They

   They came in the night. We never knew from where. They just appeared, as if they had sprung fully grown from the sky itself. We looked up and there they were, their thin metal ships glinting in the sunlight like giant icicles. Perhaps if we had had some sort of warning, some inkling of their imminent arrival, we could have prepared. As it was, we were caught wanting.

Then again, what could we have done? We were overwhelmed so easily and so completely. Would knowing have changed that? Would advance knowledge have changed our fate, or would it simply have provided us with a foreshadowing of our own doom? In the end, was there anything that we could have done differently, or was the outcome already set in stone?

The night they arrived had been clear and still, one of those nights where the sky seems to stretch on forever. Every star appeared to be shining just for us.

In truth, their twinkling lights were a path leading straight to our door. Even as they appeared to cast their seductive beauty down upon us, they worked to betray us to our enemies.

I had retired early that evening. My work at the time was rewarding, yet it was also demanding. Some days, the activity would whirl around me like a tempest. I would rush from crisis to crisis with nary a moment's rest. Those days were exhilarating, but they would leave me exhausted by the time I was done. Afterwards, I would arrive home in the evening, unable to exert myself any longer. My life force spent, I would collapse on the sofa as soon as I came through the front door. There I would stay until sleep came upon me.

My family had long ago learned to accommodate me when I was in this state. Their own lives continued around me as if I existed in a bubble, our interaction limited to their futile attempts at getting me to eat. I would try to placate them by acquiescing to their wishes, but all I could manage was a few nibbles here and there.

Still, such instances were rare. On the whole, my life existed in a state of chaotic perfection. I could not help but recognize how lucky I had been thus far. Even on those days when my energy would fail, I was still filled with a boundless sense of purpose and gratification that could not be overwhelmed. Exhausted I might be, but never defeated, never sad.

I had been a surgeon, a healer. My days had been dedicated to making a difference in people's lives, to easing their suffering. Now, we all suffered. Now, there was nothing more I could do for anyone.

In the bedroom that my wife and I shared, I had been half asleep when I first felt the rumbling. At that point, I had attributed the vibrations to a truck going by in the street. In my state of partial consciousness, I dismissed the sensation and resolved to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, I was jolted awake. Instead of fading, the rumbling had become louder, more insistent. At the same time, I could feel everything around me vibrating. On the table beside my bed, objects began to move about. A vase full of flowers fell from my wife's dresser, crashing to the floor. The entire house seemed ready to shake loose from the foundations.

Within seconds, my wife and two children appeared in the bedroom door. With fear in their eyes, they looked to me as if I had answers, as if I was not just as confused as they were by what was happening. Still, their distress galvanized me into action.

My first thought was that we were not safe upstairs. It's strange the random details that come to mind during a crisis. Though I had never experienced an earthquake, I had read of them happening in other places. The one detail that I could recall with absolute clarity was the risk of the house collapsing around us. In urgency, I literally pushed my entire family back out the door and down the stairs. From there, unfortunately, the plan was less clear. Was a wall the best place to seek refuge, or the worst? Frozen, I glanced around with a growing sense of desperation, unsure what our next steps should be.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, I settled on our large dining room table. It was heavy, solid, an ideal hiding place to ride out whatever might befall us. With my eyes, I directed my wife towards the table. She quickly understood and complied, taking the children with her.

The entire house was filling with a fine dust as the plaster ceilings cracked under the strain. I could hear other household items crashing to the floor around me in a great cacophony of destruction and ruin. Despite the obvious danger I stood there, listening to it all. Fear was mixed with a certain curiosity, even as the house threatened to come apart around me. It seemed as if I could only truly understand what was happening by experiencing it fully, in every detail.

In the distance, I heard a loud crash. I assumed that one of the neighbor's houses had given way and collapsed. I could also hear people yelling outside.

It was then that another stray thought entered my mind. I remembered reading that earthquakes lasted a few seconds at most. Surely several minutes had passed by now. To me, it had felt like an eternity.

Whatever this was, it was not a simple earthquake. Something else was happening.

At that point, I made what was probably the most fateful decision of my life. Curiosity overruled caution, and I made my way through the falling dust towards the front door. Once there, I opened it and stepped outside.

My first thought was of how clear it was, how intact. Inside, it had been like walking through a cloud because of the falling plaster. Outside, I could easily see everything. It even seemed brighter than usual. Next door, there was nothing left but ruin. Other than that, the street looked no different than it always had. All of the other houses looked completely untouched.

I knew differently, of course. Everything was not normal at all. The ground beneath my feet continued to tremble.

There was something else nagging at me. When I had emerged from the house, I had been holding my breath so as not to inhale the dust. As I took my first breaths in the night air, there was a heaviness, as if the atmosphere itself were thicker somehow. Being a doctor, I knew immediately what was happening. There was not enough oxygen.

