She’s running—faster than she ever has, faster than she ever believed possible. It’s the kind of pace only fear can elicit, the kind born when death is breathing down your neck. Her legs are numb, but they don’t stop. Her lungs are collapsing in on themselves, and a small, broken whimper slips past her lips.

  Around her, the world is a void—a never ending blackness ready to swallow her whole. Then a voice, deep and ancient, ripples around her. It doesn’t feel real, and yet the sound sends ice crawling up her spine.

  “Come out my child. Come out so I can see you. It’s time to come home. Here. With me. Where you belong.”

  The terror that grips her now is unlike anything she’s felt before. Not even the creatures that chased her off the cliff compared. Them, she could outrun. But this—this feels like suffocation. Like she is a bird trapped in a cage that’s half her size. Like she will never be free. He will find her, he will take her, and that terrifies her.

  The shadows around her swell, rising and twisting in on themselves. And strangely, they comfort her. They curl around her like familiar arms, warm and protective. Strength floods her chest, steadying her breath. Wrapped in this sudden darkness, she feels invincible.

  Her feet stop all at once, leaving her gasping for air. The void stretches in every direction. She is utterly alone. Yet she runs towards the voice anyway, a warrior’s cry tearing through her throat. Nothing could stop her, not even darkness itself.

  She jolts upright in bed with a gasp.

  A dream —only a dream.

  Sweat starts to gather at the nape of neck. Her breathing slowly returns to normal.

  Sweat. How long was she out for?

  It is mid-day. The sun high in the sky, sending warm rays of welcoming sunshine through the green canopy. She slept for longer than she intended. Too long. She needs to move.

  The sun beat down on the cabin, warming it to a comfortable temperature —a small blessing she’ll take without question. Her clothes, draped across the chair beside the bed, are nearly dry. She forces herself upright, limbs heavy with exhaustion, and pulls one leg into her jeans, then the other.

  She sits there for a little while starting to feel sorry for herself. Thoughts of her family rise like a tidal wave. Guilt follows suit.

  She left New York for a fresh start. She had a streak of bad relationships, one ending with a restraining order. Seattle felt like salvation—a place to rebuild from ashes, to focus on her work as a therapist, to become someone stronger and untangle herself from her shitty past.

  Three years. All that time, how often has she gone back to see her parents? She could count them on both hands.

  It was never anger that kept her away. It’s the space she thought she needed. A chance to breathe without the haunting memories of the poor decisions she had made. But in making that choice, she completely isolated herself. Yes, she made new friendships along the way, but her walls were up. She protected herself from everyone, which unintentionally included her loved ones.

  She sees her parents in her memory—their faces saddened as she loaded the final box into the moving truck, their smiles trembling as she boarded the plane. Their only child leaving, and their hearts completely broken. But they never stopped her. They only supported her in whatever way she needed.

  When was the last time she called them? Really called them?

  Almost thirty years old, and yet her chest aches for her mother’s voice. For her father’s bear hug. But there’s no way to reach them now. No way to tell them she’s alive. No way to ask if they are.

  She pushes back the sting behind her eyes. There is no room for tears. She’s never played the victim before and she refuses to start now.

  She crosses the creaking cabin floor and opens the armoire. Rows of hunting gear fill the interior—heavy coats, traps, worn leather and steel, all a disheveled mess. She picks up each individual piece, weighing out her options.

  In the end, she chooses a hunting knife to bring with her on her next leg of this impossible, unknown journey. Simple. Manageable. The only thing that doesn’t terrify her to hold. She’s never shot a gun. Never been trained to fight. But a blade made the most sense. If she didn’t have to balls to kill something, at least she had a functioning tool she could use in other circumstances.

  She finds a dusty box of expired crackers in a drawer and pockets it anyway. Food is food at the end of the day.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Then she steps outside—back into the forest, into the unknown. Because she must keep moving. She always has to keep moving.

  A low rhythmic hum reverberated through the tree lined forest. It wasn’t military, it couldn’t be. The sound was too technologically advanced. She’s heard that sound countless times since the invasion.

  She ducked behind a tree, hoping for cover, and peeked out to see if whatever had been in the sky had finally moved on. If this alien technology used heat sensors, she was completely shit out of luck—but sure. Hiding behind a tree felt like a solid plan.

  She could see the silhouette of the aircraft through the canopy of leaves as it beelined in the opposite direction. She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  The alien craft she’d encountered before were fast—devastatingly fast—appearing without warning and disappearing just as quickly. Hiding was the only strategy that ever worked.

