Thirteen Days

Chapter 1

13 Days Left

We got the message loud and clear. Earth would only be survivable for three more weeks. The toxic chemical composition of the polluted air would reach a boiling point where it would no longer be possible to breathe. Most of those rich or powerful enough to get a seat on the mega space station Avandra were already up in space, currently orbiting the planet until they found a way to fix all of this.

As I sat on my frayed leather couch, glancing out at the hazy, smoke filled LA horizon, I was exceedingly aware that I wasn't one of them. There was a lottery for a limited number of random tickets to get on that spaceship, a one in a million chance. There were only resources for so many, and I would do anything I could to get one of those tickets. The only problem – the lottery was just luck. I couldn't do anything other than wait with a coiling dread that settled into my stomach about what it would be like to stop breathing air. It made me wonder what my dad felt like at the end. The suffocating burning as the gases settled into my lungs and I choked on air like I was underwater...

I shook my head, my long black hair flipping over my face as I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. I grabbed my black boots, my pale hands quivering slightly as I tied the laces, the thought of my lungs being squeezed lingering like a parasite in my brain.

The lottery would be held later today, broadcast to the world on mega screens in the city squares, on phones, people's names and faces plastered over the internet for the whole world to see. When the lottery was first announced people thought they would just be able to steal the tickets, but they matched the ticket to the person's genetic code so even if the person died, no one else would be able to take their spot.

Still, it was dangerous to be a winner. Not everyone chosen had made it onto the ships. Theories sprung up all over the internet exactly as to why. The prevailing theory simply that if someone couldn't have something, they would make sure others couldn't have it too. But with the lack of police and military presence in the cities, no one really knew why.

Apparently, they would scan you before letting you on the ship. And the kind of security they had around the shuttles that would take you up to the Avandra would be impossible to get through. An enclosed fortress with thousands of military members and defensive tech people could only speculate about.

Hearing the lottery winners became some sort of game, people gathering on giant TV's as they'd held the lottery at different times in different countries who had helped fund the project. The United States was last in line, 20,000 tickets left for the whole country. LA was the last city on the list, and we only had 200 spots. And later today, I along with who knows how many other LA citizens would gather downtown on the mega screen to see if fate decided I was worthy of living more than thirteen more days.

I stepped outside into the smoke-filled air, slipping on my red re-breather mask. Two filtered holes on either side of the bottom of the mask which filtered out some of the toxic air, but I knew that I along with everyone else was being poisoned just by stepping outside even with the mask. It may be a one in a million chance to get on that ship, I wasn't about to miss seeing if I was one of the lucky ones. The screens were only a ten-minute ride from my house, so I should have plenty of time to get there and meet up for the lottery with the only person I could count on in all of this. Miller.

I blinked against the harsh fading sunlight that permeated the ever-present haze in the air. Sometimes the haze covered everything, today the haze was slighter, only distorting my view of the dilapidated LA suburbs far into the distance.

I grabbed my motorcycle, an old beater my dad had clomped together before he passed away, years of the toxic chemicals eating away at his lungs until his breath came in short fitful gasps and then not at all. After he died, I'd painted the whole thing black and put his shops logo on the side of it, a red hornet.

The black paint chipped in places after so much wear and tear. I'd thought of fixing it up so many times, but it like so much else seemed pointless when so little time was left. I revved the bike and kicked it into gear, sliding out into the street, careful to avoid the various potholes that sprung up like weeds in the street.

As I slid past the houses with cracked windows, broken fences and more than a few people passed out in the middle of the street or in the too-tall grass; I couldn't help feeling like everything was like the bike. Chipped, the paint done up all wrong. Like everything had just slid.

A man with a long grey beard stood in the middle of the street with bloodshot eyes, staring at me unblinking. I turned the bike up onto the sidewalk, grunting as it bumped up and glanced back over my shoulder to see if he was following. He didn't turn, and some of the churning anxiety in my stomach settled. You never knew, not these days. Cops didn't bother to patrol anymore, what was the point? No one wanted to spend their last days policing people who would be dead soon anyways.

The only law that really mattered now was what you could take with your own hands, or who had the bigger gun. Not everyone went the drug route, others did more extreme things – preferring to end it themselves rather than having the world end it for them. Mass suicides and strange rituals, people turning to old religious texts, everyone suddenly curious about what came after all of this.

I tried not to look too closely at the city as I got closer to downtown LA where the lottery was being shown. The city was almost unrecognizable from a year ago. Shattered windows, broken buildings that had been looted or set up as hovels for the homeless or the gangs which now controlled most of the streets.

As I turned the corner, a couple of broken-down cars were set up sideways at the end of the street, blocking anyone trying to get through. A group of men with guns stood at the end of it, glancing up as I went around the corner. I skidded the bike to a halt, kicking the bike back around.

"Not so fast." A man holding a rifle said from the way I'd come in. He didn't look much older than me, but his eyes were empty, like the weight of reality had settled in too firmly around him. More men with guns filtered in behind me, cutting off my escape. I was surrounded.

Thanks so much for reading! Please don't forget to vote and comment. I will be updating this story every Wednesday and Friday with new chapters.