There was a great deal of wind as well. It whipped down the street as though the world had sprung a leak. It almost caused me to lose my balance as I stepped beyond the shelter of the front porch. The noise was like a deafening roar in my ears. I turned my head in the direction of the city core, the direction in which the wind blew, and that was the moment I caught my first glimpse of the invaders. Hanging over the silhouettes of the office towers and skyscrapers, a giant fireball filled the sky. It was enormous. At the time, I could not have even said what might be the cause, for nothing else was visible within the flames. Below, the air shimmered with heat, and I could see the mighty towers begin to warp and bend. All I could think as I stood there, staring, was that the world itself was coming to an end.

Suddenly, there was a loud splintering sound behind me. Before I was able to turn around, I was struck on the back of the head and everything went dark.

I awoke sometime later to darkness, silence. As my senses returned, nausea washed over me and I wretched. The back of my head stung fiercely. Below me, I could feel something cool and solid, reassuring. I held on to that sensation like a life preserver as the world slowly coalesced around me.

At first, I floated on a cloud, unable to focus on details. The universe seemed to spin around me like a cyclone. I was not even certain of where I was at that moment.

Then, one by one, details began to emerge.

My first realization was that I was face down on the pavement. That was all. I did not even have any recollection of how I had come to be there, only that it felt soothing to me. I continued to lie there for what must have been several minutes as I attempted to gain my bearings.

Then, my memory returned. With it came an overwhelming sense of panic that rose up within me like bile. I foolishly attempted to get up at that point, and the nausea once again hit me like a wave. I managed to get to a seated position, but even that seemed to sap all of my energy. All I could do was sit there clutching my head as the world spun around me once again. There was a loud ringing in my ears that blocked out all other sounds. Once again, I became encased in a world all my own.

Slowly, the nausea abated. The dizziness was still there but was now manageable. When I was finally able to open my eyes, the world around me came back into focus.

The first detail I noticed was a wet feeling on the back of my head. It stung, fiercely. I had been holding my hands over my ears, and when I pulled them away I saw blood on my fingers. Gingerly, I put my right hand to the back of my head, where the stinging sensation appeared to originate from. The hair felt damp and sticky. I probed deeper, using my fingers to push against the flesh as I attempted to assess the damage. I was relieved to find that the bones of my skull felt as though they were still intact.

I realized that I had been hit from behind, probably with some sort of debris. In that moment, recollection came flooding back. My immediate thoughts were of my wife and children, for I knew that the debris would have had to come from my own house. I turned my head slowly, and that was when I saw the jumbled ruin that had been our home. There was nothing recognizable.

I had to stomp sharply on the panic that threatened to rise up within me because, for the moment, it would be completely counterproductive. Being a surgeon, that emotional control was second nature to me, so it came easily. I knew that in my current state, I had to focus on getting my bearings or I could be of no help to anyone. I remained incapable of even standing up, let alone rushing to my family's aid.

The next detail I noticed was that the night seemed dark once more. The fireball was gone. In fact, the street seemed even darker than usual. Slowly, I lifted my head and looked around. The lights. That's what had happened. Every single light on the street had been extinguished, bathing the houses in shadow. In the darkness, I could make out a few other misshapen mounds, but most of the structures I could see still appeared sound. Obviously, other houses had collapsed, but not many.

I shuffled my position around, taking great care not to move too quickly lest the dizziness take me once more. As I did so, the ruins of my own house came fully into view. Seeing the entire structure now, it was worse than I had at first believed. It looked as though someone had dropped a random pile of sticks and mortar on the ground before me. The fear took hold and, this time, I was powerless to resist.

Still afraid to stand, I got onto my knees and crawled over what had once been the front porch. I cannot even recall what thoughts ran through my head at that point. Certainly nothing coherent or logical. All I could think was that I had to reach my family, if I had to move every piece of debris myself. I began to flail madly, flinging random pieces out into the night. If only I could work fast enough, they would all be ok.

I am not sure when the others arrived. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulders, and hands attempted to pull me back. I heard a voice, but the words were incomprehensible at first. It took moments before I realized that it was my name, repeated in a calm voice. "You must come away," the voice insisted. "It's not safe." In my grief I paid the voice no heed. The hands that tugged at my shoulders became more insistent. Tears of frustration and rage spilled down my face as I was forcibly taken from my objective.

I found myself, once again, on the cool pavement where I had started. I was surrounded now. The faces of my neighbors came slowly into focus. One knelt down before me, his understanding eyes level with mine. Even as recognition came to me, I would still not be swayed. I pleaded for the hands to release me, to allow me to resume my search. The hands continued to hold me in place, however, even as I struggled against them.

Then came a shout in the distance. "Hey, everyone quiet. I hear something." Even in my frantic state, a glimmer of hope arose within me. The fear subsided a little, and clear thought returned. To my left, I could see several dark shapes moving around. They were gesturing towards a large mound that stood close to the edge and above the other rubble. Instinctively, I knew what it was. The dining room table. Whatever had befallen my home, the table had somehow survived. My family might just be alive still.

