Intruders: The Invasion: A Post-Apocalyptic, Alien Invasion Thriller (Book 1) (8 page)

He likely hadn’t died right away. He must’ve shot himself in
the day time, because the lizards would’ve heard the gunshot and come looking.

It was lucky there weren’t any deadies within hearing
distance of the gunshot. If he’d been alive, waiting to die when they found
him, it would’ve made his death so much worse.

He wore a mechanic’s uniform that said “Larry” on it,
speckled in blood. It looked like he’d just come home from work. Larry had
likely witnessed some pretty awful stuff before coming home.

I murmured. “That sucks, Larry.”

Larry didn’t make any sounds, other than his shambling feet.
He no longer had any vocal cords. His arms reached forward and his hands opened
and closed. He’d worn his long blonde hair in a ponytail.

I spotted the guitar leaning in the corner, and a notebook
with a pen lying on it on the side table.

It looked like Larry had been writing a song.

“I’m sorry.” I readied the hammer, waiting for him to move a
little closer.

Hank began to bark at Larry, but moved backward as he
approached. Larry was tall, six feet at least. But he was hunching over, and as
he came toward me he leaned forward, which presented his forehead to me. I
could reach it if I swung at an upward angle.

When Larry was just over an arm’s length away I jumped up
and swung the hammer with all my might and hit him with the claw, sinking it
through bone and into his brain.

Larry went down, crumpling on the floor in a dead heap.

It was then that the stench hit me. Larry had emptied
himself after the bullet took half his face off. “We need to get him out of
here. I’d rather take my chances with the lizards than be subjected to this.
There’s no getting used to that smell.”

Hank seemed to agree with me, sniffing at Larry and turning
his head.

“Let’s get to work.”

* * *

I dragged Larry by the legs, out of the bedroom. He was
ripe, and I couldn’t help gagging as I pulled him through the living room,
avoiding the area rug and keeping him on the hardwood floor, which would be
easier to clean. I had to stop and rest several times, stars popped before my
eyes and my vision grew fuzzy.

Once I’d pulled Larry’s dead ass outside and buried him as
well as I could in the snow, I headed back, Hank close at my heels.

But looking at the long red streaks Larry had left on the
floor as I’d dragged him out, I realized that my work wasn’t done. I heaved a
sigh and looked around until I found a Swiffer Wet Jet, which, as luck would
have it, was equipped with cleanser meant for hardwood floors.

It took about a half hour and three Swiffer pads before the
floor was perfectly clean of Larry.

But it gleamed. I was proud of myself.

I scrubbed the stains from Larry’s suicide as best I could
with a bucket, strong cleanser and water. He’d been sitting in a hardwood chair
at the time, so it was really just the floor around the chair and the chair
itself. The comforter on the bed was spattered. So I pulled it off and shoved
it in a garbage bag, throwing it outside the door. I tossed the chair outside,
too.

If Hank and I were going to stay here for any amount of time
I had to make it livable, and blood and decomposing dead body gore was out.

I poured food into a bowl for Hank. I’d have to find some
dog food for him somewhere, but until then, when his food ran out, he’d have to
eat what I ate.

People food is not good for dogs. I’d seen a gorgeous,
robust German shepherd go from being completely healthy to have a leaking liver
and almost dying from table scraps. I shuddered to think what it was doing to
us, all of those preservatives.

Maybe it wasn’t the meteor dust creating flesh-eating
zombies, but the preservatives and chemicals in our food.

I wouldn’t be surprised.

Anyway, people food was not my top choice to feed Hank. I
wanted to keep him around.

I’d been too busy trying to clean up Larry’s drippings to
notice much else about the inside of the cabin. But now that I could relax,
meaning not fear for my life immediately, I started to take notice of my
surroundings.

As I stood up, I looked around the kitchen. There were
definite feminine touches in the room: a picture of a sunflower, dishtowels
hanging on a rack with a daisy pattern on them, and beside the sink, a diamond
engagement ring. Not a huge rock, but not tiny, either. The woman who lived
here, Larry’s fiancée, I thought was a safe assumption, didn’t like to wear her
ring while doing dishes.

