Hopper shrugged. “This is fun.”
“Fun?” Bingwen wanted to shake him. “Dragging Grandfather through the valley is fun? You’re being stubborn and stupid, Hopper. Both of you. Wasting your time out here laughing and teasing each other. You should be home, helping.”
Hopper was on his feet, angry. “Helping do what? You said we were fine, Bingwen. You said nothing was going to happen. You said it’s a big world and we’re a tiny part of it.”
Bingwen could feel his face flushing with fury, tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was building up and crashing down inside him all at once. Grandfather’s stupid old bones and the aliens and Father not coming and the cold of the night and Hopper giggling. “I said that on the roof to keep you from crying, Hopper. I said that to help. Which is more than you’re doing for me. All night long you and Meilin have been yapping and telling stories and poking with sticks, like this is all a game. Don’t you realize what’s going on? Don’t you see the danger we’re in? There are creatures above us, monsters with maws and claws and muscles and strength, hanging over us like spiders, and you skip and giggle and chase frogs like we’re having a birthday.”
Hopper glared. “Oh some friend you are. I go with you into the library, I steal for you, I freeze my butt off out here so you won’t be alone, and this is the thanks I get.” He poked Bingwen in the chest. “You’re just mad because Meilin is having more fun with me than she ever had with you.”
Bingwen blinked. What? Meilin? What did any of this have to do with Meilin? But then he saw Meilin’s cheeks flush with embarrassment before she turned away and Bingwen understood at once. Why hadn’t he seen it before? All through the night as Hopper and Meilin had lagged behind, the two had chased each other and needled each other and laughed and seemed oblivious to Bingwen and Grandfather. It had annoyed Bingwen, but for none of the reasons that Hopper thought. Did he honestly think Bingwen was … what? Jealous? How could Hopper imagine even for an instant that Bingwen and Meilin could ever be anything other than cousins?
“You know what?” said Hopper. “I will go home. Because I’d rather get boxed on the ear by my father than yelled at and insulted by someone I thought was my best friend.”
He turned and began limping away.
Bingwen opened his mouth but no words came out. What would he say? That he was sorry? That he hadn’t meant to lash out? That he was grateful that Hopper had come? That Hopper was his best friend and that it was he, Bingwen, who was acting like a fool? Yes, he would say all of that.
Someone was shouting in the valley, their voice frantic.
Bingwen turned. A distance away some workers were pointing in the sky, shouting. Bingwen’s eyes followed their fingers and he saw it. A ball of fire in the sky. Burning through the atmosphere.
It was the ship, he told himself. The ship was coming down on them.
He ran to Grandfather, kneeling beside him, shaking him. “Wake up! Grandfather! Wake up!”
The old man roused, confused, disoriented.
Bingwen looked up again. The ship was still a distance away, bearing down on them, aiming for them. It seemed low to the ground, but Bingwen knew better. That was the curvature of the Earth playing tricks. The ship was still high in the air. They had a few seconds.
He shook Grandfather again. “Get up!”
“Wha … what is it?” Grandfather said, coming to himself.
“It’s coming!”
Bingwen pointed. Grandfather looked, his eyes widening.
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.