"Being soaked alone is cold. Being soaked with your best friend is an adventure."
– Emily Wing Smith
About to Explode: Part 1
You're standing on a hillside, alone. It's dark. You glance upward. For a few moments all you can see is a murky, swirling blackness; then patterns and colours begin to emerge, like a rainbow sheen of oil on water. The black clouds become translucent, the stars grow visible through swirling haze, and then…
God.
God, you can see it.
The comet, roaring silently through the endless void, streaking toward Earth – and it's alive, this thing that's coming is ALIVE, tendrils that must be hundreds, thousands of miles long streaming before it, reaching out to grasp and strangle and devour whole worlds, and it is coming here, it is coming to Earth, and as fire strikes the burning sky its great, lidless, red-rimmed eye rolls over in a vast lake of vitreous fluid and
looks
at
you
"Joe!"
Or maybe it wasn't an eye. Maybe it was a volleyball, about to hit him in the face.
WHACK!
"Ow!" Joe staggered back as the ball ricocheted squarely from his skull. Whoops. He winced, rubbing his stinging forehead as it bounced away along the floor of the gymnasium.
"What the hell was that?" Cary asked.
"I don't know." He shrugged, forcing a smile. "Daydreaming?"
"Daydreaming?! You were looking right at it!"
"I… sorry."
Cary sighed disappointedly and ran off to retrieve the volleyball. Joe felt his cheeks go red as he realised that, yep, the whole class was looking at him. Hey, it's not MY fault I have crazy alien hallucinations. I think they're getting worse. Are they?
Yep, I think they're getting worse. Great. This week they were playing volleyball in P.E., and four tall nets had been strung up across the gymnasium. Eight teams of six students thumped balls at each other from opposite sides of the court, with varying levels of success; it was hard to get the hang of. Their gym teacher stalked the perimeter with watchful eyes, sharp blasts of his whistle echoing from the roof. Shoes squeaked on the polished wood floor. Joe had the usual group on his team, plus Cameron Loveland, a tall, good-looking redhead he'd known since elementary school – and height was a decent advantage in volleyball, so having Cameron play for them had produced more than a few free points.
Cary skipped forwards and chucked the ball at the far end. (Since they'd lost that particular rally it, was the other team's turn to serve). One of the other boys grabbed it and, nervously, stepped up to the line.
"You guys ready?" he called out.
"Yeah, yeah. Hurry up!"
He threw the ball up, ready to punch it over the net but – thwack! – didn't quite hit it dead-on and it sailed awkwardly into a neighbouring court.
His teammates groaned. "Henryyyy, what was that?"
"It's difficult, alright? You totally did the same thing last time!"
Before they could retrieve the ball, the whistle blew once more. "Okay, everyone! Time to rotate!" their teacher announced. "Move one spot clockwise so you're playing a different crew!"
With a disorganised shuffle, each team made their way onto the adjacent court. Joe, Charles and Preston took up positions at the back while Cary, Martin and Cameron waited near the net. The air was getting uncomfortably warm and Charles was already sweating profusely in his gym uniform; and he shook his head, wiping moisture from his brow. "Okay. What's our strategy?"
"Keep the ball off the ground?" Joe suggested.
"And hit it over the net," Martin added.
"Very funny." Charles rolled his eyes. "What else? Remember that 'setting' and 'spiking' stuff we learned last week?"
"When we can't even pass straight half the time, an actual strategy's probably ambitious," Preston replied.
Cameron jogged over to them, arms folded. "How 'bout this?" he said. "You guys at the back receive their serve – try and dig it towards us. Then Martin or Cary can push the ball up high and I'll jump and pound it at their side. Sound good?"
"Sounds… yeah," Charles replied. "At least someone here knows what they're talking about."
Joe stood in the back right corner, smiling faintly. It was impossible for Charles not to take things seriously, no matter what they were doing. Cameron bounced up and down a couple times, stretching his shoulders, while the opposing team filed into position at the far end. Cary was at the front of court and knelt down for a moment to retie his shoelaces.
When he looked up, he twitched. Uh-oh.
Todd grinned, cracking his knuckles, having miraculously appeared on the opposite side of the net. Cary gave him a stealthy middle finger (hiding the gesture from their gym teacher). He'd rotated through a range of nicknames for his new enemy, mostly M-rated, before settling on 'King Jerkoff' because it was the most fun to say. How much friggin' grease do you put in your hair, dipshit? Hey, I bet it'd burn pretty well.
Joe narrowed his eyes as he noticed the confrontation. Though he appreciated the support, dealing with Todd was bad enough without all his friends getting involved too. It's a stupid waste of energy, is what it is. I could be thinking about a million more important things instead of whether someone's gonna punch me today. Although he hasn't actually punched me yet, so… maybe he's finally getting over it?
"You guys ready?" the opposing captain called out.
"Yeah, bring it!" Charles said confidently.
"Okay…" The boy polished the ball on his t-shirt, then tossed it up and punched it over the net. It spun in a blur of red and white – aiming right towards Preston in the back left corner. This was bad. His eyes widened. Don't panic. Don't panic. He sidestepped, sticking his hands out in front to intercept—
Thwack! The ball bounced from his forearms high and to the right, over Charles, over Joe, in a perfect arc towards the side of the gymnasium.
"Whoops," Preston muttered.
"Whad'ya do that for?" Cary asked.
"It was supposed to go the other way!"
Joe ran after the ball as it flew, gazing upwards while trying not to collide with any obstacles. Should be able to get there before it lands— he skidded to a stop, held out his arms and somehow the volleyball bounced off at just the right angle to soar over his head and back towards their court.
"Woooh! Good save Joe!" Charles met the pass and pushed it high with both hands, sending it back over the net.
Joe couldn't help but feel mildly impressed with himself. Coolest thing I've done all week. The ball was moving slow, though and the other team shifted calmly to intercept. One of the kids in the back line handled it easily, passing towards the front; Todd took the next shot and set it up for his teammate, flinging the volleyball up and left. The boy sprang into the air, arm swept back ready to – bam! – spike it down onto Joe's side of the court.
Martin was there and jumped up, hands raised desperately, blocking the path to their side. Against all odds the volleyball smacked into his flailing limbs, instantly rebounding at the other team. Todd spun on the spot, stretching to reach – but the angle was too sharp, too fast and the ball tumbled limply into the net, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
"One point to us, I guess!" Cameron said. He gave Martin a thumbs up. Martin looked surprised. Cary looked ecstatic.
"You lanky idiot," Cary giggled. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm not lanky."
"You are. And you're lucky. Why are you so lucky all the time?"
"Hey, remember that time a tank shot me and broke my leg, while the rest of you miraculously escaped? I deserve luck."
Since they'd won the point it was time to rotate positions, and they all moved one spot clockwise. With an irritated glare, Todd trudged over and booted the ball at them. Joe realised that meant it was his turn to serve and swallowed. Okay, let's make it two good shots in a row. He stuck his foot out to intercept the ball, picked it up with sweaty fingers. Spun it round a few times.
