FIC: It's not the end of the world (but you can see it from here) (Merlin, 4/6)
Continued from Part 3
2012
The end began so much sooner than anyone had anticipated. Arthur had heard vague rumours of potential changes to the schedule due to strange volcanic readings in Yellowstone National Park and the recent earthquake activity in California. But it was not until midday on what would be the final day of the Gregorian calendar that he realized just how awry Dr. Helmsley’s calculations had gone.
He was sitting in the royal box in the Olympic stadium, Gwen and Pellinor beside him, watching a number of women run very quickly in circles. The Games had proved a surprising joy to his heart. After Morgana’s death, with the bulk of his role on the project complete, Arthur had thrown himself into his role on the planning committee, desperate for distraction.
By the time he stood proudly beside his father at the opening ceremonies, the Games had become more to him than one more civilized obligation to sleepwalk through before civilization blinked out of existence. These would, for a certainty, be the last Olympic Games, and London-his city, his birthplace and home-would damn well show the world a glorious spectacle.
"Yes!" he shouted at Otoni Mkabe as she neared the finish line, arms and legs almost a blur. "Come on, Toni, one more for us today!"
She had already won two gold medals earlier in the week, and Arthur had made sure he was there each time to see the flag lifted and hear the anthem sung. Toni, chosen for the ark based on her age and flawless genetic profile, had looked up to the box and met his eyes, sharing the significance of the moment in a way most of the crowd could not imagine.
Today it seemed Britain would have to settle for silver, as Genefa Spencer-Gallimore of Jamaica managed to edge a nose past Toni at the finish line. "Ah well," Arthur said as they stood and applauded all the competitors as they took their cool down lap. "Do we get to include the Commonwealth in the medals count?"
Gwen turned her head enough to frown at him, still applauding. "No, sir, you don’t."
He grinned, still chuffed by the silver. His Blackberry started buzzing in his jacket pocket, but he waited until they all finished clapping and sat down again before he reached for it.
Gwen looked over with idle curiosity as he checked it. She had seamlessly taken over as his chief of staff, and any time his phone went off, it usually meant something for her to do. They both frowned as he checked for messages and found nothing new.
His pocket buzzed again, and this time he heard the faint beeping. He froze as he realized that it was the other phone, that constant menacing weight in his pocket. As he pulled it out, Gwen’s eyes widened in shock and she grabbed for her handbag. On her other side, Pellinor was scrabbling for the pocket of the jacket he had draped over the back of his seat.
Arthur ignored both of them, pressing his thumb to the screen. The screen accepted his identity and cleared, revealing a single blinking word.
Boarding.
"Oh, my God," Gwen whispered. "It can’t be, it’s months too early."
"Schedule changes," Arthur murmured. He still stared at the message, blinking away as though it were trying to hammer through the shock into his brain. It refused his order to change, apologize for the misunderstanding, and go away.
Pellinor was already moving. "Your Highness, I have to get you back to the palace now," he said with calm authority as he gripped Arthur’s arm and pulled him to his feet.
Arthur took one more look out over his beautiful stadium that he would never see again. A scattering of other spectators were also rising from the VIP boxes and making their way with deliberate haste to the exits. If this was real, the Games would be suspended within the hour. He doubted anyone would have the chance to officially cancel them.
Buckingham Palace was a swarm of activity when they arrived. Gwen and Pellinor vanished to other duties as Uther met Arthur at the door of his office. "Is this for real?" Arthur demanded. "Why is this happening now?"
"It seems the Americans’ calculations were a bit off," Uther said, closing the door as Arthur entered. "The coast of California was just destroyed by massive earthquakes. They expect the Yellowstone Cauldron to erupt at any minute."
"A bit off?" Arthur shook his head, letting the moment of exasperation overcome the surreal terror trembling just under his skin.
"I wish we had time to analyse their failings in greater detail." Uther moved around his desk and picked up a courier pouch. "I had one of your men fetch this from your rooms."
Arthur took the pouch, knowing without looking that it contained the four boarding passes he had kept locked away. He felt a pang at realizing he would never again see the house and rooms he had grown up in. "Thank you," he managed to say, closing his eyes briefly.
"The Prime Minister is already in the air along with the remaining national treasures," Uther went on, ignoring his son’s moment of weakness. "I have a few small matters of state to attend to myself, but we should have a few hours before we see any danger here."
"I have to go get Merlin," Arthur reminded his father. The thought of Merlin, always in the back of his mind, abruptly solidified and focused his scattered thoughts. "He’s still in Africa. I should have plenty of time to get him and get to China before the final waves hit."
"Yes, yes, of course," Uther agreed, which might have surprised Arthur if he was not already in disbelief that they were having a dispassionate conversation about the immediate occurrence of the apocalypse. "Your jet should be prepped and loaded by the time you get to the airport. Take Morgana’s girl, that Guinevere, with you as well."
