Sea-Stung Requiem

In a drowned world of rust and ruin, a young woman pilots her skiff through a gathering storm, desperate to save her feverish brother. But the sea is cruel, and so are the other survivors who hunt them.

"Almost there, Andy," Millie murmured, though she wasn't sure if he could hear her. His eyes were half-closed, glazed with fever. The fungal infection was moving faster than she'd feared, the dark veins creeping up his neck. "The Citadel. The clinic. They'll have medicine. They'll fix this."

She hoped it was true. The Citadel was a rumour, a story told by other scavengers about a fortified high-rise where people from the Old World still lived, with power and clean water and medicine. It was a long shot, but it was the only one they had left.

She risked a glance behind them. A dark shape was gaining on the horizon. Edward. Of course, it was Edward. He must have seen them leave the refinery at dawn, must have smelled her desperation. He rode a faster, meaner-looking craft, its engine a low growl across the water. He wouldn't try anything in the open channel, but he'd follow. He'd wait for her to find something good, and then he'd take it. He'd taken everything else.

The wind was picking up, and the sky to the west was turning the colour of a deep bruise. A storm was coming. Millie pushed the throttle, coaxing a little more speed out of the tired engine. The skiff bucked as it hit a larger wave, sending a sheet of cold, salty spray over them. Andy moaned, shivering.

"Hold on," she said, her knuckles white on the tiller. "Just hold on."

---

The storm hit them like a fist. Rain came down in blinding sheets, turning the world into a churning, grey chaos. The waves grew into monstrous, rolling hills of water that threatened to swamp their small craft. Millie fought the tiller, her muscles screaming in protest, trying to keep the nose of the skiff pointed into the swell.

Behind them, Edward's craft was a ghost in the deluge, sometimes visible on the crest of a wave, sometimes disappearing completely into a trough.

"The fish..." Andy suddenly mumbled, his voice hoarse. He was trying to sit up. "Millie, look. The fish are singing."

"Lie down, Andy!" she screamed over the howl of the wind. "There's nothing there! It's the fever!"

But he was lost to it. His eyes were wide, fixed on something only he could see in the raging water. Before Millie could react, he lurched to his feet, unsteady in the violently rocking boat. He reached a hand out over the side, a strange smile on his face.

"Andy, no!"

The skiff crested another wave and slammed down hard. The impact threw Andy off balance. He tumbled over the side with a small cry that was instantly swallowed by the storm's fury.

### The Coldest Embrace

Millie screamed his name, a raw, ragged sound of pure terror. She spun the tiller, nearly capsizing them, trying to turn back. She saw his head break the surface, his small form tossed about by the waves like a piece of driftwood. He was flailing, his eyes wild with shock and cold.

"I'm coming!" she shrieked, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She was ten metres away. Twenty. The engine sputtered as water washed over it.

Through the sheets of rain, she saw Edward's skiff bearing down. He hadn't seen Andy in the water. He was just trying to navigate the storm, fighting his own battle against the sea. He was coming too fast. His boat was bigger, heavier.

"Edward! LOOK OUT!" Millie's voice was ripped away by the wind.

She saw the moment of impact. It wasn't loud. Just a dull, sickening thud that she felt more than heard. Edward's prow hit Andy, pushing him under the waves.

Andy did not resurface.

Millie stared at the spot, her mind refusing to process what her eyes had just seen. The water churned, empty. Edward's boat powered past, the man at the helm oblivious, still fighting the storm.

She cut her engine. The skiff wallowed in the troughs, rain and seawater washing over her, soaking her to the skin. But she didn't feel the cold. She didn't feel anything at all. She just stared at the empty, raging water where her brother had been.

He was gone. The fever, the Citadel, Edward, the storm—none of it mattered anymore. The one person she was fighting for had been taken. The sea had swallowed him whole. And then he died.