The Despair: Part 3

“Please... you’re a doctor. You have to see my sister.” My voice cracked, raw and unfiltered as desperation clawed its way out of me. It felt as though the words themselves were a plea, frayed at the edges by helplessness.

Since the sun’s explosion, the world had transformed into an unpredictable battleground. At first, the planet had settled into an uneasy calm, as if holding its breath—but now? Chaos reigned. One moment, the winds whispered softly through the streets; the next, they roared with ferocity, blizzards tearing through neighbourhoods with an icy vengeance that could freeze you to the bone. It was as if the Earth itself mourned, raging against its own helplessness—reflecting us, its inhabitants.

The doctor in front of me, a man who once been a figure of authority and hope, now stood as little more than a shadow of those ideals. His face was a mosaic of exhaustion, his shoulders weighed down by the unrelenting tide of the world’s demands.

“We understand your concern,” the doctor began, his voice heavy with weariness. “But we already have patients in more critical conditions—women in labor, multiple cases of carbon monoxide poisoning, and worse. All I can recommend is that your sister gets a good night’s rest.”

His rejection hit me like a physical blow, sharp and unforgiving. My teeth clenched as I swallowed the rising tide of frustration, the anger, the helplessness that threatened to spill over. This was the third hospital that had turned us away. It had started innocently—a spell of lightheadedness, nothing more. But when Lumina’s temperature spiked, her small body burning with a fever I couldn’t break, it became a fight I couldn’t ignore.

“But my sister can’t wait any longer!” I snapped, my tone sharpening into a blade. “Can't you see that she’s getting worse!”

For a moment, the doctor’s steely expression faltered. Behind his guarded eyes, I saw something flicker—sympathy, maybe, or guilt. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same weary resignation I’d seen on every other face. His silence screamed what he wouldn’t say out loud: there was nothing he could do.

This hospital had been my last hope, the final beacon of light in an otherwise unending darkness. The only place where electricity still crackled through the wires, where the hum of generators provided a heartbeat of life in the city’s decay. But even here, the facade of stability was crumbling. Makeshift tents sprawled across the perimeter, their sagging forms mirroring the hopelessness of the people huddled inside them. The hallways, once pristine, were now overflowing with the injured, the sick, and the desperate. Every corner reeked of unwashed bodies and despair. And like so many before us, we didn’t meet their criteria for survival.

“All she can do now is rest at home,” the doctor said finally, his tone flat, apologetic in its futility. “Even if we had someone available, we’re out of medication—basic pain relief, even. There’s barely anything left.”

The words echoed hollowly, reverberating like the same excuse I’d heard twice before. The world hadn’t been prepared for this. Protocols for medication hadn’t accounted for a future without power. Supplies had expired, replenishment nothing more than a fantasy.

“It’s... it’s alright, Sissy,” Lumina rasped, her breath uneven, her flushed face slick with sweat. She managed a weak smile that only tightened the knot in my chest. Her attempt to comfort me—a fleeting kindness—was the final crack in my resolve. I muttered a curse under my breath, wiping her face gently as anger and helplessness tangled, hot and suffocating, inside me.

I barely heard the sounds of footsteps behind me until a voice cut through the haze of my frustration. “What?” I snapped, spinning around. My words came sharper than I intended, honed by the bitterness swelling inside me.

The speaker was a man—older, worn, and weathered by this fractured world. His face, streaked with blood and bruises, was a map of despair and survival etched into every line. Yet, there was patience in his gaze, something calm and steady that disarmed the sharpness of my tone. Somehow, his quiet smile softened the edges of his battered appearance, cutting through the turmoil that swirled within me.

“You might be able to find medication for your sister,” his voice, though calm, carried the weight of uncertainty. “I’ve heard they’re giving out supplies near the floating ship’s base. The area’s heavily guarded, though, but...” He hesitated, as if unwilling to stroke false hope. “It might be worth trying.”

