The flag slapped against the wind. Liam was shocked to see it in one piece, in the same place he had tucked it many decades ago.
This corner of Nebraska was a rare spot in Old America left untouched by the war–during which North America had taken the brunt of the world’s anger and frustration.
Liam wasn’t sure how he had ended up in New London after the aliens had arrived. They claimed to have made things better in the New Cities. Liam didn’t know what could be better than having an explosive machine rumbling under your feet. It was something his grandchildren would never know.
On a lark, he turned the key. There was a whine of old bones, a sound Liam could appreciate. Then the beast came alive. He passed the next few hours alone in the cab of the truck, until the engine died for good.
*Written as a response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) 07 February photo prompt.
This story is set in the world of Storm Hamilton and the Seraphim. More stories can be found here: