The 48-Hour Invasion

The invasion took record time to start and end. It was a matter of two consecutive twenty-four-hour days - the span of a weekend spent with friends or a holiday away with a loved one in a cozy cabin. Two freaking days, and the world ended.

And not a single person knew or cared.

There was this passage from an old holy book, I think, where it mentioned that the end came and they took no note. Well, the end came, and no one gave two horses' anuses about it.

Earth was sold to the highest bidder. Our buyers were some big, bad guys who planned to turn it into their little side-street attraction. Well, if the Intergalactic Feds (IF, going forward) had anything to say about it. IF never successfully added Earth to its federation of intellectuals.

The humans were still too shiny, too new. Their biggest and coolest thing was a planet full of lame trapezoids on wheels that could drive on their own as long as the driver was still seated in the vehicle. That's so last millennia.

Still, there was something Earth did better than any other planet in this solar system: create totally fiery, smoking-hot babes.

Too bad they couldn't see me, but boy, could I see them…

I broke into a cold sweat. I stood inside the college auditorium, within the classroom assigned for my Introduction to Computer Science final exam. I opted for an in-person exam instead of fumbling my way through the awkwardness of taking pictures of my crappy room and risking my roommate disturbing the hell out of me while I tried to pass this test for my latest tech gig.

I almost backed out of the room and made a run for my car when I looked at the professor.

He stood before me, wearing what looked to be a coffee-brown sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows, paired with gray khakis. His shirt was a plaid button-down tucked into his pants, cinched with a brown woven belt.

I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or the students already seated, their personal laptops open, staring straight ahead.

"Are you here for the final exam?" said a man's voice.

"What!?" My voice cracked, and I almost dropped my tote bag filled with personal belongings. My laptop practically slid down to my waist from under my arm. I backed up to the door as the teacher tilted his head slightly. His head was teardrop-shaped, gigantic - the largest head I'd ever seen on a body. His limbs were long and gangly. He blinked, but not like a human. It was that weird multi-dimensional blink, like his eyelids were made of the same mechanism as a grocery store's automatic doors.

His eyes were the deepest, darkest pools of black I'd ever seen. I scanned the room, searching for panic. Where was the fear and terror? Why wasn't someone recording this live? And why wasn't anyone calling the cops?

"If you're not supposed to be here, I suggest you head back to the office and verify which class you're assigned to. This is a private exam for students wrapping up their Computer Science majors."

I blinked rapidly.

Okay, I had to be dreaming. No, a hallucination. That's right. I get it now. This was one of those stressful hallucinations that only happened on test day. If anything, I was on the verge of a psychotic break. I mean, I was at high risk for one of those. My father, an intelligent man whose life in finance took a hit, lost his mind under the stress of Wall Street and turned into the worthless sack of dog meat my mother thought would be a good idea to get impregnated by. Everyone has their off days. I just happened to be having mine at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.

I got tired of working the same pencil-pushing gig and thought, you know what? IT is the job for me. I took one step forward, and the teacher didn't change. The students didn't care, and why should I? This was just my brain giving me the middle finger for spending late nights in my teens and early twenties letting loose with the wrong crowd instead of applying myself and becoming a corporate somebody like my eldest sister.

Yeah, that's it! My brain said, "Fuck you! Now's the time for mental illness to ride you raw."

I set my tote bag under a desk at the front of the room, closest to the door. Then, I set my laptop down and took two deep breaths. I closed my eyes. When I turn back around, he's going to be some normal white guy with Poindexter glasses, and I'm going to set a reminder on my smartphone to call the first therapist I can get a prescription from.

I slipped into the seat, setting my laptop down, flipping it open, and hitting the power button.

I looked up, and the fucking dude wasn't human.

I squirmed in my seat and tugged my tote bag onto my lap.

"Alright, students," the professor said. I don't know how I heard him - the man had no lips, no mouth I could make out, just a gaping dent where a mouth should've been, like someone gagged with a gray sock.

Bile rose in my throat, and I scanned the room.

