This deals with some touchy subjects, which, honestly, I glaze over for the sake of the STORY! I fall into some horrible fanfiction clichés in this, and you know what? I'm proud of them! So there :-p

Gravitation isn't done, not by a long shot, but I don't write well without deadlines, and y'all give me deadlines. And I really do want to finish this now that I've started it. Yeah.

On with the story!

The sun was barely above the horizon, the grass at the bottom of the stairs still wet with morning dew. The tiny, quiet town was bustling with its normal early morning briskness. Farm hands walked in groups of twos and threes, chatting amiably about their wives and children, about the recent ball game, and about whether Mr. Henderson's crop would be ready before the fall festival. Children ran together toward the center of town, playing games as they raced toward the school yard. The air was brisk, but not cold.

Lillith sat on the step of the home she shared with her parents and her baby sister, Clara, who sat between her legs. Their school bags leaned against the railing, a datapad propped on Clara's knee. No matter how hard their parents tried to get her to do her homework the night before, Clara insisted on doing it in the minutes before class. At least she was young enough that most of her homework was really easy.

"You gonna marry Jack?" Clara asked, wincing as Lillith pulled her hair tight, braiding it flat against her skull.

"Ew, no. We just hang out and stuff." Jack Shaper was the son of one of the wealthiest farmers near them. They played pickup games of basketball on the weekends, but in truth their friendship was more a forced issue by their respective parents.

"But he's over all the time, and mom says you'd look sooo cute together. I bet you are. I bet you kiss him. On the mouth."

"As if," Lillith murmured, rolling her eyes. "Well, it doesn't matter now anyway, I'm only sixteen. Even if he was the cutest, sweetest, most amazing boy in the world nothing could happen for another two years anyway."

"Mom says it'd be good if you married him. That it would be...ser-a-dip-it-it-e-ous."

Lillith sighed, rolling her eyes again and snapping the rubber band on the bottom of her sister's braid. "Serendipitous? That's because if we got married, then we'd get access to their farmland. They have some of the best land this side of the capital."

"I'd join the alliance instead of marrying a boy," Clara said matter-of-factly. "Boy's are gross."

Lillith smiled and patted her sister on the shoulder. "Keep thinking that, kiddo. Come on, we're already late for school."

The sisters walked down the gravel road, shoes crunching in the silence of the morning. The streets were mostly empty now, the children at the school, the workers in the field. Had they been on time things might have been different. Had they been running a little later, things might have been different. As it was, they were still a half mile from the school when the ship landed in front of it. They were a half mile away when the screaming started. A half mile when the gun fire broke out. A half mile when they saw the head of one of the teachers in the yard explode in a halo of red. A half mile when the world seemed to end.

The air echoes with the sounds of people screaming, people dying. In seconds the air was filled with the stench of blood. It played out like a bad movie, and Lillith felt like she was moving through water. Her reactions seemed slow, but her breathing much too fast. She moved on instinct, fight or flight. With her sister there, it leaned heavily toward flight.

Lillith grabbed Clara's hand, dragging her back behind one of the prefabs and then shoving her beneath it. She crawled on her belly, sliding under with her. The ground is wet, cold. Lillth thinks it smells like springtime, and then thinks that is a stupid thing to think while they're being invaded. They needed to find their parents. That had to be step one. Clara was crying; desperate sobs that shook her entire body. Lillith tried to shush her. She had to stay calm, had to remain rational. They had trained for this. Sessions in school where they were told what to do if anything happened, but they'd usually only practiced for a wild-fire. No one really thought they'd be attacked.

She ran through the steps in her head, but they kept getting confused. She couldn't seem to think straight. The pieces refused to fall into the places she knew, logically, they were supposed to go. She thought she heard someone scream her name and that shook her enough to remember the drills for an outside invader. At least, she hoped it was the proper drill. She still wasn't sure. She wanted to continue to sit under the building until the screaming stopped, even though the mud was cold was oozing into her pants and up the back of her shirt.

The steps. There were three steps.

First, listen for the alarm. Second, get out of line of sight. Third, find an adult.

They were already out of view of anyone, but Clara was being loud enough to be heard even over the sound of the screams. Nothing Lillith tried kept her sister quiet for more than a moment. The air smelled like the barn during the fall slaughter, and only the fact that she'd grown up on a farm kept Lillith from gagging. The smell made her eyes water, though, just as it did when she helped her father in the stocks. Only that wasn't beef cattle. It wasn't pork. It was her friends. Her neighbors. She forced herself not to cry. It wouldn't do her, or her sister, any good if she started to cry. She felt the tears in her eyes though, and tried not to blink. There wasn't time for it. There wasn't time for any of it. She had to start moving again.

