When Earth is conquered by the sinister Greys and the alien who killed Evie's husband returns seeking her help, she must find a way to enact her revenge and fight the growing feelings for the creature who is an exact replica of the man she loved.
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FIFTEEN MONTHS EARLIER
The ground shakes. Huge vibrations cause me to stumble as I run, almost as if something is bursting up through the ground and not actually falling from the skies. I vaguely think of Tom Cruise's War of the Worlds, and the great mechanical aliens erupting from the Earth where they'd lain dormant for years, waiting, waiting. But this isn't aliens. It's not the sinister Grey creatures that the world has discovered lives among us. The bombs that are falling over the city are from one of our once-greatest allies and we were just not ready.
Are you ever ready for your world to get ripped apart at the seams?
I thought I was ready. I've been preparing. Physically. Mentally. Practically. But now it's here, now it's finally happening, I'm not sure I'm ready after all.
The force of the explosion reverberates through my bones and makes my teeth rattle in my skull. My heart races, a triple-time drumbeat hammering against my chest. My breath is short and rasping, and my throat burns. I have no idea whereabouts the impact is. All I know is that it felt close – too close – and everyone is running. Screaming. Crying.
I'm being herded, forced to run with the masses, all headless, confused, panicked, and I don't want to go this way, but to try and break free now would see me trampled underfoot because there isn't anywhere to go but with them. The strange thing is, that as we run without direction, there's this overwhelming feeling of being alone. We don't talk to the person fleeing next to us. We don't encourage anyone to keep going. We're like separate entities, running as if each of us is the only person in existence.
It's every man for himself now. Don't trust anyone. Are we each who we say we are? What are we hiding? Are we one of them?
As we run up the high street, right where the old Tesco's Express store and the pricey boutique selling fancy wedding hats and fascinators had stood, until they both got looted and burnt out just a couple of weeks ago, I spot a small girl standing on the other side of the road. The girl looks to be about seven, and she's just standing there clutching a small pink bag in her hand. The bag is typical of many kids her age, a sparkly backpack covered in unicorns and glitter. Her hair is long and almost white-blonde. I imagine she would have made a great Angel in the school nativity, in a white smock dress and tinsel-halo.
I see this girl as I run and she's just watching us all go by. She's not crying or wailing. Her expression is blank. She must be in shock. That has to be it. She's alone and at once I want to break free and run to her, scoop her up into my arms and carry her off, but I'm still running. Everyone is running past her like she's not there and she doesn't even seem to care. She doesn't cry out. She doesn't try to grab anyone.
