Robby collapsed against the stone threshold, trembling. The rain of fire from the sky pounded around him. Sparks hissed as they struck the wet ground, chunks of debris smashing into trees and stone, sending splinters and smoke into the night air. He hugged himself tightly, shivering from cold and fear, soaked in water and his own blood. He couldn’t look at the stones he had carefully laid, perfectly flat, fitted together with his own mortar. Stones could hold walls, maybe even a roof, but they couldn’t hold back the sky from falling. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t even stop himself from shaking, or peeing.

  “You think you’re the first pirate to piss himself when the cannons start flying?” ARKNAD’s whisper hissed in his ear, amused.

  Robby pressed his face into his knees, hoping the voice would vanish.

  “Boy. I’m talking to you.”

  “Probably not…” he whispered.

  “So what’s the problem? Wet, bloody, freezing, but alive. You patched yourself up. Spare clothes. You’ve got armor, you’ve got tools. And yet here you sit, hugging yourself like the world’s ended. You need to move. You need to get out there. You know where you need to go.”

  Robby clenched his teeth. He wanted to argue, to hide.

  “You know what bravery is. It’s not the absence of fear. It’s pissing yourself and running into danger anyway. You know what you need to do. You need to help Nina, not because she needs it, though she probably does, but because you need to do it. Or you’ll regret it.”

  “I know…”

  “Of course you know. You’re making my head hurt now, and mine isn’t even real. I need rum.”

  “I don’t even know what rum tastes like.”

  “Pirates drink rum, don’t they? Now move. The sky is falling, but we’re not dying in this hole. First, put on some damn pants.”

  Robby shook, then forced himself up. His hands were stiff and trembling as he opened the crate labeled CLOTHING. Layer by layer, he dressed. Shirt, pants, socks, bandanna. He strapped his makeshift armor over his thin frame. Fastened his short blade to his belt. Grabbed the spear and emergency light. Slipped on his headlamp and flicked it on, testing the battery.

  “Come on, yer pretty enough! Run boy!” ARKNAD yelled.

  The forest swallowed him as he fled. Water and mud clung to his skin. The smell of smoke and burning wood mixed with wet leaves and the acrid tang of blood. Sparks bounced off trees, and small embers sizzled as they struck puddles. A branch snapped above, sending a shower of wet splinters down across his shoulders. He stumbled.

  Something streaked past him, hooves thundering in terror, a deer, frantic and wild, eyes wide, fleeing from the fire and falling debris. Robby ducked as a chunk of burning wood crashed a few feet away, sending him sprawling into a shallow creek. Ice-cold water engulfed his face. Mud filled his mouth. Heart hammering, he pushed himself up, dragging the wagon with blankets and emergency supplies.

  The forest seemed alive with menace. Twisted branches clawed at him. Sparks rained down like angry insects. The smell of fire and wet wood was everywhere, mixing with the metallic tang of blood from his own scrapes. Somewhere in the shadows, a coyote howled, frightened by the chaos.

  He forced himself onward. Step by step. Breath ragged. Legs numb from cold. Every sound, a crack, a hiss, a distant explosion, made him jump. He kept thinking of Nina, alone in the farmhouse. He could almost hear her cough, almost feel her trembling under the blankets he’d bring.

  The treeline thinned. The wheat field ahead stretched wide and dark, its stalks slick with rain. Tiny fires dotted the edges, each one sizzling and spitting smoke. Then he saw it.

  The farmhouse.

  It burned with a furious intensity, windows shattered, flames licking outward, smoke billowing into the night sky. The roof sagged in places, glowing from the fire inside. Sparks flew into the air, drifting over the wet field. His chest tightened. Heat hit him even from a distance. The acrid smell of burning wood, scorched fabric, and the faint tang of melted synthetic fibers made him gag.

  “Nina…” he whispered, voice barely audible over the roar of the inferno.

  Heart hammering, Robby tightened his grip on the wagon. He took a deep, shivering breath and stepped into the field, the first sparks sizzling around his boots. The real nightmare was just beginning.

