all alone with the big, empty room and something in the water.
Her spine was uncovered, wide open for it to jump up and attack. Shaking, crying, she twisted her wrists in the shackles and pulled, stretching her joints like they weren’t meant to. The edges bit into the flesh of her hand, but she had to get out. She had to! She bent her elbows, trying to pry it open with the lever of her arm bones.
She leaned forward, pulling her back up from the reclined chair and letting her ripped shirt flop free. The way the chair tilted, with her wrists pinned in place, she couldn’t sit right, and she had to hold herself up with abs and arms. At least the shackles gave her something to pull against. She took gymnastics, but she hated ab exercises—v-ups were her nemesis. How any reasonable human being could be expected to lie on her back and raise her straight legs and straight arms together was beyond her.
Now, she wished she’d done more. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have trained harder. She’d have done v-ups every night before bed. She’d have trained until she could hold it for hours.
Already, the tremors started to course across her stomach muscles. She pulled harder on the shackles, trying to take up the load with her arms. That was her other weakness. Her buff shoulders and strong legs got her through floor and uneven bar routines.
Nightly v-ups and push-ups if she’d known.
A tiny head crested the water halfway from her to the wall, far enough out that she could see it comfortably around the chair, even if she weren’t holding herself up. Her breath hitched.
Here it came. The end.
Any time now, it would dart across the water and rip into her back. She knew she should look away; it’d be easier not to see it coming. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t help but watch its every move.
It stilled, its limbless body waving gently under the surface, keeping it from sinking. It watched her. Its tiny, black eyes peered out from a snakelike head striped bright blue and green like a neon earthworm.
It was an animal, but Mr. Marshall didn’t talk about it like one. She studied its eyes, trying to figure it out. Was it really intelligent? Self-aware? Malicious?
Or was it just an animal? Could she hold her hand out the right way, let it sniff, and go about her business?
Its opaque, solid-black eyes revealed nothing. It was blank to her in a way her dogs never were, in a way her friends’ otherwise indecipherable cats never were. Like a spider or a scorpion, its intentions unknowable.
Except one thing: it wanted a body.
She pulled harder on the arm shackles, trying to get her abs to quit trembling. Maybe it could only see motion. She held still. She held her breath, too, in case it hunted by sound.
This couldn’t be happening.
She choked back a moan. Quiet. Try to confuse it. Try to reason around it.
It didn’t look smart. It was just an animal, patient and watchful, like a cat outside a mouse hole or an owl above the forest floor. Like a terrier outside a rabbit den. Maybe not that.
It stared back, bobbing in the water, its mind hidden and unfathomable.
And it was not getting her.
It was so small, though. It looked like it could fit in her palm. A little thing like that surely couldn’t just jump out of the water and under her skin. First, it’d have to cross from the water to the chair—a bigger gap for it than for her—then between the chair and her back. If it stayed in the gap, it had nothing to push against to break through her skin. And if it did squirm in between the chair and her, maybe she could squish it.
It started forward.
She screamed. Her eyes scrunched closed, and she clung to the shackles. Her abs stopped shaking—now she really meant it! That thing was coming, and this was all she could do to stop it.
Not that it would be enough. This was their planet. Everything else they’d wanted to happen had. Obviously, they didn’t think this would be a problem.
It was going to get her.
She squeezed in another breath. She screamed louder.
And when her voice ran out, her sobs choked on the incoming air. Nothing else happened. No one else came, and yet she was still okay.
She cracked her eyes open, and the creature was still where she last saw it.
It bobbed slightly closer, but its eyes stayed eerily trained. Pointing. Piercing. Something in the tilt of its neck made her think it wasn’t just watching her but signaling—whether to her or to something else, she couldn’t tell.
But she definitely held the spotlight of its attention.
It was still going to get her.
Scorching self-consciousness crept up her spine, setting every nerve on edge. What if it wasn’t the only predatory neck lump here? What if, while it floated out where she could see it, another lurked beneath?
Another moan escaped her. Her arms started shaking with her abs; she couldn’t keep this up forever. Was that what it waited for? Was she really too far away? She kept straining.
