Survive

The ship was already dying when Toby realized his father was afraid.

Not the sharp fear of alarms and explosions—that had been constant for hours, but something quieter. Something heavy. His father’s hands trembled where they rested on Toby’s shoulders, gripping too tightly, as if afraid that letting go would break the universe in half.

“Listen to me,” his father said.

The command cut through the chaos more cleanly than the alarms.

Toby looked up. Firelight painted his father’s face in violent orange and shadow, turning familiar lines into something ancient and strained. Somewhere behind them, the hull screamed as another impact tore through the ship.

“Survive, Toby,” his father said. “Protect your sister.”

The words struck harder than any explosion.

“I will,” Toby said automatically, because that was what sons said when fathers looked at them like this. “We both will.”

His father smiled, just a little. It didn’t reach his eyes.

The deck lurched.

Emily cried out as gravity faltered. Toby caught her before she fell, pulling her close. She buried her face in his chest, small fingers digging into his shirt.

“Toby?” she whispered.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “I won’t let go.”

Their father turned, already moving. The escape pod hatch yawned open, its interior glowing red with emergency light. Alarms wailed as if the ship itself were begging them not to leave.

“Inside,” their father ordered.

Emily hesitated.

Toby didn’t. He lifted her into the pod. Their father leaned in, fingers flying over the controls.

The ship shuddered again.

This time, it didn’t stop.

Fire tore past the viewport, close enough that Toby felt the heat through the glass. The universe outside twisted into a storm of light and debris.

Their father knelt, fastening harnesses with shaking hands.

A tear slipped free, cutting a clean line through the soot on his cheek.

He noticed Toby watching and laughed softly, almost embarrassed.

“I always thought I’d have more time,” he said.

“Dad—” Toby started.

Their father leaned in and pressed his forehead to Toby’s.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he whispered squeezing his daughter’s arm gently. “Both of you are.”

Then he was gone.

The hatch sealed with a sound that was too final.

Their father pressed the eject button and watched them go. The ship was doomed, but they would live. The rescue ship alerted to their distress would arrive soon and pick them up.

The pod detached with a violence that stole Toby’s breath. He lunged forward, fingers scraping uselessly against the reinforced glass as the pod shuddered and detached. The sudden silence was worse than the alarms—wide, hollow, and absolute.

“No!”

The pod fired its thrusters.

Toby was thrown back into his seat, breath ripped from his lungs. Emily screamed as gravity vanished, then slammed back again. The stars outside spun wildly as the pod tumbled away from the dying ship.

Toby twisted in his harness and pressed his face to the viewport.

The ship hung there for a heartbeat—broken, burning, still fighting.

He saw the bridge-section rupture. Saw fire spill out like blood. Saw the place where his father stood vanish into white light.

The explosion came without sound.

A silent bloom of fire expanded outward, devouring metal, corridors, lives. The ship folded in on itself, then tore apart, fragments scattering into the dark like sparks from a dying fire.

The light washed over the pod, bright enough to hurt.

The explosion’s force swept them farther away.

Then ship was gone.

Nothing remained but drifting debris and cooling embers against the endless black.

Toby stared.

Some part of him waited for another pod, a signal, some impossible proof that his father had escaped after all.

Nothing came.

The universe did not change its mind.

Emily’s sobbing cut through the silence.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, her voice small and broken. “Toby, where is he?”

Toby opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

In that moment something inside him shattered and hardened all at the same time.

He pulled his sister against him as tightly as the harness allowed.

“He saved us,” Toby said finally. His voice didn’t sound like his own. It sounded older. “That’s what he did.”

Emily clutched his shirt, shaking. “Is he coming back?”

Toby looked at the empty stars where the ship had been.

“No,” he said.

The word hurt, but it was solid. Real.

Outside the viewport, a distant planet loomed—green-black and vast, waiting with terrible patience.

Toby tightened his grip on Emily.

There was no one else now.

No father to make decisions.

No one to stand between her and what was coming.

Just him.

The pod’s systems chimed, warning lights flickering as gravity reached out and seized them.

As the planet swelled in the viewport, Toby forced himself to keep his eyes open.

He saw jungles braided with bone-white stone.

The pod screamed through atmosphere, skin glowing, the boy’s teeth chattering as heat and fear tangled in his chest.

Something slammed them sideways. Trees. No, not trees. Spined pillars punched up. The pod tore through them, skipping, flipping, until it plowed into mud and stopped with a final, breathless crunch.

The world held its breath.

The boy opened his eyes to smoke and red emergency lights. The girl whimpered. He reached for her without looking, fingers finding her wrist. Alive. Warm. “It’s okay. Em. I’m here.”

The hatch hissed open.

Daylight spilled in, green and wrong.

They looked out at the foreboding, alien world.

Outside, the jungle breathed.