  ---

  Robby sprinted across the last stretch of wheat, the fire roaring ahead. Sparks flew past him, each one a tiny, stabbing reminder of the chaos above. Smoke clawed at his lungs. He could barely see through the haze, but he knew the shape of the farmhouse. The outline of the roof glowed an angry orange, a furnace against the night. His hands gripped the wagon tight, trying to keep the blankets and supplies from sliding off, though his fingers were numb and stiff.

  He let go of the wagon as it rolled into the big oak tree near the barn. He looked around and saw Nina’s old beat up car was smoking too, its roof caved in from an impact. He made sure the wagon was safe with a glance and ran to the house.

  When he reached the edge of the porch, heat hit him like a wall. Flames licked the wooden supports, twisted and cracking, black smoke pouring from broken windows. The fire ate the shingles, sending sparks high into the air, scattering into the dark field. “NINA!” he screamed, voice raw from running and fear, cutting through the crackling roar of fire.

  A groan answered from inside. She was on the floor, half-hidden in smoke, reaching under the bed. Robby’s stomach clenched. He sprinted to the doorway, ignoring the searing heat lapping at his arms. His boots slipped on wet boards, the floor slick with smoke-condensed moisture. Shards of broken glass from a smashed window above tinkled and fell around him.

  He grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled. Boards splintered in the fire, falling across the floor with a hiss. “Get up! Come on!” he yelled, panic breaking his voice.

  “No! Robby, the case! Under the bed! You have to get the case!” Nina coughed violently, hacking through smoke, her voice desperate.

  Robby froze for a split second. Flames licked the ceiling, falling pieces of roof crashing near the window. Sparks rained down, sizzling where they landed. He could feel the heat pushing at his skin, sweat and smoke stinging his eyes. Be brave, he told himself. Be brave, even if you’re terrified.

  He lunged, yanking the mattress aside, splintering the boards holding it up. Smoke filled his lungs, stinging and thick. He crawled on hands and knees, grabbing the metal case Nina indicated. It was surprisingly light, cold in his hands, and the glow from the fire made its edges gleam ominously. He handed it to Nina without thinking, adrenaline drowning fear.

  “Here! Take it! Come on, move!”

  She clutched it, coughing, hacking, her face blackened with smoke. She tried to stand, and Robby felt the shift of her weight. She screamed as her leg bent wrong, he caught sight of the bone jutting out. Panic made his stomach turn, but there was no time. There was no time for hesitation.

  He slid an arm under her shoulders. She grabbed his other arm, trying to put weight on it, but it wasn’t enough. He shifted to her other side, letting her use him as a crutch. Step by careful step, they navigated through the burning room. Boards fell, embers bounced, smoke swirled, choking. Heat pressed against him, hair singeing. Every second, he expected the roof to collapse.

  Outside, the cold night air hit him like a wall. He dragged Nina toward the old oak tree, keeping her balanced as best he could. Her breathing was raspy, smoke burning her throat. He wrapped her in the blankets he had packed in the wagon, trying to shield her from the fire’s bite. Sparks landed on the edges of the blankets, sizzling but mostly smoldering, quenched by the damp night.

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  They leaned against the oak, heaving breaths. Robby’s hands were raw, fingers scraped, blood mixing with sweat. Smoke curled into the air, thick, black and highlighted by the fire below. The farmhouse behind them was a furious blaze now, flames licking the sky, sending plumes into the clouds above.

  Robby tore his gaze away for a moment and looked at her, seeing the burns. Synthetic nightgown melted into her skin in patches. Half her leg was crooked, the bone barely hidden beneath charred flesh and torn fabric. She winced as he adjusted her blankets, trying to ease the pain.

  “Stop fussing with my leg. Nothing can be done now,” she said, voice tight, forcing a grimace that barely masked pain.

  “I have slap patches,” Robby said, lifting a small box, “I can help with your cuts.”

  She laughed weakly, a bitter edge to the sound. “Slap patches won’t fix burns, boy. They stitch cuts, pull skin together, but burns? They need repair material. And my leg, you can’t just slap something on a broken leg. Needs to be set, needs time. Don’t think your little patches can do everything.”

  Robby’s stomach dropped. But she was alive, breathing. That was something. He adjusted the blankets again, keeping her warm.

