Fallen Skies
A colossal mothership crumbled and smoked as it hit the far-off waters. The waves buried it, wrathful at having been disrupted. Curling and rippling, a tidal wave stormed the beach. A group of women and a scrawny man with a ponytail, all witness to the event, bolted for a patch of forest atop rolling hills of blue grass, past the black sand dunes and the cloudy pillars of alien stone.
“Arthur!” Karen, the older leader of the group, called out desperately. There was no answer.
A large copper-skinned man, Bastian, dashed out of the shabby cabin with another man, unconscious and cradled in his arms. He ran up the sand hills, but there was little time left. At the top, he stumbled and dropped the half-dead man, leaving him to crash and roll into the sandy grass. Bastian clawed at the black sand and got to his feet, picked up Shane, the unconscious man, and dashed into the forest patch, Shane’s head bobbing relentlessly.
An alien armada exited the thick clouds, stopping to hover just above the wreckage. Three small ships zipped toward the beach, trailing behind the fierce wave. As the liquid wall came crashing down, the ships scattered, scanning and monitoring their own respective areas of coast and forest. The beach was drowned instantly. Bastian refused to turn back, running and panting. The water level rose above the sand hills and entered the forest. The trees withstood the brunt of the wave, and by the time the water reached the inner forest, it could only slap Bastian and the others with a sharp spray. Soaked at its edges, the forest floor soon resembled a shallow swamp.
Bastian leaned against a tree, the water at his ankles. Shane was still in his arms. They were both soggy and dripping and cold.
“Bastian!” a man’s voice, higher than his, called out from thirty feet away. The other man was soaked as well. Bastian didn’t answer, and instead caught his breath. As the man approached, there was a beautiful Japanese woman by his side. “You guys alright?” Bastian nodded.
“Karen and the others went to watch the ships at the forest’s edge and hopefully find Arthur,” said Emi, the Japanese woman.
“What the fuck was that?” the man asked, though he knew the others wouldn’t be able to answer. Bastian remained silent, staring down at his unconscious friend in his arms. “Bastian?”
“Let’s catch up to the others,” Bastian eventually relented. They found Karen and the other women watching the alien armada, which sat still above the waters, unmoving. Their sloshy steps churned the ground as they approached the women.
“I guess they didn’t leave after all,” Karen said, cool and resolute.
“Where’s Arthur?” asked Emi. Karen did not reply, and neither did anyone else. The solemn silence held for a little.
“Please . . . help him,” pleaded Bastian. Karen ignored him, still watching the ships. Suddenly, a wheelchair poked its headrest above the waterline near a dark stone standing sturdy against the ripples. Karen’s eyes widened, and without warning, she charged toward it. The group watched her pull a man with legs missing from the knees down out of the water, unhooking him from the black boulder. Bastian was the only one to notice an alien ship far down on the shore, scanning the wrecked cruise ship that lay shattered in pieces against the peculiar stone pillars.
“Arthur! Arthur!” Karen screamed. After dragging him up the hill to dry land, she lifted his salt and pepper head and turned him over on his back. She pumped his chest, then blew air into his mouth, repeating the actions several times until they worked. The man vomited out water and sand, then inhaled air more desperately than he ever had. He coughed and coughed until he barely recovered. Blood streamed down the side of his head.
“. . . Sweet sister,” he panted. Karen caressed his face, wiping blood off him.
“I thought you were dead,” Karen whispered.
“Almost . . . any day now,” he chuckled painfully. “Could you not have had one of the other ladies give me mouth to mouth?”
“Where were you?” she asked exhaustedly.
“I was safe, here on the hills. Took me all day to get my ass up there, and good thing I did. I . . . I saw you running into the forest and didn’t want you to risk your lives for me. Thought I was far enough, but the water dragged me back down. I think I hit my head on something.” Arthur rubbed his skull gently.
As the group encircled him, they were greeted by a drone that seemed to appear out of thin air from above. It had dual gyroscopes on either side; inside of those, rings of directional propellers whirled. As big as a human head, it was sharp and glaring. Most jumped back, while the few who still had weapons raised them. Bastian was astonished. The drone was carrying a wheelchair with thick rubber hairs sticking out of the wheels, yet it hovered silently. It dangled the chair from a nylon-like tether. The metal hand let go, and the chair splashed into a sandy puddle beside them.
“Humans,” it began robotically, “you are safe now.”
The group had no response, until Karen finally stepped up. “Why are you here?”
“We have always been here, watching from above. We came down to take a tour of our world. We did not know there were many humans left out in the wilds.”
“Your world?” Karen growled.
“Our world. I did say ‘our.’ How are you liking it?” The drone remained metallic-sounding, but its tone was no longer flat.
“We liked it better before!” barked a woman with bright blue eyes and a dark afro.
“I see,” the drone said, though it remained quietly hovering.
“Please,” Bastian began. His voice was scratchy and unsure, and he was debating this request in his mind, but he committed. “Can you help him?” Bastian raised Shane slightly higher.