My curiosity was piqued. I looked around the living room. On
a desk near the huge window was a picture in a frame, with Larry and a pretty,
smiling girl of about twenty-four. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, and
she wore a burgundy dress. Larry wore a black suit jacket. The picture must’ve
been taken at a wedding, or some other function.

Where was she?

The door had been left open, so I was willing to bet that
she’d been dragged out of here, kicking and screaming, like all of the other
younger women had.

Her purse lay on a fluffy chair, like it had been tossed
there before the event. I went over to it, feeling strange about opening it.
Even though the woman was gone, it still felt wrong looking in her purse.

Strange for a girl who used to steal. But that was another
story. Aside from the revenge steal from the bitchy cheerleader, who had most
likely been taken by the lizards (and now I felt bad about taking her stuff
from her locker), I never would’ve stolen someone’s purse. I picked locks for
fun, and never actually took anything from anyone. Except for the loaf of bread
from the grocery store, that one time --- and the cheerleader’s purse.

Even now, I only would take what Hank and I needed to
survive.

I unzipped her purse and found her wallet, flipping it open
to look at her driver’s license.

Megan Lewis. She had been twenty-five years old.

Where are you, Megan? Where have those
creepy things taken you?

Underground.

Was she still alive? How many other girls and women had been
dragged underground.

I continued rifling through her wallet and felt an overwhelming
sadness as I looked at the photos of what must’ve been young nieces and
nephews. Kids no older than four or five.

I set her purse aside for the moment and sat on the couch,
looking off into space.

Hank jumped up on the couch beside me and placed his head on
my lap.

“Hey, buddy. How you doing?” I stroked his head, then leaned
my head against the back of the couch. Now that my life wasn’t in immediate
danger, I felt the throb in my head from the car accident. My back ached, too.
I’d likely jarred it when the Pilot had rolled.

Still, I considered it a miracle that I was alive and hadn’t
suffered any broken bones. And I was also thankful that Hank seemed fine. If he
ached, he wasn’t showing it.

“You’re a tough guy, Hank. You know it?”

He let out a puff of air through his nostrils in response.
He may be tough, but he was tired.

I knew the feeling. I closed my eyes, and thought about my
sister Kelly. Had she been taken underground? There was a chance these women
were still alive.

The thought of what the lizards could be doing with all the
women they’d pulled into the ground send chills trembling through me. My eyes
snapped open, and my heart began racing at the thought, and suddenly I felt
like I couldn’t get enough air.

Hank lifted his head and licked my hand, as if to say,
Take it easy, Zoe. Rest for now. Worry later. We can’t fight and
survive if we are exhausted. Rest now.

I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow, and felt
my heart slow in measures. I ran my fingers over Hanks back, and concentrated
on the feeling of his fur beneath my skin.

* * *

When I awoke Hank was licking my face. He jumped down and
headed toward the door.

“It’s that time, huh? Me too, actually.” My bladder was
full. By the way Hank was pacing in front of the door, I figured he needed to
go worse than I did, and I really didn’t feel like cleaning up any more messes.

I pulled my jacket on, wondering how much longer the heat in
the cabin would last. It kicked on when the thermostat went below 68 degrees. I
didn’t dare turn it up. I wanted the heat to last as long as possible. There
was a fireplace but I didn’t want to risk drawing the attention of lizards or
deadies with the smell of wood smoke.

I lifted the curtain on the window of the door and peered
around. Nothing moved. So I slowly opened the door. “Careful, Hank.”

He loped a couple of yards away and did his business
quickly, then trotted back inside the cabin. Before I shut the door, I looked
up at the sky, noting with growing trepidation, that the darkness was only a
couple of hours away.

After closing and locking the door, I searched the house for
hiding spots that wouldn’t be death traps, in the unhappy event that the
lizards found the cabin. They’d smell us, so if they kept searching until they
found our hiding spot, I’d have to kill them quickly.

I’m small, but Hank is a big dog. I’d have to find a place
that would hide us both.

