by Alex Mersey
It was that reason, that threat, that drove him into action.
He needed to know and there was one way to find out, so he bit down on his back teeth and crept to the edge of the bush. Pulse thrumming like an internal warning system, he watched the road from his oblique angle until the wave of the procession ebbed away. Then he picked up the trail again, spotting and assessing as he cut corners across fields and flattened himself to trees.
The timing, the place, if he got either of those wrong, he was done for.
The afternoon grew shadows, the sun fading in and out through a film of wispy cirrus cloud cover. A manic thunderstorm would have been a good distraction, but that wasn’t on the horizon.
Just me and my half-baked plan.
The perfect place showed itself too soon, put a knot in his stomach. He wasn’t ready and he couldn’t pass it by. The procession followed the left fork in the road, leading to an ancient stone bridge that crossed a thin stream and then dipped steeply into thick bush and overhanging trees clustered on the banks. Chris could cut across the triangle, beat them to the bridge, and there was enough foliage to cover him.
He veered off into the scrub of land, beating a direct path to the stream. He scrambled down the bank and hopped over the trickle of barely flowing water, crawled up the other side with no time to spare. They were already on the bridge. It was just as well. His nerves were coiled like a tension spring and he really didn’t need time to think about how many ways this could go bad.
He watched his step, picking a light path over the twigs and brittle leaves browned on the ground, anything that could crunch. The greenery was thick, almost too thick, creeping vines tangled in with the trees and low hanging branches that encroached upon the stone posts of the bridge.
The head of the wave swept past just as Chris found a breach where the vines loosened. He squinted through the veil, sucking on shallow breaths, and started counting.
Too fast. The first Silver crossed his line of vision at one thousand and six.
He adjusted the count and concentrated. He couldn’t make out the passing faces from where he hid, didn’t know when or if Alli crossed, but the pale white Silvers were easy to discern. The second one came right on his count, one thousand and forty three. Chris waited a couple more heartbeats and then he brushed aside the veil to get a proper look, which also put him in full view of anyone who bothered to glance his way. No one did. Not Frank Henderson as he marched by, close enough to reach out and touch. Not Doc Nate, walking deep in the pack a step behind Todd. The whole damn town was here. Even Jake had made it back in time to be scooped into this net.
And then Raven was almost within reach, her chin tipped high, snow white hair flowing down her back.
Chris glanced down the tail of the procession. The last Silver was obscured by that half minute delay and the curve of the bridges arch.
Now or never.
He stepped out and snatched Raven in a series of flash moves that went exactly as he’d planned. A hard grip on her arm, yanking her out of position. At the same time, he wrapped an arm over her shoulder and slapped his hand over her mouth—to muffle any surprise yelps and clasp the back of her head against his chest as he dragged her through the veil of vines.
“Raven, it’s me, Chris,” he whispered urgently against her ear, keeping her body locked to his, her mouth muzzled with his palm.
Raven didn’t struggle, didn’t try to turn around or shout. She didn’t get rattled by much, but he’d expected at least a little fall-out from her. She’d been abducted by aliens. Then yanked off into a bush by an unseen hand.
His heart knocked against his ribcage. Blood rushed his veins like a damn freight train as he waited.
Waited for the Silver to come crashing through to his hiding spot.
Waited for his plan to blow up.
It can’t be as easy as this.
But no one raised the alarm and no one came.
He slid his hand from her mouth. “I think we’re okay.”
“I have to go,” she said at normal volume, a siren in the quietness.
“Shhh…” He spun her around to face him, his voice barely a whisper. “What the hell, Raven, they’re right there.” He prodded the overgrown roadside bush and trees with a worried look. “You’re safe, okay? I don’t think they saw anything.”
She turned from him. “I have to go.”
“Not yet.” He grabbed her hand, held on tight as he studied her slack expression, dulled eyes. He’d been wrong about no fall-out, this was it, somewhere between shock and repressed panic. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we can’t leave yet. I have to see where they’re taking everyone.”
Her hand tugged in his and he loosened his grip, wanting her to feel safe, not scared. “Raven, did they hurt anyone? What did the Silvers do? Why are people too afraid to— Raven!” he hissed as she slipped his grip, darted through the mesh of leaves and branches before his reflexes kicked in.
Dammit.
He swatted through the thick brush, furious at himself for being so careless. Of course she wasn’t thinking straight. She was probably a breath away from complete meltdown. He peered up the road, saw the tail of the procession about twenty yards ahead with the two Silvers bringing up the rear. Oblivious to their escapee and the disruption at their backs. But not for long. Raven was headed for them, rapidly closing the gap with her speed walk.
There was no time to wonder what she was doing or why. Chris went after her, running with as light a tread as he could manage, keeping to the scrub along the side of the road. One eye on Raven, only seconds from his reach. The other on the trailing Silvers, on their relentless onward march. If they had super-hearing or any super-senses, it was tuned to another frequency today. They acted deaf, dumb and blind to anything other than their goal to march their captive humans forward.
He made another snatch and grab for Raven, swiped her by the arm but it was more like a running tackle and he lost control of his momentum, took them down into a wall of hardwood bush.
