The crowd erupted into screams throughout the stadium, muffled only by the sound of the alarms. The centre of the stadium was now a vacant crater up to just a few rows to Tolly’s right. The next few rows up were a mishmash of gore and wreckage, bodies intermingling with dilapidated structures, each with pieces missing. The ones that were conscious were pleading for help. Tolly, only ten rows over from the carnage, was in shock. Never before had she seen such wanton death. Not even on the Perun had she felt this lost, this paralyzed.

  The overscreen had flickered out and was now teetering on the edge of collapse without the roof to hold it, the entire panicked crowd now subject to the full force of the early evening sun. She turned back to Connor. He was weeping openly. Suddenly, he was on the move trying to push past the wall of people to his right.

  “Connor,” Tolly called after him. “Connor!”

  “We have to– we have to do something!” he yelled over his shoulder at her, his voice partially drowned out by the blaring alarms.” Just then, the alarms ceased. Connor cocked his head. Everyone in the crowd did the same, and for several seconds they all froze.

  The panic resumed a moment later, and so did Connor's persistent shoving.

  “Connor!” Tolly yelled, pushing up behind him.

  They were in the aisleway now. Most of the crowd was heading up and out of the stadium, pushing and shoving their way out. Tolly looked down the aisle towards the blast and saw several citizens in casual dress interspersed and tending to the victims. It was apparent to Tolly that they were medics.

  “Connor, what do you hope to do?” she said to Connor as he headed down the aisle steps. “Connor, stop!”

  He stopped.

  “We have to do something, Tolly. We have to–”

  He seemed lost, tears streaming down his face. Tolly knew that face.

  “Connor, listen,” she said, surprising herself with her level of calm.

  “Look down there.” Tolly pointed to several medics; Connor looked.

  “Those are medics. They are tending to those that need tending to. There's nothing either you or I can do.”

  “You were a medic,” he said derisively. “You can help.”

  “It's not that simple, Connor. Sure I can treat a few bumps and scrapes. Sure, I can patch up – could patch up,” she corrected herself, “old Groen when he put a quick bolt through his forearm.”

  Connor looked down to the ground. Tolly continued;

  “...but those people down there, the ones that aren’t torn in half, could have broken ribs and likely worse; internal bleeding. I never reached that level of training in the Academy. I never learned how to treat those injuries.”

  “Then,” Connor said, his voice low, “what do you suggest we do, Captain?”

  “We get out of here. We get home.” Tolly said, ignoring the captain comment.

  Connor's eyes came up to meet hers. They were puffy, the blue irises muddled in moisture. Tolly took his hand and held it to hers.

  “We have to go,” she said.

  She thought it was a strange feeling as the two rushed up aisle stairs towards the exit. Strange that she had managed to regain her calm despite what was going on around her. Maybe Groen was right. Perhaps she did have what it takes to be Captain.

  The streets outside were a godsforsaken mess. Citizens ran in all directions. Storefront windows were smashed. The wounded that had made it out of the stadium now laid out on the sidewalks and up against buildings. There was rubble and recognizable bits of the stadium's upper court strewn about where it had fallen into the streets.

  It wasn’t until they had cleared the main structure that she looked up. Dozens of missile-like craft arced across in the skies above Citadella and surrounding Kingsborough. They all came down in a slow glide, almost as if it were a flock of gulls. The sight was as amazing as it was dreadful.

  “Everybody run!” someone screamed from within the patchwork of people causing even more panic. Tolly watched, helpless as several people went down and were trampled in the rush. All the while, she held firmly to Connor's hand, tugging him behind her as she pushed persistently forward.

  Each of the craft splashed down against The Spire above. The ground shook, and several buildings across the canal shed the glass of their windows. Panic started to creep back into her just long enough for her to hesitate.

  “Come on,” Connor said, his voice reeking of numbness. “You said we have to go. So we have to go.” He tugged at her forearm and pulled her deeper into the crowd.

  After several blocks of pushing their way through the crowds, Connor, who still had a firm grasp of her wrist, led her right and into an alleyway. The alleyway afforded a respite from the crowd and the still-beating sun. The sun was just about to pass behind the mountains, but as it dropped, its light felt ever more like an intrusion. Blane would be just about done with her date with Soren now, Tolly thought.

  “Oh, gods–” she said, a dagger of fear ripping through her. “Blane.”

  “We’ll find her. We just have to get off this damn island first,” Connor reassured her.

  “Yeah. And through the entirety of Kingsborough.” Tolly corrected, regretting it.

