Meteors: Chapter One - The Attack

Smoke coming out of the water. Credited to Negley Stockman on Unsplash

Read the Prologue here.

Owain stared at the empty space where the boat, The Salmon’s Head, should have been. The rain was heavy, but not enough to obscure an entire trawler, and Salmon Ed and his crew were known for being loud in the mornings. The Harrands, their head family, had dealt with many complaints for the noisy crew.

It was like his boots were weighed down with lead, but after some minutes, Owain regained his strength and started to run down the pier. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could taste a hint of smoke on the fog, a fog that, come to think of it, was much darker than it should be, even that early in the morning. He could feel his heart trying to escape his chest, as the worst case scenarios were circling like vultures.

Screeching to a stop before he could tumble over the end of Water’s Edge, Owain frantically scanned the horizon. He was sure he could hear something like a low humming out to sea. He couldn’t see the Salmon’s Head anywhere. The humming was getting louder. It sounded vaguely familiar. It was like those orientation films they had all had to watch before they’d sent the children away. To warn them of the beginnings.

“Air raid,” Owain gasped, moments before he was knocked over by a wave crashing over the edge of the pier. He caught a split second’s sight of flames and smoke out to sea. They must have prompted the wave.

The breath was knocked out of his body as he hit the sea. He only just prevented himself from swallowing a lungful of seawater, swimming up to the surface as quickly as he could. A life by the sea had taught him how to navigate these waters in a multitude of scenarios, though never while an air-raid was on its way.

He surfaced among the waves, took a deep breathe, and headed back under, straining to keep his eyes open, to see through the water, to catch sight of the pier supports and Run’anor willing, one of the ladders. They were made for moments like this, when no one else was around to help someone back to shore. He swam forwards, forcing his way through the chill, until he could grab the rough wood of a ladder, pulling himself up until he could take a breath of frigid air, coughing at the smoke lacing it.

He hauled himself up the rungs, heaved himself onto the pier, and for a moment pondered just lying down. Someone would find him in the daytime, and he was so, so tired. Something was making him uncomfortable. Why wouldn’t it just let him sleep? What was it? He rolled over and felt along his uniform to the fragment of – something – that had lodged there, in his arm. There was blood. He registered a dull pain in that general area, but sleep would cure that, right?

What sleep wouldn’t cure was the tell-tale initials that survived the fragment. S.H. Salmon’s Head. The pieces fit together. The Salmon’s Head was gone. Salmon Ed was gone. Someone was bombing their boats, that was the wave that had knocked him over.

He had to get to the tower.

He ran down the pier; his new flat cap lost to the waves. His pale hair would have been streaming out behind him, if it wasn’t for the fact it was plastered to his face. His eyes were really starting to sting now, but he could see another explosion out to sea behind him. He couldn’t hear it yet, but it was definitely bigger than the last one. He only just outran the wave it caused.

Soon he was on dry land, then in the streets of Sobetween, running to the Blue House. He could never find his keys when he was in a rush, being covered in water in the freezing air was not helping, but finally he unlocked the door, and ran up the stairs, three steps at a time, until he got to the bell. Every Sobetween kid had been taught how to operate the bells as a kid, he was thankful for those noisy Saturday afternoons now.

The bells tolled out, loud and clear in the morning mists, and across the town, lights were turning on, and people were streaming out of their houses to find out what was going on, was it fear, fires, or foes? The next person Owain saw was the head of the village. Robert Harrand.

            “Owain? What are you doing?”

"Air raid,” He said, still pulling on the rope. Keep the bells ringing, wake everyone up, “Salmon’s Head. Gone. Don’t know where the siren is,”

“Come here, lad,” Robert said, putting his hand to Owain’s arm, “I’ll get the siren going. Go to the bunker,” Owain stared at the shorter man for a moment, “Go on, son, I’ll take care of the rest. Pamela should have blankets down there,” Owain nodded numbly, letting go of the bells, and doing as he was told. Halfway down the stairs, he heard the siren start wailing above him. Further down, he could hear the bombs, they were getting closer. He doubled his pace. He needed to find his family. He needed to make sure they were safe.