Thirty days.
The countdown has started, North America shivers under the shadow of a massive alien spacecraft, and humanity is hurtling toward an unknown future that lurks at the end of the timer. Somewhere, somehow, the heroes are making their plan...
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MILAM, WEST VIRGINIA, USA
August 15, 6:00 AM
Be-beep.
Be-beep.
The device looked like a watch, but within this apocalyptic scenario, power and communication had been reserved only for those deemed the most important, and this was obviously more than just a smartwatch.
"Agent Donovan." Upon engaging the device, the caller didn't waste any time on pleasantries. "Your report is late. Again."
"Shhhh..."
"What? I'm your Commander. You can't shush me."
Agent Donovan crouched in a corner of the kitchen, head cocked to one side as he pressed the communicator to his ear and tried to maintain listening beyond it.
"He'll hear you," he whispered.
"He? Who? Donovan, you're alone!" The commander's tone descended from anger to contempt, "Light has been reported as emanating from the center of the craft and what do I hear from you? Crickets!"
You didn't have to look out the window to know the light was there, eerie and synthetic. As if the darkness wasn't enough of a mind-fuck, the light was worse. It didn't glow; the shadows hadn't lost their density.The room wasn't bright, even though everything outside was bathed in the light's euphoric glow.
Donovan didn't answer. Maybe he was too scared to feel the rhapsodic flare. Maybe he had been alone in the dark for too long.
"Donovan!" The Commander was yelling now, a tinny-sounding anger through the tiny speaker.
Donovan's gaze flitted aimlessly around the room, what could he possibly say?
He closed his eyes, "Trying to survive."
Cryptic, seemingly lucid. Of all the possibilities, that was a pretty good choice, but there was no way this pompous Commander would infer the plea within his words.
"I have no interest in your ramblings and hallucinations. I want to know what's going on up there."
Donovan began nodding, though the action was out of sync with the conversation.
"The chickens."
"Jesus, Donovan." The Commander let loose a strained sigh. "I have no choice but to extract you. You're not the first, everyone out there is falling apart."
Enough of this. Listening to the Commander fret about weaklings.
Donovan looked up in surprise, "No!" Backing into the corner, his spastic finger cut the call short.
