Survivor

*The engines were salvaged mostly from cars that had never*
gotten repaired. Lashed to the chassis with metal coils, they were hopefully
going to provide enough force to get not only over the walls, but also a fair
enough distance away that she wouldn’t just die in the desert once she landed.
She unclogged the turbines, and then hooked up each engine, one by one, to the
power source. That was going to be this thing’s core. It needed to be secure.

It may have been months, but Esme could still remember the
maelstrom’s arrival shockingly well. Not the arrival as in its conception, of
course – she, like a lot of people these days, hadn’t quite been born yet when
some science expedition or whatever had gone horribly wrong and released an
ancient chaotic entity unto the Nimbus System. No, her vivid memory was of the
point where the maelstrom had encircled her tiny town, cutting off routes in
and out of the settlement and forcing everyone to live their lives boxed in
like rats in a trap.

It had been a distant rumbling at first, a figurative and
literal storm cloud on the horizon. A group of stromlings spotted closer than
normal, and a vague tension in the air. And then, one day, she’d woken up to
shouts of panic and confusion, and had quickly found out from the livefeed of
the external wall that the city had been completely encircled overnight. How
they’d done it, she still wasn’t sure. Perhaps the guards had just slacked off
for a night. Perhaps the patrols had (somehow?) missed them. Perhaps there’d been
some other oversight someplace, somewhere. She supposed it didn’t really
matter.

The walls themselves still stood, and they remained the only
things keeping the maelstrom out. In leigh of counting on help from the wider
Nimbus System (her town were still sending out distress signals, but a consistently
bad connection and low power supply meant that they were choppy at best), it
was the walls that the townspeople put their faith in – religiously repairing
any damage that occurred whenever a stromling or five threw themselves at it in
an attempt to bring it down, letting building maintenance crumble as
maintenance of the walls became everyone’s priority. The general consensus was
that so long as their walls held, the town would survive.

Of course, a *general* consensus is just that, and
there are always going to be some people who disagree.

Esme would have to be one of them.

*The power source eventually found slap-bang in the centre*
of the main harness. Encased in the middle of the metal pack that was itself in
the centre of the chassis, its connection to the engines was maintained whilst
at the same time it itself was protected from damage. At least, hypothetically.

*She certainly* hoped*.*

Esme’s life had never been totally easy, obviously, but it
seemed to her as though it’d just gotten worse and worse as time had passed.
Like; okay, so you start off and your born essentially in squalor – enough to
get buy but not enough to do much more then that? Okay. Then, have a bunch of
siblings (both older and younger) who are, for the most part, a hugely
disagreeable bunch of assholes? Fine. Then develop a condition – transverse
myelitis, she’d looked it up – that basically totally messes with your spinal
column, inciting weakness in limbs and regular bouts of pain? Sure! Why not?

Worse, according to what she’d read, transverse myelitis was
treatable if whoever was suffering from it cottoned on quickly enough and got
it looked at. However, she’d been about ten at the time – so, totally incapable
of doing something like that for herself – and her waste-of-life parents hadn’t
bothered to get it checked out. By the time anyone (her) had realised that
something was really wrong, it was too late to do much about it. The only
specialist in the town, a half-blind woman in her nineties, had told her family
that there was no effective cure for her condition, and that their best option
was treatment of the symptoms before they became any worse. These would include
rehabilitation and hospital treatment, physical therapy, and steroids. Her
parents, however, had more children than money to spare, and so instead opted
to shrug their shoulders, offer their daughter condolences, and then make their
way back home, as though hope hadn’t still been there, if only they’d had a way
or a drive to take it and run with it.

*After hammering the pack into an acceptably pack-esque*
shape, she slid the device in and shut the main back. Experimentally, she
flicked one of the engines on. It roared to life in a billow of fire and smoke.
She paused for a moment, suddenly terrified that she was about to be
interrupted, discovered, stopped; but moments passed and no interruption came,
and eventually, her paranoia faded away.