  Nina’s eyes fell on him, and then on the metal case. “Before you even think about doing anything for me, this is for you. No, not for me. Take it.” She pushed it toward him through the blankets, careful with her burned fingers.

  Robby hesitated, fingers brushing the cold metal. The box was light. Inside, nestled in black foam, lay a single syringe with a pale lavender liquid, faintly glowing.

  “I got this for my grandson,” Nina said, voice shaking with emotion. “He should’ve come home from the war. But they killed him. One email, that’s all I got. Didn’t even come to the door. Just… gone. I can’t bring him back. But I want you to have this. You’re the only one who helped me when no one else would.”

  Robby’s fingers trembled. He stared at the syringe.

  “What is it?” he asked softly.

  “Oh, goodness. Life extension. But not for me, I’m too old. It’ll help you. It’ll heal you over time. Make you last longer, maybe a century. Who knows? But I want it in your hands. Promise me you’ll take it.”

  He lifted it, watching it sparkle against the firelight. He hesitated, thinking of the pain in her leg, the smoke, the chaos. She gripped his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Do it now. You’ll forget otherwise. Or trade it for more cake.”

  Robby swallowed, fingers trembling. “Just… into my leg? Then you let me take you into town?”

  “Yes. Yes. Now do it, it’s a Muscular injection. Straight in. You know the difference?”

  “I… I think so,” he whispered.

  He pressed the needle against his thigh. The pain was brief, sharp. The warmth of the liquid spread faintly, almost comforting. He expected more. But there was nothing. Only the fire reflected in her eyes, her labored breathing, the chaos outside and he felt the same. ‘Ok, enough of this silliness’ he thought.

  “Don’t worry. It’s fine. Nanites will do their work over time. You’re too young for it to activate fully now, but it’ll fix teeth, hair, maybe help your body repair itself as you grow. That’s enough for now.”

  Robby lowered his hands, the syringe empty. He looked at her, the fire reflected in her burned skin, the agony in her posture, and the night around them. He was shaking. He was terrified. But they were alive. That was something.

  He wrapped the blankets tighter around her, brushing embers off the edges. He took a deep breath and whispered to himself: be brave, even scared.

  Robby lowered Nina into the wagon as gently as he could, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, even though every movement burned his arms and chest. The blankets he had packed before, soaked, singed at the edges, wrapped around her burned skin, holding her warmth like fragile armor. He applied a temporary splint to her leg to keep it from bouncing around, then he tied a few ropes across the wagon, not to restrain her, but to keep her steady.

  “Hold on, Nina,” he whispered, voice cracking. “We’re getting you to help.”

  The first stretch was the old gravel road, slick from earlier rains. Each wheel clattered against wet stones, throwing up tiny sprays of mud. Sparks from distant fires drifted through the night, a steady stream of falling stars still lit the night sky from the chaos above. Smoke hung low, and the smell of burning wood, scorched earth, and the tang of blood mingled in the air. Robby swallowed hard, trying to ignore the nausea that hit him every few steps.

  The wagon rolled into the forest. Moonlight barely penetrated the thick canopy, and every shadow seemed alive, flickering as the fires in the distance reflected in the trees. He shifted Nina carefully, her small groans carried on the wind. Branches slapped his cheeks, scraping, tearing his jacket. Every step was a fight. The wagon would catch on roots, rocks, hidden stumps. He cursed under his breath and yanked it free, muscles screaming.

  Once through the forest, they broke into open farmland. Wet fields of flattened wheat swallowed the wagon wheels at times, but at least the sight gave him space. Fires still dotted the horizon, glowing against the dark night, but nothing threatened to catch here. He glanced back, Nina’s breath was shallow, but she was alive. He dared not relax. The sky seemed to boil, distant flashes and explosions illuminating the clouds like fireworks gone wrong.

  The gravel gave way to broken asphalt as he reached the old county road. Potholes gaped like mouths waiting to swallow his wagon, chunks of pavement scattered and sharp. Smoke now hung in thick plumes from small fires that had sprung up along the roadside, burning barns, overturned vehicles, fallen trees. Robby fought to keep the wagon upright, his legs straining, heart hammering. He kept muttering under his breath, “Almost there, almost there,” even as the chaos threatened to overwhelm him.