I could feel gentle hands pressing something soft to the back of my head and I surrendered to their ministrations. Around me, I began to recognize individual faces. Obviously, once the original crisis had come to a close, my neighbors had banded together to search for others. They had come to my rescue and now everything was going to be ok.

Another face appeared before me. "It's going to be alright. Your kids are alive. We can hear their voices calling. Now we just have to figure out how to get to them without having the floor collapse under us. Hang tight."

I nodded to him in gratitude. Behind me, someone continued to hold soft pressure to the back of my head.

At the side of the house, I could see a shadowy figure tentatively testing the floor with his feet. Apparently, he was satisfied because he advanced forward one step. It was like watching a strange dance as he poked at the debris before him with a booted foot until he felt confident enough to put his full weight down. Then the dance would start anew. It seemed an eternity before he had progressed to within reach of the table, despite it being only a meter or so from the edge. With the utmost care, he began to dig.

I can remember a deep sense of relief coming over me. In the darkness, I could still make out several large beams on either side of the rescuers. Somehow, even as the house had come down, the structure itself had fallen around the table rather than on top of it. It was as if the house had tried to protect my family, even as it died.

Then, my relief turned to pure joy as I watched the rescuer pull two small shapes from the wreckage. I could see their small arms reaching out, confirming that they were alive at least, though I could not tell if they had been injured. Once again, my neighbor stepped gingerly through the debris, until he stood on solid ground once more.

Once they were released from his arms, both children ran to me. We embraced in a tearful reunion.

It was then that I felt the first sense of dread returning, even as I rejoiced in the safe return of my children. At first, I could not put my finger on where the feeling originated from. I looked around in confusion, hoping to place the source of my unease. That was when it came to me. No one had continued to search, and no one else had been pulled from the rubble. The entire world crashed around me and faded into nothingness.

When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the light shining against my eyelids. In my half-awake state, it took me a moment to figure out why the light was so disorienting. I knew only that it didn't seem right. Then, all of my memories came flooding back. In panic, my eyes sprang open, all vestiges of sleep gone in an instant.

I was alone. White walls surrounded me on all sides, with a small door in the corner. To my left, a small window allowed me a view of the sky outside. The light on the ceiling was unlit, but the small window managed to fill the room with sunshine. That explained why the light had seemed so strange to me. My last memory had been of night, but the darkness had obviously passed many hours ago.

The next thing I noticed was how quiet it was. That too struck me as queer. As a doctor, I recognized that this was a hospital, even though I could see nothing besides the room I was currently in. My neighbors must have delivered me after I had passed out. I pressed my fingers to the back of my head once again and could feel the sutures there.

Still, it was obvious that something was amiss. Normally, I would be able to hear a great deal of noise, even through the closed door. People speaking, machines buzzing, the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital ward. At present, all was silent.

Even more odd was the fact that within my room it was also silent. Ordinarily, I would be hooked up to the monitor behind me. When I looked, the screen was turned off and the various wires hung limply underneath. In fact, not a single machine within the confines of my room had been turned on, despite the fact that they were present at my bedside. They stood like forgotten derelicts around me.

It was then that the door opened. A nurse stepped into the room, stopping for a moment when she saw that I was awake. She looked vaguely familiar to me, that recognition that comes from working in the same place but in different departments. I knew that I had seen her before, but probably at a distance.

There was a look on her face that could only be described as worry. The kind of worry that comes to those who do not experience worry often. As a nurse, she had probably seen some truly terrifying things over the course of her career, so to see that look now concerned me greatly.

She bobbed her head slightly in acknowledgement, indicating the same recognition but unfamiliarity that I had just experienced. She spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid we would be overheard.

"I'm glad that you're awake. We're in the process of evacuating and you will be one less person to move. We need you to get up now, if you're able." The look on her face implied that, able or not, I would be getting up. One way or another.

She turned to leave but I grabbed her arm. "Hold on," I said, obviously a little too loudly. Her eyes grew wide. She looked around the room as if to assure herself that no one else had heard me. "I have no idea what is happening," I continued, a note of desperation in my voice. "Where is my family?"

At first, she tugged her arm free of my grasp and continued on towards the door. There was a moment of hesitation, however. When she looked back at me there was a resigned look on her face. Obviously, she had come to the conclusion that the only way to get me moving was to tell me something of what she knew.

"You were brought in last night after your house collapsed," she stated in a rushed tone. "You had a pretty nasty gash to the back of your head, which we managed to suture up. Your children are downstairs, or so I was told. We have an area down there for kids who have been separated from their parents. From what I could gather, the people who rescued you couldn't get to your wife. She probably..."

Her voice trailed off, unwilling to finish her thought. I wondered how many times she had given that same news to others over the last several hours. The way that she averted her eyes told me that it had been too many to count.

