted slightly. Elias’ scan showed standard vitals. Rizer’s? Something else. Something deeper.

  “Any allergies?” she asked stiffly.

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  “No.”

  “Family history of illness?”

  “Everyone has a family history of illness.”

  She didn’t laugh. Just nodded and marked something on her tablet. Rizer saw her tap a red square with her thumb. The scanner pulsed. He didn’t ask what it meant. He didn’t want to know.

  Elias sat swinging his legs. “When do we go?”

  The nurse looked down at him, almost kindly. “Tomorrow. If your pod’s ready.”

  “It's ready,” Rizer said. “We checked it yesterday.”

  She nodded and gestured them out. They passed other families in the waiting area, some crying, some staring blankly. Most were older. Few kids. Fewer still who looked healthy.

  On the way home, Elias held onto Rizer’s hand like he used to when he was little. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

  That evening, Rizer helped Grandad in the shed. The old man moved slower these days, but his mind was sharp. He stood bent over the panel of the escape pod, eyes squinting through his magnifier.

  “I adjusted the oxygen converter again,” he muttered. “Third seat’s hidden under the food storage. Once you’re in the air, you won’t notice the shift. Balance is clean.”

  Rizer nodded. “And the weight override?”

  “Done. Just... don’t tell your grandma. She’ll try to come too.”

  “She won’t. She knows.”

  They didn’t talk for a long while after that. Just worked. Tools clicked. Metal pinged. Somewhere inside the house, Elias laughed at something Grandma said. The sound was too clean. Too hopeful.

  “I added something,” Grandad said finally. “Emergency sealant. You’ll have one shot. If the pod takes damage, hit that button, twice. No more. It’ll flood the cabin with temp-stitch. Won’t hold long, but long enough.”

  Rizer met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  Grandad reached for the screwdriver on the shelf, paused, and handed it to Rizer. “One last thing.”

  They walked inside. Grandad stood on the kitchen stool and tightened the screws on the photo frame. The one of the family, before the virus. Before the collapse. Before everything.

  “Gotta keep things in place,” he said. “Even when the world doesn’t.”

  Rizer watched him. Watched the way his hands didn’t tremble until it was done.

  “Don’t look back,” Grandad said as he climbed down. “That’s how people crash. Eyes forward, boy. Eyes forward.”

  Outside, the government had placed blinking beacons across the street corners. Marking zones. Signaling launches. Every one of them beat like a pulse.

  Tomorrow, they would leave. Or die trying.

  And the sky, though still whole, felt ready to bleed.