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by Zolendz, Christine


  As I flop him over the curb, he grunts out in pain. This makes me snort out a devious giggle—an uncaring, evil sound—one I never knew I could make.

  I haul the giant thing a few feet and shove him into a small, dark alley between two buildings. There’s an abandoned van parked sideways, that on any normal day would be blocking traffic down that small dark street. Maybe we could hide inside. I sweep my gaze quickly over the street; it’s all shadows and rain. There’s a large window in one of the buildings that’s been shattered, and my boots crunch loudly over its broken glass. I think the safest bet for the night would be the van. The door opens easily, so that’s how my decision is made, but mostly because I don’t want him—it—to think I can’t drag it anymore—because I can’t, he’s too damn heavy.

  Pulling out my flashlight, I press my thumb down and shine a few hundred lumens in his eyes.

  A fluttery feeling rushes low in my belly and I lean out a hand to steady myself against the outside of the van.

  A pair of icy blue eyes squint back at me.

  Holy crap.

  His face looks…human.

  6

  Kate

  There’s a deep gash across his forehead that’s bleeding heavily. He’s slumped against the passenger side door. We’re safe inside the van, for now. Some idiot left the keys right on the dash, and as soon as the sun comes up, I plan to see if the engine will run. I’d try it now but I don’t want to have any unwanted attention drawn to us when I have one of these things sitting here right in front of me.

  I clear my throat and shine the stream of my flashlight over his face. “Where did they take my sister?” I growl. I don’t even recognize my own voice; it’s guttural and coats like poison on my tongue.

  He just sits there, staring at me with an increasing sheen of sweat that trickles down his face. Most of the blood has been smeared off, and I’m surprised by how much he looks like a regular guy. He’s young—close to my age—someone I’d probably hang out with. Dark, unruly hair sticks against his forehead, fat drops of rain dangling from the ends. A tinge of color covers his cheeks and his chest rises and falls, same as mine. I wonder if he has a heart. I wonder how easy it is for him to die. I wonder what would happen if I sliced open his skin—if his kind has the same insides as mine. The thought shocks me. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone in my entire existence. An acidic taste fills my mouth and I shake my head to clear my violent thoughts. I need to get answers from him. I’ll daydream about killing him later.

  I nudge the steel toe of my boot at him. “Hey! Do you even understand me? Where did they take my sister?”

  The thing shrugs.

  The heel of my boot connects with his metal shin. I pull it up higher and slam it down on his knee. It reverberates through my steel-toed boots and makes a strange hollow sound. I kick at him again and again, but it’s like he doesn’t feel it at all.

  “You’re like a little pest,” he laughs in a gravelly voice. “One of those ugly wingless cockroaches that infest this world.”

  I lunge forward and slap my flashlight right at the cut across his forehead.

  His body reels back as a spray of blood splatters over the windshield.

  “Don’t think I won’t hurt you!” I shout into his face, waving the flashlight at him again. “Tell me where—”

  Instantly, I’m shoved against the dashboard and the cold metal surface of his palm smacks up against my lips. I try to scream but no sound passes the barrier of his strange metallic hand. His other hand is gripped tightly on the back of my head, holding me in place. The flashlight clanks hard at his metal chest as I flail my arms around. The fact isn’t lost on me that this thing could probably crush my head right now, snap my neck like a twig, but I’m not going down without a fight.

  I slam the crown of the flashlight over his head and shove my weight against him. There’s no room in the front seat of this van for me to get away. Adrenaline spikes hotly in my veins, rushing over my body at an alarming rate, and my limbs begin to shake. I punch my hands out frantically but it does no good. I’ve never been in a physical fight before; all I’m doing is hurting myself. He’s not even responding, just gritting his teeth and taking the blows. Maybe under all that stupid skin he’s made of metal too.

  I’m still struggling when he yanks my face closer toward his, leveling his eyes on mine. “Stop,” he hisses sharply, then releases his hold on the back of my head and points a finger upward.

