Sloane was stunned—utterly, completely speechless. Did it really just speak to her? Actually acknowledge her? And in English, of all things?

  Every time she’d watched a movie where an alien beams down speaking perfect English, she’d laugh. The odds of that happening were, what, 0.00000000008%? Please.

  And yet an alien now stood before her, waiting for a response. Maybe knowing your enemy’s language was just part of their training. Or maybe humans weren’t enemies at all—she didn’t even know what they were to each other at this point.

  Either way, she couldn’t move or think. What was she supposed to say? Or really, what was it expecting her to do? Just run towards their shiny death burrito and say, you know what? Yes! I want to live! Take me home, oh powerful one. That thing couldn’t be serious.

  She heard commotion behind her. She didn’t want to look away from the extraterrestrial standing before her, but the burst of weapons firing snapped her head around in an owl-like jerk—a pure survival reflex.

  The fight had followed them into the clearing. Looks like those greys didn’t care for any survivors, not on their watch. A worse thought hit her: if they were all converging here, then the others hadn’t made it. Not Lumberjack. Not the teens. And definitely not Shirley Temple.

  The grey suited humanoids who had been surrounding the three of them opened fire on the newcomers, their weapons releasing sharp bursts of white-blue light into the tree line. They advanced toward the incoming Greys, determined to keep them from reaching their soldiers—or their ship.

  Sloane glanced back at the leader in black, assessing her rapidly deteriorating situation. She heard a female voice speak to him, the words unfamiliar—clearly their native language. But judging by their posture and the urgency in her tone, Sloane gathered it was a question. Something that needed his full attention.

  The leader turned to her. She couldn’t see his eyes through the helmet, but she could feel them—like they were drilling through her skin, the very core of her being.

  “There isn’t enough time. We can leave you, if that’s your choice. But we have to go now, or we all die.”

  Sloane remained frozen, her brain scrambling to analyze both the situation and the being standing in front of her. She can hear muffled arguing behind her. It was almost frantic, maybe even directed at her —but she couldn’t bring herself to pay attention. She needed to read him, and without a face, she tried to read his body language or lack thereof. He stood there motionless, but she could feel his energy. She’d always felt people’s energy—an empath, practically since birth. It’s one of the reasons she’d become a therapist.

  The leader radiated anxiousness, it was seeping out of his pores. Was it fear? Fear for his people? Or was it fear that waiting for her—her and the other two stragglers—was the wrong decision? Woven into that anxiety was a sense of desperation. Don’t be stupid, it seemed to whisper. Please.

  A crack tore through the air around them, followed by a thunderous bang that reverberated through the ground itself. Sloane felt the impact in her bones, as if there was an unseen presence pushing against her. Trees buckled in the distance, bending toward the ground as something massive shoved its way through the forest.

  A flash of gunmetal peeked over the green canopy, its armor absorbing the sunlight like the evil thing that it was. A massive machine—loaded with heavy artillery—angled its weapons directly at them and the others in the clearing. It was obvious they weren’t allies. If anything, they were fighting the same battle, just with far more advanced firepower. The woman next to Sloane screamed directly into her ear, making Sloane jump back several steps.

  After regaining composure, Sloane did the math. “Holy Optimus Prime.” It was the same tanks the teens had encountered. Again, how the hell did they survive long enough to tell anyone about it?

  She observed the leader in black raise a single finger in the air, another silent command. The soldiers in gray suits instantly pulled back, forming a clear path to their ship. A low hum pulsed from the aircraft—charging up, ready to make its escape. More creatures were coming along with more tanks. Sloane understood, with a cold clarity, that if they didn’t leave with these beings, they’d die now. If she went with them, well, she might just die later.

  Fuck it.

  Sloane took off after them, sprinting as best she could with her mangled leg. The other two scrambled behind her, trailing like lost puppies.

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  “Why are we going with them?” the man shouted, his voice cracking over the chaos erupting around them. “How do we know it’s safe?”

  Sloane didn’t bother looking back. “We don’t!” she yelled, dodging debris as another explosion rattled the ground beneath them. “But staying here is definitely unsafe, so pick your own poison!”

  She already had a hard enough time outrunning these creatures on a good day—there was no way in hell she’d make it now with her leg shredded the way it was. This was her only shot at survival. She wouldn’t make it far on her own. A risk? Absolutely. But in her opinion, it was the only one worth taking.

