The Edge of No Tomorrow

1 | Ivory

Through the cracked, grime-covered window of the bus, my eyes fall on a man. He stands on the sidewalk, flanked by a sea of faceless people. All of them are clamouring, vying to find space to breathe, pushing and shoving. Against the tide, this haggard man does not move.

He is smiling, wearing a dotted shirt and striped pants. His hair is long and ivory, coming down below his shoulders. He is carrying a sign formed from the cardboard of a nearby bubble tea shop. It's ripped at the edges.

The sign reads: The world is ending.

Under normal circumstances, I would scowl. Under normal circumstances, I would dismiss it as a conspiracy theory.

But these are not normal circumstances, and nothing has been normal lately.

The bus rumbles to life and takes off down the cobbled street. It shudders as it moves along, powered by an automated system that requires no driver. I cast a glance away from the digital announcement screen above my head, advising the passengers to take a seat, chewing on my lip.

It's packed inside the number twenty-seven line, which carries me directly from the corner of Crimson Street to Maci Incorporated, the start-up telecommunications company where I work.

Near the front, between a man in a bright raincoat and chattering teenagers carrying duffel bags, I recognize a woman. She is corralling her child away from the thoroughfare with a gentle hand. We've never shared anything but quiet glances and the briefest, awkward smiles as passengers who travel in the morning midnight together.

In a hushed voice, she tells the child to be calm. "There's nothing to worry about," she says, and I realize—with a jolt like icicles to my stomach—that I've never heard her speak before. Her voice is honey; smooth and saccharine sweet. "Come here, Avanna. Come. Give me your hand."

The child—Avanna, I suppose—trembles with the pendulum swing of the bus. She is surrounded by adults and teenagers alike, all headed to their destinations. There is hardly any room for them to move.

I lift my wrist to the triangular tattoo against my pale skin. It's surrounded by three dots—red, blue, and yellow. The holographic screen of my phone projects from the reflective sleeve around my wrist like a bracelet. The tattoos act as buttons for navigation, and the screen hovers in front of me, showing a list of applications. A dim glow cast from it reflects in the window. No signal, a message at the top reminds me.

Below it, there is the emergency alert that has been there since last week. It was sent out at precisely three fifteen in the morning, according to the timestamp. I don't need to look at it to know what it says. The words are engraved inside my head.

Emergency alert: A satellite sent out early yesterday morning is predicted to re-enter at an unpredictable rate in two weeks' time. It may land in the area between central Solrias and including the northern regions of Gianna. Due to interference, communication is down. All boat lines are still running. Citizens are encouraged to evacuate where possible.

The hologram is useless now, and no matter how many messages I fire away to Ryan, he can't answer me. Phone calls don't work, either; the option is greyed out entirely.

I don't know why I keep holding onto hope. I don't know why I expect my brother to sacrifice himself for me.

The bus comes to a halt at the woman's stop. She reaches for Avanna's hand and disembarks, her blonde tufts of hair melting into the crowd. I wonder where she's headed. I wonder where all these people are headed.

My stop comes shortly afterward. I elbow my way through to get to the doors, stumbling back onto solid ground.

The doors squeeze shut. The bus exhales as it barrels away, leaving me stranded.

Maci Incorporated's main office leers over me. The building is backed by the darkening storm in a coal-black sky. A cloud like a snake coils around it, devouring the sunshine whole. The windows overlook the metal wall at each corner of Nalona; like the face of a cliff, the drop falls vertically and ends at the jagged rocks below it. There is nothing beyond the walls for eons—the only viable exit is a stretch of the water glittering in the distance.

I cough out a sigh as I enter my workplace, unlocking the door with a passcode. As I pass, I run my hand across the empty receptionist's desk. It was once occupied by Io, but she is gone now. Left to flee on the boats last week, while she could still get a ticket.

On the other hand, I am still here. There is nowhere to go. I barely have the money to afford my rent every month, and the planes are grounded.

Like the man with the sign, like the woman and her child on the bus—I am stuck in this city, in the blast zone. Doomed, lost creatures, fumbling in the empty drawers of our hearts, searching for hope like a misplaced wallet. Thinking maybe, maybe—if we steal enough money and space in the world, we can find a way out before the re-entry.

Before the world explodes, and before I get to talk to my brother.