allow a tiny breath of relief as the light vanishes. The chain link fence rattles as someone kicks it. “Darn cats are a nuisance.”
“Now what, Tuz?”
The older alien, Tuz I presume, spits. The glob splatters against the dumpster and I scrunch up my nose with disgust. “We keep looking. She can’t have gone too far.”
I wait to take my first deep breath until the sounds of their retreat have completely vanished. My fingers uncurl from my palms, leaving stinging half-moon cuts. I tear my shirt away from my face and sit up, gasping for breath as my lungs expand to full capacity.
Compost shifts down my body as I rise to a crouch. My pants are filthy, my hair is clumped with compost, and my skin itches in more places than I care to count. I pull my shirt down over my head and take in the damage.
The jagged hem of my black shirt is now about two inches shorter in places. Large rips lead up my sides and one up the center of my stomach, stopping scant inches from my chest. “Good thing no one’s going to see me like this,” I mutter as I wiggle back through the hole.
Fresh blood and dirt mingle in the wounds as I rise. I cup my hand over my right side, knowing I pulled a bit too far to the right. The wound is deeper than before.
I take the alley at a run, keeping to the deeper shadows until I reach the end of the street. I poke my head out and survey both ways. No signs of my pursuers, but I’m sure they’re not too far away.
I sweep the roofline in search of which direction to head. The moonlight breaks through small openings in the cloud cover, lending just enough light so I won’t face plant into a wall. I can see the glow of the City above, gaining brightness behind me. A rumbling rises from the ground, intermittent but increasing in intensity. I peer down the street and see a towering shadow gaining purchase on the buildings several blocks away. I don’t know what it is but I’m not sticking around to find out. I sprint straight across the street and flee to the darkness.
Wooden boards creak underfoot as I climb a set of rickety stairs. The banister rocks under my grasp, threatening to collapse onto the floor below. I cling to it, unsure if it is holding me upright or vice versa.
The wallpaper on the stairway wall is faded, concealing its original design. It peels away from the weathered molding near the ceiling. The plaster behind is cracked from evidence of water damage. Everything feels dingy and almost sticky to the touch.
My steps are labored, echoing through the abandoned housing building. Exhaustion shrouds me as I round the second floor and struggle up the next flight of stairs. The landing is blanketed with tile shards that poke up into my shoes as I pass. A large, glassless window at the end of the hall allows in shifting beams of moonlight. What was probably once a white cushioned window seat just below has deteriorated to a moldy lump. I scrunch up my nose at the obvious evidence of rodent habitation.
I have no idea where I am, or how far I’ve run; all I know is I can’t go any further.
It has been an hour since I heard the aliens. Not long after I darted out of the alley, I heard a laser fight a couple blocks over and I can’t help wondering if Bastien made it out alive.
I should have gone back for him and fought beside him. I try to reason that I shouldn’t care, that we’re only two strangers whose paths crossed at the wrong time, but it doesn’t feel right. He is human and, by default, my kin.
Shuffling my feet along the threadbare carpet, I head toward a door at the end of the hall. As I get closer, I realize the off-white door has a smattering of holes marring the surface. I run my finger along the splintered wood.
“A shotgun did this.” I push the door and stumble inside. A black metal number 15 rattles and drops to the floor outside
“Now what, Tuz?”
The older alien, Tuz I presume, spits. The glob splatters against the dumpster and I scrunch up my nose with disgust. “We keep looking. She can’t have gone too far.”
I wait to take my first deep breath until the sounds of their retreat have completely vanished. My fingers uncurl from my palms, leaving stinging half-moon cuts. I tear my shirt away from my face and sit up, gasping for breath as my lungs expand to full capacity.
Compost shifts down my body as I rise to a crouch. My pants are filthy, my hair is clumped with compost, and my skin itches in more places than I care to count. I pull my shirt down over my head and take in the damage.
The jagged hem of my black shirt is now about two inches shorter in places. Large rips lead up my sides and one up the center of my stomach, stopping scant inches from my chest. “Good thing no one’s going to see me like this,” I mutter as I wiggle back through the hole.
Fresh blood and dirt mingle in the wounds as I rise. I cup my hand over my right side, knowing I pulled a bit too far to the right. The wound is deeper than before.
I take the alley at a run, keeping to the deeper shadows until I reach the end of the street. I poke my head out and survey both ways. No signs of my pursuers, but I’m sure they’re not too far away.
I sweep the roofline in search of which direction to head. The moonlight breaks through small openings in the cloud cover, lending just enough light so I won’t face plant into a wall. I can see the glow of the City above, gaining brightness behind me. A rumbling rises from the ground, intermittent but increasing in intensity. I peer down the street and see a towering shadow gaining purchase on the buildings several blocks away. I don’t know what it is but I’m not sticking around to find out. I sprint straight across the street and flee to the darkness.
Wooden boards creak underfoot as I climb a set of rickety stairs. The banister rocks under my grasp, threatening to collapse onto the floor below. I cling to it, unsure if it is holding me upright or vice versa.
The wallpaper on the stairway wall is faded, concealing its original design. It peels away from the weathered molding near the ceiling. The plaster behind is cracked from evidence of water damage. Everything feels dingy and almost sticky to the touch.
My steps are labored, echoing through the abandoned housing building. Exhaustion shrouds me as I round the second floor and struggle up the next flight of stairs. The landing is blanketed with tile shards that poke up into my shoes as I pass. A large, glassless window at the end of the hall allows in shifting beams of moonlight. What was probably once a white cushioned window seat just below has deteriorated to a moldy lump. I scrunch up my nose at the obvious evidence of rodent habitation.
I have no idea where I am, or how far I’ve run; all I know is I can’t go any further.
It has been an hour since I heard the aliens. Not long after I darted out of the alley, I heard a laser fight a couple blocks over and I can’t help wondering if Bastien made it out alive.
I should have gone back for him and fought beside him. I try to reason that I shouldn’t care, that we’re only two strangers whose paths crossed at the wrong time, but it doesn’t feel right. He is human and, by default, my kin.
Shuffling my feet along the threadbare carpet, I head toward a door at the end of the hall. As I get closer, I realize the off-white door has a smattering of holes marring the surface. I run my finger along the splintered wood.
“A shotgun did this.” I push the door and stumble inside. A black metal number 15 rattles and drops to the floor outside
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