Intruders: The Invasion: A Post-Apocalyptic, Alien Invasion Thriller (Book 1) (5 page)

Before I could catch my breath, another one started to
emerge, the elongated head rising above the roof line, golden orbs that used to
be human, child eyes scanning the roof top.

If I let it get up here, I’d have to fight this one, too. I
scrambled down toward it as it rose upward, two lizard-like arms pulling itself
upward.

As I reached it, its mouth opened and it snapped its teeth
at me, its black tongue slipping out and moving across its teeth. It began
moving onto the roof toward me.

Placing one boot on its chest, I plunged the blade of my
Uberti into the left orb-like eye to the hilt. As it screamed, I wrenched the
knife out and jammed it into the right.

The shriek was unearthly.

I tugged the blade out and put the handle between my teeth,
biting down on it. I needed my hands free.

I took a few steps back, then ran and leapt into the spruce
tree.

The branches shook and snow flew up at me from crackling
twigs, but I’d landed deeply enough into the tree that they held me. If I’d
weighed ten pounds more, they might not have. I thanked my lucky stars that I
was built like a stick. All the times I cursed having to shop in the junior
girls section for clothes; all the years I wished I was curvier, sexier
looking.

I’d finally found a reason to like my slight frame. Go
figure.

Spruce needles poked into the skin of my hands, my face,
scratching me, but I barely noticed. I could hear the dead below me, groaning,
grunting, and beneath those sounds, the hisses. The hisses were growing louder,
overlapping --- more and more of them.

I straddled the thickest part of the branch closest to the
trunk of the spruce. Shivering, I peered through the snow speckled needles at
the house and the ground below.

The two reptilian things were lying on the ground, black
blood spreading around them. The dead wandered away from them, keeping their
distance. If it weren’t for those reptilian things, I’d be petrified of the
dead. It was a horror movie come to life.

But these snake, lizard things made the dead look like small
potatoes in comparison.

Clinging to the branches, quivering in fear and cold, I
wondered why I was fighting so hard to survive in this new, dead world --- this
invasion.

Was this what I had to live for? Running, hiding, and
fighting?

It was probably easier just to opt out and die. Leave the
horror of it all. I had no one left. I knew it deep in my bones.

As I watched more of the lizards, which is what I’d decided
to call them, climb out of the window and skitter up onto the roof, searching
for me, I knew that I really had no one left in the world. They’d been eaten by
the dead, or by the lizards.

I was completely, utterly alone.

I watched and waited. Now so cold, I was afraid I’d fall. My
hands were so numb I could barely feel them. If I didn’t get out of this tree,
I’d freeze to death or I’d fall to the dead becoming a nice human Popsicle for
them to dig into.

Or worse, the reptiles would find me.

They had left the roof. I’d counted fifteen of them. They’d
swarmed the house, looking for humans. But I was already gone.

They’d moved out into the streets, slithering and skittering
into the other houses.

Screams and shrieks cut through the frozen air.

I wanted to cry, but swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford
for ice to form on my face. Instead, I hugged the branches with numbing arms,
waiting.

It was the darkest part of the night, just before dawn, and
I could see silhouettes of the lizards as they dragged people out, pulling them
into the woods that lined the backs of the houses. There were fields beyond the
woods, and the reptiles disappeared into the snow, dragging screaming people
behind them.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I held on to the branch, trembling,
trying to shut out the screams and the dragging sounds.

Underground
. They were taking them
underground. Why? To eat?

Oh, my God. Oh, God.

I remembered something Jessie had said to me, one day in the
summer as we played ball in the back yard, not far from where I hid in the
branches, shivering. She’d stopped playing, dropping the ball and laying on the
ground, her ear pressed to the grass.

“What are you doing, Jess?” I smiled.

“Heah dem?” She’d whispered.

“Hear who, sweety?” I laid down next to her and pressed my
ear to the grass. I didn’t hear anything, except the noise of the street: birds,
cars, people talking.

“Someone down dere.” Her face was full of concentration.

I thought she was playing a game. Or that her imagination
had run wild. Or that she was hearing a mole moving around in the ground. Lord
knew there were holes everywhere in that back yard. All kinds of animals made
the ground their home: moles, groundhogs, squirrels, chipmunks. But it wasn’t
animals that she had been hearing that day. She’d been hearing the reptiles,
preparing their takeover.

So if I got brave enough to climb down from the tree and
jump the ten feet or so down from the lowest branch, chances were that they’d
come running.

Or slithering. Like reptiles do.

That was if the dead didn’t get to me first.

You are screwed.

No. No you are not. You didn’t survive an
almost gang rape to die like that. Hells, no. So get a grip. You are not giving
up.