His words struck like a lifeline tossed into stormy waters. I muttered my thanks, my mind already racing with determination. The possibility of medication—no matter how slim—was hope I couldn’t afford to ignore. Without hesitation, I climbed onto my bike. Lumina clung to my back, her breaths shallow and ragged, her arms weak but holding on with a tenacity that broke my heart. Nestled inside her hoodie, Nutmeg peeked out, his tiny nose twitching nervously, a mirrored reflection of my own apprehension.

The road to the airport stretched endlessly, each turn a battlefield of debris and desperation. Broken-down cars lined the streets, some abandoned hastily, their doors ajar, as if the owners had fled in panic. Others looked like makeshift shelters—tattered tarps strung across windows, smoke curling weakly from scavenged fuel cooking fires. The world had become a grim tableau of adaptation, survival carved into every scene.

After what felt like an eternity, the fortress came into view, its hulking frame dominating the skyline. The structure defied comprehension, its alien design shimmering faintly even in the dim light of a world without a sun. It hung in the air like a silent sentinel, an impossible monument to human ingenuity or perhaps something far beyond us.

As we neared the airport, the atmosphere thickened. The air was charged with tension, voices rising in anger and desperation from the crowd gathered near the perimeter. Flickering tiki torches cast jagged, frenetic shadows, illuminating faces twisted with rage and fear. Cries for food, for aid, for entry mingled with the guttural demands of angry protesters. People shoved and jostled, the mass growing denser and more volatile with each passing moment.

“Stay low,” I whispered to Lumina, my voice taut with urgency. She nodded against my back, her small hands tightening their grip on my jacket.

We slipped off the bike and crouched behind a pile of debris—shattered concrete, twisted metal, the remnants of a life before. Moving silently, we crept closer to the ship’s base. The perimeter was fortified beyond anything I’d imagined. Guards roamed in measured patterns, their faces hidden behind opaque masks that rendered them faceless enforcers. Rifles slung across their backs gleamed ominously, their boots crunching against the ground in rhythmic steps that made my pulse race with every sound.

The plan was reckless, borderline insane, but it was all I had. A hastily assembled makeshift device—a crude combination of leftover fireworks and a propane canister—lay in my backpack, its weight a constant reminder of the gamble I was about to take. Setting it off would be our distraction, a desperate attempt to buy just enough time to sneak onto the ship unnoticed. At least, that was the idea.

With trembling hands, I set the device in place, my breath hitching as I lit the fuse. The spark hissed to life, and I pulled Lumina into the shadows. “Cover your ears,” I whispered, my voice barely steady. She obeyed, her small hands pressed tightly against her head as she clung to me.  

Seconds later, the night erupted. A deafening explosion split the air, the ground trembling beneath us as smoke and sparks burst into chaos. The guards scrambled, their shouts lost in the cacophony. For a fleeting moment, it worked. The distraction had thrown them off balance, and the path to the access ramp lay open.

“Now,” I urged, grabbing Lumina’s hand as we darted toward the ramp. My heart pounded in my chest, each step a fragile hope that this might actually work. But hope was a cruel thing. Before we could reach the ramp, floodlights blazed to life, their harsh beams slicing through the smoke. Shouts echoed across the area, sharp and commanding.

“There!” a voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a blade. A guard had spotted us.

Within seconds, we were surrounded. Armed figures closed in, their weapons drawn, their faces hidden behind masks that betrayed no emotion. The ship loomed above us, a fortress of salvation tantalizingly close, yet impossibly out of reach. The path to hope was barricaded by cold stares and rigid orders.

“On your knees!” one of the guards barked, his voice sharp and unyielding.

“Wait!” I screamed, pulling Lumina behind me as I dropped to my knees. My voice cracked with desperation, but I didn’t care. “Please, you have to listen to me! My sister is sick—she needs medicine. She won’t survive without it!”

The guards didn’t flinch. Their weapons remained trained on us, their postures rigid, their training keeping them detached and impenetrable.

“You’ve jeopardized the safety of this station,” a higher-ranking officer said, stepping forward. His voice was cold, as biting as the wind that whipped around us. “We cannot allow unauthorized individuals aboard.”

