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

by Sharp, Tracy

  We were both as silent as the dead.

  I was sure his heart was slamming as hard as mine was, but both of us hardly breathed.

  The reptilians continued sniffing and scratching. Through my fear, I was getting the distinct impression that their vision wasn’t all that good. It seemed that they relied heavily on smell, sound and vibrations.

  Hank and I remained still and silent, and we waited.

  Finally, they moved away, scuttling off the pilot and skittering away in the snow.

  We listened to their strange scratching sounds fade.

  Then we stayed still and quiet for a while longer.

  And then dawn seeped into the sky.

  * * *

  I was able to open the driver’s side door, and I crawled out onto the snow. I thanked my lucky stars that I’d raided Luka’s closet for the jacket and boots. There were warm ski gloves in her pockets, and as I pushed myself painfully to my feet, I dug them out and put them on. I hadn’t needed them in the warmth of the Pilot before I crashed it, but now I did.

  Hank followed me out, and we trudged through the snowy field and made our way back to the country road. He seemed no worse for the wear, and I thanked God for that. If he were hurt, I’d have to leave him. He was too heavy for me to even dream of carrying. And truthfully, I didn’t think I could leave him. We’d both die in the cold.

  Looking up and down the road, I guessed that this had not been a well travelled road before the invasion, so I figured our chances of a car passing us were slim to none.

  This could either be good or bad, depending on the type of people who might pass by. Judging from the way some people were acting in the midst of the chaos, I wasn’t inclined to easily trust anyone anymore. I didn’t think Hank was, either.

  A wave of helplessness washed over me and I took a shuddering breath. It seemed an impossible thing, to survive the day again. I was cold, and exhausted, and my entire body ached.

  But I had two choices: give up or move on. I wanted to stay alive.

  Survival was the name of the game, by any means. This was a war, and there were casualties.

  I’d do whatever was needed to keep Hank and I safe.

  We continued on the silent road. He stayed close beside me, his head next to my arm. I could easily reach up and pat his head at any time, which I did every few minutes. Hank was all I had left in the world.

  After a while walking, we stopped and I dug out a water bottle, pouring some water into a little plastic bowl I’d brought for him. We both drank a lot. The cold and the fear, the spikes of adrenaline, had leached us both of fluids.

  I poured some dry dog food onto my glove and let him eat a few handfuls.

  Then I dug out a banana I’d taken from the kitchen cupboards at the Doriga house. I ate that quickly, gripped the hammer in my gloved hand, and we moved on.

  My eyes scanned the sides of the road, looking for any sign of a cabin or house where we could hole up for a while.

  Snow shrouded the fields, and the tops of wheat poked through the surface, shivering in the wind.

  I wondered how many underground tunnels lay beneath the snow, so close to where we walked.

  Don’t think about it. Keep looking for shelter.

  Out here in the middle of nowhere, the pickings were slim.

  I was cold and the wind wasn’t kind, every so often tossing snow into my face and eyes. Hank dipped his head down and shook it, trying to rid his eyes and nose of snow. I worried about him. How long before dogs suffered damage to their paws out in the cold?

  But we kept moving.

  Finally, after a couple of hours of walking, I spotted a cottage set way back, up against the woods. A car sat in the driveway. The front door to the house was left open. That meant only one thing.

  The reptiles had been here.

  “Come on, Hank. We’ll be safe here for a little while.” My face was so numb with the cold that I could barely talk.

  The air smelled of wood smoke. I hoped for a wood stove.

  We walked through the snow, up to my knees and a fair way up Hank’s legs. He did a kind of hop over the snow. Like me, his spirits seemed to be bolstered by the sight of the cabin, and the fact that we were heading toward it.

  The garage door was open, housing a white pick-up truck, a beater, to be sure, but it might still run. It was parked haphazardly, like the person parking it had been drunk.

  Or scared out of their mind and near hysterical.

  Wind had driven snow in through the open door, but the cabin felt much warmer than it was outside. That meant there was still heat. Hank and I went cautiously in, and I shut the door behind us. The lights in the kitchen and living room were on. There didn’t seem to be anyone home, but I needed to make sure.

  I crept from room to room, Hank beside me. His ears were raised, listening for movement. His nostrils flared and he sniffed at the air. He let out a growl.

  Someone or something was in the cabin.

  I lifted the hammer, and we warily moved on.

  The first bedroom was off the living room, and was empty. I searched under the bed. Nothing.

  Slowly and quietly, we made our way to the next bedroom, which was off this one. The cabin wasn’t that big, which would make searching it easier. However, it would also mean less hiding spots if we needed to hide.

  Hank’s hackles rose, and his growling grew louder.

  It was daytime, so whatever was in there wasn’t a reptilian.

  “Hello?” I tried. A human might talk back. A deadie would come shuffling toward me.

  And that’s what happened.

  The sound of feet sliding along the floor toward us made a chill shiver up my spine. But at least it wasn’t a reptile. As long as I knew there was a deadie, I could deal with it. It’s when you didn’t hear them sneaking up on you that you were screwed.

  “Here, deadie, deadie, deadie, deadie,” I sang out, lifting the hammer higher. I stepped a foot into the doorway and saw him.

  He had been about thirty when he’d died. It looked like he’d shot himself, but he had apparently missed his brain and the lower half of his jaw was gone. He was coming after me, but there would be no teeth to chew me with, if he caught me.

  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 blank
ets. 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.