It was midday. A shroud of low-hanging clouds made everything around seem gray and desolate… at least, more desolate than usual. The neighborhood they were travelling through had once been upscale, and large, gaudy homes flanked both sides of the wide street, standing starkly against the clouds. Abandoned cars sat in driveways and along the curbs, some with shattered windows and others mostly intact. Judging by the number of houses with boards over their windows, the residents of this neighborhood must have hunkered down to try and weather the storm of the invasion rather than flee.

Tom Mason held up a hand, halting the small scavenging group. A thin column of smoke drifted up from the backyard of a mostly intact house that had just come into view. Odds that a battle-related fire was still burning were slim, so smoke meant survivors. The only question was their disposition. He didn't need another Pope-type vigilante.

The trio advanced slowly. Tom and Maggie led cautiously, creeping around bushes to get a better vantage point from across the street, while Hal brought up the rear. Taking cover behind a rusted SUV, Tom pulled out his binoculars.

The house across the street was large, easily big enough for a family of four with space to spare, and sat on what was probably close to an acre of land. It was constructed close to the street, leaving room for only a token front yard and a pair of what once must have been well-kept gardens that flanked the front door. This left an expansive backyard area that was mostly enclosed by short, slender evergreens. The whole property was in fairly good shape, with only a single broken window on the ground floor.

By shifting a foot or so to his left, Tom was able to see through the gap between the house and the perimeter of trees. There in the backyard was a group of six, two young men and four children of various ages, two boys and two girls. All of them were harnessed.

Maggie heard Tom's sharp intake of breath and turned her head sharply. "What is it?"

"Six kids, oldest two can't be more than twenty. Youngest probably around seven or eight. All harnessed," Tom said gravely.

"Where there's harnesses, there's Skitters," Maggie finished Tom's thought, swinging her gun around.

"Wait," Tom ordered. "Something's not right."

Something wasn't right. The older boys were tending a small campfire in the middle of the yard, cooking an animal of some kind. A boy and a girl, probably twelve and fourteen, respectively, were repairing a net nearby, and the two youngest children, no more than eight years old, seemed to be playing with something in the grass. This was not behavior typical of harnessed kids. Scratch that, it was unheard of. In fact, were it not for the harnesses on their backs, they would have looked like a normal group of survivors living a normal day.

The click of chitin against pavement made Tom swivel his head down the road. A trio of Skitters was slowly advancing down street to their left about thirty yards off. They appeared not to have seen the scavengers, and instead seemed to be focusing on the house and the six harnessed children behind it. Maggie had been right.

"Skitters!" Tom shouted, and the group quickly took a defensive stance behind the SUV and a nearby stone wall.

Maggie and Tom both opened fire and two of the Skitters moved for cover. The third broke from the group and made a dash for the harnessed group.

"Hal! Keep those kids safe!" Tom yelled. Hal nodded and switched his focus to the lone Skitter, which was now clambering over the abandoned cars to reach the relative safety of the backyard.

One of the Skitter pair attempted to charge the group, but a lucky shot from Maggie blasted through its skull. The second attempted to follow suit, and Tom replicated Maggie's feat, much to his relief.

In the ensuing silence, however, Tom realized with confusion that Hal wasn't firing his gun. He turned to see where how far the lone Skitter had gone, and his jaw dropped.

The two older harnessed boys had left their backyard haven and were standing a few feet away from the remaining Skitter, which was still very much alive. All three appeared to be in some sort of trance, staring at each other, none of them moving or appearing hostile in any way.

Suddenly, one of the boys, a tall blond, grabbed his head and doubled over in pain with a strangled cry. The other, a short brunette, visibly winced but did not break eye contact with the Skitter. "Shoot it, please! Quickly!" he screamed. Though he did not look up, it was apparent he was addressing Tom's group. Maggie looked quickly from them, to Tom, then back again, and dispatched the Skitter with a well-aimed pair of shots.

The blond teetered, then feel to his knees. His companion jerked out of his stupor and guided him to a sitting position, cradling him gently. The trio of fighters ran over to the pair, mirrored by the harnessed children, who hung back a few feet away.

Tom regarded the two boys on the ground in front of him. "Let's see if we can get them to come with us," he said over his shoulder. Hal and Maggie moved to approach the four younger children, who backed away fearfully. The two youngest hid behind the older pair, who raised their arms protectively.

"We're not mindless, you know," the brunette said shortly without looking up. Hal and Maggie stopped in the tracks and turned back to face him, their eyes wide.

The boy raised his eyes from his collapsed charge. Both were breathing heavily, and the brunette squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if struggling to see. Though he was clearly terrified of the trio with guns, there was a distinct note of dignity in his voice. "Please. We're not slaves to the Skitters. I know what it looks like, but they don't control us." He glanced down at the other boy, then raised his eyes again. "You're the first adults we've met since we've been living here. Can you help us?"

Tom looked at Hal and Maggie, who appeared even more confused than he was. "Can we trust them?" Maggie asked at length. "They're harnessed. The only time we've ever seen harnessed kids talk is when they're being controlled by a Skitter. This could be a trap. Befriend us, then lead them back to the rest of the 2nd Mass for intelligence."

She had a point. But there was something in the boy's eyes that told him that this wasn't the case.

"Please… we just want to find a safer place to hide. We have food… we'll share it with you," the boy pleaded.

Tom looked the boy over. He was thin, but not in a way that said he was starving. The harness probably took care of that, though. His shirt, a button-down flannel, and worn jeans were dirty, but not particularly damaged, which suggested he had not been subjected to much hard labor at the hands of the Skitters. All in all, it was a truly strange situation to take in.

Tom took a deep breath, and silently hoped that he wasn't making a mistake. "Sure, we'll eat."