150 years later.
"Juneau," Alaska calls softly as she retrieves her thick, olive-green coat from its wooden hanger by the door. "You coming?" She holds the front door open with the heel of her boot as she shoves her arms through the thick sleeves, then pushes back her long, platinum-blond hair that still displays traces of white at the ends. A frigid wind rushes into the entryway, prompting her to call again. "Juneau!" she yells, a little louder this time. "I'm leaving without you. All the heat's getting out of the house!"
The click of nails on the wooden floor precedes a soft panting, and soon a large Alaskan malamute rounds the corner into the living room, trotting eagerly toward the front door, its wet tongue lolling out of its mouth between large, white canine teeth. The gray and white dog stops in the entryway, looking up at her with dark, almond-shaped eyes. It tilts its head slightly, still panting.
Alaska steps to the side, holding the door open with her shoulder, and allows the dog to run out into the yard as she pulls on her gloves. She pulls her fur-lined hood up over her head and adjusts her gray scarf, then closes the door behind her and follows Juneau out into the snow, breaking into a swift jog to catch up. "Hey, wait up!" she calls, laughing as the malamute trots ahead, the thick fur on its tail bouncing and wagging with each eager step.
The dog pauses at the end of the long, snow-covered driveway, its mouth hanging open as its heavy breaths pour clouds of steam into the frozen air.
Alaska leans down and pats him firmly on the back, ruffling his thick fur. "Good boy," she says softly, then continues walking down the street. Juneau matches her pace, trotting along at her side.
The sun hovers at the horizon in a clear, deep blue sky, casting a weak orange glow across the frozen landscape. In less than an hour, it will dip below the horizon again and plunge the sky into darkness, and Alaska plans to make full use of the remaining daylight.
She quickens her pace and shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat, her boots crunching the thin layer of old snow beside the road. The large dog hurries along beside her.
For a long time now, she's been fully adjusted to living alone. Well, not exactly alone. She's still an American state, playing big sister to Minnesota and Washington, and doing her best to keep California and Texas under control at family gatherings, but that is the extent of her interaction with the rest of the country. Alfred rarely bothers her anymore, and for the most part, she does her best to fade into the background and let them all forget about her. Isolation has its benefits, after all.
In fact, on quiet days like this, she can almost view herself as a separate country, with its own borders, it's own culture, it's own unique, frigid weather patterns. She squints at the weak, sinking sun. Definitely unique.
She smiles slightly, quickening her confident strides, and takes a deep breath of frozen air, coughing slightly as the cold sends a stabbing pain through her lungs. Immediately, she pulls her knitted gray scarf up to cover the lower half of her face and presses it down over her nose and mouth, and her smile returns. Not even Minnesota can boast such cold, short winter days.
The sky begins to darken sooner than she expected, and Alaska pauses at a park bench at the edge of a wide, flat expanse of white bordered by trees. As she sits down, Juneau scouts out the area for a few seconds before stopping beside her, panting heavily, his tongue lolling out, looking up at her with expectant eyes.
She pats his head a few times. "Of course I brought food," she says quietly, as if in response to a question, then reaches a hand into her pocket. "Let me just-"
A persistent vibrating in her pants pocket brings a slight frown to her face. With a sigh, she shifts her hand into the other pocket and pulls out her phone, then flips it open with her thumb and brings it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Hey guys! It's Alfred!" a loud voice greets on the other end.
Alaska continues to frown. "Oh, hi Dad. Wh-"
"Anyway, I'm sure you're all a little freaked out about what happened, but seriously, I think a celebration is in order!"
Alaska lets out a small sigh. Oh . . . it's a recording . . .
The loud voice continues. "So, I was thinking you could all come over, and we can celebrate a catastrophe narrowly and heroically avoided! I mean, seriously, we just avoided an apocalypse, you guys. Snacks are on New York!" The call ends and dissolves into static.
Alaska lowers the phone to her lap, still frowning slightly. What was that all about . . . ?
After a few seconds, the phone vibrates again, and she opens it with another sigh, glancing down at the small, lit up screen. What now?
A small, animated envelope opens and closes on the screen. Text message from New York. A mass notification sent out to all her siblings. She presses the 'ok' button to open it.
"Whoa, hold it!" the message reads. "Snacks ***NOT*** on me, got it? I just said I'd bring some food. SOME. You guys bring your own snacks! XD!"
