It was my back that needed a good stretch more so than my legs. A stiffness had settled into these old bones of mine, but I didn't dare move, not yet anyway. I don't know how long I had been sitting in the forest—a half hour? a full hour?—but I would have to wait just a little bit longer.
I was hiding behind thick brush, spying on the monster in the distance, and as I waited, I thought of the alien invaders. They had arrived by the millions—or so it had seemed—ships packed so tightly you strained to see the familiar flickering of stars at night.
If I said those ships covered the sky like a thick blanket, I would be far off the mark. It was more like a giant pillow, one that God had gripped with determined hands and slowly pressed down upon His six-day creation.
When NASA's NEO Surveyor spotted that near-Earth object hurtling at an incredible speed toward our Solar System, mainstream scientists around the world assured us with scholarly confidence that there was no reason for concern. The object—6I/NEOS, the sixth interstellar comet to enter our Solar System—was just another comet, they said.
The sun was now dipping below the horizon, its last few rays of light just grazing the Earth. In another minute, it would be time for me to move. I wasn't too worried about the low light. Although my eyes weren't as sharp as they had once been, I was counting on the monster's eyes being even worse or, if not worse, at least not any better than my own. I could still see pretty well at a distance—even in dim lighting. It was the up-close stuff, like reading, that I had a problem with. Of course, I hadn't done much of that these last two years—too busy just trying to survive.
6I/NEOS didn't pass by our planet as expected. Instead, it slipped into an orbit around us, invading our personal, celestial space, cozying up to us like we were intimately acquainted. And then, like a spawning fish, the comet that wasn't a comet spewed forth from its belly thousands upon thousands of ships.
A diffused light moved like a mist through the trees. Shadows, once distinct, blended into a heavy grey wash across the landscape. Twilight had begun. I rose with deliberate care, my sixty-two-year-old knees stiff like rusty hinges. It was time to move into my final position. I had been waiting patiently for this exact moment, the one of transition between day and night. Experience had taught me it would work to my advantage.
Somehow the aliens coaxed our own Sun to turn traitor against us. It spit out billions of tons of plasma right at Earth, a coronal mass ejection of biblical proportions that destroyed electrical systems around the world. Electricity was so deeply threaded through every aspect of our daily lives that the fabric of our modern world fell apart when that thread was pulled. It unravelled quickly, like a loosely knit sweater, and in the blink of an eye, we were all thrown into the past, back into a hunter-gatherer way of life.
My strategy was always the same: find an opening through the brush just wide enough to let two of my arrows fly—one after the other—and then run like hell. I flexed my stiff knees to get the circulation flowing. Hopefully, they would be up to the task.
I started to make my way through the dense brush, and though I proceeded with caution—careful to avoid the dry, brittle leaves and twigs scattered about the ground—a careless step triggered a distinct “snap,” which boomed through the silent forest like a rifle shot. I instinctively dropped on bended knees and held my breath. The monster ceased its activity.
My ears were sharp, and a moment later, I heard the approach of plodding footsteps. The monster was moving in my direction.
I needed to make a decision quickly. I had lost the element of surprise—that was a given—so I had two choices: run away to fight another day or stay and fight. It was an easy choice: in for a penny, in for a pound. I chose to fight.
The brush was too dense for my arrows to get through from where I was, but ten yards ahead I saw a clearing. Quietly, I nocked an arrow onto my string. I took a deep breath and then bolted towards that open ground.
My first arrow struck the monster in the gut, stopping it in its tracks. A puzzled expression splashed across its broad face. It stared at the wooden shaft sticking out of its ample belly, not comprehending how such a thing could so magically appear. That brief moment of confusion was all I needed to launch my second arrow, this one directed at its throat.
The monster dropped to the ground and let loose an ugly, garbled wail that would have sent any forest creature within earshot to run for cover. But there were no forest creatures. The aliens had seen to that.
After our Sun's unforgivable betrayal, the aliens had moved on to the next step of their plan. We watched with curious eyes as their fleet of ships followed a grid pattern of icy cold precision day and night around the globe, hovering a few seconds over a section of land before moving on. It didn't take us long to figure out what they were doing. Any animal entering one of the visited zones immediately dropped dead. Earth was being reshaped.
I caught glimpses of red pulsing out in thin streams from the monster's exposed neck as it thrashed in the dirt and leaves. Its wail had now turned into a pitiful whimpering which sent a shiver up my spine. A flicker of compassion sparked in me, but I quickly extinguished it. The beast had no right to my sympathy. I steeled myself and waited.
A minute later, the sounds stopped, but it was too soon to approach. I would wait a little longer. No sense taking any chances.
It was anyone's guess as to what the aliens ultimate goal was, but one thing was certain, we humans wouldn't be a part of it. Personally, I think the aliens just happened to stumble upon Earth, saw a beautiful vacation home, and—like any new homeowner when confronted with an infestation problem—decided to fumigate the place before moving in. It was as simple as that. We animals, humans included, were nothing more than an annoyance, cockroaches to be exterminated.
Five minutes later I made my way over to the monster. I walked with cautious steps, circling it wide for signs of movement. There were none. I circled a second time just to make sure. You could never be too careful when dealing with these creatures. Satisfied that the monster had been, literally, drained of life, I stepped in close. I saw the angry, desperate gouges that crisscrossed the spot on its sun scorched neck where my second arrow had entered. The monster had clawed at it in vain. It was buried deep.
I planted one foot against the side of the monster's thick neck and gripped my arrow with both hands and yanked. The arrow came out undamaged. I braced my foot against the beast's rotund belly and yanked out the other arrow. It too was undamaged. I returned both wooden shafts to my quiver.
I left the monster where it lay and walked over to its campsite. There was a sleeping bag, a rucksack, cooking pots, eating utensils, and an impressive set of cutting tools: knives, cleavers, and poultry shears.
I had watched with suppressed horror as the monster disemboweled its human kill, watched as it sliced the torso and let the entrails slip out of the cavity and splash onto the ground, watched as it expertly separated limbs from trunk. Most survivors would have continued on their way after stumbling upon such a disturbing scene—one that was becoming more and more common—but not me. It never seemed right to turn a blind eye and just walk away. Even though my days on this earth were numbered, I always felt compelled to take action.
I could now see that the monster's butchered victim was a woman. Had she been a stranger? Or a companion? Perhaps a family member? Cannibalism was becoming more common now, and it made it harder for us survivors to continue to survive when these accursed creatures, these humans turned monsters, preyed upon their own kind.
About the author
Héctor Hernández received a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering. He lives in California and is now retired. His short stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, After Dinner Conversation, Bright Flash Literary Review, Five Minutes, and Literally Stories.
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