After the Argents (editing)

Prologue | Choice

Date: 1 Week After the Fall

Location: Southern Coast

Station ID: 002

We're tracking more superstorms coming in from the west. Fires across the region as the result of the increased lightning strikes. I'm recommending a Daily Severity Rating of 19. Our major concern is the integrity of the station and the surrounding hillsides with the continued fire damage and heavy rains. I plan to check the barometer later this week before the next storm rolls in.

It might already be fried. We've had a few smaller power surges, followed by one hell of a crash last week. It fried half the equipment. We've been trying patch up Comms so we can contact HUB 4. If they can't hear us, they can't help us. In my scientific option: the world has gone to shit. And we're supposed to observe and report.

Emily keeps telling me we should be out there trying to help. That's it's not right that we just packed up, closed the doors, and left the world to it. Not my call though. I'm just another climatologist on the payroll. The official statement from the HUB network was: we need somewhere safe while things settle to develop a strategic global response. Sounds like bullshit to me. What we've got is a front-row seat to witness nature's Armageddon.

Before Comms went down, the other Stations were reporting the same as us. Superstorms frying it all to hell and back. Fights on the ground. Whole cities underwater, or burning, or both. All I can do is keep the Station going and protect Em. That's all I have left.

To everyone else out there, I hope you find somewhere safe.

...

Date: 140 Years After the Fall

Location: Southern Coast

Pora ran until her lungs burned.

A drumming rhythm echoed through the fog. The slap of her bare feet against the wood. The heavy beating of her heart. And the pounding pursuit of the man hunting her down.

A Scout. The judge, jury, and executioners of the Sunken City.

One stupid choice changed her from another quiet shadow to a moving target. At first, she'd been impressed with the Scout's ability to keep up with her. A ten-year-old girl. Faster than she had a right to be. Stronger. Now she worried. Bare feet dodged and cut across docks. He kept gaining on her. The fog burning off in the first streaks of dawn. Her cover was nearly gone. Sweat streaked down her face and soaked the edges of the scarf wrapped tightly around her hair.

If he caught her... her kind was rare and valuable. She'd rather be dead than captured. Her footsteps started to falter with each wild sprint through the maze of docks, lashed together into haphazard slums. There wasn't enough time.

A running leap and she landed on the deck of her mother's houseboat, calling out in an urgent whisper. A moment later Pora was shoved through the hatch on the floor and lowered herself into the icy ocean water.

"Get down and hold on," Pora's mother barked.

Her greying hair stuck out in spikes from her head, emphasizing dark eyes and a wiry frame. She gave her daughter a hard look and dropped the hatch. Pora took deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow. Digging her fingers into the mismatched, rotting Styrofoam that kept their house afloat, she thought of every harsh word her mother had forbid her from saying aloud.

The heavy current dragged at her clothes. She flexed thin arms, tightening her grip until her hands prickled, and held on. The houseboat rocked as someone boarded.

What have I done?

The howl of the wind muffled the sounds above. Small, choppy waves lapped against the styrofoam, splashing up through the floorboards. Struggling to keep her head above water, Pora took gulps of air between each salty wave. Footsteps crossed overhead. She caught glimpses of her mother's set stance as the man approached her. The Scout's silver uniform dim within the canvas walls. The angry exchange of words lost as water splashed into Pora's ears. Furniture scraped and tools clattered across the floor, a few dropping between the cracks in the wood floor, disappearing beneath the choppy waves. Pora couldn't make out her mother's angry words, but she cringed at the sharp crack that silenced them.