"Of course." Arthur hesitated. It seemed that he should say something else, something of weight for history to record as a great quotation at this moment, assuming history was ever recorded again.
Uther gave him a small smile and clasped his shoulder. "I know this is overwhelming, Arthur. We thought we would have more time to prepare ourselves. Just remember who you are-prince of your people, and a great king to be."
"King of nothing," Arthur answered. He knew the fear showed in his eyes, the bitterness in his voice, but for once he could not bring himself to care.
"That will never be true," Uther returned, fierce and regal as a king should be.
They stood together in silence for a few minutes. Arthur felt torn between the driving urgency to act and the need to have just one more minute of normalcy, here in the office where he had played at his father’s feet as a toddler.
A knock on the door and Pellinor’s voice outside broke the moment. "Go," Uther said. "Get your friend."
Arthur nodded. "I’ll see you in China," he said, and left.
***
As they had made their way through London with a loud and aggressive police escort, people had already been starting to panic on the streets, hearing the news from California, the rumours from Montana, and wondering what it meant for the rest of the world. The secret was finally getting out, long after it could have done any good.
Yellowstone National Park exploded-quite literally-as Arthur and Gwen boarded the jet and Owain and Pellinor took the controls. Arthur tried not to think about how many more of his terrified subjects his plane could have carried. It did not matter; he could offer them no succour at the end of the voyage.
They were halfway down the length of Africa when the message came that the ash cloud from Yellowstone had reached the eastern seaboard of the United States, taking down the Vice President’s plane. Air Force One had taken off and escaped the cloud, but the President was not on board. He had chosen to stay behind and address his people, telling them the truth as America fell into darkness.
Just as they crossed into Zimbabwean air space, word came that Washington had succumbed to the ash and then the tsunami.
The United States of America was no more.
The tremors spread across the ocean faster than anyone could have calculated. The crust of the earth was shifting. Arthur had not prayed except in church at any point in his life, but now all he could do was pray for his people and selfishly ask that he reach Merlin in time.
"We have the signal, sir." The intercom crackled to life with Owain’s voice, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. Across the aisle, Gwen beamed at him, and he remembered that she and Merlin had gotten friendly when Merlin was spending so much time at Clarence House.
Arthur touched the intercom button to answer. "Take us down, Owain, but be careful. I very much doubt we can count on the ground being stable."
"Looks all right to me, Captain," Pellinor’s droll voice responded. "Perhaps you should come take a look."
He frowned at Gwen, and they both moved up toward the cockpit. When he looked out the front windscreen, it took a moment to figure out what he was seeing. Beside him, Gwen laughed with delight, and the scene finally resolved in Arthur’s brain.
Merlin was certainly there, waiting near a pair of trucks loaded with supply crates. He had found a long dirt track that could double as a runway. "How considerate," Arthur muttered through gritted teeth.
For next to Merlin stood Lancelot. And behind them stood the entire MSF medical staff from Merlin’s site and at least three others by Arthur’s count. And just to make Arthur’s day, behind them thronged dozens of men, women, and children, most carrying a bag of some kind.
"I can’t believe him," Arthur said louder. "Get this plane down, now."
Even Pellinor and Owain, who had barely met Merlin, were chuckling now, like this was all a wonderful prank. "Yes, sir," Owain said, managing to hide his mirth at Arthur’s ire.
Arthur was off the plane almost before the ramp was lowered. "Merlin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?"
Merlin jogged forward to meet him. "Arthur, thank God you’re here. We’re already getting earthquakes. We got the non-ambulatory into the caves, but I don’t think it’s safe to be out in the open anymore."
Arthur gaped at him, not knowing whether to ask what good caves would do when the entire crust of the earth was moving, or why Merlin had somehow neglected to stow a great many more of his charges. Lancelot he had been halfway expecting, but he had not anticipated that Merlin would press him this far.
"Don’t make me say it, Merlin," he finally said. "I made it clear from the beginning, I can only take you."
"I know, but who could be more useful in an apocalypse than a disaster relief medical team?" Merlin’s jaw was set in a particular way that was all too familiar to Arthur. He had clearly rehearsed his lines. "And Ector has his own ticket for one of the arks, you don’t even have to worry about him."
"Oh. Right." Arthur looked around at the people, many of them clinging to each other for balance as the ground shivered in ominous prelude. "Your medical team is rather more extensive than last I saw it."
"Yes, but we imposed a strict baggage limit." Merlin gave a stiff, hopeful smile. "And you have a big plane. You could stack all of us in a closet and still have room for some brooms."
"That won’t do them any good when we get to China and you just have to leave them all there instead of here."
Merlin’s composure started to break, and he came up to Arthur to speak quiet and fast in his ear as the ground rumbled again. "Arthur, I know you. You can’t leave them here to die any more than I can."