And it kept staring. Silent. Intent. Expectant. As if it wanted something else from her, too.
She couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you waiting for?”
It cocked its flattened head.
“Can you even understand me?”
It swam closer.
Her heart pounded in her ears, echoing the alarm in her head. This was it. She was done for.
It darted to the side. It swam to the edge of her vision and back along some arbitrary perimeter, as if it wanted to get closer but couldn’t. Crisis averted for now.
She leaned back for just a moment. Her abs ached. Her arms cramped. Her wrists were on fire. Her eyes anchored on the little alien snake, because this was its chance. She knew that. It had to know that. It was fast, and it might be able to reach her before her weary muscles could lever her back up.
It stilled, retreated to where she could see it without straining, and waited.
Was it toying with her? Did it actually care? She was anthropomorphizing too much. If it was just an animal, its hesitation didn’t make sense. If it was intelligent, she still didn’t get it.
“I don’t know what you are or what you’re planning to do.” It couldn’t understand her; it watched her because she made noises. “Or why I’m even trying to talk to you.”
It stared, still blank.
She could stop embarrassing herself. Serves me right for talking to it. It’s not like this is going to get better.
The silence hung as heavy as the humid air. Without circulating water or humming pumps—or the sound of distant, milling people so constant in the halls—her every breath, every grunt, every cry echoed back, somehow unattenuated in the thick, rank air. No one was coming. No one would answer.
She pushed her hands farther through the shackles, relieving her bloody wrists, and tried to think. It could have come at her by now. It certainly had the chance.
But it didn’t. The one time it disappeared, it surfaced far out, like it would have if it hadn’t approached her at all, and she didn’t think it had. Whatever this was about, whatever was happening, it wasn’t dangling Sarah-meat in front of a ravaging beast.
She leaned toward it, trying to both see and get more comfortable. She could see, at least.
In response, it rose farther out of the water, tail twitching furiously to keep it afloat and balanced. It hung its head over, nose pointing at its belly, somehow still looking at her.
Was that neck lump trying to pull off puppy dog eyes?
Did it expect pity? The nerve! “You think you have it rough? You didn’t just watch a bunch of people get murdered. You didn’t get carried out of your house and left behind when the Air Force came to rescue you. You’re not going to get some alien slug shoved into your neck. It’s not like you’re never going home again!”
Oh, crap.
That sounded so much worse out loud. She was never going home. She was never going to see Mom and Dad again. Or her dog. She couldn’t just hold out for spring break, when it would all be better, because she’d fly back to South Carolina and see Kat and Lindsay again. Whatever happened, she’d be stuck out here, vulnerable, stranded away from everything familiar and safe. Forever.
Her throat clamped up, and tears blurred her view of the creature. She heard a plunk as the first one fell, and she blinked her eyes clear long enough to see the snake settled back in the water, relaxed instead of pitiful.
It didn’t care. What could it know about family—about missing people and being missed? What could it know about needing to belong and needing to stand out special?
And what would she know after it took over her?
Oh God oh God oh God.
Would she even know? If there was any mercy in the world, maybe she could be comatose or unaware in her hijacked body.
Or maybe it wouldn’t happen at all. The thing showed interest in her for sure, but it hadn’t threatened her yet. Maybe that whole puppy-dog-eyes thing was an apology. It was a good neck lump, and it was going to leave her alone!
It waved its head at her and then swam a slow, wide arc around the front of the chair and behind her. She twisted to follow, getting visions of it ducking under and gunning for her back.
When it finished its shark-like circle, it cocked its head and peered at her.
It had to be asking a question. It had maintained its pantomimed distance so far, but that wouldn’t last. Clearly, it wanted to come closer, but it was doing the unthinkable: asking permission.
It wasn’t like she was going to say yes. As Mom always said, school sucked right now, but she’d be free of it eventually. It wasn’t worth dying over—or trading her body for. Ew, no. If it thought she might agree, it was as delusional as Mr. Marshall.
Wait.
They were on the same side. This was one of his “good aliens.” She didn’t scoff at that now; it could have attacked her a dozen times already, and she pictured how other ones would have. What else was an open-backed chair with wrist- and ankle-clamps good for? And what was the point if you were going to ask for permission?
