Chapter One – Black Sky, Open Runway
The world ended quietly.
No sirens. No alarms. Just coughs. People falling ill in apartments, on buses, in coffee shops. Airports became triage centers overnight. Borders slammed shut, the sky went silent, and those who tried to leave vanished.
Seventeen-year-old Calder Rowe stood at the edge of the old Nebraska airfield, staring at a relic nobody should touch: a Cessna 172. Its white paint was bleached by sun, chipped and dented, the tires flat, the propeller scarred. Rust curled along the edges like a disease. But it was there, and for Calder, that was enough.
He ran a hand along the cold metal. His father’s voice echoed in his mind:
"Engines don’t run on luck, Cal. Luck is what you rely on when skill fails you."
Calder swallowed. He had skill, if not fuel, if not clearance. He had spent his life in the hangar with his dad, learning how planes breathed, how metal sang. Now, all that knowledge was illegal. Flying was forbidden. But he didn’t care.
He unzipped his jacket and pulled out a worn photograph: Rhea, laughing mid-motion, sunlight tangled in her hair. The last time he’d seen her, she pressed her phone into his hand. “If it gets bad, I’m going to Colorado. Borders are closing. If you make it out, find me.” Then she kissed him.
Calder pressed the photo to his chest. He had to find her.
The fuel depot was broken, its tanks empty or stripped. He’d have to scavenge. But first, he needed to see if the plane still moved.
The cockpit smelled of dust, oil, and old leather. He brushed off the pilot’s seat and ran through the checklist he’d memorized a thousand times. Engine intact. Propeller movable. Avionics mostly fried. But the bones were good.
A gust of wind rattled the hangar doors, and Calder froze. Footsteps? No. Just the wind.
He climbed in. Fingers trembling, he turned the key. The starter groaned, coughed, and—miracle—spat life into the engine. Calder exhaled and grinned.
“Let’s go find you,” he whispered to the photo tucked in his breast pocket.
The runway stretched before him, cracked and overgrown, leading to the open sky. The sky where he could leave the world behind. The sky where he might find her.
And for the first time in a year, Calder felt alive.
Chapter Two – Flight Risk
Calder eased the Cessna onto the runway, eyes scanning the horizon for Federal drones. The wind buffeted the wings. Dust swirled. The engine roared louder than it had in years.
“Come on, come on…” he muttered.
The tires lifted off the cracked tarmac. The ground fell away. He was airborne. For a moment, nothing existed but sky.
Then came the reality: patrol drones. Low-flying, black and angular, humming like angry insects.
Calder banked hard. “No way they see me,” he muttered, diving below cloud cover. Adrenaline made his hands steady.
Hours passed in tense silence. He stayed low, navigating over abandoned highways, burnt-out towns, and charred fields. He didn’t dare land until sunset.
Then he saw the smoke.
A bus, half-overturned, flames licking the sides. A figure waved frantically, red-stained and desperate. Calder didn’t hesitate. He circled, landed, and shut the engine off.
The girl who emerged from the smoke had sharp eyes, dark hair in a messy braid, and a duffel slung across her shoulder. Mira Quinn.
“You flying west?” she asked without preamble.
“I—yeah. You?”
“I need a lift. California,” she said. Her gaze was wary, calculating. “You’re flying the wrong way for fun.”
Calder’s lips twitched. “You’re lucky I like fun.” He helped her into the plane.
She didn’t sit quietly. She examined the controls, tested the switches, and muttered under her breath. Calder watched her. She was no amateur. She had the air of someone who’d been trained for survival—and maybe trouble.
As they lifted off again, Mira finally spoke: “If we’re going to survive this flight, you need to know—I don’t follow rules. Not anymore.”
Calder chuckled nervously. “Welcome aboard.”
Something unspoken passed between them. Danger. Trust. Attraction. Neither wanted to say it aloud yet, but the air in the cockpit felt charged.
For the first time in months, Calder wasn’t alone in the sky. And he didn’t want to be.
Chapter Three – Smoke on the Plains
The wind tore at the plane as Calder leveled it above the plains, the setting sun throwing gold across a landscape that had long since stopped feeling like home.
Mira was quiet, eyes scanning the horizon with binoculars she had pulled from her duffel.
“Why are you heading west?” she asked finally, her voice low, almost careful.
Calder shrugged. “Colorado. Someone I… knew. Someone I lost when the world went to hell.” His fingers tightened on the yoke. “You?”
She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes flicked down to the vial tucked in her jacket, and Calder noticed the way her jaw clenched.
“Just… a destination,” she muttered. “Doesn’t matter why.”
He didn’t push. There was a time for questions, and there was a time for survival. This was survival.
Then came the smoke.
