Arrival

Chapter 3: Revolt

December 13, 2155

     Mark was sorting what little rations remained into boxes when he saw a lady run past him. Seconds later, he saw a man, the owner of the Donut shop across the street, chase after her. This had been the fifth time this day that someone had been robbed on Augustine Street. Supply shortages had been terrible in the outer colonies, shop owners being robbed, pedestrians being held at gunpoint, and yet the United Nations Planetary Union has still done nothing but turn a blind eye. The planet's Governor, Rosemary Aldrine, has been working tirelessly with the Food Organization Industry, but to no avail. Not to mention the underfunded military that is reporting missing weapons caches daily. 
     Mark's boss, Thompson, knocks on the door in a tune of his old childhood song, before opening it, ringing the bell overhead. "Hey, Mark. How's it coming along?" he asks, hanging his brown hat on the rack.
    Mark presses the glowing blue button, automatically shutting the white metallic box. "Just finished, sir."
     "Well, that's good to hear. Jim should be here to pick them up at around 4 o'clock. Why don't you go work on the floor near the stairs, it's been making an awful creaking sound for a week now," he insists, lighting a cigar while reading a holographic tablet.
     "Sounds good," Mark replies, putting on a fake smile. Ever since Tony went off-world, Mark's been stuck doing everything. He doesn't complain much, he's getting paid more than others, well, enough to get by. He places the claw of the hammer in between the two boards, then pulls hard. It pops right out, throwing some dust in the air. That's what the problem is, Mark says to himself. A bent rusted screw is keeping the board from being flat, causing the squeaking. He takes the screw out and places a new one, then flips his hammer and thumps it down. 
     Finished, he sighs, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He walks back into his boss' room, where a wall of cigar and lemon mixed odor hits his face, nearly making him choke on his words. "I'm finished, sir-" Mark pauses mid-sentence as he glances at several police cars racing down the road, their sirens wailing, following the black tire marks where the suspect's car is speeding away. 

    'What was that, Mark? Are you-" 

