Invasion Read online

  And after every fight, I had to force myself out of violence, force myself to recall the ways of a loving mother. It made me sad.

  I looked at the rearview mirror and saw my girls' faces. Asleep now, hands fallen to their sides, little faces scrunched up, responding to what was surely bad dreams.

  How could I regret the change in myself if it kept my daughters alive?

  The answer was- I couldn't.

  Gas & Go

  Hours later, we were on the side of the road. We'd just crossed into Kentucky and I was severely in need of a break.

  "Jason, wake up." He was really out of it, his breathing deep, steady, and almost as peaceful as that of a sleeping child- a child who's seen little violence in their life. A spark of envy blossomed in my chest and then faded. I should not envy him the ability to let go of the world and sleep soundly. I just wanted that same ability for myself. I coveted the release it must provide. I shook Jason gently at first, not wanting to jar him awake despite my jealousy. When he didn't respond, however, I shook him with more force. And I didn't feel bad about it. "Jason, come on. Wake up."

  "What!" He reared up, comically alert, a blade glued to his hand. I hadn't seen him tuck the knife under his arm before closing his eyes. I was surprised he hadn't sliced himself.

  "Relax. It's just your turn at the wheel." I tried to soothe, my voice as calm as I could make it.

  "Where are we?" He asked, squinting out into the dark night. He seemed fully alert now. The innocent, slumbering child was vanished.

  "The outskirts of Huntington, Kentucky." Huntington wasn't the best place to make a stop. I knew it, but, God, I was tired. Of more than just driving.

  "Stupid place to stop." Jason disapproved.

  "I know, I know, but I need you to take the wheel. I'm bushwhacked." As if to make my point, a yawn forces its way out of my body. I try to stifle it, cupping my mouth around the sensation, but I'm unsuccessful.

  "Point taken." Jason's mouth contorts open, his own exhaustion responding to mine. I'll never understand why yawns are so contagious. "And no one says bushwhacked anymore."

  "I do."

  He smiles at me, his teeth catching the dim light glowing from the dash. "Well, let's not dillydally here any longer than necessary."

  I know, without him saying, that he's used the antiquated word for my benefit. Just a couple of surviving Americans here, folks; no need to stare. Just bushwhacked from dillydallying all over the country. Of course, we weren't quite on the great American road trip, cruising down Route 66 sipping on chocolate shakes.

  It was about three in the morning. The girls were sound asleep in their car seats- each covered and warmed by flannel blankets. Jason and I switched places quickly. I unbuckled and crammed myself into the narrow space between our seats to allow him to maneuver in front of me; my knees slammed into the floor-mounted console that holds drinks. I closed my eyes as his body pushed against mine for only a brief moment. It didn't arouse me. It wasn't some too intimate closeness that had me trying to block out the sensation of our touching. Instead, I closed my eyes and mind against the overwhelming need I felt to reach out and hug him. To pretend that he was someone else and we had all made it out alive. He wasn't my husband though.

  The burning in my arms, their desire to flex around Jason's waist, died quickly and left me with only phantom pains. Memories of a happy life.

  I couldn't let myself pretend. I just couldn't.

  We started moving again. Jason always drove a little slower than me; trying to conserve gas? Maybe. I never bothered to ask. Even though I'd been exhausted when I'd pulled over to switch drivers, now I was vibrating with energy. Isn't that the way it goes? You head to bed, your body craving the sheets and blankets and plush pillows, only to lie down and find yourself magically, and unhappily, wide awake.

  A few moments after Jason took over, we passed a sign that advertised for Smartfield Foods. A mother is smiling as she places a platter of food on a table. Steam rises from a spiral ham, the red-brown of the meat complemented by bright orange carrots, purple onions, and a mound of golden potatoes.

  It looked delicious. Not just the food... but the family preparing to eat it. Would we ever have that back again? Safe houses, not a worry in the world, sharing the small happenings of our days over mouthfuls of food?

  No, I feared we wouldn't.