"I'm going to hand out your papers. If you need pencils or pens, just let me know. This will be a relatively straightforward exam, but we are required to provide you with scratch paper for personal note-taking. Anything you write down must be left in this room. You will not be allowed to leave until you have completed the exam and closed out. Any questions?"

I'm gonna be sick.

The door swung open as a man entered the room. He looked disheveled, his ruffled hair dyed an incredibly bright shade of fiery red - the kind of red Porsche or Corvette would use to trick men into buying cars that made them feel more endowed than average.

The teacher barely glanced at him as he slumped into the seat beside me, dropping a black backpack onto the ground. He slouched low in his chair. He had to be my age, maybe younger. His skin was golden tan, his eyebrows bushy, his eyes slanted as he gazed toward the TV.

Students started handing out sheets of paper passed to them by the professor. Then, the gray creature returned to the front of the room.

"I'll start the timer. You have two hours to complete the exam. If you have any questions, raise your hand."

My heartbeat seemed to match the clicking of the clock behind the professor. He didn't sit down; instead, he remained stoic at the front of the room.

A sharp shrill cut through the clicking of keyboards and mousepads.

The fire alarm made everyone jump. I was already on edge. There was nothing that could've startled me more. I glanced down at the student next to me, who wore something resembling a wristwatch. He leaned forward.

"Okay, everyone, leave your items at the desk. This is just a routine fire drill. No need to panic or rush."

The student with the black backpack slid his sleeve over his watch and unzipped his bag.

Students filed out as the teacher made his way to the door.

I heard a series of clicks and a low guttural grunt next to me. I slid my laptop into my tote bag and twisted the handle around my wrist.

I was the second-to-last student at the door. The man next to me rose and pulled something out of his backpack.

The professor made a beeline for the door, but I watched as the student drew a baton-like weapon. He clicked a button at its center.

And from the tip, a glowing pitchfork exploded to life.

Deep coruscating red. He twirled it once and pointed it at the professor, who had turned for the door. The student threw the weapon, striking the center of the door.

The creature made a run for it. He charged the door, grabbed the handle of his pitchfork, and ran along the wall, his boot scuffing the white concrete.

I stared in disbelief as the teacher was cornered. The student pushed off the wall, mid-air, and sent the pitchfork slamming into the professor's torso.

The creature let out a pained scream. The teacher fell backward, clawing at its shirt, leaning forward. A guttural grunt escaped, followed by a series of clicks and a hiss as the last of its breath left its body.

The student stood over the teacher - or what was left of the teacher's abdomen - and grabbed the handle of his fork.

"Threat neutralized," he said into his wristwatch.

I gasped through my teeth.

He stopped and looked at me. I stepped back.

"Wait," he said.

I let the door shut in my face, turned, and ran.

I ran like my life mattered more than anyone else's in this awful building. My shoes squealed and squeaked in protest. My chest was on the verge of exploding. Heat spread through my body. I couldn't slow down. Not now. I didn't care how bad my cardio was, how awful my legs felt, how tight my chest was - I couldn't stop running.

Something told me to look up.

"You can see me?"

The man was running above me, practically loping across the ceiling.

I looked straight ahead, slamming into the door leading outside the college campus. It was a small campus, one of many belonging to the main college not far from the center of town.

I stumbled. My tote bag went flying, my laptop skittering across the road. I skinned my palm. A few students stared, some chuckling at my misfortune.

I scrambled to gather my things. My phone. My laptop -

Fiery hair.

The man was holding it.

"Give me that!" I lunged, but he lifted it above his head.

"You can see me. That's incredible. How are you able to see through the subliminal?"

"Give me my laptop, you absolute jerk!" I jumped, swiping at it. He shoved it at me.

I hugged my stuff close. Nothing else on the ground mattered. I ran through the parking lot. My lonely gray Honda Civic sat under a blossoming magnolia tree, its scent so overpowering it felt like being punched in the face by a flower.

I grasped the door handle - then remembered my keys.

I reached into my tote. Nothing.

Checked my pants pockets. Nothing.

Checked my sports bra.

My heart leapt into my throat.

A jingling sound behind me sent a chill down my spine.

