Hannah and I crouched in a dilapidated building near the edge of Berlin, looking through a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. She passed her binoculars to me.

"This is a waste of time," she said, "there's no way we get into one of those planes. Just look at the security!"

Through the red lenses of binoculars, I could see dozens of men in white uniforms moving about their military duties. Their uniforms were strange, futuristic: they had a reflective quality to them, and were white from the tips of their boots to the lenses of their goggles. Each soldier's face was completely hidden under a pure-white helmet.

"Jonah said the planes were unguarded. I guess that changed since he escaped," I said.

"Or he lied to you. You seem to me to be an exceptionally gullible person," Hannah said.

I handed back her binoculars. "Thanks, that's reassuring. At least there are planes. I can let the government in London-Chicago know, in case they want to try and reason with them."

Hannah snorted. "These are the men who have been hunting me for sport for weeks. I don't trust these soldiers, not at all. I don't think your government stands a chance against them. Look at their arsenal of weapons! It's a miracle I haven't been caught yet."

For a second I wondered why Hannah was really hiding; it seemed like the army had set up a fairly stable environment in the air force base. They probably had food, water, supplies... I wondered if they were really going to kill me when my balloon crashed, or if they were going to rescue me. I wondered if Hannah was the one I should really be afraid of.

"What's with the all white?" I asked.

She sighed, as if tired of my naivete. "In a nuclear blast, dark colors absorb radiation and white reflects it. It will save you from some pretty nasty burns if you're within the flare radius. The new army uniforms are made of a reflective white fabric. It's supposed to help you if your city gets hit - but that's only if you're not in the direct blast radius. That, and it blends in with the ash."

I nodded. "Pretty freaky looking," I said.

"Not as freaky as radiation burns in the shape of whatever clothing pattern you were wearing. I met a little girl with flowers burned all over her body, because that's what was on her sundress the day the bomb fell on Beijing. She came to the hospital in Berlin and lived maybe six months."

I didn't respond; Hannah harbored some serious bitterness about Chicago missing the after-effects of the bomb.

"Anyway- that's it. We're not getting in to steal a plane. Are you happy now?" Hannah said.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks for taking me. I needed to confirm. What about commercial airports? Private helicopters? Even touristy stuff, hot air balloons, paragliding..."

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"I've already checked. I'm willing to revisit the search, but as far as I can tell all the airports were completely emptied after the first wave of bombs fell. Anyone with money left for the countryside."

"Well we can look into building something, but it may take more time than we have. What about -"

A siren rang from the Air Base. Red lights flashed in the distance. Hannah raised her binoculars, scanned the horizon, and swore.

"Shit. Shit. We need to go. Now," she said. She stood and moved towards the exit of the building. I ran to follow her, but she stopped at the entrance.

"Oh God. Oh, fuck," she said. She turned around and pushed past me, back into the building.

"What?" I asked. Fear crept up in my throat.

"Get away from that door," Hannah said.

I didn't understand. I looked outside, just a peek, and saw a wall of white mist creeping towards me us down the street. It was massive, roiling, like a cloud was engulfing the city.

"Mist," I said, "the mist reaches you here? You can get water easily then, this is huge-"

"I said get away from the fucking door," Hannah said. She moved to the side of the room and picked up a piece of fallen drywall from the ground. She pushed me aside and planted it in front of the door, pushing it firmly into place. "Grab anything you can find. Block the door."

She was afraid, but not showing it. She threw bricks and furniture in front of the plywood, piling the barricade as high as she could. The windows remained unguarded, but most of them still had some glass in them. I hastily covered one with few burnt pieces of wood.

"Get to the back of the room," Hannah said. "Now. Face the wall. Do it now."

Hannah didn't wait for me to follow her. She moved to the concrete wall at the back of the room and faced it, eyes cast down. I ran towards her.

"Close your eyes. Plug your ears if you can. It doesn't matter what you hear or feel or see. Close your eyes. Face the wall. Don't move. Don't blink. Don't breathe. Understood?"

I fumbled over my words. The mist started creeping in underneath the barricade. The whole world fell utterly silence, as if the wall of mist outside the broken windows absorbed all sound. There was no more air-raid siren, no more distant shouts of soldiers or hum of aircraft. Only the mist.

Then I heard the footsteps.

They were distant at first, barely audible over the sound of my own hurried breathing.

One foot step. Another.

Padding softly.

The sound of them grew, a shuffling, soft sound like hundreds of people tip-toeing in the street.

One set of footprints was louder than the rest. It moved outside the building, accompanied by a whisper that could be wind or hushed voices. I didn't know.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. I tried to keep my breathing quiet, but failed.

A voice came from outside, soft and distant, but real all the same. A warm, worried, familiar voice.

"Peter?" it asked.

I couldn't help it; I opened my eyes. My breathing stopped.

"Peter?" the woman's voice said again.

I turned around. Hannah grabbed my hand, tried to stop me.

But there she was, standing outside the window, clouded in mist.

"Mom?" I said.