“No…!” she screamed, a shrill scream to wake the dead.
Chris rolled on top of her, slipped his hand beneath to clamp her mouth. His heart stampeded, the roar of blood drowning out all else. He didn’t dare move a muscle. They were partially tucked into the bush, sprawl of legs just visible from the road. If the Silvers glanced back, they might not see. If they come to investigate, we’re fucked.
He had to move.
He had to see.
Chris shifted his weight, couldn’t stretch far without releasing Raven and he wasn’t making that mistake again. He craned his neck, used his chin to press aside a fan of broad leaves and his breath hitched. Not deaf or totally dumb. One of the Silvers had broken away, turned back down the road, trapping Chris in a long moment of flight or fight indecision. He couldn’t see the body of townsfolk. Couldn’t see any of the other Silvers. Just this one, approaching with that graceful, unhurried gait, narrow head cocked toward the tangled bush and trees.
There was nothing to think about!
“Run,” he barked at Raven, rolling off her to his knees, pulling her up from the dirt and with a small shove in the right direction, through the dense thickets.
He squeezed in behind, had to reach around her crouched form to snap thin branches and bend back nature to force their path. Thick splinters tore at his hands and arms, but Raven was moving, and they popped out on the other side.
Raven straightened. “I need to go.”
“Yeah, we’re going.” The graded slope was packed with trees leading down to the stream. Across that, a field scrubbed with enough cover to get them to the farmland, acres of corn, stalks almost five foot high. He cupped her wrist, tugged to lead the way. “Come on.”
She dug her heels in.
“Raven,” he urged, glaring at her. He understood. She was confused, a mess of fear, panic, whatever the fuck, but they didn’t have time for this. “We’ll come back for your family, for Rachel, for everyone, I swear,
but right now we need—” The bush beside him shook.
“Run, now or never,” he spat and took off, throwing one last desperate look over his shoulder as he zig-zagged between the trees.
She turned her back on him and stood there patiently as the Silver stepped out from the crush of entwined branches and clustered leaves.
As much as he hated leaving her behind, he couldn’t save her now, didn’t know how to save her, didn’t even know if she wanted to be saved.
He plastered himself to the gnarled trunk of an age-old oak and poked his head around.
The Silver didn’t look at Raven, merely held back the bush like a damned gentleman for her to pass through while he cocked his head and swept those odd, round blue eyes over the area.
I have to go. She hadn’t meant getting away from here, or getting away with him. She’d been telling him all along, he just hadn’t listened right. She had to go. With them.
Chris pulled back a fraction, relying on the shadows to do the rest. He had to see when and if the Silver came at him. The seconds ticked, and the Silver watched, listened, waited for his prey to move. Neither blind nor deaf nor stupid.
Well, Chris wasn’t stupid either. The Silver had two options, give up or pick a direction to start his hunt. And there was no immediately obvious course, no reason for the Silver to suspect his exact location. Chris breathed as quietly as possible, held himself rigid stiff. Unless he was seriously unlucky, which he didn’t rule out, he’d get some berth to sneak off when the Silver made his move.
It was the third option that got him, the one he hadn’t seen coming.
The Silver swung his arm up, away from where Chris hid, and he couldn’t see properly, but the arm appeared to be growing, lengthening… His gaze snapped wide as a pin prick laser shot out, startling white like the sheerest slice of a lightning bolt. The laser struck a tree and for just a moment, the trick of an eye, the substance of the trunk melted into a swirl of plastic, and then the tree was gone. The massive canopy and reach of leafy boughs, the solid span of trunk, all floating to the ground in a flurry of ash.
Chris swallowed, tried to, his mouth suddenly too dry to form saliva. He’d seen something of the wastelands left behind from the initial invasion strike, when the news channels had still been broadcasting, but this was fucked up, this was right before his eyes, this was… His gaze snapped wide again, he couldn’t control it, as a squat bush not far from him went the same way as the tree. Another bush closer to the road. Another tree on the Silver’s other side. The random targeting didn’t make a sound and didn’t distract the Silver, he didn’t look to lock his aim. He stood in place, his gaze sweeping, confident he was about to flush Chris out like a frightened rabbit.
Maybe he’d get bored before he’d incinerated the entire area. And maybe he’d hit bingo on the next strike. That slim chance lit a fire under Chris’ butt. He slunk out of sight and slipped away between the trees toward the stream.
Every creak of the undergrowth beneath his feet cracked like thunder to his ears. His skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, tracked, and he couldn’t shake the horrific thoughts crowding his brain. Was this how the Silvers had subdued the town? Made an example of anyone who dared defy? Maybe even taken a couple of pot shots to preempt resistance? Suddenly all those missing faces weren’t just lost in the blur of bodies. Rachel. Beth. Bran. June Henderson. He should have looked harder.
A brush of movement came at his left. In a burst of panic, Chris darted the other way, making too much noise, too much noise…not him. The noise came at his back, firm footfalls that didn’t care about being heard, branches slapped out of the way. Chris forgot about sneaking and leapt into a flying run, slammed to a halt where the ground dropped away to the stream, panting breaths of pure terror as he looked down. It was a trickle of water now, but the dry bed was about 10 feet wide, 10 feet of exposure with the Silver right on his tail.
