Free Vanish by Tom Pawlik

ordeal.
    Nike crouched down. “Lady, someone’s out there. I don’t know who it is or what they want. They been following us all day.” He paused and looked down for a moment. “I don’t think they’re human. And I don’t think they’re friendly.”
    “What’re you saying?” Helen peered at him.
    White Sox swore. “You need us to spell it out for you?
Aliens
, lady. They’re aliens!”
    Helen nodded. “The storm. Did you see the clouds moving in off the lake last night?”
    “Yeah, we saw it.” White Sox lifted his sweatshirt, revealing a dark purple rash covering his stomach and chest. “And they did something to me! I want to know what they did to me!”
    It wasn’t a burn like Helen had seen on Kyle. This looked more like a rash or a bruise. “What is it?”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out!” White Sox’s voice was gruff, but Helen could see fear in his eyes. “I woke up this morning with this on my chest. And now it’s spreading.”
    Helen backed away. “Does it hurt?”
    He lowered his shirt. “A little. Like a burn. But it’s cold. It feels cold.”
    Helen shook her head. “I… I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what—”
    White Sox put his hand up, slipped over to the door, and crouched down. “Listen,” he said. “You hear that?”
    Nike followed him. Helen could see a gun under his shirt, tucked into the back of his jeans.
    Now she heard it too. Outside. Soft at first, like a breeze moaning through the empty buildings.
No
, thought Helen,
not wind. More like…
    Breathing.
    A long, slow inhale started softly but grew steadily louder until it reached a deafening crescendo—like a jet engine—and then stopped suddenly.
    White Sox turned around, his eyes wide. “They’re here!”
    The next instant, the window and door shattered. Shards of glass shot across the room. Helen ducked behind the counter and covered her eyes as glass rained down.
    The store erupted in shouting and gunfire.
    When she looked up again, she saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Tall, thin, and gray. It loomed behind White Sox and wrapped a pair of long arms around his chest, crushing him in a bear hug. The thing had no face that Helen could see, like a blurred shadow. But it had substance.
    White Sox screamed and kicked. Helen watched as his face and hands changed color. His skin turned purple. As if the rash or bruise—or whatever it was—had suddenly spread across his entire body.
    The creature lifted White Sox off his feet and stepped back through the shattered doorway. The boy continued to struggle and scream as it carried him around the corner of the building. It was the high-pitched, blood-chilling scream of a terrified kid.
    Nike had drawn his gun and was firing at a second figure, crouched in the aisle in front of him. The creature made no effort to elude the barrage of bullets. It slowly straightened up and stood still. Helen could see bullets pummeling its body, but they disappeared into the gray flesh, leaving no holes and no damage.
    The creature lunged forward, caught the boy by the neck, and lifted him up, peering at his face. It turned him slightly as if inspecting him. Nike tried to scream but could manage only a gargled whimper.
    Helen gathered her senses and scrambled for the gun under the register. She reached into the shelf and felt her fingers close around the grip. She turned to take aim.
    But the creature was gone. And the boy lay on the floor, gasping for breath.
     
     
     

Chapter 15
     
     
    CONNER SPED THROUGH TOWN, flying though empty intersections. His eyes flicked reflexively from the road to the rearview mirror and back.
    Had he seen what he thought he had seen? He’d struck one of the gray men—if in fact it was a man—going at least thirty miles an hour and sent him flying off his fender. Conner watched him roll across the pavement, only to see him get up again as if nothing was wrong.
    He glanced at the boy in the seat next to him. The boy who