I wouldn’t have a choice if I didn’t figure out a way to get
out of the tree and into one of the houses, and get warm.

The screams had stopped. Except for the grunts and moans of
the dead, there was no sound. I opened my eyes and squinted as I gazed around
at the houses and the yards. The doors of every house within my sights had been
left open by the lizards. In the gauzy light of dawn, I could see the dead
shuffling around in yards, on porches, and through the windows of the houses.
They were like scavengers, looking around to see if anything had been left.

The clean-up crew.

Get moving.

There was a tall wooden fence between this yard and the next
door neighbor’s. I climbed down onto the lower branches of the spruce, then
shimmied across, as close to the thinning end as I dared, feeling it bend with
my weight. I used gravity to allow the branch to lower me down toward the
fence.

My fingers were so cold I wondered if I might lose some or
all of them. I used my arms as much as I could, because my fingers were so
numb.

My boots found the fence, and I carefully climbed down onto
it, using my arms, hooking them around the wooden boards. Thankfully, they
weren’t picketed --- just boards cut straight across. That meant I wouldn’t
impale myself as a result of my numb and almost useless hands. It was amazing
how happy, in a life and death crisis, a person could be for small things that
helped him or her to survive.

Carefully hooking my arms over the wood, I climbed over the
fence and let myself hang for a moment, preparing my feet for the shock of
dropping down if I slipped. Then I’d use the toes of my boots to slide down as
best I could, making as minimal an impact on the ground as possible.

The snow would help cushion the impact, but I didn’t know
how good the reptiles’ hearing was. Or maybe they sensed vibrations. Fear
paralyzed me for a long moment, and I hung, the toes of my boots resting on a
cross board about two feet from the bottom of the fence.

Keep moving. You’re almost there.

There was no helping the muted
thud
my boots caused on the crunchy snow as I landed. I hoped the shuffling of the
dead helped obscure the sound. It was a small stroke of luck that the fence
surrounding the back yard of this house was built to keep their dog in the
yard, and it also kept the dead out. The dog, a Boxer crossed with some other
mastiff type dog, trotted nervously around the yard. When it spotted me, its’
ears lifted and a quizzical look came across its face. There was a jagged cut
across its back, glistening with fresh blood. A war wound from trying to defend
his people, no doubt.

He stood watching me, body and head alert, but seemed to
know that I wasn’t a threat.

Maybe it had been all the Cheetos I’d tossed over the fence
for him when Jessie and I had been out here playing.

Moving as lightly on my feet as I could, I winced as the
snow broke and crunched beneath my boots. The dog ran over to me, tail wagging,
clearly happy that I was no longer alone. I shared the feeling.

“Come on, boy.” With trembling, numb hands, I patted him on
his blocky head and he followed me to the house. The sliding glass door left
open by the reptiles after dragging Mr. and Mrs. Doriga away, kicking and
screaming across the snow and into the trees.

They had a teenage daughter, Luka, who was just fifteen
years old. I shuddered as I thought of what had happened to her. I didn’t
remember seeing her being dragged away. But that didn’t mean that she was safe.
I’d been busy fighting for my life while others on the street had lost theirs.

Keep moving.

I left the sliding door open, in case I had to get out fast.
If the house was empty, I’d come back and close it. The back yard was clear of
the dead, so it was safe for the moment.

Right now I needed shelter; a place to think for a little
while. I had to assess the situation, map out a plan, and figure out how to get
through this.

The dog stayed close at my heels, and followed me up the
stairs. There was a closed door at the top. I pressed my ear to the cool wood,
listening for any movement.

The dog lifted his ears, doing the same.

“Do you hear anything?” I asked him. I figured if he did
hear something, he’d be a good warning indicator.

He stared at the door, ears twitching, but didn’t make any
signal that there was anyone in the house.

This dog wasn’t a barker. The only time I’d heard him bark
was when his people had been dragged away. I’d squeezed my eyes shut at the
time, trying to block out their screams.

The dog wouldn’t draw the attention of the dead, or the
lizards.

Slowly, I turned the knob. “Stay close, buddy.”

I stepped into a kitchen, standing still, looking around and
listening. There was a door off the kitchen left open, and freezing air swirled
around the kitchen, lifting the edges of photos and post-it notes on the fridge
door. Why were there no dead in here? Or had they moved to another room in the
house?

Slowly, I moved to the door, peeking around it to the stairs
and yard outside.

I had my answer.

A wheelchair lay tipped over in the yard, and several of the
dead were busy tearing into the old man who had been apparently either trying
to get away from the house or into it. There lay a walker a few feet away, and
the old lady who had used it next to it. She was also being eaten.

The grandparents
. I’d seen them
making their slow way to and from the Dorigas’ Honda Pilot before.

