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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STAUNTON, VIRGINIA, USA
August 16, 5:50 PM
"...As far as we know, circumstances haven't changed. Scientists are still speculating as to the cause of the mysterious artificial light that emanated from the spacecraft for eighteen hours yesterday, but first studies have shown no effects of radiation from the light or of any similar fallout. It was a pleasant surprise to be able to wear a tee shirt in the middle of summer... at least for a day." The reporter shifted in his winter coat and laughed. "But it seems we're back to our regularly scheduled weather in the Midnight Zone. Hopefully, we'll find out soon if the light plans to open up again, or if this was a one-time event. In the meantime, stay safe, stay together, and stay tuned. This is Gary Garcia with CNN."
The red light blinked off, and the cameraman motioned from behind the camera. "Great job, Gary. See you in thirty."
"Thanks, Chadwick." Gary gave him a weak smile and clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past into the base camp, tugging his coat closer around himself. Everywhere people scurried about, bundled in winter clothes on a summer day, each set on their path.
Looming above it all, in the darkness, was the number 15. It was at least a mile wide, a glowing blue number projected into the air under the looming darkness.
To Gary, the strangest part of it all was how quickly they'd all settled into the situation.
With a scowl, he passed the sleek elevator with several large "OUT OF ORDER" signs pasted on it and headed for the stairs. He cursed fate for making the elevator go out of order three days ago and lightly kicked the "wet floor" sign placed in front of the closed doors for good measure. Gary paused in front of the stairwell, bracing himself for the grueling climb of twelve sets of stairs ahead of him. When he reached for the handle, however, the door swung open. Another reporter stood in front of him, panting heavily. Martha Banks, an elderly black woman usually assigned the morning recaps, dragged a suitcase with one hand and carried another over her shoulder.
"Martha, are you okay?" Gary took one bag before she could protest. "How far did you bring that stuff down?" "Oh, aren't you a sweetheart—just from level five," she huffed, letting him carry the suitcase forward a few feet before taking it back. "I'll be alright. Thank you, son."
"What are you doing with all this?" he asked.
Martha shrugged, adjusting the duffel bag on her shoulder.
"I'm leaving. Going to my grandchildren in Nevada."
Gary shifted awkwardly in his boots. "You're leaving, too?"
"After that gravity shift this morning? That light show yesterday must have done something to the area, and I don't want to stick around to find out what." "It was only for a few seconds—" "It was a gravity anomaly, Gary! Everything floated two feet off the ground. I'm an old woman. I can't take a knocking if this ship decides to disobey Newton's law at random times." She considered him for a moment. "You should leave, too."