My tote slid to the ground, landing between my feet and the front passenger-side tire.

"I'll give you these if you agree to talk with me," the redhead said, twirling my key ring around his index finger. The small purple stuffed teddy bear dangling from it was clenched tightly in his palm.

"Talk? There's nothing to talk about. Give those to me."

He unlocked my car door, then darted around and slid into the passenger seat.

I wrenched the driver's door open.

"This is breaking and entering."

"You live in your car?" he asked, incredulous.

"You're gonna give me those damn keys, or I'll call the cops."

"Call them. I'll wait right here." He smirked. "Though I'm curious what you'll tell them. 'Hey, some hot guy with red hair just killed my alien professor. Could you send the po-po?'"

My left eye twitched.

I slammed the door and grabbed my tote off the ground, then snatched my laptop off the roof of my car. I yanked the door open, shoved myself into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut.

"Are they sending the SWAT team or something?" he asked.

I tossed my stuff into the back seat.

"I don't know who the hell you are or what you want. I just want my keys so I can go."

"I just want to ask you some questions."

I slapped the steering wheel and covered my eyes, counting to ten. My hands slid into my lap.

"Why ask me questions when I'm the one with the most questions!?"

"Then we'll take turns. Like a job interview."

"Fuck you."

"Tsk-tsk. Such language from a human."

"Human!?" My alarmed voice cracked. "Does that mean you're not one?"

He snorted. "On my dad's side, sure." Twirling my keys, he slumped in the passenger seat. "You got a name, hot stuff?"

"Don't call me hot stuff."

"Okay, gorgeous. Got a name?"

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. "If I give you my name, will you hand me my keys?"

"If you give me your name, I'll give you mine. Then I'll consider handing over your keys. But don't do anything that might risk your life."

"Is that a threat?"

"Hmm. Depends on how you react when I hand them over."

"Calista Pierce," I said coldly. "Now give me my goddamn keys."

"Easy, Cali. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

I glowered at him.

He leaned forward. "They call me Dax."

"Dicks?" I deadpanned.

He smirked. "I mean, if you wanna see it, don't let me stop ya."

"I'm calling the cops."

He grasped his chin between his thumb and index finger. I tried to jerk my face away, but his eyes -

Mesmerizing.

A deep pulling sensation kept me from looking away. His irises were the deepest shade of gold. If they were any brighter, I might mistake them for jewels. The gold bled across the whites of his eyes like egg yolks spreading into the albumen.

"I think you're okay with forgetting this conversation," he murmured. "You're going to head back to your little life. Maybe take a bubble bath. Forget all about the college and the incredibly handsome redhead you met today. Then tomorrow, you'll wake up refreshed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

His body swayed side to side. My breathing hitched. He leaned in -

And kissed me.

No warning. No heads-up.

Our lips locked. A hum of energy rolled over me, warm and intoxicating. My fingers clenched the steering wheel.

Then he pulled away, murmuring, "That should do it, soft lips."

I jerked back and swung. My fist connected with his jaw. He dropped my keys onto his lap, rubbing his face. The bruised skin darkened - black-blue - before fading back to gold.

"I haven't been punched that hard before."

I snatched up my keys and started the car.

"You're not getting out. I'm driving us to the police station. I don't care what you do - you assaulted me and broke into my car. I hope they lock you up so long you age in the slammer."

"You weren't affected by my memory wipe?" He grasped the dashboard as I slammed the gas, throwing the car into reverse.

I unlocked the doors. "Get out, or I'm taking you to the police for assault."

"Punching me is an assault. All I did was touch your lips for a couple of seconds."

"You violated my personal space and won't get out of my vehicle. I'm done talking to you and reasoning."

I slammed on the gas, and he lurched forward.

"Ever thought about driving NASCAR?"

"Go to hell."

"Been there. Ask me how the weather was," he said. "You might wanna slow down - I get car sick easily."

"Go back to hell."

"Fine. Since you're in a fit of rage and not in a talking mood, just listen."

