The Sky is Falling — Susan Hart

The first strange tremor came at dusk, rattling coffee mugs in the hands of the regulars at the Sitka General Store. The building's frosted windows hummed with the vibration, and everyone—Inuit elders in fur-trimmed parkas, oil workers on late shift, even the elementary school principal selecting canned beans—paused for a moment, puzzled. Out on the snow, dogs set to howling, as if every Malamute and Husky knew to sound a warning.That was when the sky lit up.For a confused heartbeat, it was as if the whole frozen world had gone silent. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the villagers of Qimugtaq flooded from their houses, drawn together by the shock of what had just sliced overhead.It wasn't the northern lights—everyone could see that at once, the absence of emerald and violet ghosts replaced by a furious, burning streak. The orange blaze seared itself across the sky with an unnatural brightness, a ribbon of fire so intense it painted the snowy earth in a blinding sapphire hue.Even the drifts of snow, which usually swallowed light, glittered as if each flake had caught a shard of the sun.