Gray and curling against the horizon, the wisp of disaster drew Calder’s attention.
“Smoke,” he muttered, leaning forward. “That’s no campfire.”
Mira lifted her binoculars. “Vehicle. Half-burned. Maybe a bus. Someone’s alive.”
Without asking, Calder banked low. He wasn’t taking chances. If there was someone in trouble, he couldn’t ignore it. Not after everything.
The Cessna bounced over the uneven ground before settling near the bus. Flames licked the roof, and a figure staggered out, waving frantically.
Calder cut the engine. “Get ready.”
The girl—or woman, maybe twenty—looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Dirt and blood streaked her skin. Her duffel was still slung across her shoulder. Her eyes locked on Calder like a hawk spotting prey, then softened slightly.
“You’re flying west?” she asked, panting.
“I am,” Calder said. “We can take you with us.”
“I need to go to California. Fast,” she said. Her voice was firm, commanding, but there was an edge of desperation.
“You don’t know if we’ll make it,” Calder warned. “Restricted airspace. Drones. Patrols. You’re taking a big risk—”
“I can handle myself,” she interrupted. “And I have what you need.”
Calder tilted his head. “Oh? And what’s that?”
She pulled out a small device—a transponder jammer. “This. Helps us stay off radar. You’ll want it.”
He laughed softly, tension easing for the first time that day. “Lucky for me. Could use a miracle.”
She smirked. “Call me your miracle, then.”
They climbed into the plane. Mira studied the cockpit like she had been trained to fly it herself, adjusting dials and gauges with ease. Calder watched her, trying not to let the rapid beat of his heart distract him from the runway.
The engine roared back to life. Calder pulled back on the yoke, and the Cessna rose, low over the fields, escaping the fire below.
For a few moments, it was just sky and wind and possibility.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” Calder said.
“Mira,” she replied. “Mira Quinn.”
He nodded. “Calder. Calder Rowe.”
“Rowe?” she asked, squinting. “Like the old Rowe airfield?”
“The same one,” he said. He didn’t mention his father’s hand in building the place—or the way it had saved him more than once. That was another story.
The sun dipped lower, and the plains stretched endlessly beneath them. Calder stole a glance at Mira. She wasn’t just a passenger. She was a co-pilot, a lifeline, a puzzle he didn’t have the patience—or courage—to solve yet.
But there was something else, too. Something like trust forming in the cracks between fear and adrenaline.
And Calder, despite the world falling apart around them, felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.
Chapter Four – Coordinates and Consequences
The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the horizon, painted pink and orange by the evening sun. Calder guided the Cessna through a narrow valley, Mira scanning for signs of patrol drones.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Calder asked quietly, adjusting the throttle.
“Tell you what?” Mira’s eyes didn’t leave the instruments.
“That you know how to evade radar. That you’ve done this before.”
She exhaled, finally looking at him. “Because it doesn’t matter. Not yet. Survival first. Questions later.”
Calder leaned back, studying her. There was more she wasn’t saying. He could feel it in the way her fingers lingered over a small vial in her jacket pocket.
“You carrying something dangerous?” he asked, voice low.
Her eyes flicked to the vial, then away. “Maybe.”
He held his gaze. “Mira… I need to know I can trust you. If we’re going to survive, I need to trust you.”
She hesitated. Then she nodded slowly. “Fine. I used to work for Aegis Labs—the people behind the virus.”
Calder froze. “You… what?”
“I helped develop it. Not intentionally, not like they made me, but I did. And this,” she said, holding the vial, “might be the only thing that can stop what’s left from spreading.”
Silence filled the cockpit. Calder’s knuckles turned white on the yoke.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t think you’d still be flying if you knew,” she admitted.
He shook his head. “God… Mira. Why are you even helping me?”
“Because if you’re out there looking for her”—she nodded toward the photo of Rhea tucked in his jacket—“then maybe we can do some good along the way. Maybe we can fix this.”
Calder swallowed hard. Fix this. All of this. The virus. The broken world. And maybe… themselves.
Chapter Five – Airborne Hearts
The flight grew longer, colder, and infinitely more intimate.
Over frozen valleys, Mira worked beside him, adjusting controls, reading maps, and whispering coordinates Calder didn’t understand but trusted.
“Ever flown in a storm?” she asked one night as they glided through turbulent winds.
“Once,” he admitted. “It didn’t end well.”
“Good. We’ll make it through this one,” she said, gripping his shoulder lightly as turbulence rocked the plane.
Later, they landed in a hidden valley, untouched by the worst of the virus. Snow glittered beneath their feet. Calder lit a small fire while Mira unpacked rations.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“Flying? Survival? Both?”
“Both,” he grinned. Then, softer: “I’m talking about… me. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Mira met his gaze. “We’ll see if that’s a compliment or a problem later.”
The night was cold. They sat by the fire, silence stretching between them. Calder pulled out Rhea’s photo again.
“She’s out there,” he whispered.
Mira nodded. “Maybe. But right now… we’re alive. And that counts for something.”
Something passed between them. A touch of a hand, a brush of fingers, and the tension in the air shifted from survival to possibility.
For the first time, Calder realized that maybe the heart could survive, too.
Chapter Six – Red Zone
The closer they got to Denver, the more dangerous it became. Red zones were under heavy patrol, the roads empty, the skies full of drones. Calder kept the plane low, skimming valleys, dodging spotlights.
“Do you ever stop worrying?” Mira asked, tightening her seatbelt.
“I stop worrying when I land. Or crash.” Calder’s eyes scanned the horizon. “We’re close to her. I can feel it.”
They approached a barricaded city. Smoke rose from collapsed buildings, the streets deserted, but signs of life flickered—flashes of fire, shadows moving.
Mira’s hands trembled as she adjusted the radar jammer. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far,” she admitted.
“Neither did I,” Calder said. “But here we are. Almost.”
The final approach required precision. One mistake could mean capture—or worse. The plane dipped, dodged lasers, and passed under searchlights. Calder held his breath, trusting Mira’s guidance.
When they cleared the city’s perimeter, he exhaled. “We made it.”
“Yes,” she said. “But not everyone does.”
The weight of their mission pressed down on them, but so did something softer, something growing in the quiet spaces between the roar of the engine and the wind outside: their connection.
Chapter Seven – Mercy Run
The hidden camp outside the city was buzzing with survivors, resistance members, and the faint hope of rebuilding. Calder spotted Rhea immediately—older, hardened, determined. She led the group, giving orders with quiet authority.
“Calder?” she said, eyes widening.
He jumped down, heart pounding. “Rhea.”
The reunion was brief. Time was short, and Aegis agents had tracked Mira and the vial.
“We have to move,” Mira said urgently. “They’ll be here any minute.”
Calder and Mira lifted off, carrying the vial to a safe lab that could replicate the antidote. Bullets zipped past the wings. Smoke clouded the horizon. Calder’s hands burned on the controls, but Mira’s calm presence guided him through.
“Almost there,” she said, her hand brushing his. Sparks of heat traveled up his arm.
They landed, delivered the vial, and for a moment, silence fell. A quiet reprieve.
Chapter Eight – Crosswinds
The flight back was not easier. Red skies, aggressive patrols, and damaged wings made every mile a battle.
Mira grew quiet, lost in thoughts Calder didn’t ask about. He noticed the strain in her jaw, the way she flinched at every shadow.
“I didn’t ask before,” he said. “But… why help? After everything?”
She met his eyes. “Because I can. Because it’s the right thing. And because… I couldn’t leave you alone up here.”
Calder felt something shift in him. Words failed, so he reached over, brushing his hand against hers. She didn’t pull away.
The skies were harsh, but their connection held, a fragile tether amidst the storm.
Chapter Nine – The Last Landing
The final approach to a safe zone was tense. Federal drones had tightened patrols, and one misstep would mean capture. Calder and Mira navigated the plane through a narrow canyon, engine roaring, wings scraping rock walls.
“You’re insane,” Mira yelled over the wind.
“Maybe,” he said, smiling despite the danger. “But it works.”
They landed safely. Relief washed over them like rain. Rhea was waiting, smiling despite the exhaustion and scars.
The reunion was quiet. Words weren’t enough. Instead, there were glances, brushes of hands, and a shared understanding: they had survived. Together.
Chapter Ten – Open Skies
Weeks later, the world was still broken. But it was healing. Sky travel was opening again, borders slowly loosening, communities rebuilding.
Calder and Mira trained new pilots, taught survival, and helped rebuild what remained. Rhea coordinated recovery efforts in other regions.
One evening, as the sun set over the plains, Calder and Mira climbed into a refurbished Cessna.
“Where to?” she asked, smiling.
“Anywhere,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Anywhere with you.”
The plane lifted, the wind rushing past them. The sky was vast, open, and forgiving. For the first time in a long time, they didn’t have to run. They could fly.
Epilogue – Flight Forward
One year later, the world was not healed—but it was healing.
Calder and Mira flew over open fields and cities slowly coming back to life. Sky lanes reopened. Drones were no longer enemies but guides.
Rhea sent coordinates through radio signals, brief messages: locations of survivors, safe zones, medical supplies. Calder and Mira never asked too many questions. They simply followed.
And every flight reminded them of something simple, yet profound: survival was possible, hearts could endure, and the sky—vast, open, endless—still held mercy.