Michaela slowly pushed her self up on her hip. Her hair, which had been waist length was now above her ears. As the sirens drew near, it became clear that the others were still inside. Apparently, he had them hostage. There was no telling what he had done to the rest of them. The window to the room was open. They could see it from where they were crouched, but both were stone still–unable to speak-stunned silent.

Around the corner, one by one, as stealth as mice creeping through the corridors at night, were police officers in full riot gear. They had shields and helmets and were equipped, it seemed to fend off many more than just one hood. As soon as they were seen, two officers swooped in and shielded them from any potential harm. And then there were more, and they stormed the open window, as others entered through the school’s entrance. Their classroom hadn’t been the only one. There had been 7. 7 classrooms and 7 skinheads. 7 rooms full of teenage girls humiliated in one way or another. Michaela reached out to her with a vacant smile. They clutched hands as they were carried off to the awaiting ambulance, the smell of smoldering hair thick in the siren filled air.

This was the day we’ve been training for, waiting for, yearning for. The count to fifty finished and the line rushed forward. This was gonna be one badass game of cops and robbers.

Do not get me wrong. I am not afraid or unwilling to die to protect and serve the innocent but why should I feel obliged to face the possibility of leaving my wife a widow and my son fatherless for those who want only to cause more discord in the name of peace.

The typical sounds of madness from an out of control crowd are only slightly muffled by the filtering effect of my helmet. Shouts, screams, the sound of breaking glass and the overall thumping noise of the helicopters above. My adrenalin is surging, leaving little room for fear but still we must wait, wait until the next wave goes in, until my sergeant gives the signal. And then we are in the midst of it. At least I am prepared and dressed for it.

We cursed the scientists that first sent man to that far planet. Who knew that they would mutate, breed and return to invade the mother-world.

We stood as one; watched as the antiquated ships coasted in over the bay, and trembled as the shambolic, shuffling, sinister shapes crept towards us. Then they were upon us. Our training was sorely tested. The army, still fighting in the Middle East, had no time to return, for the Martians had taken our country by surprise. So the final defence had been down to us.

Trained as police, we had minimal weapons to fight with; handguns, batons and shields were our only tools. We took inspiration from the ancient Roman military and locked our shields to create a wall against the ferocity of those once men. They beat against our flimsy protection with maces and swords forged on the red planet, made of a metal harder than any known on earth. Every few minutes there would be a scream as a shield folded and a weapon bit into human flesh.

Once a line began to collapse under the constant bombardment, the commander would give the order “Fall back!” and the line would be replaced by a fresh cohort. But we could only last so long. There would never be enough men to fight off the hordes that were streaming into earth’s atmosphere. Mankind was doomed.

Now, as I dig the amber mines of California to feed the ever hungry Martian machines, I can only weep over humanity’s lost freedom. We were so proud, and so arrogant. We thought ourselves invincible. How wrong we were.