Her father had run an engineering shop before he’d died, and
when she’d been younger, little baby Esme had spent her time there, watching
him work. He’d never been too agreeable about her presence there – not that he
was worried for her safety, of course, but it was more an issue he had with her
being in the way while he was trying to get things done. However, her mother
had convinced him (probably because she was eager to have one less child to
watch over, even for a brief amount of time), and eventually, he’d let her
stick around. Though not before making her swear to not touch any of his
things. Obviously.

As she’d gotten older, she’d discovered an interest in
engineering things herself. She’d like to say that she’d had a pragmatic reason
for it, in that it would be a useful skill to have or anything like that. The
truth, though, was that she’d just thought it neat. However, her father had
still never let her use any of the things in his shop, despite her protests
that he wasn’t using whatever she wanted to use. He’d lose his temper quickly,
often yelling and throwing things (though not at her, thankfully). As business
worsened, his mood had only gotten worse, and only time his personality became
anything agreeable was when her mother was around. She supposed, in hindsight,
that that was *one* good thing about the two of them. If there was anything
they’d loved (which was doubtful in and of itself), it was each other.

But then, two things had happened in relatively quick
succession. Firstly, the local specialist had given Esme her diagnosis. And
then, secondly, her dad had died in an accident involving a giant stone block,
which apparently would have been funny in any other context. She hadn’t seen it
happen, unfortunately, but descriptions of the event made her wish she had. A
little, anyway.

She couldn’t say anything about the funeral, because she
hadn’t been there. By that point, her condition had made it so that walking was
basically an impossibility, and so her ever-compassionate family had left her
in bed for the day whilst they’d gone to see the burial of their patriarch. But
Esme liked to think of herself as having always been a go-getter – whether she
had, of course, it was impossible to say for sure. But on that day
specifically, something about the whole situation – her condition, her father’s
death, the rest of her family just leaving her in bed like a stuffed toy they’d
all grown out of – had incensed her to the point where she’d taken action.

The process had been incredibly slow; another fun feature of
transverse myelitis was the way that even small touches could cause a whole
load of pain. But she’d hauled herself into the now-defunct machine shop (which
had been built into the ground level of her house), grabbed her father’s
discarded tools, and set to work.

Her family had returned around ten hours later, and they’d
found Esme asleep on the floor of the shop, surrounded by tools, machine parts,
and the beginnings of what would become her first creation – a pair of leg
braces.

*She couldn’t help but reminisce as she calibrated the*
engines, peering at them through an oversized looking glass. This’d almost
certainly be the final thing she’d build in this workshop (if not ever,
assuming this somehow went wrong and got her killed). It was the end of an era.
It was-

*A shower of sparks flew out of the pack, and reminiscing*
time was cut short in favour of cursing and focusing more intently on what she
was actually doing.

The braces had never been a replacement for functional legs,
and she didn’t think that they ever would be. But as it stood (hah), she could
walk forwards and backwards, and stand up and sit down. Stairs had remained an
issue, although she’d maintain that she was close to cracking the problem
before the maelstrom had arrived (at which point, life had turned upside-down
all over again). All it meant was that it was that she’d soon moved her bed and
meagre personal belongings down into the machine shop (to the mockery of a
couple of her siblings, who’d accused her of “missing daddy”), and that the
only truly awful parts of the day was when she had to get in and out of the
braces, with the movement sending pain streaking up and down her over-sensitive
legs. As she’d grown older, she’d also had to deal with the occasional bout of
pain that seemed to just flow from her spine indiscriminately, but for the most
part she’d grown used to those over time.

Still, a big problem with them had been the fact that they
were homemade, meant that they had often needed touching up, repairing, or
remodelling (especially as she grew over the years). This had come to annoy her
family, because it had taken up a lot of Esme’s time and money. She’d taken
over the machine shop in the years after her father’s death, but anything she’d
made from that had gone towards maintaining her braces and taking care of
herself, and there’d been little if anything to pool out amongst her relatives.
Not that she’d been very inclined to share with them anyway.

The biggest thing that her braces ate up was energy. Power.
The motors in them that allowed her to bend her knees, and the mechanical
functions that helped support them and her, had always ploughed through any
stock of batteries that she’d been able to buy, and it felt as though she was
off trying to find more almost every day.