Especially permission that wasn’t coming.
Why even bother?
Because it’s polite. The answer popped into her head, and she almost dismissed it as not applying to aliens. But darn it, why not? It was her body, and using it without asking was slavery. It was rape. It was wrong anywhere that people had bodies, not just in her culture or on her planet. If these things had to use bodies—and they must not, because that one looked like it survived just fine in that water—the one very least little thing they could do was ask—
Mr. Marshall did ask her.
—and then respect the answer.
The thing in the water cocked its green and blue head the other way. Asking permission. Waiting for an answer.
“I already told Mr. Marshall no. I don’t want something living in me.”
It blinked.
“How come you can ask permission but can’t understand me? What good does that do? We’re just going to sit here in a stalemate until someone comes along and lets me out!”
How long would that be, a couple hours, days? Then what? They wouldn’t take her home, but maybe they’d let her work in the palace. Being herself as a slave was still better than being possessed, right?
The thing dunked under the water then leapt into the air, and she slammed forward, bent over her wrists.
It splashed back down, but it wasn’t attacking; it was just as far as it had been before. It resurfaced, splashing about like the end of the world.
Something was wrong.
She studied the door, but it stayed closed. The creature swam around to where she looked and kept splashing. Not company, then. Was it something she said? What was that? That all she had to do was wait. If she could just hold out for them to come back…
These people killed three adults after chasing them down and keeping them from going home. They wouldn’t seriously put in the effort to show her how to be a palace servant if she weaseled her way out of this.
She focused on the frantic neck lump kicking up froth between her and the door. This was all starting to look even worse.
“Hey! Listen!”
She didn’t think it would work, but the thing settled down, regarding her intently.
“Nod your head if the answer is yes.” Sarah swallowed. The moment she put this in words, she could never take it back. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she had to ask. She stared into its beady, blank eyes. “Are they going to kill me if you don’t get implanted?”
It waited a few moments, still staring, then dove back under.
And now she’d said it.
The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to believe it, and the more she thought it true. The four-armed man seemed to kill the adults to spite the others’ escape. That was before his queen was remotely involved. What might he do if she thwarted the queen?
Broken neck. Stabbing. Sliced artery. The adults had all died messily but quickly.
The creature resurfaced in the same spot, and she held her breath. Maybe it hadn’t understood her. Maybe she was completely off base.
It hung its head, dipping the tip of its nose back in the water. Then, unmistakably, it nodded.
They would kill her.
It looked up, met her eyes, and nodded again.
One way or another, they were going to kill her. And if losing most of the Earth women had pissed off the alien overlord, losing half of the remainder had to bring out his cruelest side. He wasn’t going to just kill her; he’d kill her in the worst way he could imagine. No doubt his imagination outmatched hers in this regard.
She didn’t want a knife at her throat. She didn’t want to know what it was like to have it slice in and open her arteries. Or what it was like to futilely clamp her fingers over the top and feel her blood gush through. Or worse.
Then again, she didn’t want to know what it was like for an alien to jam itself into her neck, either. She didn’t want to lose control.
But was it a fate worse than death? In detached words, it seemed like it should be. The nothingness of death had to be better than living possessed.
What if it wasn’t? She could always die later, but she’d never be able to un-die.
Damned, stupid alien abduction.
Sarah’s vision blurred, and she cried. Sobs shook her shoulders, her body. She didn’t want to decide. She shouldn’t have to make this decision. She was too young for this. It wasn’t fair.
That didn’t matter. It just was.
She coughed out the next sob. A river of tears squeezed out and down her cheeks. She felt cold, even in the hot, humid room. Emptiness filled her like a lance to the heart, an all-enveloping hollowness sucking out every piece of her identity.
It didn’t matter how well she read or what books she liked. She’d left them all on another planet. And when the thing took over, she’d never be able to decide to read, not after school or over the weekend or under her desk in class.
It didn’t matter where she came from. She’d never be able to prove to her school or classmates that girls from the South could be just as smart and creative as anyone else. That thing would be the only intelligence anyone saw of her.