The drone darted toward him, further frightening the others. At the device’s center was a triangular trio of glaring green eyes. They suddenly flashed red and scanned both Shane and Bastian. “He is in dire shape. Wait here.” Then it was gone, zipping toward the cluster of ships above the water.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Karen demanded. Bastian ignored her, watching the drone disappear in the misty distance. “Hey!”
“Karen, they brought Arthur’s chair,” exclaimed Emi as she rushed to prop it up. Two women lifted him up and plopped him into his chair.
“Thanks, ladies,” Arthur said, trying to be cheerful.
“Maybe they are trying to help,” Emi suggested.
Night fell with a dreadful and anxious wonder. They chose to remain on the hill as the surge started to release the beach. Still, smaller wave crests followed, as if they were echoes in a cave, diminishing further with each interval. The cabin was destroyed, now only a pile of splintered planks and dead plants. The group managed to gather some supplies, but most had been taken out into the ocean by the wave. A fire failed to keep them warm. Waiting in darkness, the Vagantem fleet did not move. Only a few dim lights sparked above the water occasionally.
“We should have left already,” spat a woman with dirty yellow hair lingering down her back.
“And go where?” Karen asked.
“I don’t trust them,” the woman responded.
“Little Lucy,” taunted Karen, “what do you think we should do?” This shut Lucy up.
“She’s right, you know,” said the woman with blue eyes and the dark afro. Karen shot her a wicked glare.
“We wait,” she said, and Bastian gave her a nod.
Shane was on the verge of death, and Bastian knew it; not only could he see it, he could smell it. The smell of death. It was similar to the reek Gus had carried before the rats got to him in his sleep. Sickness, infection . . . decay? The stench was only the prelude. There was no time left, and he felt close to dead as well just at the thought.
Shane’s lips were cracked, and dark circles encompassed his paling eyes. He was colder than everything around them. Bastian was afraid to look at Shane’s amputated arm, afraid of what he’d see. He would be alone, now; the last of his group. So many years together. So many moments shared on the road. All of them gone in such a short span of time, too little time to take in. Gus, Leonard, Carli . . . and now Shane. Why couldn’t I have been first? He suddenly felt the selfishness in that thought and tried to shake it off.
Delete Created with Sketch.
When the sun reached high in the sky the next day, the drone returned, this time with a metal crate attached to its tether line. “I have brought food and supplies.” The group did not move. “Open it,” the drone invited once it dropped the crate. Karen stepped up and pressed a square, red button on the top. A latch lifted in response and revealed a myriad of items. Water in strange jars and bottles, as well as packaged meat, fruit, and vegetables; only a minority were recognizable. There were also first aid kits from old Earth’s hospitals. Blankets and quilts, also manmade, were inside. Karen almost smiled, but her instincts stopped her.
“My lord, this is the real shit,” said Arthur, less reluctant to shine with hope than his sister.
“He’s going to die!” Bastian bellowed, and all fell silent.
“Yes. I understand. I am waiting for more support,” voiced the drone dispassionately.
Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity to Bastian, but then help finally arrived. A silver and black transport ship landed on the beach, shifting the sand as it did. The side door lifted, and out spilled white light. Two Vagantem soldiers, shining bloody red in their mechanical power armor, exited the craft. They were massive and threatening looking, with turrets on their shoulders and twisting tentacled faces behind clear plated helmets.
“Bring him inside,” said the drone.
While the others all eyed the terrifying armored titans, Bastian approached them in awe. Never had he seen such a sight. As Bastian entered the ship, he saw a bed hovering on its own inside, awaiting him. Bastian laid Shane down gently on it.
“Now leave,” ordered one of the soldiers from behind him. It spoke English, but with an alien accent. Bastian turned in anger, blood boiling.
“I am staying with him.”
“No, human, you are not.” A warning buzz began to sound, and a red glow began at the tips of the central cannons on their armored suits, just below their clear, bubble-like helmets. Although completely alien to him, Bastian recognized the universal threat. The first guard grabbed him by the wrist. Bastian yanked and pulled and bashed the suit, but did little damage. He only made the guard wobble. “This one is quite strong.” Briefly switching over to his native tongue, the guard’s strange words and sounds only added to Bastian’s concern and ferocity.
“We will erase you,” warned the second, “and then we will save him.” Bastian ceased his struggle, breathing heavily. “We will come back; now exit this ship.” It was the hardest thing Bastian ever had to do. When the ship door closed behind him, he collapsed to his knees and remained there as the ship took off. It shot straight for the cluster, blasting hot air and wet sand into the faces of the grounded.
The drone remained, blinking at Bastian with its green eyes. “You must understand. It is a safety precaution. We will come back.” And then it too was gone, trailing behind the transport ship. Bastian was frozen with disbelief until he collapsed fully into the sand. What had he done . . . what had he just seen? He began to lose consciousness, due to the hunger, pain, exhaustion, thirst, and stress. Then he was out like a light.
By nightfall, the Vagantem armada had disappeared without a sign.
