now he could never go back.
He rose unsteadily. The only sound he could hear was the subtle thrum of the engines and the rush of air outside. Out of the view screen in front of him stretched the great, blue Atlantica, boundless and free. He had smelled it his entire life but never dreamed it would look like this.
His mouth tasted of dry blood, so he went in search of water, finding a meager ration in the back. It tasted flat and dull, but he didn’t waste a drop. There were also satchels of pre-packaged food stacked in cloth containers that were affixed to the rear wall. His stomach cried in protest as he handled them, but he refused to eat any until he had a better grasp of his situation.
In the pilot’s chair, he was careful not to touch anything lest he send the flyer plummeting from the sky. The sun was low at his back, the ship’s shadow blazing a course on the water in front of him. Rainclouds lingered on the horizon, but they were quickly evaporating under the morning sun.
On the screen before him, several words stood out: Altitude. Speed. Gravity Displacement. Only one was blinking: Fuel Cell Capacity . He touched it and saw it replaced with a long rectangle, half filled with small, drab blocks. The image left no room for interpretation. He had passed the point of no return.
The flyer sped west, but he had no clue what awaited him. All his life he’d dreamed of escape, of bounding over the Wall on a quest for adventure. But he was reminded that all children shared such fancies because most were made at night under the cloak of their covers, only to evaporate in the morning like dew in the grass. But from this journey, he would not awake. To survive, he knew he needed to keep his wits and put everything else behind him.
When the sun finally overtook his position, Robinson gave in and ate his first box of rations. It was gone in an instant. Just when he felt the most alone, a spray of water burst from below. He leaped to his feet to peer over the nose of the ship as a school of giant sea mammals breached the water’s surface. He was awestruck. The creatures were oblong with oily black and spotted coats with fins and forked tails that helped them move gracefully with each stroke. Robinson searched his mind for some lesson that might name these leviathans but came up empty. He was told such things had died in the Great Rendering. Now that too had been unveiled as just another lie.
As the turns passed, the Fuel Cell markers continued to dwindle. Robinson tried to keep a brave façade, but it wasn’t easy. The sun was falling quickly and the ocean waters, once so playful, were growing still, dark, and ominous.
And then the sun disappeared for good.
Drops of rain pattered against the view screen, illuminated by the flyer’s front lights, which had turned on automatically after the sky had gone dark. Under the ocean, angry swells broke in all directions. The surface would plummet away into a vast abyss that seemed to stretch toward the planet’s core only to rebound a second later and kiss the runners of the ship.
When the second-to-last meter block ticked off, the chime turned into a buzz and a warning flashed on the screen: 325 kilometers remaining. His eyes fell to the numbers he had found in his mother’s locket. 3853772. Had they not been coordinates? Had her calculations been wrong?
When the final fuel cell block ticked away, a warning light bleated and an alarm rang. LOW FUEL CELL WARNING appeared on the screen. He looked outside again, but the storm blinded him to everything. He cut the lights to save power but knew it wouldn’t be enough. And then something hard hit the view screen.
Robinson quickly turned up the lights only to see that the glass was covered with blood. He was utterly confused until he saw a small, white feather wedged into a crack in the glass. It could only mean one thing: land was near.
Unfortunately, Robinson was so busy watching the kilometers click away that he barely saw
He rose unsteadily. The only sound he could hear was the subtle thrum of the engines and the rush of air outside. Out of the view screen in front of him stretched the great, blue Atlantica, boundless and free. He had smelled it his entire life but never dreamed it would look like this.
His mouth tasted of dry blood, so he went in search of water, finding a meager ration in the back. It tasted flat and dull, but he didn’t waste a drop. There were also satchels of pre-packaged food stacked in cloth containers that were affixed to the rear wall. His stomach cried in protest as he handled them, but he refused to eat any until he had a better grasp of his situation.
In the pilot’s chair, he was careful not to touch anything lest he send the flyer plummeting from the sky. The sun was low at his back, the ship’s shadow blazing a course on the water in front of him. Rainclouds lingered on the horizon, but they were quickly evaporating under the morning sun.
On the screen before him, several words stood out: Altitude. Speed. Gravity Displacement. Only one was blinking: Fuel Cell Capacity . He touched it and saw it replaced with a long rectangle, half filled with small, drab blocks. The image left no room for interpretation. He had passed the point of no return.
The flyer sped west, but he had no clue what awaited him. All his life he’d dreamed of escape, of bounding over the Wall on a quest for adventure. But he was reminded that all children shared such fancies because most were made at night under the cloak of their covers, only to evaporate in the morning like dew in the grass. But from this journey, he would not awake. To survive, he knew he needed to keep his wits and put everything else behind him.
When the sun finally overtook his position, Robinson gave in and ate his first box of rations. It was gone in an instant. Just when he felt the most alone, a spray of water burst from below. He leaped to his feet to peer over the nose of the ship as a school of giant sea mammals breached the water’s surface. He was awestruck. The creatures were oblong with oily black and spotted coats with fins and forked tails that helped them move gracefully with each stroke. Robinson searched his mind for some lesson that might name these leviathans but came up empty. He was told such things had died in the Great Rendering. Now that too had been unveiled as just another lie.
As the turns passed, the Fuel Cell markers continued to dwindle. Robinson tried to keep a brave façade, but it wasn’t easy. The sun was falling quickly and the ocean waters, once so playful, were growing still, dark, and ominous.
And then the sun disappeared for good.
Drops of rain pattered against the view screen, illuminated by the flyer’s front lights, which had turned on automatically after the sky had gone dark. Under the ocean, angry swells broke in all directions. The surface would plummet away into a vast abyss that seemed to stretch toward the planet’s core only to rebound a second later and kiss the runners of the ship.
When the second-to-last meter block ticked off, the chime turned into a buzz and a warning flashed on the screen: 325 kilometers remaining. His eyes fell to the numbers he had found in his mother’s locket. 3853772. Had they not been coordinates? Had her calculations been wrong?
When the final fuel cell block ticked away, a warning light bleated and an alarm rang. LOW FUEL CELL WARNING appeared on the screen. He looked outside again, but the storm blinded him to everything. He cut the lights to save power but knew it wouldn’t be enough. And then something hard hit the view screen.
Robinson quickly turned up the lights only to see that the glass was covered with blood. He was utterly confused until he saw a small, white feather wedged into a crack in the glass. It could only mean one thing: land was near.
Unfortunately, Robinson was so busy watching the kilometers click away that he barely saw
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