And then, one day, she’d walked into the trinket shop on a
quest for batteries, and found something totally revolutionary. Or, at least,
it could have been.

*The controls, she liked to imagine were a stroke of*
inspiration on her part. A wheel rigged to motion sensors – her turning it left
and right would control which direction she went, and her tilting it would
control the trajectory. Hypothetically, it was an excellent solution to the
problem of control. If only she had time to test it.

*Alas, she was going to have to fly by the seat of her*
pants on this one.

*Heh.*

*“fly”.*

A new item had been on the place of honour at the checkout
desk. The owner, Manuel – an elderly man with a ragged white beard and
something of a crazed look in his eye – had eyed her warily, even as she’d eyed
the thing curiously. It’d looked like a globe, only instead of any tacky
depiction of scenery inside, there had been small electric blue light that kept
pulsing and fluctuating. She’d been mesmerised.

“Hey, old geezer, what’s that even supposed to be?” She’d
asked him. Perhaps it had been an impolite way to address him, but she’d known
him for years, and he’d never been polite to *her*. That ship had sailed.

He’d smiled a toothless smile at her.

“Hell if I know.” He’d said, sounding disgustingly
self-satisfied – especially for someone who claimed to know nothing. She’d
decided to call him out on it.

“So, what, you’re just displaying it there?” She’d
challenged. “When you have no idea what it is? Give me a break.”

His smile had only widened.

“You got me,” he’d said. “It’s kinda special.”

““Special”.” Esme had parroted, still unconvinced.

“Well, y’see…” Manuel had taken the globe and, without
warning, trotted over to the mains of the building at a pace that defied his
age. He’d opened up the box, and then he’d unplugged all the wires and plunged
the store into darkness before Esme had been able to say anything. Then, he’d
awkwardly crammed the globe into the box. The store’s lights had come back on –
and *stayed* on. They hadn’t even flickered in the same way that they
normally did.

“S’power source.” He grunted. “Strong one too.”

Esme hadn’t trusted herself to say anything, but Manuel must
have sensed a level of hesitation from her, because he’d sniggered to himself.

“Don’t believe me? I had this thing powering the store for a
week, and it never even went down. I could leave it in for another week, if
it’d convince ya.”

She’d ended up watching the thing for two days straight. The
lights had never dimmed, the source had never run out, her family had never
come looking for her. And by the end, she’d been convinced. And inspired.

Head full of ideas, she’d turned to Manuel, asked how much
the source was, if there was anything she could do to earn or buy it from him.
And this old man had looked her, a little girl, dead in the eyes and said:

“Are you stupid? This isn’t for you. If I ever sell this,
it’ll be to some millionaire who’s willing to pay me their millions to get it.
It’s a miracle, and worth more than anything you make’ll ever be.”

*The final touches – connecting it*
all together. After fusing the wheel to the sensors, and well as actually
calibrating them, she lost herself in hammering as she finalised the
connections between the engines and the frame and the pack, the singing of
steel on steel soothing her and creating an almost monotonous sense of routine.
Sparks flew. Metal crashed. And she saw her great plan take shape.

As time had passed, she’d had to revisit Manuel’s shop on
many an occasion for one reason or another. The power source had often come up
as a topic of idle conversation, because she’d never been able to not fixate on
it, and soon she’d learnt a lot about it, either from asking direct questions,
or listening to the old man prattle on about the pride and joy of his store.
She learned that it had been found at an archaeological dig of all places, that
it was most likely a relic of some advanced ancient society, and that it was
still happily powering his store with no visible drawbacks.

It became tantalising.

Still, there had always been other things to dwell on. With
her father gone, her family life had gone further and further down the drain,
as her mother – not that she’d ever been a super present, attentive, and loving
parent to begin with – had shrunken further and further into herself, becoming
almost a ghost in the house. This meant that Esme’s older siblings – namely,
eldest brother Onyx and eldest sister Sapphire – had taken up the running of
the house in her stead. The only problem was that her older siblings had always
been cruel, and her younger siblings began to look up to them. Which meant
cruel younger siblings.