  “One thing at a time.”

  “Well?” she asked. Connor seemed like he was deep in thought.

  “We head for the loop tunnel we came in through,” he said after what felt like an eternity.

  “Half the city will have the same idea. We'd be packed and dried like pond skimmers.”

  “Right– then we head for the west bridge?” he said, asking this time.

  “Connor, look up,” she said, pointing to the fast-moving craft that were still raining down, shaking the buildings around them. “We’re under attack. If we take the bridge, we’ll be cooked.”

  “Then–” he strained to think of an alternative.

  “Quiet,” Tolly said, taking hold of his hand.

  Down at the far end of the alleyway, in the opposite direction of the stampede of people and the way they had just come, Tolly could make out two black figures that glinted in the sunlight. Tolly took Connor and slid behind a pile of packing crates.

  The two figures stuck to the shadows, and it was evident to Tolly that they didn't belong. As the figures came closer, she noticed that they carried what looked like assault rifles and were encased in stark black polished battle armour, but nothing like she'd ever read about. The soldiers moved quickly and stealthily up the alley towards them, scanning back and forth with their rifles. Their black visors obscured the view of their faces.

  “What are they doing here?” Connor asked in a whisper. She wasn't sure about who these soldiers were or their motives, but she didn't want to wait around and find out.

  The soldiers didn't seem to be communicating with each other, let alone acknowledging the other's existence. They simply moved steadily ahead, crouching where they could. Tolly caught herself thinking, what if we hadn't seen them? What if we'd just walked right up to them?

  A large explosion rocked the street, and the buildings on either side of the alley swayed, drawing the soldiers’ attention. Tolly knew it was time to go.

  “Come on, let’s move,” she whispered to Connor.

  The two of them headed off down a narrow walkway between two buildings directly behind and south of the piled crates. Far behind them, the soldiers crossed by the opening, unaware that Tolly and Connor had crossed their paths. Or at least Tolly hoped. Tolly’s elbows scraped along brick walls as they squeezed down the pathway.

  The explosions eventually dwindled, as did the sight of the craft overhead, which minutes before seemed to be a permanent fixture in the skies above the city. All Tolly could hear over the pounding in her chest was a smattering of cries from the distant crowds. Then at once, the cries shifted; the panic now turning desperate.

  Where before there had been cries of agony – of exhaustion – now there seemed to be a contagious fear that boiled through to Tolly’s core. Something was wrong, really wrong.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I don't like this,” she told Connor, “something doesn't feel right.”

  “You said it yourself, Captain. We're under attack. No idea who it is either but with firepower like that– they mean serious business.” Connor said.

  His shirt was torn, and sweat marked, as was hers. Bloodstains showed through the fabrics, although Tolly couldn't tell who's blood it was. The pair ran down the passageway and out onto Donabe Street. The street was empty except for some smashed windows and torn Parade banners. The cries of the mob seemed further off now, although still within earshot.

  “Sky bombardment has stopped now. Maybe we're in the clear?” Tolly said, not very sure of the answer.

  “Gods willing, sure.”

  “You okay?” she asked, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder.

  “Not really,” he said. “We just saw a few thousand people vaporise, and another few dozen get run down in the streets. No way I'm sleeping tonight.”

  “I get it. You think our homes were hit in the bombardment?” she asked, fishing for some hope; hell, even a lie would do.

  “Can't say. Sorry,” he took her hand.

  “So the west bridge, was it?”

  “No. I think you're right, too open. There's gotta be another way out of here.” he said, pulling out his terminal.

  Tolly did the same.

  “Bulletin's are down” they both said nearly in unison.

  “Gods–” Connor said. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “What about the water?” Tolly said, suddenly remembering the moat-like canals that encircled the island of Citadella. “They're only three blocks south of here. Four minutes at a run at most. There are canoes, rafts, tugs. If we hurry, we can make it to Kingsborough before midnight and be home by two.”

  “Won't we be seen? Canals are wide. And the tugs’ engines are loud.” he said, obviously pessimistic. Tolly could feel the defeat emanating from his voice.

  “We'll have to try, no other option but to wait here for the wildfire to roll over us. Come on,” she said. “Legs up and ready to move!”

  After Donabe Street, they took a right on Beaker and a left on Sonata. Down a slight incline at the end of the rows of shops, Tolly could see the buildings that marked the beginning of Kingsborough, just across the canal. She could feel the adrenaline begin to pump as they neared the waterfront.

