John died the moment the aliens arrived. Not physically – that was to happen in five-to-six seconds – but mentally at least. He’d been watching and scheming for a way out since that day.
The bitter air battered him as he fell. He hoped Jane would find the letter detailing his cowardice’s victory, how he wanted to end things on his terms, not theirs.
Infiltrating the human race like a symptomless disease. Silent, hidden. But not from John.
His last thoughts were of Jane, and the world he was leaving her in. Then the earth screamed up and everything went bl–
* * * *
“The aliens have arrived,” Jane said softly.
Clint Hooper, a stocky detective of twenty long years, narrowed his eyes.
Jane noted his confusion. It matched hers. “The aliens have arrived, that’s what it says.”
She handed him the letter and waited as he read it. There was plenty more after that, mainly of a personal nature. But the moment her fiancée’s body hit the earth, things had spiralled out of control and out of her hands.
Hooper looked up. “History of mental illness?”
Her cold cheeks flushed under the gentle warmth of a solitary tear. “I… I… I don’t know.”