  They hurled themselves onto the retracting platform just as the doors slid shut behind them. The interior of the craft was startlingly simple—sleek white walls broken up by holographic screens pulsing with white-blue script, the same cool light tracing a path from the entrance to the cockpit.

  But what really caught Sloane’s attention were the windows. Floor-to-ceiling, wrapping the cabin in a panorama of the chaos outside. Interesting, considering that from the outside this thing looked like solid chrome, like it didn’t have a single window at all.

  Inside were more of the soldiers all clad in the same head to toe matte grey armor. Helmets still sealed, not showing a glimpse of what they could be. To Sloane’s surprise, there were also more humans. A cluster of them huddled together, trembling. Others stared blankly at the floor, looking like they’d already checked out. A few were shouting—demanding answers, demanding release, demanding something—but it was useless. None of the beings so much as glanced their way. They stood like statues, silent and unmoving, waiting for whatever order came next.

  The shiny death burrito took off, generating so much G-force Sloane swore her weight tripled. It only lasted a second before they were whipping through the sky. The ship banked hard, and suddenly the treetops swung into view. Pressed against the wall beside the windows, Sloane had a front-row seat to the chaos below—the Tanks unleashing hell on the aircraft.

  Crimson energy bolts hurtled towards them, hitting the aircraft with violent bursts of light. Yet none of the soldiers panicked. The ship absorbed each impact. A forcefield was protecting them, hopefully long enough for everyone to get to safety. Sloane felt every blow reverberate through the hull, a deep metallic thud that rattled her teeth. The other humans clung to each other, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, bracing for a hit that might finally break through.

  The ship moved at lightning speed. One minute Sloane was seeing Washington and its full beauty, minus a few fires she could see in the distance. The next minute the outside world turned into a blur of motion.

  The leader in black fixed his gaze on her. How could she possibly know that? one might wonder. Because she could feel it. He was studying her and she couldn’t shake the sensation of being hunted all over again. She forced herself to look away, shifting her gaze to the scenery beyond the window. They’d arrived somewhere new. She wasn’t even sure if they were still in Washington State.

  Reality started to settle over her again. She forced herself to take stock of everything that had changed—what she had lost, what little she might still have left, and the thin, impossible chances of getting out of this. Her thoughts spiraled back to her family. Maybe she would find them again. And if she didn’t, she prayed their deaths hadn’t been as horrific as the ones she’d witnessed.

  None of this was normal. How could this possibly be real? Where even was she? She had to pull herself together. No one could see her like this. They couldn’t see her weak. This was survival—pure, brutal survival.

  The leader in black still watched her, taking in every crack in her composure. Sloane only straightened in response.

  Once the leader in black was distracted by something else, Sloane glanced down at her injured foot—maybe her leg. She couldn’t really tell anymore; it all hurt the same. And it was bad. Really bad. Blood had soaked her boot, pooling around her ankle.

  She looked around, desperate to find a way to ease the pain. Everyone else was injured too, but there was no sign of medical personnel—no one coming to patch anyone up. If she didn’t get help soon, infection would be the least of her worries.

  The man and woman she’d come with immediately started pestering her with questions.

  “Where do you think we’re going? Do you think they’re going to kill us?” the woman asked, breath shaky.

  “What do you think we should do?” the man added, slipping an arm around the woman in some pathetic attempt to look protective—though they all knew he was the type who’d piss himself before ever throwing a punch.

  “What if they take us to another planet?” the woman’s voice cracked, close to sobbing.

  “I’m not your leader,” Sloane snapped, irritation boiling over. “Do whatever you want. You have full autonomy.”

  She didn’t like them. At all. If anything, they were dead weight—and she’d already learned her lesson about dragging people along. She was doing this alone.

  “What? What do you mean? We followed you here!” the man barked.

  “And that was your decision,” she shot back. “I didn’t even know you were behind me. I was trying to save my own ass.”

  She jabbed a finger toward him. “No one forced you. No one held a gun to your head. You’re here because you made a choice for yourself. And I have a feeling you’re the type who blames everyone else instead of taking ownership of your own actions. That ends with me. I’m not that person.”

  Sloane pushed herself up from the floor, limping away to put distance between them. Over her shoulder, she tossed one final, sharp parting shot:

  “Feel free to jump off the ship if you don’t like your decisions.”

  Then she flipped the man off—small satisfaction for an annoying, useless coward. She hoped that poor woman wasn’t actually married to him. What a miserable life that would be.

  Sloane was annoyed, exhausted, and very clear on one thing: She wasn’t responsible for their emotions, or what’s to come.