Page 2 of Scars & Starlight (Of Blood and Conquest #1)

TARA

F our years ago, an alien species came to Earth.

They weren’t interested in our technology or resources.

And they definitely weren’t here to reenact any ‘Mars needs women’ tropes.

No, they were seemingly conquerors for the sake of conquering, killing our people, or infecting them until they were mindless drones, aggressive toward their own kind, but not our extra-terrestrial invaders.

I was thirty-two when they were first spotted, living halfway across the planet from where I grew up, separated from my parents and little sisters…

isolated from anyone who would give a damn.

As humanity’s governments toppled, gangs formed, the strong taking advantage of the weak, the unfortunate nothing but fodder for slaughter.

By some stroke of luck, I ended up being taken into the fold of resistance fighters, those rare few humans who didn’t demand child brides in return for a cot and threadbare blanket.

The resistance cell I’m in is led by ex-military men and women who taught us how to shoot, how to fight, and how to protect ourselves and those weaker than us from the monsters from above.

Those first months were hell. We had no warning and no idea what was about to descend on us.

We didn’t know that getting scratched or bitten by the aliens would infect our brains in a matter of minutes.

Confusion, hallucinations, and a complete loss of control over your actions.

That’s what happens once you’re exposed to this alien virus.

We have no idea if the mindless husks shuffling around are aware that they’re attacking their own, trying to eat their mothers and fathers, their children, raping indiscriminately.

While I’m sure various militaries – now funded and controlled by the surviving one percenters – are testing for cures and vaccines, we’re far from their clean laboratories, fighting here in the slums. We have no choice but to neutralize the threat and, perhaps, put them out of their misery.

At first, we didn’t even know what the aliens looked like.

They were wearing full-body armor and helmets made from a dark alloy of some kind, like something out of a horror sci-fi video game.

Then the first footage came, showing the creatures under smashed helmets, all serrated teeth and sickly, pockmarked gray-green skin.

They were as horrible as their actions, and it took me months to be able to close my eyes and not dream of them.

Just as we learned to make peace with our circumstances, new spaceships appeared above us.

The first were spotted a couple of weeks ago.

Sleek and shiny, silent and deadly, they began shooting the boxy invading ships from the sky.

But I know better than to trust in alien benevolence, not after what happened the first time.

Just because we share a common enemy doesn’t mean they’re our friends.

Maybe once our invaders are gone, we’ll be left with a new, deadlier threat, with seemingly even more advanced technology.

There were fewer of them than the first arrivals, and we haven’t run across any of their corpses to know what they even look like.

Though both species are bipedal, the first invaders proved to be anything but human-looking underneath their armor.

The newcomers, however, seem less bulky, closer to our proportions, though they appear to be much faster than us.

The reason why we haven’t gotten a chance to peek under their helmets is that they seem to have some sort of invisible shield around them, bouncing off the other aliens’ lasers and, of course, our bullets.

If they had casualties, we do not know about them.

I’m not sure if the rumors are true when it comes to the new visitors, but I’ve been told that they shoot back if fired upon.

Not that I blame them, but all this distrust breeds more distrust, and I’ve heard skirmishes where all three species are involved end up with the newcomers as the last ones standing.

We’re definitely at the bottom of the pecking order.

Our base stands on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. That means we have a few seconds of pissing our damned pants as we see the brutish alien ship approaching, the vibrations and groaning sounds not far behind.

“Tara!” one of the resistance officers, Kyle, shouts over the blaring claxon of the warning alarm. I tear my gaze off the incoming ship and spin to meet his gaze. “Get the kids to safety!” he yells.

Shit, the kids.

We teach them how to shoot as soon as they can grasp the concept of a gun not being a toy, but they’re also the aliens’ favored prey. The monsters probably enjoy the anguished cries of their parents. Well, the parents who aren’t dead, thanks to them.

I sprint toward Micah, a football in his hands, his eyes on the approaching vessel.

“Let’s go, pipsqueak,” I urge, my hand on his back, pushing him to the closest shelter.

