The Invasion Trilogy Box Set [#1-#3]

by Lundy, W. J.

  She took a soft step in the direction of Jacob, still looking down at the floor. She moved deliberately, like an animal; her feet plodded up and down, arms twitching as her neck stretched, examining the void between the cabinets.

  Jacob’s hand caressed the grip of the pistol; he squeezed it with his sweaty palm and let his finger drop straight over the receiver. He swallowed hard and in a low voice asked her, “Are you okay?”

  The girl’s pale head snapped up to face Jacob; her eyes were a deep, solid black. When she opened her mouth, it revealed glossy white teeth wrapped in dark-purple gums. Her mouth stretched wide, her bottom jaw quivered, and she went to scream just as the sound of a gunshot filled the air. The girl’s head twitched and twisted toward the garage, like that of cat quickly searching for prey.

  Jacob didn’t hesitate; he drew the pistol in a smooth motion and fired a single round into the girl’s chest. He saw that where the bullet punched through the girl’s light cotton top, black, oozing blood slowly filled the fabric. For a brief moment, Jacob feared he’d made a terrible mistake. His empty left hand reached out to help her, feeling regret for his actions.

  The girl’s eyes looked back at him with hate. She hissed, letting the last of the air escape her body before she fell back to the ground. Jacob lunged forward and bolted past her for the door. He heard another series of gunshots and, recognizing the sounds of his .22 rifle, he stumbled his way through the garage then charged headlong into the driveway.

  A teenage boy dressed in a T-shirt and jeans was searching the sky for the source of the gunfire as rounds skipped off the asphalt and smacked into the Lexus. Jacob looked toward the second story of his house and saw the shiny, blued barrel of the rifle poking out, accompanied by silver puffs of smoke wafting from the muzzle. The boy halted in place upon discovering Jacob. Its body turned in his direction and charged without warning as its mouth unhinged inhumanly wide, its black eyes showing no mercy.

  Jacob raised the pistol and fired as fast as his finger would allow. Multiple rounds scored several hits as the thing collided with him and knocked him to the asphalt. Anticipating the impact, Jacob rolled back and went with it, then flung the now dead boy off him. He continued rolling until he was on all fours. Not wasting time to look, he scrambled on his hands and knees onto the lawn, pulled himself to his feet, and bolted across the yard and into the street.

  He didn’t stop. Fleeing what was behind him, he ran for the side yard of his house and dove into thick bushes that scratched his face and cut into his hands while he clawed his way into the cover of the foliage. When it was too tight to crawl, he dropped to his belly and dragged himself ahead until he was tight against the foundation of the house. Jacob burrowed in and buried his face into the soft dirt. Clenching his eyes tight and trying to control his breathing, he lay there listening but struggled to hear anything above the beating of his own heart. Jacob pulled himself into a more open space near the wall and rolled over to face the street. Seeing nothing, he attempted to stand, but then he heard footsteps. He froze, and letting his body go limp, dropped back to the ground where he again tried to become one with the earth. The gunfire had halted, and Jacob prayed his wife was wise enough to return to her hiding place.

  He cautiously lifted his head and laid his ear to the earth so that he could see the road. Several people were walking the street and scouring the area; their heads shifted from side to side as they searched for him. He watched as they left the street and surrounded the boy in the driveway. One lifted the dead thing and cradled it in his arms. With no emotion, it turned around and left, carrying the boy. Shortly afterwards, another left the confines of the house carrying the girl.

  Why take them and leave Smitty? Jacob asked himself.

  The Others loitered in the area for several minutes, not actively searching but clustered in the center of the street, as if they didn’t know what to do without direction. They moved to the edges of the street, standing near the curb looking out, their eyes watching the surrounding houses. Jacob heard no communication between them, no whispering, no orders, or commands; nobody seemed to be in charge. Eventually, they stopped moving altogether and stood motionless, frozen in the street.

