School by Nathaniel Hardman (top reads .TXT) 📕

texted me.” They were both silent for a long minute before Lori went on. “They’re just rolling out the red carpet for them, aren’t they? I don’t believe this! Have they forgotten that these people STOLE OUR KIDS?”

For more than a week now, the aliens had been holed up in their castle, not responding to any attempts to communicate. They would come out on their roof and try to shoot spells at helicopters that came too close, but otherwise they had been keeping to themselves. Now at last, it seemed they had come out to make friends.

On screen, a group of aliens was walking through some sort of museum or gallery. A man in a suit was acting like a tour guide, pointing out the various plaques, portraits, and artifacts on display. The aliens seemed distracted and soon made their way out of the building. Were they looking for something?

“Hey, that’s City Hall,” Jeremiah said. The street outside was a mass of military and news vehicles, lines of men in riot gear holding back the crowds. “That’s not that far from here.”

“What – are you going to go?”

“Uh…” Jeremiah considered. “Yeah? Yes.” He wasn’t sure what he would do, but maybe he could learn something; maybe he could try something. Was it too much to hope he could steal one of their wands?

“Be safe,” Lori said. Her tone said more: good luck, get our kids back, don’t be stupid.

“I will. Love you.” He dropped the phone, grabbed his bike from behind his desk, and ran for the door.

As soon as he passed through the front doors, he wondered how he had managed NOT to know about the aliens.

The road outside his agency was a parking lot, an unmoving mass of vehicles, both pointed toward AND away from the city center. People were poking heads out of cars, calling out questions, yelling to and at each other. From everywhere, he heard honking.

“Hallelujah for riding a bike,” he said to himself, and the corners of his mouth turned up a little.

Jeremiah wasn’t normally a sidewalk biker, but today, he stayed off the road. He flew down the sidewalk at wild, reckless speeds, pumping furiously up the hill, then down as well.

He wasn’t one to ignore traffic laws either, but he ran every red light he came to, weaving through the jammed cars in the intersections. Traffic stuck as it was, he wasn’t about to get hit.

He began to pass pedestrians on the sidewalk, and twice, he swerved onto the grass to get around big groups. He starting climbing another hill, and then, up ahead, a denser crowd came into view. On the other side of a grocery-store parking lot, a crowd was packed together watching something.

Jeremiah pushed forward, slowing more and more as he got closer and the press of curious onlookers grew thicker. Finally, he had to get off his bike and run.

He ran to a place ahead of the aliens, where the crowd wasn’t so thick, but even so, the street was packed. He had to squeeze and push and elbow his way forward until he came to the line of National Guardsmen lining the street.

Jeremiah pressed up against them, staring over their shoulders at the advancing group of aliens and men. They were a half block away, moving toward him. Seeing them this close was bizarre – their grey-green skin, their flat faces, their maroon wrap-around shirts and swaying beads.

As he stared, Jeremiah thought of his children transported to a world of these creatures, held captive by them, and he was filled with disgust. In that moment, he hated them.

As the aliens got closer, Jeremiah’s breathing sped up, and he ran through his options.

He had made progress at figuring out the spell. He thought so, anyway; there was at least one crucial word, and he had narrowed that down to a half-dozen possibilities (spegs-fu, specks-boo, etc.). If he could get a wand, he was sure he’d be able to beam himself to the other planet. Probably.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Not before the soldiers – alien OR human – took him down. Jeremiah ground his teeth.

The first of the aliens was drawing close. The mass of people around Jeremiah forced him against the National Guardsman, who pushed back roughly. The aliens strolled by, taking in the scene with interest, but without concern.

To his left, Jeremiah heard someone shout something and try to force his way into the street. The soldier that had been in front of Jeremiah moved to the side to help restrain the man and force him back. And in front of Jeremiah, as if the clouds had opened to reveal a heavenly ray of light, there was a clear gap to the street.

No more than twenty feet away, the last of the aliens walked directly in front of Jeremiah, wand swinging in his hand. For one heartbeat, Jeremiah stood frozen, slack-jawed, undecided. Then he lunged forward.

BANG!

On the street, one of the aliens was knocked sidewise, off his feet. Two more gunshots sounded, very close to Jeremiah. The crowd began screaming and fighting to get away.

Jeremiah spun and saw a man nearby shout something, his arm still lifted, holding a pistol. Soldiers were tearing through the crowd toward him; Jeremiah spun back toward the aliens, and even as the frenzied mass of people threw him about, elbowed him and pushed him, he saw clearly, as if the lights had dimmed, and a spotlight had been put on him, one alien in the middle of the pack raise his wand and point it at the man with the gun.

Jeremiah threw himself forward, shoving, clawing, tearing his way closer until he could just hear, under the roar of the mob, the alien’s intense, whispered word, “Zbexvu.”

The ripple shot through the crowd, barely missing several who dove out of the way. The man with