Alien Apocalypse: The Storm

By Dean Giles

Even the best of men are punished for their good intentions. Leon Weber is in the final month of his prison sentence; he’s about to go home to his son. But during a violent storm, his release comes sooner than expected, and the world he re-enters is overrun by an alien menace that hitchhiked through space on the tail of a comet. His journey to find his son will be fraught with danger and death, but the future of the world rides on his survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TWB Press
• Release date: Aug 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781936991242

Dean Giles

Dean lives with his wife and two young children in Surrey, UK. He owns a business jointly with his father, developing and manufacturing fibre optic components and instruments for the telecommunications, sensing, and data industries. His day job consists largely of shining light through fragile glass fibres, and trying to glue very small things to even smaller things. Dean is a 2nd Dan Black Belt in Kickboxing and has won national and international titles in the sport. In 2003 he spent a few months living and training at a Shaolin Kung Fu academy in Northern China. Dean writes science fiction and horror, and his short stories have appeared in webzines in the UK and US. A love of reading, gaming, and watching SF/F has given him the motivation to put his ideas onto paper.

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Alien Apocalypse – The Storm

By

Dean Giles

Copyright by Dean Giles 2011

Published by TWB Press at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this story (eBook) may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Edited by Terry Wright

Cover art by Terry Wright

ISBN 978-936991-24-2

by

Dean Giles

Elliott Weber’s memory played out in his sleep, a recurring nightmare of startling clarity. He was eight years old again, nearly four years ago, to the day.

He stood on his tiptoes to see over the old oak dining table. Its dark stained finish was almost black against the night shadows. Shafts of moonlight penetrated the open-plan kitchen through broken shutters, and the wind whipped through the open backdoor, stinging his wide, terror-filled eyes.

A stranger crossed the kitchen floor. He was dressed in a knee-length leather coat with the collar pulled high up the back of his neck. His polished walking boots squeaked to a halt. He regarded Elliott with a wicked smile. Cold black eyes sat deeply in his skull. His skin shone as white as the moonlight.

Elliott’s heart thudded so hard it threatened to tear free of his ribcage, but his body remained frozen under the dark spell of the intruder’s stare as he stepped toward him with something held in his upraised fist.

Movement behind Elliott broke his trance on the stranger. His mother bounded down the stairs, flew past him, and charged into the kitchen. He could clearly see her face set in fierce resolve as she confronted the man with the rage of a mother bear protecting her cub. Elliott’s sleeping, rational mind screamed at the memory of his younger self to do something, to help her, to stop her.

But nothing could change what happened next.

The glint of white moonlight on the intruder’s knife turned quickly to the dark red of his mother’s blood. A sound like popping balloons chilled his sweating body as the intruder hacked at her chest with frenzied determination.

Adrenalin rushed through Elliott’s sleeping body and catapulted him awake. He shot upright in his sweat drenched bed, and sobbing uncontrollably, he wiped tears from his face. Again, as always, he forced the nightmare away and buried the horror deep into the back of his mind.

There was something in the air at this time of year that provoked his memories—the humidity leaning heavily across his temples, the smell of approaching rain—the accumulated sensations of early summer. It was nearly the anniversary of his mother’s murder.

The bedroom was totally dark. Elliott reached over and checked the time on his phone, the digital