Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
I look down at the mess of crumbs from popcorn, cookies, and chips on my shirt, embarrassed that I am the way that I am until I remember that I live alone, I don’t date, and I’m not trying to impress anyone with my amazingly clean eating habits.
Then I grab the trash can from next to the couch and lean over it, brushing the mess into it as much as one can reasonably expect to do.
A lot of it ends up on the floor, but Jefferson runs at midnight and he’ll vacuum it all up by morning.
Or push it under the couch. I don’t know; I never look under the couch.
For all I know that’s where Jefferson pushes all the dirty socks I’m missing.
Jefferson is my robot vacuum, in case anyone’s wondering.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I pick it up, answering the call from my cousin, Bee. “You watching the live stream?” I don’t bother with niceties. This bitch has kicked me in the face for control over the TV remote. We are way beyond hello-how-are-yous at this point.
“Oliver Stanley Teakwood! Did I see your face on the news just now??? Did you walk home after work, ignoring the big ass ship directly overhead and all the chaos surrounding you?”
I narrow my eyes at the TV. “What news channel could you possibly be looking at?” I challenge, certain she could not have possibly seen me.
“There’s a TikToker live-streaming from downtown. I’m watching the recap clips on insta. You were totally power walking past the camera, head down, ignoring everyone and everything.”
That does sound like what I did, but I’ve learned to never admit anything.
“I got off work and went home. Like I do every evening. I’ve been home for six hours, and I am now unemployed, by the way, because there is no way I’m going back tomorrow, and the company doesn’t play with no shows.
I’ve already called in for Armageddon, but they said they aren’t canceling work unless the aliens attack. ”
“Are we rooting for the aliens or the humans?” Bee asks, sounding just as uncertain and skeptical as I was about three hours ago.
“Honestly, it depends on whether the alien authoritarian regime is better or worse than the human ones. It might be nice to have a nanny to make us behave, you know?” I’m rooting for the aliens, because fuck humans. I’ve been done with my own species for years, and it just keeps getting worse.
Bee makes a noise of disapproval. “The aliens didn’t come here to make us behave. We’re about to face annihilation, and we should be prepared for humans to tear each other up as much as the aliens will. All the disaster books and movies are dystopian, and I’m preparing for that future now.”
I sigh, because in this case reality proves fiction wrong.
“I hate that I have to say this aloud, because fuck people, but when disaster strikes, humans tend to unite and do good and take care of victims and get through the disaster together. If the aliens are hostile, humans are going to put up a fantastic effort. The only way the aliens win long term is by wiping us off the planet now. If they don’t do it all in one go, the long term outlook for them isn’t good. Humans are gonna win the war.”
“That’s awfully optimistic of you,” my cousin comments, dripping with suspicion. “Are you even my cousin? Did you get re-educated? Did you resist and they stole your mind and freedom and now you’re just an alien simp with no more free will?”
I roll my eyes. “Dude. I would never resist an alien takeover. They can have my mind and body; I’ve been done with this life since it started.”
“Eh,” Bee grunts. “Same, though. Ok. Fine, you get to be my cousin for a while longer. I’m coming over tomorrow. We’ll ride out the apocalypse with fancy wine and cheese. You better have olives and pickles or I will break your nose so you can’t taste anything.”
That’s a threat I take seriously. “I’ll have all the good stuff prepared,” I swear, making a mental list of groceries I should probably pick up before the riots start.
“Excellent. See you after my shift. Love you.”
“Love you back.”
We end the call, and I get my butt up off the couch, heading to the kitchen to pull out everything I have so I can make a list of the shit I need.
I don’t want to make a trip to the grocery store, but midnight runs are so much more preferable to any other time of day.
The night time weirdos are more my vibe than the morning crowd.
Plus no one looks at you twice for shopping in your jammies at midnight, and if anyone asks, I can just tell them all about the pregnant wife at home who needs her sun dried tomatoes and pickled artichoke hearts stat.
It’s a lie, but gawd, people are nosy and so much nicer if they think you’re a tortured soul.
I am, I just happen to lie about who’s torture I’m enduring.
(It’s the nosy assholes’, if you’re wondering.)
So, armed with a list of charcuterie-related items I need to ride out the apocalypse, I head out my door, checking the sky for the yup-still-there UFO.
My little suburban neighborhood is quiet except for the people hanging out in a cul de sac up the hill.
I’m not surprised. It’s suburbia, we aren’t known for our activism.
We’re more the type to exchange passive aggressive notes about lawn care than we are to get in a tizzy about alien invasions.
As long as no one’s blasting music after ten p.m., we’re content.
The twenty four hour store I go to is literally down the hill.
I could walk, but I’m not inclined to heave thirty pounds of groceries around, so I drive the two minutes it takes to go from my driveway to a parking spot and head inside.
The lights are blindingly bright, but no one is actively looting, so I take it as a good sign and grab a cart.
I wasn’t lying about the sun dried tomatoes and artichoke hearts.
I need them. For myself, obviously. And Bee if I’m being nice.
I like my cousin, so I also get a variety of pickles and some fresh produce too.
Cucumbers, carrots, grapes, and because I’m feeling fancy, I add some peaches, too.
They’re on sale, so I get ten pounds of them.
I’ll preserve them while we’re hanging out and have them for later this winter.
Rum peaches make an amazing winter cobbler. Just saying.
Ten years later (the line was ten people deep), I stuff my groceries into the trunk, and as I shut the hatch, a crack of thunder right next to the car scares the shit out of me, making me scream and jump fifty feet into the air.
For a second, I’m convinced it’s the actual end of the world, but then I realize it’s only the end of me.
Terror grips my heart for the longest five seconds of my life.
Standing next to me, staring at me under the bright lights of the parking lot, a massive, ten foot tall alien appears.
They look exactly like the one on the TV except less ragged.
They appear younger, maybe? Pallid blueish skin covers sharp angles.
Their lips are thin and pull back revealing two rows of sharply pointed teeth.
Their big eyes are black holes that send a spike of fear straight to my asshole which clenches so tight that I might never poop again.
Their black hair hangs in coils around their face, but only to the deadly point of their chin.
“Fuckity fuck,” I whisper, terrified and in awe at the same time.
The alien blinks sideways eyelids, and then this fucker reaches out and grabs my shoulder, digging long claws into my skin. “Help me,” they rasp.
Startled by everything that’s happened in the last ten fucking seconds, I grab their wrist to alleviate the death grip on my delicate parts.
“How?” I whisper, unsure what to do, but slightly less scared.
It’s weird, I know, but they’ve somehow hit my compassion button, and I would have sworn thirty seconds ago that fucker was broken.
The alien lists sideways, catching themself on the trunk of my car with a wet slap. A smear of blood glares up at me from the spot. “Why are you bleeding?” I demand, quickly moving to support the huge ass alien.
With way more trouble than it’s worth, I get them into my back seat.
Fortunately for them, they fold in half, otherwise cramming them into my car would’ve been impossible.
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I take the alien back to my house, park in my garage, and help them into my house where no human can see them.
As soon as I get my groceries brought in (What? Like I’m going to waste my money? We’re in a recession-about-to-be-a-depression, there ain’t no way I’m wasting groceries), I steel my nerves and approach the alien on my couch. “How can I help?” I ask.
I’m prepared to perform basic first aid, but anything more complex is beyond me. I don’t even have a proper emergency medical kit, just some band aids and ointment. I might have some aloe vera.
The alien smiles, baring those scary ass teeth at me. “A pint of your blood will initiate my self repair.”
Ah. Of course. ScaryDarkAlienVampire. The label makes sense now.