  In the days she’d spent wandering the wilderness, she’d learned to distinguish two types of ships. The first was pitch black and menacing, its wings split in two like skeletal arms. Thin, webbed membrane stretched between them, like torn flesh fluttering in the wind. The second craft was smaller—sleeker, but no less terrifying. Its chrome body gleamed like polished mercury, tree line and sky warping across its mirrored surface. No wings. Nothing to indicate how it stayed aloft. Just a bullet in the sky, silent and stalking its prey.

  She’d only ever seen that one up close from a ridge high in the mountains. It had settled gently into a clearing. She’d been too far away to see what stepped out—or what went in. Maybe that was a blessing. She’d witnessed enough horror in the past few days to last a lifetime.

  In addition to the shiny death burrito and the nope-mobile, she’d spotted something far worse—a massive vessel hanging in the sky like a plague. A mothership, or at least what she assumed was one. It loomed in the distance like a brewing black storm, silent but impossibly present. She imagined it housed the winged aircrafts inside its belly—maybe even an entire army of those rolling scorpion-things, the gray alien she’d encountered once, and whatever fresh horrors she hadn’t met yet.

  It was diamond-shaped, layered in that same membranous material as the others, glistening like wet leather stretched too thin. It didn’t simply hover—it watched. It owned the sky.

  And if there was one mothership for the obsidian crafts, logic whispered something worse: There was probably another one out there claiming the silver monsters.

  Seeing that the coast was clear, she pushed forward—kicking loose dirt from the heels of her boots. Food. She needed food.

  Voices.

  She can hear the pitter patter of the creek below her, but if she listened closely, she could hear hushed whispers. Easly mistaken for running water, but she knew better.

  She lowered herself down the mountain side until she had a safe vantage point. She was a safe distance, close enough to hear but far enough to vanish if needed. Fifteen people huddled around a fire, cooking something freshly caught. Stupid. So stupid. A fire was a beacon. A neon sign saying here we are—come eat us.

  “I can’t believe we got away.”

  “We were lucky.”

  “Don’t count on that being luck. For all we know they are still tracking us down.”

  They must’ve been attacked. Several were injured—blood streaked across faces, soaked into clothing, making them look half-dead already. One woman in particular seemed to be hanging on by a thread, her breathing shallow, eyes dull and distant. Death was already whispering in her ear.

  “We need to get to my cousin—he’s at McChord. And did I mention he’s a high-ranking officer?”

  “About a hundred times,” Someone whispered under their breath.

  “Whatever. He warned me about something big happening. I bet they’re taking civilians in.”

  The man speaking wore what used to be a sharp, tailored suit. Now it was torn, stained, hanging loose like he’d been scraped through the forest.

  City people, she thought.

  She was stuck between making two choices. She could approach the group—hope they’d welcome her, maybe share food, a fire, a piece of humanity. Or she could stay hidden a little longer, observe, gather intel, and move on alone like she always had.

  The decision ricocheted inside her skull like a Ping-Pong ball.

  Humans had nearly killed her twice now—close enough that she wished she’d never crossed their paths in the first place.

  The first man she encountered tried to use her as bait—or worse, trade her to the aliens in some delusional attempt at peace. He was deranged if he thought peace was an option. Or just deranged in general. Still, a fistful of dirt to the eyes was enough to blind him long enough for her to escape.

  The second attempt had been uglier. She was starving, and he had food. A lot of food. Desperation made her bold. He didn’t take kindly to sharing, and she found herself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. Can’t say she didn’t deserve it. But the noise—God, the noise— caught the attention of the tall, gray humanoids.

  She had learned silence and he hadn’t. They reached him first giving her an opportunity

  to escape.

  She buried herself in a bush and pressed a shaking hand over her own mouth, forcing her breaths into tiny, silent tremors. From there she saw them clearly—the Greys. Their weapons were unlike anything she knew. Gun-like, but not. One pulled the trigger, a beam of green light cutting through the man at point-blank range. He dropped instantly.

  Their glossy black eyes scanned the area. A series of clicks and ticks passed between them; a strange alien language she had no way of deciphering.

  When they moved toward the house, she took her chance and ran. Another day survived by inches.

  Now, watching this new group from her vantage point, both memories paralyzing her. Approaching could save her life—or end it.

  But they had food. A real fire—as stupid as it was. And they seemed like reasonable people. Right? They also had information, even if it was all just guesswork and panic. If she could at least learn what was happening out there from those who’d seen it firsthand, maybe it would be worth the risk.

  She was tired—tired of wandering, tired of hunger gnawing her insides, tired of the silence, the cold and being alone.

  So she made a plan. A reckless one, but still a plan. Ask for food. Get intel. And try not to die.