He looked up, still short of breath, and with a newfound ache in the pit of his stomach. There would be shooting stars for days, all over the planet, while bits and pieces of the ship burned up in the atmosphere. None would be large enough to make it to the ground intact, and there would be no survivors.
No other survivors.
No evidence that the ship had ever been there at all, save him, and he was good at hiding. They’d only caught him this time by random happenstance. On a fluke. There would be no more of those.