A girl wakes up on a rock in the sky.
Schoolbags don't make the most comfortable bedding, but she's not in a position to be fussy. Better than concrete.
This particular rock used to be called Winslow High. Rumours said it was a place of education, though the girl never learned much there but misery.
She's been on the rock for two days, now. Perhaps she's hoping for a golden man to save her. She can see bits of the city around her, floating above a patchwork of magma and stone far below. How high is she? Enough the air feels a bit thinner, perhaps, and the wind is a constant murmur. As far as she can see, there's nothing but devastation.
She's had enough. There wasn't much food, after what happened, and the gaze of all those ash statues is getting mighty uncomfortable. A fall is better than a slow thirst. She takes a step towards the edge… only to stop as the ground fills in beneath her feet, bricks and concrete flying from who-knows-where to build a road.
She knows where to head first.
---
Not much left of her neighbourhood. Parodies of houses build themselves as she passes by. Some of them have ash statues, and her flesh crawls as she walks past. Worst are the ones she recognises. Neighbours she doesn't even remember the names of. Is that judgement in their stone gazes?
She reaches her house. It's mostly there. Well, partly. Good thing it isn't raining.
At least the girl doesn't have to worry about fixing the rotten step any time soon.
She steps inside, calls for her father. Nothing but wind. Either he's not here… or he's nothing more than dust on the breeze. Girl couldn't bear that, so no choice but to keep moving. Her room is so much empty air. A thought occurs, and she focuses for a spell, tries to bring it back.
Nothing. Well, not like the girl was much used to hope, anyhow.
Time to go.
---
Her path builds itself towards the Boardwalk.
Used to be nice here, if you had the money. Tourists and rich kids… and uniformed enforcers for the riff raff.
Well, can't be nice for everybody.
The crowds are gone. The shops aren't always. The girl takes the chance to pick up some clean clothes, even if she has to brush the ash off.
It's interesting to see the boardwalk assemble. Boards dart in with a flourish, nails sinking into the wood. The little boats tourists paid hand-over-fist to rent float up from the abyss, amorphous pools of water coming with them. Shop signs float in the air, hawking wares turned to dust with the customers.
When the girl hears the sound, she can hardly believe her ears. A weird feeling flutters her in her chest. She thought nobody else made it. She runs towards the sound. A voice. Calling for someone, anyone.
A doll, is her first thought, made five feet tall. The doll seems as surprised to see her as the girl is to see it. They talk for a spell. Seems the doll's name is Parian, and she can use her fabric to get around, a little. Clever stuff. The doll regards the ground forming for the girl with a strange look on her face.
You did this, the doll half-asks, half-tells.
Yeah, the girl says, and then there's not much more to say.
The doll takes the girl back to a store-turned-dollhouse. It's in good condition, considering the calamitous state of the city. Missing parts are covered with bright cloth to keep out the weather, and inside... food, water, and electricity, to run the little things that make the girl feel human again. She has her first shower in days. The doll explains the previous owners aren't in a state to object, so she's moved right in.
The doll points out into where the bay used to be. The oil rig still floats, but not on any water, now. The soft glow of the forcefields can still be seen. It she survived in her shop, she tells the girl, it's likely at least someone made it out there on the rig. The doll wonders aloud. Why hasn't anyone come? Helicopters, or Dragon-craft, or any of the flying machines known to man? Perhaps this happened to the whole world.
The girl doesn't talk much, but mentions her father, talks about the docks.
The doll nods and lets her go.
---
The docks were a rough part of town. Now, they were rougher. They hadn't been much to look at before it happened, and they were less to look at after. The girls notices a few seagulls perched on the ruins, looking at her with hungry eyes. How did they survive, when the people didn't? The girl puts it out of her mind. She's got more things to worry about.
The girl hasn't been here much, but the ground builds the way. There it is. Dockworker's Association, a bulky building hollowed by lean times. She stops before the door. The girl's afraid. The tension is like a tight knot in her chest. Afraid she'll find her father, have to explain she did all this. Much more afraid she'll find her father, have to try to explain to ash.
