Stone Age

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Russell Thompson knew he was about to die.

A fiery projectile from the heavens hit only a few feet from where he stood. Churning earth and burning debris lifted him up and over the camp, and discarded him into a pile of timber already ablaze. The flaming hell which was enveloping him and his mortal injuries worked at his consciousness. Before succumbing to the cruelness of his fate, Russell pushed back, willing himself to remember the euphoria of the providence that was supposed to be his.

He was going to be rich. His father would have finally respected him. A tip from a dying man brought him here, leading to a vein of gold, and his destiny.

Then destiny changed.

He was wakened this morning by the same unearthly forces still jarring him from oblivion. It started as a sparkle, what seemed like the early morning light bleeding through his little tent, in an urban encampment.

Maybe two hours past Midnight, it was too early for sunlight. Yet prospectors were stirring in their tents, and outside, others were preparing their breakfasts and getting ready to stake their own claim in the mountains nearby.

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