Bingwen wanted to scream to Hopper and Meilin to run, but where would they run to? If the ship hit the Earth like an asteroid with enough force, they were all dead. Everything would be decimated. The shockwave would kill them instantly.
Hopper had stopped cold, standing there stupidly, staring up into the sky. Meilin was beside him, too afraid to move.
Grandfather tried to get up, but cried out and fell back again.
Bingwen looked behind them. The embankment. They were lying on the top of the earthen bridge between two paddies. He had to get Grandfather to the far embankment, away from the ship. He hooked his fingers under Grandfather's armpits and pulled. Grandfather cried out, but Bingwen didn't care. He pulled, straining, gritting his teeth. Grandfather barely moved, edging inch by inch toward the embankment. They weren't moving fast enough, Bingwen realized. He needed help.
"Hopper!" Bingwen shouted.
Hopper didn't respond. Didn't move.
Bingwen strained, pulling, digging his feet in the ground for purchase. He wasn't going to make it. The ship was going to crush them.
He glanced up at it. The fire in the front had vanished; it was free of the outer atmosphere; it was right on top of them, bearing down, growing larger by the second, as big as a village, as ten villages, twenty.
Meilin was screaming.
Bingwen pulled. Grandfather howled at the pain. Hopper was a statue.
Then the sound of it reached them. A sound like nothing Bingwen had ever heard. Like the roar of an engine and the scream of a monkey and the cry of a thousand different things at once, deep and resonating that shook the earth.
Five seconds to impact.
Bingwen screamed, pulled at Grandfather, finding a strength he didn't have before, sliding him, yanking him back. Then they were both rolling down the embankment, tumbling, limbs flailing. They hit water, Bingwen went under, the deafening sound was muffled. Then Bingwen got his feet under him, pushed up, breaking through the water again. A hand grabbed him, slammed him against the embankment. Grandfather.
Bingwen looked above him. Hopper and Meilin hadn't moved. They were stones. Frozen with fear.
"Hopper! Meilin!"
But nothing could be heard over the sound.
And then the sound exploded into a noise a hundred times louder because the thing hit the earth somewhere close by, and the world shook so hard Bingwen thought it had split apart, and a wave of air and dirt and water exploded across the valley, and Hopper was gone, and Meilin was gone, and mud and blackness and debris rained down and buried Bingwen and Grandfather alive.
*
Pain.
It swam at the edges of Bingwen's awareness. Distant at first, blurred, unfocused. Then slowly the murkiness rippled away, clarified, and the pain became acute. Then suddenly it was piercing, searing.
Bingwen's eyes snapped open and he cried out, awake, aware. His arm. Something was crushing his arm. He couldn't see. There was darkness all around him. He was in a cave. No, not a cave, a pocket of air buried in the dirt and mud. Branches and trees were above him, blocking out much of the sun and shielding him from more dirt and debris. How was that possible? How was he under a tree? There were no trees in the fields.
Where was Grandfather? He turned his head. A tree branch was crushing his arm. He tried to pull the arm free, but pain stabbed through him like a bolt of electricity, taking his breath away. He took in air and cried out again. His left arm was broken. He had never broken a bone before, but he knew at once that's what it was. He twisted his upper body, trying to reach his right arm across his chest to dig the dirt away from under his penned arm and free it, but the movement caused another punch of pain that made him howl yet again.
He lay there on his back, breathing hard. "Grandfather?" His voice was only a whisper. Then louder, "Gra
ndfather!"
"Here."
The voice was weak but nearby. Bingwen lifted his head and looked around. All around him were shadows and dirt and tree limbs.
A branch to his left moved. "Bingwen?" The voice was raspy and pained.
"Here," said Bingwen. "I'm here."
The branch moved again and this time a hand emerged, old and muddy, reaching out, searching. Bingwen extended his good arm and seized Grandfather's hand. Grandfather's grip tightened around his.
"I'm here, boy. I'm here."