They stared at each other for another minute while the world began to shake apart beneath them. There was no more time to think. But Merlin was still looking at him with steady faith, utterly sure his once-adored prince would make the right decision.
"Sir!" Pellinor shouted from the ramp of the jet. "The tremors are getting worse. We have to go now."
"Damn it." Arthur bowed his head in defeat. "All right, get them on the plane. But Merlin, I can’t promise anything more than that. When we get to China, I don’t have the authority to get them on the arks."
An enormous grin broke over Merlin’s face. He started to throw his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, until Arthur stiffened and stepped back. Merlin bit his lip and nodded. "Thanks."
Arthur gave a curt nod and motioned to start loading people onto the jet. Everyone started moving toward the ramp in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Arthur wondered how much rehearsal time Merlin had put into this.
The first child was halfway up the ramp when they finally ran out of time. Arthur was knocked off his feet as the earth gave a violent shake. Around him, the children began to scream and stampede for the jet.
He stumbled to his feet and ran with Merlin towards the plane, helping the people herd the children in front of them. Pellinor stood at the head of the ramp, grabbing the smaller ones as soon as they got close enough and tossing them in the hatch with brisk efficiency.
The quake got stronger. Behind him, Arthur heard a strange crackling sound. He did not look, but he saw Merlin glance back over his shoulder and go sheer white with horror. "Lance!" he shouted. "Arthur, your pilot-"
He whirled around to see Owain and Lance by the cargo trucks, each struggling to unload a large crate from one of the trucks. On the other side of the trucks, unseen by them, a large fissure was opening in the earth, spreading towards them rapidly.
"Owain!" he shouted. "Leave it! Now!"
Owain turned to look at him, and at that moment, the ground beneath him groaned, shifted, and split beneath his feet. His mouth widened in an "O" just before his arms windmilled, cartoon-like, and he started to tumble back over the edge of a cliff that had not been there a minute before.
Arthur broke away from Merlin and raced toward the trucks. Owain grabbed onto the open door of the nearest truck to get his feet back under him. Arthur was still several metres away when Owain looked up and grinned in relief.
"I’m okay!" he shouted. On top of the other truck, Lancelot cautiously let go of the crate he had been trying to move and began to climb back over the cargo fence.
Then the ground shook again and began to crumble behind the back wheels of the trucks, which groaned and began to slide backwards.
"Get out of there!" Arthur made a lunge for Owain, who looked at him in confusion the instant before the open door of the truck caught him in the chest and dragged him backwards over the edge of the fissure. "Owain!"
"Arthur, stop! It’s not safe," he heard Merlin shouting behind him, but Arthur stumbled forward to the crumbling edge of the crack. Owain might still be there, clinging to the cliff face, like he had done in the mountains that time when he was just a green rookie-
But Owain was gone.
Arthur stumbled back from the precipice. The ground lurched sideways beneath his feet, sending him tumbling in front of the second truck. It creaked above him, and for a moment he thought he was about to be run over.
Behind him, Merlin shouted again, sounding terrified. For an instant Arthur thought that fear was for his own imminent demise. Then he looked up at the truck above him and realized it was inching backwards into the crevasse-and Lancelot was still on it.
He scrambled to his feet and ran up along the side of the truck as close to the edge as he dared. The ground had stopped moving, though judging from the reports from America, Arthur guessed it was the calm before the final storm.
Merlin was running toward him, but Arthur glared at him and pointed back towards the plane. "Go back! I’ll get him, but I need you to get on that plane," he shouted.
For a moment Merlin glared back. He stayed where he was, halfway between plane and truck, at a safe distance if such a thing were possible. Arthur gave him one last stern look for good measure before turning his focus on his mission.
The truck was teetering on the edge of the crack, caught in a mess of brush that was stabilizing it, though probably not for long. And there was Lancelot’s boot, stuck in between the slats of the cargo fence, with the rest of Lancelot dangling outside the fence over the abyss below. Lancelot strained upwards, trying to grab hold of something to pull himself up, but stopped when the truck gave an ominous shudder.
"Stay still," Arthur called to him. "Just stay still until I reach you."
It was clearly idiotic, which he knew damn well even as he took careful hold of the side of the truck cab and lifted himself onto the runner board. As he waited to be sure it was going to bear his weight, he could hear the distant sound of Gwen screaming his name from the plane.
He should be sprinting for the jet now, getting it off the ground before there was no ground left, saving the people he could. But he would be damned if one more person was going to die on his watch if he could do anything about it. Even Lancelot. He could not face Merlin again if he did not try.
The truck seemed stable enough for the time being, so he began to inch himself along the running board. Arthur could see him clearly now, trying to keep his body from swaying and disturbing the balance of the truck. Sweat ran up his neck and across his face.