  I go completely still and my eyes widen when I hear a faint mechanical whir. The hand that covered my mouth slowly drops against my leg. I feel its coolness through the material of my jeans, making me squirm to get away.

  But the metal digits tighten where they fell, covering the expanse of my upper thigh, stilling my movements. Just outside, somewhere above us, something is closing in.

  Sweat bursts out across my chest as every muscle in my body tenses. I spin my head around, searching for what’s making the noise. “Is that them?” I ask low, leaning my head toward the windows.

  “Don’t. Move.” His words are a soft wisp of sounds.

  Slowly, I tilt my head to face him. “Why? So I’m just a sitting duck? Easy for them to grab?”

  He leans in closer, bringing his face an inch in front of mine. His jaw is set and tense and his words are ground out through clenched teeth. “So they don’t find me.”

  Before I could utter a response, the top of the van crumples in right above our heads, rocking the van sideways. I slam back into the dashboard and pain explodes down my spine. Glass shatters all around as all the windows blow. My mouth is instantly full of grit and his large muscular arms shove me back.

  Metal scrapes across the hood of the van in a high-pitched squeal. Through the front windshield, I glimpse the three brutes from before.

  I flop around frantically in the driver’s seat and claw my trembling fingers around the dashboard, searching for the keys. “Come on! Where are they?” I scream as my fingers slide over the sharp glass, feeling the jagged edges slice through.

  Next to me, the thing is rummaging through my pack, pawing through my belongings like they weren’t the only things in the world I owned.

  “Hey!” I shout, yanking the bag from his grasp.

  His stupid robot hands fumble for it as I shove his face away.

  “Give me my shield,” he growls.

  “No!” I scream, shoving my bag under my bottom and skimming my hands over the console, desperate to escape.

  I finally find the keys and jam them into the ignition. The van turns over, headlights flooding the street with brightness. I yank the gearshift into drive and gun the engine, slamming into the three creatures all at once. The impact thrashes me up against the steering wheel, ripping white-hot pain across my chest, but I keep accelerating and the steel monsters flail wildly and drop to the ground.

  Tires crunch and bump over metal and the front of the van bucks wildly. I dart my eyes to my passenger. His arms are outstretched, bracing himself against the dashboard. “Hold on,” I say, yanking the van quickly into reverse. I gun the engine and the van bounces violently over the crushed metal again.

  I leave my foot on the brake and put a shaky hand over my mouth. They’re underneath the tires. I’ve never killed anything in my life.

  His eyes flare at mine. “They won’t stay down for long,” he says.

  They won’t?

  I grip the steering wheel hard. A heavy feeling churns slowly in my stomach. “Are you telling me what I just did wouldn’t have killed them?” I ask, shaking my head. My chest squeezes tight and I can barely catch my breath.

  “Stupid girl,” he grinds out, looking straight ahead, “just move this archaic machine. Go as far as you can and as fast as you can, before you get them really angry.”

  7

  Kate

  I drive with the headlights off, weaving around the deserted cars left in the crater-pocked streets. The city looks lost, frozen in some deathly rotting scene. I wipe my eyes before
any tears come out. I don’t want the monster next to me to see me cry.

  I haven’t been this far from the apartment in weeks. We locked ourselves inside and have eaten as little as we could, too afraid to venture out. Claire had gotten sick quickly, just like the rest of them, but she still lingered, suffering that wet, hacking cough and awful decomposing of her body.

  The thing next to me is silent, looking through the windshield and scanning the streets as we slowly drive along. I’m glad he’s not talking. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. He’s one of the things that ruined this city—yet he just helped me escape from three of them.

  After fifteen minutes, we run out of gas.

  “Why are you stopping?” he growls, slamming his hands against the dashboard and whirling around in his seat.

  “I’m not stopping. The van is.”

  His eyes narrow. “Explain.”