Topaz, one of her older sisters, eventually became the only
sibling she could stand to be in the same room as for any great length of time.
She was willowy, diminutive, and got constantly picked on by the others. Esme
had always wanted to fight back – for Topaz’s sake, if not for her own – but
there had never been much she could have done given that all it took was a
light poke to the leg to incapacitate her from pain.

The week before the maelstrom had arrived, Onyx and Sapphire
had called a group meeting to discuss the family finances. Topaz had helped
Esme into the dining room, and everyone else had glared at them as they’d
arrived. They’d all been there for a while – the elders sitting at the head of
the table, with everyone sitting further and further down based on age. Esme’s
place was typically near the back of the table – for elder siblings, she had
Onyx, Sapphire, Lazuli, Diamond, and Topaz, whilst in the way of younger
siblings, she only had Silver and Ruby, who were twins. (Her mother had always
had a taste in names far more expensive than her station. Esme – whose full
name was technically “Emerald” – often wondered if naming her children after
jewels was supposed to be some sort of consolation strategy.)

“I think we need to do something about our most consistent
financial drains.” Onyx had said. “Things like down payments on the house,
groceries, and Esme.”

Esme had looked up from where she’d been staring at the
table, mind totally elsewhere. “Me?” She’d asked dryly, testing the waters. A
lot of the time, the worst her siblings would do would be joke at her expense,
but they’d been nasty before. She wouldn’t have been surprised if there had
been some kind of plan to remove her from the house altogether.

“I swear you keep- how much money does it cost to keep that
thing running?” Sapphire pointed at Esme’s braces with a sneer.

“Oh, what, would you prefer I just not be able to walk?”
Esme had fired back. In hindsight, it had been completely the wrong thing to
say.

“Actually,” mused Onyx, “we would.”

They’d taken the braces away that very evening, and she’d
never felt more helpless.

*She didn’t have much experience with backpacks, but*
altogether, her contraption felt a lot like one. Slinging it all over her
shoulders, she almost stumbled at the sudden weight behind her, frightening
herself at the last moment by placing a stabilizing hand on her desk. She
sighed in exhilaration, before tightening the straps around her.

*Hesitantly, she flicked a switch on the shoulder of her*
pack – and immediately regretted it as all the engines burst to life at once,
and she shot forwards. Angling the steering wheel, she raised her legs and flew
above her desk feet first, knocking metal to the floor in an almighty clanging
and stopping in place just before hitting the wall. Then, she started to move
backwards. Faster and faster.

*As risky as it was, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so*
exhilarated.

A combination of losing her braces and the maelstrom
arriving meant that Esme’s outlook became that much more pessimistic. And,
really, who could blame her? Suddenly, it was almost as if nothing seemed to
really matter. Her first engineering project had been ripped from her, and
consequentially her autonomy had been scuppered. And *then* the maelstrom
had surrounded the whole town, and promised nothing but an untimely death.

The one bright point was that her siblings, after that,
seemed less focused on bullying her, and more trying to keep themselves alive.
Priorities, she supposed.

For most of her days, she was now alone in the workshop –
her only company was Topaz, who brought her whatever food she could sneak to
her.

“Thanks.” She’d mumbled through a mouthful of slightly stale
bread one day. “I owe you one.”

“Oh, you don’t owe me anything!” Topaz had replied,
nervously pushing her fingers together and avoiding Esme’s eyes. “I just, I
think it’s just not fair that you’re left to starve in here, is all.”

Overwhelmed by a sudden and rare surge of affection, Esme
couldn’t help but smile. “You’re my favourite sibling, you know that.” Not that
the bar had ever been that high to begin with, obviously.

Topaz had flushed crimson. “I… I wouldn’t say…”

Esme had waved her off. “Too late, I said it now, no
take-backs. Just go, before anyone notices you’re missing.”

Obediently, Topaz had nodded and left the room.

*Turning the contraption off, her back hit the wall and an*
intense jolt of pain shot through her spine. Gritting her teeth, she let
herself sink to the ground and sit there, hissing, for several minutes. The
growl of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten for at least a day, and
the weight of her eyelids chimed in with a reminder that she hadn’t slept for
at least as long as that.

*Then, from somewhere else in the house, she heard a scream.*
And a growl.