  Finally, the lights of the city appeared in the distance, faint and flickering behind smoke and fire. As he neared the outskirts, the true scale of the disaster hit him. Buildings were smashed, windows shattered, roofs burned through. People ran blindly, some screaming, some silent. Injured bodies sprawled across streets, some dragging themselves along, others calling out for help. Fires burned along the sidewalks and in abandoned cars, sending sparks and smoke high into the night.

  Robby’s wagon rattled over broken pavement, dodging flaming debris and scattered rubble. He yelled for people to move, trying to give them space, but everyone was too panicked to notice. At the hospital entrance, chaos reigned. Hundreds of injured were being pulled inside, some screaming, some too weak to do anything but lie and bleed. A nurse spotted him immediately. Her hair plastered to her head with sweat and soot, uniform torn, mask blackened with smoke.

  “You there! Help me with this one!” she called, pointing at Nina.

  Robby wheeled the wagon forward carefully. People parted instinctively, fearful of the child dragging a burned woman through the crowd. He guided Nina to the door, lifted her gently as far as he could, and the nurse stepped forward, steady hands taking her.

  “I, I’m Susan,” she said quickly. “We’ll take it from here.”

  Robby stepped back, breathing hard. He wanted to wait, to make sure, but he couldn’t. Around him, the chaos demanded attention. Fires were spreading in small pockets nearby, citizens screaming, cars smoldering. He gritted his teeth and pulled his wagon free, running toward the first fire he could reach. He grabbed buckets of water from a broken hydrant, dousing a small blaze licking a house corner. Sparks hissed as they hit the wet walls.

  He helped pull people from the roads, lifting broken but alive people into his wagon, dragging them to the hospital entrance. Each movement burned, each moment reminded him of Nina lying inside, waiting for help he couldn’t give directly. He flung water over the flames, ignored the heat and smoke, and kept moving, determined to make a difference, even in the smallest ways.

  Hours passed in a blur of fire, smoke, heat, and cries. At some point, exhaustion clawed at him, muscles trembling. His hands were raw from rope and splintered wood. Sweat mixed with ash on his face, streaks of dirt and blood running down his cheeks. The wagon creaked and rattled under the weight of what he was able to save.

  Then she appeared, Susan, the nurse. She knelt before him, hands on his shoulders, eyes dark and heavy.

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Robby froze, felt the words hit him like a physical blow. The chaos fell away for a heartbeat. He staggered, then crumpled to his knees, the wagon rolling a few feet away. He couldn’t speak. He felt hollow, raw, empty. The screams, the smoke, the burning houses, all of it pressed in, and he simply sat there, shaking, eyes fixed on nothing, stomach twisting with grief he hadn’t let himself feel.

  (Journal , Robby, Age 11)

  My friend Nina died. I was trying to get her to a doctor. I swear I tried. I got her out of her burning house, got her in the wagon, wrapped in blankets. She was still alive, breathing, but just barely. Smoke, fire, and her burns, it was awful. I tried to get her here, to Susan and the hospital. I thought maybe it would be enough, maybe we could save her. But I couldn’t.

  It took me hours to drag the wagon through the road. Gravel, forest, fields, broken asphalt. Fires were everywhere, people screaming, chaos all around. I tried to help, did what I could. Pulled people to the hospital, put out fires, anything to make a difference. But it wasn’t enough.

  Susan took her. I didn’t know her name at first. I couldn’t wait around to find out. There were too many injured, too many fires, too much chaos. But later… later I found out. Susan’s voice. She knelt before me and just said, “I’m sorry.”

  I fell to my knees. I didn’t cry. Not yet. My body just shook and shook, and I wished I could have done more.

  I went back to the farm. It’s burned down. The house, gone. The garden destroyed. Wheat field mostly okay, barn still standing. At least something survived.

  There was a cat. I don’t know where she came from. She’s older, not a kitten. I didn’t know her name, so I named her Nina. She’s asleep by the fire now, curling in the warmth, safe from the chaos outside.

  I guess… I guess we’re both brave. We can be brave and scared. That’s okay.

  Love you, Mom and Dad. I miss you.