Intruders: The Invasion: A Post-Apocalyptic, Alien Invasion Thriller (Book 1) by Tracy Sharp
Authors: Tracy Sharp
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wood,
listening for any movement.
The dog lifted his ears, doing the same.
“Do you hear anything?” I asked him. I figured if he did
hear something, he’d be a good warning indicator.
He stared at the door, ears twitching, but didn’t make any
signal that there was anyone in the house.
This dog wasn’t a barker. The only time I’d heard him bark
was when his people had been dragged away. I’d squeezed my eyes shut at the
time, trying to block out their screams.
The dog wouldn’t draw the attention of the dead, or the
lizards.
Slowly, I turned the knob. “Stay close, buddy.”
I stepped into a kitchen, standing still, looking around and
listening. There was a door off the kitchen left open, and freezing air swirled
around the kitchen, lifting the edges of photos and post-it notes on the fridge
door. Why were there no dead in here? Or had they moved to another room in the
house?
Slowly, I moved to the door, peeking around it to the stairs
and yard outside.
I had my answer.
A wheelchair lay tipped over in the yard, and several of the
dead were busy tearing into the old man who had been apparently either trying
to get away from the house or into it. There lay a walker a few feet away, and
the old lady who had used it next to it. She was also being eaten.
The grandparents . I’d seen them
making their slow way to and from the Dorigas’ Honda Pilot before.
The dead were busy now, but they wouldn’t be forever.
I quietly pulled the door shut and locked it.
There was no movement. I knew there had to be an open door
somewhere, where the dead had come in.
Moving carefully I started checking the rest of the house. I
went room by room, looking for any dead that might’ve made their way in. They
were quiet, which made them lethal if you weren’t careful. They may not be
fast, but they were stealthy.
The dog stayed right beside me, and I was thankful for his
company. I didn’t feel so alone, now. He didn’t seem to want to move far
without me, either. I couldn’t blame him.
When we’d checked the entire house for the dead and found it
clear, I let out a deep breath.
“I think we’re safe for now, bud.” I patted the dog’s head.
My horror-addled mind tried to remember his name but came up with nothing.
Kneeling down, I rubbed my hands over his head, then looked at
the tags on his collar.
The name on the tag was Hank. “Hank,” I said. His ears
lifted and his tail thudded against the floor. Then I remembered Mrs. Doriga
calling for him. I’d thought she was calling Tank. That name would’ve suited
him fine, as big as he was.
“Pleased to meet you.” I kept my voice low. “We’re in
trouble here. I guess you already know that.”
Hank licked my face. The gash on his back looked ugly, but I
didn’t think it was too bad.
I found the bathroom down a hallway off the living room.
There was some antiseptic spray and some antibiotic ointment in the cabinet.
Hank was close on my heels. I bent down, sprayed the antiseptic onto his long
gash. The spray was supposed to be numbing, so I hoped it helped his pain. I
then squeezed ointment all along the wound.
He whimpered lightly, but didn’t move.
I patted him on the head. “Good boy. You’re so brave.”
Taking the medicine with me, I looked around the house. In
the teenager’s room, I found a canvas backpack. I dumped it onto her bed and stuffed
the medicine into it.
I looked through her clothes and found a pair of yoga pants
that would fit me. In her closet I found a ski jacket and black windbreaker
pants. They had an elastic waist, so they fit me okay, if a little big. The
girl was a skier. Lucky for me.
Scanning the room, my gaze stopped on a cork board covered
in pictures. The girl, small and blonde, smiled into the camera in every photo.
I’d seen her coming and going, but had never spoken to her. There were many
selfies with friends. She seemed like a popular, happy girl. A birthday card
hung on a push pin. I lifted a corner with a
listening for any movement.
The dog lifted his ears, doing the same.
“Do you hear anything?” I asked him. I figured if he did
hear something, he’d be a good warning indicator.
He stared at the door, ears twitching, but didn’t make any
signal that there was anyone in the house.
This dog wasn’t a barker. The only time I’d heard him bark
was when his people had been dragged away. I’d squeezed my eyes shut at the
time, trying to block out their screams.
The dog wouldn’t draw the attention of the dead, or the
lizards.
Slowly, I turned the knob. “Stay close, buddy.”
I stepped into a kitchen, standing still, looking around and
listening. There was a door off the kitchen left open, and freezing air swirled
around the kitchen, lifting the edges of photos and post-it notes on the fridge
door. Why were there no dead in here? Or had they moved to another room in the
house?
Slowly, I moved to the door, peeking around it to the stairs
and yard outside.
I had my answer.
A wheelchair lay tipped over in the yard, and several of the
dead were busy tearing into the old man who had been apparently either trying
to get away from the house or into it. There lay a walker a few feet away, and
the old lady who had used it next to it. She was also being eaten.
The grandparents . I’d seen them
making their slow way to and from the Dorigas’ Honda Pilot before.
The dead were busy now, but they wouldn’t be forever.
I quietly pulled the door shut and locked it.
There was no movement. I knew there had to be an open door
somewhere, where the dead had come in.
Moving carefully I started checking the rest of the house. I
went room by room, looking for any dead that might’ve made their way in. They
were quiet, which made them lethal if you weren’t careful. They may not be
fast, but they were stealthy.
The dog stayed right beside me, and I was thankful for his
company. I didn’t feel so alone, now. He didn’t seem to want to move far
without me, either. I couldn’t blame him.
When we’d checked the entire house for the dead and found it
clear, I let out a deep breath.
“I think we’re safe for now, bud.” I patted the dog’s head.
My horror-addled mind tried to remember his name but came up with nothing.
Kneeling down, I rubbed my hands over his head, then looked at
the tags on his collar.
The name on the tag was Hank. “Hank,” I said. His ears
lifted and his tail thudded against the floor. Then I remembered Mrs. Doriga
calling for him. I’d thought she was calling Tank. That name would’ve suited
him fine, as big as he was.
“Pleased to meet you.” I kept my voice low. “We’re in
trouble here. I guess you already know that.”
Hank licked my face. The gash on his back looked ugly, but I
didn’t think it was too bad.
I found the bathroom down a hallway off the living room.
There was some antiseptic spray and some antibiotic ointment in the cabinet.
Hank was close on my heels. I bent down, sprayed the antiseptic onto his long
gash. The spray was supposed to be numbing, so I hoped it helped his pain. I
then squeezed ointment all along the wound.
He whimpered lightly, but didn’t move.
I patted him on the head. “Good boy. You’re so brave.”
Taking the medicine with me, I looked around the house. In
the teenager’s room, I found a canvas backpack. I dumped it onto her bed and stuffed
the medicine into it.
I looked through her clothes and found a pair of yoga pants
that would fit me. In her closet I found a ski jacket and black windbreaker
pants. They had an elastic waist, so they fit me okay, if a little big. The
girl was a skier. Lucky for me.
Scanning the room, my gaze stopped on a cork board covered
in pictures. The girl, small and blonde, smiled into the camera in every photo.
I’d seen her coming and going, but had never spoken to her. There were many
selfies with friends. She seemed like a popular, happy girl. A birthday card
hung on a push pin. I lifted a corner with a
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