Ambrosia

~ PT-II |

The ground shakes, and Main Street rips down the middle—at least the part we can see—rock and asphalt bursting through the air, sending the soldiers and the administrators flying to either side.

"Let's go, Seleste!"

My feet feel locked in place, as if I were thrown into the sea with ball chains around my ankles. Grace and Kennedy grab one arm each, dragging me up Newbury Hill. We reach the top of the hill where a flood of people from the finance quarter hog the majority of the street.

Kennedy tries to pull us through in an attempt to go against the grain of frightened people, but someone shoves us out of the way, asking us the rhetorical question of what the fuck we're doing?

"We'll have to go around!"

"All the way around?"

I inhale sharply, words of the mouth coming to me again. "There's no way you expect us to go farther into the city just to get to Summit—they're already there. How're we going to get around them—sneak through the shadows?"

Grace's eyes focus in the distance. The highrises in the city seem to be crumbling, just like fragile sand castles in the wind. "She's right, Kennedy. The city's destroyed."

"It's not."

"It's going to be," I quip.

Ambulance sirens grow and fade in the distance. The smell of sheared metal drifts on a breeze that's surprisingly cool.

His eyes dart back and forth. "So what would you two suggest?" He turns a pointed glare at the both of us. His jaw is tight.

I sigh. "Fine. If you really think Summit is the way, I won't argue."

"No, you're right. If they're catching people..."

No more words needed to be said.

"We should follow the herd for now," Grace advises.

Kennedy doesn't wait for another word; he pulls us into the crowd, ignoring the furious protests of finance bros. We make sure to stay at his side. He leans in so we can hear him better. "If we move along a few blocks, we might be able to pass the army guys and cut across the field."

"Cut across the field?"

"Yes, is something wrong with that?"

"We'll be making targets of ourselves," she tries to reason.

"It's our best bet..."

Neither of us can argue that. If he really wants to try to get to Summit Hill—or at the very least, as close as possible—we should probably cut across the half-mile-long field to the side road and into the woods.

"All these people are going to safehouses," he goes on. "We shouldn't have any trouble getting there once we reach the other side."

"Why did the chicken cross the road again?"

I look at Grace. "Grace, now is really not the time."

"Sorry."

We do as Kennedy suggests, only following the flow for a few blocks—which, despite everyone being in a rush—before cutting off on our own. We're given strange looks for our sudden diversion of the path, but nobody says anything to us.

We make a run for the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Just as he said, we're past the military barricade. The barrage is still ongoing, American fighter jets booming overhead. An explosion sets somewhere far past our right side, shaking the ground and launching the roof of a government building in the air. Brick particles fly at us; they're mostly small, fended off by our arms crossed over our faces.

I glance down Main. Beyond the firing militia, a grey smog obscures the back end of the obsidian vessel, and even though we're farther from it than we were before, somehow the alien warship seems bigger than before. Immense and intimidating, for sure, and so foreign to my eyes that I'm almost willing to believe this is all a dream and I'm still tucked away under my covers; that I never got out of bed to try to write some of my paper; that I didn't witness a man get turned into a bleating goat.

I swallow around a lump in my throat.

The glowing purple of the construction seems to swell, and the more I look at it, the brighter it gets. The purple clouds the edges of my vision no different than the light of the TV screen playing in the dead of night. White noise fills my ears. The blood behind my eyes pulses with the rhythm of the lights.

And I can't move...

Figures part through the fog donned in shimmering purple armour with black-glass visor helmets and no visible weapons. Upon first glance, they all look human, and—unless my eyes deceive me—have slim feminine frames. Six figures exactly, all seeming to be replicas of one another.

A seventh figure follows. A taller figure. This one is not wearing a helmet. A face as white as a cloud and hair blacker than the night itself. Black as the ship.

More figures follow; dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands, but they all have the same helmets and similar dark purple armour. The others are of various heights though, but they all seem to be quite tall.

In my periphery, something is flying toward us. My arms jolt to life, and I swing Kennedy and Grace out of the way, stepping away myself. But I wasn't expecting an explosion.

The sound rips through my ears. My mouth opens, and my throat bubbles with a scream, but all I hear is ringing. My hands are pressed to them in hopes that the agony will fade away. Somehow I'm on my knees.

Reeling in pain, I double over, tapping my forehead to the ground as I cringe. I hear my name like I'm underwater, and then not a second later, one of the armoured vehicles—toppled on its side—comes sliding toward me. I just barely dodge out of the way, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Kennedy and Grace are alright. The vehicle eventually skids to a stop.

But they're across the field. Faces twisted in fear, they desperately wave me over. "Come on!" Their mouths shape the words, but I barely hear them.

How long had I been standing there?

My ears still hurt like hell, but I'll have to deal with that later. Clenching my teeth, I struggle to get up to my feet as I try hard to ignore the pain.

And though I also try to stop this, I'm unable to quell my curious eyes. The pale-faced one steps beyond the six in the front. A few soldiers, realising the futility of the situation drop their weapons and run. But all are stopped in their tracks, freezing stiff and plummeting flat on their faces, arms at their sides.

The wide-eyed government officials are running toward me, the corners of their mouths pinned back in horror. The soldiers suddenly lower their weapons, and those who were not already kneeling, do so.

The officials skid to a stop, pointing past me. I glance over my shoulder; the armoured vehicle which I'd just evaded is barreling toward me yet again, and because I hadn't been able to hear it, is so close the only thing I can do is huddle over, the way school kids do during tornado drills. I can only anticipate the impact while preventing as much damage as possible...

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Finally! Here is PT II of "The End Only the Beginning"; PT III will be out next Wednesday 5PM CST.

Thank you for reading and have a lovely day.