*Her heart almost stopped in her chest right then and*
there. Cautiously, she crept over to the entrance to the workshop and opened
the door open a crack, inquisitive eyes open and ready to catch a sight of the
maelstrom in the rotting flesh.

*She didn’t have to wait long – the last she would ever*
see of one of her sisters (which one, she honestly couldn’t say for sure) was
her being pursued up the stairs by a shambling figure with necrotic purple
flesh and a wicked-looking jagged blade from an arm.

*Time was up.*

The good thing about the isolation was that it gave Esme’s
mind more time to work. More time to come up with things. More time to plot and
plan and scheme and be creative. She’d always enjoyed the thought that she’d
traded away her physical freedom in exchange for intelligence, even though she
knew that it was dumb luck she’d been born smart and shit luck she’d contracted
her condition. But now that she couldn’t even walk by herself, there was
nothing for her to do but think.

And think she did.

She still did what work she could, but business had
basically ground to a halt since the maelstrom’s arrival. Nobody cared about
getting their mechanics and electronics fixed when their world was on the brink
of ending. Go figure.

One day, Topaz came barrelling into her little garage at
full pelt.

“The wall!” She cried. “It’s beginning to collapse.”

Stunned, Esme waited for Topaz to speak further. For a
moment, she didn’t say anything else. Then;

“Oh!” She flushed crimson. “I’m so sorry; I forgot- I
thought you were going to follow me-”

“Don’t sweat it.” Esme hid her irritation – it had been an
honest mistake. “Just tell me what’s going on, I don’t fancy hauling myself out
there.”

Topaz nodded. “There’s a fault in the wall. Everyone’s doing
their best to hold it, but at this point, we don’t have the resources to patch
it up completely. And the maelstrom’s beginning to concentrate there… we don’t
know how long we have left!”

“How long do you think?” Asked Esme.

Topaz swallowed nervously. “If the maelstrom attacked now,
maybe hours. But maybe if they don’t, longer. Days? Weeks? I don’t… I don’t
know.”

“Huh.” Esme thought back to all the ideas she’d had, and
began sifting through them. Combining. Adapting to the news.

“Well, nothing motivates like a deadline.”

*Hastily, she backed away from the door and closed it*
tight. Enough was enough. It was time to go. Without wasting a second, she ran
for the machine shop’s exit into the street, throwing open the door without
caution (luckily for her, that particular coast was clear), and turning to look
at the sky. Flicking a switch, she fired up the engines, and-

*“Esme?”*

It was almost ready. Esme had looked over her notes a final
time, and most of everything she needed was right there, in that old shop. She
only needed a few more things.

It was time to pay Manuel a final visit.

First, she flicked open all the electrical devices she could
find in the room – her music player, her fan, the things customers had left her
to fix – and pocketed their batteries and miscellaneous power supplies. She’d
need them, and she’d replace what she had to later, once she’d replenished her
supply.

Next, she inched her chair over to her door and then pounded
loudly on it until one of her siblings – Ruby – opened it.

“What do you want, dirty cripple?” She’d bellowed with all
the force of a pre-teen who doesn’t necessarily know the meaning of what
they’re saying. Inwardly, Esme cringed, but outwardly, she maintained her
composure. In her household, it did no good to show weakness.

“I need Topaz.” She declared, authoritive. “Are you gonna
run and get her, or are you an even bigger waste of space then me?”

“What do you need her for?” Ruby asked, and *man*, it
was depressing to think that her elder siblings were instilling in her younger
ones this sense of suspicion, mistrust and hatred at such a young age.

Ah, well. It wouldn’t be her problem for much longer.

“Does it matter?” Esme snarled. “Just fetch her before I
kick your scrawny little ass.”

“You can’t kick *anyone*’s ass.” Ruby retorted. “You
can’t kick!” And, to prove her point, she swung her little foot and hammered
Esme in the shin. The pain was excruciating – Esme had to bite her lip to stop
herself from shrieking out loud. But she weathered the pain, and fixed a glare
of the utmost disdain upon her younger sister, whose expression was beginning
to morph into that distinctive expression children get when they’ve done
something wrong and know it.