Another tremor ran through the ground, making the truck shake and sway. Lancelot’s arms flailed out involuntarily, which did not help. Arthur leaned back to put as much of his weight toward the front as he could.
The truck slid another inch backwards, then held steady. A slow popping sound sent a chill through him. One of the bushes holding them steady was giving way under the weight of the truck, ripping out one root at a time.
He took a deep breath, listening to Lancelot’s panicked breathing. "You know, my sister died last year," Arthur said as though in a casual conversation and not on the edge of a gigantic crack in the earth in the midst of the apocalypse.
"Y-yes, I know." Lancelot replied after a confused pause, but sounded slightly calmed by the distraction. "My condolences. Merlin was beside himself when he heard."
"Was he?" He took another cautious step along the side of the truck. He had to go faster; he could feel the ground starting to shake again and knew they did not have much time. "I didn’t know he and Morgana were so close."
"It was you. He wanted to go to you. I told him he should, but he didn’t feel like he could."
Arthur paused and shut his eyes, then blinked and forced himself another step. He was at the end of the running board and ready to manoeuver the last bit along the bed of the truck to Lancelot. "Did Merlin tell you about the arks? Never mind, of course he did. Before she died, Morgana gave me her boarding pass. I want to give it to you."
"What? Merde, be careful!" Lancelot cried as more of the brush gave way and the truck tilted alarmingly. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you’re a noble man. Morgana would have liked you." And Merlin did like him, Merlin who would almost certainly still be watching them if Arthur could spare the concentration to look.
He got himself up on the cargo fence, almost within reach of Lancelot’s boot. "Nearly there. Hang on."
"No--no rush, Your Highness," Lancelot panted. He craned his neck just enough to look up at Arthur.
They looked at each other for one long moment, each judging the angles and possibilities. "This is going to go fast," Arthur said finally, feeling the truck give a little more under his weight. He was just past the balance point at the edge of the crevasse; any further movement was going to tip that balance.
"Right," Lancelot agreed, nodding as best he could upside down.
Arthur stretched his body as far as he could without losing his leverage. "Take my hand. Don’t swing if you can help it."
Lancelot stretched out his arm, groaning at the strain until his fingers caught in Arthur’s.
Arthur secured his grip on both Lancelot and the truck. "All right, on three I’m going to pull you up. Grab onto the truck, get your foot out, and follow me. One. Two. Three."
He pulled hard, dragging Lancelot up until he was bent in two and scrabbling for a hold on the cargo fence. The metal beneath them shrieked and began to tilt. Arthur let go of his hand, then yanked at the laces of Lancelot’s boot.
Lancelot pulled his foot out and they both scrambled up over the cargo fence onto the main body of the truck. "Up!" Arthur yelled as the last of the brush gave way on the edge of the cliff.
The ground crumbled under the wheels. Arthur jumped up onto the roof of the cab, Lancelot at his shoulder. Lancelot’s bare foot slipped, and Arthur grabbed his arm and yanked him up and over the roof.
They landed on the bonnet just as the front tires cleared the edge of the cliff, flipping the truck backwards into the fissure. Arthur took a last jump off the front headlights, pulling Lancelot with him by sheer force of will.
His chest impacted the ground, his legs on the side of the gorge. He immediately started slithering backwards, dragged down by Lancelot’s weight. His free arm scraped frantically at the crumbling ground, but he had no chance.
Then he felt hands on his arm, other hands seizing his shirt collar and dragging him up and over the edge. He kept his death grip on Lancelot until they were both back on solid ground.
Solid ground that was once again shaking and starting to split. He looked up into Merlin’s shock-white face, Gwen peering anxiously over his shoulder. Beside them, Ector was hauling Lance up onto his feet.
"I think we should run." Merlin’s voice was hoarse, and his fingers were still wrapped tight around Arthur’s arm.
"You think?" Arthur cleared his throat and forced his legs to push him up and forward.
They raced to the plane as the crack in the earth widened behind them. "Your other pilot’s dead," Merlin shouted as they ran. "Gwen says you’ll have to fly the plane."
Arthur stopped short at the ramp, staring at the still figure lying under it. "Pellinor?" he said and started to swerve toward his friend.
Merlin dragged him back. "He fell from the ramp and hit his head during the first big shake," he said. "I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything we could do."
He shook his head even as he understood he had no choice. It had been years since he last piloted anything, and he had never flown a cargo jet like this. "I need a co-pilot."
"Lance was in the ALA," Merlin said eagerly. "He can help."
"Er," Lancelot said, obviously experiencing the same misgivings as Arthur about the quality of the French air force.
The earthquake was getting worse, and this time it was not stopping. They were out of time.
"Good enough," Arthur said. "No, leave him, there’s no time. The whole world is a damn graveyard now."
But he stopped and snapped off one of Pellinor’s dog tags before leaving him to the dying world.