  The stores here were untouched. There were no windows shattered, no debris, not even signs of scorch marks from nearby blasts.

  “Seems like we're out of the fire,” Connor said, sounding hopeful.

  “Not yet,” she said with her head turned westward up waterfront street.

  Connor turned. His mouth gaped as he saw it too.

  A scattered mass of bodies littered the street from wall to wall. Some had fallen through windows, some crushed under debris.

  And the blood.

  Blood was everywhere, painted on the pavement and up an entire storey at some points on the walls. The thick metallic smell forced Tolly to hold back from retching. Connor wasn't so lucky.

  The two of them gawked, unable to believe the carnage in front of them. They had gone from seeing citizens turned to ash metres away to this. It seemed like wherever they went, death would creep in on them. She looked up to see a large chunk of cold black shrapnel embedded in a store’s facade. Other smaller pieces littered the street amongst the bodies.

  “Connor, I can't–” Tolly said, holding back tears. “I can't see anymore. I can't–” she broke down, dropping to her knees.

  Connor just stood beside her. He looked down at her, no emotion showing through on his face. He was numb.

  “Connor–” she squeezed out, one last time.

  “Ahead of the storm,” Connor said.

  At first, she didn't hear him. She didn't want to listen to him. All she could think of doing, all that she knew, all that she would ever know was being a prisoner this moment, this horror.

  “We stay ahead of the storm!” He said, uncomfortably optimistic.

  “What are you saying?” she managed to say.

  “Like Groen said, we stay ahead of the storm. We keep The Perun moving. Rescue will come; he said it would. We just need to stay dry, and we will be safe.”

  He had broken, and she could see it. She could see the man she'd known slipping into a pit, and for the life of her, she couldn't think of how to slow it. She let him lead. She stood, blood now soaked into her pant knees. Connor led them down a gangway, onto a pier and to the water's edge in search of a boat.

  Several boats moored on the pier, most of which looked like antiques, built to satisfy a recent revival of old Earth styles from varying eras. They passed by several wooded and several composite gondolas before reaching a section of tugs.

  Connor boarded three tugs, searching for one he could confidently hot-wire before inviting her aboard the fourth, a six-metre-long Prenio with a charge. The name on the side read the Fancy Flight, an odd name for a boat that Tolly suspected could make no more than ten or fifteen knots on open water.

  Connor started the tug while Tolly loosened the rope and pushed off, the dull whine of the propellor ramping up. They headed southeast into a branch off of Moat Canal heading towards Kingsborough. There was a gridwork of canals cut like a spiderweb throughout the district. Connor steered the tug around meandering bends, sharp ninety-degree corners, all while keeping to shallow banks of the canal edge in an effort to remain out of sight.

  The tug hummed along at a dismal eight knots, and Tolly couldn't help but feel that they were moving at a snail's pace. Kingsborough passed by above them. They were now removed from the plight of the city, unhindered by the open waterways before them.

  It wasn't until much further down the canal that Tolly realised she'd seen no other active boats using the waterways. Even so, it felt like they were being watched.

  “Seen no one for a while. Why do you think that is?” she asked Connor.

  “Could be no one's as smart as us,” he said. “though I doubt it. More likely, people have made their way underground or out of the city. Or dead.” the expression on his face was numb.

  “Out of the city? To where I might ask?” She raised an eyebrow. “Nobody's going to risk walking through wildfire to get out of here. Out there's certain death. Here–”

  “From where I'm standing, certain death ain't far off.” He said, demure. “Maybe they've gone north, to the plains. Or off-world even.”

  “You did see where the attacks were coming from, yeah?” she said, “straight up from open space. Orbit most likely, unless those ships or whatever hit us have some sort of stealth.”

  “And the North?” Connor pressed, hoping for an optimistic answer for once.

  “Doubt it.” She shot back. “One would have to make it through the whole of Kingsborough and Mercao, several kilometres of open farmland, and then traverse the northern peaks. Hate to dash your hopes, dear Connor, but it seems the gods have left this world in a hurry.”

  “If they were ever here,” said Connor, steering the tug into an oncoming wake.

  “Did you– did you see that?” Tolly said, suddenly realising.

  It took a moment for Connor to catch on to the implications, but when he did, he responded.

  “I uh– hmm.”

  “Wake means something big's just dropped in the water. And since there's nothing in sight, I would hazard that something is massive.” Tolly explained.

  “What do we do?” Asked Connor.

  “I don't want any more surprises tonight,” she said, scanning the waterfront up ahead.

