Some of them were talking, or maybe shouting, but he couldn’t hear them over the din in his head, the roar of his own heartbeat, the ringing in his ears; he could only see their lips move. Brennan’s vision was wonky as well, choppy and grainy, overlaid by the persistent flares and black spots caused by looking into too much brightness. He hoped his eyes hadn’t been damaged, or maybe his brain, because he could’ve sworn he’d spotted a glimpse of red-hot metal a second before the flaming something that had

fallen from the sky met the ground. It had looked like a big, blazing shape that had defied the laws of physics by spinning along its lateral axis and slowing down before touchdown. He was reasonably sure that wasn’t how a meteorite was supposed to look or behave, and as soon as his ears stopped ringing and he could see again without miniature suns obscuring his vision, Brennan was going to call this shit in and ask permission to check out the site.

He started toward the radio station, weaving a bit on unsteady legs.

His equilibrium was shot to hell, but the high-pitched whistling in his ears had already climbed down several decibels and he picked his way through the broken equipment slowly, blinking impatiently and checking on his men as he went. What a mess. Either some soon-to-be discharged asshole had forgotten to relay information about missile tests in the area, he thought, or they were dealing with a UXO, as in unexploded ordnance. Brennan hoped it was the former, because if it wasn’t, then someone somewhere (terrorists?

North Korea? Iran? Plenty of enemies to pick from; it could’ve been anybody) had just declared war on the United States.

The thing was that missiles rarely traveled alone. This one might’ve been a dud, but if it had been part of an attack, then there must’ve been others, better aimed and fully active. Maybe this had been meant for Houston, though that meant it must’ve gone completely off course. How many cities had been targeted? How many destroyed? What about Washington DC? Was it even still standing? Had the president been there?

Brennan thought he should know, but he didn’t, off-balance in every sense of the word as he was, so he shook it off and focused on the situation at hand. First things first. Secure the camp and contact command. Speculation was useless at this point.

Brennan stopped by a hunched-over private to make sure the man wasn’t seriously injured. No blood, though, just miserable heaving and the early stages of an impressive goose egg. The kid was probably concussed.