Barb and Marie held Sally as she swayed on her feet.

At any other time, their wet hair and stunned expressions would have made Casey laugh. He was the man who loved the old slapstick humor. Now was not the time or place to exhibit emotion. He had to remain aloof and certain of his decisions or the women and Turner would balk at the idea of getting out of the house.

They shuddered at each flash of light from outside the house, watching the windows with wide eyes as the artificial lightning ripped apart the woods on the far side of the yard.

He could hear the distant percussion of rotor blades.

“You can’t wait for Turner.” Casey turned his back on the stairs and faced the women. “Get out of here now and go to the ravine. Do you understand?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Yes,” Marie replied for the women and tried to get Sally to walk, but the older woman seemed rooted to the spot in fear.

Casey stepped in front of Sally, blocking her view of the front yard. “If you stay in the house, you will die. If you go outside, you might die. Get the hell out of here.”

Roughly, he pushed the women towards the kitchen and the rear door.

He heard the missiles before the explosion, a muted hiss that grew in volume in a heartbeat, a deadly sound he had heard on more than one occasion. Pushing the women to the floor, he landed atop them and tried to protect them in what he knew was a vain effort.

The house shook with massive explosions directly above; the windows bursting and walls cracking. Dust and plaster fell from the ceiling to land with loud effects on the floor and furniture while the world turned white and bitter smoke filled the house.

The detonation seemed to last forever, as if it wanted to crush them from the volume of the attack. Then it passed, and they sat up and stared at the damage to the house.

The lights were out. Only the blue cast of the television beat back into the dark.