He grew uncomfortable watching John sob over the boy, so he drifted back into the room Sharon rested in. Lately, he’d started talking to her. At first, he did it so she’d know he was there and so she wouldn’t be so scared, but over the past couple hours, he’d heard her responses in his head. Silliness, but it kept the isolation at bay. He had no friends here.
The sun came through the open windows and he rubbed his jaw. When was the last time he’d slept? Sunday? He wasn’t sure what day it was. Those alien alarms scrambled his brain, so he didn’t know which way was up. Sharon's chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, and he leaned in to listen to her heartbeat. It fluttered, a staccato rhythm, with the occasional loud thump. Nothing in life had prepared him for this. He picked up her limp hand and rubbed it against his face.
“They’re all so stupid, Share. None of them can deal with this.”
Why don’t you show them?
“Ah, they won’t listen. Everyone’s doing whatever Cutler tells them to do.”
He’s the one who made me like this.
“I know, babe. But don’t worry, I'll fix you, I promise.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
How?
“I’ll figure something out. If I get you in a car or something, I can drive you to the hospital if I go slow enough.”
That won’t work.
“Yeah.”
He sat beside her bed, feeling helpless and slow. A man only had one job. Protect women. It was simple, and he lived in that simplicity. People tried to make everything so complicated now, but it wasn’t. Protect your woman and let the rest fall into place. That’s why he didn't waste a spare thought on what he and Krista had done. For starters, it didn’t change anything between him and Sharon, so no problem there. Second, if Cutler had the balls to handle his wife, none of this would have happened. What kind of asshole leaves his wife alone, drunk, with a group of men? It's asking for trouble. Cutler’s incompetence left him breathless.
Exhaustion filled his eyes with sand, so he rested his head on Sharon’s chest and let them close for a moment. The patter of her heartbeat sounded like rain and he drifted off.
The patter stopped.
“Sharon? Share?” His eyes popped open, and he shook his wife by the shoulder. “Are you okay?” She wasn’t breathing. Nothing. She coughed and sputtered and took a long, shuddering breath, before relaxing back into her normal cadence. He clutched her hand to his chest.
I don’t have much longer, Martin.
“Don't say that.” He bit at his bottom lip. He was so tired, he only wanted to rest. But how could he, when his wife was like this?
You can get me out of the house right now, if you wanted.
“How?”
The things they got from inside the aliens. Heather says they let you walk.
“So?”
You have two of them now. One for you and one for me.
“They’ll never let me leave, though. They all hate me.”
You don’t need their permission.
“I don’t?”
You have something that will make them all listen to you.
Martin rubbed his cheek. Sharon made good points. Extreme perhaps, but after this was all over, they’d understand. There wouldn’t be any hard feelings. Hell, after he rescued them all, maybe even Krista would warm back up, get friendlier again. The best part was he’d be back in control. No more sitting around, useless, watching his daughter whore around with the Cutler kids or watching his wife slowly die in this bedroom. He’d be in charge and everyone would listen to him. Back to the natural order of how things should be.
Resolved, he stood up and licked his lips.
“Just another couple minutes, babe. I'll get us out of here.”
Sharon didn’t answer this time, but he didn’t need her to. Finally, he had a plan.
Paul
Paul rubbed a tired hand across his eyes as the sun's rays crawled across the kitchen floor. So much had happened over the past twelve hours. He stared at the two alien transmitters on the table while numbers and probabilities ran through his head. Two devices meant two people. Three, if the third was small enough. Him and Matt and Abby? He couldn’t leave Krista behind even though he remained furious and hurt. Maybe only send the kids? Heather and Matt and Abby? With Pete gone -
No. No, he wouldn’t dwell on that, on Pete's mangled body, the way he gasped his last breath, the ragged sobs from Matt that followed. Keep doing the math. Keep working the problem. Don’t think about the legion of failure that led to this horrible point where they were together with half of them dead.
Krista came into the kitchen, pale, with large bags under her eyes. Her hair stuck up in all directions. She had attempted to tie her mess of curls back, but they escaped out the side. Like her, they refused to be corralled. She sat down beside him.
“Abby’s upstairs sleeping. Matty is off somewhere with Heather.”
Paul grunted his acknowledgment, but kept his eyes fixed on the transmitters.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” She tried to take his hand, but he moved it away.
“What is there to talk about? It’s over and done. I forgive you or I don’t.”
She recoiled at that, which surprised him because he hadn’t been trying to draw blood. He only told the truth. Either he could look at her without seeing Martin’s lips on her body, or he couldn’t.
“We need to stay together.”
“It’s not like I can run to the bar and drink my sorrows away, Kris. Staying together is not the problem. I'm struggling with being near you.”
That one landed, and he flushed with both satisfaction and guilt in equal parts. He wanted to forgive her, and he wanted her to hurt as much as he did. He wanted her back; he wanted her broken. They sat in silence for several awkward moments. He glanced over and saw her head down, her shoulders trembling. His heart thawed, but only by degrees.
“Why did you do it?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on the center of the table.
