Alien Invasion (Book 1): Invasion (2 page)

He didn’t want to skip a swim in the eternal sea, but it was true that he could save a ton of time if he did.
 

Or — and this was an intriguing option — Meyer could take the trip as planned, but hit Colorado first to check on construction. Given the bunker beneath the main house (already finished and mostly stocked, thanks to his last visit), it was a complicated project and vital to get right. The crews were good, but they were just construction guys. They’d follow the plans, but they didn’t share Meyer’s conviction that the concrete walls and sealing lead doors would one day be needed to stay alive. Even Heather didn’t share that conviction … or Piper, for that matter. Both women loved him and humored what they saw as his eccentricities.
 

So yes, maybe he should go after all. If he didn’t make sure things were right, nobody would — and getting it right felt more essential with every passing day. He hadn’t told Piper that he planned to move the family to the ranch once the school year ended, and he definitely hadn’t told the kids. Trevor was already growing moody and would probably turn into a drama queen. Delilah would probably profess her undying love to her boyfriend and dig in her heels. Piper would go along with it all as long as the ranch had a yoga studio, which it did. No one would truly like the idea of moving, but Meyer made the money and that meant he’d earned the right to make the family’s decisions. They’d keep the Manhattan penthouse, sure — but after the move it would become like the London place: somewhere to visit rather than live.
 

“No, you’re
bummed out,”
said Heather, drawing the final words out into her babyish little girl squeal. “You want to play, and
mean old Heather
won’t let you.”

“It’s totally fine,” he said, annoyed.

“But if I don’t play with
Sweet Little Meyer,
who … ” She stopped.
 

“Heather,” he said, taking the break as an opening, “I’ve gotta go. I’ll let you know about sending the kids out. But I’m looking at the 17
th
through the 19
th
. Just for the weekend. That still good?”
 

Heather said nothing.
 

“Heather? The 17
th
through 19
th
?”
 

For a moment, Meyer thought the connection had broken. He shook his phone and was moments from tapping its surface to end the call and try again when he heard her voice: small, distant, and chillingly cold.
 

“Meyer,” she said.
 

“Are those dates still clear for you? Into LAX. I can get flights that arrive most of the day, but afternoon arrivals work best for me unless I have someone take them to the airport. I’d rather do it myself, though.”
 

Heather said nothing. In the distance, Meyer could hear her television. That was another thing about living with Heather that had annoyed him to no end: the woman couldn’t abide silence. She always had noise on, and fell asleep with the TV blazing.
 

“Heather?”

“Meyer. Turn on the news.”
 

Meyer’s phone vibrated in his hand: an incoming text or a call. A second later it vibrated again.
 

“Someone’s calling me, Heather. Just tell me yes or no on those dates. I need to have Piper buy tickets soon if you don’t want first class to fill up.”
 

“Turn on the TV, Meyer.”
 

“When we’re done.” Heather’s tone (quiet but urgent — totally unlike Heather, in other words) sent a chill creeping up the back of Meyer’s neck. She was always doing things like this. She sometimes used to call him and tell him to tune in to a sitcom she liked because she knew a fart gag was coming up. It was immature and annoying and yet somehow insultingly adorable.
 

“Turn it on!”
 

Meyer’s phone buzzed again.

“Look, I’ve got another call. Just … I’ll call you back.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me!”
 

A third buzz. The phone was a hunk of metal and plastic and indestructible emerald glass, but Meyer thought he could almost hear its urgency, as if the caller was yelling at him just like Heather was right now.
 

“Okay, okay,” he said, flustered. “Just let me get this other … ”
 

The phone buzzed again. Meyer found himself wanting to throw it across the room.
 

“Meyer, I’m … ” Heather began, but he’d already pulled the phone away from his ear and was jabbing at its screen to switch calls. He pushed the wrong button, saw a message that he’d just ended the call with Heather, and felt a sudden urge to call her back before taking the new call. But the incoming ring was from his assistant, Laura, so he raised the phone to his face and said hello. The line was dead. He’d missed Laura too, gone to voicemail.
 

He looked at the phone, still considering throwing it. Heather had rattled him. She had a way of doing that, but usually in a totally different way. Whatever had just happened was red hot and ice cold at once. Meyer, for the first time in God knew how long, felt his heart thumping in fear.
 

The penthouse was quiet.
 

He reached for the phone’s surface to call one of the women back, but the decision about which to call first paralyzed him. He slipped the phone into his pocket and crossed to the coffee table. Then he picked up the remote, tapped the glass to bring up the TV menu, and turned on the screen. He clicked to CNN from the selection screen and caught an attractive female anchor midsentence.

“ … from the Astral telescope on the moon’s far side,” she was saying. The screen changed to show a black square dusted with specks that looked like stars. “These images are streaming from the Astral app now. We’re told there are only about four seconds of delay as the signal bounces around the moon satellites, travels through space, and is processed by Astral here on Earth. So what you’re seeing is close to live.”
 

Meyer squinted. The screen looked like nothing.
 

“You can’t see much on the light telescope yet,” said a piped-in male voice — seemingly an expert on whatever was happening. “But if you go to the radio array, you’ll clearly see the objects, like a collection of small pebbles.”
 

Whatever “radio array” meant, the station switched to it. The black screen with light specks was replaced by a much clearer image showing a cluster of small round objects.

“NASA is saying they’re meteors,” said the woman’s voice.

“Not unless meteors can decelerate,” said the man.

“And they’re on a collision course?”
 

