Book One: Prophecy
Prologue
It probably thinks it scares me, this alien. But it doesn't. Its clawed hands, its needle sharp teeth, its brown flesh looking like the decaying, discarded skin of a snake. None of it scares me, because I have been dealing with its like for the last five years of my life. The only thing that does scare me are the people standing obliviously around me, frozen in time. If I miss a shot, then the person I hit will never know what happened to them. They'll just be dead. And when everyone else awakes, after the creatures are gone, all there will be to blame will be me. I know, because it has happened before. A long, long time ago.
The alien hisses at me, but as usual I don't understand it. For creatures of such a grand intelligence to create a device to freeze time, these things really have a hard time with the English language. Maybe they are incapable of pronouncing it, maybe they just don't care to… it doesn't really matter to me. If they don't speak, it makes it a whole lot easier to think of them as things, as monsters, instead of sentient beings. To me, they're just a pestilence.
This happens every few months, ever since five years ago, when an incredible man named the Doctor grabbed my hand and yelled at me to "Run", and sent me along on a chain of events that would change my life forever. I wish he would come back so I could slap him around the face and demand to know what has taken him so damn long! He left me, told me I would be safe. But I'm not safe. I'm never safe. The aliens are always searching for me, and they can find me anytime, anywhere. I know when their coming, however, as time around me stops, freezes, and all the clocks and all the people become still. There's only two ways to bring them back, the creatures have to leave or I have to get to the device, a metal band that happens to be on the scaly wrist of the alien that is attacking me right now.
It growls at me and leaps forward. I stumble backwards, slipping on the dusty remains of the others in the attack. Hitting my back against the counter and aim my gun and fire – twice – and the creature explodes, its dust mixing with that of its brothers. And settling into my hair and on my skin. Gross. They always do that: explode. Matter dispersal due to time distortion… or something like that. It's been a long time since it's been explained for me.
The metal band, previously fastened to the creature's wrist, falls to the ground with a clatter. I take my time getting up off the ground and dust myself off as well I can, trying to get the alien dust out of my ebony hair and failing miserably. Scooping up the device from the ground I switch it off and then stow it in my purse along with my gun. From previous experience I have about twenty seconds to get back into place. Otherwise when everyone wakes up, it will seem to them as if I have just jumped across the room in less than a second and that will involve a lot of explaining in which I don't particularly want to partake. I go back to the counter I was standing in front of before the attack began and try to look as if I haven't just fought a pack of bloodthirsty aliens. Although, I am better off than last time. No bleeding at least, maybe a few bruises, but those aren't as noticeable.
The cashier lady is waking up, along with the man in the aisle who has been subtly slipping wart remover into his shopping cart for the last ten minutes. Poor man probably thought no one would notice. He also probably didn't expect to be in the middle of a gun fight, not that he would ever know. The cleaning staff would notice something strange had happened, however, as a light dusting of alien covers the ground. They have their work cut out for them.
"Debit or credit?" the cashier lady asks, startling me. I had gotten distracted by wart guy, who has now moved quickly down the aisle and has grabbed a handful of sport magazines and stuffed them in the shopping cart to hide the embarrassing medicine.
"Miss? Debit or credit?" the lady asks again. She shakes her head, probably suffering from a mild headache. Comes with being frozen in time. Later she will pop a few pills and go to bed, pitifully, blissfully oblivious to the truth. She'll write off the dust in my hair and the fact that I have just completely changed position in less than a second as a trick of the light. They always do. One of those odd things that get forgotten, clouded by the endless stream of normal.
"Credit," I smile, digging through my purse for my card, taking care for the cashier not to see the gun resting inside.