"Clara, Clara we have to move, okay. You have to be quiet. We have to find out why the alarm didn't sound, okay? Can you follow me quietly?"

Clara nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I want mommy," she whispered. She was eight, but she sounded so much younger. Lillith was reminded of a very small baby, when she herself was Clara's age.

"I know. We're going to go find her. You have to be brave for me, okay? Come on, slide under here. Leave your bag. The alarm is in community center." Talking made it easier. Telling Clara what she was planning. Not that she had anything planned. She just wanted her mom. She wanted her mom so bad. As bad, if not more, that Clara did. She wanted her mother to tell her that it would all be okay. That it was all a bad dream. She wanted to wake up. The prefabs ended about fifty yards down, and it was a quarter-mile across the yard to the community center. She held a hand back to Clara, motioning her to stop, to stay quiet, then stuck her head out from under the building.

Aliens.

There were aliens everywhere. They had these beady little eyes, and way too many of them. Batarians. She thought that was what her teacher had said they were called. There were dozens of them, dragging children across the ground, heaving adults onto carts. Not even bothering to step around the dead, just stepping on them. She watched one step in the gut of a young farm hand she didn't know. She watched, horrified, as Mr. Dupree from the house next to theirs was shot between the eyes. She gagged, crawling back under the building. She closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. It was easier to look at the ground, at the mud. Her mother would be so mad that she got her school clothes so dirty.

"I want you to stay here, okay. And don't look out there. No matter what happens, you stay right here, okay?"

Clara nodded, her face coated in black mud. Lillith almost began laughing hysterically as she thought about how hard it was going to be to get the mud stains out. What a thing to think when the world was falling apart. "Don't leave me," the girl whispered.

"I'm just going to run across real quick and see why the alarm isn't going off, okay? Just stay here, and stay quiet."

"Lilly, no!" Clara's face was covered in mud, the only place where her china-pale skin showed through was where her tears had left uneven lines down her cheeks.

Lillith felt her throat constrict as she looked at her sister. There were other children out there, about Clara's age, in cages. Crammed together. She seem similar things on some of the larger farms. Feed hogs shoved into crates too small for them, left to fry in the sun until someone finally got around to taking them to the slaughter-house. Most of the adults were being killed, though a handful that didn't resist were shoved into similar cages, or put in with the children. She wondered, vaguely, as she stuck her head back out from under the building, where she fell. If she would be spared for her age, or if she'd be killed, for trying to sound the alarm.

As quietly as she could, she made her way along the edge of the prefabs. She didn't look back. She didn't check to see if Clara was following her instructions. She just had to focus on getting across the open area without being seen. She was dirty enough to blend in with the buildings, at least. The white shirt she'd put on in the morning was black now, the mud having dried slightly. The grime that had been kicked up on the buildings was almost the exact same shade. As long as no one looked too close she'd be invisible.

Her hands were shaking. She couldn't stop them. There was more gunfire, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke. There was a fire raging now across one of the wheat fields, and a good number of the outlying buildings were churning up black, acrid smoke. She glanced down a side street and saw her house. It was in flames. They rose up into the sky, dancing as the wind shifted. It was beautiful. She gagged, vomited behind the general store. Mrs. Smith-Dyson ran it with her husband. Lillith saw her body, lying in the alley behind the store. She'd been shot, twice. She hoped she wasn't being loud, but as her breakfast came up she knew it was unlikely. She sank to the ground, hugging her knees. The smell of the vomit blocked the smell of blood, and she was grateful. She shook uncontrollably. She had to be strong for Clara though, she had to be. Her father had always told her that whatever happened, she had to be there for her baby sister. She had to take care of her.

She pushed herself back up to her feet and began working her way back over to the community center. The aliens were ignoring it, for the most part. They had people lined up in front, but no one was watching the doors. She wondered how long she and her sister had been hiding under that building. The morning dew was gone. The shadows were much shorter. The town was broken. It seemed like only seconds since she'd drug her sister off the road, but it had to have been close to two hours that she'd sat in a panic under than building. So long. Maybe the alarm sounded, maybe she hadn't heard it. Maybe the call had gone out.