“I’ve asked myself that question about a thousand times,” she said, her voice soft and unsure. Not the normal Krista he was used to. “The easy answer is I was drunk, but that’s not enough. I’ve been drunk lots of times and this never happened. It wasn’t to hurt you and I wasn’t mad at you. That’s the part I turn over and over in my head. How little any of this had to do with you and how much of it had to do with me.”
He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she kept talking. She kept her head down and he saw a single tear drip from her eye.
“I haven't been happy lately, but I don’t know why. I love you and the kids. But it’s not enough. I remember how we used to be before mortgages and fights about money and fifty-hour work weeks and fucking intolerable neighborhood barbeques. I loved us back when I showed you the parts of yourself you’d never seen. I loved how you made me feel.”
Now she looked up at him and he stared back. He tried to find something of the woman he married. The woman he fell in love with.
“Why did I become the responsible one?” she asked. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I came up with the dumb ideas and crazy schemes and you were the anchor. When did our roles switch? Now you’re the one playing with the kids and buying toys and having fun and I’m locked in the basement doing laundry and taking care of the bills and worrying. God, I’m so fucking sick of worrying. Is Abby tall enough? Does Matty have enough friends? Does Paul still l-love me?” She hiccupped through the last sentence and buried her face in her hands.
“I fucking hate myself so much. I hate who I am. I can’t have fun anymore. I can’t do anything but nag and fret. How did this happen?”
Part of him wanted to hug her, to tell her it would be fine. Instead, he watched her cry. He watched the schism within her widen and although he knew what he was about to say would be terrible, he did it anyway.
“Did fucking Martin help?”
She took the question seriously and shook her head. “It made everything wor
se. I’ve ruined everything, and I think I did it because it’s what I deserve. I didn’t do it to get back at you, I did it to get back at me.”
Her words burrowed into his heart, finding some purchase.
“All I can say is that I’m sorry. As many times as you need to hear it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve done the worst possible thing I can do, and I’m miserable. I’ve ruined us.” She reached over and this time, he let her gather his hands. She leaned in until their faces were inches apart.
“I told the truth in the basement. I love you more than anything. I don’t want anyone but you. And I want you to help me find myself.”
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m so angry, Krista. I can’t figure out how to forgive you.”
“Then don’t. Don’t forgive me. Just stay with me. It’s enough for now.”
He blinked back his own tears and looked at her. He saw laugh lines around her eyes, the individual strands of gray in her hair, the single freckle on her nose, the one he used to boop. For once, he didn’t see Martin.
“I can do more laundry,” he said. She stared at him a moment, and then laughed, an abrupt noise. Then she fell into his arms, muscle memory kicked in and he hugged her as hard as he could.
“I’m sorry I let you hate yourself,” he said. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, he only knew his wife was in pain, and this is what he signed up for when he said, “Until death do us part.” All the bullshit, all the hardship, it became the forge of marriage. He didn’t forgive her forever, but he forgave her at least for today, in this moment. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough.
Besides, it was the end of the world. Not figuratively, literally. He didn’t have the luxury of a grudge and he needed Krista beside him to get through whatever the next days would bring, and so tried to make his brain go silent. Hugging his wife, feeling the press of her body against his and not thinking about what an alien-filled tomorrow might bring. He realized he still loved her.
A gasp brought his attention to the kitchen doorway. Abby stood there, fragile in a long pajama gown that trailed to the floor, clutching her throat.
“Dah,” she said, and he untangled himself from Krista as they both rushed to her side. Abby's eyes were wide and jumped back and forth between them. The noise she was making was the sound of crumpling paper and dying engines. She was in the middle of an asthma attack. A big one. Bigger than he'd ever seen.
Krista hugged her close and started the usual routine, saying, “Calm down, take large breaths, it will be okay.” But Paul had never seen Abby like this. She’d had attacks before, but now, her breath came in small, hurried gulps. She couldn’t even talk.
“Paul, she needs hot water. Can we get any?” Krista had put Abby on her lap. How would he heat water? He couldn’t make a fire. He shook his head at Krista.
"You need to do something!" Krista stroked Abby's hair and glared at him. "Listen to her, she can't breathe."
Paul’s mind galloped, and he looked at the transmitters on the kitchen table.
“I can take her to the hospital. Right now.” He picked them up and showed them to Krista. “You heard Heather, they can mask both of us. I can take her in the car right now. The local one, it’s closer.”
Krista stared at him, uncomprehending, but then nodded and got moving.
“You can come back for us when she’s settled.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “I’ll get Sharon next, and after that, the kids. It will be okay.”
Krista smiled and for the first time in a week, a glimmer of hope bloomed within him, like they were going to get through this.
“You’re not going anywhere, Cutler.”
Martin’s voice came from the hallway outside.
He had a gun pointed at them. A rifle. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Sharon stopped breathing for thirty seconds. I thought she was dead. She started again, but she doesn’t have enough time left. I’m taking those things and taking my wife out of here.”