I simmered, still flooring it, taking the back roads. The nearest police station wasn't too far from the college, located downtown. I'd drop him off and let them wrestle him out of the car.

"My name is Daxillian Frills, a member of the Intergalactic Federation. That creature I killed wasn't human. It used to be, but your planet has a name for its species: skinwalker. We call them 'No-See-'Ems' on the force."

"Okay, Mr. Frills. If you're part of this Intergalactic Federation, then why'd you kill him?"

"His species kills humans and wears their skin like jackets. Would you have preferred he decided to wear you as one of his jackets?"

I slammed on my brakes hard as a red light flashed above. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel at ten and two, wringing until my knuckles turned from brown to rouge.

"You want me to believe the teacher was a skinwalker? And what the hell are you?"

"My species has a lot of names on this planet, but we stick to an old, tried-and-true classic - I'm an alien. And since you can see me, it must mean you're a meta."

"A what?"

"A metaphysical creature capable of seeing subliminal beings. Your classmates didn't see the skinwalker. They just saw a normal human male - Caucasian, mid-forties, thick coke-bottle glasses. You saw his meta-forma, or as humans call it, his alien side. That's a pretty awesome gift you've got if you can see through a skinwalker. Makes you rare and special."

"What are you going to tell me next? That I'm the Chosen One? Or that I'm a wizard?"

"Magic doesn't exist. Sorry, Harry."

I stared at the light as it flicked green, and we surged forward.

"So, you still wanna take me to the police station? You know I'm just going to climb out of the vehicle and walk away in my meta-forma."

"What do you mean?"

"Normal humans - like the ones on the street corners and driving in cars - can't see aliens like me. That includes your friends at the police station. You'll pull in, tell them everything you know, and by the time they open the car door for me, I'll step out, and you'll be the one handcuffed and fed enough drugs to taste the color purple for weeks, if not months."

He reclined the passenger seat and tucked his arms behind his head.

"I've escaped from the authorities with less effort before. Earth has no jurisdiction over alien matters. Your planet is a backwater wasteland of infantile humans who've barely discovered space travel. And despite your gifts, no one is going to believe you."

"The professor's body back at the school," I said. "He's in that classroom now. They'll see it and - "

"I don't work alone. I have a team. They've already cleaned up the mess," he purred, then closed his eyes. "Anyway, Calista, this conversation got me beat as all get out."

My breathing hitched, and panic made my fingers tremble. The street leading to the police station was coming up. And if he was right, I'd look like an absolute lunatic. None of the students had batted an eye when they saw the skinwalker standing before them. Not a single smartphone camera had gone off.

"W-why did you kiss me?" I asked, suddenly feeling my cheeks grow hot.

"Did you like it? Am I your first? Tell me, how'd I do?"

I eased up on the gas just a touch. "Why did you kiss me, you absolute freak of nature?"

He opened his eyes and turned his head. "It's a memory-wiping technique. Usually works when I swap spit. Guess not on you."

"You've kissed other people to wipe their memory?" I asked, alarmed.

"I figured a kiss would've been better than biting you."

He suddenly sat up, eyes locked on the police station. Then, his head turned, glancing at it over his shoulder.

"I think you missed your stop."

"Shut up," I muttered.

He jerked his head back around and cranked the seat upright.

"You know, you don't have to keep driving. Just pull over. I'll call a ride."

"That skinwalker - why was he at the college? Why did he kill that teacher?"

"There's a bunch of them. You probably didn't realize this. Like most humans, they didn't know or care. But your planet got sold to the highest bidder."

"W-who owned the planet to sell it?"

"What I mean is, there are some big, bad aliens that have made Earth their home. Now, your people will be wiped out in a matter of weeks if my team and I don't keep the bad guys at bay. So, like I said earlier… you can let me out whenever you like."

My breathing became labored, and my head started to grow heavy. I swerved a little, and he grasped the steering wheel.

I licked my lips, trying to straighten my body, but wooziness seeped in.

"Sorry, could you pull over? I think my kiss is finally kicking in," he said.

"Pull… over?"

"It's gonna be easier to just stop and not kill us. Don't cha think?"