***
Part 5
2012
The end began so much sooner than anyone had anticipated. Arthur had heard vague rumours of potential changes to the schedule due to strange volcanic readings in Yellowstone National Park and the recent earthquake activity in California. But it was not until midday on what would be the final day of the Gregorian calendar that he realized just how awry Dr. Helmsley’s calculations had gone.
He was sitting in the royal box in the Olympic stadium, Gwen and Pellinor beside him, watching a number of women run very quickly in circles. The Games had proved a surprising joy to his heart. After Morgana’s death, with the bulk of his role on the project complete, Arthur had thrown himself into his role on the planning committee, desperate for distraction.
By the time he stood proudly beside his father at the opening ceremonies, the Games had become more to him than one more civilized obligation to sleepwalk through before civilization blinked out of existence. These would, for a certainty, be the last Olympic Games, and London-his city, his birthplace and home-would damn well show the world a glorious spectacle.
"Yes!" he shouted at Otoni Mkabe as she neared the finish line, arms and legs almost a blur. "Come on, Toni, one more for us today!"
She had already won two gold medals earlier in the week, and Arthur had made sure he was there each time to see the flag lifted and hear the anthem sung. Toni, chosen for the ark based on her age and flawless genetic profile, had looked up to the box and met his eyes, sharing the significance of the moment in a way most of the crowd could not imagine.
Today it seemed Britain would have to settle for silver, as Genefa Spencer-Gallimore of Jamaica managed to edge a nose past Toni at the finish line. "Ah well," Arthur said as they stood and applauded all the competitors as they took their cool down lap. "Do we get to include the Commonwealth in the medals count?"
Gwen turned her head enough to frown at him, still applauding. "No, sir, you don’t."
He grinned, still chuffed by the silver. His Blackberry started buzzing in his jacket pocket, but he waited until they all finished clapping and sat down again before he reached for it.
Gwen looked over with idle curiosity as he checked it. She had seamlessly taken over as his chief of staff, and any time his phone went off, it usually meant something for her to do. They both frowned as he checked for messages and found nothing new.
His pocket buzzed again, and this time he heard the faint beeping. He froze as he realized that it was the other phone, that constant menacing weight in his pocket. As he pulled it out, Gwen’s eyes widened in shock and she grabbed for her handbag. On her other side, Pellinor was scrabbling for the pocket of the jacket he had draped over the back of his seat.
Arthur ignored both of them, pressing his thumb to the screen. The screen accepted his identity and cleared, revealing a single blinking word.
Boarding.
"Oh, my God," Gwen whispered. "It can’t be, it’s months too early."
"Schedule changes," Arthur murmured. He still stared at the message, blinking away as though it were trying to hammer through the shock into his brain. It refused his order to change, apologize for the misunderstanding, and go away.
Pellinor was already moving. "Your Highness, I have to get you back to the palace now," he said with calm authority as he gripped Arthur’s arm and pulled him to his feet.
Arthur took one more look out over his beautiful stadium that he would never see again. A scattering of other spectators were also rising from the VIP boxes and making their way with deliberate haste to the exits. If this was real, the Games would be suspended within the hour. He doubted anyone would have the chance to officially cancel them.
Buckingham Palace was a swarm of activity when they arrived. Gwen and Pellinor vanished to other duties as Uther met Arthur at the door of his office. "Is this for real?" Arthur demanded. "Why is this happening now?"
"It seems the Americans’ calculations were a bit off," Uther said, closing the door as Arthur entered. "The coast of California was just destroyed by massive earthquakes. They expect the Yellowstone Cauldron to erupt at any minute."
"A bit off?" Arthur shook his head, letting the moment of exasperation overcome the surreal terror trembling just under his skin.
"I wish we had time to analyse their failings in greater detail." Uther moved around his desk and picked up a courier pouch. "I had one of your men fetch this from your rooms."
Arthur took the pouch, knowing without looking that it contained the four boarding passes he had kept locked away. He felt a pang at realizing he would never again see the house and rooms he had grown up in. "Thank you," he managed to say, closing his eyes briefly.
"The Prime Minister is already in the air along with the remaining national treasures," Uther went on, ignoring his son’s moment of weakness. "I have a few small matters of state to attend to myself, but we should have a few hours before we see any danger here."
"I have to go get Merlin," Arthur reminded his father. The thought of Merlin, always in the back of his mind, abruptly solidified and focused his scattered thoughts. "He’s still in Africa. I should have plenty of time to get him and get to China before the final waves hit."
"Yes, yes, of course," Uther agreed, which might have surprised Arthur if he was not already in disbelief that they were having a dispassionate conversation about the immediate occurrence of the apocalypse. "Your jet should be prepped and loaded by the time you get to the airport. Take Morgana’s girl, that Guinevere, with you as well."