Alaska smiles slightly, but then her confused frown returns as she closes the phone and slips it back into her pocket. What exactly happened?
After a few minutes, the last of the sun disappears behind the hills, and the park falls into a dim twilight. Pinprick stars begin to pierce the sky as the fiery orange glow on the horizon begins to fade, and a dim yellow street lamp flickers to life above them, flooding the area around the bench with a soft circle of artificial light. Alaska stands up. "Come on, Juneau," she says softly, patting the large malamute on the back of the neck. "You'll get your snacks when we get home."
Juneau's face remains unchanging, his tongue lolling out of his panting, grinning mouth.
Alaska laughs slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with a gloved hand. "Whatever. Let's go." She starts to walk away from the bench, and the dog follows, his paws sinking into the thin blanket of snow.
After a few steps, Juneau stops.
She pauses and turns around. "Juneau, come on," she calls softly, beckoning with her hand.
The dog doesn't budge. He stands perfectly still, his ears pricked up, alert.
Alaska lets out a sigh. "Not now. You can find rabbits tomorrow." She pats her leg a few times to get his attention, then moves as if to turn away. "Come on, Juneau."
Juneau lets out a small whine and turns around a few times, leaving a ring of footprints in the snow. He glances up at the darkening horizon.
She frowns slightly. "Hm? What's up?"
He turns away from her, and a low rumble reaches Alaska's ears. At first, she doesn't recognize the sound, but it grows steadily louder as she walks forward to stand beside the tense malamute. She glances down at him, surprised to find his lips parted, his pearl-white fangs bared up at the horizon. Immediately, she pinpoints the sound. A low growl, the deep, unforgiving, hostile kind that she has only heard a few times in her life, rumbles from Juneau's throat.
Her eyes wander to the horizon. Nothing there. Just jagged mountain peaks capped with snow and silhouetted against the reddened, darkening rim of the sky. Then what...?
A flash of light illuminates the sky, followed soon after by a deafening boom that resonates through the ground. The branches of the surrounding trees shiver slightly, sending a shower of snow to the earth. Alaska stumbles slightly, unable to hold back a startled yelp.
Juneau lets out a high-pitched whine, then barks a few times before whining again.
Another thunderous boom splits the air, and a flash of orange light explodes upward from somewhere on the horizon.
Juneau is barking frantically now, running in circles and whining and looking up at the distant mountains.
Alaska rushes forward to catch him, but he easily escapes her grip. "C-Come on, Juneau," she repeats softly, struggling to keep her voice calm but firm. "Let's go home." She glances up at the mountains. "Juneau, let's go."
As she watches, a yellow-orange streak arches across the sky, like the trail behind a jet, but much closer, infinitely brighter, screaming through the air like a meteor, its wake shimmering with heat. Her eyes widen as it passes above them. "Juneau," she repeats breathlessly, "let's GO."
But the dog is beyond reasoning now, sprinting around the park in a panic, kicking up snow and barking like a maniac.
Three more projectiles come rocketing across the sky, and a deafening, thunderous roar echoes over the landscape. One of them hits a snow-covered hillside a mile away with an earsplitting boom that sends another shockwave through the ground, and Alaska is shaken from the ground and collapses to her knees, her breath coming in short gasps. What is going on?!
Another rocket streams through the air, arching across the sky.
Three more appear, curving toward the ground.
Another blazing projectile appears from behind the mountains.
And another.
And another, until the sky is alive with fire. The missiles rain down, shaking the ground, tearing through the trees, ripping deep gashes in the flaming earth.
Alaska loses sight of Juneau, loses all sense of direction, stumbling blindly, senselessly across the turbulent earth. The missiles scream through the air, drowning out all other sounds until she can't even hear her own screams.
Something collides with her shoulder. Hard. Solid. She collapses onto her side, and something heavy pins her down. The ground erupts beneath her, and she falls.
Falls and falls, downward into a cold, black numbness.
All sounds fade away to a high pitched ringing as pressure closes in around her head. Vaguely, she feels herself being tossed aside again, unable to react.
A splitting, agonizing pain tears through her left knee, then her shoulder, and then everything blends together into one mass of blinding, searing pain.
Unconsciousness comes on slowly, creeping in at the edges of her mind, forcing her down into blackness.
A deep, cold, heavy sleep sets in.