One January Morning, Part 14

When the clock struck noon, Morgan found herself in back of paddy wagon. It was stuck in traffic, on its way cross town to the prison, and the first hint Morgan had that something was wrong beyond gridlock was the opening and closing of doors. First, the sounds came one at a time. Then, there were dozens at once. Then, a cacophony. Soon, there was the sound of fists pounding against the walls of her wheeled prison. And when that sound finally grew so intense that she had to cover her ears, that was when the whole vehicle began to rock back and forth. But the most frightening thing was not a sound, nor the way her stomach swayed in time with the truck—no, the most frightening thing of all was watching what had undoubtedly been happening outside begin to happen to the guard seated across from her. At first, it was just his fingers pulling at his collar, beads of sweat collecting on his Adam’s apple. But then he removed his helmet, and the sweat was everywhere, matting his hair, dripping off of his eyebrows. When his pupils began to turn, that is when Morgan finally let loose the scream she’d been struggling to stifle. It was too late. Too late for her, too late for the world.

“They’re calling out to us,” said the guard, his voice gravelly and strained. “From space,” he said. “The one who brings you to them will be saved. That one, and no other.”

To be continued…


This month, January 2015, I’m telling a story one paragraph per day, inspired by cards from the Writer Emergency Pack. To read the next paragraph a day early, support me on Patreon.