He changed course, along the top of the steep bank toward the bridge, had just ducked through the trees onto the road when he felt the spot of heat on the back of his neck. A deep, penetrating warmth that didn’t hurt, wasn’t even unpleasant. He knew he’d been shot, at least he thought he knew… As he turned, the red laser beam slipped off his skin. The Silver dropped his aim and the beam faded, but the heat sensation continued to spread, deep into his veins, thickening his blood and carrying that warmth.
Chris tilted his head back to look into the eyes of the Silver, pale blue beady eyes that were as alien as the rest of him, but there was no panic, no fear, no urge to flee.
He wondered if this was it, if his body was already floating around him like snowflakes fluttering to the ground, and then even that curiosity slowly drained away. It was that moment just before dropping off, when sleep stole every thought as it formed, that moment when the day was done and the world stood still and you could just be.
Chris knew exactly where he was, the predicament he was in. He knew the Silver in front of him had invaded earth, decimated and destroyed, was on the verge of wiping out humanity. He just didn’t really feel it, the fear and hate and hopelessness.
He remembered everyone and everything about his life. He was here, now, because his dad had sent him away from the bunker, from his side, sent Chris off into the wasteland of America. He knew Williams was one of the few people who’d never let him down, and he knew how ironic that was because he’d always resented the agent, pushed and pulled against the restriction, hated having to account for every hour of his day. The knowledge was there, like a fact sheet he’d studied and had no wish to ponder further.
He had no idea how long he stood there, didn’t wonder about such things. In that void of nothingness, a suggestion was planted. Not an instruction or command that could be spoken, not as intrusive as an actual thought. More primal than that, born in some inaccessible corner of his subconscious.
He should join the townsfolk on the road.
March with them.
Go where the Silvers led.
The suggestion wasn’t very persuasive, just the vague notion of an idea. But it grew in the absence of all else. Dominated where there were no other contemplations or emotions or clutter. Compelled him into action.
I have to go.
The Silver led the way and Chris followed. The others had come to a halt and he joined the ranks at the back, and then they started marching again and he marched. He recognized the choppy brown hair of the girl one row forward, two spots to his right. Rachel. He remembered how much he’d liked her, really liked her, and how quickly she’d cut him loose and gone running to Bran with his secret.
Chris remembered it all.
He knew how he felt, but he didn’t feel it.
The emotions were cardboard and the people were characters in a script. He couldn’t seem to hold onto a thought long enough to explore it. Marching to the heartbeat of this procession was all-consuming, the only thing that mattered, the only thing he had to do today. So he marched, marched as the road wound up around a hill and then ran into an abrupt end at an ornate iron-cast gate.
- 11 -
Sean
Sunrise Farm had something on their mind and that’s where Sean started.
Jacob was still on the gate and he opened it just enough to slip through. He motioned for Sean to roll down his window. “Everyone okay in town? We heard gun fire, a couple of bursts, then nothing.”
“Did you send someone to check it out?”
Jacob grunted. “Martha said no.”
Of course she did.
Martha had a handful of men, women and children to protect the farm. The town had an entire army unit. That was exactly Martha’s sort of logic.
“Tell Martha…” Sean trailed off, staring down the farm road beyond the gate. He didn’t want to do this emergency conference now, but he couldn’t leave without warning them. “Is she up at the house?”
“Sure is.” Jacob swung the gate wider and stood aside to let Sean pass.
The farm house
nestled in a clutch of leafy trees. It was a short drive and Sean didn’t see anyone around. Not unusual. This was a dairy farm, milk and eggs. Most of the work was done by a quarter after sunrise.
By the time he’d pulled up and hopped out of the truck, Martha was waiting on the front porch, fists on hips, mouth flattened into a scowling line. “What’s happening in your town?”
“Martha,” he greeted as he climbed the steps.
The mother of three teenagers had a no-nonsense attitude and a flare for taking charge. Within hours of moving in with the other refugees Sean had placed here, she’d whipped the situation to shape her and established herself as the matriarch of this new cobbled together family.
“We’ve had an incident,” Sean informed her. An event? An occurrence? How did one label the mass disappearance?
He acknowledged the gaunt-faced man leaning against the door frame with a nod, Martha’s husband, then went on to fill them in, a brief outline that mostly highlighted how little he knew. “You didn’t see or hear anything besides those bursts of gun fire?”
“You think that had something to do with it?” asked the husband.
“Yes,” Sean said. The machine gun fire was not a coincidence. But either that was the shortest battle in history, or the two sides had realized they were friend not foe. “Yes, I do. Have you had any disturbances here?”
“It’s been quiet,” Martha said. “And we’ve got a guard stationed 24/7 on the gate.”
“No movement on the road?”
She gave him a look. “That’s what I said. So what are we thinking? Marauders? Silvers?”
“The hand of God?” Sean offered. He actually had a more viable theory, but it was too volatile to share until he knew the absolute truth. “Speculation doesn’t get us anywhere. I’m going to see if the other farms know anything. Meanwhile, keep this place locked down tight.”
“You’ll let us know?”