With a quick breath, he tossed the ball up, then punted it underarm over the net. Go in go in go in go in— phew. It cleared the tape by a couple of feet, barrelling down the centre of the court. The other team braced to receive. Thwack! The serve came back in a high arc, flying straight and true.
"Mine!" Charles shouted. He sidestepped, attempting to pass it to the attackers up front, but the ball went too far sideways and Preston had to chase it down, scarcely got there with enough time to push it feebly at the other end. Luckily, the other team whiffed their attack too, fist brushing ball and not doing much except making it float up high.
It gave them another chance. "Got it," Charles said determinedly. This time it went better and he sent the ball straight to Cary, standing by the net. Cary shuffled back, popped the ball up lightly with both hands; Cameron was ready, waiting and leapt into the air with athletic precision, timed so that he could smack the volleyball down hard at the other team's court. Bam!
It wasn't actually supposed to hit anyone until Todd got in the way. Instead of the poor, innocent gym floor, the ball glanced off Todd's shoulder with a painful thud! and spun away fast, sound echoing from the rafters. The teenager recoiled, more out of shock than anything else. His eyes flashed.
Cameron raised a hand in apology. "Sorry."
Cary whooped, having too much fun. "Awesome dude!"
"We still get the point, right?" Martin asked.
"Of course we get the point," Preston said. "Doesn't matter, no one's keeping score anyway."
For a moment, Todd looked like he was going to say something – then thought better of it. He stalked back to his teammates while another boy ran to retrieve the volleyball.
"Is he okay?" Cameron asked, frowning.
"Oh, yeah. Don't worry about him," Cary replied. "He's just sick."
"With what?"
"Dickhead disease."
Joe snorted, trying not to laugh. Get well soon. Sometimes, Cary knew exactly what to say. But, despite the joke, he couldn't help thinking that something was about to—
Trapping fifty post-gym boys in an enclosed space was never a pleasant experience, but everyone had to get dressed somewhere. The changerooms were packed, the air reeking of stale sweat and extra-strength deodorant, and once that smell settled into the damp green tiles and lockers it never seemed to leave.
Joe put his bag on the closest bench and unfolded his crumpled shirt. Around him, the other boys did the same, chatting loudly, cracking jokes. Cary was already nearly done, searching for his socks. Martin had a quick sniff of his shirt and winced.
"Cary, can I borrow your deodorant?"
"Sure, Smelltin."
Through a combination of sheer luck and willpower, they'd actually beaten the other team at volleyball. Todd, predictably, had looked pretty annoyed. The others hadn't seemed to mind. It's like he's actively searching for reasons to be angry at me… so don't give him any. Joe slipped out of his gym shorts and stuffed them in his backpack, then grabbed his jeans, wriggling into them. I don't think anyone's actually hated me before, apart from Charles for that one week in grade three. I mean, I try and be nice! Usually it works! I guess the problems start when someone hates you for entirely stupid reasons.
BAM!
Exactly.
As if illustrating his point, a fist slammed into the locker next to his head. Joe didn't have to turn around to know who it was – but he did turn, trying to stand his ground, hiding his racing heartbeat with a calm, even stare. "What was that for?"
"I've been thinking…" Todd began.
Well, that's a surprise. Todd leaned against the locker, casually, cracking his knuckles like a gorilla. Too close for comfort. A couple of his cronies stood behind him, hands in pockets, perhaps a little uncertain. They almost looked like they belonged on the album cover of a disco band, but Joe decided that image wasn't exactly conducive to his current situation.
Martin and Cary stood behind him, watching apprehensively.
"I've been thinking, what's the deal?" Todd continued. "What's the deal with you and Alice? I saw you walking home with her yesterday."
"…And?"
"And why? Why would she pick you over me?"
Because you're the kind of person who does this, Joe whispered in his head. Because you think the entire world exists to do what you want it to, and you can't handle it when it doesn't. You're so used to winning you can't handle losing so you end up picking stupid fights in locker rooms to make yourself happy. That's why.
If only he'd said it out loud. Todd's gaze flicked sideways, glancing over Joe's shoulder. "What are YOU looking at?" he growled.
"Nothing," Cary said quietly.
The eyes flicked back to Joe. "You're a loser."
"What?"
"You're a friggin' loser. You and your loser friends, and your loser life, and your loser family. You're a stupid little nerd who can't even throw straight."
"Hey, that's not—"
"The only reason Alice liked you in the first place is because she felt sorry for you," Todd said venomously. "Did you know that? That's what she said last year. 'That poor kid, his mom died, I feel so bad for him.' It's the only reason Alice ever talked to you. Otherwise you'd be nothing."
Joe's breath caught in his throat. "Why would you say that?"
"Cause it's true."
"Alice felt sorry for me because she's nice. Because she's a nice person."
"Well, great, and you're still just the quiet kid whose mom got crushed by a steel beam. That's what you are. To every friggin' person in this school, that's all you'll ever be."
Silence. The other kids were watching, now, room balanced on a knife-edge. Joe felt their stares pricking at his skin. Is that what I am to you guys?… Sure, six months ago. But that's only a part of me, and a part which shouldn't matter anymore.
"That's not true," he said aloud.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. It isn't. And if this is what being a loser is like, then I – I don't care," Joe said firmly. "'Cause I'm happy with my 'loser' friends, and you obviously aren't."
"You don't know anything about me," Todd hissed back. "My dad owns that steel mill. He owns Lillian. Your dad only walks around and—"
"My dad makes Lillian a better place!"
"Sure, if that's what you mean by killing stray dogs in your spare time."
"What? The police don't—" Joe swallowed. Of course you'd make something up. "Hey, if I'm such a crappy choice, then how come Alice doesn't like you anymore? What the hell does that make YOU?" It came out louder than he'd intended. His voice cracked.
Behind him, Cary laid a hand on his shoulder. "Joe, don't—"
"Stay out of this!" Todd's eyes flashed.
Cary stepped back, suddenly afraid. Joe looked at him, then Todd and suddenly put two and two together. The bruises, the black eye, the way they were acting round each other…
"You shouldn't hurt my friends," Joe said.
"Or what?" Todd replied mockingly.
"Or – or I'll hurt you back." It sounded stupid. Small.
"Oh, come on. As if you'd ever have a chance. You can't even make up a good threat – but everyone heard you, so what are you gonna do?"
They had heard. Shocked, frozen, none willing to interrupt. Despite himself, Joe felt anger flowing sharp in his veins, frustration threatening to build to boiling point. Don't hurt my friends.
"Do you know what Alice thinks you are?" he asked.
"What? Of course I do—"
"She thinks that you're a dumb jock. She thinks that you're annoying, and stuck-up, and you're being a real jerk."
Todd snorted. "She does not. How would you know?"
"Well, I'm the one who gets to talk to her now, so yes, I do know. She thinks that you used to be kinda nice, but now you've turned into a complete bully. She actually regrets being friends with you in the first place 'cause you don't know how to deal with your problems."
Todd clenched his jaw, but something in his eyes… there was pain there. He still looks up to her, Joe realised. He still thinks she's the world.
"Alice found people who actually appreciated her, and that's why she ditched you. That's it. Let it GO."