“I don’t need legs,” Esme hissed, “to wring your scrawny
little neck. Now fetch Topaz, before I hook you up to a car battery.”

Whether it was the threat, or just a guilty conscience, her
younger sister at last ran off, and a moment later, Topaz appeared.

“What is it?” She asked, breathless from coming in a hurry.
Esme scooted to the side to let Topaz into the machine shop, and then shut the
door. Sealing the conversation in the room with them and them alone.

“I need you to get my braces.” Esme said, without any
preamble. “Wherever they are – wherever those goons have hidden them – I need
you to bring them to me.”

Topaz blanched. “Esme, I can’t.” She protested. “They’ll
know- they’ll know it was me, surely.”

“Topaz, listen to me.” Esme seized her sister’s hands. “Give
it a day or two, and I won’t even be in this house anymore. No more burden, no
more spare. I’m getting out of this town.”

“I- wait, you were never a burden!” Topaz protested. “Esme,
that’s not fair. You were always my sister.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t *theirs*.” Esme pointed out. “They
stopped seeing me as a real person a long time ago. I just need your help, and
a couple of days, and then I’m gone.”

“Well, I- wait! But how?” Topaz gasped, having just realised
the rest of what Esme had said. “Esme, how are you getting out of here? The
town’s surrounded by maelstrom, if you try to leave, they’ll kill you! Remember
the-”

“Believe me, I know.” Esme nodded gravely, remembering the
story she’d heard of a group of people – possibly a family, although she’d
never found out – trying to escape the city on foot, and being torn apart by
the maelstrom one by one. “Just leave the details to me. if you get me my
braces, I can begin working on this properly. I can get out of here.”

“I-” Topaz began, but Esme, losing patience, seized her
sister’s wrist in a painful grasp.

“Topaz!” She hissed. “Just this one thing, and then you’ll
never have to do anything for me ever again. I know it’s not fair for me to ask
anything from you, after all you’ve *already* done, but just- just one
last time, okay?”

Topaz flinched, but then turned to look back at Esme. For
some reason, there were tears in her eyes.

“Okay.”

*Topaz was standing behind her, a shell-shocked look on*
her face.

*“Hey.” Waved Esme, dumbly, speaking loudly over the sound*
of the engines as they belched smoke and choked fire.

*Topaz nodded, but didn’t say anything else, simply*
continuing to stare. Suddenly, Esme felt self-conscious. Then, unbothered. Then
– as the maelstrom appeared behind the both of them – anxious.

*Waving to her sister, she angled the steering wheel she*
was holding, and felt her miraculous creation – her wings – lift her off the
ground.

Braces donned, and with enough power for the time being
thanks to the batteries she’d scavenged from the shop, she marched into
Manuel’s store with intent. The old man had only aged worse since the siege
from the maelstrom had begun, and now he almost looked like a sentient
skeleton, his skin stretched thin over his bones and his eyes shrunken.

“Hey, Manuel.” She greeted, casually, as she marched into
the shop. In one hand, she held all the loose change she’d been able to find.
In the other, she held the largest wrench from her store.

“Esme.” Manuel sounded almost surprised – though his voice
was so weak, it was difficult to tell. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in so
long…”

“A lot’s happened.” She agreed, before leaning over the
counter and into Manuel’s face. “Listen, old man, this is gonna be rough, but I
really, *really* need your power source.” Manuel blinked, and she pressed
on. “I know I always wanted it, but right now, it’s a matter of life and death
and I’m *desperate*. I have some money now, but I can write out an I.O.U
for as much money as you want. Name your price. You hear that, Manuel?” She
spread her arms, trying to sound inviting. “It’s an investment, but you’ll get
all your money, if I can just use that thing today.” She breathed harshly.
“Please.”

Manuel stared at her for several moments longer, and she
almost couldn’t blame him. His brain was probably struggling to understand that
many words. Then, he opened his mouth.

*“Run, Topaz!” She encouraged.*

*Topaz glanced over her shoulder at the maelstrom that had*
appeared at the end of the road – the bodies and abominations were so densely
knit, so crowded, that it looked more like a wave of darkened water than
anything else.