Leaves the size of sails flexed like lungs. Vines creaked. A clicking sound skittered close, then moved away. The air smelled metallic and sweet, like blood and flowers fighting over the same space.

“We can’t stay here,” Toby said, voice thin. He didn’t know how he knew, only that the planet felt awake. And hungry.

They stumbled out. The pod steamed, its hull already pitting as something in the air gnawed at it. A shape slithered in the undergrowth, scales rasping together. Emily froze.

“Move,” Toby whispered, grabbing her hand, tethering her to him.

They ran.

The jungle sensed prey and reacted, eager to claim it before it could escape.

Thorns snapped shut like jaws.

A vine lashed, barbed, tearing at Toby’s sleeve. He yanked free, skin burning.

The ground pulsed menacingly. They leaped just as it collapsed into a sinkhole lined with teeth, curved and clicking. Mud sprayed as they skidded, then tumbled onto stone that was warm and vibrating.

The vibration grew into a roar.

They flattened as something vast passed overhead, blotting light, wings beating thunder into the leaves. Its shadow crawled over them, lingering like a hand.

When it passed, they crawled again.

The watch station was a dot on the pod’s cracked display, a relic orbiting the far side of the planet, its surface relay long abandoned but its beacon still hungry for a signal. To reach it, they had to cross the Spine: a badland of needle-rock and acid rain.

They made it to the Spine by dusk.

Rain. Intermittent. Unpredictable. Smoked where it struck stone.

They ran hunched, breath burning, taking shelter beneath overhangs as drops hissed inches from their shoes. Something scuttled in the rain, many-legged and patient. They waited until it passed, listening to the rasp of its armor on rock.

Night came fast.

The jungle came fully alive and made its presence known.

Everything sang.

Everything clicked.

Light bloomed in drifting clouds of spores that burned the eyes.

Emily cried out when one brushed her cheek; Toby slapped it away, his palm blistered instantly.

“Don’t touch,” he said, voice breaking. “Don’t touch anything.”

Emily, frail and frightened, put her trust in her brother and nodded. “Okay.”

They moved by starlight toward the faint glow of the watch station’s tower, a needle of white on the horizon.

The ground glittered with eyes.

Plants recoiled as they passed, then snapped back with a hiss.

At the Spine’s edge, the rock needles rose like a frozen storm. Wind howled through them, turning the air into knives. Toby tied his jacket around Emily’s face, then leaning into the gale, led her through.

They climbed, slipped, and bled.

Acid rain burned pinpricks through his shirt. Toby kept going. To stop was to die.

Halfway up, the ground shifted.

A needle cracked. Another. A cascade followed, a thousand blades singing as they fell. Toby held his sister tight in a protective embrace and jumped, sliding down scree that cut and tore. He hit hard, air blasting from his lungs, stars exploding behind his eyes.

Something landed where they had been.

It unfolded.

The creature’s skin was mirror-bright, reflecting starlight and Toby’s own terror back at him. Its mouth was a crown of spirals, opening and closing as it tasted the air.

It stepped closer.

The ground smoked under its feet.

Toby grabbed a rock and hurled it. The rock struck and vanished in a flash of white, eaten.

He didn’t think.

He ran.

They ran through needle-rock and wind, the creature’s steps ringing like bells behind them.

Emily stumbled. Toby hauled her up. A flash of white lanced past, searing his shoulder. He screamed but kept moving.

They burst from the Spine into the dead zone.

The watch station squatted on a plateau of glassed stone, its tower cracked but upright. The creature halted at the edge of the glass, mandibles clicking, unwilling to cross.

They didn’t stop until they slammed into the station door.

Toby released the mechanical lock and shoved it open.

Inside, the air was dust, stale, and metallic.

Toby crossed to the console and fumbled with the panel, hands slick with blood, throbbing with pain.

Power flickered.

Lights crawled awake.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Come on.”

The console answered with a low hum.

Outside, the beacon’s dish turned, slow and stubborn, scraping rust.

The creature paced, its reflection skating across the glass.

A warning chimed.

Emily sagged against him, eyes closing.

“Stay with me Em,” Toby said softly, brushing her head with a hand. “Not long now.”

The beacon locked into position.

The emergency transmit button turned from red to green.

Toby slapped it.

Their invisible plea for help soared into space.

Static howled, then cut. The console pinged once—clean, sharp.

Help was on its way.

Toby sagged to the floor, laughing and crying all at once.

Emily raised her head and looked at him. “Are we safe?”

Toby nodded. “Yes, Em, we are safe now.”

Outside, the creature shrieked, a sound like metal tearing.

The sky brightened, a streak of fire crossing the stars.

Rescue came down like a promise kept.

As the hatch sealed and the engines lifted them away, Toby looked back at the planet. It watched them go, patient and deadly, its jungle breathing in the dark.

He held his sister and did not let go.