The dead were busy now, but they wouldn’t be forever.

I quietly pulled the door shut and locked it.

There was no movement. I knew there had to be an open door
somewhere, where the dead had come in.

Moving carefully I started checking the rest of the house. I
went room by room, looking for any dead that might’ve made their way in. They
were quiet, which made them lethal if you weren’t careful. They may not be
fast, but they were stealthy.

The dog stayed right beside me, and I was thankful for his
company. I didn’t feel so alone, now. He didn’t seem to want to move far
without me, either. I couldn’t blame him.

When we’d checked the entire house for the dead and found it
clear, I let out a deep breath.

“I think we’re safe for now, bud.” I patted the dog’s head.
My horror-addled mind tried to remember his name but came up with nothing.

Kneeling down, I rubbed my hands over his head, then looked at
the tags on his collar.

The name on the tag was Hank. “Hank,” I said. His ears
lifted and his tail thudded against the floor. Then I remembered Mrs. Doriga
calling for him. I’d thought she was calling Tank. That name would’ve suited
him fine, as big as he was.

“Pleased to meet you.” I kept my voice low. “We’re in
trouble here. I guess you already know that.”

Hank licked my face. The gash on his back looked ugly, but I
didn’t think it was too bad.

I found the bathroom down a hallway off the living room.
There was some antiseptic spray and some antibiotic ointment in the cabinet.
Hank was close on my heels. I bent down, sprayed the antiseptic onto his long
gash. The spray was supposed to be numbing, so I hoped it helped his pain. I
then squeezed ointment all along the wound.

He whimpered lightly, but didn’t move.

I patted him on the head. “Good boy. You’re so brave.”

Taking the medicine with me, I looked around the house. In
the teenager’s room, I found a canvas backpack. I dumped it onto her bed and stuffed
the medicine into it.

I looked through her clothes and found a pair of yoga pants
that would fit me. In her closet I found a ski jacket and black windbreaker
pants. They had an elastic waist, so they fit me okay, if a little big. The
girl was a skier. Lucky for me.

Scanning the room, my gaze stopped on a cork board covered
in pictures. The girl, small and blonde, smiled into the camera in every photo.
I’d seen her coming and going, but had never spoken to her. There were many
selfies with friends. She seemed like a popular, happy girl. A birthday card
hung on a push pin. I lifted a corner with a finger and read the short blurb
handwritten in loopy script.

To my best friend in the world. Hope your
year is full of love, friends, and laughter.

Lots of love, Taylor.

I wondered if Taylor had escaped the reptiles and the dead.

Maybe Luka had, too.

I blinked back tears and swallowed down a lump in my throat.

It was time to pack up. This house wouldn’t be safe for
long.

I packed the backpack with the bare minimum of what I’d need
if I had to take off fast.

Back in the bathroom I threw ibuprofen and bandages into the
back pack.

In the kitchen I found Hank’s food and filled two freezer
bags full. Again, he looked at me quizzically.

“Well, you’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

His tail wagged at the tone of my voice. He understood that
we’d be going somewhere, and he was apparently all for not being left alone to
starve.

“Are you hungry?”

His tail thumped the floor and he stood up. He walked toward
the kitchen, throwing me a look that said, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

My entire body ached as I stood, and I looked through the
slats in the vertical blinds before heading into the kitchen. The backyard was
quiet, and flooded with bright sunshine. The snow glinted in the light, looking
like diamond chips.

The fence was too tall for me to see into our back yard, but
I knew the dead were walking around out there. The lizards seemed to be gone
for now. But there was no way to be sure.

Hank came up beside me and placed his head beneath my hand.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Just assessing the situation out there. Looks quiet for
now.”

We went into the kitchen and I poured Hank a full bowl of
food. His water bowl was being fed by a gallon bottle turned upside down into his
dish, so that would be fine for a while. While Hank ate, I lifted a corner of
the curtain covering the window in the kitchen door. I peeked outside. There
were several dead still eating the old lady and old man, but many of them had
left the streets to search in the houses.

There were no lizards moving around the streets.

“I think the lizards are nocturnal, Hank.” I kept my voice
low, not wanting to draw the attention of the dead in the front yard.

Hank lifted his head and looked at me, still chewing his
kibble.

“I don’t think they like the daylight.”

He walked over and sat next to me. I sat on the kitchen
floor, leaning my back against the cupboards, and he lay down next to me.

“But they may be back tonight, to do another sweep. See what
they can find.” My chest tightened at the thought, and my breath quickened. If
I wasn’t careful, I’d go into a full panic. It would be easy to just lose it.
Scream hysterically. I felt like my sanity was slipping. Was I the only person
left in the world? Had everyone been eaten? Or were there others, hiding away,
like me?