My head swam with grief and my eyes filled with tears. The air was sucked from my chest as I gasped for oxygen. An enormous weight settled on the center of my chest, crushing me. I had suspected as much, but the news still hit me with devastating effect. My brain could make no sense of all that had happened, so I just lay there in shock.

The nurse walked towards me once more. Her expression had changed as well. I could still see sympathy, but there was also a stone determination mixed with fear. She grabbed hold of me and pulled me into a sitting position. She looked me directly in the eyes, her face only inches from mine.

"I need you to listen to me," she stated, holding me firmly by the shoulders. "I know what a shock this must be, but there is no time. We need to get out of here, NOW! The time for mourning will come later. Can you do this for me?"

Her tone left no room for argument. The sadness still threatened to wash over me, but I had no choice but to suppress it for now. I still did not fully grasp what was happening, but her plea told me that there was still great danger. Whatever had occurred, my children still needed me.

The nurse seemed satisfied with whatever she saw. She let go and walked swiftly from the room. I had been left to my own devices and I was just going to have to proceed without any further aid.

Slowly, I stood up at the side of the bed, testing my balance. My legs were wobbly at first but were able to hold my weight. More importantly, the nausea and dizziness were gone. I was somewhat surprised, as I had obviously sustained a significant head injury the night before. At the back of my head, I could still feel a sharp, stinging sensation where the laceration had been.

I made my way tentatively towards the door. Once in the hall, I realized why it had been so quiet. First off, there was obviously no power and the entire floor was shrouded in semi-darkness. The flickering emergency lights had obviously been on for a while, as they now emitted only enough light for me to make my way forward without tripping.

Here and there, medical supplies lay about the floor. It was obvious that things had been packed up in haste. No one else was around. Even my nurse had already departed for elsewhere.

I could tell that most of the patients on this floor had been evacuated already. Hence the silence I had experienced when I had first regained consciousness. The nurse who had come to me must have been doing a last check before moving on to other areas. The atmosphere was ghostly and oppressive, the kind of atmosphere you only get in places that are usually busy, but now are empty.

As I neared the door to the stairs, I could suddenly hear a faint moaning break through the hush. It came from just behind a curtained area opposite my position. I glanced at the doorway right in front of me. There lay my salvation. Still, my physician's instincts got the better of me. I made my way to the curtain and drew it aside.

An old woman lay on a stretcher with her eyes closed. The soft moans that I had heard escaped her parched lips like a death rattle. Though her body lay perfectly still, her head moved back and forth with each sob. Her mouth hung open, and it was obvious that she was in pain.

I backed away swiftly. Horror filled me as I realized this poor woman's fate. She was dying. As a result, she had been deserted, left behind. The staff had been forced to choose, helping only those who would benefit from their help. In their desperation to leave, this poor soul had been abandoned to die alone.

For the first time, I became truly aware of the gravity of the situation. Whatever had happened here, it had been swift and disorganized. The staff had simply grabbed who they could and left. Suddenly, I felt a surge of gratitude towards the nurse who had come for me. I could easily have been left there, forgotten.

With a renewed sense of urgency, I made my way back to the stairs and down one flight. I did feel a pang of guilt as I too left the poor lady alone. However, the need to get my children, to rescue them from whatever calamity had befallen us was too overwhelming to ignore. It was therefor with great relief that I arrived in the lobby and found them there. I was greeted by several other small faces as well, red with tears.

They all sat in silence, another clue as to just how grave the situation was. There were six of them in all. They huddled together on a bench, with my own children at one end. A nurse watched over them, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning for any sign of threat. As I tumbled out into the lobby, those eyes looked to me with surprise and alarm. His body tensed as he prepared to respond to my sudden arrival and whatever threat I might represent. The situation was diffused when my children sprang up and ran towards me. I saw the nurse relax a little, but not much.

My youngest reached me first, grabbing hold of my leg and burying her face against my thigh. My son, in contrast, stopped short and just stared at me with grateful eyes. I knew instantly that he had been holding a tight rein on his fear, putting on a brave face for his sister. It was obvious that he wished for nothing more than to take shelter against me as well, but even now he was unable to let go of his appointed role. The expression on his face was one of pure determination.

The nurse was already gathering up the other four children and hustling them towards the door. He paused briefly as he glanced towards me. He could see the questions in my eyes.

"You were the last parent. I was told to wait for you, but we've lingered long enough. Now we have to go. There's a van waiting for us outside if you need a ride out of here." Not even waiting for a reply, he turned back to the other children and began to herd them once again. That was obviously the only explanation he was able to offer at this point. I reached down, gathering my daughter up in my arms and holding her tightly against my chest. I caught the scent of her hair and for a moment I was tempted to pause there, just to savor the warmth of her small form against me. I wanted time to just feel the relief of having found them again. My son, however, glanced nervously at the quickly retreating forms of the other children and I knew that I could not linger here, even for a moment. I grabbed his small hand and we left the hospital lobby behind, stepping out into the sunlight.

Once outside, I paused again, only for a moment. There was an odor in the air of heavy smoke. It seemed immediate and overwhelming, though I could not make out a source.

