"They descended, they decimated, and they sent us crashing back into the dark ages!" ~ General Grayson Hawk, Skineater.

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Sky was here to hunt, not to be the prey. Crouching behind a bush, she glared through the gaps into the forest. A soft gasp drew her attention to two males hiding ten feet away behind a three-foot-wide tree. She raised her index finger to her lips, signaling to her companions to be silent. The older, John, acknowledged her with a sharp nod, but she wasn't worried that he would give them away.

The youngest of their hunting party, Dan, wore the expression of a startled animal, with his eyes so wide the whites showed on all sides. At fifteen, he should have been able to defend himself, but his father—their leader, Sam—had wanted to give him as normal a childhood as possible. Whatever that was nowadays?

Sky slithered through the branches, silent as a snake. A faint rustle, over the chirping insects, stilled her movement.

"Over there," a male whispered.

With those two words, he'd exposed his location.

Sky locked onto the man, hunching next to a mammoth oak. Through the foliage, she took stock of the short sword at his hip and the crossbow he held level with his chin. His finger rested on the trigger, ready to fire at a threat. The man's gaze drifted over the brush she hid in, but he wouldn't spot her unless she wanted him to. Sky never went hunting without applying ash to her face or wearing her dark brown beanie to cover her eye-catching platinum hair. And she had years of experience stalking and remaining concealed to her prey—both human and animal.

A second man stuck his head around a tree a few yards beyond the first and squinted, scanning the forest filled with giant aspen and oaks that should not have existed.

Sky scowled down at the archaic longbow in her grip. She should've never agreed to that stupid bet Dan had made—to hunt with this antique. Sliding an arrow from the quiver slung across her back, she nocked it without disturbing the surrounding leaves. If these men were who she suspected, they would be the type to shoot first and ask questions later, and the slightest wrong move would set them off.

"Sk—"

John clamped his hand over Dan's mouth so fast he'd cut off the word, making it sound more like a squeak.

The first man swung his aim around and fired. The bolt whizzed past John and Dan and sank into a large, exposed root a few yards beyond them.

A loud squeal echoed through the forest, and a skunk darted out, hissing.

Sky shot Dan a furious look.

"Is that a skunk?" the second man hissed in a tone that sounded like the angry animal.

An acrid odor exploded through the forest and overpowered Sky's acute olfactory receptors. Dan scrunched his nose up, then he smashed his face into John's jacket, although Sky doubted that smelled much better.

"Shit, that stinks." Man-two backed away, swinging his hand up to cover his nose, and that quick movement confirmed who they were. Around his wrist was a dark purple leather vambrace with two rows of metal studs, and above it was their accursed black mark—an ominous tribal skull tattoo.

She'd been right. They were Skineaters. Frigging perfect. This was why she'd argued against moving this far south. They were practically in the Warlord's territory, but Sam's reasoning had been sound. Too many in their community had died from exposure the previous winter. She still hadn't liked it and look where it had led them—right into the Skineater nation's backyard.

"Let's get out of here." Man-two paled as if he was going to puke.

Man-one crinkled his nose but showed no sign of retreat. His focus remained glued to the area he'd fired toward.

Sky held John's sharp gaze. He knew the dangers of the wilderness just as well as she did. And Dan finally seemed to understand the severity of the situation too, since he held as still as his trembling body would allow him.

"There's nothing out here, just shitloads of animals. It's all we ever see. Stop being so fucking paranoid all the time." Man-two's voice moved away. "No one's stupid enough to trespass on the Warlord's lands."

Sky suppressed a snort. Something she'd learned soon after the world had gone to hell—the thirst to survive made smart people do irrational things. She edged back, bringing the bow up to aim. The pressure of her draw caused the antique to creak in protest.

If Man-one moved closer, she'd have to kill him. Then she'd have to hunt down the other, which wouldn't be hard, but she really didn't want to. Two missing Skins would only draw the Warlord's attention. Attention she couldn't afford to have.

After a few more minutes, Man-one lowered his crossbow and screwed up his face before sauntering away with his partner. Sky relaxed her draw and pinched her nose, even though it would do no good. The fumes had seeped into her lungs already.

They'd have to take this area off the safe-hunting grounds, which was a shame. As idiot number two had pointed out, it was a real hunter's smorgasbord.