She grasps the handle and the door crumbles to cinders. Not a good sign.
She wanders in, sees the statues. Faces she knew from older, better times, worn down to lifeless long before the calamity. Her steps are slow at first. Before she realises, she's running, until the door is in front of her. The letters on it seem to dance.
Daniel Hebert, Human Resources.
She opens the door. A sigh, and it's like all the tension leaks out of her, and then the tears.
Seems she'd have to explain to ash.
---
The doll sees the girl the next day. The girl doesn't need to talk. It's written on her face, plain as day. The doll doesn't do much, but opens her arms, and the girl clings to her. Not something the girl could normally do, but the walls of the heart were as broken as the walls of the city, of late.
A day passes.
The Rig remains in view. Another layer of shimmering energy turned on. Someone was there, fixing things, or so they hope. The distance between, though – too far to bridge for the doll, and unless the girl learned to walk on water she wasn't going to build a road, either.
Eventually, they settle on an idea. The girl's power already floats one of the boats, and the doll's fabric can make a sail. They load the boat with supplies, prepare to go. The girl can't help but notice even now some of the boat graveyard still floats where it had been sunk. She's not sure whether to laugh or cry, so she does both.
The doll seems to understand.
---
One thing either the doll or the girl seem to have considered is how to get on the Rig. The Rig floats, the shield crackles, and the two are plain stuck outside. They shout a bit, and perhaps luck is with them. Someone hears.
They meet a bad man gone good, and thinking of going gone. Calls himself Assault, or perhaps just Ethan. Seems his robin has flown away, and he's not seeing much need any more for fancy names.
At any rate, he helps them on board, tells them to make themselves at home. Seems the calamity was feeling picky, and most of the Rig itself was intact, but the same couldn't be said of the crew. Each time, no one else made it.
The doll introduces herself, introduces the girl. She asks if the man has heard anyone else on the radio. She doesn't tell the man what the girl did.
No, says the man. No one.
They ask him if he wants to return with them, and he shrugs. They might as well stay here. Plenty of supplies, and if there's any communication, it'll come here.
There might be more survivors in the city, and neither the girl nor the doll know how to operate the machines of the Rig. So it's with radio in hand the girl and the doll find themselves heading back to the dollhouse.
The man doesn't talk much, but it's still less lonely with him on the radio.
---
The question the girl and doll have to face now is… what now?
They've got plenty of victuals, it's fair to say. What they had already, combined with what the man gave them at the Rig, meant that they aren't going to be suffering from empty bellies. Still, it won't last forever, and somehow the girl has doubts the local supermarket is going to be restocked any time soon.
The doll is the one to come up with the idea. Seeds. A little something to do, with something to eat at the end. And while they're out searching, they might find someone else.
So the two head out. The girl builds the road, and the doll bridges the gaps the world doesn't feel like filling.
Along the way, they hear barking.
The girl doesn't expect it when the doll drags her into a building. There's a thud as something lands on the road outside.
A dog? No, sir – just something wearing the idea of one like a bad suit. Big as a van, and looking of foul temperament. The girl tries to speak, but the doll holds a hand over her mouth, and it's then she sees someone riding the monster. A bulky, ugly sort of girl, and looking about as friendly as her ride.
With a thud another monster lands beside her, and looks to the rider for direction. Seems the rider was the alpha of this little pack.
The alpha looks around, but either doesn't see them or doesn't care. A barked word, and the alpha with her beasts are gone.
The doll explains to the girl. Seems the alpha is a villain, and a killer besides. Called Hellhound by the heroes, and by herself a name not fit for polite company. Not someone they want to go meeting in a dark alley… if there even were alleys anymore, anyway.
The girl nods, but has to wonder. After all… the girl's killed people too, hasn't she?
---
Brockton Plant Nursery is a lively place, considering the end of the world and all. Birds seem to have made it their own little bastion, hungry beaks picking at leaves and shoots.