The nurse was already climbing into the driver's seat, having loaded the children into the seats behind. We followed at a fast pace, eager to not be left there. It was then that I first saw it. My movement took me beyond the hospitals shadow and there it was. A huge, elongated object hung above our city, point down like a spear. It was enormous, dwarfing the shapes around it. The morning light reflected off the shiny metal skin, blazing like a second sun. Because of this, I could make out no details beyond its size. Below, things did not appear right. The buildings seemed twisted and misshapen. A dark haze hung above the city scape as well, indicating the source of the smoke.

Everyone else seemed to be deliberately avoiding the sight, their eyes glancing around nervously in every other direction but towards the city itself.

My kids had already found places amongst the other children, but I just stood there staring, my mouth agape in awe. I was frozen in place. My mind simply refused to process the vision before me.

We sat in silence as we sped down the highway, leaving behind the suburbs and emerging into the countryside. I had tried to engage the nurse in conversation as we drove, but his eyes were glued to the road ahead and his face was stone. Abandoned cars were everywhere, and he was focused on finding us a clear path through. I still had no idea what was going on, but he was obviously unwilling to give me any answers right now. Instead, I sat beside him in the front passenger seat and tried to hold my curiosity in check. The children sat behind us, also in silence.

As we moved further away from the city limits, I could see him visibly relax. After a while, I attempted to get answers from him once again. This time, he did answer, and the horrible truth came spilling out.

"I'm not even sure where to begin," he said. The fear in his eyes was palpable. "At first, we weren't even sure what had happened. That thing just appeared, floating in the air. Apparently, we got off lucky." He let out a deep sigh and wiped at his eyes with one hand. "We lost contact with everyone immediately, and then the power went out. We could see fires burning everywhere through the night, all over downtown. I can't even describe it. We waited for survivors to come, so we could ask them what had happened. No one came, at least not from the city itself. People who had been further out told us that some of their neighbors just suffocated, the air was so thick."

He paused for a moment, then continued. "Out where we were, we saw a lot of people who were injured, like you. A lot of houses collapsed, I guess. We did what we could for them, but the ones who weren't too bad, we just sent them away. We were doing ok, but then the hospital's generator gave out. It was pretty old and had been running all night. That's when we decided to evacuate. There didn't seem to be a point to staying any longer."

I glanced towards the back of the van and my question must have been obvious on my face.

"You were the last. The rest of these kids came in on their own. We don't know where their parents are."

The children just sat there in silence. They didn't even look frightened. They just looked defeated, exhausted.

"Where are we heading," I asked. In truth, I didn't even care at that point. Still, it seemed the thing to ask.

He glanced into the rear-view mirror. "As far from that thing as we can. There's a small clinic in the next town, about thirty kilometers down the highway. We all agreed to gather there, those of us that are left."

We have been on the run for a month now, though it seems much longer. Every day has become a struggle to keep going, to survive. We travel by night, hoping that the darkness will keep us hidden. During daylight, we stop so that we can get the barest minimum of sleep. Then, we move on again. We also avoid the roads, travelling over rough country. This slows us and makes the going even harder.

When we arrived at the clinic, there were barely one hundred of us. Most were patients, in various stages of recovery. The very sick had, of course, been left behind. Still, many of those that had made the journey here were bed bound. Others were able to walk, but just barely. One and all, the sudden flight seemed to have robbed them of their last vestiges of energy. They watched our arrival through sunken eyes, with the indifference of the beaten.

Seven of them died that very night. They simply gave up.

Only a few staff had completed the journey to the clinic. Most had apparently gone their own way. I imagine that caring for strangers did not hold an appeal when their own families might be in need. Out of a staff that would have numbered close to two hundred, there were now nine of us. Three doctors and six nurses. The few of us that remained struggled to keep up with the needs of our charges. Some of the patients that were physically able had been pressed into service as well.

It was during that first night that other refugees began to arrive. From them, we gained more knowledge of what had happened closer to the city center. They told us tales of strangers; unlike anything we had ever seen before. Even as the heart of the city burned, they had appeared from the flames like devils. A few brave citizens had approached them, but the strangers had killed all who came close with strange and deadly weapons. Of their purpose here, we remained in the dark.

As word of the massacre had spread to those who remained in the city's outskirts, panic began to grow. People left behind all that they owned and took to the road. Many were forced to walk. Others, as we had plainly witnessed, had been forced to abandon their vehicles as fuel ran out. Occasionally, these survivors arrived in groups, banded together for safety. Just as often, a lone family would arrive. A few even came in one by one.

Very quickly, our situation at the clinic became untenable. As each new group arrived, their tales made it obvious that the danger was coming closer. Very soon, the invaders were spilling out of the city and into the surrounding countryside. We heard tales of survivors being gathered up and taken away. It was clear that the invaders would soon be upon us, possibly within hours.