A cool breeze, whispering through the leaves, blew stray strands of her pale hair into her lashes and carried with it the pungent odor of decay that battled with the skunk spray. There was a dead animal nearby.

As much as Sky wanted to leave this rancid bouquet of scents behind, she waited to make sure those scouts were truly gone. She didn't need to check if John had moved, knowing he'd follow her lead. After confirming there was no sign of the Skins, Sky slipped the arrow back into her quiver and moved toward John, hunkered against a hundred-foot-tall Aspen.

The ancient-looking woodland surrounding them was one of hundreds around the country created by Earth's new dominant species, and all of them had grown in a matter of months. This one had replaced the arid shrubbery west of Twin Falls, Idaho, stretching into Oregon and Nevada.

John released Dan, who scrambled out. "Shit, that was intense. Were them two Skineaters?"

Sky nodded.

Despite the overwhelming stench, Dan's mouth flopped open. "I never seen a Skineater."

"Be thankful you haven't." John eyed her up. "Right, Sky?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Come on, let's put some distance between us and them."

They traveled with care, covering their tracks in case another pair of Skins were out patrolling the woods. After a mile, Sky could still smell that damn skunk spray. She was sure the foul stench had sunk into her clothes. They reached the edge of the Warlord's known border; with no other forces nearby laying claim to this land, it was really more of an estimate. The next occupied territories didn't start until halfway into old Oregon.

Sky wanted to return to camp, but Dan started whining about the bet, and she knew he wouldn't shut up about it the whole way back, so she took the easiest solution. Not something she used to do, but something she'd been doing a lot more of late.

Fifty yards upwind, Sky spotted a doe and affixed an arrow to the string. Last night, Dan had gloated that no matter the weapon, she could deliver death with a single shot. The winner would get two days' worth of the loser's rations. John had taken the bet to placate him, because no one else would. Everyone else knew better.

She leaned around the tree for another glance, the hardened leather sheath housing her machete pressing into her thigh. Warm late afternoon rays broke through the multicolored canopy in thick golden beams, lighting up the brown-and-gray forest all the way to her prey. She snaked out, hunching low, and snuck forward. The spongy forest floor muffled her steps.

Sky inched closer, lining up the doe. Cool cylindrical wood slid over the back of her hand—in the dip between index finger and thumb. She held the deer in her sights.

The doe's head snapped up, her ears jerking around, homing in on a sound. A soft, foreign hum trickled through the wilderness. Sky paused. The noise grew, sounding like a swarm of bees. A lower-pitched whir joined the buzzing.

The whirring got louder, recognizable. Sky's fine arm hairs stood. The deer bolted. Crap! That sound could be only one thing—Cardinals.

John charged out of his hiding spot, skidded to a stop, and stared up. Sky lowered her bow and did the same. Through the foliage, only the moon-stream—a chalky ribbon of rocks and dust, the remnants of debris that hadn't been reassembled—flowed across the deep blue sky. But her ears didn't lie.

The end of the world had gifted survivors an alien sky the carefree people from before would've marveled at. And as beautiful as it was, especially at night, it was a bitter reminder of the day Earth's lunar satellite had nearly been destroyed. That day marked the start of the planet's rebirth into something as foreign as their conquerors.

John shuffled toward her. "Is that what I think it is?"

He sounded incredulous and had every right to be. No one had seen a Cardinal in years. The aliens stayed secluded behind their fortified bases—one in San Francisco and the other in DC.

So why the hell are they in the middle of ass-end nowhere?

"Dan!" John looked around.

Stumbling out of the brush, Dan gawked up as if primed to catch a mouthful of flies.

John cursed, launching forward into a sprint. His heavy footsteps created soft thumps, releasing an explosion of earthy aroma that assaulted Sky's already overwhelmed nose. Shoving the arrow back into her quiver, she sprang to follow. Within a second, she overtook John and reached Dan first.

Dan stood as stiff as a rock, even after she'd shaken him. This was his first time hearing one of the invader's ships, but he needed to snap out of his stupor. Sam hadn't done Dan any favors by sheltering him from all the evils in the world.

The new high-pitched whizzing grew closer. The vessel producing the foreign noise would be visible in seconds.

"Get down." John huddled next to a trunk.

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Original chapter:  [Sky] Chapter 1.1- The White Ship