  “No,” I say, yanking open the door and climbing into the street. I search the area for anyone and come up empty. It’s like the whole city just disappeared. “Listen to me,” I say through the opening of the door. “I need to know where they took that girl. She’s my sister.”

  He slams his body against the door, trying to open it. His eyes stay fixed on mine as he shatters the rest of the window with his elbow and tries to climb his way out, but he’s too big to fit through.

  “You have to pull the handle, Einstein.” What a moron.

  His head snaps down to the side of the door and his hands paw at the metal handle.

  “Yeah, that. Now pull it,” I say, stepping back and quietly closing the door behind me.

  By the time I walk around the van, his metal boots are kicking wildly against the inside of the door, trying to force it open.

  I’m not going to lie—I watch for a minute, because it’s one of the most absurd things I’ve ever seen—then I open it for him and roll my eyes.

  He falls to his knees attempting to get out.

  I laugh, then stop immediately when I think about Claire. Nothing about this is funny.

  The gash on his forehead is bright red and open. His hands flail out, steadying himself, metal arms colliding with the van. “Give me the faceplate,” he growls, leaning heavily on the door for support.

  “Get me to my sister and you get it back.” I keep my eyes locked with his, fiercely. He better understand I’m serious. And absolutely desperate.

  He stumbles forward and holds a hand up to his head. His fingers tremble when he brings his arm down covered with blood.

  He actually looks terrified.

  A sharp explosion rocks the pavement. I grab the van to hold myself upright. “Sounds like there’s something going on underground.”

  His eyes are still studying the crimson tips of his fingers and his skin is blanched white.

  “Come on,” I say, grabbing his bloody hand and pulling him toward the sidewalk. We’re on Broadway now, just above Houston Street. It’s hard to recognize it without the street signs. Here, those strange vines are growing straight up the sides of the buildings, and beneath their exotic greenery, deep craters and decaying brick crumble like dust to the ground. It’s less than a mile from where I last saw my father or Claire. There’s a small restaurant I remember somewhere here that my parents used to take us to. It had a garden in the back with a small fountain. I wonder if it’s still standing.

  I drag him into a darkened store. Shards of glittery glass shift under our feet. It’s a furniture store. I sit him on a couch and wad up some tissues I had jammed in my pack earlier today. I don’t think twice that Claire used one to blow her nose. He’s lucky to be getting any help from me. I get a little thrill thinking that whatever germ Claire has is now infesting his bloodstream.

  There was a time in my life I would have showed empathy for someone who was hurt. That time is long gone now.

  My steps falter as I back away from him. It’s dark in here, but my flashlight is giving us a good view of each other. “Where are you from?” I ask, swallowing slowly. “Are you from another country or someplace…farther?”

  His eyes look up and focus on mine. There’s a hesitation as he watches me. It’s long enough that I wonder if he could possibly read my mind; but that’s nonsense, impossible. His eyes suddenly drop down to my neck and slowly roll down the rest of my body. I don’t know what he’s seeing, but it makes my face too warm.

  I throw the rest of the tissues at him. They lob him right in the nose and fall to the floor. “Stop looking at me like that. Are you some sort of a terrorist? Are you from another country? What the hell are you wearing? What are you? Where are you from? And where did they take Claire?”

  A wet strand of dark hair falls across his forehead. I shine my light into his eyes—the blue is extraordinarily bright—his pupils constrict to barely visible pinpoints. Our eyes are locked on each other’s, and it’s terrifying to think I’m staring down the enemy, but I can’t bring myself to do anything less.

  “Answer me,” I whisper.

  “Farther.” His low answer chills the marrow in my bones and my body feels suddenly numb. My hands tremble and my flashlight tumbles to the floor. It clinks over the tile and rolls flashing light across the room.

  My chest burns and I clear my throat to buy myself a moment. “Why are you here?”

  Gears shifts along his skin as he bends to pick up the light. I can hear them whirring and vibrating quietly. He clicks the flashlight off and we’re bathed in darkness. Metal boots scrape softly over the floor as he moves away, deeper into the darkness of the store. “A better question is how are you still here?”