  From what we could tell, nutritionally the undergrounders could eat practically anything we could eat. Slaughterhouses, farmlands, and packaging plants were notorious nests for newly-surfaced humanoids. Protection of the walls, large food supplies. It made sense. The food may have long run out, but the factories remained beastie safe houses. I distinctly remembered when Smartfield Foods, Inc. was taken over. The plant had been ravaged, most of the employees killed, and the headquarters was now a boarded up sanctuary for the sun-phobic, bastards of nature. It had been one of the last news stories I'd caught on TV before fleeing. The National Guard was planning to blow it up.

  Maybe they had, but we weren't venturing near enough to find out.

  Without saying anything, Jason turned us down a road that went in the opposite direction of where the plant was advertised to be on the idyllic sign. Twenty minutes and several side roads later, we returned to the interstate. Our diverted path had kept us well away from the factory and the horrors it likely still housed.

  Jason continued to keep to the main interstates and we thankfully didn't run into any heavy congestion. Every now and then, we'd see an abandoned vehicle on the road. Nothing big enough to carry the four of us plus our supplies though. I thought about asking Jason why he wasn't stopping to see if they had any fuel in the tanks, but something made me keep quiet. I was confident he had a reason. My quickly-growing confidence in him made me a little uncomfortable.

  Aside from a possible fuel source, the cars we passed represented another thing for me- people. Probably long dead people. I said a little prayer for each silent car.

  The vehicle was silent. I didn't mind it. We passed another car, a pewter-hued coupe. I thought about gas again. Surely we were getting close to needing a fill up. For the life of me though, I couldn't remember what the level was at when Jason and I switched seats.

  "We'll need to find gas soon; don't like it running at anything under a quarter tank." It was as if he'd read my mind. "We're hovering below half now.

  Jason tapped the gauge display like he thought his finger could miraculously change the fuel needle's angle. I wish it could. Life would be a lot easier if we were armed with a magic finger.

  "I'll keep an eye out for a gas station or parking lot. Hopefully we'll be able to siphon enough or find a replacement." As I said the words, I yawned. Now I was getting tired, now when I needed to help Jason find gas. Figured.

  "Great. Thanks." Jason lifted his right hand off the steering wheel and pressed it against his thigh. His finger joints popped like soft gunshots.

  I just nodded in response this time, my eyelids finally beginning to droop. My focus shifted to the vehicle's movement; its tires kissing the pavement was methodical and lulled me further towards sleep. I was glad for it to come. I needed rest. The van wasn't the most comfortable for sleeping, but at least now--with Jason at the wheel--I could recline a little further back and put my feet atop the dash. Before, when I was the only driver, I'd pull over only when I had to and always in daylight if possible. I'd sit stock straight, my seat belt left on. Just in case.

  "So where are you guys from?" Jason's voice leaked into my tired mind. I was nearly gone, succumbed to lullaby land. And he had to talk.

  I shifted my body, trying to sit a little straighter. Blinking rapidly, I tugged my brain back from the brink of dreams.

  "Georgia."

  "So you started in Georgia and want to go to Canada"

  "Correct." I offered nothing further. I didn't feel like having a chat fest. I was too tired for conventional small talk.

  "Heading to Virginia wasn't the quickest route to that goal. What sent you t
hat way?" Jason and I had talked a lot about where we were going, how to get there, how to survive, but we hadn't spoken much about how the girls and I had survived before meeting him. Come to think of it, I don't think we'd once even mentioned the radio broadcasts or coordinates. Just that I was going to Canada, children in tow, and he was now coming with us.

  "I could say it was a feeling leading me towards meeting my handsome rescuer in the hills of Virginia." I clasped my hands together and batted my eyelashes. The forced Southern accent wasn't very convincing and I didn't sound the slightest bit amused. I felt awake again though. That both satisfied me with the knowledge that I could keep pushing myself past physical needs if necessary and it also pissed me off. He'd gotten to nap. It was supposed to be my turn now.

  "Lady, I just tagged along because I thought you might get a tad lonely and need some... comforting." He winked at me. I punched him in the shoulder. Hope it hurt. We didn't know each other well enough for shit like that. "Seriously though, you were heading to Canada. I'm going with you now. We've got a solid plan. But what did you do before me? What took you to Virginia?"