We try to avoid being outside when there’s action in the skies, though they might have some kind of heat-seeking technology and just spared us so far.

It really does seem like they’re going straight for us, though, the metal groaning becoming unbearably loud as it approaches.

Is it slowing down?

When the spaceship stops right above us, I know our luck has run out.

Aliens drop down from hatches, the distance between their vessel and the ground seemingly not an obstacle.

The tank-like brutes do their superhero landings, massive guns in their hands.

I know they’re not likely to shoot us, though, not if their goal is to infect as many as possible.

They’ll incapacitate us, then bite us or use their creepy morphing claws to pump us full of whatever virus or bacteria turns us into drones.

I pull out my twin Glocks and face the nearest alien, covering a trembling Micah. I flick off the safety and slowly walk backwards, pushing the boy to the closest building.

“Stay back, motherfucker!” I yell at the hulking alien and extend my arms in an obvious threat. “You do not want to fuck with me today!”

It’s my fourth birthday, P.I. or post-invasion, and the fourth one I’m celebrating not knowing if my parents or sisters are alive and thinking of me, or thinking that I’m probably dead. I woke up cranky, and this is not helping matters.

I feel Micah’s hands grasp my belt and stop edging us toward safety. The last thing I want is to trip over him and make us both as easy a prey as a hobbled gazelle.

The alien doesn’t heed my warning at all, though he probably didn’t understand anything other than me flashing my weapons. He’s approaching us with a slow, deliberate stride. I have no choice.

My shots join those of the fellow survivors already firing on the invaders as I aim for the alien’s opaque visor.

Adrenaline is burning through my veins and twisting my stomach into knots.

When the third bullet bounces off the alien’s helmet harmlessly, ricocheting into the ground, I know I’m gonna need a bigger gun.

A child’s scream jolts me out of the stubborn denial over the checkmate position I found myself in.

Glancing to the side, I see what made my charge scream: another hulking alien is approaching us from the other side.

Tears of anger and hopelessness clear away the dust in my eyes.

In a last, desperate attempt to save the boy, I holster my guns and throw myself onto the approaching monster.

“Run!” I shriek, but don’t get the chance to check if the kid obeys or if he stays rooted to the spot like a fawn.

I thrash as the alien wraps his arms around me.

I have about five seconds until one of his hands splits into the claws they use to infect us.

I hope someone puts a bullet in my brain before I hurt people I care about.

The membranes of my ears tremble as a new sound overshadows the screams and gunshots; a low, purring vibration that might have even felt somewhat pleasant under different circumstances. But I know what it means. The new visitors have come.

I tilt my head back and look over the alien’s shoulder.

Half a dozen humanoid aliens in bright, silverish-white armor gracefully glide down from their spaceship, led by one whose armor is darker, the neon accents standing out in contrast even in the light of the day.

The brute squeezing me in a vice grip turns, and I can’t see the sky anymore, but when the higher-pitched whistles of laser weapons sound, I know the newcomers have joined the fray.

Taking advantage of the alien’s distraction, I grab my hunting knife and jam it in between two segments of armor at his neck. The beast roars and throws me away, the grip of my knife sliding out of my hand before I hit the dry ground with a painful thud and roll over the dirt.

Blinking away the dizziness, I open my eyes to a scene that makes my blood run cold.

While most of my people have taken cover and the two alien species engage in a Mexican standoff, one monstrous invader herds a little girl toward the cliff’s edge.

Groaning, I pull my legs up until I can get on all fours, then stagger up to my full height of five feet nothing.

A green beam of light passes inches from my face, bringing the smell of ozone with it, but I don’t stop shuffling to where Stacy is just a couple of feet away from doom.

I unholster my guns and lift my trembling arms. I only have a few bullets left, and I don’t want to waste them at this distance, not when hitting a vulnerable spot is so unlikely in the best of circumstances.

Just as I’m about to shoot for no other reason than to try and divert the alien’s attention, he gets hit square in the back with one of the other visitor’s plasma-like projectiles, sending him careening over the cliff.

Stacey flinches back and trips over a rock.

