The Threat

#1
AuthorÆs Notes: Oh my, itÆs original fiction. SoàI actually do own it. Wow. Not exactly scary, but I like the character. I might have to expand on this later.

The Threat

The loud crash woke him from a sound sleep. He blearily looked over at the blinking red numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table.

5:27 AM.

It was Saturday, his day off.

The storms the past three days had been louder than a cannon going off. Constantly. He hadnÆt slept in almost sixty hours.

He was going to kill that cat.

He threw the blankets off and stumbled off towards the first floor, his bare feet padding quietly on the hardwood floor. The floor, once smooth, which was now covered in tiny little scratch marks from the catÆs back claws. He had no idea why sheÆd insisted on letting the little bastard keep its back claws. Something to do with the way the back claws were only used for defense, and that the cat would be helpless if it escaped without them.

She was his girlfriend. He didnÆt get laid if he didnÆt suck up to her. So the cat kept its claws, his stuff got destroyed, and it was all ôadorable.ö

But she was out of town for the weekend, and he could at least lock the thing in a bathroom. But then it would cry. HeÆd have to lock it in the spare bedroom then, with the litter box. Damn if he was going to give it a good excuse to piss on his floor.

The air conditioning was a bit low for this hour, and he shivered. He probably should have thrown a shirt or some shorts on. The thing would claw at his bare skin. If it slashed his dick, he swore to God that it wouldnÆt make it to six.

Halfway down the stairs, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He turned, but by then the cat had already vanished.

And it had to be a black cat too. He looked over at the light switch, which was six feet away. Feh. Not worth the two steps; the basement had a closed door and the predawn light was giving dim illumination for the rest of the house.

He passed the door to the basement on his way to the kitchen, where the beast was probably chewing on his leather bar stools.

A moment later, he stopped, and looked back. The basement door was open.

Shit. Not the cat. Intruder.

He held his breath and quickstepped back up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. Most thieves would flee after making a clatter like that, but he didnÆt feel like taking that chance skyclad.

Being a gun enthusiast earned him negative points from his girlfriend, but if he listened to her all the time, heÆd be completely fucked. Such as a situation in which there was a potentially armed intruder in his house.

As it was, he had a Colt AR-15 carbine in his closet and three cases of Wolf ammunition. It was cheap Russian shit that fouled the barrel after a few hundred rounds, but it shot well enough.

There was nothing quite as reassuring as the click-clack sound of the bolt sliding forward, chambering a .223 round that was about the size of his fingernail. It made up for the size by going fast enough to leave a sonic boom in its wake. The noise alone would scare the shit out of anyone, even if he missed.

Still, he was no idiot. Sufficiently armed, he picked up the phone and dialed 911, cradling the phone between his jaw and shoulder while he pointed the gun at his bedroom door. There was no response.

ÆThe fuck?Æ

Even if the lines were busy, he should have gotten some sort of automated message. He looked down at the phone and cursed. It read ôNo signal.ö The storms must have downed the lines in his area.

Mmm. Cell phone was in the kitchen, along with his keys and wallet. The window in his bedroom looked down a solid concrete patio, but he could probably get down and out. His neighbors would think he was a lunatic. Hopefully theyÆd call the cops.

But first, he closed his door and locked it as quietly as he could. He dressed in silence, jeans, a t-shirt, and the biker jacket heÆd worn back when he still had a motorcycle. As an afterthought, he stuffed his pockets with boxes of ammo and an extra clip. He dobted heÆd be re-enacting Die Hard, but better safe than sorry.

He flipped the safety on the AR-15 and slung it around his back on the carry strap, then went to his window and flipped it open. HeÆd been doing home repairs for the past month, so the thing opened without squealing like a stuck pig.

He squatted in the window, turned around, reached up, and grabbed the gutter. This was going to be very, very stupid.

He jumped up and back, clearing the window and giving his arms some momentum to try and swing him up onto the roof. The new nails in the thing held (thank you, Home Depot!) and he managed to get his elbows up inside the gutter. His feet were planted on either side of the window, and with much straining and scraping of his precious leather jacket, he made it onto the roof.

