“I need you to climb on my back. I’ll get you to someplace safe, but I need to carry you.”
She ceased crying but kept looking at him as if pleading with him to make this all go away and bring things back to normal. He thought about inquiring about her parents and then thought better. No matter what had happened to her parents, no matter what she knew about it, it wasn’t necessary to the situation at hand. Talking about it would only make things worse.
“And then what?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What will you do once I’m in a safe place? Will you leave me?”
Oh, crap. He had to say something.
“I won’t leave you until—” He almost said, until I get you home. “Well, I’ll make sure you’re never left alone.”
“What if you leave me with a bad stranger?”
He looked over the counter. He saw no one. “Huh? What?”
“A bad stranger. You wouldn’t leave me with one?”
“What’s a bad stranger?” He didn’t quite grasp what she meant.
“Someone who wants to hurt me.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, I’d never leave you with anyone like that.” But he wouldn’t know, would he, if he left her with a child molester. Lawlessness will set in quickly—who knows who is capable of bad things, once authority breaks down? Everyone who hadn’t learned how to use a gun—everyone who had survived, that is—would regret not doing so.
As if reading his thoughts, the girl said, “Mister, I’m scared.”
He had to wrap this up, but she wasn’t cooperating. “I know you’re scared, but if you get on my back, I’ll keep you from any harm.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re Prince Charming!”
“Prince who?”
“Prince Charming, silly.”
Prince Charming? Then he remembered Charming was a character in Snow White. Now that he looked closer, he recognized that the child wore a Snow White outfit, although stained with blood and what may be food stains—or vomit stains.
“I can pretend to fall asleep, and you can wake me up by kissing me. That’s what Prince Charming would do . . . what you would do.”
“Listen, little girl, we don’t have time—”
But she had already lain down on her back with her eyes closed. He wasn’t sure what to do. Then she opened one eye. “Now you’re supposed to kiss me. Kiss me, and then we can live happily ever after.” She closed her eye and lay still.
“If I kiss you, will you come with me?”
“Of course, Prince Charming!” She said without opening her eyes. “You really are bad at pretending.”
Rather amused, he had to admit that he was bad at pretending. Feeling silly, and squeamish, he bent down and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead.
“Not there, silly! Everyone knows Prince Charming kisses her on the lips!”
“Let’s pretend I kissed you on the lips. Is that fair?”
She opened her eyes, and she was beaming. “Now we live happily ever after!”
Vin didn’t like the implications of that, but all he wanted was to bring them both to safety.
“Now, can I pick you up?”
“Yes! Promise me you’ll always protect me.”
“I promise,” he said, immediately regretting it as he hoisted her onto his shoulders. “Hold on tight.” They ventured out, his shotgun in hand, not a soul in sight.
Chapter Nine
Day Six
Jocelyn awakened and started to rise out of bed. Her forehead abruptly hit something hard, and she let out an “ouch.” After a few seconds, she realized where she was—she’d passed out under the bed but had recovered. She must have had a panic attack rather than the dreaded heart attack.
She reached up and felt a cold metal crossbar. It was pitch black. After a long while, the vague outline of the bed frame came into focus. She remembered why she was there—and what she’d have to do.
It was either her or them.
She had to assume there was someone in the room with her. Since she’d made some noise, she lay there for a long time waiting for sounds from above. Then she chanced wiggling herself out, careful not to hit the frame with her sword, lest the sound should wake up whomever was there with her. Whichever alien it was.
Soon, she hovered over an alien figure lying on its side, under the covers. Moonlight was now streaming in through the window—the curtains now open. It looked human enough but so had George.
She silently prayed to Saint Michael—even if he wasn’t listening—and clasped her hand over the alien’s mouth, pulling its head toward her. It woke up, wide-eyed in surprise, but it didn’t move right away, giving her enough time to pierce its throat.
The alien struggled as blood gushed out of its neck. It turned its head away from her hand, but all it could make was gurgling sounds. Since it wasn’t dead, and, remembering how she’d killed George, Jocelyn drew the sword up high. With great force, she slammed it down on its neck, severing the head with that one motion.
She stood for a while, transfixed by the glassy eyes of the severed head. She turned cold, sweaty, and nauseous and took a deep breath.
Something bumped from the living room, followed by more chatter. She crept toward the closet and hid in there, peering out the crack of the slightly open door.
“Kate?” called out a voice from outside the room. This time they used human talk. “Kate, are you all right?”
Knocking on the door. Clever to call each other by human names. “Kate?” Now pounding. “Kate, I’m sorry, could you wake up?”
After a brief silence, the door opened. One alien entered, the other behind him. The former froze in place, showing no emotion—just like an alien would—at least at first.
“Holy shit,” came quietly out of its mouth, its eyes staring at the other alien’s lifeless, head-severed body. Jocelyn looked down on herself and saw a lot of blood on her and the sword. Unlike with George, now she had the initiative.
She burst out of the closet.
