Rebirth and Lessons Learned
First this is part two of a A Cloudy Sky <---- a="" are="" familiar="" here="" if="" link="" nbsp="" not="" p="" please="" read.="" so="" story="" take="" than="" the="" you="">
Of coarse with many of my stories, this is only just for fun. No editing, just me sharing one of the many stories that play within my mind.
I may not be the best writer right now, however with practice I might be able to get a little better. And that is all I hope for, being able to share my stories as far as I can. And I would like to say it is great to see the people from all over the world who keep coming back and reading my stuff. I thank you. And today on Thursday August the 25 in the current year (2016) I present Rebirth and Lessons Learned.
Part 2: The Road to Nowhere
The night was blacker than the bottom of a whiskey bottle, and the wind howled through the Wyoming hills like a banshee with a grudge. I floored the truck down the 789, the stock exhaust humming low enough to keep me from painting a target on my back. Night vision goggles strapped to my face turned the world into a grainy green haze—Stu’s dad, Jefferson, wasn’t kidding when he said they’d come in handy. I owed him one, though I’d never admit it to his smug ass. The USP .45s sat snug on my hips, the .44 Magnum tucked in the passenger seat like a loyal dog, and the AA-12 and RPG rattled in the back with the ammo crates. If those alien bastards wanted a fight, I’d give them one hell of a welcome party.
I stuck to the back roads, weaving through Moffat County like a rat in a maze. Population centers were death traps now—cities torched by our own nukes or turned into hunting grounds by whatever was piloting those ships. I’d seen the footage before the internet died: sleek, insect-like crafts hovering over LA, Chicago, Beijing, you name it. Blue fire raining down, people vanishing into dust or waking up as puppets with blank stares. Canada was a smoking crater, and I wasn’t about to test my luck anywhere near a border. New Mexico was the goal—rumors on the shortwave said some militia types were holed up in the desert, fighting back. If anyone was crazy enough to still be swinging, it’d be those gun nuts.
The goggles picked up movement ahead—a deer, maybe, or some poor bastard stumbling through the dark. I slowed the truck, hand drifting to the Magnum. Looters were everywhere now, and I wasn’t in the mood to share my water or my bullets. The shape staggered into view: a man, mid-40s, clothes torn to shit, blood streaking down his face. He waved his arms like a lunatic, mouthing something I couldn’t hear over the engine. I killed the motor and cracked the window, keeping the gun trained on him.
“Help… please…” His voice was raw, like he’d been screaming for days. “They’re coming… the lights…”
“Slow down, pal,” I snapped. “Who’s coming? What lights?”
He pointed south, trembling. “White… blinding… took my wife, my kids… just gone.” His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide. “I ran… they didn’t see me… but they’re close.”
South. Fucking great. That’s where I’d seen that glow from the barn—bright enough to sear your retinas. I cursed under my breath. “Get in the back. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”
He didn’t argue, scrambling into the truck bed like a scared animal. I hit the gas, veering west toward the mountains instead. New Mexico could wait—whatever was south wasn’t worth tangling with solo. The guy’s story nagged at me, though. Lights. Disappearances. It fit the pattern: Paris, Germany, Dallas, all leading up to this global shitshow. They were picking us off, piece by piece, and I’d bet my last cigar they weren’t here for our charming personalities.
The road twisted into the Rockies, trees looming like silent sentinels. My passenger stayed quiet, curled up under a tarp like a kid hiding from the boogeyman. I kept an eye on the sky—no clouds, no blue fire, just stars that felt too damn still. The static noise from earlier was gone, replaced by an eerie silence that made my skin crawl. I’d ditched the earplugs once the sound stopped, but my ears still rang faintly, a reminder of how close I’d come to losing my mind.
An hour later, the truck’s headlights caught something odd—a glint of metal off the road. I pulled over, grabbed the AA-12, and stepped out, motioning for the guy to stay put. The air was thick again, greasy like before, and that hollow wind was back. Ahead, half-buried in the dirt, was a chunk of wreckage. Not human—too smooth, too alien. It looked like a piece of one of their ships, all curves and edges that didn’t make sense. I nudged it with my boot, and it hummed faintly, a vibration that shot up my leg.
