“Dad.” Matt’s voice on the other end was like a balm, and Paul could think again. He dropped to the floor, back against the kitchen cupboards.
“Are you okay?” Paul asked.
“No.” Matt’s voice was higher than usual, he sounded ten years younger. Paul thought he was crying. “They’re killing everything. We’re in the tree house, hiding near the back, away from the windows. None of the things are coming near us.”
“Stay there. I’ll come out and get you.”
“No,” Matt screamed. “Stay in the house. They killed P-Pete and Kate. They’ll kill you too.”
“It’s okay, buddy, I’m here. Nothing will happen. I’m with Mr. Gardner and Heather’s mom. We’re all fine.” He didn’t trip on the lie. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to know about Sharon. With his free hand, he punched his leg, harder and harder. He had never felt so powerless in his entire life. His kids needed him.
“Dad, what are these things? Why are they doing this?”
“I don’t know. Just stay low to the ground, okay?” Paul said. “Cover up the windows if you can. Don’t let your sister out of your sight.”
“I won’t. Is Mom with you?”
“No. I haven’t seen her. She was beside me, but…” He stopped. But I left her outside. Christ alive, he left his wife outside to die and didn’t even think about her. In an instant, a kaleidoscope of images bombarded him. Krista, with her sly, half-smile that always held secrets, her dark, curly hair she’d work for so long to straighten, only to have it coil back within hours.
“I saw her with Mr. Keene. Heather’s Dad. I'll call her next.”
“Okay.” Paul tried to work moisture into his mouth. “Call me right back, okay? I need to help people in here.”
“Okay.” Matt paused for a moment. “If we don’t make it, I love you.”
“I love you too, Matt, but none of that, okay? We'll be fine.” Paul had no idea if that were true, but he needed to say the lie out loud.
“I will.”
Matt broke the connection. Now that his head was working, Paul got a proper container of water to take back to Sharon and John. Sounds of her screams no longer reached him and he hoped that meant John had gotten the bleeding under control.
Where is Krista? he thought.
Krista
The sky tore, and Krista watched in mute horror as black objects poured from the rip. The air carried the smell of blood and iron, the remains of her neighbors, murdered by the red lasers. Somewhere, to her left, Paul screamed. She turned to watch him stumble toward the house with John Gardner and Sharon Keene.
He wasn’t with the kids.
Hot panic washed away, and her first thought was: Abby. Days later she’d feel sick about that thought, that terrible, in-moment reaction where she prioritized her daughter. Still, was it any surprise? Matt was Paul’s son, he never felt like hers. Not with their secret jokes and shared interests and weird masculine language that only they seemed to understand.
But now, thoughts of her daughter consumed her, and she panicked, looking for her baby girl. She heard someone scream, “Get in the house” and looked up. Matt leaned out of the tree fort, with Abby clutching his leg. That direction. That’s where she’d run and she’d either find safety or die trying to get to her kids. Fine. An even trade.
An arm wrapped around her waist, jerking her off her feet, pulling her down to the manicured lawn. A body blanketed her and pushed her face close against the earth, so close she smelled weed spray, that sickly sweet odor that meant things dying. She tried to yell, to scream, but the weight crushed her. From above, a man's voice spoke.
“Stay down.”
Martin. What was he doing? Trying to stop her from going to her family? She kicked and struggled, now needing to fight against two things, the oppressive and unwanted help from this giant idiot and the black things that wanted to kill them all.
“Get the fuck off me, you fat shithead!” Not her finest bon mot, but he really was being a fat shithead, and she really needed him the fuck off her.
“Stay down, Kris.” He rolled off and put his hand on her ass. His touch registered in the part of her brain every woman possessed that paid attention to where men put their hands. If she lived through this, she’d have to tell him to fuck off with more force.
She elbowed him in the side and got to her feet. In front of her house, a black dot swooshed down and blasted at one of the neighbors running toward Paul. Greg, she thought his name was. She screamed and watched as Maybe-Greg fell on top of her husband. Even from this far away the blood stood out, the vibrant red showing up in perfect contrast to the manicured green of their front lawn.
I'll never get that blood out of Paul’s shirt, she thought. The fat shithead Martin took his unwanted heroics to the next level and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
There was no stopping it. She was 120 pounds, and he was a fair bit stronger and taller than her. He carried her back into his house, yelling the whole while. She kicked and screamed against his back, but he didn’t slow. Ten steps later and she was inside his house and then thrown to the floor. She slid against the cold linoleum, banging her shoulder against the floorboard. He slammed the door shut and turned, breathing hard.
“We have to stay down,” he said, sitting with his back to the door. His eyes were giant headlights, and she realized he was beyond panic.
“I have to get to my kids,” she said, standing up. He blocked the door with his body.
“You can’t go outside. It’s not safe. I read about this.”
“You read about black ships falling from the sky, murdering everyone? What fucking book was that?”
He shook his head. “No, school shootings. Same thing.”
“This is not the same fucking thing as a school shooting.” She was swearing too much, but when her stress got high, her temper came out to play, and she let it consume her. Hot anger was better than the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
“We need to stay down. Let it pass.” He struggled to get the words out. His cheeks contained mottled patches of red and his breathing came in gasps. She worried he might be having a heart attack.
