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Fire and Ice

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By Leigh RyePublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 6 min read
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The summer was bright and colorful, the mists lit with the reds and yellows aglow of the ethereally beautiful sun. It resembled a wave of fire at times, and at others, a shadow of oscillating water where the heat might be higher. It was beautiful to behold, but the fog, too, hid what damage the summer had done to the world. We called it Aurora Calorus, so derisively. The Heated Light.

Scorch marks lay in erratic patterns, anything green replaced by blackened, charred husks in its path. Where that beautiful, glowing fog slid across the ground, destruction followed.

When we had first arrived, we had no idea of the summers. The weather was a bit balmy. The humidity was high, but tolerable, like the worst of the swamps where our ancestors had grown up. Far better than staying on the ship for another hundred years.

As our ships landed on the breathable planet, we were relieved. We’d been traveling for so long that my generation was born on that ship, and I knew of at least some friends that had great grandparents that had been teenagers on the main ship.

The ground was surprisingly soft, with almost a mossy bounce to it. Testing even showed that it was edible, and so, we built up our shelters right there. Many people settled there in a small township over the course of the month. The solar powered encampment seemed like paradise to so many.

When the fog started rolling in for the first time, we were unprepared. It just felt like the humidity itself, even with a cool breeze underneath as if taunting. Spring, some said it was, as the green moss beneath us brightened beautifully. It was a good sign, we were told. The cooling weather meant a mild summer. We should have known better.

The first summer cut through our ships that had kept us alive for centuries like a laser through bread. Some ran for the ships, like horses running towards the barn on fire only to be incinerated in a second.

The smart ones of us ran.

Those caught in the fog, the slower people, the elderly or infirm, the children, the pregnant women…

The fog was too hot for their bodies to handle.

The blue where the heat was the worst. It was hot enough to boil blood and based on the screams, that was exactly what it was doing to those caught in the ripple.

Our first summer we learned, but not enough to save three quarters of our number.

We weren’t able to grab much. The scientists had mostly tried to grab equipment but it was too bulky. We’d spent so long being complacent that we’d forgotten to explore upon first arrival.

We were forced to after that.

Surviving on nothing but the moss would prove to be impossible. It tasted well enough, but didn’t contain the nutritional values to sustain tired wanderers.

Days, weeks of travel, avoiding the light in the fog, maybe a hundred of us were remaining? I didn't have time to count. It didn’t even seem it was the fittest who survived - it was down to luck with the chaotic Aurora Calorus. I had my medical bag with me, but I was used to treating animals, not humans. I did what I could, providing what vitamins and nutrients I could. Animal physiology was different, but not enough that it wouldn’t be helpful. Antibiotic injections for those of us who got scraped by some nearby foliage just in case really came in handy.

I was trying. You have to know.

I was trying.

When we first felt the chill, it was a relief. We felt it, a small breeze and air that made my breath escape with condensation on the air. A change of any type was a good thing, right?

We were surviving when we approached the strange, frozen oasis. It sparkled and shone like a diamond, a clearing of cool snow and ice. The fog didn't touch it, not even a little bit. I could see it, where the moss became sharp spikes of ice. Crunching beneath my boots.

It was a lake.

Frozen over, no cracks within it. A sanctuary from the summer. The cold was a relief. Some laughed, falling to the ground, pressing their faces into the snow with no ill effects. It was some hope, some small semblance of it.

Most importantly, there was water. I tested it, of course, with what little equipment I had. It could be filtered. Chipped away from the lake and put into our remaining containers, melted right outside of the oasis, then brought back to drink. We hadn't had enough to drink in days.

We were desperate, you see?

We were able to build shelters out of the snow. We worked with the odd moss, even shared what supplies we'd taken from the ship. We were able to cut a hole in the ice, and there were fish. Large, wonderful fish. Again, no radiation detectable, just protein and meat and enough to eat for all of us.

It was … two? Three months later? That Diana disappeared.

She hadn't come out of her hut as far as I knew. I just hadn't seen her. We searched, but there were no footsteps to or from the shelter.

We thought little of it. She'd been talking about searching for other survivors. Maybe she'd just hidden her tracks.

But then.

In the span of weeks later.

There was Trevor.

Denise.

Arthur.

Mark.

Angela.

Each one vanishing, no sign of them leaving their little igloo homes.

We decided by group vote. Rather than watching more people vanish, we would build one larger shelter. Longhouse style homes, so we could keep an eye out for everyone. Structurally we had to make a few, but we could fit at least ten in each one.

When I witnessed the first symptoms of one of my impromptu roommates, it looked like their skin was dry, patchy, irritated. I checked them over. No fever, no irritation. Maybe a little more tired than normal, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary.

I took a blood sample, put it in my kit, and left it at that.

A day later, the test results on my medical watch let me know the results were invalid. It was getting stranger by the moment.

The tube had an odd, white powdery substance coating it. I thought possibly some snow had gotten in.

That was when my roommate's leg powdered, and fell off, joining the snow below. He seemed very unconcerned, as his limbs starting at the extremities were just... desiccated. Collapsed into the snow below, joining the mass of white powder. With barely a look of concern as he hobbled on his remaining leg, he said "I think I'm fine", before the rest of him was gone too with the barest of breaths.

No, it was not snow we'd come into.

We couldn't run. Summer had come again, and the only escape would be into the fog. Fire or ice. Some risked escape, through the tundra we'd barely survived the first time - I sincerely hope they made it.

I thought it would be treatable. That I could figure out what caused it. Taking healthy samples as well to see before it started. Some faded, powdered in their sleep.

I still don't have a solution. And my skin has started to dry, to become rough.

It's only a matter of days for me, and I am certain the others will follow.

What you have to know is, we were only trying our very best. I pray if another of the ships should come to this planet, they use my words in caution, and learn how to live here. Or live at all. I hope… I hope no one else. Has to go through this.

May God have mercy on our souls.

End transmission.

-The last known recording of Kehren Killian, DVM and passenger on the doomed ship SS Sanctuary

Sci Fi
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About the Creator

Leigh Rye

I've been writing for a majority of my life, and have a deep and intrinsic passion for words. Having another platform to post stories is always good! I am the great grand-niece of Bob Considine, and write both short stories and long novels.

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