IT WAS A GOOD DAY UNTIL IT STARTED TO RAIN.

And Holiday likes the rain. She likes how it splashes against her skin and makes her feel a little bit more alive, she likes how it soaks everyone and makes them grouchy, and she likes stomping around in little puddles.

She just doesn't know what to do when it starts pouring aliens. You know that one saying? Raining cats and dogs, or whatever it is? Maybe the concept of aliens wasn't invented yet when they came up with that saying. Some genius decided to attribute that trait to those poor pets.

Anyway. Holiday is hugging a toasted bagel to her chest, trying not to drop her stack of books from Barnes & Noble—for some reason, she decided it was a good day to save the environment by using one less paper bag—when the ugliest thing she's ever seen lands on a streetlamp.

Naturally, she drops the books. "What the fu—"

Her cursing is cut off by the alien leaping closer, claws stretched out for her bagel. That's really what does it. Holiday can spend a good fifty dollars on a steamy romance novel, but she hasn't eaten since last night. Ten hours have passed, at least. Can't a girl get her breakfast in peace?

She leaves the books there and starts running, hands scrambling to open the paper bag the bagel is in. With a yelp—when they said toasted, they really meant it—Holiday bites down on the bagel and chews furiously. It's too hot, hot enough to burn her tongue, but it's also good. The salmon slides down easily with the cream cheese, not at all overwhelmed by the heat. It's so good, actually, that she almost forgets about the alien.

It's not really happy she ate the bagel.

What a cool way to die. I ate my bagel and the alien wanted revenge, so it ate me too. Holiday is already forcing her eyes shut, as if doing it tightly enough will mean there's no pain. The alien's stink is wafting through her nose, the claws making an eerily metallic noise as they scratch against each other. She's being forced against one of those trash cans.

Actually, she doesn't know whether the stink is from the trash or the alien. 

Focus! Holiday snaps back to the situation.

Is this how it works? If she stays still enough, will the alien just ignore her? Holiday went to an escape room once: some kind of underground bunker escape from zombies. They ran themselves to death in circles around the place, screaming their heads off in fear, until they realized the "zombies" chasing them would stop as long as they stayed still. 

Zombies are kind of blind. Is it the same for aliens? 

Holiday opens her left eye just a little bit. Nope. Alien still there. She shuts it again, before realizing something is a little bit wrong. What's it doing, so still?

It gurgles a little, saliva foaming at the corners of its mouth. Holiday resists the urge to gag. Then it slumps against her, knocking the paper bag onto the floor.

She shrieks, kicking uselessly at the slimy alien skin. "Get away from me!"

"It's okay, it's okay," someone whispers. Behind the alien is a blonde in hospital scrubs, holding a gun. "I'm Sharon. Get away from here, okay? Find some cover."

Holiday nods, before Sharon is swept up in the claws of another alien. She's swinging around, pointing her gun at the alien's face, but it's not fast enough. The talons are sinking into her torso, forcing crimson slits open.

Sharon gasps, flailing helplessly. Her gun clatters to the ground. The blossoms of red are only growing, and with disgust, she realizes a few droplets are on her clothes too. Holiday scrambles towards the gun, trying to figure out how to aim it. She winds a finger around the trigger and prays her aim is true. 

Nope. The moment a sharp crack goes through the air, she flinches, completely missing.

The bullet lands in a nearby lamppost. Holiday tries it again, squinting and using both hands this time. She's trembling so hard, though, that it's hard to be precise. Holiday bites down on her lip forcefully, drawing blood. 

Crack!

Holiday blinks. It should've been right. Frustrated, she bangs the weapon against the trash can. It's out of bullets.

By then, the alien has dropped Sharon. She rushes towards the other woman as she falls to the ground like a little rag doll. Holiday tries to support her head, which hit the pavement hard. Her hands are covered in blood, but that's not her focus right now. "Are you okay?" Dumb question.

Sharon gives her a weak smile. "I'll..."

Holiday is pressing her scarf onto the wound, trying to soak up some blood.

"...it's okay. Run before they get—" Sharon lets out a hacking cough. "Before they get you."

Then her eyes don't look at Holiday anymore, and her neck gives up, finally lolling onto Holiday's lap.

Death happens very quickly, sometimes. So quickly you don't realize it's happening until it has already taken its course. Sharon has known her for not more than three minutes, and now she doesn't.

No, no, no. Holiday grasps her hand, which still holds warmth. Sharon doesn't squeeze back. She wants to leave the body, but it feels so wrong. To have let her leave without repaying the debt of a life.

"I said, it's okay."

Holiday looks up and sees a white blur hovering above her. The details come into focus as it draws closer, the spitting image of Sharon, but much smaller. Her face is the clearest part, the rest of her body fading away. A lazy smile, a reassuring wave. "Get yourself to safety."

She frowns. What is the woman doing, so calm? "No, you can't just—" Holiday reaches out, frustrated. It should be futile, but her hands catch Sharon's. The other woman looks equally as bewildered.

"Are you—"

Holiday grasps the ghostly hand, one she feels despite the transparency. She can see her own hand, with a foggy layer around it. This time, Sharon reciprocates. 

"You should be alive." Holiday says, not knowing what else to feel.

Sharon shrugs. At least, that's what Holiday thinks she does. "You shouldn't be able to feel me. This is, I suppose, as much as you'll get. Please, just find cover."

Holiday turns away. "No, this isn't right. There must be a way."

Sharon's ghost (?) refuses. "This is weird already. It's not like you can save me, just—there are so many here. Run, while you can. Don't..." She doesn't finish the sentence, but Holiday gets the gist. Don't make my sacrifice un-worthwhile.

It's not right.

Holiday squeezes her hand again, unsure whether she wants reassurance or if she's providing it. There must be a way. She tries to take Sharon's other hand, but the rest of her is already fading away. Desperately, her grasp only grows stronger. Yet, her grip on Sharon does the opposite, becoming weaker. It's like the woman is already leaving.

"Don't leave."

Sharon only gives her a small shake of the head. "This is how it works."

She yanks the hand closer, pulling the strange, ghost-like figure towards her. It's fading even more now, only her face visible. Holiday feels her slipping away. 

"No, no!" With a burst of despair, she forces Sharon closer. "You can't!" She can't grab the white figure. Her hand goes right down, smacking Sharon's body in the chest. The apparition is gone.

She wants to curse, but a sputtering sound stops her.

"Holy shit—" Sharon blinks at her, the ghost vanished from sight. She asks the question on Holiday's mind. "What the hell was that?"

Then Holiday is running, running for her life, because she doesn't know either and it scares her.

⍟

LOLA'S NOTES
Prologue done! Holiday
and Sharon <333