        "Yeah, no- I'm fine. Sorry about that, sir."
     "Ok then, you're free to go, son," he says with a confused grin, then takes another drag of his cigar. 
     Mark grabs his car keys and struts outside, the sun beaming down on him. He takes a deep breath of the crisp air, admiring the view, the birds chirping, and little traffic along the road, which was strange. He was a few inches from unlocking the gray door to his small car when he realized that maybe he should investigate where those cop cars went. Mark started jogging down the street, passing by buildings with 'closed until further notice' signs all around. As he got closer, he started hearing faint yelling, then the wailing from earlier, and then he heard someone shout something he would never forget. 
     "There's a bomb!" they screamed in a high-pitched squeal. Shortly after that, a series of fiery explosions sounded through the town. Desperate cries for help, smoke, and red embers billowing into the atmosphere, developing dense puffy layers of doom, swallowing the land. Mark stumbles to the ground from the force of the blasts, slamming his hands against the rocky pavement. Gunfire starts to erupt near the capital, followed by more pleads, but this time, they were silenced. 
     As Mark gazes upon his world crumbling from the inside, he doesn't catch sight of the large office building collapsing towards him. When he sees it, it's too late. Growing closer to Mark, the building will strike. He covers his eyes with his bloody knuckles, accepting his fate. But just as it was about to make contact with the earth, it knocked into a smaller finance tower, diverting its course and sending it crashing down onto a neighboring park.
     Mark is surrounded by debris and ash, smothering him. He tries to get up and walk to a shop, but can't navigate his way around. The gunfire was silent, but for how much longer? It is only a matter of time before the ash clears and the shoot-out continues. Mark saw out of the corner of his eye a small flower shop, so he decided to make his way there. As he entered, it was deserted, with toppled chairs and busted flower pots. His skin was dirty, ash was smeared along his face, his knuckles bruised, eyes blood-shot red. He needed to clean himself up, and fast.
     He began ravaging through some supply bags, tossing empty food cans and fertilizer around the room. He was looking for a med pack so he could mend his knuckles, one of which appeared broken, sticking out sideways. Mark saw a red box to his right, a med pack, finally. He emptied its contents out and grabbed a white cloth which he wrapped around his hands, the adrenaline softens the pain, but it still stings. Using his teeth, he bites off the end of the bandage and tucks it in. This is the best I can do, for now. Now that he's bandaged, he needs to get to his boss' shop where a handgun is kept in a safe. 
     Mark rises off the ground, using the counter to assist him. He steps towards the glass door and peaks out, the dust from the debris obscuring his view. Mark pushes against the door but it doesn't budge, the gusts forcing the dust particles around the city are too strong. Searching his surroundings for a tool, he discovers a worn-out shovel propped against a wooden shelf. Mark grabs its rough edge with one hand and places the other not too low beneath, then hoists it above his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, steadying his shaking hands, and jams it in between the wedge making a thump. Thrusting the shovel sideways, the door breaks loose, but only enough for Mark to barely fit. He squeezes through the tight opening and is hit with a rotten egg-like stench from the lit fuel of burning vehicles. 
     Mark gags on the fumes and hunches over, releasing a surge of vomit on the concrete. Burned carcasses fill the streets, once mighty skyscrapers, now lay collapsed. The comforting blue sky that Mark grew up with is now replaced with a dark fog, making him wonder if his world will ever go back to normal. A loud childish scream sounds from near the capital, which surprises Mark. He pushes his aching body to run in the direction of the screams, the calls for help but is met with a dead end. Where is this child, this girl? he wonders. Feeling dizzy, Mark falls to his knees, where another stream of vomit pours out. "This isn't real. It's all in my head!" he screams aloud. He almost succumbs to his doubts but hears another cry, one that he couldn't deny. 
     "Help me!" the voice said, her words echoing through the ruins of the city. 
     Mark struggles to get up but manages. He must save this girl, this child. Minutes pass by as he's running, limping towards the growing howls. Mark sees a flashing blue light and approaches it carefully. The screaming has stopped and is now a whimper.
     "Help me, please." the little girl pleaded, a deceased police officer's body lay atop her. 
     Mark kneels on his knees and places his hands on the side of the officer. Using all his strength, he lifts the body off her, revealing her terrified face, tears flowing down her pink cheek. Her leg is a darkened purple, it's broken. Mark is going to have to carry her to safety. 
     "It's ok, little girl. I will help you," he grunts, holding back tears from the pain he observes in her eyes. He wraps his arms around her and heaves her up. Mark's breathing shifts into heavy gasping from the intense pain, which is only increasing with each step he carries her. Mark locates a food center and decided that this was where they will stay for the approaching night. The market is in decent shape and will possibly have a functional backup generator. The inside is quiet, too quiet. Mark's stomach is nauseous, but he can't tell if it's more vomit or his natural instincts telling him to run. A container of canned goods falls off a shelf, spooking Mark and the little girl. 
     "I'm scared," she whimpers to him.
     Mark lowers her down behind a counter. "Whatever you do: do not leave this spot," he orders, his eyes filled with fear. He goes to inspect the cans, and as he lifts one up, he notices that this wasn't an accident. Another crash is heard behind him and as he jerks around, he's met with a bat to the face and is knocked unconscious. 
     Hours pass by and a thunderstorm rolls in, earthquake-like thunder rocking the shopping center. Mark wakes up tied to a chair, his head throbbing. He scans across the isles, looking for the girl but his vision is blurred. He hears footsteps growing closer to him, then a man in a deep voice speaks.
     "Who are you?"
     "I- 'm Mark."
     "Quit your lying. I know you're a rebel!"
     "No, I was trying to help a girl."
     "And yet I don't see one."
     A shopping cart scoots across the tile floor and the little girl appears standing still as stone. The man stares silently at her for a few minutes before turning back towards Mark. He crouches down and cuts the rope, "I guess you're not a rebel after all." The little girl runs to Mark and embraces him in a tight hug. "All right, you two. Go get some sleep, there are beds in the office."
     Mark hesitates, but eventually grabs her hand and takes her to the room. It's in poor condition, the paint on the wall chipping away, rats scurrying along the floor, leaving droppings. Mark knew this wasn't an ideal place for a child, however, this was war. "I never asked your name, dear?" 
     She blushes, "It's Susie."
     "That's a nice name, why don't you get some sleep and we can talk in the morning?" 
     Susie crawls onto the yellow-stained bed and dozes off. Mark gazes at the window, raindrops pattering down, lightning lighting up the dark sky. He hopes for a better tomorrow and soon falls asleep. The man looks at them sleeping for a while, happy that someone other than himself survived, and closes the door. The thunder clouds roll back and forth, back and forth, increasing in activity. Something was happening high above the atmosphere, beyond Mark's sight. Mark jerks his head upward, having just had a terrible nightmare. The hanging light is shaking subtly, then gives off a final twinkle of light before vanishing. Mark can hear running and then the door bursts open.
     "We need to go, now!" the man shouts, the building vibrating viciously. 
     Mark tosses the covers off him and snatches the girl in his arms. He doesn't even get a chance to ask the man what is going on as he starts scampering outside.
     "Hurry!" he says, holding the door open, the sky above him exploding. 
     Once outside, Mark can see blinding flashes of purple and white light behind the clouds, explosions so loud it sounds as if the world is crumbling in on itself. The slight section of the clouds are pushed apart as a boisterous transport vessel zooms across the sky and lands on the road. Three military frigates are seen in the hole of the clouds battling not rebels, but something he's never seen before. Five soldiers with long rifles open the sliding door of the transport and hope out.
     "Come on, civilians!" one of them urges. 
     They take the girl from Mark's arms and place her in a seat, fastening her belt. The other man gets inside as well. Mark tries to climb inside but is stopped by a soldier, a commander by the looks of his armor. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no room for you," he says, pushing him out.
     "You can't do this!"
     "Another transport will be here soon-" the commander is interrupted as one of the military frigates is destroyed, then another, leaving one left. The soldiers, Mark, everyone is scared. Whoever they are dealing with is powerful. 
     Susie begins to confess something but the transport's door is slammed shut and flies towards the remaining frigate. As it's zipping towards the frigate, Mark notices multiple shots coming from the enemy vessels. They strike down the frigate and then the transport. Mark is too stunned to cry, to speak, to breathe. He can only stand hopeless and watch the fiery debris falling towards the ground. One of the several purple vessels flies above the city. Enormous glowing energy accumulates underneath the ship and fires at the planet, sending cracks through the planet. The land is being eaten alive by its core. It sucks in one final breath, then explodes.