As Andi’s heart slows, and her lips go blue and cracked from the nitrogen, she thinks back to yesterday. The End of the World.

 

Her world, at least.

 

No, the end of everything came much earlier.

 

* * *

 

The Night without End. A nuclear winter that promised to shroud the sun from human eyes at least until the end of the next century. The only way to leave your house was equipped with a gas mask. A perpetual blizzard of foul-smelling gray snow blanketed the entire Eastern United States. Most had left, and sought shelter underground. Safe from the poisonous wind and rain that would kill you within the minute. The ones who stayed came together and rebuilt, struggled, survived. Her family’s car shop had been converted to fashion suits and masks to protect people from the elements.

 

Andi herself can barely remember what the sun had felt like on her skin, the warmth of it. But her family’s together. Her mother, father, and brother. Together, alive, in their tiny 4th floor walk up on a street in Queens. It’s all she could ask for.

 

The strap of Andi’s rebreather catches in her hair, cold hissing rain bites at the reinforced leather of her jacket. She takes a gloved hand off the handle of her motorbike and readjusts the strap. Once that’s done, she’s revving the engine, pressing down on the pedal. The visor covering Andi’s head makes it difficult to see the road in front of her. Strewn with fallen trees, flipped-over cars, and deceiving potholes. But it’s hardly an issue for her. Andi knows this bike, built it herself. She can remember its first heartbeat as she feels it now. Beating against her leg. There’s gasoline in her veins, gasoline and coolant, and motor oil. She knows these roads, knows them like she knows the brown freckles on her chest.

 

The crate attached to the back of the bike rattles a little as she hits a bump. Andi’s eyes dart back to make sure nothing’s fallen out. They’re supplies for the shop, recycled plastic, and scraps of metal. Thankfully, everything’s still there.

 

Andi passes a café, and a frown crosses her face. The booth where Andi would sit and talk with her friends about their stupid meaningless little problems is on its side, forgotten. Her friends are gone, forgotten too.

 

She makes a turn. Stops at the corner of the bodega directly under the apartment. The bright fluorescent green lights filter onto the street and Andi sits there in melancholy, soaking up the man-made warmth.

 

The door jingles happily as Andi enters. With a foot, she shuts the door behind her, juggling the large box of supplies with both hands. Waits for the comforting flushing sound of the door forming an airtight seal. The air-con righting itself to filter out the harmful toxins. A system she helped design. A small smile graces Andi’s face at the thought.

 

A plump Egyptian man appears from behind the counter, peels off his mask, and grins at her.

 

“Andi!”

 

Andi removes her mask, and smiles back. “Hey Sal.”

 

Sal’s wearing a greasy old apron. He rights the cheeky paper hat he has on. “How was the ride?”

 

She leaves the box near the door. “Fine, boring, honestly. The radi-levels were low enough that I didn’t have to waste a full breather pod on it.”

 

The man nods. “What are you hungry for?” And Andi’s about to answer when a glimmering light from outside catches her eye. She lays a hand on the counter as the ground shakes beneath their feet. Far off in the distance, right where Central Park used to be, spotlights ascend into the heavens, fading behind thick clouds.

 

Sal says, “They’re leaving today?”

Andi mutters, “Not today, tomorrow.”

 

The human race was abandoning Earth for a new planet, entirely habitable for humans. An ark was built. And a single one-way ticket sold for the low low price of $2,000,000.

 

Or you passed a test.

 

A test that Andi herself had failed, doomed her family to a short life on a dying planet over one measly point.

 

Andi’s been looking at the lights too long, her eyes water. She looks away, picks up the box, and waves off Sal when he asks about the food. Up she walks, three flights. Her brother races to embrace her when the door opens, laughing her name all the way.

 

Andi asks, “Hey buddy, how was school?” Her brother’s eyes light up innocently. “Fun! Mommy and Daddy have a gift for you!” She furrows her brow, spots her parents emerging from the kitchen. The look on their faces makes something in Andi’s stomach twist.

 

She pats the small boy on the back. “How about you go play with your toys, Jay?” Jay nods his head and runs off as Andi stands.

 

Her eyes dart between the two. “What’s—" Her mother holds up two small rectangular pieces of steel. There’s writing laser-etched into their sleek surfaces.

 

Andi’s face blanches. “How did you get those?”

 

Her mom sneaks a glance at her dad before answering, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

 

Andi takes a step back, shaking her head. “Why—why are there only two?”

 

“One for you. One for Jay.”

 

A look of dismay crosses Andi’s face. “I won’t leave you here.” To die, she thinks.

 

Her mother caresses her cheek. “You have to. The both of you deserve more than what we can give you.”

 

“But—“

 

Her mother kisses the top of Andi’s head, hugs her daughter. “You’re going to do amazing things one day. I know it.”

 

Andi’s shoulders go slack, and the tears she’s been holding back stain her mother’s coat.

 

* * *

 

Her thoughts feel sluggish. Andi thinks of her brother in the cryo-pod next to hers. She worries for his future. For her parents.

 

Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy.

 

At least they’re together.