"Shut up, Joe," Todd hissed.
"No!" he said grimly. "I know you're desperate, or lonely or whatever, but you're being the loser here. And I bet every single person would agree with me, 'cause Alice definitely does."
Last straw. Inside Todd, something broke. He let out a half-bark, half-cry, a dying dog and all of sudden was in Joe's face faster than a freight train. Hands grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the locker, pushing him into the metal. For a second, Joe was too stunned to react – though when he did he couldn't do much since Todd was a hell of a lot stronger. The hands seized him, threw him into the locker again, and he tried to twist away and stop with his legs but his bare feet slipped uselessly on the damp green floor. Something sharp dug into his back and hurt, bad.
The rest of the boys seemed divided over what was happening – some at the back shouting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" half-heartedly while others at the front rushed forward to try and break it up.
"What do we do?" Martin asked. "What do we do?"
"Get a teacher!" Cary hissed.
"What?"
"Get a teacher right now! Run, you idiot!"
Martin ran, arms flailing as he skidded round the corner. Cary swallowed. How the heck do I help? The problem was that no one wanted to get too close and he didn't fancy his chances solo, not after last time.
Joe grunted. Todd slipped on a bag and they both tumbled to the floor, knocking the bench on the way down. Joe rolled in the wrong direction so that Todd was pinning his chest. His head smacked on the tiles. "Aah!" Todd was a huge weight on his ribs, squeezing his lungs, short of breath – he remembered a ghost story Charles had told him about some kid who'd accidentally broken another kid's nose, so that a shard of bone had pierced their brain and killed them. For a brief moment it seemed like a good idea.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"Todd, get off him!"
Joe managed to knee him in the gut and scrambled away on hands and knees, climbing to his feet. His head ached. Before he could do anything else Todd yelled and cannoned into him, both boys stumbling awkwardly across the room in a tangled mess of limbs. BANG! Into another locker. This is wrong, was all Joe could think. I don't want to do this. This shouldn't be happening. His elbow thumped against Todd's ribs and he was rewarded with a burst of gratification. He deserves it. He deserves it for being such a dick— Todd had him in a hold though, once more pressing the fight out of him, ignoring Cary and the other two boys who were trying to pull him away. Crack! Another elbow.
"Hey!" The teacher's voice, sharp and loud. "Hey! What the HECK is happening here? You two, break it up right now before I have to—"
Joe picked at the scab on his knee, exploring the bloody crust with his thumbnail. I know I shouldn't. I know it'll make it worse. But for some reason it's just so satisfying—
"Stop it." Alice slapped his hand away.
He grinned guiltily. "Yeah, I know."
"Then why would you?"
"…Dunno."
She rolled her eyes. They were sitting on the steps in front of Joe's house, afternoon sunlight dancing on the grass. The official reason for her visit was 'let's do our biology homework together,' though Joe would be surprised if that actually happened. It didn't really matter either way; the house would be empty until his dad came home from work.
"What I really wanna know is where you got that black eye," Alice continued.
"What black eye?"
"The one you're obviously trying to hide under your hand. Joe, look at me."
He looked at her. Sun glinted from the charm on her wrist. Her blue eyes quickly scanned his face, filled with concern, carrying with them an electric zap – a connection, just as potent as on that first crazy night when she'd pulled up by Charles' house in a borrowed car. It's still crazy.
"Where'd you get it?" she asked.
"Well, it's… sort of embarrassing, but a volleyball hit me in the face." Surprisingly, true.
Alice didn't look convinced. "Really."
"Really. I swear."
"Fine. But unless volleyball turned into a contact sport while I wasn't paying attention, the other half of you got in a fight with someone."
"…Ehhh…"
"Woah, what's that supposed to mean."
Um – 'yes', but I don't really want to tell you about it? He shrugged noncommittally, and Alice gave him a piercing sort of look.
"Joe, I'm not stupid. I know you got in a fight with Todd."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Oh." He smiled weakly.
"Fights are like, peoples' second-favourite rumour behind who's dating who – everyone in English was gossiping about it barely an hour afterwards. I guess you're one of those cool 'bad boy' kids now." She made air quotes around the statement, but the sarcasm was clear in her voice. "Why?"
"I didn't exactly mean to," Joe replied, a little defensively. "Todd was being annoying and it kinda just… happened."
"I don't care. It doesn't matter who started it. There must've been another option."
"There wasn't really a chance – I mean, it's the first fight I've ever been in. The first real one." He shook his head. "I didn't want to be there."
"Yes, but it still happened," Alice said. "Next time, even if you have to run away, just do it. First of all, this doesn't solve anything. Second of all, I don't want you getting hurt – because let's face it, you'll probably lose nine times out of ten. And third, this makes things… awkward. For you. For me. Even for Todd."
Hey, I'd be fine if it was merely 'awkward'. SOME PEOPLE, though, want to watch the world burn. "Were the girls being weird to you about it?"
"Weird? You could say that." Alice sighed, kicking the step. "'Mean' is more like it."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Don't be. You still got the crappier end of the stick. Tell you what – I'll go talk to Todd sometime, then maybe I can fix this stupid mess. It's dragged on long enough anyway."
Joe bit his lip. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
"No," she replied, "but it could help. I guess I'm one of the few people he might still listen to. Hopefully." She grabbed a stick with her left hand, chucked it across the lawn. The sharper end stabbed savagely into the dirt. "Enough about Todd. Ignoring everything I said for a moment, you actually look kinda cool with all those scratches, you know."
"Um – cool-er," Joe corrected.
"Whatever you say."
"Cooler. It'll heal in like, three days though, so don't get used to it."
"I'll keep that in mind. But seriously…" She glanced at his face. "…it's sort of rugged. Handsome."
"We're… still talking about me, right?"
"Yeah. Still talking about you." Alice smiled gently.
Joe gulped. He raised his hand and touched his cheek; there was a thin scratch from when Todd had thrown him to the floor. "You look nice too," he said slowly.
"Oh. Really?"
"Yeah. Your hair's really pretty – I mean, you always look nice, but—"
"Joe."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." Her laugh glittered in the air. Swiftly, she leaned sideways and pecked him on the cheek.
Joe recoiled. "Hey!"
"What?"
"People can see us!" he whispered.
"Who? The street's empty." She looked around. "There's literally no one here."
"Trust me. This one time I was home alone, and it turns out Charles can see our entire house from his bedroom window."
"And what were you doing home alone that Charles wasn't supposed to see?"
"Nothing. But it's embarrassing—"
Alice grabbed him in a tight hug and brushed her lips against his cheek. Joe tried to pull away again, then decided that was more effort than it was worth. Embarrassing or not… why resist? That'd be really stupid. He could feel himself going red. One kiss, two kisses, three— He squirmed, half-way between enjoying it and wanting to—
"Okay, I'll stop." She let him go, rolling her eyes, and gently nestled her head upon his shoulder. "Better?"
