CONVERTING WORKER #007... #008... #009...

The first wave wasn't human.

By midday (the sun crawled, monstrous and slow), he had managed a single stone quarry and a makeshift hovel for a lord's retinue. He had exactly three archers. They were not brave. They held their bows like men holding rattlesnakes.

Then the moon began to rise. It wasn't a crescent. It was a full, copper-colored disc that bled into the white sky, staining it rust. The sand hummed.