A/N: I absolutely love the movie Super 8, so I wrote a story about it. Multiple OCs, a bit of action, and the future will unfold in Fleeting Summer. I do not own Super 8.
Chapter 1: At Midnight
-One Month Later-
A brown-haired, fair-faced boy breathes softly in his sleep, sweating through the thin cotton sheets that separate him from the stifling heat that has built up in the room, thanks to the sorry excuse of an air conditioner his father had installed in the small house.
It had breathed its final breaths of cool air the previous morning, sputtering, choking, and then kicking out.
His friend, also brown-haired but considerably larger, is not at all bothered by the heat and lies on the floor under a comforter.
He stares intently at the ceiling, as though the answers to all his questions will appear before his eyes upon the plaster.
"Joe," he says, after some hesitation. "What do you think is gonna happen now?"
Joe, a light sleeper, manages to grasp the true depth behind his friend's question, despite the late hour.
"I don't know, Charles." Joe replies. "Maybe something better."
Preston shifts uncomfortably under his scratchy blankets, mind racing.
He goes home tomorrow.
No more linear equation races or long division relays.
No more math camp.
Back to filming.
Preston couldn't wait.
Louis Dainard opens the door a crack and holds his breath as he peers into his daughter's room.
As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he makes out the small, willowy shape of Alice Dainard as she sleeps, covers pulled up to her chin, and lets out a small sigh of relief.
She is home. He thinks.
She is safe.
I will keep her safe.
Cary stares down at the blindingly white piece of paper in his hands, eyes skimming the lines of slanted text.
It's a letter...
...from his dad.
The image of his father is now a very old, very worn picture in Cary's mind, blurred at the edges and faded in the middle.
Whenever Cary thinks of his father, he always pictures him in the same tailored military dress uniform, waving goodbye before climbing into a pristine government vehicle and driving away.
His mother manages a small smile, which seems to make the whole scene even sadder as a tear slides down her cheek.
Cary sniffles once, then composes himself, as he carefully tears the letter into strips and rolls himself a new M-80.
It will be fun to blow that one up.
After spending one long hour tossing and turning, Martin groans and gives into the fact that he is still awake.
He sits up, stretches, and climbs out of bed. He creeps down the hallway to the bathroom and shuts the door before turning on the light.
He blinks a few times in the brightness, then stares at his reflection in the mirror. He grimaces a little when he notices how his pale skin is illuminated in the light, and how freckled his bare chest and shoulders are.
There are dark circles under his eyes, the result of one restless night too many.
The nightmares were getting worse-whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the tanks coming towards him, the guns flashing in his direction.
A familiar feeling rose up in his stomach, although Martin fought hard to keep it down.
I will not throw up.
He told himself.
I will not throw up.
Then he closed his eyes again and saw an explosion light up a kitchen, and remembered the blinding pain of his leg breaking all over again.
He didn't even make it to the toilet this time.
A/N: Review, por favor!