*Esme briefly considered trying to pick Topaz up, but*
dismissed the idea. She had no idea how much weight her wings were capable of
holding – she didn’t want to risk getting the both of them killed.

“Not a chance.” Manuel sneered. “You think some pretty words
and a handful of loose change will sway me? Pah! It is good to see you are
still a fool, girl.”

Esme snarled at him in response. “What, you’re still holding
out for some rich bastard to saunter in and buy it off you? I’ve got news for
you, old man; nobody new is even going to come to this town, alright? We’re on
an edge! When that wall falls, and apparently it *will*, we all die.
You’re still holding out hope now?”

Instead of answering her question, Manuel rolled his
yellowing eyes. “If we’re all dying, then why are you here? Why do *you*
want it?” He asked her back. “What point would there be to me giving it to
you?”

“Oh, so you’re just keeping it out of spite, is that it?”
Esme retorted sarcastically, dumping her coins onto the desk in front of
Manuel. “Look, this is non-negotiable. I’m taking that power source. Accept the
payment or not, old man, but I want to live, and it’s my best bet.”

“No-!” Manuel stood up, as threatening as an elderly man
with one foot already in the grave could be. “I won’t let you take it from me!”

For a moment, Esme almost felt a surge of pity towards the
old fool. He’d staked all his hopes for the future on the thing, and it hadn’t
come through for him in the end. And hell if she didn’t know what it was like to
feel like there was nothing you could count on. But really, what was he going
to do with it otherwise? And it wasn’t as though he was going to live much
longer anyway, what with his age. He *had* to be in his eighties by this
point.

“You don’t have a choice.” She told him, and began to march
to the store’s fuse box, where she knew the source still was (the lights, after
all, were still completely consistent).

With a speed that defied his age, Manuel ran at her, letting
out a guttural cry. Startled, and almost without thinking, she turned around
and cracked the old man over the head with the wrench she’d brought with her,
the one that she’d hoped to use as a weapon but hadn’t necessarily *planned*
on using. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, and in spite of herself, she took
a moment to stare at his comatose form. She couldn’t see him breathing. There
didn’t appear to be any blood, but she figured that there was probably more to
it than that.

Had she-?

Well.

It’d been her or him. At least, that’s what she kept telling
herself as she tore the somehow-infinite power source out of the store’s fuse
box, cutting the lights. As she marched back home best she could with her
braces. As she left the body behind in the dark.

*There was someone at the other end of the alley.*

*They were trying to get over a makeshift barricade, that*
had apparently been thrown together at some point before the maelstrom’s
arrival. But it was doing its job well, and they couldn’t get past.

*Instead of running inside any of the houses, Topaz ran to*
the end of the street to the barricade. Even as Esme watched, untouched in the
sky, Topaz leant down and let the other person clamber over the top of her and
past the barricade. To safety.

*The maelstrom was upon her a second later.*

Esme could feel Topaz’s eyes on her as she flung a last
armful of scrap metal onto her workbench.

“Just… hopefully they’re too busy, but just in case, make
sure the others don’t come in here and steal all my tools, or something.”

Topaz shook her head. “They won’t. Onyx and Lazuli have gone
to try and help patch up the wall – Sapphire’s finding shelter for the others.”

“How ‘bout that.” Esme deadpanned. “Taking responsibility in
their final moments.”

Topaz still looked disgruntled, but didn’t say anything. She
never *had* been one for just saying stuff outright, Esme mused, but it
wasn’t as though she was going to ask now. She had work to do.

“Thanks.” She instead nodded at Topaz. “Favourite sibling.”

“You always say that.” Sighed Topaz, before stepping out of
the room and closing the door behind her. It felt ominously final.

With a final shrug, Esme grabbed a pair of goggles, and set
to work.

*The house burned. The walls were destroyed. Topaz’s body*
was nowhere to be seen. The whole town was a pile of rubble.

*She alone flew over their heads, out into the sands. Out*
into the world. Finally.

*And though the rest of the world may have lamented the*
deaths, she could only feel happiness, because at last. She was free.

And so it came to pass that Esme Moore was cut loose from
her earthly ties, watching from the sky as everything she’d always known was
destroyed.

And she flew.