The fence around the yard is only waist high. I get over easily, noiselessly. The yard is gravel, though, and I have to walk carefully to keep my weight from shifting it. I make it to the patio slab.
The blinds are open. The starlight is enough to see that the rooms are empty of movement. This couple goes for a spartan look, and I’m grateful. It makes it harder for someone to hide. Of course, that leaves no place for me to hide, either, but if it comes to hiding for me, it’s too late anyway.
I ease the screen door open first, and then the glass door. Both glide silently. I place my feet carefully on the tile, but this is just out of habit. No one is waiting for me here.
The cool air feels like heaven.
The kitchen is to my left. I can see the gleam of granite counters.
I pull the canvas bag from my shoulder and start with the refrigerator. There is a moment of anxiety as the light comes on when the door opens, but I find the button and hold it down with my toe. My eyes are blind. I don’t have time to let them adjust. I go by feel.
Milk, cheese slices, leftovers in a plastic bowl. I hope it’s the chicken-and-rice thing I watched him cooking for dinner. We’ll eat this tonight.
Juice, a bag of apples. Baby carrots. These will stay good till morning.
I hurry to the pantry. I need things that will keep longer.
I can see better as I gather as much as I can carry. Mmm, chocolate chip cookies. I’m dying to open the bag right now, but I grit my teeth and ignore the twist of my empty stomach.
The bag gets heavy too quickly. This will last us only a week, even if we’re careful with it. And I don’t feel like being careful; I feel like gorging. I shove granola bars into my pockets.
One more thing. I hurry to the sink and refill my canteen. Then I put my head under the flow and gulp straight from the stream. The water makes odd noises when it hits my hollow stomach.
I start to feel panicked now that my job is done. I want to be out of here. Civilization is deadly.
I watch the floor on my way out, worried about tripping with my heavy bag, which is why I don’t see the silhouetted black figure on the patio until my hand is on the door.
I hear his mumbled oath at the same time that a stupid squeak of fear escapes my mouth. I spin to sprint for the front door, hoping the locks are not latched, or at least not difficult.
I don’t even get two steps before rough, hard hands grab my shoulders and wrench me back against his body. Too big, too strong to be a woman. The bass voice proves me right.
“One sound and you die,” he threatens gruffly. I am shocked to feel a thin, sharp edge pushing into the skin under my jaw.
I don’t understand. I shouldn’t be given a choice. Who is this monster? I’ve never heard of one who would break rules. I answer the only way I can.
“Do it,” I spit through my teeth. “Just do it. I don’t want to be a filthy parasite!”
I wait for the knife, and my heart is aching. Each beat has a name. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. What will happen to you now?
“Clever,” the man mutters, and it doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to me. “Must be a Seeker. And that means a trap. How did they know?” The steel disappears from my throat, only to be replaced by a hand as hard as iron.
I can barely breathe under his grip.
“Where are the rest of them?” he demands, squeezing.
“It’s just me!” I rasp. I can’t lead him to Jamie. What will Jamie do when I don’t come back? Jamie is hungry!
I throw my elbow into his gut—and this really hurts. His stomach muscles are as iron hard as the hand. Which is very strange. Muscles like that are the product of hard living or obsession, and the parasites have neither.
He doesn’t even suck in a breath at my blow. Desperate, I jab my heel into his instep. This catches him off guard, and he wobbles. I wrench away, but he grabs hold of my bag, yanking me back into his body. His hand clamps down on my throat again.
“Feisty for a peace-loving body snatcher, aren’t you?”
His words are nonsensical. I thought the aliens were all the same. I guess they have their nut jobs, too, after all.
I twist and claw, trying to break his hold. My nails catch his arm, but this just makes him tighten his hold on my throat.
“I will kill you, you worthless body thief. I’m not bluffing.”
“Do it, then!”
Suddenly he gasps, and I wonder if any of my flailing limbs have made contact. I don’t feel any new bruises.
He lets go of my arm and grabs my hair. This must be it. He’s going to cut my throat. I brace for the slice of the knife.
But the hand on my throat eases up, and then his fingers are fumbling on the back of my neck, rough and warm on my skin.
“Impossible,” he breathes.