  What did I do before him. Ugh. The question reeked of macho bullshit. "Don't you know about the radio broadcasts? That's how you found out about the group in the mountains, right? Well, one of the last locations I got was Canada. Therefore, we're going to Canada. And if Canada doesn't work out, we'll move towards Alaska." Simple. Easy. No more questions. I was wrong.

  "Right. I know about those, but there were other coordinates that would have made more sense to follow." He sort of shrugged his shoulders, inviting me to justify my actions. I didn't have to justify anything to anyone. I'd kept my girls safe. That's all that mattered.

  "I headed this way because I was familiar with the roads. It wasn't until halfway through South Carolina that I picked up the first broadcast." I paused, took a drink of water, and continued talking. "I was flipping channels one night while the girls were resting and the only thing coming through was a series of numbers. The series repeated every ten minutes. It dawned on me a few days later that they were coordinates."

  I remembered feeling so dumb when I realized what the numbers were; hating how much time I'd wasted driving aimlessly. "I wrote down what I could remember- which wasn't much. The closest set to us was in lower North Carolina. It was a large house on stilts built on a major rock bed. We stayed there for about four months with a group of college kids. After the food ran out, they moved on; we moved on."

  "You were lucky to be able to stay in one place so long." Jason glanced at me, wanting more.

  "Well, the next closest coordinates brought me to a secluded cabin also in North Carolina; no one there though." I took a small gulp of water. "Then we ended up in Virginia. And there you have it- the last six months of my life. Moving around and killing when necessary. Foraging for food and constantly ruining my clothes. Trying to keep my girls safe and perpetually being angry that they've lost their chance at innocent childhoods." I fell silent. "I'm sorry if that doesn't seem exactly logical to you."

  Jason didn't comment on my angry tone or the tears building in my eyes. Points for him.

  "Are you hoping they'll be more survivors there? In Canada, I mean." He stared out the windshield at the road ahead, his face markedly neutral.

  "I'm hoping for hope. More company would just be icing." It was my turn to shrug. I didn't know what the future held. Hope seemed a useless thing. A bear without fur in the dead of winter.

  My gaze moved to the window beside me and I watched the night shadows whiz by. My mind was always building menacing figures in the dark; right now was no different. Soon the imaginary monsters dissolved into nothingness. I must have stared out the window for hours. Maybe I dozed for a while; I'm not sure. Jason didn't seem to mind driving in the silence, some of his curiosity satisfied. I was so involved in my own thoughts, that the world could have collapsed around me and I wouldn't have noticed.

  We stopped near Louisville at a big truck station. It was the lightening hour: the time right before actual sunrise when the black sky begins to turn dark blue.

  A sprinkling of abandoned cars and eighteen-wheelers littered the lot. There was a relatively large convenience store, but we'd found that stores right off the highway were pretty much wiped-out.

  Jason pulled up beside a large blue Peterbilt. It was an extended cab and would be a good choice if the tank was full. It was diesel and our van wasn't, so siphoning gas wasn't an option. We'd need lady luck to give us a key, or it would be a no go. It didn't have a trailer attached. I could see why Jason had opted to check out the semis first. Compared to our economy van, the trucks looked like freaking tanks.

  He slid out of his seat, walked a few feet, and climbed up on the semi's running boards. The door was unlocked and it only took him a few moments to hunt down a pair of keys. Drivers were so predictable. If you copy your hiding places from movies, then everyone in the world is going to know to check the visor or under the floor mat. Live and learn people.

  The Peterbilt wouldn't even crank to check the gas level.

  On to the next vehicle- a Mack truck, burgundy and chromed to the hilt. Even though it was only a few spaces away, we still moved the van. The former owner of the Mack must have been very proud of his profession or wildly compensating. It was hooked up, but the rear doors were open, the container space empty. The cab doors were not open though. Locked up tight. Jason searched for a key-hider for twenty minutes before he gave up. He climbed up to the driver's door and took off his ski cap to cover his hand. His first punch to the window wasn't effective. I rolled down my window.