"Of course." Arthur hesitated. It seemed that he should say something else, something of weight for history to record as a great quotation at this moment, assuming history was ever recorded again.
Uther gave him a small smile and clasped his shoulder. "I know this is overwhelming, Arthur. We thought we would have more time to prepare ourselves. Just remember who you are-prince of your people, and a great king to be."
"King of nothing," Arthur answered. He knew the fear showed in his eyes, the bitterness in his voice, but for once he could not bring himself to care.
"That will never be true," Uther returned, fierce and regal as a king should be.
They stood together in silence for a few minutes. Arthur felt torn between the driving urgency to act and the need to have just one more minute of normalcy, here in the office where he had played at his father’s feet as a toddler.
A knock on the door and Pellinor’s voice outside broke the moment. "Go," Uther said. "Get your friend."
Arthur nodded. "I’ll see you in China," he said, and left.
***
As they had made their way through London with a loud and aggressive police escort, people had already been starting to panic on the streets, hearing the news from California, the rumours from Montana, and wondering what it meant for the rest of the world. The secret was finally getting out, long after it could have done any good.
Yellowstone National Park exploded-quite literally-as Arthur and Gwen boarded the jet and Owain and Pellinor took the controls. Arthur tried not to think about how many more of his terrified subjects his plane could have carried. It did not matter; he could offer them no succour at the end of the voyage.
They were halfway down the length of Africa when the message came that the ash cloud from Yellowstone had reached the eastern seaboard of the United States, taking down the Vice President’s plane. Air Force One had taken off and escaped the cloud, but the President was not on board. He had chosen to stay behind and address his people, telling them the truth as America fell into darkness.
Just as they crossed into Zimbabwean air space, word came that Washington had succumbed to the ash and then the tsunami.
The United States of America was no more.
The tremors spread across the ocean faster than anyone could have calculated. The crust of the earth was shifting. Arthur had not prayed except in church at any point in his life, but now all he could do was pray for his people and selfishly ask that he reach Merlin in time.
"We have the signal, sir." The intercom crackled to life with Owain’s voice, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. Across the aisle, Gwen beamed at him, and he remembered that she and Merlin had gotten friendly when Merlin was spending so much time at Clarence House.
Arthur touched the intercom button to answer. "Take us down, Owain, but be careful. I very much doubt we can count on the ground being stable."
"Looks all right to me, Captain," Pellinor’s droll voice responded. "Perhaps you should come take a look."
He frowned at Gwen, and they both moved up toward the cockpit. When he looked out the front windscreen, it took a moment to figure out what he was seeing. Beside him, Gwen laughed with delight, and the scene finally resolved in Arthur’s brain.
Merlin was certainly there, waiting near a pair of trucks loaded with supply crates. He had found a long dirt track that could double as a runway. "How considerate," Arthur muttered through gritted teeth.
For next to Merlin stood Lancelot. And behind them stood the entire MSF medical staff from Merlin’s site and at least three others by Arthur’s count. And just to make Arthur’s day, behind them thronged dozens of men, women, and children, most carrying a bag of some kind.
"I can’t believe him," Arthur said louder. "Get this plane down, now."
Even Pellinor and Owain, who had barely met Merlin, were chuckling now, like this was all a wonderful prank. "Yes, sir," Owain said, managing to hide his mirth at Arthur’s ire.
Arthur was off the plane almost before the ramp was lowered. "Merlin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?"
Merlin jogged forward to meet him. "Arthur, thank God you’re here. We’re already getting earthquakes. We got the non-ambulatory into the caves, but I don’t think it’s safe to be out in the open anymore."
Arthur gaped at him, not knowing whether to ask what good caves would do when the entire crust of the earth was moving, or why Merlin had somehow neglected to stow a great many more of his charges. Lancelot he had been halfway expecting, but he had not anticipated that Merlin would press him this far.
"Don’t make me say it, Merlin," he finally said. "I made it clear from the beginning, I can only take you."
"I know, but who could be more useful in an apocalypse than a disaster relief medical team?" Merlin’s jaw was set in a particular way that was all too familiar to Arthur. He had clearly rehearsed his lines. "And Ector has his own ticket for one of the arks, you don’t even have to worry about him."
"Oh. Right." Arthur looked around at the people, many of them clinging to each other for balance as the ground shivered in ominous prelude. "Your medical team is rather more extensive than last I saw it."
"Yes, but we imposed a strict baggage limit." Merlin gave a stiff, hopeful smile. "And you have a big plane. You could stack all of us in a closet and still have room for some brooms."
"That won’t do them any good when we get to China and you just have to leave them all there instead of here."
Merlin’s composure started to break, and he came up to Arthur to speak quiet and fast in his ear as the ground rumbled again. "Arthur, I know you. You can’t leave them here to die any more than I can."