It didn’t matter whether she tried to blend with the popular crowd or stood on her own and followed her own path, like she promised she would. She wouldn’t have her own path anymore. Just the thing’s—first, foremost, and forever. Everything she ever stood for or believed or wanted would never matter, because it would never come to fruition.
She stopped breathing. How much easier it would be to pop out of existence without actually dying, without actually making a choice. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t decide between dying and ceasing.
The urge to breathe took over, so she sucked air in but not out. She couldn’t cry like this, and the tears in her eyes blinked away. The creature floated closer now. It drifted nearer, saw her watching it, and stopped. It looked sad somehow.
She didn’t get it. It was the bad guy. It wanted to possess her, wipe out everything of who she was. Why should it look sad? Why should it freak out that she might die? After all, Maggie was still around. Sarah wasn’t the last. It still had another chance, unlike her. Why should it care?
But it did.
If it were just afraid that she would die, all it had to do was take over her. It didn’t have to keep its distance. With a chair like this, it didn’t have to ask her. It knew her choices were it and death. How bad was this going to be if even it didn’t think Sarah should welcome it?
“I don’t want to die,” slipped through her lips as the pent-up air escaped. That didn’t mean she wanted anything else, but she knew that much. “I don’t want to die.”
It inched closer and nudged the air, as if raising its chin or pointing at her. Asking again.
If that were all she really wanted, not dying, there was only one way this could go. It knew that. She knew that. She squeezed her burning eyes shut.
Was there a fate worse than death?
A lot of people thought so, or there wouldn’t be martyrs. There wouldn’t be suicide.
But she didn’t believe that.
Not yet.
She squeezed the armrests like she might break them in half. It hurt, but she didn’t stop. Not deciding meant she still got to exist, but it also meant the guards might come back and kill her. Not deciding was letting someone else decide—and it wasn’t the someone who’d been keeping its distance and hanging on her every word.
“I don’t want to die.” She rubbed her eyes on her shoulders the best she could and leaned forward, looking down into that little snake face, those beady alien eyes. She tried to sound sure this time. “I don’t want to die!”
It started to lean like it would dive, but she shook her head. They were not dragging this out. “Do—” She swallowed, but as much as she didn’t like the answer, she’d made up her mind. There was no getting out of this.
“Do it.”
It dove away.
She was alone.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Her ragged breaths rang out, magnified here at the dome’s focus. This had to be fast, before the guards came back, or there would be no point.
From nowhere, a woman’s voice started talking. Sarah thought it was still in German, like everything else here, but its pretty, soft consonants paired with melodic vowels crooned pleasantly, a lullaby in the form of a poem. No one else was here. The room was empty, but it must have had speakers.
She lay back in the chair as the woman spoke. She’d told it to do this. She couldn’t keep resisting until the creature decided she was too much effort and left her to be killed anyway. She had to do this. She had to leave her bare spine lined up with the chair’s open slit, exposed and ready to be attacked at any moment. Her nerves burned with anticipation.
And fear. She’d never been afraid of something she knew would happen before. Except moving, but that didn’t count. It didn’t physically hurt. She’d never been afraid like this, not even when they took her. She kept squeezing the armrests. Her knees bent, pressing her feet against the lower shackles. She couldn’t help it.
“I don’t want to die.”
She pressed back in place, trying to be ready, when the chair started sinking.
She was right. The gap was too big.
Here it came.
Her back hit the surface, and the warm water slid up along her spine, up her neck, and stopped below her ears. It soaked into her shirt and jeans and underwear.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
OhGodOhGodOhGod it could reach her. It didn’t have to jump. It didn’t risk getting squished. It couldn’t miss. It could swim right up and touch her.
The woman’s voice continued, steady and slow, melodic and peaceful, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Sarah did. She had exactly one. This had to work, because she did not want to die.
It stabbed into her neck.
The thing wriggled and squirmed for purchase. All she could think was betrayal. It was killing her after all.
Pain blocked out all else. The knife turned sideways and ripped toward her skull. Her skin tugged taut and throbbed. Tendrils split apart and wrapped around her head and into it. More jabbed into her neck, reaching for her windpipe from the inside.
The wriggling shifted.
Her world throbbed into darkness.