Once again, we found ourselves faced with impossible choices. In a meeting fraught with tension and fear, it was decided that we would have to leave once again. There was simply no alternative. That meant that we would once again be forced to leave people behind. There were few vehicles. Many had been used to transport the patients here, and were built specifically for that purpose. Most, however, were low on fuel. It was also obvious that if there was to be any salvation for us, it lay in the wilderness. None of our vehicles were capable of such a journey. As a result, this time anyone unable to walk on their own would have to remain behind. It was also decided that we would keep this decision from those who would be unable to accompany us. We would just sneak away in the night. "As a kindness," they said, but I knew that it was simply guilt.

My children were busy preparing for our departure, but I had decided to make one final round of the patients. I don't know what I had hoped to accomplish. Perhaps my presence alone would somehow ease the suffering of those we would be deserting. Perhaps I could offer them some small measure of comfort before we left them behind. As I stood beside the bed of an elderly gentleman, he looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Kill me," he said, his voice grave. He knew. I realized in that moment they all knew.

Later, in the clinic's medication room, I drew up forty-five syringes. Most of the medications had already been pilfered, packed away for our coming journey. This medication, however, would be of no use to us in our flight. Once my task was complete, I returned to the man's bed and placed a syringe in his hands. "When the time comes, take this," I said. I turned away from him quickly, as the gratitude I saw on his face was too much for me to bear. Still, I understood perfectly. All he wanted was to choose his own time, to not have the invaders choose it for him. I distributed the rest of the syringes before we left.

There are about a thousand of us now, and a few more seem to join us each day. I am not sure how they even find us, other than stumbling upon us during their own panicked flight. Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I find myself resenting the presence of so many strangers. Every new addition adds to our risk. They slow us down and make us easier to spot. They use what meager resources we have managed to collect. Still, our shared condition makes it impossible to turn them away. Their fate and ours are joined now.

We long ago lost sight of the city. We press on into the wilderness with a growing sense of desperation. In the west, a line of mountains fills the skyline. That is our destination. We are making our way relentlessly towards them in hopes of finding safe refuge. Luckily, the stories we hear from the new arrivals indicate that the invaders are so far keeping to the cities and towns, as well as the roads that connect them. This far in to the wild, the threat seems far removed for now. Still, the feeling of being hunted remains.

What stories we hear from the new arrivals fill us with terror. The strangers are taking prisoners now, but only those fit for labor. The rest, old and infirm, are slaughtered en masse. Children are left alive, but only as leverage against the adults, a threat to keep them working. Camps have sprung up everywhere, and each day the occupants are led out to places unknown. Those that have passed close to such camps describe adults with dead eyes. Like ghosts, they shuffle back and forth behind the wires aimlessly. No one seems to know where the captured children are being held. Some suspect that they are already dead, like the elders.

Perhaps even more disturbing is that we hear nothing of resistance. Of the military, those sworn to defend us, there has been no sign. To my mind, they were probably among the first to be targeted.

Within our group, there are many with the same hopeless visage as those in the camps. They continue on, day after day, but there is no purpose to it. They see no hope on the path ahead. There are days when I feel much the same. In truth, I believe that we have only escaped notice for the time being. Soon enough, we will be found, and then... From all that I have gleaned, where is there to run. Is there anywhere left beyond their reach.

As a doctor, my days are spent looking after the well-being of those that journey with us. Most of the time, that task means checking on new arrivals when they come. There are still three of us, plus the nurses, and we are constantly moving back and forth throughout the crowd. To aid us, we have been supplied with a horse, one of only two that the group possesses. The second horse pulls a rickety old wagon. We use that as a makeshift hospital, for those who need more care than we can provide on the side of the road.

Whether it is my turn to ride, or if I am on foot, I am never at rest as long as the daylight holds. My children have been left with a woman who was a complete stranger to me only a few short days ago. Circumstances have made her a part of our family. I see them only briefly each evening before they go to bed. After that, I must content myself with watching them sleep for a short while. Then, I too must drift into slumber.

Many of the new arrivals come to us with egregious wounds. Horrific burns are the worst. Some people escaped from areas that were close to the fires. Many are unable to walk, so their desperate families drag them in on makeshift stretchers. Most don't make it. Even when we started out, we did not possess adequate facilities to treat such things. Now, as we journey farther from the cities, there is even less we can do. The state that these helpless victims arrive in deteriorates, as they must travel farther in order to reach us. In the last few days, every burn victim that we see is far beyond saving. As long as I live, I will never be able to forget the smell of their burned and rotting flesh.

Another common site are wounds caused by the weapons of the invaders. Their projectiles tear through flesh and smash bone. Just as with the burns, most arrive now beyond help. Their wounds have festered, or they have simply lost too much blood. Either way, there is little we can do. Those that do survive we patch up as best we can in the wagon, but then they must walk with the others or be carried by family. Invariably, someone else is always waiting to take their place in the wagon.