They stared at each other for another minute while the world began to shake apart beneath them. There was no more time to think. But Merlin was still looking at him with steady faith, utterly sure his once-adored prince would make the right decision.
"Sir!" Pellinor shouted from the ramp of the jet. "The tremors are getting worse. We have to go now."
"Damn it." Arthur bowed his head in defeat. "All right, get them on the plane. But Merlin, I can’t promise anything more than that. When we get to China, I don’t have the authority to get them on the arks."
An enormous grin broke over Merlin’s face. He started to throw his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, until Arthur stiffened and stepped back. Merlin bit his lip and nodded. "Thanks."
Arthur gave a curt nod and motioned to start loading people onto the jet. Everyone started moving toward the ramp in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Arthur wondered how much rehearsal time Merlin had put into this.
The first child was halfway up the ramp when they finally ran out of time. Arthur was knocked off his feet as the earth gave a violent shake. Around him, the children began to scream and stampede for the jet.
He stumbled to his feet and ran with Merlin towards the plane, helping the people herd the children in front of them. Pellinor stood at the head of the ramp, grabbing the smaller ones as soon as they got close enough and tossing them in the hatch with brisk efficiency.
The quake got stronger. Behind him, Arthur heard a strange crackling sound. He did not look, but he saw Merlin glance back over his shoulder and go sheer white with horror. "Lance!" he shouted. "Arthur, your pilot-"
He whirled around to see Owain and Lance by the cargo trucks, each struggling to unload a large crate from one of the trucks. On the other side of the trucks, unseen by them, a large fissure was opening in the earth, spreading towards them rapidly.
"Owain!" he shouted. "Leave it! Now!"
Owain turned to look at him, and at that moment, the ground beneath him groaned, shifted, and split beneath his feet. His mouth widened in an "O" just before his arms windmilled, cartoon-like, and he started to tumble back over the edge of a cliff that had not been there a minute before.
Arthur broke away from Merlin and raced toward the trucks. Owain grabbed onto the open door of the nearest truck to get his feet back under him. Arthur was still several metres away when Owain looked up and grinned in relief.
"I’m okay!" he shouted. On top of the other truck, Lancelot cautiously let go of the crate he had been trying to move and began to climb back over the cargo fence.
Then the ground shook again and began to crumble behind the back wheels of the trucks, which groaned and began to slide backwards.
"Get out of there!" Arthur made a lunge for Owain, who looked at him in confusion the instant before the open door of the truck caught him in the chest and dragged him backwards over the edge of the fissure. "Owain!"
"Arthur, stop! It’s not safe," he heard Merlin shouting behind him, but Arthur stumbled forward to the crumbling edge of the crack. Owain might still be there, clinging to the cliff face, like he had done in the mountains that time when he was just a green rookie-
But Owain was gone.
Arthur stumbled back from the precipice. The ground lurched sideways beneath his feet, sending him tumbling in front of the second truck. It creaked above him, and for a moment he thought he was about to be run over.
Behind him, Merlin shouted again, sounding terrified. For an instant Arthur thought that fear was for his own imminent demise. Then he looked up at the truck above him and realized it was inching backwards into the crevasse-and Lancelot was still on it.
He scrambled to his feet and ran up along the side of the truck as close to the edge as he dared. The ground had stopped moving, though judging from the reports from America, Arthur guessed it was the calm before the final storm.
Merlin was running toward him, but Arthur glared at him and pointed back towards the plane. "Go back! I’ll get him, but I need you to get on that plane," he shouted.
For a moment Merlin glared back. He stayed where he was, halfway between plane and truck, at a safe distance if such a thing were possible. Arthur gave him one last stern look for good measure before turning his focus on his mission.
The truck was teetering on the edge of the crack, caught in a mess of brush that was stabilizing it, though probably not for long. And there was Lancelot’s boot, stuck in between the slats of the cargo fence, with the rest of Lancelot dangling outside the fence over the abyss below. Lancelot strained upwards, trying to grab hold of something to pull himself up, but stopped when the truck gave an ominous shudder.
"Stay still," Arthur called to him. "Just stay still until I reach you."
It was clearly idiotic, which he knew damn well even as he took careful hold of the side of the truck cab and lifted himself onto the runner board. As he waited to be sure it was going to bear his weight, he could hear the distant sound of Gwen screaming his name from the plane.
He should be sprinting for the jet now, getting it off the ground before there was no ground left, saving the people he could. But he would be damned if one more person was going to die on his watch if he could do anything about it. Even Lancelot. He could not face Merlin again if he did not try.
The truck seemed stable enough for the time being, so he began to inch himself along the running board. Arthur could see him clearly now, trying to keep his body from swaying and disturbing the balance of the truck. Sweat ran up his neck and across his face.
