The Fifth Kind: Ascension

Chapter 1

Aurora, Texas, 1897

The townspeople stood in the dusty road, decked out in their finest. Although this wasn’t so much a

meeting as it was an inauguration, perhaps even a celebration.

With a population just shy of 400 souls, Aurora wasn’t big enough to justify a full-time mayor. These were simple farmers and ranchers, after all, struggling to eke out a living in an unforgiving environment. As a result, there were no signs of ostentatious wealth here, only decent God-fearing folks who fought every day to stave off famine, locusts, disease, and a host of other threats, natural and unnatural.

All of which made the brand-new water tower, the town’s first, all the more impressive. In the end, it had cost $300 and taken six weeks to build, an endeavor spearheaded by Henry McCulloch. Originally from the Isle of Skye, Scotland, he had emigrated to America with less than a dollar in his pocket. Over the next fifteen years, he had worked every menial job imaginable, eventually earning enough to head west. Today, he was a rancher with 100 head of Hereford cows. He was also the de facto leader of Aurora.

While he had had a remarkable beginning, the water tower itself was no less impressive. Built from wrought iron, it rose sixty feet into the air, by far the tallest structure within 500 miles. Its presence served as a symbol of the bright future that lay ahead for the humble town of Aurora.

Henry rose and gripped the edges of the podium, blinking away the oppressive heat from the midafternoon sun bearing down on him. His heart filled with pride as he began his speech.

He had gotten no further than a dozen words into his prepared remarks when he caught sight of a glimmer in the distance. Focused on the task at hand, Henry drew his attention back to the festivities until that glimmer became a flash.

A handful of onlookers seemed to notice the brief pause in Henry’s speech, along with the crease forming on his brow. They turned, curious about what had caught his attention, and gasped at what they saw. A deafening roar accompanied the terrifying sight, shattering the peaceful tranquility and replacing it with panic.

The world was ending, Henry was certain of it.

The object, a ball of flame the size of the general store, streaked overhead, no higher than twenty yards. The townspeople recoiled, fearful they were about to be incinerated by the very hand of God. Instead, the object veered to the left and collided with the newly minted tower. The resulting explosion of water, steam, and steel was tremendous.

Henry and the other dignitaries dived for cover. A half second later, the object struck the ground, shaking them violently. If the Lord wasn’t punishing them for their sins, it surely felt that way.

The moment the fire and brimstone was over, Henry scrambled to his feet, aware that the world had, in fact, not ended. And apart from having been nearly scared to death, everyone present appeared to be unharmed. Rushing to the edge of the clearing, he surveyed the damage.

The water tower was no more. That much was clear. But the once-empty field behind Aurora’s main thoroughfare now bore a long, ragged scar where the object had impacted the ground. Curls of smoke rose from the gash where the earth had been torn up, as though churned by a giant’s plow.

Hunks of metal littered the debris field, a mixture of the water tower and whatever had hit it. In the distance, Henry could only just make out the contours of the object. It was no longer on fire—the water tower had seen to that. Instead, it was blinking through a series of colors that bore no resemblance to anything he had ever seen before.

Just then, a sandy-haired boy named Timothy ran up to him, his clothes wet from the watery explosion. The child began frantically waving in the object’s direction. Henry’s gaze bounced between the boy and the object, still blinking and smoking.

“Do you know what that thing is, son?” Henry asked, his mind reeling.

The boy nodded. “Pa read it to us last night in the Good Book.”

A look of surprise flashed across Henry’s weathered features. “Did he now?”

“Yessir. Sure as shine, there ain’t no doubt. That thing we just seen was Ezekiel’s Wheel.”