Emergence: Chapter 6

The windows were shook and rattled by the wind, while a substance from the sky hit and burned the windows: acid rain. Trees were uprooted, flying past Tors's pockmarked window. He looked at the devastation outside. The statue of Ardican in the town square was half melted, the stone face sliding down its leg. There was nothing outside; nothing living anyway. Dead birds lined the streets, the feathers burnt by the rain. Some had their necks snapped from where the wind had dashed them against buildings. Everyone remained inside, only a few with the window hue set to transparent.

The planet Narcsia was tearing itself apart.

“At least the earthquakes have stopped.” Tors muttered to himself, trembling. He noticed that his scales had turned a dull red with worry, rather than the bright red they once were.

“What?” came a voice from upstairs.

The house Tors lived in was very traditional. There were three floors, with an escalator to each. Each person living in the house had their own floor, Tors with the middle. His house-mates had the others: Pandora downstairs, Emola upstairs.

“I said “at least the earthquakes have stopped!”” Tors called, coiling up his tail as he sat down.

“I know.” Emola called. “That was pretty bleedin' obvious, if you ask me!”

Tors's scale briefly shifted darker, before returning to their usual state. “It was just an observation!” Tors said, annoyed.

“Well it was a stupid one.” Emola said as he glided off the escalator. He nodded to the other escalator, “Pandora up yet?”

Tors chuckled, his reptilian lips curling up into a smile. “Her, up before dawn?”

His companion expressed a small smile at that. “Yeah true, should've thought about that.”

The rain battering the window seemed to pick up in pace and it seemed like the window might buckle. Luckily, the acid rain appeared to be mixed in with normal water rain, judging by the lack of new burns on the window. But the rain came harder and harder and Tors was sure that the window would have shattered if it was made of glass like usual windows, rather than a reinforced plastic.

“Tors!” Emola called, looking out of the other window.

“What?” Tors said, mesmerised by the pounding rain; the winds were so powerful, it was almost raining sideways.

“Naarl's house is... destroyed.” Emola said, his deep-blue scales growing darker. “I think he's dead.”

“No.” Tors whispered and hurried over to the window. Emola was right; the house was split down the middle by a tree, the trunk almost as thick as the house. There was no way Naarl, especially at his age, could have survived. “Poor guy.”

“Yeah...”

They fell into a respectful silence.

Tors went over to the table and turned on the Screen. Static greeted him. He grimaced and turned the screen off; the weather was even messing with the video signals. They had no way of communicating with the outside world now.

“Signal out?” Emola asked, glancing over at Tors.

“Yeah.” Tors said, before punching the cushioned chair. “Damn it!”

Emola gave Tors a strange look. “There's nothing you can do about it, and blaming the chair isn't going to help anyone, especially not the chair.”

“That's the thing,” Tors clenched his fists, “We have no control. No say if we live or die. We could all die like Naarl,” he gestured in the direction of his house, “without meaning or warning.”

“I'd rather not have a warning,” Emola said, “that way it doesn't haunt you.”

“I'd like a warning.” Tors said, more to himself than to Emola. “Have time to prepare.”

“Nah.” Emola shook his head. “Enjoy life until the end, I say.”

Tors pointed to the window. “Enjoying life right now?”

“You know what I mean. Oh, morning Pandora!”

Pandora emerged from up the escalator and stepped off less than gracefully as she tripped on the edge. As she fell, her hair reached out, grabbed a door handle, and pulled Pandora back up before it wrapped itself around her. She looked nervously up at the others and gave a shaky grin. “Is it morning? I cen't tell, it's so dark.”

Emola nodded at the escalator. “Nearly slipping there?”

“Nearly, yes. Thet's the best bit about being a Trasman; the hair looks out for you.” She spoke to her now, like a mother to a child, “Don't you? You look out for me, don't you?”

“That always creeps me out.” Emola said to Tors, gesturing to Pandora.

Pandora laughed. “Well, what do you Scalimen have? Big tails that are in your way? Oh dear...” She put on a mock frown before investigating, then sitting down on the cushioned chair. “I wish you wouldn't abuse the furniture Tors, this thing was frayed enough.”

“Does it really matter?” Tors said, his scales burning dark red.

“Calm down.” Pandora gestured at his scales. “Just a joke. You can wreck whatever you went in here, we cen't take it with us tomorrow.”

“If Evacuation-Day is still tomorrow and not delayed again.” Tors said dismally, “If it hadn't been, Naarl – across the road – would still be alive.”

Pandora's smile fell. “Yeah, I heard you say. He wes like a mentor to me, learning me the ways of Narcsia.”

“He will be missed,” Emola said, suddenly serious.

“He will.” Pandora said.

The storm raged outside.

There was a creak from upstairs.

“What was that?” Emola asked.

A deafening crack echoed as the winds tore the house's roof from its foundations. Tors watched it fly into the air, before being devoured by the storm, reduced to rubble in seconds.

“Close the door!” Tors yelled. Emola obeyed as water rushed down the escalator as the top floor flooded. The door click shut, then hissed as it sealed to be waterproof.

Tors let a breath out; that could have been bad. He looked back outside and he could see the winds ripping the upper walls to shreds. Soon, the ceiling above him would go, and those walls would be torn away. Down would be the only way to go, with a frantic dash as a torrent of water and acid storming behind them. Wind would take hold of their possessions and use them in combat, whilst grabbing Tors in its claws. Tors would prevail, but Pandora falls. Emola picks her up and drags her down the escalator, calling for Tors, who does not hear over the roaring winds. But he eventually finds the strength to pull himself up, muscles straining and, against Narcsia's apparent wishes, he throws himself down the escalator, closing the door to be watertight. Looking outside, Pandora makes a half-hearted quip about the cushioned chair flying past but then fell back into silence.

And all Tors could do was watch the chair spin, hoping that it wouldn't get revenge and puncture a window.

They were down to one last ceiling.

One last hope.