Even though he could not see the city overhead, the streets encircling him, the building stretching above him, he still heard all of it.
“Let’s get a move on,” the mother whispered over the radio. “Maybe they’re already back on the ship!”
“Why won’t these children listen?” the father said quietly, his footsteps seeming hurried.
“I’m going to tell you again,” the mother said, her voice urgent. “Get to the platform. Quickly, don’t stop. Get across the bridge and I’ll be right behind you.”
The bridge. It was one of the many things he could not identify. Electrical lines draped from the ceiling between thin wires. Some were black while some were empty. They swayed slightly in the wind.
He stumbled in the wind. He tripped over his feet. He let out a scream. But, he was almost there. Almost.
He could almost hear the voices, screaming for him. He knew they were coming down the stairs.
The railing was just ahead. He placed his right foot forward. It wobbled upwards slightly. He repositioned his foot and jumped towards the rail.
He pushed off and launched himself onto the sidewalk. The door to the hangar was just ahead.
He could hear the footsteps. They weren’t far behind.
He could see the door. It was already open. Wind blew. Papers scattered.
He raced passed it and hurtled over the stairs. He had no control.
Everything spun. He blinked quickly, trying to get his bearings.
He was still running, he knew it. He could feel it. He could hear everything.
But, where was he?
Where was he?
Breath came hard. He could feel his heart beating faster. It was fighting to pump blood to his brain. He could feel it struggling to work. He needed oxygen. He needed it now.
He tripped. He stumbled down the steps.
His hands found purchase. He held on, stopping his fall. His head hit something.
He was okay. He could breathe just fine. He could tell.
He tried to move. His head throbbed. He felt something growing in his head.
He could barely hear himself think. He had an out of body sensation.
He closed his eyes. He did not open them. He waited.
“Nicholas,” he heard the mother say. “Give him a kiss.”
He felt the lips on his cheek. The mother was touching him. His head.
She pulled him to his feet.
“The shuttle?” he barked.
“It’s here. The other ship just arrived,” she said. “The other family. They’re here. They’re waiting for us.”
“The other family?”
“The other family,” she said. “They’re here. All of them. Small children. Just like us.”
He counted six. He counted all of the voices. He counted them quickly. They were all there.
Except him.
There were seven.
“We have to go,” the captain said. “Everyone, start moving.”
He walked away. He looked back once. He knew he should not, but he did.
Someone was missing. The voice was missing. There was no more singing. There was only silence.
“We have to go,” he said again.
Earlier that day, they were all outside. Inside the ship, it was quiet. There was no singing, no rustling of bodies. There was no scrunching of shoes.
“How do we call them?” one of the parents asked. The captain sighed.
“We will call one by one,” he said. “Let’s start from the back. Benton, Xave?”
There was no answer.
“They’re in here,” another one of the parents said. The captain hummed and let out a snort.
He leaned down on his knees and peered into the cabin.
“Benton, Xave,” he called out. “There’s something outside I want…”
He stopped talking. He was looking at something. He could see it, even though it was facing down.