Time freezes as I watch her windmill, her body tipping at an angle that would make her join her attacker in the water below.

I drop my guns without regard and push my body faster, ignoring the pain from the many burning scrapes and throbbing bruises decorating it, even though I’m under no illusion that I’ll make it in time.

The little girl hits the ground right at the edge of the cliff, and her faded pink T-shirt catches on the sharp stones and protruding roots, slowing her roll. I throw myself on the ground, hissing at the new bite of pain, and stretch my arms out for her.

Gotcha.

“You’re alright,” I say, gasping for air as my lungs work like a blacksmith’s bellows. “You’re okay.”

I pull the crying girl up, struggling to make my legs obey while she clings to me like a barnacle.

I don’t know, maybe I’m too old for this shit.

Shootouts with aliens, saving kids from a certain death, not knowing whether this hour or the next is my last one.

I miss the days when I complained about not having enough paid vacation days.

“Stacy!” Melinda, the little girl’s mom, screams, running across the yard to us.

“She’s okay,” I croak, too quietly for the woman to hear me. When she reaches us, I transfer the child over and usher the two to a nearby bunker entrance.

Rather than joining them in safety, I stay outside to watch the two alien species fight each other, wondering what’s going to happen to our outpost when it’s over.

While the bulky aliens massively overpower us and outnumber the other aliens, they’re losing this battle fast. I sweep my gaze over our battered courtyard, seeing that the original threat is all but neutralized. Will the newcomers then turn on us?

A familiar scream tears at my heartstrings.

“Micah!” I shout, looking for the little boy I thought was safe below by now.

When I spot a small, prone body, I lose all sensation in my feet.

This is all my fault; I should have looked for him as soon as Stacy was safe.

A massive alien looms over the boy, obviously wanting to finish the job.

I don’t even stop to think it through, think about whether there’s even anything I can do.

I start marching toward the son of a bitch who targeted a defenseless child.

Before I can reach him, one of the other aliens, the one wearing the darker armor, creeps in behind him.

He hovers and places his hands on each side of the brute’s helmeted head.

A whoomph of energy being expelled reaches my ears before the massive alien collapses.

Ignoring the one who killed him, I drop to my knees and place my palm on Micah’s cheek, turning his head to me.

What I see makes me whimper. His eyes are already dilated; the first sign of infection.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my fingers clenching over his bloodied gray hoodie.

“Am I… going to see my mommy and daddy now?” the boy asks, the words a low, sweet murmur.

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel my tears fall from my face onto the boy’s.

“Yes,” I answer with a hollow voice. I let go of his hoodie and reach for my weapon, my fingers patting my empty holsters.

When I remember that I lost all of my weapons, I start sobbing.

This boy doesn’t deserve to suffer. I’m looking around for something to use when I feel a gentle pressure on my shoulder.

Once I realize it’s the alien in the dark, glowing exoskeleton, I startle.

If the similarities between our species go beyond the general shape, this alien is clearly a male, his long body muscled, his shoulders broad.

With a firm, but non-threatening tug, he pulls me off Micah.

The alien’s head turns to me, and I can vaguely see my own reflection in the screen-like visor that covers the front of his head.

He places his hand on Micah’s chest without looking away as if he’s asking for my permission to do what I can’t.

A sob catches in my throat, and I look at the boy one more time, like I need to convince myself there really is no other choice.

He’s murmuring soundlessly, his eyes already blind to his surroundings.

“See you later, sweetheart,” I say, then lean back on my heels. I nod at the alien, though I’m not sure if he understands the gesture. Regardless, he spreads the fingers of his hand on Micah’s body, and the same whoomph as before sounds. The boy’s body twitches once, and then his eyes close.

My shoulders shake as I think of the innocent lost life and how much tragedy he had to endure in the short amount of time he was on this planet.

When I feel snot running over my lips and down my chin, I raise my hand to wipe it off.

The metallic taste in my mouth registers before I see the blood on my fingers.

The world’s edges become fuzzy, pressing in on me, smothering me.

The last thing I see is an opening visor and a pair of eyes like two sparkling galaxies.