Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
RUN!
Then her declawed fingers clutch onto my bare arms. All of my minnasuits have been modified to keep my arms free of anything that will touch and chafe my scars. She clings to me, her naked front pressing against me, and I choke on my terror.
I’m trapped.
I’m rekking trapped.
Everything turns black.
I go down, taking the alien with me.
Helpmehelpmehelpme.
Those words are hers or mine or both.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t rekking know.
I’m trapped.
“Help me.”
This time, I know it’s me.
I’m pleading for anyone who will listen.
The black is swirling around me as my world spins. Her breath is hot near my neck, scalding me. Her words mirror mine. The darkness steals me this time, our words echoing back and forth into nothingness.
“Help me.”
I’m trapped.
There is no getting away.
This alien will be the death of me.
1
Molly
The cold is the first thing I notice. At first, I’m confused, then dismayed. Has the power been turned off again? I paid the bill on time. There’s no reason why the heat shouldn’t be working. Dismay shifts to frustration and anger. I work hard, so hard, to make everything work, but there’s always another battle to fight, another catastrophe to avert.
It’s my mother’s voice that pulls me back from the blues. “Heavens to Betsy, Molly, it’s not the end of the world.”
She’d say that about everything. No problem was too big to conquer for my mother.
Then, I catch the acrid scent of burnt plastic and smoke.
My eyes fly open, but it’s not my small apartment that greets me. The dark room is lit by bright blue lights from standing containers that remind me of the sarcophaguses I’d seen in a magazine once. I was never rich enough to afford to see such fancy things, but I enjoyed looking at the pretty pictures. Inside the windows of the containers opposite me, there are faces of two other slumbering women.
I lift my arm to rub my eyes. What a strange dream! But my hand knocks against a wall. Frowning, I look down and find a length of metal in front of me, blocking my hand. I’ve never had many phobias, but claustrophobia rockets up on my list of things I never want to try again.
“Hello?” I call out to the women in the tubes across from me. The sound of my voice reverberates throughout my container. Neither of them reacts.
The haze in my head clears, and panic replaces it. Where am I? How did I get here?
I try to push on the door in front of me, but it doesn’t budge at first. That’s not good, Molly. Don’t panic, don’t panic. I grit my teeth and focus on getting the door open. The surface inside the container is smooth, some sort of cushioned material. At least the bastards who put me here want me to be comfortable. I glance down at my body, noting my nakedness. Well, maybe not so comfortable. Don’t panic.
With some effort, I’m able to wiggle the door open, but not by much. “Is anyone there?” I try again, hoping the crack in the door will help. None of them move. My heart stutters as it occurs to me that maybe they’re dead. I slam my fists against the glass until they’re battered, bruised, and trickling blood from split knuckles.
I have to get out of here. I have to.
Despite my best efforts, the tears fall. Fear engulfs me. What if I’m alone here? What if they’ve already killed everyone I love?
The smell of burnt plastic has me attacking the door with renewed strength, leaving bloody streaks on the impeccable white cushion. I don’t know how long I shove and push against the door, but eventually, something cracks and the door inches open. Freezing, I think I’m a little shocked it worked. A haze of smoke leaks into the coffin I’m in, and I cough.
It occurs to me as the door begins to creak open that maybe I was safer inside than whatever waits for me outside the safety of the container. My whole body shakes with a combination of fear, adrenaline, and apprehension. I’m incredibly exposed without clothes and alone in a strange place—more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t want to cry, I hate crying, but I find myself sobbing harder. No amount of my mother’s voice calms me down.
I blink rapidly to clear my vision of the tears, but it’s no use. They spill out over my cheeks and drip onto my bare stomach. Surveying the strange room, I step out into what looks like a watery grave from the eerie, blue-green light emanating from the strange, coffin-like tubes. My gaze lands on a odd figure. It’s massively tall, filling the entire doorway. And pale. Ghostly pale. I’m so focused on getting back home, fear leaves me for a moment.