“We’re trying to see if any blood is getting through to my foot. Give them a small poke.”
He nudged her toe. “Anything?”
“Not really. Fuzzy. Not numb, but close. Once the ambulance or police come, I’ll be fine. Was there any more word about that?”
“Only to stay inside the house. Nothing more than that. I think it might be a while before anyone comes.”
“Oh. Okay.” A universe of glum despair lived in those two words and he glimpsed what she must be like at home. Keep her unhappiness to herself so her family didn’t suffer. His heart ached, and he cast about for something to keep her spirits up.
“Tis only a flesh wound, m’lady.” Against all reason, Paul adopted an exaggerated British accent, mimicking what’s he’d heard from John. He doffed an imaginary hat at her. “It’s hardly worth the bother, wut.”
Sharon laughed a little. “That’s a horrible accent and I’m insulted on John’s behalf.”
“Yes. It’s awful. How’s the pain?”
“Not as bad as I would have thought if you told me two days ago I’d be sitting on your bed, missing most of my leg. The Ativan you gave me is helping a lot; it’s making the pain bearable. Is there any left?”
“Yeah, Krista had about half a bottle that I’ll leave on your night stand with the Tylenol.” He had never felt more pathetically useless in his life.
“I’m sorry I’m such a bother,” she said.
“It’s no bother. I’m going put everything back and then we’ll see about getting you something to eat, okay?
Their conversation was interrupted by the abrupt blare of the alien sirens going off. They both clapped their hands to their ears and closed their eyes while waiting for it to pass. It seemed to Paul the sound was getting worse. It pierced into his skull, like digging an ice pick into his brain. His eyes watered, and he ground his teeth.
As soon as it started, it stopped, leaving behind a silence so profound he had to swallow a few times to pop his ears.
“God help us,” Sharon said. She wiped tears off her cheeks. “That’s horrible. It never stops.”
“Tonight, I’m getting us all ear plugs,” he replied. “We have some from when we went on vacation and they might help. At least, it can’t be worse.”
“Anything,” she said, nodding. She paused for a moment and cocked her head to the side. “You haven’t told Martin or Heather about this, have you?”
“No. I haven’t. But I think we should.”
“Good.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t tell them. They have enough to worry about without stupid old me. Besides, even if it takes time, I’m sure we’ll be out of this soon, and then I’ll be fine. There’s no need to add to their stress. Right?”
“Right.” He gave her a thumbs up and pulled the cover back over her leg. With a last check to make sure she was comfortable, he told her to rest and left the room on soft feet. It felt right to tiptoe.
In the hallway, John came out the bathroom, wiping his thinning gray hair back from the temples. He still wore the same clothes from yesterday. Paul had a few shirts that might fit if he didn’t mind the stretch. John poked a finger in his ear and grimaced.
“You know what helps with that noise?” he asked.
“What?”
“Not a god damn thing.”
Paul stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter. After the stress of the day, it was good to get some of it out and he found he couldn’t stop. He realized he was on the edge of hysteria and he bit back his giggles before they turned maniacal.
“How is she?” John asked.
“Not good. The bleeding won’t stop and she’s pale. We can keep her from the worst of the pain with pills, but she needs real medical attention.”
“Hopefully someone will figure something out and come get us.”
Paul considered it. “We should find out everything we can. Get on the computers. People have been posting non stop about this. Someone must have figured something out. Maybe we can get ideas, or at least figure how to get food to the kids. If we don’t do something soon, Krista will run outside, killer robots or not.”
John clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll get to looking. I’m no wiz with computers, but I can stumble my way around.”
Paul glanced outside the window. The sun had fallen, and it was too dark to see the hovering robots. As crazy as this seemed, they had been stuck inside for over 24 hours now. One solid day. And his kids were about to do a second night in the tree house, with no water.
He needed a plan.
Liz
The wind blew outside, causing small bits of debris to plink off Liz’s window. When she was little, she found storms comforting. She loved hiding under the covers, hearing the strength of the weather outside, knowing it couldn’t hurt her. Knowing it was safe.
Tap tap. The wind continued to throw things at her window, and she sighed before getting out of bed. The clock read 12:30a.m. She should be exhausted, but she couldn’t force her mind to shut down. Too much happening.
Her Mother had been going steady at the booze since the afternoon and had passed out after dinner, face down on the living room couch. Liz had thrown a blanket over her, more out of habit than anything. After that, she stayed up, watching more TV. She couldn’t stop.
Everyone agreed that this was an actual alien attack. They never used the term ‘aliens’, they’d dress it up pretty and say, ‘attack of unknown origin’ or ‘crafts not known anywhere on Earth’. Lots of words, lots of theories. They meant the same thing. Aliens. No one had figured out what they wanted or why they were here. Only that those drones would kill anything that stepped foot outside. The bigger list was all the things they didn’t know.
Why didn’t they attack people in buildings or parked cars?
What’s with the alarms that went off a few times a day?
Why did they leave smaller animals alone?