“An
approach vector,”
the man corrected. “And whatever they are, based on current estimates, they’ll be here in five days.”

CHAPTER TWO

Day One, Morning
 

Yoga Bear, New York

Piper picked up her rolled blue mat and her small duffel, tossing a wave to Deb and Paulette as they left the Yoga Bear studio. She pulled her phone out to check the time (and maybe Facebook), and saw seven missed calls, all from Meyer.
 

Piper’s heart immediately pounded — faster than it had during the final few seconds of the unusually long Warrior One Greg had just forced them to hold, when her tight hip flexors were screaming for mercy. She didn’t generally get calls from her husband. Most things earned her a text — maybe a call if he had something more complicated in mind, like deciding where to go to dinner on an indecisive night. But
seven
calls? Meyer was the opposite of insistent. He wanted his way and wanted it now, but blind insistence was, to Meyer, a form of weakness. The worst thing you could do in any negotiation was to admit need, and insistence was exactly that. And for Meyer, life was a negotiation.

She held her thumb above Meyer’s icon (a dignified photo from a
Times
piece last year; he’d rolled his eyes when she’d shown him, and she’d thought his reaction was as funny as the photo), then paused. She felt lightheaded — too much yoga, perhaps, followed by urgency one wasn’t supposed to feel after Savasana’s integrating peace.
 

Piper was bubbly and almost naively optimistic by nature, but in times of crisis she always felt betrayed by her serene mind, going to the worst possible scenarios — so laughably dire and unlikely.

Was something wrong with Lila? Had she fallen and cracked her skull?
 

Was it something with Trevor? He’d been so moody and distant. Had Meyer found him dead, a victim of teen suicide? These things happened, and the old PBS specials Piper had grown up with always said you never really saw it coming.
 

Relax. Jesus Christ, relax, Piper
.
 

She touched the icon. Her eyes took in Meyer’s serious, borderline pompous (but deliciously handsome) expression before the screen changed from the photo to show the connection in progress. It seemed unfair to see a man so ruggedly handsome and powerful and on top of the world, but still fearing she’d find him crippled, panicked, somehow distraught enough to call seven times during one hour-long yoga class with the ringer off, blissfully ignorant of the world where terrible things might be happening to strong and confident husbands, while …

“Piper, Jesus. Thank God you’re all right.” He sounded out of breath, as if she’d called him while jogging.
 

“Me? I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
 

“Have you seen the news? Or Astral? Have you checked Astral?”
 

Piper was as amused by the Astral app as it seemed everyone was (the makers, Rysoft, credited their app for ushering in “the second great space age”), but it wasn’t something she checked compulsively like Facebook.
 

“Astral?” Piper felt baffled. He’d called seven times, and now he was asking about the space view app? Maybe the calls had been a mistake and everything was fine after all. Maybe he’d simply pocket-dialed her. Seven times.
 

But no, he was clearly out of breath. Urgent. In no-bullshit mode. No matter what the world thought of Meyer Dempsey the mogul, he’d always been Meyer Dempsey the man to her. He was sweeter than people thought, and strangely courteous. He pulled out chairs for Piper in restaurants, and insisted on opening her car door whenever they went out. The fact that he was so down-to-business now prickled her skin. The threat on his mind was real and present. Piper found herself wishing he’d just say it and get it over with, so that at least it would be out in the open.
 

“Have you called the school, Piper? I’ve tried. I can’t get through.”
 

“Called the school?”
 

“If you’ve already called, I’ll stop trying. But I need to get ready here, so I’d like to stop.” There was a heave and grunt on the other end of the phone, then the sound of something heavy striking something soft.
 

“I haven’t called anyone. Meyer, what’s going on? Why would I call the school?”
 

As Piper said it, she thought she heard something out in the hallway — a dull crash, like someone slamming a door. But this was a yoga studio, and people traipsed the bamboo floors on slippers and pillows, speaking in whispers. Still, she could hear commotion on the lower level below. Looking up, Piper thought she could see some sort of ruckus on the street — the tops of heads across rushing by, visible only from the hair up from her second-floor vantage.
 

“They’re saying that … ” Meyer paused. “Shit, Piper. Nobody there knows?”
 

Piper looked around the emptying studio. Cell phones were required to be silenced in class, so during the movements the place was more or less severed from the outside world. Although she wondered now if the commotion outside had been going on long — nothing overt, just a generalized sense of increased energy — and whether Greg’s rainforest soundtrack had drowned it out. You were supposed to disconnect from the world and turn inward (while also, of course, turning outward to the energy of the universe) while doing yoga. Apparently, it worked too well.
 

Alan, a well-muscled classmate Piper had been noticing lately with no small amount of guilt, stood just a few feet away. She could see the wideness of his eyes as he looked over, his own cell phone in his white-knuckled grip. Every eye was fixed to a screen — something she’d never seen in the studio before.
 

“Knows what?”
 

“There’s … ” Meyer sighed. “Something showed up on the Astral telescopes. Approaching … objects.”
 

Piper’s blood went cold. “Like a comet?” It was a stupid thing to say, and she felt foolish, but she liked old movies and had seen her parents’ generation’s disaster fetish films. The idea of Earth-smashing celestial bodies had kept her up many nights as a kid.
 

“No. Like … shit, just trust me, okay? Call the school. Pick up the kids. Meet me at home as soon as you possibly can.”
 

“What, Meyer? What’s coming?” Piper was practically shouting. But nobody was looking at her, because others were speaking just as loudly — the ones who weren’t staring dumbfounded at their phones, their eyes wide and complexions like flour.