The cupboard under the sink was out of the question. Hank
wouldn’t fit with me. I kept looking.

In the back bedroom, the one I thought of as Larry and
Megan’s room, was a walk-in closet. There was no lock on it from the inside,
but then, if the lizards tried to open the door and found it locked, that would
be a dead give-away.

Leaving the front door open might let them know that they’d
already come calling, but it would also leave more time to let our smell out
--- and any wandering deadies in.

“Shit. I don’t know what to do, Hank.” I stared at the
locked door. “Let’s get to that later.”

In front of the bed was a large trunk, which I figured held
extra blankets. I opened it, anyway.

There were blankets. But beneath those, were guns. Lots of
them. Guns and ammunition.

“Larry, you wonderful, paranoid son-of-a-skunk.” Of course,
since the invasion had taken place, I supposed he hadn’t really been paranoid,
had he? Something really had come to get them.

And suddenly I could see clearly what had actually happened.
Larry hadn’t killed himself during the day. He’d watched in horror as Megan had
been dragged from the cabin, and he’d run into this room and shot himself. It
had probably happened very quickly.

All those guns, and they hadn’t protected him. It had all
happened too fast.

The lizards probably weren’t what Larry had in mind when he
thought someone would come for him.

Imagine his surprise. I stared into the trunk.

Then I took stock of the guns. I didn’t know what kinds they
were, knowing nothing about guns whatsoever. I’d have to figure it out so I
wouldn’t shoot myself or Hank.

I picked up a small box and flipped the top open. Inside
nestled a small pistol with a pink handle. Cute. This had to have been Megan’s,
though not necessarily. Maybe Larry liked pink.

Nah. It had been Megan’s, Maybe an engagement gift? The gun
looked as easy as point and shoot. It looked pretty much good to go.

“Good enough for now.” I grabbed the ammunition that lay in
the same little box as the gun, and shoved it in my jacket pocket.

The plan was simple. Hide in the closet until daylight.

If something broke in and found us in the night, shoot it.

It was as good a plan as any, I figured.

And it was the only one I had.

* * *

Hank and I huddled in the closet at dusk. We sat way back,
behind the clothes. The closet had apparently also served as a changing room. A
mirror hung on one wall surrounded by press-on lights that you could press and
have enough light to see how your outfit looked.

I thought I could risk having one of the tiny lights on. In
the moment it took me to press on the little circular light, I caught a glimpse
of myself in the mirror and almost shrank back, momentarily thinking the image
was someone else in the closet with us. I didn’t recognize myself.

I’d lost weight in the last three days. I doubted I even
weighed a full hundred pounds anymore. Luka’s clothes hung off me, and my face
looked hallowed and drawn. My blue eyes looked too large and round for my face,
and my hair looked like a tangled mess.

I dropped my gaze and moved back against the wall. If we
lived through the night, I’d treat myself to a shower while there was still hot
water. It had been three days since I’d had one, and the smell of my own sweat
and fear was suffocating while we hid together, me sitting on the floor against
the back wall of the closet, and Hank curled up beside me, with his head on my
lap.

I trembled as we waited, and tried to keep my breathing
even. I kept the gun on the floor beside me, within easy reach.

The night was silent as I strained my ears to hear any
sounds that might be a threat. Every so often Hank lifted his head and his ears
perked up, and my adrenalin would spike, my heart drumming against my ribcage.
But then he’d lay his head back down again and I’d breathe a quiet sigh of
relief.

By the time we heard the birds chirping, signaling dawn,
Hank and I were both shaken and exhausted. We crawled out of the closet on
stiff and unsteady legs and I let him out. Daylight was bleeding into the sky,
turning it from gray slowly to blue.

He followed me to the other bedroom, not the one Larry ate
his gun in, and we both settled onto the bed.

After the night we’d had, I thought we deserved a nap on a
real bed. “Just a few hours, Hank. Then we decide what to do next.”

What to do next meant figuring out how to discover what was
beneath the snow. Chances were that my sister was underground.