“Extra?”
“An extra copy of a chromosome. Chromosome Twenty-one.”
“Her genetic make-up was altered?”
“Not on purpose. She just developed that way.”
“And what happens with her?”
“For someone like Claire, it’s like being a seven-year-old forever. Her body ages and develops, but her mind doesn’t seem to follow.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not the condition she has, it’s understanding her, and she needs me. She needs someone to help her through this new world,” I say, trying to keep the sadness from my voice. “Why do you care anyway?”
“Good question,” he mutters under his breath. We watch each other for a few moments, surrounded by the heavy white fog. It makes me feel dizzy, like being in some highly elevated mountaintop with my head in the clouds. Except that these clouds smell distinctly like chemical shit.
He looks down at the hand that he held against my skin, balls it into a fist, and opens it back up slowly. “Your skin is soft,” he murmurs.
I don’t like that he noticed. “Don’t let my outside fool you, asshat. I’m made of much stronger stuff.”
I trip over something and stumble as I finish trying to be a badass, arms flailing right for the ground. Asshole doesn’t help me this time, and it’s only when I turn my head over my shoulder to curse at him that I realize I’m kneeling in the middle of a pile of half-rotten, maggot-infested dead bodies.
11
Kate
I scream.
My hands are leaning on a concaved chest of what was once another human being and I feel the quick tingling movements of thousands of little white worms slithering against my skin.
Flesh and blood are everywhere I look.
My fingers are in front of my face, covered in filth—I’m hearing myself scream and curse, and I can’t get away fast enough. My legs are slipping in some putrid-smelling gunk as I scramble away. It’s their insides. Those people had insides on the outside and I fell right into them. “Shit, shit, shit.”
My stomach rolls violently and I vomit up the dregs of bitter coffee beans. I’m thrashing my hands through the air and heaving coffee-flavored spit into the pool of blood the bodies are lying in.
Yeah, I’m tough.
Asshole yanks me back by my armpit and pain shoots through my chest. He pulls me a few feet away until I’m clutching my cramping stomach and huddled between his legs as he squats down, trying to get the remainder of the maggots off me.
The thought of the maggots makes me vomit again. This time, the taste of regurgitated chocolate chip muffins coats my tongue and tears sting my eyes.
When the last of the maggots are off me, I jerk away from him. I don’t know what I hate more, his alien hands on me or maggots, but I think they might be tied for first place. I swallow a few times to keep other stuff from escaping my lips and stand up on two very wobbly legs.
I wipe my face with my ruined shirt and toss it into the human pile of trash. “What the hell is that?” I ask, more to myself than to him.
The bodies look ripped to shreds, like someone ran them over with a lawnmower, or just decided to peel off all their skin. It’s a mess of severed skin and bone.
“Why are you killing everyone?” I ask in a low, hoarse voice.
“I’m not killing anyone,” he answers, eyes still locked on the stack of bodies.
“Your shitty alien friends did this,” I hiss.
“It can’t be.”
“Oh yeah, those friends of yours last night looked really peaceful.” I laugh bitterly. “What was that nice game you were playing when they ripped your face off and left you for dead?”
Somewhere close, under the shroud of fog, a low grate of metal scrapes against more metal.
“We need to leave. Now,” he says quickly.
Really? You think?
He pulls me by the shoulder of my vest and drags me with him. I stumble over garbage trying to keep up. The material of my vest is balled up in his fist and he doesn’t let go until we’re in what used to be a sidewalk newsstand.
He bends down, crouching in the corner, and yanks me to the floor alongside him. His eyes stare off into the wall in front of us as if he’s trying to listen for something.
“What happened to them?” I whisper, pulling myself out of his grasp.
His eyes dart to mine and hold my gaze for an unacceptable amount of time without answering me. It makes my muscles tighten and my lips pinch up in anger. “You listen to me right now—”
His hand, large and hot, presses up against my mouth, cutting me off. My back thuds against a rack of magazines and he holds me there, leaning his weight into his palm heavily, eyes glaring angrily into mine.
The asshole could have just shushed me. I slap at his arms to try to get free.
Then just outside, I hear a heavy storm of footsteps rushing past, making my eyes go wide. My breathing accelerates. The alien dude has his hand over my mouth and I can barely breathe through my nose. He shakes his head, telling me to stop, to calm down…and I’d be able to if he’d just let go of me. He shifts his body closer and his hand presses down harder. Sweet Jesus, he’s going to suffocate me. I try to nod my head, trying to tell him I got it, I’ll be quiet, but he doesn’t move away. I squeeze my eyes shut, and a tear escapes from the corner of one. I hope he doesn’t see it. I hope he’s not watching me crumble.
Eventually the hand covering my mouth slowly pulls down and as the footfalls become distant, I can breathe deeply again.
“You have to learn to shut that mouth,” he says.
“Then you should answer questions when I’m asking them so I know what is going on,” I reply, tilting my head away from him. “And you need to stop getting all in my space and putting your hands on me.”
“That’s the only way I can get your body to respond to what I need it to do,” he says, facing the other way and peeking his head up over the edge of the stand’s window.
