by Allen White
"Damn it," he said.
It was a ship... a mother ship. The fighter that had destroyed the harbinger was a tiny spec in comparison to it. He cursed, and clawed out at the Earth, attempting to swim vainly through the vacuum. His air was growing thinner and thinner with every passing second. Smaller ships began to break off from the mother ship, and surround the Earth.
More mother ships arrived in what felt like a blink of an eye, repeating the process and sending their fighters down to the Earth. Even if the beacon had survived, they were already there.
"It's over..."
That terrible feeling that he had felt all along, it hadn't been restlessness, depression, or anything else; it had been a premonition.
He continued to drift farther and farther out into space; tears floated away from his eyes, splashing into his helmet. Now, all he could do was watch and wait, for the first sparks, and mushroom clouds to coat the surface of the Earth.
Hopefully his air would run out first...
About the Author
Allen White spends most of his free time writing and drawing. He has a passion for story telling in all mediums. Call of the Harbinger is his first published work.
He lives in Centreville, Virginia.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Call of the Harbinger
About the Author