  Jacob lay with his head in the soil, afraid to move. He could feel insects crawl across his neck, and leaves tickled his nose, but he didn’t dare move for fear that he’d alert the black-eyed things standing in the center of the street. Gunshots followed by a woman’s scream sounded far in the distance; the things’ heads lifted all at once as if a switch powered them on. In unison, they turned and took off in the direction of the sound. Soon after, Jacob heard the high-pitched wail that he knew was their call, followed by the rumble of an attack. He crawled along the perimeter of the house until he was clear of the bushes, then scrambled for his garage door.

  He made it inside then closed and bolted the door shut mere moments before losing his stomach onto the cement floor. His eyes watered as he gagged and coughed while pacing the room. He stopped beside the small steps leading to his house; he sat there collecting himself, but when he went to wipe his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, he noticed the boy’s blood. He looked down and saw it was on his hands and clothing. It clung to his fingers. It wasn’t red or sticky, or anything at all like he would expect the texture of human blood to be. He quickly pulled off the black hoodie and tossed it to the center of the room. He looked at his hands and saw that the black, greasy stains were still on his fingers.

  Jacob grabbed a rag from a workbench and scrubbed his hands with a bottle of solvent. The greasy blood clung to his skin and tingled. He used the rag and scrubbed at his palms; the blood finally came off as a single rubber-like glob that then curled back on itself. With disgust, he let it drop to the floor. Jacob’s curiosity peaked, and he quickly retrieved the sweatshirt. He looked at the rest of the bloodstains, watching them shrink and retract like a heavy rubber film that was dry rotting as he watched. After a couple minutes, he was able to grab it by the edge and completely remove it from the sweatshirt. He lifted it and dropped it to the floor where it changed from the greasy black to an ashen gray.

  “What the hell?” he muttered as he scuffed the remaining traces of it away with the toe of his boot. “What is this stuff?”

  He dug through his pocket for his keys and re-entered his home. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into the comfy sofa in the far room and pretend everything was back to normal. Jacob shook away the thoughts, knowing Laura and Katy would be anxious after watching him disappear and not knowing where he went. Jacob dragged his tired legs up the stairs and pulled down on the attic hatch in a pre-arranged knock. After a moment, he heard the board slide away and when the ladder dropped, he saw his wife looking down at him over the sights of the rifle.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said quietly.

  Jacob nodded and quickly climbed the ladder, pulling it up behind him and barricading it. He reached out for her while still in the attic, grabbing her hands then embracing her in a tight hug.

  She looked up at him. “I’m sorry I shot the gun… I didn’t know what else to do—its eyes… they were so black,” she cried.

  Hugging her and trying to calm her, he said, “I know… You did the right thing, Laura. There was another one inside; I might not have gotten away if you hadn’t fired.”

  They sat silently in the attic until Jacob removed the backpack and indicated for Laura to lead the way back into the rooms below. They moved into the bathroom and sat on the floor, leaning against the tub while he dumped the contents of the bag and separated the sports drinks. “It’s not a lot, but we can drink water and save these for Katy. They’ll help with her dehydration; at least until her fever drops.”

  Laura picked up the items, sorting them into piles. “She still isn’t speaking,” Laura whispered. “I’m scared.”

  “I know; so am I. It must be the stress. She has been through a lot,” Jacob said. “She’ll be okay once we get out of here and to some place sa
fe. We just need to care for her and make her comfortable until then.”

  Laura nodded her head in agreement and tried to hide her tears. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse then opened one of the drinks, poured the liquid into a small sippy cup, and left the bathroom. Jacob followed her out and while Laura helped the girl drink, Jacob walked to the bedroom window. He saw the rifle propped against the wall and looked down at the brass shell casings littering the carpet. Jacob removed the magazine and locked back the bolt, removing a round. He grabbed a yellow box from his nightstand, reloaded, and charged the weapon before leaning it back against the wall.

  “What are they?” Laura whispered, not looking up from her task at hand. “Those weren’t kids down there.”

