Hal Falling Skies Novels & Stories

Thunder rolled across the sky like a war drum. The rain had not stopped. It had only grown heavier, turning the estate grounds into a battlefield of mud, sparks, and shattered light. Drones buzzed like angry hornets overhead, their red sensors blinking through the darkness. Aurora Hale stood at the center of the command room, her fingers resting on the glass interface of Atlas. The holographic battlefield spun slowly before her eyes, every movement of every force mapped in cold blue light.

The holographic timer on the wall flickered. The projection blurred and died. I fell to my knees. The light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me gasping in the dirt. My nose was bleeding—heavy, dark drops that stained the white snow. "Joshua!" Richard caught me before my head hit the stone. The air was clear. The gray sky was gone. The drones were falling out of the air like dead flies, their systems overloaded by the burst. "Is it over?" Silas asked. He stepped out onto the ledge, looking at the clear blue sky.

"They’re happier this way. Both sides. Why should a starving man have to look at a penthouse he’ll never touch? It’s humane to keep them separate." She led me back toward the surface, the transition from the rot below to the crisp night air above hitting me like a physical blow. The disparity made the luxury of the upper streets feel oily. "I wanted you to see the vision," she continued, sweeping her hand toward the glittering skyline. "Havenfall is a masterpiece because leaders like Ethan Cole aren't afraid to cut out the cancer." I wrenched my arm away from her. The girl I thought I knew was gone. "It’s a masterpiece built on a mass grave."

Something loyal. Something patient. Something waiting. The sky hadn’t just fallen. It had been pulled down deliberately. And we were standing at the center of its collapse.

Diane Landing is a controlled fall ending in a jolt, a groan of brakes, then the slow roll of the plane on the taxiway. The implacable blue of the sky has been replaced by a uniform gray, typical of northern skies. Through the porthole, I see hangars, other private jets, and in the distance, the silhouette of a ultra-modern terminal. We're not at a commercial airport. It's a private airfield, one of those places where money buys invisibility.

His smirk vanished. “Correction.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Correction for what?” The systems withinside the sky twisted. Moved. A low, not possible sound vibrated through the air. The guy in black whispered. “For humanity.” And then the Watchers attacked. The Fall of Washington Vanessa’s voice screamed in my earpiece. “Anita— activate the news. Now.” Ethan tapped his wrist holo. A stay broadcast seemed withinside the air. Washington, D.C. The sky had broken up.