"Sure." That was nice; that steady weight, warmer than the sunshine. Joe put one arm around her back, leaning against the steps. I don't know why this feels awkward, sometimes. It shouldn't. They sat together, watching the road as the last kiss still tingled on his skin. Gradually, the aches and pains seemed to fade. Joe wondered exactly what level of… touching… he'd be comfortable with in public, then thought they should probably go inside before his imagination got the better of him.
Alice sighed. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, like a skydiver gripping the door of a plane, looking down at the ground far below. Then she jumped.
"There's something I should tell you," she began.
Joe glanced at her. Something's up. She was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched a little. Uncertain. He hadn't seen that expression on her in a while.
"A couple of weeks ago, while you guys were busy at the army base – my mom came back."
"…What?"
"Yeah."
"Your mom? But – I thought she – I thought—"
"That's about the reaction I had."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His mind leapt back to the photograph he'd seen in Alice's bedroom: the round-faced woman with curly auburn hair. "Why now?"
"I don't know. She didn't say. She just… knocked on the door, out of the blue. I mean, there was nothing technically stopping that from happening, 'cause I always knew she lived sorta close, but it's literally the first time I've seen her in seven years. How's that for messed up."
"…Could be worse," he murmured, instantly hating himself for saying it.
"Sorry. I know." A bitter smile. "But it was a hell of a surprise."
"Was she… okay?"
"Sure, I guess. A bit nervous. The strangest thing is that nothing really happened." Alice shrugged. "We talked for a bit, pointless stuff. Argued, kinda. Then she left again. Don't know if she's coming back or not." She glanced at him, waiting for a reaction. "Maybe it'll be another seven years."
I still barely know anything about this person. How this all fits together, what happened, what could make it better… I never wanted to ask in case I said something wrong. That didn't stop Alice from trying her best to help me, though. "I bet it won't be that long," he said reassuringly. "If she came to see you, it has to be for a reason."
"Does it? What reason could even matter at this point?"
"I'm not sure, but I reckon she'll come back – and you'll be prepared, this time, so you can figure out what you want to do, what to say. All that stuff. Was your dad home?"
"No. No, he wasn't. I think she planned it that way."
"Then are you okay?"
"Me?" Alice almost looked surprised by the question. "Sure." She sat there for a long moment, tapping her fingers. Joe stayed quiet, waiting patiently for her to continue. Words were difficult.
"I mean, I— I spent the first half of my life with this person, right? Then spent the next half without them. I did love her… used to. Obviously, 'cause she was my mom. Is. Was. Eventually, when she left, I came terms with it. Took a while, but it was a big part of my life, you know? I changed, eventually. Changed to make it work. Now that she's back, though, it changes again and I can't reconcile the person I remember whoever she is now. Who I am now. I almost had a sense of closure but now it's been blown wide open and it feels really, really strange. Does that make sense?"
Alice stared at him.
"It makes a lot of sense," Joe replied. Too much. What doesn't is why didn't you tell me before?
"Because it's my problem. Not anyone else's."
"Alice, that— what?" Did I say that out loud?
"It's my problem," she said again. "It's my life. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to figure it out for myself."
A sliding metal entrance gate barred her way, locked tight: 'Yasogami High', it said on the thick concrete pillars either side.
The school was closed. Rise groaned. They must have sent the students home early. Predictable, given everything that's occurring in this town… or what isn't. God, I wish somebody would have the courage to tell me what's going on.
But that's why you're a journalist, isn't it? So you can find out for yourself.
She pressed her face up to the gate, peering through the aluminium bars. The school was a wide, three-storey building: simple and blocky, like something a kid would build from Lego. Rows of tall windows lined its facade, split by the gaps between each classroom and the next. It seemed deserted. Doors shut, bike racks empty. Trees and bushes dotted the grounds, splashes of colour disrupting the concrete monotony.
The fog remained, thick and depressing. It made you want to rub your eyes in an attempt to snap the world into focus. Details faded into its soft white haze. Sounds were absorbed into unsettling silence. Try as she might she couldn't make out any movement; no silhouettes behind those tall windows. No wonder people started acting strangely, if they were surrounded by this wretched smog every day.
"You shouldn't be here," a voice said behind her.
She squeaked like a strangled puppy. "Eeeep!"
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice belonged to a middle-aged man, slightly balding, wearing a crumpled suit. A pair of tiny glasses perched on his nose, shielding a pair of dull, lifeless eyes. He was short; even though Rise wasn't particularly tall, he only came up to her shoulder.
"You… must be Mr. Yamada," she said, realisation dawning. "I set up a meeting with you."
"You did," the man replied. "I told you not to come."
"Then why are you here?"
"So I can tell you to leave."
Touché. Rise stared at him, calculating. The man stared back, impassive. A flurry of wind swirled past the gates, making the tendrils of mist sway and shiver.
"You were the principal of the school, correct?"
"I was."
"You might be able to help me, then."
"I might." The man exhaled, peering down the street. "You said you were from a magazine?"
"That's right. I'm doing a story on Inaba," Rise replied.
"I'm surprised they let you."
"Well, 'let' is a strong word. I'm doing this off the record."
"I see. Then, once again, I urge you to leave. Stop what you're doing and go write about baseball games, or celebrity gossip, or whatever it is you normally do. Good people shouldn't get caught in the dark."
"The answer is no," she said firmly. "No, I'm staying. At least until you tell me what happened at the school."
"The school… you are stubborn. Though I probably should've guessed from your phone call." He trailed off, rubbing his nose. "To be honest, the best way to understand it is probably to see it for yourself. But that, I'm afraid, is not possible."
Suddenly, there was a flash of brilliance at the far end of the road – headlights. Oncoming cars.
"You should go," Yamada said.
"Why? Who is it?" Rise asked.
"I'm not sure."
The lights came closer, dark shapes looming behind them in the mist. Rise squinted. A low rumble reached her ears. Soon the vehicle at the front was half-visible, a large grey truck. The convoy slowed, pulling over to the side of the road, and behind the truck was some kind of huge armoured—
"It's the army," Yamada hissed. "Run!"
"What? Why?"
"They can't see you here! You have to run!"
"What do you mean, I have to?" she said, confused. "We aren't doing anything wrong. What are you so afraid of?"
"Just go, please!"
She was about to ask another question when the glint in his eyes made her pause. There was real belief there, she realised. Pure, unadulterated… dread. It startled her.
Fine. She turned and ran, down the road along the front of the school, shoes slapping on the pavement. She looked over her shoulder and saw Mr. Yamada standing before the gate, small and afraid. Unmoving. What about you? What will they do? Why do I have to hide when you aren't? Regardless, it wasn't long before he was swallowed by the haze, and she slowed down to catch her breath. The street was quiet, empty. The lights remained visible in the distance as a faint white glow.
Speculatively, she glanced at the school's fence to her right. It wasn't very high; easy enough to climb over. And while I'm here… Rise stepped into the garden bed and reached up, grabbing the top of the wall with both hands. With a soft grunt, she leapt up, swinging her legs over so that she was sitting on the top.
BANG!
