“But realistically,” my father continued, “we won’t be able to walk properly for a long time.”
The pain and trauma I saw in their eyes pulled me down like an iron weight. The only positive thought I could muster at that moment was that they were, at least,alive.
I leaned back, looked around the room, and wondered what the collective damage had been to our community. I thought of the question I feared to ask.
“Did anyone die?” I asked softly.
There was a long silence from my parents as they looked at one another.
“According to one of the nurses,” my father said, “five hundred and twenty-three of us made it back alive.”
“Who got left behind?” I whispered.
My mother’s eyes became glassy. “Not left behind, but… Mr. Sturridge. He passed away on the ship.”
Her voice broke, and tears returned to my eyes. I’d looked up to him as a grandfather since I was a child, after my own died in a construction accident. He had been so kind, so warm, sogivingin everything he did. I couldn’t imagine not seeing him again. I never even got the chance to say goodbye.
“I need to go outside,” I stammered, and my parents nodded in understanding.
I left Bea with them and hurried out the door, seeking the staircase. I tried to adopt tunnel vision and block out everything around me, every pale, anxious face, every infant cry and fearful whisper. I focused on the bright world that I knew lay beyond that peeling front door.
I collided with something hard and unyielding the moment I reached the doorway. I’d been moving too fast to notice the towering, broad-shouldered man in a blue uniform entering at the same time. The pile of gowns he was carrying slipped from his arms and scattered across the floor.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, crouching to help him gather them.
“Just gowns,” he muttered, his voice a low baritone.
As I handed the clothing back to him, our eyes met. His were a bluish jade, the kind of color you only catch for a second in the forest canopy. Strange. Striking. He didn’t look much older than me—early twenties, maybe—but there was something seasoned about him. And despite the uniform, he’d made it his own: jacket unzipped halfway to reveal an off-white shirt beneath, sleeves rolled up to his sun-burnished elbows, like he couldn’t quite be bothered with regulations.
When he took the pile of gowns from my hands, my eyes dropped to the bronze ring on his thumb. I couldn’t help wondering, now almost unbearably, what those rings meant, and why they came in different colors. I opened my mouth to ask, but he was already on his feet, moving with surprising speed as he disappeared through the door.
I sighed and exited the building. I returned my focus to the outside world, on the sunlight glancing off the dull platform and the glistening waves surrounding us. It was already hot out here, but the breeze made it tolerable as I descended the stairs. Only one of the three hover crafts remained, parked in the far corner of the platform, and other than a handful of our people who had the same idea as me, to come out and breathe, the islet was bare.
I walked toward an empty corner, wanting to be closer to the water. The sound of the lapping waves was calming, encouraging me to take deep breaths.
I reached the edge and rested my hands on the cold metal barrier. Fixing my eyes on the flowing blue depths, I felt the bullet-hard knot in my stomach loosen ever so slightly. Nature had that effect on me.
It’s… okay. It’s going to be… okay.
I stood there for ten minutes, eventually closing my eyes and just trying to be still. To rekindle the strength I knew I had.
But I also knew what I needed was positive action. If we couldn’t go back, we had to move forward—with purpose and dignity. That was the only way we could ever begin to pick up our broken pieces, heal from what we’d lost.
And that meant we needed to know a lot more about this place.
Much of my nerves came from missing details; what this nation truly stood for, and how we might find our places in it. Unknowns made everything more frightening. So that had to be the first step: learning more about Fairwell, and what it meant to be a settler here.
A familiar voice traveled across the platform. I turned and gazed toward the hover ship. It was Anna. She paced up and down in front of the ship, while talking to someone via her communication device.
Her voice sounded tight. “Yes. I know, I know. I haven’t gotten around to it, but I will. Yes, it’s on my list of things to do. I know, Dad. It’s fine, I’ll get it done in time. Okay. Love you.”
I frowned as she turned to face the hover ship, shut off her device and reattached it to her belt. She hadn’t noticed me yet, but when she headed back toward the aircraft’s stairs, I knew this was my opportunity.
“Hey, Anna!” I called, breaking into a sprint toward her.
She stalled halfway up the steps and turned to me. She definitely looked stressed, her short hair sticking up, as though she’d been running her hands through it. Still, she mustered a smile for me and traced her way back down the steps.
“You found Zina, I take it?” she asked genially.
