Read Online Intruders: The Invasion: A Post-Apocalyptic, Alien Invasion Thriller (Book 1) by Tracy Sharp - Free Book Online
Authors: Tracy Sharp
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hair turned slowly to look at me. She was thin and hallow looking, and
the circles under her eyes were deep and purple. She wore a pair of pink
flannel pajamas with stars and moons all over them. She wore a white sock with
purple frills on one foot. The other was bare.
I’d heard of this little girl. Sidney Curtis. There had been
a collection for her about a month ago. She had a brain tumor, and friends of
the family had been raising money for her medical bills. Her family had
mortgaged their house twice to pay for everything that she’d needed.
I recognized her mother from the pictures on the news and
the website. I’d donated twenty-five dollars to her fund. The Sidney Fund.
Looking at Sidney now, I felt a mixture of horror and
complete and utter sadness. I hoped that she’d died before the world had gone
to hell.
Then, as she shambled toward me, growling deep in her dead
throat, it occurred to me that she hadn’t vanished. She hadn’t been one of the
abducted children.
Because she was sick.
Apparently the aliens didn’t want, or couldn’t use,
terminally ill sick kids.
Hank growled back at her, backing down the drive way. He was
the smart one of the two of us, because I headed toward her.
As she reached me, arms out, hands grasping, I jammed my
knife through her eye. She went down soundlessly, weighing so little that it
made almost no impact on the snow.
Her mother walked toward me, short, red hair sticking up in
all directions. She didn’t weigh much either. But then, I didn’t imagine she’d
eaten much, with her nine year old daughter dying a little more each day before
her eyes.
Her jeans and white sweater hung on her skinny frame, and
the area where Sidney must’ve bitten her was dark red. The blood had spread and
dried. Her throat was all but completely torn out. Huge, gaping wounds left her
neck weak, and her head hung awkwardly to the side as she walked toward me, jaw
hanging slack.
“I am so sorry,” I murmured. Not for what I was about to do,
but for what she’d been through before she’d ended up as a deadie. Watching her
child suffer and fade each day. The pain she must’ve endured was unimaginable
to me. It seemed the most cruel and atrocious thing to happen to her.
I wondered if there was anything left of the person she’d
been, behind those dead eyes. But then, it didn’t matter. Killing the thing
she’d become would be the ending of all of her suffering.
Stepping forward, I jabbed my knife sideways, through her
ear, and ripped it back out, watching her fall on top of her daughter.
Hank growled again, looking toward the street.
Turning, I noted that two more deadies had left the houses
they’d been searching for fresh meat, and were heading our way. More would be
joining them soon, I was sure.
“Let’s go, Hank.” I ran into the garage, hoping that the
keys were left in the Pilot.
Nope.
I looked around the garage frantically. “Please, please
don’t let them be in the house.”
Hank growled again, louder.
The two deadies were slowly but surely making their way up
the driveway, and three more weren’t far behind.
I looked around, panic spiking adrenalin through my veins.
Mr. Doriga seemed to have spent a lot of time here. Every man needs a man cave.
There was a long counter at the back of the garage, and cabinets above it.
Hank followed close behind as I began whipping open the
cabinet doors.
The deadies groaned a mere few feet behind me.
One cabinet door left. I held my breath.
On the back of it hung several keys.
But only one that would belong to a Honda Pilot.
I grabbed the key, spinning around as Hank barked wildly.
He’d backed up to the wall, refusing to leave me. I shoved the key into the
pocket of my jacket and gripped the knife.
The closest deadie was almost close enough to kiss me. I
recognized him as a hot guy that used to jog up the street every morning. He
stood in front of me, shirtless. Still, strangely, looking hot even though he
was dead
the circles under her eyes were deep and purple. She wore a pair of pink
flannel pajamas with stars and moons all over them. She wore a white sock with
purple frills on one foot. The other was bare.
I’d heard of this little girl. Sidney Curtis. There had been
a collection for her about a month ago. She had a brain tumor, and friends of
the family had been raising money for her medical bills. Her family had
mortgaged their house twice to pay for everything that she’d needed.
I recognized her mother from the pictures on the news and
the website. I’d donated twenty-five dollars to her fund. The Sidney Fund.
Looking at Sidney now, I felt a mixture of horror and
complete and utter sadness. I hoped that she’d died before the world had gone
to hell.
Then, as she shambled toward me, growling deep in her dead
throat, it occurred to me that she hadn’t vanished. She hadn’t been one of the
abducted children.
Because she was sick.
Apparently the aliens didn’t want, or couldn’t use,
terminally ill sick kids.
Hank growled back at her, backing down the drive way. He was
the smart one of the two of us, because I headed toward her.
As she reached me, arms out, hands grasping, I jammed my
knife through her eye. She went down soundlessly, weighing so little that it
made almost no impact on the snow.
Her mother walked toward me, short, red hair sticking up in
all directions. She didn’t weigh much either. But then, I didn’t imagine she’d
eaten much, with her nine year old daughter dying a little more each day before
her eyes.
Her jeans and white sweater hung on her skinny frame, and
the area where Sidney must’ve bitten her was dark red. The blood had spread and
dried. Her throat was all but completely torn out. Huge, gaping wounds left her
neck weak, and her head hung awkwardly to the side as she walked toward me, jaw
hanging slack.
“I am so sorry,” I murmured. Not for what I was about to do,
but for what she’d been through before she’d ended up as a deadie. Watching her
child suffer and fade each day. The pain she must’ve endured was unimaginable
to me. It seemed the most cruel and atrocious thing to happen to her.
I wondered if there was anything left of the person she’d
been, behind those dead eyes. But then, it didn’t matter. Killing the thing
she’d become would be the ending of all of her suffering.
Stepping forward, I jabbed my knife sideways, through her
ear, and ripped it back out, watching her fall on top of her daughter.
Hank growled again, looking toward the street.
Turning, I noted that two more deadies had left the houses
they’d been searching for fresh meat, and were heading our way. More would be
joining them soon, I was sure.
“Let’s go, Hank.” I ran into the garage, hoping that the
keys were left in the Pilot.
Nope.
I looked around the garage frantically. “Please, please
don’t let them be in the house.”
Hank growled again, louder.
The two deadies were slowly but surely making their way up
the driveway, and three more weren’t far behind.
I looked around, panic spiking adrenalin through my veins.
Mr. Doriga seemed to have spent a lot of time here. Every man needs a man cave.
There was a long counter at the back of the garage, and cabinets above it.
Hank followed close behind as I began whipping open the
cabinet doors.
The deadies groaned a mere few feet behind me.
One cabinet door left. I held my breath.
On the back of it hung several keys.
But only one that would belong to a Honda Pilot.
I grabbed the key, spinning around as Hank barked wildly.
He’d backed up to the wall, refusing to leave me. I shoved the key into the
pocket of my jacket and gripped the knife.
The closest deadie was almost close enough to kiss me. I
recognized him as a hot guy that used to jog up the street every morning. He
stood in front of me, shirtless. Still, strangely, looking hot even though he
was dead
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