Oneshot no longer! I'm in the midst of a writer's block and a new story with a different plot was just what the doctor ordered. (that, and I didn't have any oneshot ideas) I was thinking about a potential ship between her and our dear Captain? Any other suggestions are welcome!
Needless to say, I missed my job interview. But of course, with New York crumbling around me, I wasn't too concerned with that tidbit of information.
After herding everyone outside via stairwell that led to an alleyway, we crowded in a mostly overlooked building, dust shaking from the ceiling with each blast from the aliens. We thought that would be the worst, until we heard a metallic roar echo off the brick buildings lining the street. A slithering, grating sound warbled above us, and the roar suddenly boomed directly overhead, making my still-healing eardrums vibrate. More clicks and explosions, which seemed paltry in comparison with whatever was making the roar, shook the building. People huddled in corners, while I still held on to the alien gun, guarding the door looking far more composed than I was feeling. I tried not to think of Daniel Loor, especially when I thought I heard the building crumble. The whir of those hovering platforms, the screeches of those driving them, all suddenly became commonplace. Nothing new would have phased us. The war raging on outside became the new norm. And we adapted. The only thing that gave us any hope, any sense of purpose, was the desperate belief that we would be rescued. We clung to that belief more than life itself. The next few hours were an agony of waiting.
Waiting for help.
Waiting for the next explosion.
Waiting to die.
No one knew anyone else in the room yet clung to them as if they were close relatives and friends, sobbing on shoulders or shielding them haphazardly with their bodies each time an explosion rocked the building's foundations. I felt a little lonely and out of place, although I conceded that my grime-streaked face, ripped stockings, purplish, metallic-smelling alien blood staining my blouse, and stoic, faraway expression didn't encourage familiarity. Eventually we heard the rumble of what we could only assume were army tanks, and a brief peek through a window confirmed this fact.
"Are they coming to save us?" was the general murmur that swept through the group.
"I think they're going to take down the aliens first." I told them, though I seemed to be talking more to myself than the group. Thirty plus faced nodded in agreement, and I was struck by the thought that these helpless creatures had, at some point, surrendered the safekeeping of their safety to a patron at a coffee shop. The followed me blindly and without question, and would probably do so again. I sagged against the cool wall, suddenly drained of energy. The weapon in my hand felt ten times heavier and made a hollow clank as I sank to the floor, exhausted. I closed my eyes and found myself mumbling a haiku I made up a few weeks ago:
Dear friends; do not mourn
For out of my death will come
A bright red flower
It didn't make much sense, even to me, but it sounded cool and slowed my ragged breathing. Eventually my heartbeat slowed enough for me to stagger to my feet, feeling far more refreshed than before. By now, the majority of the battle was more scattered, less concentrated, and spread thinner. There were less and less explosions closer to us, though I suspected the rest of New York fared no better than our small portion.
And suddenly they just stopped. Terrible screeching, thuds, clanks, all spread in a wave over the ruined city, with the shudder of something large smashing into a building. All was quiet for several minutes, and I hardly dared to think it was over, yet I couldn't bare the thought of spending the night in a constant state of agitation. Minutes turned into hours and no one had moved.
"I'm going to check things out." I said, opening the door slowly. I craned my neck to see in the hall and what I saw made me almost cry with relief: men in uniforms. God bless America, I thought wildly, a silly grin spreading across my face. "The army is here." I choked out, turning to face the group, tears making pale streaks down my face. Others had similar reactions, standing shakily, hugging each other with soldiers entered, immediately putting the safeties on their guns and checking the conditions of the survivors. With a burst of memory, I suddenly thought of Daniel Loor.
"Did you find someone? In the building out front?" I asked, grabbing one's shoulder. "Daniel Loor?" I asked, irrationally hoping he was still alive.
"There - there were no bodies." he hesitated. Whirling, around I dashed out the door, almost tumbling down the stairs into the basement, and then up again into the main building. It was in shambles. Iron supports lay prostrate on the ground, crumbled cement, brick, and twisted lumps of semi-melted metal scattered on the ground. It was almost unrecognizable.
"Daniel!" I shouted, standing in the middle of the building, the gun held slack in my hands. "DANIEL!" I shouted again, irrationally pleading that he had somehow survived. The dull thud of feet behind me barely phased me as a soldier patted my shoulder, murmuring condolences lost in the rush of blood in my ears as shock crept through my body. The gun fell from my hand, bouncing harmlessly against the concrete. Through a haze, I heard the soldier shouting for medical support as I slumped to the floor, my vision going black. The last thing I saw was a flash of red, white, and blue.
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