  Jacob walked away from the window and sat on the bed, reloading his pistol. “I don’t know. The girl… she looked familiar, but when I spoke to her… her eyes… and the way she reacted to me. I didn’t even hear her until she was right behind me.”

  “I don’t know where they came from. I was watching the street and then suddenly, they were there. I watched the girl go into the house. I wanted to warn you… I didn’t know how. The boy—that was the Emerson's son. His little sister, Mia, used to ride Katy’s bus. He looked up at us and I know he couldn’t see me, but through the scope—I saw his eyes, Jacob, they were so dark, like there was nothing behind them, and then his head darted to the house, like he heard you. I was so scared… I fired; I didn’t know what else to do. I shot him, Jacob!” she said, holding back tears.

  “It’s okay. You did good, Laura. It’s okay.”

  “Was it Mia? The girl, was it her?” Laura asked hesitantly.

  “Not anymore; I don’t know what she was.”

  “Did she attack you?”

  “She would have. I’m certain of it,” he mumbled.

  “I heard your gun. Did you kill her?”

  “I don’t know; I watched them take her away.”

  Jacob sat down wearily. “I found some soup,” he said, changing the subject. “You should eat.”

  “You haven’t eaten, Jacob.”

  He lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. “I’m okay… I just want to rest,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  “Jacob, Jacob, wake up,” Laura whispered.

  He turned over and looked at the dark ceiling, searching the room in a daze. It was early in the evening; the sun was just beginning to go down and low light still broke the edge of the curtains. Katy was sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed. Jacob closed his eyes tightly then opened them again, blinking until his vision cleared. He looked at Laura lying next to him. “What is it?” he asked, still groggy.

  “Someone is—” she began as a cracking of wood sounded from somewhere outside behind their house.

  Jacob froze and put his hand to her lips. He rolled out of the bed and placed his feet on the floor as his right hand searched the nightstand for his pistol. He felt its cool frame and gripped it tight. There was another bang and a thump from somewhere outside. He got up, crept around the foot of the bed, and walked to the bathroom window. He slowly pulled back the cardboard and investigated the yard.

  Two crouched figures were next to the plank wood fence that separated his yard from his neighbors. They were young—teens, maybe early twenties—wearing light backpacks. One, a young man, held a crowbar; a young girl was close behind him. They were looking in the direction of his back deck. There was another sound of splitting wood followed by a loud pop, and he saw the two individuals get to their feet and run to the deck.

  Jacob knew someone was breaking in and that they’d managed to jimmy open the French doors off the family room. He heard them below now as they closed the door. Muffled voices seemed to direct someone to move furniture—probably to brace the destroyed door. Jacob looked behind him and saw his wife through the open bathroom door, sitting up in the bed with Katy in her lap. He held a finger to his lips as he crept toward her and stopped to kneel next to a heat register in the floor. With his ear pressed against it, the ductwork funneled the muffled sounds from below.

  “There isn’t shit here. Why are we stopping, Frank?” a young male voice said.

  “We need to hold up, at least until morning. We can’t keep stumbling around in the dark; they’ll find us,” answered a gruff older man’s voice.

  Jacob listened to the two males arguing, the female remaining silent. The sound of kitchen cabinets and the pantry doors opening, and closing was followed by complaints about the house having no food or water. He listened as they continued to stomp through the house; opening and dumping drawers… then a foot fell on the bottom steps.

  Jacob took his ear from the floor vent and, returning to the bedroom, moved to his wife’s side to scoop up his daughter. He kept her head against his chest in case she made a sound. Jacob quickly moved them through the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. Laura sat in a corner, and Jacob placed Katy in her lap. He told his wife to be silent and wait for him. As he crept back, she reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “What are you going to do?” she whispered.

  “Let’s just see who they are first,” he said, walking into the bedroom. He took a position where he could observe the heavy wooden door.