  “See that moorage up ahead?” Tolly said, gesturing to a dock three hundred metres up ahead.

  “Got it,” Connor said. He angled the tug toward the south bank, and almost a hundred metres out, he cut the throttle.

  “Wouldn't want to let anyone know we're comin’,” he said.

  After snuggly cinching the boat rope to the dock, the two hopped out and headed up into Kingsborough. They had made good progress in the last hour on the water, reaching just south of Cook Street and Arbutus, a full three-quarters of the way to Libourne and The Elysees.

  It was nearly midnight before they’d reached the southwest of Kingsborough. From the edge of the river, Tolly could see the rooftops of her home district, Libourne, untouched by the turmoil further north they had waded through.

  “We made it,” she said to Connor.

  He feigned a grunt of acknowledgement for what Tolly believed was her sake. Connor had locked himself away in an internal prison that she wasn't sure she would ever free him from.

  “How do we get across?” he asked finally.

  Tolly hadn't thought of that. After getting this far, she had hoped that crossing into Libourne would be the end of their hardships that night. She was stumped. However, with a stroke of luck, they found an upgrav capsule where it lay parked next to a diner at the edge of the block.

  “Think you can get that going like you did with the tug?”

  “Tug’s a bit simpler,” he said, “but, yes. Federation protocols for airborne systems in the city dictate that all craft be automatically unlocked during an emergency. No keys required.”

  It wasn't until half-past one that they let the capsule down in Libourne, just outside The Elysees. Tolly let out a sigh of relief, seeing her home intact, unlocking the hatch and stepping out as soon as the capsule made landfall. There were lights on in the apartment upstairs. She stood, righted herself, and began charging toward the front entrance before realising she'd forgotten Connor.

  “Connor, come on!” she yelled back to him from just outside the front door. He wouldn't turn to look at her.

  “I'm sorry,” was all he said. Without another word, he buttoned down the hatch and engaged the upgrav systems. The capsule lurched into the air and hurled over a rooftop and out of sight.

  Feeling abandoned, Tolly was faced with only one option. She headed inside the cafe, noting a busted lock and a cracked door as she did. She quickly glanced around the cafe. The seats were empty as they had been on the night of Groen’s funeral. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, however. There was no Marco, no Dixon, and no Phillipe either. It was almost as if they'd never existed. The whole memory seemed so distant, so alien to the events of the last few hours. Throwing away all caution, Tolly climbed the stairs to the apartment and swung open the door.

  “Blane!” she called out but was greeted only with uncomfortable silence.

  Things were scattered about the place as if someone had been in a horrible rush. Tolly scanned around the apartment, looking for any sign of Blane. The kitchen was untouched, almost as if the responsible party had been uninterested in long-term survival. In the bedroom, the closet had been emptied, and clothes were tossed from their hangers.

  There was a note on a pillar near the front entry that Tolly had missed when heading in.

  The note was from Blane. Tolly knew that much by the handwriting without having to read the bottom signature. It read;

  “Tolly,

  I hope this note finds you. I came back to find you. I am sorry I could not wait for you any longer. Soren tells me we are under attack. The whole gods-be-damned city.

  I have seen bodies moving in the streets, horrible things out of a nightmare.

  Soren has asked me to meet him at the airfield in Southern Mercao. I will wait for you there. Please hurry!

  Your loving sister,

  Blane.”

  She was here.

  Tolly knew she had to leave soon if she was going to make it. She hurried to her bedroom; the door still shut and locked as she'd left it. Inside, her duvet was still balled up when she'd left it to escape her self-pity before heading down for work early this morning. Gods, that felt like so long ago now.

  Moving frantically around the room, Tolly hunted down articles of loose clothing scattered about the room and forced them into a black duffle bag. Next, she went to her closet, where she carefully excavated a dusty medical aid kit that Blane had purchased for her first day of classes. She stuffed the medical kit in her bag.

  Then, flying back out through the common room and into the kitchen, Tolly poked and scavenged what bits of food were left, three apples, a half-loaf of farmer's bread, a week-old lump of pepperoni, and the last bottle of Blane's table wine. She headed back to her room and stuffed the food items in her bag as well.

  Tolly, short of breath, sat on her bedside for what she'd intended to be just a moment before the world became heavy, urging her to slow down. She began to reflect on the day; her shit of a morning, meeting Soren, the Parade with Connor.

  Then she thought of the bad, the death, the attack from above, the silhouetted soldiers. But before she could allow herself to give in to the grief, exhaustion took her.