A few of our patients are simply too old. The harsh conditions and lack of food quickly take their toll on the elderly. They can barely keep up most of the time. Many drop to the ground, exhausted, and are simply unable to rise. Again, there is little we can do for them.

The reality is that our aid is now limited to what we have managed to salvage. Simple bandages, a few antibiotics. We ran out of pain killers on the first day, so now we cannot even ease the suffering of those we care for. We have but one set of surgical tools, which we now are forced to reuse over and over. Sometimes, we only have time to give them a quick wash between patients. As time passes, we are often limited to treating only simple cuts and scrapes. Anything else is beyond us.

As the only surgeon, I did spend a great deal of my time in the wagon for the first few days. As those that we can repair become fewer, I now mostly ride or walk as the others do.

My last patient in our makeshift surgery had been a woman giving birth. The labor had been induced by stress, and it was far too early for the child to live. Still, afterwards, the mother had held the fetus in one hand. It had been so small. She had rocked it slowly back and forth, as if it was still alive. Her wailing cries had filled my dreams that night.

The worst part was that, due to our increasing limitations, many of those injured had to be left behind out of necessity. Our safety now depended entirely on movement, so we could not even slow our pace for them. The rule was, keep up or be left behind. It was that simple.

On rare occasions, the family would opt to remain behind with their loved one out of obligation. I imagine that they intended to remain only long enough to witness the death, hoping that they could then catch up to us. We have not seen any of them again, not a single one.

The vast majority choose to leave their wounded behind, so that they can continue on in the relative safety of the group. When this is the case, the family often say hasty goodbye's before rejoining the others. Every one of them turns around one last time, guilt written plainly on their faces. A cleric then says a brief prayer, before they too move on. Whenever this happens, one of the doctors or nurses remains behind. We tell everyone that it is to provide comfort as they pass away. In reality, we have no comfort to give. All we can offer is a swift and merciful end. Once the last of the survivors moves beyond sight, we must smother them with our bare hands. Whenever the duty falls to me, I have found that most would even look at me in gratitude as the life leaves their eyes. How am I supposed to live with that?

At long last we have found a home of sorts. Our journey has taken us over two months. A makeshift camp has been set up, nestled in a large wooded valley between two large peaks high in the mountains. Not far from us is a large clearing with a small pond in the center. Though the pond is our only source of fresh water, we dare not make camp any closer. Airships, smaller versions of the ones that remain above our cities scour the countryside now, looking for survivors. We hear them often. They emit a high-pitched whirring sound as they slice through the air. To be out in the open now is death, or worse.

Instead, we have made our home in the woods so that we have at least some measure of camouflage. We only venture out at night, slinking around the valley floor like burglars. Under the protective blanket of darkness, we fill containers with pond water or hunt for food.

It has been weeks since we have seen anyone new. Our numbers had grown to about 1500 individuals by the time we arrived here. Now, our numbers have started to shrink again. Even though we are no longer forced to travel, one or two people a week pass on. It is as though their entire being had been focused on reaching safety. Now that safety had been reached, there was no reason left for them to fight on.

We know that we cannot remain here for very much longer. Game is already growing scarce, with so many mouths to feed. Many of us go to sleep hungry every night. Worse still, there is now a chill in the air. Fall is here. Within a month or so, these valleys will fill with the first snows of winter. In our current state, that would mean death for us, just as surely as if we had been caught. This requires us to move once again, down from the mountains to lower elevations. There, it should remain warm for some time yet. Unfortunately, there is only one way out of our valley. To reach the lower elevations, we must travel backwards, towards the city we have worked so diligently to escape.

For now, however, we have found some measure of peace. It is quiet here in our valley. The animals we do see scamper peacefully, unaware of the dangers that our group has faced to get here. It is obvious that they do not share our concerns. Sometimes, it is easy to lose myself in the peace. I can imagine that the world still exists, just as it was, beyond the mountains that surround us.

Then, the peace is broken as another ship flies by overhead. A frightening intrusion into our lives. Even covered by the canopy above us, we huddle together, scarcely daring to breath until the danger passes. Then, silence descends on our valley once again, but the illusion of peace is gone.

Most of the time, I find myself ill-equipped for this life. I have never before ventured beyond the limits of the city, and I have never slept in anything but a bed. Even the simplest of skills needed to survive here are beyond me. My children and I are now totally dependent on the charity of strangers.

It had been different while we travelled. As a doctor, I had a necessary skill. I had been able to contribute. Now, most injuries are barely worthy of the name. Certainly, nothing requiring a surgeon's skills, even if we still had the necessary supplies. A week ago, a man had been injured while hunting, an arrow protruding from his abdomen. Only a short time ago, that would have been a simple matter for me. Now, without access to a hospital, I was helpless. He had died in agony hours later.