“What?” I flinch back. “My body does not respond to anything you—”
He snaps his head around to face me. “Yes, it does,” he smirks. “All I have to do is put my hands on you and your pulse races and your cheeks turn red.”
“Yeah, because you asshole aliens invaded us and you fuckers are pissing me off,” I growl. “Believe me when I say, the only thing that’s on my mind when your hands are anywhere near me is getting rid of all you assholes.”
12
Kate
We’ve been walking for hours through desolate streets, crunching over hordes of cockroaches and rubble. A sickly-sweet sewage odor saturates the air. Puddles of standing water, slick with oil, start to harden into icy pools, and clumps of dirt freeze into solid rock-like shapes. The skies darken, taking on an anemic purplish hue. Fat flakes of snow spiral down from the sky and melt before hitting the ground, but the temperature is plummeting quickly. It’s literally getting colder by the second and the snow will stick soon. I say nothing and just take in all the details of my surroundings. My stomach rumbles a humiliating tune.
I pretend it’s not me.
“We should look for food,” he says in a low, gentle voice, touching his hand to my elbow.
“Oh, why? Are you hungry, jackass?” I snap, pulling my arm away.
“I was just thinking since you vomited up everything you ate today that you might want to fill your stomach again.”
“How thoughtful of you, dickhead.”
He balks and comes to a complete stop in front of me. “Why are you calling me all different names every time you speak to me?”
“You won’t tell me your name, so I’m trying on a few to see which one fits the best. I’m thinking Asshole suits you well,” I say, sidestepping around him.
His fingers wrap around my wrist before I can move away. As I open my mouth to scream at him about personal space and the dangers of touching me, something snaps. I freeze, squinting my e
yes through the shadowy mist. Slowly, he pulls me back, pressing me against him, and crosses his arm up and over the front of me. I’m not sure why he does this—it feels protective—but that can’t be, can it?
Whatever the reason, I turn into his hold and flatten myself against him. I look up and find his gaze flicking across the landscape. The muscles of his jaw tic and the side of his neck thrums with a steady pulse. The arm that wraps around me tightens; his fingers splay possessively across my back.
Iron hinges grate, metal screams against metal, and out of the ash and smoke comes fast steps, followed by beams of light flashing in our direction. Voices shout. Men’s voices. They’re calling out but I can’t make out the words.
Are they us or them? I look up to the strange being holding me and I’m paralyzed with fear as to what to do. His eyes frantically search around us, and then he’s off. His hand instantly drops down to mine and our fingers entwine. I’m running so blindly fast I have no time to think. He stumbles only once before picking me up and helping me climb through a broken window. We crawl through a display of disheveled mannequins sprawled haphazardly over the ground and skid across broken glass.
Even from inside we can still hear the men yelling, barking out orders. Our boots squeak sharply on a muddied tiled floor until the flashlights shine through the storefront windows and we dive behind an overturned rack of eveningwear. I’m out of breath, trying desperately to quiet my gasping. My throat is so dry I feel like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of glass; it makes me sick to my stomach and I gag on the pain.
Asshole’s hands cup my shoulders and he whispers into my hair, “Quietly. Back up. In here.”
My feet slide over the dirty floor but my boots stay silent. The two of us scramble through a fitting room door and lock it behind us. He grabs me around the waist and huddles me into the corner.
“Shhh,” he breathes into my ear, the warmth of his words tingling down my neck. My skin prickles with goose bumps and ripples with a sudden shiver. He pulls back his head, angling it so his eyes meet mine.
I’m cold, that’s all. That’s what I tell myself. It’s the reason why I’m shivering and covered in gooseflesh. My dad’s vest it still damp, and my hair is wet with snow, that’s all it is.
Before I can say anything, he wraps both his arms around me, and locks his hands around my back. I curl up into him for warmth because my teeth are chattering and my body is shivering. It’s survival instinct, I’m just getting warm. It’s got nothing to do with alien-boy and the way he looks so human.
Just outside the store, the men’s voices continue bellowing in search of whatever they’re looking for. I still can’t tell if they are one of them or one of me.
We sit on the floor, wrapped up in each other, and silently wait. My ear presses down against his chest and I clearly hear the loud drumming of his heart. How much different can they be from us if they have all the same features?
Then, right outside the fitting room door, something clatters loudly over the floor. Every muscle in my body tightens when the sounds of the men’s voices burst through the silence. “Are you sure you saw something come in here?”
A sharp sudden clanging rings through the store. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a husky voice growls.
“Come ‘ere, kitty, kitty, kitty,” another voice calls out, laughing darkly.
The hands around my shoulders tighten; warm fingers dig deeper into my skin. I don’t know how long we lay wrapped in each other—it’s long after the sounds of the men are gone—and long after we should have let go of one another, that I do know.
We sit in the darkness, looking at each other through the small glow from the flashlight. My skin tingles with the cold and the closeness to him. There’s something more too; something strange and alarming. It’s the way he looks back at me through that soft glow. The way he almost seems to hold his breath as his eyes lock on mine. In a way, it’s the heat in his stare that ends up keeping me warm.