She rested her arms against the ledge of her window, her blanket over her shoulders, and tried to see outside. The outline of the tree house in the middle of the street was visible from glow from the street lights. She worried about Heather. There was no way to survive out there for any length of time. Her best friend slept half a football field away, but it might as well be the moon. And still no answer from Pete. He must be dead.
All day, she had been trying to avoid that thought, but at night it was impossible to escape. Pete, her boyfriend, her love, her friend, was dead. Killed by aliens, torn to pieces by those lasers. She wasn’t sure what to do with all the emotion that rushed to the surface, so she buried her face in her hands and cried.
It didn’t come out hard; it was gentle sobbing, thinking about her loss. Pete was dead, and she loved him, and she was sad. Straightforward. She wished she could talk to him one more time. Hear his voice. Anything. How would she be able to go on without him? All their late-night calls, the times he stayed up with her on the phone after Alexandra had a violent night, she’d never have that again. So, she cried and thought about him, his face, his smile and hoped she’d be able to remember him the way he deserved to be remembered.
Outside, in the distance, a red laser flashed once, twice, illuminating the night sky and making her jump with the noise. She dropped to her bum with a thump, her back against the wall, hugging her arms to her chest.
Holy shit. What were they shooting at? Was someone making a break for it? To where? Did this mean the aliens could also see at night? She held her breath, worried that somehow the alien was after her. But no, she was safe. She was indoors. That was the rule, the President said so. Stay inside and stay safe.
With a loud bang, the door to her room burst open, causing her to let out a little scream. Events tonight seemed determined to terrify her. Backlit against the light in the hall, the imposing silhouette of her mother filled the doorway.
Alexandra. Nothing behind her eyes.
“Whazzat?” She pointed at Liz’s window, drunk out of her mind. Liz a
ssumed she’d be down for the night. It was hard to resist the urge to crawl under the bed, to hide. She gripped her blanket hard enough to make them cramp but kept her body still as possible.
“It’s the wind, Mom. Go to sleep.” She tried to make her voice small, with no inflection at all. Nothing to get mad at, nothing to notice.
“No whazZAT?” Her mom lurched into the room, banging against the desk inside the door and knocking over a lamp. She pointed at scraps of paper and Liz had no idea what she was upset about. It hardly even mattered, honestly. Her mom would see offenses in everything. Every shadow concealed a fight.
“It’s paper, Mom. Nothing else.” This could be bad. Alexandra in her room. Alexandra looking at her, interacting with her. Liz clenched every muscle in her body, but none of it showed in her expression, which she kept neutral. Her mom grabbed the papers and squinted at them, looking for writing, for anything that could be used as an excuse. She was so drunk she couldn’t see straight.
“You writing ‘bout me?”
“No, Mom, there’s nothing on the pages. I’m not writing about you’d, I’d never-”
Alexandra hit her in the face, a full-arm shot that snapped Liz’s head back so hard she bit her lip and tasted blood. She felt the burning hot hand print on her cheek and stared at her mom in shock. As always, the shame came next. Why would she feel ashamed? She never could figure it out, but there it was. She hunched into herself, bracing for the next punch, if it would come. Blocking only made it worse.
“Smuh-muth bisch.”
Her mom nodded once, satisfied, bounced off the door frame, and stumbled down the hallway. Liz stood for a few more moments, letting the heat from the slap live on her cheek. She would not cry. If she pretended it was fine, it would be fine and then she’d win. Besides, her mom didn’t mean anything; it had been a hard day for them both. It didn’t even hurt that much, and-
A barking sob escaped, and she swallowed it back. It tasted like poison. She continued standing, rock-still, and although the slap hurt, she refused to touch her face. She would not comfort herself and she wouldn’t cry.
For several minutes she formed her heart into a fist, a clenched and angry thing that didn’t care about being hurt. A single tear rolled down her face, the good side, and she accepted this as a truce.
One more shaky breath to confirm she wouldn't cry, and she let herself rub her wounded cheek. It wasn’t fair that she needed to deal with both aliens and a drunken, abusive mother. Wasn’t one enough? She couldn’t stay in this house for long.
Alexandra was getting worse.
Day 3: The Drone
Matt
The ear-splitting alarm tore through the tree house and Matt screamed, sitting upright. He covered his head with his arms and whimpered. Beside him, Abby and Heather hugged each other, curled into the beanbag chair. Abby wept with frustration, but kept her eyes closed.
He looked at his phone. Two fucking hours. Why did this alarm come so fast on the heels of the last? This was the shortest interval he’d recorded. The longest had been over six hours. They spent the night grabbing snippets of sleep in tiny chunks, but never enough to feel rested. After two days of this, he could barely keep his thoughts in order. If he fell asleep the alarm would only wake him again.
Sunlight crept through the windows, meaning they’d survived their second night. He lay back, trying to find a comfortable spot on the rickety floor of the tree house and listened to Abby’s deep breaths beside him and the wheezing rattle that meant her asthma was arriving. She was having a lot of trouble. They all were. So many things to worry about. He couldn’t stop his head from spinning, trying to work through all the problems.