Another tremor ran through the ground, making the truck shake and sway. Lancelot’s arms flailed out involuntarily, which did not help. Arthur leaned back to put as much of his weight toward the front as he could.
The truck slid another inch backwards, then held steady. A slow popping sound sent a chill through him. One of the bushes holding them steady was giving way under the weight of the truck, ripping out one root at a time.
He took a deep breath, listening to Lancelot’s panicked breathing. "You know, my sister died last year," Arthur said as though in a casual conversation and not on the edge of a gigantic crack in the earth in the midst of the apocalypse.
"Y-yes, I know." Lancelot replied after a confused pause, but sounded slightly calmed by the distraction. "My condolences. Merlin was beside himself when he heard."
"Was he?" He took another cautious step along the side of the truck. He had to go faster; he could feel the ground starting to shake again and knew they did not have much time. "I didn’t know he and Morgana were so close."
"It was you. He wanted to go to you. I told him he should, but he didn’t feel like he could."
Arthur paused and shut his eyes, then blinked and forced himself another step. He was at the end of the running board and ready to manoeuver the last bit along the bed of the truck to Lancelot. "Did Merlin tell you about the arks? Never mind, of course he did. Before she died, Morgana gave me her boarding pass. I want to give it to you."
"What? Merde, be careful!" Lancelot cried as more of the brush gave way and the truck tilted alarmingly. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you’re a noble man. Morgana would have liked you." And Merlin did like him, Merlin who would almost certainly still be watching them if Arthur could spare the concentration to look.
He got himself up on the cargo fence, almost within reach of Lancelot’s boot. "Nearly there. Hang on."
"No--no rush, Your Highness," Lancelot panted. He craned his neck just enough to look up at Arthur.
They looked at each other for one long moment, each judging the angles and possibilities. "This is going to go fast," Arthur said finally, feeling the truck give a little more under his weight. He was just past the balance point at the edge of the crevasse; any further movement was going to tip that balance.
"Right," Lancelot agreed, nodding as best he could upside down.
Arthur stretched his body as far as he could without losing his leverage. "Take my hand. Don’t swing if you can help it."
Lancelot stretched out his arm, groaning at the strain until his fingers caught in Arthur’s.
Arthur secured his grip on both Lancelot and the truck. "All right, on three I’m going to pull you up. Grab onto the truck, get your foot out, and follow me. One. Two. Three."
He pulled hard, dragging Lancelot up until he was bent in two and scrabbling for a hold on the cargo fence. The metal beneath them shrieked and began to tilt. Arthur let go of his hand, then yanked at the laces of Lancelot’s boot.
Lancelot pulled his foot out and they both scrambled up over the cargo fence onto the main body of the truck. "Up!" Arthur yelled as the last of the brush gave way on the edge of the cliff.
The ground crumbled under the wheels. Arthur jumped up onto the roof of the cab, Lancelot at his shoulder. Lancelot’s bare foot slipped, and Arthur grabbed his arm and yanked him up and over the roof.
They landed on the bonnet just as the front tires cleared the edge of the cliff, flipping the truck backwards into the fissure. Arthur took a last jump off the front headlights, pulling Lancelot with him by sheer force of will.
His chest impacted the ground, his legs on the side of the gorge. He immediately started slithering backwards, dragged down by Lancelot’s weight. His free arm scraped frantically at the crumbling ground, but he had no chance.
Then he felt hands on his arm, other hands seizing his shirt collar and dragging him up and over the edge. He kept his death grip on Lancelot until they were both back on solid ground.
Solid ground that was once again shaking and starting to split. He looked up into Merlin’s shock-white face, Gwen peering anxiously over his shoulder. Beside them, Ector was hauling Lance up onto his feet.
"I think we should run." Merlin’s voice was hoarse, and his fingers were still wrapped tight around Arthur’s arm.
"You think?" Arthur cleared his throat and forced his legs to push him up and forward.
They raced to the plane as the crack in the earth widened behind them. "Your other pilot’s dead," Merlin shouted as they ran. "Gwen says you’ll have to fly the plane."
Arthur stopped short at the ramp, staring at the still figure lying under it. "Pellinor?" he said and started to swerve toward his friend.
Merlin dragged him back. "He fell from the ramp and hit his head during the first big shake," he said. "I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything we could do."
He shook his head even as he understood he had no choice. It had been years since he last piloted anything, and he had never flown a cargo jet like this. "I need a co-pilot."
"Lance was in the ALA," Merlin said eagerly. "He can help."
"Er," Lancelot said, obviously experiencing the same misgivings as Arthur about the quality of the French air force.
The earthquake was getting worse, and this time it was not stopping. They were out of time.
"Good enough," Arthur said. "No, leave him, there’s no time. The whole world is a damn graveyard now."
But he stopped and snapped off one of Pellinor’s dog tags before leaving him to the dying world.
***
Part 5