  The steps slapped against the hardwood stair treads. Whoever was attached to the feet was not trying to be quiet. The footfalls sounded thunderous over the silence of the room, and Jacob imagined heavy work boots. The sound dulled as the feet left the stair treads and stepped onto the carpet at the top. He heard them near the door. He stared intently at the knob and watched it turn side to side. Then it rattled as someone shook the handle, the heavy door hardly budging thanks to being locked tightly in place with the screws.

  “Hey, Joey! We got a locked door up here!” the gruff voice called out.

  “Will you be quiet?” Jacob heard another respond. “You want them to hear us?”

  The door rattled again. “Boy, they ain’t going to hear us indoors.”

  Jacob heard softer footsteps running up the treads, followed by a second set. The lighter footsteps approached the door and Jacob could hear them shuffling around on the landing. The knob turned and rattled again.

  “Damn, who puts a bolt lock on an inside door?” the younger voice muttered.

  Jacob heard metal slide along the doorframe then a creak and pop of splintering wood. He knew one of them was applying a crowbar to the doorjamb. He ducked into the bathroom doorway and leaned out, keeping the pistol in his hand. He was confident the door wouldn’t move with the deck screws. Even if they were able to seat the crow bar, they would need a fire axe to remove it from its frame.

  “Wait, there might be people in there; let’s just leave it alone.” Jacob heard the girl speak for the first time.

  “Girl, you’re stu—”

  “Damn it, Frank, I told you not to talk to her like that,” the younger man said.

  An exaggerated laugh echoed in the hallway. “Boy, what are you going to do about it? You’d be dead right now if I hadn’t come back for your ass.”

  “Screw you, Frank; we were getting along just fine without you,” the girl said.

  “The hell you were. Now shut up before I slap you both upside the head with this bar,” the gruff voice said laughing.

  There was another clunk as the bar pried into the doorframe, causing a slight creaking of wood, then the bar popped, and the man yelped. “Dammit; smashed my knuckles!” he shouted.

  The man huffed and breathed hard until, suddenly, a thud resonated as the man punched the door.

  “This fucker is solid,” Frank said. “Maybe we can get some tools in the morning and try again.”

  Jacob heard the crowbar drop to the carpet.

  “Or… maybe I should just shoot the lock.”

  “Are you crazy? They’ll hear that for sure,” the girl argued.

  “Boy, you better shut that little bitch up before I do,” Frank said.

  There was a commotion on the landing t
hat sounded like fists being thrown. Heavy breathing and grunting were accompanied by banging against the door as something hard smacked against it repeatedly.

  “Stop, Frank! You’ll kill him,” pleaded the girl. The banging against the door stopped; then Jacob heard a loud slap and the girl whimpered. “This is your fault. If you’d just kept your mouth shut!” Frank yelled. “Take this piece of shit downstairs before I kick both your asses. I should have never come back for you,” he said, grunting and breathing heavy.

  Jacob could hear the soft steps fade as they fumbled down the stairs. The other man’s heavy breathing remained. He thudded against the door, and Jacob could hear him slide down to the floor. He was muttering to himself. The sound of a lighter sparked to life and soon after, Jacob could smell cigarette smoke as it drifted through the cold air return.

  He knew the man was lying against the door. He could easily muffle the gun with a pillow and press it against the wood; a single shot is all it would take, if he guessed correctly. A quick shot in the night. The people downstairs would probably thank him.

  There was a clanging as the man pried the bar against the knob. A sharp, metallic clunk followed by a crunching sound, and the handle broke off. Jacob felt the fear build and backed up as he observed the handle drop on his side of the door. The man then jabbed at the knob and knocked away the core, creating a small peek hole where the knob had been.

  I cannot allow him to enter, Jacob thought.

  Jacob hung back in the shadows and looked at the small hole. He could see the whites of the man’s eye as he peered in. The curtains were drawn, and the room was pitch-black; Jacob knew the man couldn’t see anything. Now was the time—if he was going to do it, he’d do it now. Jacob raised the pistol and aimed at the hole in the door. He’d shoot him through the eye. The gunshot would be loud, but a single shot would be hard for the things to pinpoint.