A deafening crack split the fog. Its echoes bounced from building to building: Bang, bang, bang, bang…
"What was that?" she whispered aloud. Loudest thing I've heard all day. Against her will a pit of worry started to form in her stomach. It sounded like a firecracker. Or a gun. "Mr. Yamada?" she said softly.
A flash of movement from the direction of the gate. BANG! BANG- chink! A burst of concrete erupted beneath her, splintering over the road.
"What the fuck?!" Rise twitched and hastily slipped off the wall, into the schoolyard, almost falling to her hands and knees. I think – I think someone shot at me! They tried to SHOOT me! The sound echoed. Bang, bang, bang, bang… She whirled around. They wouldn't be able to see her – the army, the police, whoever they were – but she could hear voices, sharp and loud on the other side of the gate.
There wasn't much time to consider her options. The school building loomed before her, its glass entrance beckoning. They'll be locked. They have to be. Instead, she skirted along the front of yard, running past doors and sets of tinted windows. The school block seemed endless – who knew that these kids needed so many fucking classrooms – but eventually split off, with covered walkways leading to a smaller building on the right. She took the path through the centre, pausing for a second to check for pursuers. No one there. Still, let's not take any chances.
She kept moving. Here, undercover, the fog was even thicker, pressing down like a murky blanket. Vision range was ten metres or less, enough to check where she was putting her feet but not much else. If I can make it through to the other side of the school, I can climb the back fence and get the hell out of here. Come back to investigate when it's a bit less dangerous.
I think someone tried to shoot me! Shit!
She came to a wide expanse of grass; couldn't see the other side. Sports field, probably. If she'd been able to see a little further, or was thinking a bit more clearly, she probably would've noticed that the ground was… wrong. Cracked. Uneven.
But she didn't.
Before she could react, the ground vanished. Dirt cracked, grass collapsing beneath her feet, a thin crust sliding sickeningly away like frost on a lake. She didn't even have time to scream before she was falling, down, down amid an avalanche of sand, a distance her brain said was too far down until everything vanished into darkness.
Martin and Preston waited for the schoolbus, ready to head home after a long Friday afternoon. Martin cleaned his glasses, wiping them with a small cloth. Preston flicked through a dog-eared fantasy novel, searching for the right page.
Then Preston put the book down, laying it on the bench beside him. He stared into the distance, thinking.
"'They're here'," he murmured. "What does that mean?"
"...I'm sorry. What?" Martin sneezed.
"Bless you. The alien machine, in the barn. It said 'they're here'."
"Oh. That." He put on his glasses again. "I don't really know."
"Because 'they' implies 'alien' in this scenario. 'Here' obviously implies they're on Earth. And we all know how that turned out last time."
"With a bunch of people dead and everything on fire?"
"Yeah." Preston frowned. "That stuff we found in the lab alluded to other aliens, which is freaky enough on its own, but how would the silver thing know anything about them? Why would it print messages in English? Who actually made the machine? It doesn't make sense."
"I've already given up on things making sense," Martin replied. "We've done pretty well so far."
"Yes. We have. But it's like... a kid, playing with a gun. If they don't know what it is, it's basically pure luck deciding whether they shoot themselves, or somebody else, or put it away safely without hurting anybody."
"I'm not a fan of similes, but I get what you're saying. We're the kid, right? That's dark."
"It's not dark. It's realistic," Preston said.
"Come on, cheer up. It's the weekend."
"I am cheerful. I'm always cheerful." He sighed, tilting his head. "The problem is that we don't have information. I don't know what it's doing or what it means and I don't like not knowing."
"But we're close to figuring it out, aren't we?" Martin shrugged. "The device, whatever it is, has been pretty helpful. We turn it on, see what it says. Maybe something good will happen."
"Maybe. Maybe." He grabbed the book. "Maybe not."
"Charles, there's someone at the door for you!" his mom called out.
"Tell them to come in!" he yelled back.
"She doesn't want to!"
...She? Slowly, his pen came to a standstill, half-way through a line of dialogue. The scene on the page was taking shape; tomorrow he'd send it to Joe for a second opinion. Curiously, he got up from his desk, ignoring the screaming pair of twins throwing toys at each other across the hall, then made his way to the front door.
Rachel was standing on the mat. Arms crossed, pink hoodie tied around her waist. She looked vaguely unimpressed.
"Um… hello?" Charles said nervously. What is she doing here? He tried to avoid looking too surprised but couldn't help a slight smile.
"Hi," she replied. "You seem happy."
"Do I?"
"Yes. You're smiling."
"Oh. Well, it's just that I wasn't expecting any visitors. Not that you shouldn't come to visit –or should. I mean, you can come any time. Or not! But it's – it's a surprise."
"A nice one, I hope."
"Oh, yeah. Definitely."
"Good." For a brief moment, Rachel grinned, and that tiny change made her whole face light up. Woah, Charles thought. You should do that more often.
Alarming quickly, the grin disappeared. "Let me come," she said determinedly.
"Uh. Come where?"
"Wherever the place is you're going tonight. I know you're planning to test that silver machine. Let me come."
Ohhhh, damn. Uh oh. Damn. Charles tried to remain expressionless but there was a reason he liked being behind the camera instead of in front of it. Who the heck told her? How'd she figure it out? "I don't think we have any plans, honestly," he began. "Maybe the others were chatting about something else—"
"Hmmm," Rachel said. It was a long, drawn out hmmm, one that said 'Do you want to be murdered? Because this is how you get murdered.' She regarded him with a hard, jet-black gaze. (They were nice eyes, he noticed. Probably would've been nicer if they weren't so annoyed-looking.)
"Rachel, I swear. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then you won't mind if I mention this trip to your parents?"
"Uhhh – no?"
"Okay." She stepped forwards to push past him through the doorway.
"Alright, alright! Wait!"
She paused, one arm on the door, Charles blocking the way. The eyes were even nicer up close. Get a grip. He took a breath, clearing his head. "Maybe… maybe we are going somewhere. Theoretically. Hypothetically. Why do you wanna come?"
"Because you're—" She hesitated. "Because you and Alice are the best friends I've made since I got here, and it isn't right if you keep sneaking around behind my back. Either we're friends, or we're not."
Charles blinked, mouth half-open. We ARE friends. We are. Every time I ask for help, you never even think before saying yes. The way you just get on with it and DO stuff is amazing. But, despite all that... we never were completely honest. Why? Because… because we were scared. I guess that's pretty shitty. His thoughts stretched into an awkward silence.
"I know I'm new. I know you guys are going to do things without me; I've accepted that. It's fine. I'm guessing that whatever you're working on is important, and you've got decent reasons. But I want you to realise that I can help – if you want me to." For a millisecond, her mask of certainty fell away, replaced by something much more vulnerable. Then it returned.
"Rachel…" He swallowed. "Rachel, I really like you. I think you're awesome. I really do. If it were totally my decision, I'd tell you everything right now… but you might not believe me."
"You'd be surprised."
"Maybe. Unfortunately, though, it isn't up to me."
She stared at him, eyes narrowed. Searching his face for answers. Charles stared back. Oh, what the hell.
"Twelve o'clock, Crystal Drive," he said. "Can you be there?"