“No!” My hands clenched into fists, hot tears streaking down my face. “She’s just a kid. Look at her!” I turned to Lumina, who was barely standing. Her fevered face was pale, her breaths shallow, and she clung to me as though her legs might give out at any moment. “You can’t just turn us away—please!”

The officer’s expression didn’t waver. His gaze was steely, his resolve unshaken. “You’ve endangered lives with that explosion. Your actions have consequences.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the weight of their truth pressing down on my shoulders. But I couldn’t let it end here. Not like this. “I didn’t know what else to do!” I cried, my voice trembling with raw emotion. “She’s all I have left. Please, I’m begging you—don’t let her die.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the tension thick enough to choke on. The guards exchanged glances, their weapons still raised, their stances unwavering. The officer’s gaze flicked to Lumina, his eyes narrowing as he took in her frail form. The seconds stretched into an eternity, the weight of their judgment bearing down on me.

Lumina tugged at my sleeve weakly, her breath laboured. “Sissy...” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s okay. Don’t get in trouble for me.”

Her words broke something inside me. “No! It’s not okay!” I shouted, turning back to the guards. “You have the power to help her, and you’re choosing not to. How can you just stand there?!” The officer’s lips tightened, but before he could respond, a voice cut through the thick tension.

“Stop this immediately!”

It was authoritative, commanding-filled with a weight that demanded attention. The guards stiffened and parted like the Red Sea as a man approached, his white lab coat whipping in the wind. His eyes were sharp, piecing through the chaos. My breath hitched in my throat as recognition washed over me.

“Dad?” The word escaped my lips in a whisper, disbelief mingling with relief.

He froze for a moment when his gaze landed on us. “Delia... Lumina...” His voice softened, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t falter. He stepped closer, his presence filling the space like a shield between us and the armed guards.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone cold and unyielding as he addressed the officer. “Why are you holding them at gunpoint?”

“These individuals attempted to breach the station perimeter,” the officer replied stiffly. “They’re caused damage and endangered lives-”

“They’re my daughters,” Dad interrupted, his words slicing through the officer’s defence. “And you will not lay a hand on them. Stand down.”

“But sir—” The officer began, his protest fathering under the weight of the command.

“That’s an order!” he snapped, his voice carrying the authority of someone who wasn’t to be questioned.

The officer stiffened at Dad's command, his hesitation barely masked by his stoic demeanor. The guards exchanged uncertain glances, their weapons still drawn but wavering as Dad stepped forward. His presence was magnetic, undeniable, the kind of authority that carved through chaos like a blade. I’d seen him like this before—a man who commanded attention with every word, every movement—but in that moment, he was more than just a figure of authority. He was our lifeline.

“Stand. Down,” Dad repeated, his voice a low growl that brooked no argument.

One by one, the guards lowered their weapons, their postures slackening. The officer hesitated a beat longer, his jaw tightening before he gave a curt nod. The tension in the air shifted, loosening its grip ever so slightly as the guards retreated, forming a looser perimeter around us.

Dad knelt in front of Lumina, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her fevered face. “Lumina,” he murmured, his voice breaking on her name. “You’re burning up.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, but a weak smile tugged at her lips. “Daddy... you came...” Her words were faint, barely more than a breath, but the relief in her voice was palpable.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” He glanced over his shoulder, his sharp gaze cutting toward the officer. “Have a medical team brought to the ship’s entrance. Now.”

“Sir,” the officer began, his tone laced with hesitation, “the protocols—”

“To hell with the protocols,” Dad snapped, his voice icy. “That’s my daughter. I’ll take full responsibility. Move.”

The officer didn’t argue this time. He nodded sharply and barked orders into his comms. Within moments, the sounds of rushing footsteps and the clatter of equipment echoed through the air.

Dad turned back to me, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Delia... are you okay?”

The question, so simple yet so weighted, made my chest tighten. I wanted to tell him I was fine, that I could handle it—but the truth clawed its way to the surface, raw and unfiltered. “I didn’t know what else to do,” I said, my voice cracking. “She was getting worse, and no one would help us. I—I just...”

His hand rested on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “You did what you had to,” he said quietly, his tone laced with pride and understanding. “And you got her here. That’s what matters.”