“Sit down, Martin. You don’t look good. You'll black out. I’ll be fine.”
She looked through the window beside the door to the street outside. One neighbor was running up the street. A black craft descended on him, and those bright red lasers flared. They hit with precision, severing an arm, taking off a leg, blasting through his chest. He died in seconds, reduced to a pile. The black thing floated away, looking for more victims. They dotted the sky. They were everywhere.
“Shit. You’re right. We can’t go out.” With shaking hands, she pulled her phone from her back pocket and texted Matty.
-Are you OK?
Three dots appeared, meaning he was responding. Across from her, Martin had pulled out his phone and was doing the same thing.
-Fine. Talked to Dad. He’s okay. I’m with Abby.
-Stay where you are. Don’t move. Stay away from the windows.
-We’re hiding in back.
-I’ll get you, okay? We’ll figure something out. I love you.
-I love you too, Mom. Be careful. Don’t go outside.
-Once these things leave, we’ll be fine
-DON’T GO OUTSIDE THEY ARE KILLING EVERYTHING!!!
-Okay, I won’t. Stay safe. We’ll figure something out.
Her family was safe. The words alone brought her temper down a notch. She could figure this out, she only needed a bit of time. This didn’t feel like something the police could solve.
She’d fix it.
Liz
Liz watched the black robots fall from the sky and eviscerate her neighbors. There wasn’t any safe place to put her eyes. No matter where she looked, all she saw was blood and piles of flesh. No one was left. Everyone had either escaped or been killed by the black craft that hovered above. She bit the inside of her mouth. What if one of those piles was Pete? S
he sent him text after text, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t responding to calls either. She could hardly hold the phone, her hands trembled so violently.
“What the hell are those things?” Her mom stood beside her and looked out the window, peeking through the drapes. Liz wanted to reach out for a hug but didn’t know how her mom would react. Instead, she tried to steady herself and help.
“I’ll call 9-1-1.” Liz punched the numbers into her phone, happy to be doing something. The connection took longer than normal and when it went through, it routed her to a pre-recorded voice, telling her all lines were busy and to hold for the next available operator.
“What are they saying?”
“I’m on hold.”
They were both crouching on the living room floor where they had an uninterrupted sightline to the carnage. Her mom blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Heather’s parents made it inside. The Carters, too. My God, Liz, they killed so many people. The streets are covered in corpses.”
Liz tried to be brave, but hearing those words caused her to tear up, thinking about Pete. What if he was hurt somewhere? Why wouldn’t he answer his phone? She took slow breaths to bring her heart rate under control.
“There.” Her mom grabbed her forearm, the same one with the burn, and Liz gasped in pain. “I can see Mrs. Candling, hiding under her car. She’s still alive.” Alexandra got to her feet and leaned closer to the window. “Those things are everywhere. They come in close, shoot, and then go back to hovering in the sky.”
Outside the big picture window, Liz counted at least fifteen. They were black and sleek, and their exterior seemed wet somehow. They were smaller than cars, no longer than five feet across. There was no way to tell how they flew or where the lasers came out of.
“They’re drones,” Alexandra said. “I bet this is the Muslims.”
Liz barked a bitter laugh and covered her mouth. “Are Muslims known for their kill-drone technology?”
“What else do you think they are?”
“I don’t know.”
In her phone, there was a click and a female voice on the other end said, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” The voice sounded rushed and frantic.
“Please help,” the words poured from Liz in a rush. “Come help. We’re on Poplar Street, there are black egg-shaped robots, killing everyone.”
“Stay in your house. Don’t go outside. If you have a basement, even better.” The woman tried to project steady calm, but her heavy breathing and clipped sentences revealed her fear. The monsters terrified the 911 woman. For whatever reason, this scared Liz more than the invaders.
“Are you sending someone?”
“We can’t. The lines are flooded with calls from all over the city. We don’t know what’s happening. Those things are everywhere. An officer will respond as soon as possible.”
“That’s it? This is an emergency, you have to come.” She struggled to stop herself from yelling. Liz felt cheated. She followed the rules, and the rules said call the police.
"I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do right now." The woman paused. "Oh god. They've destroyed another ambulance. Christ.”
"Please, can you help or not?" It took an effort to stop herself from screaming.
"This is the end," the woman said. "The end of everything. They're... they're killing all of us. Every time we send a car, they-" The woman paused, and Liz realized she was crying. "Stay indoors. Don't go outside." There was a click from the other end and the connection was severed.
Liz threw her phone on the couch with a tiny scream and twisted the sleeves of her shirt. “They’re not coming.”
“What? Why not?” Alexandra tore her eyes from the window.
“They said these things are everywhere and there are too many people being attacked.” Even saying the words threatened to overcome the thin veneer of measure she’d been able to maintain.
“My God. What now?”
Liz wrung her hands and tried to figure out what to do next. Weren’t parents supposed to protect their kids in a crisis and not the other way around? Liz was about to respond when Alexandra looked back out the window and pointed. “Holy shit, she’s making a run for it.”
