They showed the whites of each big eyeball and tossed their heads, but didn’t shy when I reached up to stroke them. When I took my son out to the stable to prove he hadn’t shoveled the stalls, the horses were uneasy, shuffling about and sidestepping. He looked so much like me his sister sometimes called him my evil twin. His short, black hair was as shiny as a crow’s feathers. Jake, my oldest, performed his usual shrug when I asked him if he had completed his list of chores. In the fields around my farmhouse, a thousand stalks of ripe corn rippled.

It wasn’t stormy, but a cool breeze came down from the foothills as the evening deepened. Other than the strangely hued sky, it felt like a typical Central California night in late spring. Each strip of cloud was tinged a deep red, the color of wet rust or dried blood. Only a few shreds of cloud moved along the horizon, over the Sierra Nevadas to the east. It was as if the sun never completely went down that night, but instead turned a dark umber and lurked beneath the bottom rim of the world, lighting up the heavens ever so slightly. The sky was purple-rather than blue or black. The night before the invasion, the whole sky looked wrong somehow. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

If you’re reading this book (not just the sample) and did not purchase it, please purchase your own legal copy. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

Swarm by B.V. Larson