The Moon is Grey, Too

The horizon blurred red with the dawn. Frank, Cherie and Mike faced east, backs on the cooling plane.

“What now?” Mike’s voice cracked.
“It’s over,” Cherie said with cold detachment.
Frank kicked the ground in futile rage.
Cherie sighed. “Nothing for miles. No gas, and it’s safe here ‘cause it’s so goddamned nowhere.”
Frank let out a breath. “We should have an hour. Ish.”

Memory of the airport flashed up. Even as they took off, cars drove onto the runways, drivers screaming. The wrecks ensured nobody else would take off.

Mike read the newspaper again. “Nanobot Corruption!” was the clinical way to say that a nanobot got the recipe to build a copy of itself wrong and became the last cancer of the world.

The horizon blurred – not reds or oranges, only thick grey. The part of the world not surrendered to shaggy grey dust shrunk by the minute. Mountains slid into duststorms, lakes boiled away, and valleys leveled into grey silk.

Frank stepped forward. He wanted to meet the Earth’s new masters face to face.

View this story's 4 comments.