"Oh, really?" Martha arched a brow, half-smiling at her husband's relentless optimism.
"Oh, yes indeed. Mountain bikes for the boys, maybe a pony for the girl," Jonathan declared with mock grandeur. "And I'll start riding a motorcycle, leather jacket and all. Just like Fai—oh, yes, I'm going to be one radical uncle."
He grinned like a man already picturing himself in sunglasses, earning a laugh and a playful slap on the arm from his wife.
"Oh, what am I going to do with you—JONATHAN, LOOK OUT!"
Her voice sliced through the air like a whip.
A blinding white light swallowed the windshield, so bright it turned night into noon.
Jonathan's instincts kicked in — foot slamming the brake, wheel jerking hard.
For one awful moment, he thought he'd drifted into oncoming traffic.
Then WHAM — something struck the truck's front end.
The whole vehicle lurched sideways, momentum carrying them off the road and into the ditch with a bone-rattling thud.
"Martha! Are you okay?" Jonathan was already reaching for her, his hands skimming her shoulders, her face, desperate to feel movement.
"I… I'm okay," she said, wincing as she rubbed the bruise blooming on her temple. "What did we hit?"
Jonathan opened his mouth to answer — and the truck jerked again.
A fresh wave of light flashed outside, followed by the unmistakable smell of scorched earth.
He twisted toward the window. In the dark, a path of blackened soil and flaming corn stretched across the field, the fireline still growing.
Then came the bangs — small, sharp explosions rolling across the horizon — followed by a low rumble that shook the ground under them.
"Jonathan?" Martha's voice quivered as she edged closer. "Is this… an earthquake?"
"I have no idea." He unclipped his seatbelt and pushed the door open, the chill of the night rushing in. "Stay here. I'll check it out."
"Jonathan, please—"
He took her hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going far. Just making sure the truck's okay."
The ground was unsteady beneath him, each step a fight against the subtle, constant shift underfoot.
Flashes lit up the horizon like distant artillery fire, and every so often, a deep thud sent vibrations up through his boots.
A streak of burning rock tore across the sky above him and smashed into the field across the road, showering the dirt with sparks.
The shockwave made him stumble, knees buckling until he grabbed the truck for balance.
"Jonathan!"
He turned — and there was Martha, rounding the front of the truck, fear etched across her face.
"I'm fine," he lied with a grimace, brushing the dust off his jeans. "But you should've stayed in the truck."
"I'm not leaving you out here while the world's ending!" she shot back — punctuated by another whump in the distance and a tremor that had her gripping his arm tight.
They stayed like that for what felt like forever, holding onto each other while the earth quaked and the sky tore itself apart.
Then… silence.
The flashes faded.
The ground stilled.
The stars returned to their rightful places.
Martha exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
Relief was starting to creep in — until a new sound split the night.
A sharp, whistling roar.
Both of them turned toward it.
Something blazed overhead, cutting through the dark like a falling sun, before crashing somewhere close — too close.
The ground shook again, dust rising in the air.
"Jonathan, it's—"
"—a big one," he finished for her, eyes widening.
And then he ran.
The scorched trail was easy to follow — a black ribbon slicing through the field, lined with embers.
But when he reached the end, he stopped dead.
This wasn't a meteor.
A sleek, silver pod lay shattered in the dirt, its surface still glowing with heat.
It hissed like a cooling engine, and then — click-hiss — a hatch popped open.
"Waaah!"
The cry was thin, high-pitched, and human.
Before Jonathan could react, Martha shoved past him and clambered up to the pod. He just stood there, frozen, watching her lean in and lift something out — no, someone.
She came back to him cradling a small bundle of deep red cloth, her voice automatically slipping into that gentle, soothing cadence only she could pull off.
"It's okay… shhh, baby, it's okay."
Jonathan's gaze dropped to the bundle. Martha peeled the cloth back just enough to reveal a tiny boy, his brown hair sticking up in soft tufts.
And then the boy opened his eyes — bright, startling blue — and reached one tiny hand toward him.
Jonathan's breath caught.
The world might have just fallen from the sky, but right now, in this moment, nothing else existed but that hand.