Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 30: Breach

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Peter
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The sound of a car door slamming shut echoed through the night. Twilight had fallen by the time we stopped near a desolate clearing several miles outside Columbus, the dusty country road stretching through the cornfield, the ground dry and worn from years of overuse.

Boots crunched atop loose aggregate as the mist-haired man rounded our military Hummer. Gael stopped a few feet away, a cloud of cigarette smoke rising from his mouth. Staring at the sky, the man seemed to be searching the stars for something I clearly couldn't see.

The invasion had taken place almost three weeks ago, yet the air still tasted of ash, like the planet itself hadn't finished burning. Now that we were away from the noise and bustle of camp, I was reminded of what the world felt like beyond the reach of civilization.

Even with the occasional call from a passing jay, there was this uncomfortable . . . silence. It was unreal how I missed the noise of our electric world. Camp had been a small dose of normal. The constant clamors from the generators at nights, the erratic hum from the scattered lamps and even the chatter of survivors had eased my nerves. We had running water and were well fed thanks to a stack of aging machines running on scavenged fuel and batteries.

The knowledge that all those resources were expendable and finite sat in my gut like a slowly melting ice cube.

But what gnawed at me most wasn't the lights, or the rations, or even the creepy ass doctors. It was silences like this beyond the walls.

No broadcasts. No military updates. No emergency frequencies repeating evacuation orders or casualty reports. Nothing but empty words and mediocre excuses. If our military wasn't circulating news our world to the public, what did that say about our chances for survival?

What baffled me was that the people here weren't even questioning it, not that the soldiers were very forthcoming with answers. No one within the safe zone was brave enough to even ask. Most days were mundane if felt like the invasion was over. No distant explosions, no pillars of alien ships. Nothing. I caught myself hoping the attack had burned itself out, that the invaders had left as abruptly as they'd come.

But if it was over . . . why wasn't the army saying anything? Why wasn't the government relocating survivors? And the worst question, the one that stalked the back of my mind like a shadow.

If the creatures hadn't really abandoned their assault, if they were still out there, what exactly were they waiting for? And where the fuck did that leave Lauren?

A large duffle bag smacked the ground with a thud at my feet, startling me from my thoughts.

"All set?" Gael muttered, flicking his half-smoked cigarette on the dirt and stomping it out.

"Just about," I responded, sliding a hand through my hair.

Inspecting my gear for the hundredth time, I palmed the switchblade cleverly tucked away within my uniform. It was just a precaution, strictly for matters of life or death. The borrowed body armor was equipped with so many pouches and buckles that I could barely keep track. "I'm surprised you managed to find all this on such short notice."

"I would have been faster if I hadn't needed to grab so many," the older man grumbled, casting a withering glance over his shoulder. "Did you really have to bring them along?"