Page 14

Linda

Sometimes I still feel like this is all a dream.

As I bandage Noa’s arm after disinfecting it with vodka (and taking a hefty chug of it myself), I feel like I’m about to wake up in my dorm bed and laugh at my silly dreams. I’m woman enough to admit one thing to myself, though: the first thing I’d do after waking up would be to find Noa and kiss her as soon as she opened her mouth to flirt with me.

I snort at my thoughts. That would be something.

“Are you drunk, pretty girl?” Noa asks, her eyes sparkling at me from a pale face. Thankfully, the bullet only grazed her, but the chunk of missing flesh surely hurts like the dickens.

I shake my head at her. “Maybe loopy from adrenaline,” I admit.

I twist the gauze a final time, then secure it with the clip.

I’m glad we’ve been lugging the small first aid kit from the car with us this whole time.

I’m also not sad that I shot that crazy woman.

When I saw her turn on Noa with her knife held high, I didn’t think twice before shooting.

I just wish I’d done it before Noa got hurt.

“I’m sorry you got shot,” I mumble, putting everything back in its place like I know she’d want it.

When she reaches out to caress my cheek, I lean my head into her hand. Yeah. I’d definitely kiss her.

Her eyes are gentle as she smiles at me. “At least you got to play nursemaid too,” she says with a smirk. You know what? I might kiss her now…

“Ladies,” Axel interrupts. Again. “If you’re done blowing on the boo-boos, those gunshots were loud AF. Who knows who’s out here. ”

Noa grunts like a disgruntled bear cub. “He’s right,” she grumbles. “Let’s just get to that base, we’re so close.”

I scrunch up my nose and stand up, dusting off my knees, then look back at the other side of the road by the walkway where we left the ruffian’s bodies after taking their stuff, including a nice new gun.

I narrow my eyes at them. Good riddance .

They won’t be able to hurt people like Jack and Harriet anymore.

Shouldering my backpack, I help Noa with hers before we catch up with Axel.

“Are you sure you can carry that?” he asks his sister with a frown, obviously concerned.

“Yep.” She grins at him, clearly putting on a brave face. “We’re almost at the park.”

After taking the small detour to bury our cans, Axel and I redistribute the contents of Noa’s backpack, unburdening her. She doesn’t say anything, but the look of relief in her eyes is apparent.

We decide to cut through some neighborhoods to save time, anxiously looking at every suburban house and its windows like they’re all harboring snipers.

“Maybe we should steal that boat and sail off,” Axel snickers, pointing at a small speedboat parked on a trailer in one of the driveways.

“If only it had enough gas to get us to California,” I sigh.

Noa snorts. “Might need a tanker for that.”

I can’t believe I can laugh after the week we’ve had.

It’s almost over, though. We’re nearing the bridge across the bayou, and the East Gate is just beyond that.

I don’t know what our life will look like a week from now, but I’m certain hearing that my parents made it safely to Fort Hunter Ligget will take a huge burden off my shoulders.

“I think I need new sneakers,” I muse, looking down at my Sketchers. “The memory foam isn’t… memory foaming anymore.”

When I look up at Noa, I see her eyeing me with an eyebrow raised and an indulgent smile. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” she asks.

“Mmm,” I hum, nodding. “That and an omelet. Think we can find some hens to raise one day?”

The light in Noa’s eyes warms my insides faster than the vodka did. She opens her mouth to respond, and I can’t wait to see what she’s going to say. But then a shrill scream freezes all that warmth to ice.

A woman runs out from behind a corner, and Axel steps in front of us protectively. She’s not paying us any mind, though, running like a headless chicken in the direction of the bayou.

“What the fuck?” Axel whispers as we watch her go.

“I don’t care what it is, let’s get out of here,” Noa says, her tone allowing for no argument. Fully agreeing, I forget all about the state of my shoes’ memory foam and start hoofing it in the direction of the base.

We don’t get far when more people burst out of the side streets, running and screaming.

Before long, we’re surrounded by a dozen people, more than we’ve seen all week combined.

I don’t know why we’re running, but the herd mentality is definitely strong.

With every step, I worry about losing sight of Noa and Axel, of tripping and being left behind or trampled.

Noa would find me , I think to myself, as the rapid way I’m breathing dries out my throat.

Just then, someone knocks into her side, pressing right onto the fresh bullet wound.

Her husky scream of pain stops my heart and my feet.

Axel and I surround her and protect her with our bodies as the last man passes, no one bothering to ask if she’s alright.

“Sis, you okay?” Axel asks, as out of breath as I am.

Tears stream down Noa’s face, her brave and confident demeanor faltering when faced with the body’s response to pain. Her lower lip trembles as she nods, gingerly holding her arm. “Let’s go,” she says, her broken voice stabbing me right in the heart.

Just as we start moving again, following the departing crowd, I see the reason for the stampede.

“Oh. My God,” I breathe. Axel and Noa turn to where I’m looking.

It’s the aliens. Two of them stalk in our direction, casually, without hurry.

They’re covered head to toe in heavy, matte green armor that looks like it’s molded from oxidized metal, the surface scored with gouges and ridges, the lines sharp and disturbing.

They’re huge, at least seven feet tall, and brutishly bulky.

But they don’t seem to be clumsy – more like tanks shaped into humanoid forms.

They’re wearing angular helmets, featureless except for a black, segmented visor that pulses faintly, almost like it’s breathing.

Tubes run from the base of the helm into their neck plating, exhaling small, rhythmic hisses.

One raises an arm, and its fingers split into a clawed mechanism that clicks softly before curling back in.

There’s something wrong with the way they move. It’s not robotic, but not entirely organic either. Like something wearing a skin it wasn’t born into. And their armor looks almost like it’s alive, shifting, pulsing, groaning with the movements.

I’m suffused by dread at the sight, like a teabag dunked into boiling water. My every hair stands at attention, my body screaming at me that a predator approaches, that I’m not safe, that my loved ones are in danger.

“R–Run,” I stutter, tugging on Noa’s uninjured arm. Axel remains frozen to the spot, his mouth wide open. “Axel!” I hiss. I can’t believe I’m being the proactive one here!

When the siblings tear themselves out of the daze of seeing extraterrestrial beings, something I’ll be having nightmares about for the next fifty years – if I live that long – we burst into a sprint, running faster than we did before.

“Drop the backpacks,” Noa gasps after looking behind us.

“They’re… not… heavy… anymore…” I gasp between shallow breaths.

I’m afraid to check how close the aliens are, looking only ahead as we run across the bridge. Axel is braver than I am, though.

“They’re gone,” he says. “But don’t stop.”

I don’t have the spare breath to tell him I didn’t plan on stopping. Instead, I focus on the people I see ahead and pretend we’re playing catch. I’m it .

“I see the gate!” Noa exclaims. I squint ahead.

Are her eyes better than mine? Must be all the romance books I read late at night.

It’s not long, though, until I see the barricade set up where the checkpoint used to be.

Clearly, they fortified the area. But is it enough against these foes? We might just find out.

Uniformed people wave the running people through, their guns out and aimed. Maybe they’re worried that some of the zombies – or whatever they are – are among us.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” Noa says, her hand searching for mine. It takes me a couple of tries to grasp it, my limbs shaky from the exertion. Finally, I take her hand just as we enter the base.

We’ve made it.