  8

  Kate

  I sigh softly to myself, listening to his quiet breathing. It’s been a few minutes since he asked me that question. Not that he waited for an answer. Nope, he just made himself comfortable somewhere deep inside the store and seems to have instantly fallen asleep.

  Shapes are now slowly appearing before me as my eyes get accustomed to the darkness. My footsteps are silent as I make my way farther into the store. It gets colder with each step and the shivers that rake up my spine are brutal. Just to the left is the big showroom display window, its jagged, broken glass letting in all the cold wind and rain. I need to head to the back of the store and try to find some warmth. There’s got to be a place where they have bedroom displays with a warm comforter I could use to wrap myself in.

  I walk until I can’t hear the sounds of his breathing—deep into the back of the store where I find a small office area—one with a door that locks. My clothes are soaked from the rain and my skin is achy and cold. Hanging from the back of the door is a thin coat that someone must have forgotten. It reeks of cigarettes and stale beer, but it’s warm and that’s all I need at the moment. It takes me a few minutes to peel off my wet layers of clothing until I’m standing with the coat wrapped around me, shivering uncontrollably.

  There’s a small, worn-out couch up against the wall, and I’m so tired and cold that I don’t even care that it scratches and pinches at my skin. The room is spinning too fast. I haven’t eaten all day, I gave the last of what was edible in the apartment to Claire and Dad and packed the two breakfast bars for our trip. I hang my head in my hands and hope they are both someplace being fed, someplace warm.

  I don’t mean to but I fall asleep with my father’s sheathed knifed in one hand and the flashlight in the other.

  * * *

  I’m startled awake by a soft click of the door.

  A door I distinctly remember locking.

  Sunlight is pouring in from the window and a strange man is standing in the threshold of the door, watching me.

  I scramble off the couch, wrapping the coat tighter around my body. My hands are empty, and I curse under my breath about how vulnerable I left myself. I should have never fallen asleep. My eyes quickly search the floor and the cushions of the couch for the knife, but my eyes are still sticky with sleep. They only thing I see are my bare legs covered in a thick layer of gooseflesh.

 
I can feel him staring at me—like his eyes are somehow touching my skin—and I try to pull the stupid coat over my legs, but fail miserably and curse under my breath.

  “I brought you clothing,” the man says quietly, walking hesitantly toward me. I rub the heels of my hands over my eyes, trying to clear my vision. He’s dressed in a pair of washed-out jeans and a thick dark sweater. Bright white and orange price tags dangle from the waist of the pants and the arm of the shirt. My eyes fly all over the rest of the man’s body and narrow in on his face. His skin is flawless and clear, his hair is darker than night, and his eyes are bright like the sky.

  “It’s you?” I stammer.

  He draws his eyes to my face, and with a deliberate intensity trails his gaze down the curve of my neck, and over the front of my body where it lingers on my legs long enough to make me feel completely exposed. He swallows hard and looks quickly away. “I could hear you shivering from outside. There was clothing next door…” his voice trails off.

  “I locked the door,” I said, pointing a cold finger to the knob behind him.

  His lips straighten and curl down into a frown. “Not well enough.”

  My eyes slowly blink. “You… You look human. But you were made of metal yesterday,” I say stupidly.

  “I see we’ve obviously landed on a superior planet,” he clips sarcastically.

  My cheeks flame and a lump hardens painfully in the base of my throat. I gulp down the knot and stand straighter. “Thank you for the clothes. Please leave so I can change.”

  One of his eyebrows perks up higher than the other and his smirk gets deeper. “If that’s what you really want.”

  Stupid alien asshole. “Yes, that is what I really want.”

  As soon as he closes the door, I drop to the floor in search of the knife. It’s wedged between the wall and the couch, and I feel immediately better with it back in my hand. I dress quickly, keeping my eyes fixed on the door. How does someone not lock something well enough?

 

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