He took a few steps up, curious, and peered over the peak of his roof and out towards the street. Black SUV, definitely not his, parked on the side of the street. The roof had been a good call. Now all he had to do was wait. His neighbors would see, or one of those damn joggers, and he looked mighty suspicious camped up there with an assault rifle.

Ten minutes later, he was bored. The adrenaline of successfully evading the home invasion had worn off, and he started to look around the neighborhood from his new perspective.

Interesting. Some people really needed a new roof.

And why were the lights off in the McCallistersÆ house? Evan worked graveyard shift and usually got home right about now, when his wife would be heading out.

There was a thud on the roof behind him. He whirled, bringing the gun to bear with practiced ease û at nothing.

He heard a shoe scrape on the shingles of his roof, then another. They were closer and closer, but he still saw nothing.

HeÆd seen enough horror movies to know how this turned out. And hell, if he was wrong the worst that could happen was that the neighbors would definitely call the cops.

Boom.

The report of the gun was deafening without ear protection. But his efforts were rewarded when the bullet struck something, blood spattering into the morning air from an invisible object. There was also a scream of pain, barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

He aimed at the sound and fired again, fingering the trigger twice wincing at the noise. More blood spattered after the second shot, and the floating wounds fell to the ground. He aimed at them and fired a fourth time. The wounds twitched.

Normally, this was the part where the invisible thing turned visible. After it died. It didnÆt, so he shot it again, but with no more success. Well, at least it was probably dead.

He sat down, staring at it. The AR-15 was pointed at his own foot, but he didnÆt bother to thumb the safety.

Holy fucking shit.

That thing was invisible.

Holy fucking shit.

What the hell was going on? Were there more of those things?

Tires screeched on the road, and he scrambled up to the top of his roof to get a good look at the road. A charcoal sports car took a movie-style turn onto his street, the back end slewing wildly.

Cracks appeared on the windshield, though he hadnÆt seen anything strike it. The engine roared, and the car zoomed forward û for about a hundred feet. Immediately after there was a sound like an iron fist striking a thousand slabs of meat, and the car slowed as if the air had turned to jelly.

By the numerous dents and the way the hood had completely collapsed, it had struck something more resilient.

Even after the car had come to a stop, dents kept appearing, and he could hear glass shattering from a hundred yards away.

A screaming woman was dragged out through the mostly-destroyed windshield, the remaining glass shards leaving vicious gashes that bled a bright crimson visible even in the predawn murk.

It wasnÆt a conscious decision; he just aimed a few feet to the right of her and opened fire. It was unnerving, and strangely difficult, to aim and fire at nothing. But blood filled the air nonetheless, and he could see the woman begin to limp away. He grinned in success.

She fell over, tripping on nothing, and opened her mouth to scream. He saw a gout of blood fountain out of her throat.

Then she vanished.

The street was empty.

He stopped firing.

For the second time, he surveyed the neighborhood. Only this time, he knew what he was looking for.

No lights were on. There was no traffic, even though his street intersected a much busier thoroughfare. He looked down at the black SUV, and saw that it had run over the curb. There were numerous dents in the doors.

He looked at his yard.

The grass was trampled.

He listened carefully, and heard the sound of footsteps on the asphalt of the road, on the concrete of his driveway, on the grass of his yard.

Were there more?

Yes. Yes, there were more.

He heard a scrabbling at his window, and a metal clunking noise as something repeated the earlier creatureÆs movements.

He looked over at the bloodstained asphalt and the smoking wreck of a sports car.

Then he looked down at his gun.

For once in his life, he really did know what had to be done.
 

biigoh

Well-Known Member
#2
Invisible Space Zombies wants your bwaaaainnnns..... :lol:
 

grant

Well-Known Member
#3
Not my favored genre but good anyway.
 

violinmana

(Hardcore) Gamer
#4
Epic Awesome Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin.
 
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