The worst was the numbers. He hadn’t mentioned this to Heather, but the chainsaw rip of lasers continued to fire in the distance. Not that often, but enough. About five to ten an hour. Which meant people were trying to get out of their houses. He didn’t want to do the math, but he couldn’t stop himself. It came too easy and his shithead brain seemed to delight in forcing him through the formulas.
Sound at that decibel would carry at least four or five miles, Matty Boy, his brain told him. How many houses do you think are in a five-mile radius? There must be thirty to a street, and if you hear noises as far as Chillhorn Avenue, the one that runs North/South, why there’s probably close to twenty roads, all filled with houses.
Stop it, Matt told his brain, but it kept going.
Let’s say twenty streets, Matty, and let’s say thirty houses a street. Six hundred houses, easy, and given the average population of 4.2 people per household-
STOP IT.
You’re looking at 2,500 people, at least. Families, kids, parents. And how many do you think they got on that first day? Sunny day out, middle of the afternoon? They hear the noise when the sky rips; they go outside to see what’s going on, don’t you think, Matty Boy?
Please, Matt begged, but when his brain was on, it was on, and my oh my, his brain was full steam ahead right now.
Let’s say the aliens killed half. That’s probably high but say there are 1,200 people left in their houses. If the lasers are shooting 5 to 10 an hour, assuming people are only trying to escape in the daytime, that’s 90 to 180 people a day, Matty. Now, let’s have real fun, and assume the demographics work past a five-mile radius. Because then, the daily death count would be closer to-
But finally, Matt stomped his brain to silence. He understood the math. He got what it meant. The aliens had them trapped, sure as sure, and unless he put his stupid head to work on solving this problem, they’d stay trapped. Fortunately, he thought maybe he’d figured a way to get them some food and water. An actual idea. Not a great one, but usable. Workable. And any idea was better than sitting here, watching Abby fade one exhausted breath at a time. Even with promises to ration the crackers they found, they were gone as of late yesterday. Hardly enough for three people.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Heather interrupted his musing, whispering over the top of Abby’s head. He didn’t realize she had given up trying to sleep. Her nearness was distracting. Odd. He’d never paid much attention to her when she was a neighbor, but now they were stuck close together, he couldn’t imagine getting through this without her. He’d thought she was just a jock, but there was a brain working under that soft blonde hair, and she was funny too. Most distractingly, when he got close, he detected the faint smell of strawberries, the leftover remnants of whatever shampoo she’d used on Sunday.
“I have an idea how we can get food,” he whispered back.
“Tell me.” Heather crawled off the beanbag chair and came to lie down beside him.
“My dad got a drone last month, one of those tiny ones with a remote control, you know? It’s got the four rotators on the bottom.”
“Yeah, I remember you guys playing with that out front. Didn’t you crash?”
Matt didn’t know she had been watching, and he blushed.
“We had trouble with the controls. Those things don’t have much lift, but I bet it would carry a small bottle of water, or a sandwich or something. It wouldn’t fly perfect and it would take a few tries, but I bet my dad could fly something over.”
Heather stared over his head, thinking. He bit his lip. She would make fun of him. He knew he should have kept his dumb mouth shut. It was a stupid idea.
“Wouldn’t the aliens shoot it down?” she asked, and he let out a breath. Not a joke, but a legitimate question.
“I thought about that too. They’re not going after animals. Or small things. There are still squirrels running around everywhere, and you can hear the birds in the morning. Maybe they’re somehow only designed to go after humans.” He shrugged. “Or at least something human-sized.”
“If they don’t shoot it, it might work.” She still stared into the distance. Something else was going through her head.
“I’m giving you your penny back. What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t think we should fly over water,” she said.
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“Why not? What else do we need? It’s the most immediate thing.”
“We should fly over a rope.”
Matt blinked and understanding flashed through his mind.
“Like a transport line. That’s your idea, isn’t it?”
“Basically.” She got up to pace, her excitement overcoming their exhaustion. “Your dad finds the longest rope he can get together, a couple hundred feet.”
“He flies one end of the line over to us.” He picked up her idea. “We can attach the other end to a container or something.”
“Exactly. Then your dad can fill the container with as much as it holds, and we pull it over to us. The only thing would be how we get it back. It would only work for one trip.”
“Not if he tied a line to the other side,” Matt said. “We could haul it back and forth between the houses. One line for us, one line for him. Like a pulley system”
“Holy shit, Matty. This will work.” She grabbed him by the forearm.
“Matt,” he said.
“What?”
“Everyone calls me Matty, but I prefer Matt. I’ve… I’ve never told anyone that. Not even my dad.”
“Matt.” She smiled at him. “You could have told me.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t want to make a big deal. It’s fine. Whatever.”
“What are you talking about?” Behind them, Abby was stirring, rubbing her eyes.
“Your brilliant brother may have saved us all,” Heather said.
“It was all Heather,” Matt corrected. “My idea was junk until she fixed it.”
They fell over each other trying to hand off the credit, their words jumbling into one another. They stopped for a beat and both laughed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Call your dad, Matt. Tell him the plan.”
Such a small thing, to cause this much excitement, but for the first time in two days, Matt thought they might have a shot of getting through this.
Aliens and Ice Cream Page 9