She nodded imperceptibly. "I can be there."
"Good." He grinned. "Bring something warm. Don't get caught."
Rachel stepped back, into the sunshine, another smile playing across her lips. "I never do." Charles waited in the doorway, feeling curiously pleased.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"No problem. But seriously – don't get caught."
Cary's mother awoke to the sound of crying. It only took a few seconds for her brain to drag itself into wakefulness and she gazed at the ceiling, listening.
The little one was crying again. She'd been having bad dreams, lately. Dreams could be scary when you were three years old.
Sandra rolled over, turning to her husband. Derek was still fast asleep – mouth open, tiny snores whistling through his nostrils. Better not wake him. Quietly, she extracted herself from the bedsheets and stood up, padding out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
As she passed the door to Cary's bedroom, she noticed that it was open, just a crack. She paused, thinking, then knocked softly on the wood. "Cary. Are you up?" No reply. She knocked again. "Cary. Sorry, but can you help? Sophie's having nightmares again."
The silence was strange. Her son was usually a light sleeper. "I'm coming in." She pushed the door open, reached for the light.
She wasn't quite sure what to do when she saw that the bed was empty.
"Cary?"
"You got me runnin' goin' out of my mind,
You got me thinkin' that I'm wastin' my time.
Don't bring me dooowwn, no – no – no – no – no…
I'll tell you once more, before I get off the floor, don't bring me down."
Six out-of-tune voices sang along with the lyrics, plus one that was content to whisper the words under her breath. The acapella melody wound cheerfully through the trees as they trekked through the forest. It was nice when a song had been on the radio a bunch of times so that everyone knew the words. Second verse:
"You wanna stay out with your faaancy friends,
I'm tellin' you it's gonna beee the end,
Don't bring me dooowwn, no – no – no – no – no…
I'll tell you once more, before I get off the floor, don't bring me down."
Preston thrashed on air guitar, bopping his head while Cary hopped behind him, aiming for a high note. The judges would've awarded him A for effort but C for actual skill; the resulting girly screech made the song collapse into a wave of giggles (and probably scared the heck out of any sleeping wildlife).
"And that, Cary, is why no one wants to be in your band," Martin grumbled. "That was going well before you started."
"Hey! I never said I was gonna sing," he retorted.
"Then what?"
"Drums, duh."
"That's probably the best choice," Joe replied. "I bags guitar."
"Keyboard!" Preston called out.
Single file, they transported their equipment along the track that led up to the radio tower. The tower, along with a weather station and a couple of other abandoned buildings, was perched upon the peak of Mount Hawthorn – a rather generous name for a large hill a few miles west of town. They'd figured it would probably be helpful to have clear air when testing the alien communications device (if that's what it actually was) and the radio tower was a convenient location far from any potentially inquisitive bystanders. The nights were getting colder, wind getting sharper as summer faded into autumn. Everybody was rugged up in jackets and jumpers, since warmth disappeared quickly once the sun went down. Charles carried the silver machine, balanced on his shoulder like a fishing rod, while the others held the usual crop of movie gear.
"Is it heavy?" Alice asked curiously.
"Not really," Charles replied. "It feels like plastic."
They ducked under a low branch, moon shining through the canopy above. Boots crunched on fallen leaves. The air throbbed with a distinctive, mossy smell that made Joe want to sneeze. Suddenly, the forest opened up into a clearing: a few fallen trees had forged a gap in the vegetation, a lopsided patch of empty ground that revealed the open sky.
Charles stopped abruptly. "Here," he decided. "We're filming here."
"Um… you sure?" Martin asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Well, the scene's supposed to be a repeat, isn't it? It looks kinda different to the—"
"This is a forest. The other place was a forest. I don't think people will notice." Charles shrugged.
Preston glanced at the antenna on his shoulder. "Shouldn't we do the… freaky stuff first?"
"It's called multitasking, Preston." He set the silver tripod down, leaning it against a log. "We've got time. Joe?"
He peered at his wristwatch. "…Quarter to one."
"See? It's fine. It'll literally take ten minutes."
"As long as you haven't changed my lines again," Martin muttered darkly.
"No, Martin, I haven't changed your lines. I did that, like, one time."
"Three," Rachel murmured.
"Keep in mind we actually have to sleep at some point," Alice said. "I don't know about you guys, but I kind of need my eight hours—" Suddenly, an emerald glow came to life beneath her fingertips. She froze in shock, looking down, before her face burst into a smile.
"Guys, look. It's a firefly."
The insect crawled slowly along a bent blade of grass, pulsing with soft green light.
Then another light appeared. Then another. Then more, like someone had hung fairy lights all through the trees and suddenly switched them on. A few dozen fireflies emerged from the darkness, some nestled amongst the leaves, others flying lazily overhead, illuminating the forest in subtle shades of green and gold. Amber lanterns floated among the branches. Tails glowed in the shadows.
"Cool!"
"Woah…"
One by one they walked into the clearing, surrounded by the amazing sight. Cary darted forwards, trying to catch one in his hand; the insects fluttered away from him in a smooth green wave. Joe tip-toed to where Alice was standing, gazing at the sky in wonder.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured.
The insects blinked, mixing with the stars. Speedily, she reached forwards and snatched one out of the air.
"Don't squash it," Joe said worriedly.
She didn't. Alice opened her fingers and the firefly was there, resting in her palm, soft and green. As they watched, the glow made her skin seem even paler than usual. Bright, dim. Bright, dim. A spark.
"It's so ephemeral," she said quietly.
"Cool word," he replied.
"Haha, I guess so. It means it's… weak. Short-lived. But still, it's shining with all its might. Thump, thump, thump. Like a heartbeat."
They stared at the insect, its warmth reflected in their eyes. Alice closed her fingers over it and raised her arm; then opened her hand, letting it go free. Wings fluttered, a whisper of sound, tracing a quick spiral into the night. Across the clearing, Martin and Preston sat, leaning close and watching lights rise from the grass.
"Did you know firefly larvae are carnivorous?"
"No, Preston, I didn't."
"They particularly enjoy snails."
"Oh. Great."
"Apparently the glow is used by males to attract females, for mating purposes. Look over there."
Charles and Rachel stood beneath a pine tree, surrounded on all sides by tiny stars. The fireflies bobbed and weaved, sketching twinkling trails across their vision. He turned slowly, grinning like a lunatic, almost afraid to move. This is perfect.
"This is cool, isn't it?" he said cheerfully.
"Yeah. It's cool." Rachel smiled, the air filled with happiness. When she breathed, it felt like she was supposed to be there. In this forest, in this place where the deep blue shadows were split by specks of life. With these people. She glanced at the boy next to her, and wondered if she could ever… it almost made her regret telling her father about sneaking out.
Why. Why did I do it?
She hadn't told him what they were planning, exactly; she'd protected the details. But she'd mentioned that – perhaps – they might be going to the radio tower tonight. And that – perhaps – interesting things might happen. She was only being safe, wasn't she? It was a good idea to have someone who knew they were, just in case the rest of night went… poorly. She remembered her dad's expression when she'd told him, that curious mix of gratefulness and anxiety, and she knew that she was doing the right thing. By him, at least.
