Ivy didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the sky, where the auroras twisted and shifted like a living thing. For a brief moment, the lights formed a pattern—circles within circles, like the ancient carvings she’d seen in her grandmother’s books.
“Guys,” Jas said, their voice trembling. “I think this is just the beginning.”
The radio crackled again. This time, it wasn’t a warning. It was a single word, clear and deliberate:
“…RUN…”
The group froze, staring at the small, battered radio as if it might grow teeth. Then, before anyone could speak, a deafening crack split the air. Across the field, a UPS cargo carrier lay embedded in the ground, its metal sides crushed like a tin can. Smoke spiraled into the sky, and debris was scattered across the earth.
Roman was the first to move. "We have to check it out," he said, already heading toward the crash site.
"Are you serious?" Ivy Mae hissed, grabbing his arm. "What if it's dangerous? What if whatever caused that is still out there?"
Roman hesitated, but Jas stepped forward. "We can't just leave it. There might be supplies. Or… or people."
The three of them approached cautiously, the smell of burning plastic and fuel stinging their noses. The carrier’s side was ripped open, revealing a cascade of Amazon packages spilling out like treasure from a sunken ship. There were electronics, clothes, and even toys—a bizarre and surreal Christmas scene in the middle of the wreckage.
"Jackpot," Jas murmured, digging through the boxes. They found blankets, a first-aid kit, and, miraculously, a pack of solar chargers.
But then, a flicker of light caught Ivy Mae's attention. Inside the wreckage, a shattered TV monitor sputtered to life.
The screen blared a distorted CNN broadcast, the volume far too loud for comfort. A grim-faced anchor stared out at them, the words at the bottom of the screen reading: "Another Billionaire Missing: Mystery Deepens."
The anchor’s voice was sharp and urgent. "Reports are flooding in that high-profile billionaires around the world are vanishing without a trace. Some sources claim a global cult may be targeting the ultra-wealthy. Online, the hashtag #EatTheBillionaires is trending, with chants of 'They feasted on us; now we feast on them.' The situation remains—"
Before the broadcast could finish, the monitor exploded in a burst of sparks, sending the group stumbling backward.
"What the hell was that?" Roman shouted, brushing ash off his jacket.
Ivy Mae stared at the smoking remnants of the TV. “I don’t know, but we’re leaving. Now.”
Jas grabbed what they could carry, shoving it into their makeshift packs. As they turned to leave, a gust of wind sent a flurry of charred papers fluttering past them. One stuck to Jas’s boot.
They bent down to pick it up, only to see a scrawled message burned into the p
aper’s edge:
“RUN. YOU’RE NEXT.”