“Shit,” I muttered, stepping back. That’s when I heard it—a low whine, growing louder, coming from above. I dove for cover behind a rock as a shadow passed overhead. No lights, no fire, just a silhouette against the stars, sleek and predatory. It didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept moving north. Hunting, maybe. Or scouting. Either way, I wasn’t sticking around to find out.
Back in the truck, the guy was wide-eyed, whispering, “That’s them… that’s what took ‘em…”
“Shut up,” I growled, starting the engine. “We’re not dead yet.”
I drove deeper into the mountains, sticking to trails barely wide enough for the truck. The plan was simple: find a cave, hunker down, figure out what the hell I was dealing with. The guy—his name was Tom, I learned later—wasn’t much help, just a shell of a man babbling about his family. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they were probably gone—or worse, walking around with someone else’s soul in their skins.
By dawn, I found a spot—a narrow crevice in the rock face, hidden by pines. I parked the truck under some branches and hauled my gear inside, Tom trailing behind like a lost puppy. The cave was damp, cold, and smelled like bat shit, but it beat being a sitting duck. I set up a perimeter with some tripwires and cans—low-tech, but it’d do—and cracked open a can of preserved peaches from the cooler. Tom just stared at the floor, rocking slightly.
“Eat,” I said, tossing him a can. “You’re no good to me dead.”
He nodded weakly, fumbling with the lid. “What’s your name?”
“Jordan,” I said, chewing slowly. “You?”
“Tom… Tom Wheeler. From Rawlins. Was a mechanic… before all this.”
“Rawlins is gone,” I said flatly. “Saw the smoke on the way out. You’re lucky you made it this far.”
He didn’t respond, just stared at the peaches like they’d bite back. I let him stew in his misery—grief was a luxury I couldn’t afford. My family was gone, too, smashed into a car wreck I’d never understand, and now the world was following them into the grave. No point crying over it. Survival was all that mattered.
That’s when the ground shook. A low rumble, like thunder trapped underground. I grabbed the AA-12 and peeked out the cave entrance. The sky was still clear, but the trees were swaying, and that greasy air was back, thicker than ever. Then I saw it—a blue streak, fast and low, cutting across the horizon. Not a ship, not lightning. Something else. It hit the valley below with a deafening crack, and a plume of dust shot up, glowing faintly.
Tom whimpered behind me. “They’re here…”
“No shit,” I muttered, loading a round into the RPG. “Stay put. I’m checking it out.”
I crept down the slope, keeping low, the weight of the launcher steady on my shoulder. Whatever had landed wasn’t moving, but that glow was unnerving—like a beacon calling me in. When I got close, I saw it: a pod, maybe ten feet long, embedded in the dirt. The surface was smooth, pulsing faintly with blue light. No doors, no seams, just a perfect, alien egg.
I circled it, heart pounding. Part of me wanted to blow it to hell right then and there, but curiosity—my old conspiracy-loving curse—held me back. That’s when it split open, silent as death, and something stepped out. Not a little green man, not a monster from a movie. It was human-shaped, tall, with skin like liquid metal, eyes glowing white. It turned toward me, and I froze.
“You,” it said, voice echoing in my skull without moving its mouth. “You see us.”
I didn’t think. I just pulled the trigger. The RPG roared, and the pod exploded in a fireball, the thing vanishing in the blast. I didn’t wait to see if it was dead—ran back to the cave, lungs burning, adrenaline screaming through me.
Tom was gone when I got there. No blood, no struggle, just an empty can of peaches rolling on the floor. The tripwires were intact, but the air felt wrong—too still, too heavy. I grabbed my gear, bolted for the truck, and peeled out, heart hammering in my chest.
They knew me now. They’d seen me. And I had a feeling this wasn’t the last time I’d cross paths with whatever the hell that was. The road ahead was long, and I was alone again, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t hiding anymore. If these bastards wanted a war, I’d give them one.
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