Maybe not by her friends. It's extremely hypocritical, calling Charles out for lying to me when I'm perfectly happy to do the same to him.
Wrong thing. Right reasons. I wish I didn't have to.
I do have to, though. I'm sorry.
She stared at the fireflies and their calming radiance, trying not to think about it.
Alice pushed her through the forest, her hands tied behind her back. She wasn't resisting, not exactly, but she was doing her best to look confused. She'd never had to act confused before.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel said calmly.
"You do. You have to," Alice replied.
"Seriously, I'm telling the truth. I have no idea. This is crazy."
"You're lying." She shook her head, frustrated. "You're stalling. This has to be some kind of trick."
Martin trudged along behind them, looking warily over his shoulder.
"You keep saying I'm supposed to kill him," Rachel continued. "Does it look like I could do that right now? You say I have a gun – but I don't, because you definitely checked. Why are you so certain—"
Abruptly, Alice stopped in her tracks. "Then…" She stared directly at her captive. "Something's changed."
"What's changed?"
"Something." She whirled around, looking at Martin now, desperation creeping into her voice. "Something's changed."
Martin rubbed his chin. Then frowned slightly. "I know," he said.
Her jaw dropped in shock. "You know?"
A fine layer of drizzle pattered through the treetops, dripping to the muddy ground and onto damp jackets and coats. Beneath the branches, it remained mostly dry, but every now and then a larger drop would come sliding off a leaf, ambushing the travellers below. Joe shivered as one splattered down his back, wiped it away with chilly hands.
"There it is," Charles said. He pointed through the trees. "That's the radio tower."
"We know, Charles. We can see it," Martin replied.
"I was just making sure—"
"…I bet Martin wouldn't be able to see if we stole his glasses," Cary said speculatively.
"Don't, Cary. Don't you dare."
The rain had started pouring maybe fifteen minutes ago, right after they'd finished filming. Alice had said that was lucky; everyone else agreed it would be luckier if it hadn't begun to rain in the first place. Though it wasn't heavy, it was relatively constant, and the ground was becoming unpleasantly slippery. Clods of dirt and dead leaves stuck to their shoes and jeans.
"I wish it'd stop drizzling," Preston muttered. "My parents'll kill me if I catch a cold."
"Yeah. Rain makes this a lot less fun, huh," Alice said.
Joe shrugged. "I bet Batman never thought saving the world was fun. He did it anyway, though. 'Cause he's Batman."
"Joe?" Cary said.
"What?"
"We're not Batman."
"Do you know who has fun while saving the world?" Charles asked. "James Bond has fun while saving the world. He gets to go to parties, drink alcohol, drive fast cars, kiss girls… hey, we're here."
They emerged from the treeline, onto the summit of Mount Hawthorn. Here the ground had been flattened and the forest cleared away, creating space for a small complex of buildings. Most of them looked to have been abandoned for years: mould-stained walls, cracked windows, supports rusted by years of wind and rain.
In the centre of the area was a large concrete pad, ten by ten, its surface split by spiderweb cracks. Tiny shoots of vegetation had wormed their way through the cement with surprising determination, forming a springy green carpet. To the left was a one-room building, like one of those temporary offices you saw on construction sites – roof sagging, a small shed behind. The barely-readable sign above the door said 'Bureau of Meteorology'. Across from that was the radio tower itself: up close it seemed to stretch remarkably high, tapered sharply from its base to its distant tip. Assorted dishes and antennae dotted its exterior while a maintenance ladder climbed through the old, rusted girders. At the top, a red warning light blinked against the moon's pale glow.
On the right side of the peak there was a larger structure. Joe couldn't quite make out what it was; some kind of old bunker or shelter. It was half-sunk into the earth, made of thick concrete, empty windows revealing a pitch-black interior. A broken-down pickup truck lay on the ground before it, vines twisted round its axles.
"You were right," Rachel said. "That wasn't too far."
"Yeah, see? It's only 'bout a mile." Charles turned, looking at the abandoned buildings. "I didn't realise all this stuff was up here."
"Didn't there used to be an observatory?" Preston asked. "Or is that perched upon a different hill."
"Different. That's Mount Sharp, I think."
Their torches had attracted a small cloud of insects, and one by one they switched them off. Outside the trees it was light enough to see by and everyone was bored of slapping away mosquitoes. They trudged to the middle of the concrete pad where, beneath the grime, a large red 'H' was visible.
"Helipad," Joe murmured.
"Huh." Alice frowned. "Why would they need that here?"
"Because this is a military outpost," Rachel said. "Or it was."
"What?"
"That bunker." She pointed. "I've seen that same construction a hundred times – these outposts were made to be identical. It was probably built as an observation post during World War 2, with the tower and the weather station added later."
"…As long as it's not an observation post now," Cary said cautiously.
"Does it look like one?"
It didn't. The bunker was deserted, rivulets of water streaming down its surface and pooling on the helipad.
"At the moment, the only thing this place is good for is beaming M*A*S*H reruns to my TV," Charles muttered.
"Or Three's Company," Joe added.
"Or Dallas," Preston said.
"Woah woah woah." Cary snorted. "You watch Dallas?"
"Hey, my parents like to hog the remote, alright? I take what I can get."
They needled each other about TV choices as they assembled the silver machine (though, to tell the truth, it'd done most of the assembling itself). The centre of the helipad seemed like a nice, open spot, so Charles plonked it down in the middle, supported by its three slender legs. Joe looked up, shielding his eyes; unless it was his imagination, the rain was getting heavier. Great. Just in time. Long strands of cloud cut across the sky, though most was still clear. Martin helped Charles with arranging the various pieces. The dish and antenna were unfurled from the top, rotated to aim at the heavens. The control panel – that first, tiny piece they'd started with – blinked at them invitingly, mounted to the central column.
"Okay, okay. What about Family Feud," Martin suggested.
Alice shrugged. "It's alright. If I had to watch something, I'd probably choose Wheel of Fortune though. Are we totally sure we wanna do this?"
"Argue about TV shows or talk to aliens?" Charles said.
"The second one. The point is, we are making a huge assumption that this thing talks to…" She stared pointedly at Rachel, who scratched her nose innocently. "…anything."
"Honestly, I'd thought we'd kinda decided by being here," Joe said.
"Sure, but – I want to be certain," Alice said carefully. "I want to be certain that we're all on the same page. Are we?"
The group exchanged an inquisitive glance. No one wanted to be the first to disagree, or at least kept any concerns to themselves. What concerns could you possibly have, anyway? Joe thought. The cubes, the alien tech, it's all been relatively harmless so far. Though maybe we shouldn't be so optimistic.
He noticed Charles giving him a sidelong glance. 'What do you think?'
Joe shrugged imperceptibly. 'It's up to you.'
Eye-roll: 'Thanks. Super helpful.'
The rain drizzled. Charles puffed out his cheeks, like he always did when faced with a question with no clear answer. Then he sighed quietly. "Fine, let's do it – if there aren't any objections."