Now, I am unable to aid in even the basics of our collective survival. My children and I sleep below a shelter made by others. Our food is caught by those who have skills at hunting. Still others prepare the meat for us over heated coals. I remember once being taught how to light a fire when I was younger, but I had not used the skill since. Besides, cooking fires were forbidden to us due to the smoke. Somehow, the cooks had devised a way to light the fires in shallow pits, that were then covered and left to smolder. I remain clueless as to how this is accomplished.

The only task I can now perform is to help gather our water at night. It is dangerous work, but I go almost every time just to assuage my guilt, being unable to contribute in a more meaningful way. We must make our way in darkness, running the risk of falling on the rough ground or tripping over a hole. To make matters worse, we cannot even watch the ground beneath our feet for such hazards. Our eyes must continually scan the skies above for signs of movement. None of us knows if the invaders would even be able to see us moving about in the dark, but we are unwilling to take chances. Every sound in the night has us diving for cover. Despite the relatively short distance, the journey can still take us over an hour there and back.

Still, it is my small way of giving back, of feeling as though I have a right to remain here with those who are made of hardier stuff than I. My children occasionally ask to come along. Being children, they do not fully grasp how desperate our situation is here. Through their innocent eyes, they sometimes appear to think that this is just a game of sorts. A grand adventure, rather than a desperate fight to survive. Each time they ask, I of course refuse.

A stranger arrived last night, our first new face in weeks. Even more vital, he escaped from one of the work camps. For the first time, we have real news of what is happening to our world. It is horrifying, even beyond the horrors we have already endured.

The camps are full to bursting, each person having barely enough room to sleep. There is no shelter, only fences. They eat, sleep, and huddle together beneath the open sky, unprotected from the elements. There is no sanitation, and the ground beneath their feet is covered in feces. The stench of urine fills the air. Disease runs rampant, and the dead are left to rot where they fall.

Every day, as long as light remains in the sky, they work. Our new arrival tells us that the prisoners are divided up for different tasks. Some are taken into the cities. There they work to dismantle the houses and buildings, those that were not destroyed by fire when the invaders first arrived. Any material of value is then carted off to their floating ships.

Other crews fan out into the countryside. They too are forced to harvest any worthwhile resources. The stranger tells us that the landscape around the cities has been decimated. In some areas, every tree has been taken and every source of food harvested. They move with unbelievable swiftness, stripping everything as they go.

The last group consists of those with special skills. Before the invasion, these people worked in the mines, the fuel wells, the farms. Whereas before they had worked to extract these resources for all to use, now they did so for the sole benefit of our conquerors.

The only resources that are shared with the captives is food, and that barely enough to survive on.

As we had been told, the children are supposedly kept elsewhere. No one knows the location. The invaders use their safety to force compliance among the workers. If the children actually remain alive, our new arrival does not know. A look at his eyes as he talks tells me that he does not believe they are.

He tells us that, in truth, it has become obvious to those working in the camps that there is no safety. There is only today. The invaders remove everything they come across that can possibly be of use. It is plain that their goal is to strip everything from this world before moving on. Whether the plan is to kill the survivors after their task is accomplished, or simply to leave us to die on a dead planet is unclear. It does not matter. Either way, the end is the same.

Perhaps the most disturbing news is that we no longer have the option to move our camp. The invaders have blocked the passes below us, already stripping them of anything valuable. I can scarcely believe how fast they have come. We are effectively trapped now, and it is only a matter of time before they work their way higher. Very soon, they will reach us. There is nowhere left for us to go.

We can hear them now, sometimes when the wind is still. The sound of heavy machinery echoes off the canyon walls throughout the daylight hours. Our doom is upon us. They are coming.

A few nights past, some of us braved the dark to explore. We ventured down the pass that serves as the entrance to our little valley. What we saw there chilled our souls. We had barely gone a mile or so before we came upon a scene of ruin, the likes of which we had not before imagined. Everything had been taken. Stumps littered the mountainside.

In several places, it looked as if large sections of the hills had been torn away, leaving behind gaping wounds. Obviously, they also searched for ores.

We slunk back to camp, any remaining glimmer of hope now gone.

And so we wait, for that is all that is left to us. We wait as each day brings them closer. The snows have started, covering the ground. There is nothing more to eat. We wonder which will be the first to take us, starvation or the invaders.

Many have chosen to take our own lives, when the time comes, rather than be captured. If there is truly no hope left, at least that one choice remains. My fate, my children's fate, remains in my hands alone. There it will stay until the end.

If we are to perish, I will have it be quick. Not the slow, lingering death of the captives below.

I marvel at what has befallen us. Barely a few months have passed since the invaders first arrived. Yet, nothing remains of the world that was. Beyond those kept alive to work, we do not even know if there are other survivors. We could indeed be the last free people alive, the last vestige of our entire civilization. Here, our world may die with us.

It will be time soon, perhaps even tonight. My courage weighs like a knot within me. "Please," I beg of the sky above, "do not let me falter."

I stand up, taking one last look around, before I rejoin the others. With one last breath, I mutter a curse into the darkness at those who have destroyed my home. These ones that call themselves humans.