She threw up twice more before she made it all the way around the town green. There was nothing left in her stomach, but she dry heaved until she brought up bile. Her throat burned as she neared the building. She crawled, moving away from the safety of the bushes, of the buildings lengthening shadows.

"Well, well, well, looks like we found a pretty one," someone said, grabbing her shirt collar and dragging her up off the floor. She'd known she should have stayed in the bushes, but she'd been so close. She could see it, could almost reach out an arm and touch it. She felt something pressing into her back, and thought it was a gun. Not a rifle, or a shotgun, like her dad used to kill sick cattle, but a handgun. The kind the police used. "You smell like sick, girlie."

"Please," she begged, "please, let me go."

"Let you go? Nono, you'll make a nice little addition. Once you get cleaned up anyway, you humans can't even keep your guts in the right place. Crawling around in the mud like an animal, too. Disgusting."

"Please," she cried. She was shaking again, and the tears were running freely. "Please." She'd always been praised for being a highly articulate young lady, but it all seemed to have escaped her now.

"You do sound pretty when you beg, girlie. Maybe I can make you beg for more? Ain't many pretty ones here, and the kids are useful, but you are a sight better looking." He spun her around, his hand gripping her hair right at the scalp. He used the butt of the gun to lift her shirt, all four eyes leering as her midriff was exposed.

"Nonono. Please, no," she cried. She wanted her mother. She wanted her mother so bad. Just a dream. It was all just a dream.

"You won't know if you like it, if you don't try it," he snarled, pushing her up against the wall. He used his lower body to pin her there, one hand holding the gun to her head, the other touching, touching. Touching everything. She'd made it. The wall her back was pressed painfully against was the community center. She almost laughed at irony as the green-skinned monster tugged at her clothes.

She stopped forming coherent words. She stopped making coherent thoughts. He was just all over her. Hands touching her, prodding at her until her skin burned. She thought she might have called for her mother, but she wasn't sure. Wasn't sure of anything as he spun her around, her face pushed into the wall.

She wasn't sure how long she was held there, how long she smelled vomit and his breath that was like the pig sty when she'd forgotten to clean it. And then there was another voice, deeper, huskier. Her savior, though he was another monster.

"They're on to us, Alliance ships incoming. Probably got no more than six hours to pull out. Get a grip, Dal'iek. Put her in 6."

There was a grunt. Pain. A burning pain she'd been feeling for so long that she'd stopped noticing it. He was lifting her by her hair. Dragging her. Her face was bleeding. She looked out through the haze as she was drug through the dirt. Bodies, everywhere. She was bumped into one. She looked at it. It was a man. She looked again as she was drug away. It was her father. His lower half was half a foot away from his torso. His face, which had for so long smiled at her, had laughed with her, was contorted in pain, covered in blood.

She screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

There was the sound of boots and she was thrown to the floor, her head bouncing off a rock. Suddenly, her vision went red and her attacker slumped on top of her. He was on top of her again, and she was screaming. Still screaming. Jack was standing behind her, his father's rifle in his hands. He took down two more before she watched his head explode. He slumped forward, on top of the batarian that was on top of her. She was covered in a mess of batarian and Jack's blood. She gagged, threw up bile. She was shaking. She couldn't move.

She heard Clara, but couldn't see her. Could hear her calling her name. It echoed in her head, but everything was so fuzzy. She hoped she was still hiding.

The aliens were scrambling for their ships. A group of snipers were picking off survivors that they saw out of the cages. She could hear the crack of the guns, smell the ozone as the guns heated up. They didn't see her. They thought she was dead, buried as she was under her attacker and Jack.

There was a single cage left outside the ships. A team of aliens were trying to get it loaded, but a taller batarian in much nicer clothes gestured to them. They stopped what they were doing, left the cage in the middle of the field. Through the haze of blood she could see her mother. She was right against the bars. She was looking right at her. One of the batarians threw something in the cage before running up into the ship.

Their eyes met across the field. Her mother looked so sad. She yelled something to her daughter, but Lillith couldn't hear it. She tried to call to her, tried to crawl to her, but couldn't get her muscles to work. Her mind to work.

There was no one around. No one to tell. She was hidden.

She lay still, staring at her mother as her entire town died. At least her mother was safe. At least there was that.

And then the cage exploded.

Red rain fell on Mindoir.

This is for Sirrocco for being a stupidly awesome friend when I need one, and for making me spit soda out my nose, and giving me the idea in the first place. And to Theodur, who made me realize that retellings don't have to be boring (and now, because of that, I read way too many of them for my own good). You guys rock :)