"Finally," Cary muttered. "As if we have a choice. How else are we gonna find out if it works?"
"I hope it does," Preston said. "I don't think I could handle the anticlimax otherwise."
Charles wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. "Anyone else wanna do the honours?" he asked. "No? No? Thought so. Martin, can you film?"
He knelt down in front of the control panel, then cautiously reached out to touch the silver. As usual, he was rewarded with a soft bloop. Above them, the sky stretched wide and it reminded Joe of a giant mouth, almost. The biggest mouth in the universe. Stars twinkled in the early morning air, the faint glow of the Milky Way splashed across the horizon. Forest formed a jagged boundary between the earth and the night.
What if it does work? he thought suddenly. What then? We haven't thought that far ahead. What if… what if it sends a message? What if something actually does come back?
What if HE comes back?
'Cooper', his name was. It sounded like 'Cooper'. And I don't think he'd want to come back.
You're standing on a hillside, alone. It's dark. For a few moments all you see is blackness. Then patterns. Then colours. Then, the comet, streaking toward Earth. Alive. This thing that is coming is ALIVE, reaching out to strangle and devour whole worlds, and it is coming here. It is coming to Earth. Fire strikes the burning sky. The ground shakes as if worlds are being shattered. It is coming here because of you. It is coming here because you DARED to—
Joe was suddenly filled with a sense of unease. Something was wrong. Something felt wrong. But what? Charles pressed the control pad again, making tones of a different pitch. The machine flashed blue; his exploratory fiddling was getting somewhere, at least.
Charles looked up. "Anybody got any great ideas? I'm pressing stuff when it lights up, but…"
"Is it labelled?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah, sort of. There's like, a little symbol for—"
fire strikes the burning sky
"We should stop," Joe said.
"What?"
"I think we should stop. I think… I think something isn't right."
At the bottom of Mount Hawthorn, a pair of army jeeps turned off the highway, onto the bumpy hillside track. Ryan Yukimura sat in the passenger's seat, gazing apprehensively at the road, worrying about his daughter. Beside him, hands on the wheel, sat a man who'd introduced himself as Lieutenant Forman. In the back were two soldiers, carrying rifles. Tires screeched in protest.
He hadn't expected this when making the call. He hadn't been intending to make one at all. But some of the things which Rachel had said… she'd been trying to hide something. Very carefully. Mentions of 'cubes' and 'silver machines' revealed information she should never have known, not in a million years.
So he'd made the call. And that had made certain people very antsy (namely Lieutenant Forman and some other high-ranking officers). The jeep's headlights cut through the night and he peered out the window, trying to spot the radio tower. There it was – a red dot shining above the woods.
Then, below it, was a faint blue flash.
"Joe, what are you saying," Martin began.
"I feel – I feel like—" A scythe of pain erupted in his forehead. He clutched his skull, staggered forwards. because you DARED to—
Alice grabbed his shoulders and caught him before he fell. "Joe, are you okay? What's wrong?"
"That. That is." He gulped down a breath. Managed to point at the device. "They lied to us."
"Who lied to us?"
"I – I don't know! But he was trying to tell me the whole time! I didn't pay attention, I didn't think it was important, but it was!"
Alice stared at him, concern shining in her eyes. Then she turned to Charles. "Stop it," she said firmly.
"Stop it? I'm not sure how to—"
"Just try, Charles!"
"Okay, okay!"
Before he could even blink, the ground turned blue. A shockwave of azure light burst from the machine. It rippled over the helipad, then the buildings, then vanished into the forest, and moments after it came an enormous sound, so vast and deep it was felt more than heard, striking the earth like a drum. The leaves shivered.
"Um… what was that?" Cary asked.
Suddenly, the satellite dish began to twitch back and forth. Faster, faster, stopping and starting with impossible precision. Charles backed away, nearly slipping in a puddle. The tip was tracing coordinates in the sky – no discernible pattern, or one too complex to see. Once again the ground flashed blue, the light sweeping over damp clothes and skin with an eerie electric tingle. Joe's headache was gone but the hairs on his arms were standing straight as needles.
Nothing, for a few seconds. No one moved.
"Wouldn't it be funny if it does turn out to be a bomb?" Preston whispered.
"Don't you fucking say it," Cary replied.
Then a third blinding burst – not on the ground this time, but in the sky. Directly above their heads materialised a circular sapphire light, just for a millisecond; a door opening and closing, somewhere past the moon.
A door, Joe thought. That's what we've made.
Then, another door: a blue flash.
Then another. Then another. It looked strangely similar to the fireflies in the forest, and Joe tried to keep count at first but the flashes kept arriving faster and faster, high in the sky until there must've been a hundred of them plastering afterimages across his vision. A sapphire galaxy. The machine whirred, its surface steaming as rain splashed off silver.
The doors snapped shut. Dark once more.
But not for long. Different lights were swiftly growing from the blue – yellow, burning, unbearably bright – and moving. Each left an arcing trail as it travelled of what appeared to be pure fire.
Something's here, Joe thought. For a few moments all you see is blackness. Then patterns. Then colours. Then, a comet, streaking towards—
"It's like… shooting stars," Alice murmured. "A hundred shooting stars."
Preston nodded. "A meteor shower. I've never seen one this big."
"Did – did we do that?" Charles asked incredulously. "Did we summon a freaking meteor shower?"
Joe narrowed his eyes. Did we? These weren't regular meteors, zipping across the sky in an eye-blink; they were much slower, brighter. More powerful. Are they coming closer? Yeah. The spots of radiance were expanding rapidly, becoming difficult to look at, tails growing more and more, the combined glare from their passage now throwing faint shadows across the hilltop. The strange blue portals must've somehow spat them out: the sky was utterly filled with them. Eerily, every trail had a consistent direction.
"Are they coming towards us?" Martin asked.
"Yes. They are," Rachel said grimly.
"That can't be right. We didn't just—"
"Guys, those rocks are aiming right for us."
"Crap, what do we do? Guys, what do we do!?"
Shock and disbelief pinned them in place, mesmerised by the sight. Seconds passed in a heartbeat. There's so many. They're so big. A starburst of flame was converging on the hilltop, a swiftly-closing ring of light from which there was no escape (it might've been strangely beautiful if you weren't trapped inside it). Joe wiped the rain from his eyes. Still the lights grew, grew till he could actually hear their blazing roar, till the nearest fireball loomed large on the horizon, appearing to move faster and faster as it came closer… closer… till suddenly the thing was way too close about to exp—
The air burned. It skimmed the treetops, throwing fire across the forest.
"RUN! GODDAMN RUN!" Cary screamed.
They ran.
Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the wait – it's my last semester of engineering study and I'm working on an important project (which is, unfortunately, slightly more important than fanfiction). I found a spare weekend, though, so here's another chapter!
This story is actually a pretty good window into 'what things did Justin enjoy this month'. Recently that was Haikyuu, a series about a bunch of high schoolers playing volleyball which somehow turns into the most hype thing ever. Thus, you get a volleyball scene. See?
P.S. Mysterious Guest reviewer: you're pretty awesome in my view. Thanks for reading!