They watch the girl and the doll with beady eyes. The girl pushes back a shiver.
What's left is still green, and a handy bit of cloth shapes up like a porter. Fertiliser, pots, a few plants not savaged by seabirds. Packaged seeds; worth more than gold.
The doll turns to go. The girl hesitates.
A few packets of seeds are torn up, tossed to the birds.
No need to let them go hungry, at least for a spell.
---
Routine settles in. Tend the plants, starting to peek out the soil. Talk to the man, sometimes. Eventually the forcefields go off – the man doesn't have the know-how to keep them charged. Whatever technological wizardry had them going ran out. Not that it mattered; nothing except the occasional curious gull is around to storm the fort.
Sometimes it rains, though there ain't no clouds. The girl and the doll never do figure that out, but they're grateful all the same.
Sometimes the girl sleeps bad. The dead welcome her with open arms. All around her. Accusing. Can't run from everything.
Sometimes the doll's willing to hold her, bury themselves in blankets and pillows. Sleep's easier, then.
Hear the alpha's dogs howling, sometimes. Must be lonely, thinks the girl. Just two dogs and their master.
The girl and doll are working on the boat. Making it bigger, making it home. One day they'll take sail and leave this place behind. Don't know where to go, though.
They'll work it out.
---
One day they hear music on the radio; left on by chance. Someone's out there. Someone else survived.
Must be something automatic, the man says when they tell him, but his grin suggests he believes otherwise. The music was somewhere east, he thinks, if there's such a thing still.
---
The alpha comes to them.
Pretty rude of her. Doesn't bother to knock before two dogs the size of cars knock the wall down. She grabs what she can and she's gone, back to the dead city.
Half their supplies gone, with the plants not grown. Had to get them back.
She's not a woman of war, says the doll, but she can hold her own if she has to. They radio the man, tell him what happened.
It's the three of them that head into the city as it builds itself back in pieces for the girl.
---
They find the alpha at an old dog pound. Seems the alpha lost family, too; no less just because they had four legs instead of two.
The alpha's gaunt. The calamity wasn't generous in what it left in one piece, and seems not every bug was ash for what was left.
Standoff; doll and man vs a pair of nasty-looking hounds. Neither side have much kindness in their minds. The girl doesn't want this. Not many folks left, these days. Not much sense in reducing that number over a few sacks of food and cans of gasoline.
So the girl speaks up.
She says that this place ain't for them, any longer. Leave it to the ash statues. No police, now, to hold the alpha to her crimes. No need to fight.
She says this. She says: please.
The alpha hesitates a long, long moment.
And she nods.
---
The alpha's sullen and quiet, keeping to her dogs for the most part, but it's better than no one at all. She occupies her own little corner of the dollhouse, and after a while she helps out a bit with the boat, once they've explained it to her. Not one for smiles, but she's strong enough.
The man doesn't go back to the Rig. Nothing there but ghosts, he says. Hurts to hear them howl. Instead he stays to help out. He's a cheerful man, aside from the distant look he gets sometimes. Brings a bit of humour to the dollhouse.
With four sets of hands, things go quicker. The boat comes together, comes alive. Plants line the sides, lively green to the blue sails. A belly full of everything they'll need, and a few things they don't.
The whole crew is assembled; the alpha and her dogs. The man, fiddling with the radio. The doll's power hoists the sails, and the girl looks back upon the place they're leaving.
The girl says goodbye to the dollhouse. She takes a breath, and realises she'd thought of it as home.
She says goodbye to the city, lonely pieces dotting the sky. It'd been home, too, for all the cruelty in the concrete.
She says goodbye to the memory of a worn-down man who always tried the best for her. Her father was just another folk who didn't deserve what he got.
She turns to face the horizon.
Where to go? The doll asks. Above her the sails billow. Ship's eager to leave, now, and the girl with it. There's people out there to find. No way to go back, so you have to go forward.
East, says the girl. Away from here.
Time to go.
