Dweller - Jeff Strand [1]
“I don’t know. They’ve got two arms and two legs—I don’t see why they couldn’t.”
“Maybe they can’t, though.” Thomas coughed, and a rope of red spittle dangled from his lower lip. “Let’s not kid ourselves. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want to carry me on your back, you need to hide me somewhere and leave me behind.”
Phil nodded. “You and Nancy hide in the tree. I’ll go get help.”
“No,” said Nancy. “I’m going. You’re hurt too bad.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your head is bleeding and your words are slurred. I’m going.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Honey, you’ll slow me down.” She reached for Thomas’s rifle. “Give me that so I can beat them to death if I need to.”
Thomas hesitated for a moment, then handed it to her. Nancy gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll bring back help. I swear.” She looked at Phil. “Don’t let anything get him.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
Nancy ran off.
Getting Thomas up the tree wasn’t easy, but when they heard a rustling in the nearby bushes it encouraged Thomas to move more quickly, ruined leg or not. They climbed to about thirty feet high and waited.
They saw the first creature about three minutes before it saw them. It immediately shouted out in the guttural sounds of an ape, and was soon joined by two more. Then another three. Then another six.
But though it sounded like an ape, it couldn’t climb like one. The creatures punched at the tree, kicked at it, and tried to shake it, yet didn’t seem able to actually ascend the branches. We’re safe for now, Phil thought.
Thomas bled to death before dark, so Phil had nobody to talk to.
By the end of the second day he was talking to himself.
The youngest one, the runt, was hungry. He was also getting impatient waiting for the food to fall out of the tree, so he searched for bugs. Caterpillars were his favorite. He let a bright green one crawl along his talon, then popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly.
He cried out as his mother’s head burst open.
Loud noises everywhere. His father moved toward him, arms outstretched, but several red holes popped in his chest, all at once, and his father fell to the ground. The youngest one screamed and scurried away, just like his mother and father had taught him.
He hid in the bushes for a while, sad and scared.
When he finally went back, food was helping other food out of the tree. Some more food was poking at his brothers and sisters with the same kind of stick that had made his oldest brother’s eye explode two days ago. All of them were dead, even Beka.
The youngest one turned and ran.
He ran and ran, as fast as he could, so that the food wouldn’t kill him, too.
When he stopped running, he wept.
CHAPTER ONE
1953. Age 8.
Toby Floren was ready for the Martian invasion. More than ready. If those green killers from outer space dared show up at his house, he’d lop off their tentacles with his pocketknife, steal their laser guns, and then disintegrate them. If nobody was watching, he might disintegrate Mrs. Faulkner, too, and blame the aliens. He’d only taken two or three blackberries from her yard—not even the biggest ones—and she’d screamed at him as if he were a masked bank robber stealing bars of gold.
Toby thought his pocketknife might work even better against a bank robber than an alien, so if bank robbers attacked, he’d be ready for them, too.
He stabbed at the air. His mom had made Toby promise, hand on his heart, that he wouldn’t take the blade out when she or Dad weren’t around, so he just lunged with the handle. “Yahh!” he said, imagining his knife plunging right into one of those sucker-filled alien tentacles.
What if they were invaded by Martian bank robbers? It would be the greatest day ever.
Any Martians, bank robbers or not, were doomed if they caused any problems in his town. As soon as he saw their leader, he’d fling the knife. The alien leader would duck, but Toby would have anticipated the move and thrown the knife at the wall, where it ricocheted off and struck the alien’s exposed brain. With their leader gone, the other aliens would be quick to worship Toby, and he’d use