Battle Lines

Dear Planet Earth,

Be careful what you wish for. I tried to find General Talpa and see if he could help me put Diana to rest, only to find myself in a long line among much more important people looking for him.

I did find the next best thing. Lieutenant Christiansen is next in command (though he doesn’t look two years older than myself) and is apparently stockpiling all the friendliness on base. He listened carefully to my edited story about escaping the militia of vagabonds. He gave his condolences, but said that even if he wanted to help me, he couldn’t. His scouts — and how crazy is it that 21st century warfare still employs “scouts”? — reported seeing a group of my aforementioned homeless army heading towards the drill here.

I found a herd of them making their ways past the first set of fences while I was wandering the outskirts of the camp, doubting my world’s new reality.

My crummy camera phone can’t show it that clearly, but many of them are holding those signs that read, “The end is here! All upworlders will die!” It’s a pretty chilling sight, enough to make the hairs on my neck resume their standing position.

The flickers of reflected light from their AK-47s are blinding, in more ways than one.


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