04. Aftermath

I was dozing as I watched the campfire flicker when the sound of birds taking flight all at once jolted me awake.

Their shadows scattered in every direction through the moonlight.

An earthquake, perhaps?

I switched on the radio. After a whistling hweee and the growl of static, a familiar voice began speaking—but it was not announcing an emergency.

Suddenly, Chinese and Russian bled into the broadcast, mixing with the Japanese. I turned the tuning dial. Amid roaring static, the faint remnants of human voices broke apart and disappeared.

At last, every frequency fell silent.

When I looked up, the sky was stained with blood. A pale green curtain wavered against a dark, muddy red. Thin streaks of light flashed here and there, then multiplied into more shooting stars than I could count.

At some point, the birds had vanished.

An emergency broadcast echoed from the town at the foot of the mountain. It cut off repeatedly in unnatural places, gradually swallowed by noise.

A bluish-white light flared along the mountainside. The lights of the town flickered, then went out as if darkness were filling in the outlines.

At unnaturally regular intervals, something continued to burst with a sharp bang, bang.

There was a sickening sensation, as though carbonated bubbles were being poured into my ear canals. The feeling in my body faded until I could no longer tell what position I was in.

Only the warmth of the campfire at my feet kept my mind tethered to the fact that this was real.