“Look out!” I yell, raising my weapon.

He instinctively turns on his heels, raising his own gun. Zero hesitation, the blast is deafening, the glass explodes outward in a shower of jagged glints against the absolute black of the country night. The buckshot hits the left side of the thing’s face, I can just make out a metallic plink over the ear shattering pain the blast.

The creature tumbles backward. Daniel moves forward, I follow, posting up beside him, next to what is left of the kitchen window. It pops back up, stands there in front of the pool, claws hanging low. One of the bulbus eyes is gone. No, that’s not right, the lens is shattered, and what is under it has been revealed. It is not an eye under that lens, but in fact an array of eyes; some organic, others mechanical things grafted to, or perhaps growing out of the flesh.

It lunges forward; we open up.

Rounds and pellets ping off of the creature, throwing bright sparks. Staggered, it reels under the onslaught. Shot after shot, we work our way through our magazines till we are both empty. The damage is apparent. Cracks and dents scar the armor.

I drop the mag, pull another out of the vest, slam it home and release the bolt. Daniel holds the pump-action in his off hand, draws his pistol.

It leaps backward, flipping in the air, clearing the pool. We hear it land on the other side and run off. Then we just kind of stand there, staring out the shattered window, and glancing at each other as if to confirm that what just happened was real. Water drains from the pool through the holes that were caused by our strays.

“Are you guys okay!” Jerry yells from the living room. As if this was a sharp slap, bringing us back to the real world and its immediate concerns, we start reloading.

Daniel holsters his handgun, starts loading fresh shells, “We’re fine. But you’re going to need a new pool.”

“What happened?”

There is a pause, Daniel puts the last shell in, answers him, “We drove it away.”

“Drove it away? Why didn’t you kill it?”

Now I answer him, “It wasn’t for lack of trying.

He tries to say something else, stops to let out a yelp. Explosions in the living room, bullets rip down the length of the hall, striking the backdoor. He works the bolt like a madman, emptying the hunting rifle far faster than I would have thought that he could.

“Hold your fire!” I shout, stepping into the hall and cutting the pie to the left. Daniel stays put, watching the window. Jerry is crouched down, metal clicking as he frantically reloads. This combines with the sound of running water from the pool and my own breathing. The door’s little window is almost completely gone, a few rounds have punched holes in the wood. I glance back at him, ask what it was.

“That thing,” he asserts.

Daniel steps into the kitchen door, “How did it get back there without us seeing it. It would have had to have gone far out and came around the back. Is it really that fast?”

I glance back at my brother, “Did you get a good look at it? Was its eye messed up?”

“No, it looked fine.”

“Then we’ve got two of them,” I proclaim as I make my way to the back door.

Approaching slowly, weapon ready, but out of reach of anything that might be lying in wait, I peak outside. Nothing close, although my view of the house’s sides are limited. The old barn sits there menacingly. To its right, the big tree where the first one was spotted. My eyes run up and down it. Then I see it, up in the high branches. It is sitting there on one of the thicker limbs, watching silently.

I take aim, squeeze off a shot. The 5.56 round hits high, cutting some leaves and a small branch. The thing scoots backwards, intentionally dropping down and out of sight.

I turn on the flashlight that is mounted on my rifle. The beam sweeps the backyard, I don’t want it to find anything, am immensely relieved when it doesn’t.

A shout from the living room, “They just took out the security light!”

There is the sound of breaking glass and a crash, sounds like it came from the parent’s room. Daniel takes off running. A series of rapid blasts fill the hall. I check the back again, see nothing, then head into the hall to help. He is standing in the doorway, shotgun at the ready.

“I’m behind you,” I announce.

Daniel moves back and off to one side. Now there is shooting coming from the living room. I consider turning around, but I know that we need to deal with whatever happened in here.

“Where is it?” I ask, before my brother fires another round.

“I think that it is still in there, somewhere off to the left.”

“Do you know how to clear a room?”

“No,” he says flatly, sounds a little bit embarrassed.

Thinking that he is more likely to shoot me in the back by accident than help, I send him to help Jerry, making sure to warn him about the dangers of friendly fire.

The door is positioned so that I can see straight down the inner wall. Taking a deep breath, I enter the room. The bed and the nightstands that flank it occupy most of the back wall. The window faces toward the rear of the house. Random crap sits up against the walls: an old sewing kit, a tote bag full of paperbacks, carboard boxes full of who knows what.

The light plays across broken glass, both on the edges of the window and the floor in front of it. I clear the back wall, find myself looking at the closet’s open doors and the pure darkness beyond.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

After contemplating just spraying into the closet, I start inching forward.

Out of the corner of my eye I see it reach in through the broken window.

I step backwards, letting a round fly. The impact is loud, metallic, sends the freak tumbling out the window. That is when another one bolts out of the closet.

White hot agony. My left arm is slashed open.

I move further back, squeeze off a few rounds. The thing jumps out of the window and I post up in the doorway. I call out to the others, telling them that I have driven the creature off.

Warm wetness as the blood runs down my arm. Lacerations, three deep cuts, clean past the skin and into the muscle.

I had always hated my platoon sergeant, always seen him as a spaz. But now I am thanking God that he made us practice self-aid. The process of applying the pressure dressing is still long and awkward.

Daniel comes into the hall, taking a hint from before; he announces the fact, then he states that there is a problem, before seeing the blood and asking if I am okay.

“I’m fine. What’s the problem?”

“I’ll keep a watch back here,” he says as he steps into the girl’s room, “You need to go take a look for yourself.”

The walk to the living room takes about a dozen times longer than it normally does. I find Jerry standing in the doorway that leads to the carport. I tell him that I am behind him, and he moves out of my way, heading to the front door. I go out the side door and stand on the steps.

Total horror crawls across my mind as I look down the row of vehicles. The hoods are strips of jagged metal, curled up like flower peddles. The engines have been ripped out in broken pieces. Astonishment turns to despair. I step back inside and close the door.

Our ability to escape is gone. Walking out of here isn’t an option, not when we are this far away from anything, not with those things out there.

I pull out my cellphone, surprised that I haven’t already done so. Zero bars.

“Does your cellphone work out here?” I ask my brother.

“Yes, most of the time,” he replies, pulling it out of his pocket, “Damn, no signal.”

I jog up the hall, ask Daniel to check his as he steps out of the kitchen. He looks at it, looks at me and shakes his head no, then proceeds to the office.

I head back to the living room, “Will your neighbor investigate the gunfire? Call the police?”

“Neighbor? I doubt that anyone is close enough to hear it. Not with all the hills and trees.”

It is then that the power dies.