  "Hey superhero, think you'll get the truck opened anytime soon?"

  "Very funny. Why don't you haul your pretty butt out here in the chill and take a swing at it."

  "If I break it, I get your share of the last chocolate bar." I unbuckled and reached for the door handle. We had no chocolate. If we did, I'd have eaten it in a single go.

  "Definitely not worth the risk!" Jason mock gasped and hopped down from the truck. He walked to the back of the van, opened it, and got my hand trowel. He could have shot the window out, but then he'd be wasting precious ammo.

  Jason was back at the truck now, ski cap recovering his bald head. He pulled back his arm, mini-shovel in hand, and I heard an audible crack, followed by the tinkle of glass hitting pavement. I clapped for him; he rolled his eyes.

  Jason unlocked the door and pulled it open. He brushed glass shards off the driver's seat and then sat down. I heard an appreciative whistle.

  I couldn't see Jason very well seated, so I opened the door of the van and stood on the frame.

  "Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton." He said and then started fumbling around with the steering column.

  I stepped off the door rim and walked to the truck. He was right. The inside of the semi looked as fancy as the exterior. "Jason, that's a brand new truck. I'm sure it's safeguarded against good ole fashion hot-wiring."

  Jason stopped what he was doing. He sat motionless for a moment and then opened the glove compartment. "I'll be damned." His hand came into view. Dangling from his fingers was a shiny new key. A naked girl keychain danced as he moved his hand. The owner had definitely been compensating.

  "Classy."

  "The way I like it." Jason grinned and inserted the key into the ignition. The sound of the engine starting was tension-relieving. "Alright, let's transfer over. This truck is practically full. We'll get quite a bit of road out of this."

  It felt too easy, finding a shiny new truck that was full of gas to boot. It made me feel uncomfortable, like the devil was eyeing our backs and getting ready to pounce.

  The sun was creeping over the horizon. Daybreak. Finally.

  I unbuckled the girls and carried them to the truck. I thought for sure at least one of them would wake up as I moved them, but they didn't.

  The Mack had a sleeper cab nestled behind the front seats. Just feeling the plush mattress as I laid Megan and Kara down was li
ke a preview of the pearly gates. I left Megan's booster seat; she'd practically outgrown it anyway. Kara's was a convertible that went to 60 pounds. That I kept, tossing it behind the passenger seat. We couldn't use it right now, but maybe in the next vehicle.

  I covered the sleeping girls, tucking the flannel blankets around their shoulders. I pulled Megan's elbow length hair free from behind her back and brushed Kara's much shorter hair from her eyes. They wouldn't sleep much longer, not with sunlight coming.

  "You didn't get much rest before. I'll drive again for a few hours." I began to climb out of the truck to head back to the van for more of our things.

  "You barely slept while I was driving."

  So I had dozed off. Well, I may not have gotten much sleep, but I felt okay to drive and Jason had purplish rings under his eyes.

  "I'll just take over for an hour or two. Let's load up."

  Jason went to protest, I raised a hand. "Jason, you look like the walking dead. Just get a little sleep and then I'll happily relinquish driving duty back to you."

  "Alright, fine." Jason didn't sound pleased with the decision.

  It took a while to move all of the supplies. I'd just grabbed the last bucket- Jason already waiting in the truck with the girls- and started walking the short distance between vehicles, when I heard the slam of a door. I froze. Listening. The world was quiet though, getting ready to wake with the coming light. I was jumping at shadows.

  It dawned on me as I starting moving again, the bucket awkwardly held in my hands, that I had absolutely zero experience driving a big rig. That probably wouldn't go over well with Jason, especially considering I'd just made a big deal over him needing rest.

  Nearly to the driver's side door, bucket ready to hoist up to Jason who would stash it behind the seat, I heard another sound. Something that sent ripples across my skin, like a stone fallen into water. Claws against concrete. Scrapping. Scratching. Soft, yet distinct.

  I whirled in a circle, scanning the parking lot. There was nothing to see, but I knew something was out there. I quickly looked at Jason, already reaching for the bucket. He looked at me curiously. I scanned the gas station lot one more time.