Paul goggled at the sight. The gun barrel consumed his vision. There was no possibility Martin would miss at that range. He considered handing over the devices. If Sharon really had stopped breathing, it might be the right thing to do. But Abby barked on Krista’s lap and Paul’s heart broke at the sight of his daughter’s fragility. Her breath rattled like the engine of a dying car. He stepped in front of his wife and put the transmitters behind his back.
“No.”
Krista
Krista glared at Martin while her daughter died on her lap.
“I’m not fucking around, Cutler. Get out of the way and give me those transmitters.” Martin jabbed with his gun, a giant rifle he kept trained on her husband.
“Martin, stop. Please.” Krista hugged her daughter closer to her chest. “Abby can’t breathe, she needs to go to the hospital, can’t you see?”
“I’ll come back for her after Sharon is safe.”
“Bullshit,” Paul said.
Paul took a few steps forward, inching them out of the kitchen, into the living room. Martin backed up to the front door, waggling the rifle at them. It shook in his hands. At that moment, Heather and Matty came down the stairs, and Heather screamed.
“Dad, what the fuck are you doing?”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Martin kept the barrel of the rifle pointed at Paul. “Go get your mother.”
“How?”
The rifle dipped at that, and Martin glanced at his daughter. It was a good point. Sharon was immobile, there was no way to get her out of the room by herself.
On her lap, Abby gave another series of broken wheezes and pawed at her throat. Krista stood up, keeping Abby clutched to her chest.
“This is useless,” she said. “Drop the gun, let Paul take Abby to the hospital and then we’ll move Sharon next.”
“How do I know you’ll come back?”
“Because my wife and son will still be here, you fucking asshole.” Paul raised his voice, a very un-Paul thing to do.
“Jesus man, what are you doing?” Now John came up from the basement and everyone stared at Martin, arranged in a semi-circle, with Martin backing up toward the front door. “Put the gun down, you’re pointing it at a child.”
“You need to explain it, John. Sharon doesn’t have much time left.” Now Martin swung the rifle around, trying to cover the group. His eyes were wide and harried with dark circles underneath. His disheveled hair stuck up and the multiple days of growth on his face gave him a wild, unhinged look. Krista wondered when he’d slept last.
“This will work. I’ll take Sharon and then I’ll come right back. I’ll be able to save us.”
“Abby needs to go now, Martin. Look at her.” Paul gestured to Abby who choked in Krista's arms. Her lips had started to turn blue. If Paul didn’t do something soon, she would die.
“Dad, put the gun down,” Heather said from the stairs. “We can talk about this.”
“No.” Martin’s voice went up an octave, and the gun swung back and forth from John to Paul. “No more talking. Go get your mother. I’m getting out of here. You can stay here and fuck that little piece of shit boyfriend of yours for all I care.”
Heather gasped, and all the blood drained from her face. Beside her, Matty opened and closed his mouth.
“You’ve lost it,” John said, and took a step towards Martin. “Drop the gun, man. This is nuts.”
“Stay back, John.” Martin swung the gun around, the barrel shaking in his hands. “Just give me the transmitters.”
“Mommy,” Abby barked in her arms, laboring through breaths that wouldn’t come. “Can’t breathe.”
“Shh honey, relax.” Krista stroked Abby’s hair and tried to keep herself calm, but all her muscles vibrated with the need for action. They needed to do something, now.
“I’ll come back for your kid.” Martin kept the gun trained on them but reached back with his other hand and opened the front door. Paul stepped forward and Martin shoved the rifle in
his face. “Stay back Cutler. Give me the transmitters. Now.”
“No.” Paul crossed his arms and stood in front of Krista.
Martin blinked and rattled the gun. “I’m not fucking around, Cutler.”
“You can’t have them,” Paul said, his voice calm. “Drop the gun and we’ll talk. But you’re not leaving here with the transmitters.”
“I can get more.” Everyone’s head swung around. Liz came up from the basement, holding a shovel. Krista had forgotten she was even in the house. She realized she hadn’t seen her since Pete died.
Martin spun at the noise and everything happened at once. With Martin distracted, Paul rushed him, coming in low. The barrel of the rifle spun around, followed by an explosion, a noise so loud that her eardrums ruptured, and she almost dropped Abby. In front of her, Paul screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his face. Blood poured from beneath his hands.
The barrel of the rifle dropped to the floor and Martin took a hesitant step forward. With a whimper, he said, “I didn’t mean it.”
John screamed and charged. He hit Martin with a tackle around the waist. Although John was smaller and older, he had momentum and the force of the attack sent both him and Martin tumbling out the front door, carrying them onto the lawn.
“Daddy!” Heather screamed from the stairs and rushed to go outside, but Matty held her back around the waist.
John and Martin rolled to their knees, and the aliens attacked
Heather
Heather watched her dad tumble out the house with Mr. Gardner. She screamed and struggled against Matt, who pulled her back and wouldn’t let her move forward.
“Get off me!” She pushed at his arms and broke free. He yelled at her to stop, but she was already moving. She ran toward where Mr. Cutler lay on the ground, unmoving. Mrs. Cutler wailed a terrible cry, torn between her husband and Abby, both of whom needed her.
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