Eventually, my eyes close and I dream of my sister and seeing her smile again.
* * *
There’s snow on the ground when I peek out the front window.
I leave him sleeping in the fitting room and go in search of a bathroom. My bladder is about to explode and there’s no way I’m squatting in a corner somewhere if I can still find a bathroom to use. I don’t even want to think about what will happen in the weeks to come if we’re traveling and there aren’t bathrooms available. I was never good at camping and I’m honestly not comfortable with even the thought of things I’ve taken for granted daily not being available to me any longer. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray something gives. I’m hungry. Dizzy. In need of coffee. And a nice hot shower would feel so good right now. Maybe this store has a vending machine in their break room.
Before I can zip up my jeans, something big smashes through the stall door. The whole stall lurches over and the door slams into my shoulder, shooting white-hot pain down my spine.
“Thought you could hide from us?”
My vision blurs from the sharp ache. I hear a loud intake of breath and smell the exhale. I gag on the rancid stench. “Look at what we have here,” the voice hums low.
I paw at my eyes, wiping away the sting of tears.
“What have you found?” Another voice laughs.
Four men crowd in around the bathroom stall, each one holding some sort of weapon at his side. A bat. A knife. A wrench. A crowbar. They’re human. They wouldn’t use those weapons against another human, would they?
I reach for my knife, but my vest pocket is empty.
The one holding the bat has black, soulless eyes that slide slowly up and down my frame, eventually settling on my face. His sneer twists into a vibrant smile. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
I yank up my zipper and button my pants. All of the men smile, telling me exactly what they are collectively thinking.
My eyes glance behind them, toward the door. The silence around us is suddenly all too consuming, suffocating. There’s no one to help me. There’s no one to hear me scream.
Bat-guy chuckles. The sound is cruel, wicked. “You could try to run, if you like.” The man with the wrench raises it up, leaning it against his chin.
“You could stay too. We’ll be real good to you. Take care of you and all,” the one with the crowbar says, dangling his tool from his fingers. “You are a real pretty little thing. Besides, it’s very dangerous out there without a few chaperones.”
I step back, grabbing onto the walls of the stall.
A flash of pain crashes out of nowhere. I blink once and I’m on the floor, being pinned down by two sets of knees. I don’t even know what happened.
Wait, I don’t know what’s going on.
A shriek rips from my throat and the men laugh. “Squeal, darling. Go ahead. There ain’t nobody here left to hear it. Unless they come to get you.”
My throat burns from the screams. One of them grabs me by the hair, twisting it into his fist, and drags me across the floor. I kick out my legs until the wrench slams into my thigh and the pain paralyzes me.
“Scream all you want,” Bat-guy whispers, bending down with his putrid breath to my ear. “I’ve always liked it when girls scream.” His tongue flitters out like a snake, dragging it along my jaw.
I try to yank my face away, try to scream again, but the pain and terror are too overwhelming. All I could do is bite back a sob.
The hand tightens in my hair and jerks up hard. “Let’s bring her home, boys.”
My boots scrape and my hands claw along the floor, trying to fight. My screams echo, bouncing off the walls. I know if Asshole is still here, he’d be able to hear me, but he’s not coming. This time he’s not helping me.
He probably took his faceplate and left me here.
Another thought flashes at me. If Asshole is gone, there’s no one to help me get to Claire. I imagine her lying in the dark somewhere strange, coughing and crying for me.
I blast my boots out,
kicking at whatever I can. My arms flail out, clawing whatever’s near.
From up above, a swing of the bat and my body crumples back to the floor. I feel the cold gritty tiles scrape across my skin as my eyelids slowly close and everything goes dark and numb.
“You should be thankful we ain’t taking what we want right here and leaving you for the real monsters.”
They’re the last words I hear.
13
Kate
I jerk awake to the sound of metal groaning as it scrapes against stone. A boot slams against the side of my leg, shooting pain through my entire body. Panic ripples through my chest, but my throat’s so dry I can’t even scream.
“Get up, girl.” The voice in the darkness is cold, haunting. The shit that nightmares are made of.
I rise on trembling limbs and raise my eyes to find my bearings. A violent wave of nausea rolls through my stomach, splatting the floor near my unsteady feet with bile. The act drains all my strength, making my eyelids heavy. My knees buckle, dropping me straight back down to the floor. It’s wet and cold, reeking of urine and other unfavorable body fluids. I gag uncontrollably.
“Here then,” the voice grates. Something hits me hard in the stomach, making a muted splashing sound. My hands reach out and fumble for the item. It’s a bottle of liquid. My weak fingers squeeze and twist at the cap, unable to remove it as quickly as I’d like. I pray it’s water when I finally get it open and bring it to my lips. There’s no smell—I’m not even sure I would care if there was—my throat burns so painfully all I can think of is putting out the fire.
I gulp back the bottle and clear, clean water floods my mouth and stomach. I drink so fast I vomit it right back up. I bite my bottom lip to keep from sobbing and my head swims from the pain and dizziness. Curling myself into a ball, I lean against the cool stone of the walls and sip the water slowly, waiting for the stabbing feeling in my belly to subside.
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