Far down the street, Liz saw Mrs. Candling under the car. The older woman stretched her arms, dragging herself out from underneath. She squinted upwards at the sky.
“Come on, you bitch! Run!” Alexandra yelled at the window.
It was like watching actors on a stage. Mrs. Candling was so far away. She got about three steps when two of the black vessels rushed her, firing their lasers. It was over in seconds.
“Jesus Christ,” Alexandra’s booming voice lowered to a whisper.
It couldn’t get worse. Trapped inside, surrounded by kill-robots, Pete missing, maybe dead, watching their neighbors getting reduced to soaking piles of bone. What else could happen?
It got worse.
The black things stopped their lazy hovering as if sharing a silent communication. A group broke off and rushed towards the multiple dead bodies that lay in heaps on the road.
“What now?” Liz whispered and reached out to her mom.
A blood-soaked body lay crumpled on the street in front of the house. It looked like an adult. Not Pete. She couldn’t stop the thought from coming and tried to swallow her guilt. The craft flew low and positioned itself over the corpse.
It ate the body.
No other description fit. A compartment opened on the bottom and a series of sharp, wicked-looking protrusions on the end of thin arms emerged. They sawed and hacked at the corpse, dividing it into pieces and scooping up the remains into the compartment. Blood dripped from the underside of the thing, and although it was impossible to hear bones crunching from this far way, she swore she heard something. It scooped pieces of human into the hatch and ate them up.
The process only took moments and when the kill-bot floated back to its resting level, at the roof line twenty feet off the ground, nothing remained of the body. Only a bloodstain where a person used to be.
“They ate him.” Liz covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed back bile. Down the road, other craft did the same thing to other bodies. Alexandra made strangled choking noises.
Neither of them said anything. What was there to say?
Coughing into the back of her hand, her mom made a rush to the kitchen shelf above the fridge. She stood on her toes to reach up and grab a bottle of vodka. She didn’t bother with a glass. With a practiced snap of her fingers, she spun the cap off and took three large swallows from the neck. Glug, glug, glug.
“What the fuck, Mom?” Liz couldn’t keep the sick disappointment from her voice. She couldn’t believe she swore. She never swore at her mom. And her mom never drank like this in front of her.
“I needed a break,” her mom said. “Only a break Elizabeth, that’s all. It’s fine. We’re going to be fine. I’m going to have a few drinks and then once I’m done, I’ll have some ideas.”
“Drinking isn't a great idea, mom.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think!” Alexandra slammed the bottle down on the table and Liz jumped back, horrified at the rage she saw smoldering in her mom’s eyes. How was this happening during the day? Her mom never acted like this during the day, those were the safe times. Was she going to be hit now? If the day wasn’t safe anymore, Liz didn’t know how she’d be able to bear it.
“I’m sorry, mom,” she whispered. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad, Liz.” Her mom wiped a trembling hand across her forehead. “I need to think. Can you give me some time here?”
Liz didn't trust herself to open her mouth, and instead nodded, keeping her head low and trying to make herself small. She backed out of the kitchen while her mom continued to murmur to herself about needing time.
She couldn’t bear to look out the window anymore. The images she’d seen would stay with her for the rest of her life. And her mom was no help. Pete wasn’t answering his p
hone, and she refused to think about what that might mean.
With no other ideas, she closed the blinds and curled up on the big recliner in the living room, tucking her knees to her chest and hugging herself.
“We’ll be fine,” she said, low enough so the words wouldn't travel to her mom. “We’ll be fine.”
She stayed that way until nightfall.
Matt
Matt made Abby look away when the black things ate their neighbors, but he forced himself to watch when they descended on Pete’s family. On his second Mom. On Deidre.
“Come away from the window, Matty. Don’t watch,” Heather called out from the beanbag chair where she sat with Abby, who tucked her head into her chest.
But Matt couldn’t stop looking. He couldn’t do anything for Deidre, and he’d never hear her laugh again, or have her burst in on him and Pete, demanding tickles, but he needed to do something. She was gone, with no body to bury and he needed to protect her memory. She deserved better, but this was as much as he could offer: watching a terrifying drone consume her fragile, tiny corpse. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he didn’t look away and he didn’t blink when the tears dropped from his eyes.
When it was over, he closed the tattered drapes that hung over the irregular cuts in the walls that acted as windows and dropped beside Heather and Abby on the beanbag chair. Heather had pulled her phone out and was flipping through news channels and video uploads.
The same stories played out all over the world. Thousands of rips in the sky, followed by millions of black drones, killing anyone who stepped foot outside. Everywhere, across every city, the footage showed carnage and destruction. Breathless reporters, stuck inside, guessed at the estimated deaths. In the thousands. No, hundreds of thousands. No, millions. In densely populated areas of the world, it was genocide. There were shots of literal streams of blood running down First Avenue in New York City. Then Hong Kong, where the bodies piled so high they looked like ant hills. And everywhere, those black egg-shaped drones, firing chainsaw lasers before dropping low to eat the bodies.
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