Aftermath

After thirteen minutes, the ash began to settle. The warship raised its proverbial anchor and fired up its warp drive. Gravity waves pummeled the city’s charred remains. With one final kick, the hulking cruiser tore through atmosphere and vanished.

Goran clutched his blaster in aching fingers. He was nearly buried under debris. Half-melted rock was suspended by creaking rebar. He coughed up a lungful of dust and waited until he heard footsteps. Small, quiet. Nothing like a soldier’s.

The sunlight burned. Goran squinted through the bright and dust at what had once been his home. In a quarter of an hour, a single warship had reduced the metropolis to rubble. There was no blood, no screams to mark the passing of the city. Just ash and a horrible, aching silence.

The small, quiet footsteps scraped to a halt. Goran turned to find a child, no more than eight, clutching a toy rabbit. His feet were bare, his face was grey, and his eyes stared past the devastation with an empty acceptance. As if it stretched all the way to the horizon.

Goran shook. His body spasmed as if to weep, but no tears came. His legs gave out. The old man sat hard in the dust and turned away so the boy wouldn’t see his weakness.

The child took the gun from his hands and replaced it with his toy. He held Goran close and whispered to him. His voice was a pained rasp, but the words were soft. He spoke them deliberately, monotonously, as if he’d memorized them. As if he was simply repeating something he’d heard from his mother.