Ally Oop Through the Ulysses Trees

by Lenny Everson

  Jim/alien said, "Well, Jim here is going to be glad to get his body back. I'll be glad to get off your, er, wonderful planet."

  "What can we do?" Clyde stood up to ease his aching backside.

  "There are a couple of problems," Jim said.

  "What problems?" Laura looked around for Tom, and spotted him skulking behind the stone ruins of an old barn.

  "The rest of us bug-eyed space aliens won't get here till early tomorrow morning, for one thing."

  "And?

  Jim looked at Laura. "Remember the night we pushed the button on that rock?"

  Laura nodded.

  Jim rolled his eyes. "We forgot to bring the rock." He had another drink of water. "In the cottage. We need it."

  There was a long silence.

  "I can go get it," Laura said hesitantly.

  "Do you remember what it looked like?"

  "Like a common stone. Of course I was into the bourbon and cilantro at the time, so I don't remember more than that."

  "If the cottage got ransacked or the rock got moved, you might not find it."

  "How do you guys find it," Clyde wanted to know.

  "We smell it."

  "Even with a human nose?"

  "We pick the scent up when it's in the host's lungs. 'Smell' isn't the perfect word, but we evolved to be supersensitive to identifying molecules."

  "Which means…." Laura said.

  Clyde knew what that meant. "One of the aliens should go there. By the way," he asked Jim, "what do you call yourselves?"

  "You couldn't pronounce it without more control of your anuses," Jim said. "The term 'alien' is just fine in this context. You're right; one of us aliens has to go."

  "Which means you, Jim, since Jack can't go."

  "I could, but it's dangerous. The others in our group are coming and getting caught now would be a major disaster. I'll do it if it's necessary, but the thought doesn't thrill me much. Of course," he noted, "symbiots aren't noted for their bravery anywhere in the universe."

  Into a long pause, Laura said, "Jack doesn't need to go. Just his rider. The human body can stay."

  Clyde looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure…."

  "Not you, Clyde." She turned and waved to Tom. "Tom! We need your help over here."

  While Tom was approaching, Laura asked, "How long does a transfer take?"

  "Eight seconds," Jim said, "Skin to skin."

  "Like riding a bull in the rodeo," Laura noted. Much pain?"

  "Pain free. We spent a long time evolving."

  When Tom arrived, Laura told him, "Tom, Jack there needs help getting up, and you're the only one strong enough to do it carefully; he's got a broken right arm. Can you do it?"

  "I think so" Tom walked over, inspected Jack, then picked him up slowly. Jack stayed up, swaying a bit. He put the hand on his good arm onto Tom's neck. Tom went down, rolled onto his back, and closed his eyes.

  "Problems?" Laura asked.

  A voice came from Tom's mouth. "Give me half an hour. This dude's got some brain chemistry problems I want to start correcting."

  Clyde said, "You're a conniving woman, Laura Singer."

  Jack spoke up. "You wouldn't happen to have a taser and a shotgun handy, would you, Mr. Books?"

  "Pardon?"

  "I've been waiting twenty-three years for the chance to kill one of these alien sons of bitches."

  ****

  Popham Bay

  The Cottages

  Two days after Button Day

  Sitting by the window, Lester looked out the window of the Daniels' cottage again. He was not in a good mood. The bandages on the side of his head had been put on with decent care, but his head still hurt something awful. Occasionally, his head swam or his vision split into two distinct images. His balls hurt, which meant either that he'd been kicked when he was down or he had the need to do something. Like vengeance, in spite of what his instructions were.

  Cory barked again. Lester had grown to hate that dog. Every time Lester had opened the rear door Cory had broken into barking. Lester had to go out the front door, and even then, if Cory could spot him, Cory would bark. Lester had taken to feeding the dogs, first dog food, then cooked steak, but Cory had just taken to barking out of affection. Everything about it hurt Lester's head.

  A couple of hours ago he'd tried throwing things at the dog, first a rock he found on the table, then some cups and glasses. Most missed; none had had any more effect on the barking than the food had. Lester sighed; at least Cory should give him warning if someone else approached. Assuming he could still tell the difference in Cory's barking between "people coming" and "squirrel in the trees" after the damage to his left ear.

  He called Sammy, who was out in Serentity, off the tip of Presqu'ile Point. They agreed that the lake was not the best place for the boat. "Can you anchor in Popham Bay?" Lester wanted to know.

  Sammy checked the charts. "If the wind doesn't come up too much. Otherwise the anchor will drag, and I'll be on the beach.

  "What's the weather forecast?" Lester hated to mention the obvious, but right then he hated a lot of things.

  "Ah…." Sammy consulted the laptop. "Wind 20 knots, coming in from the south."

  "Then," Lester pointed out, " you'll get some shelter from High Bluff Island. Shouldn't be a problem." How Sammy had passed some of his SEAL courses, Lester would never know.

  "Okay."

  "How's the neck brace?"

  "Do me a favor. Find that motherfucker who did this, and wring his scrawny neck. Slowly. And the goddamn cop while you're at it."

  "Roger that."

  It was getting late in the afternoon. Lester looked out the window as Cory started barking, to see Jag's blue FJ Cruiser pulled into the laneway next door. Lester was glad the Blue Cobalt was well hidden a mile away. He watched Jag and Shaman Shaman get out of the car, look carefully around, and go into the cottage. "Thank you, Lord," Lester whispered. "Thank you." He made sure of the ammunition in the paintball gun, and wished again he had a real rifle.

  Since Cory was already barking, Lester went out a window on the far side of the Daniels' place and into the bushes. There he saw Shaman come out with food for the dogs, who were still tied to the trees. He watched Shaman inspect the already-full dishes available to the dogs, and inspect a cup that Lester had thrown at the dog. Shaman abruptly went behind Laura's cottage and came back carrying a plastic garbage-can lid like a shield and watching around.

  Right now, Lester figured, there were three issues. The first was Jag. Was he still in the cottage and was he armed? As a policeman Jag might have a pistol, and his experience in Afghanistan would have made him wary. The second was Shaman and his garbage-lid shield, which just might be a defense against paintball ammo loaded with knockout chemicals, if Shaman could hold his breath long enough.

  The last issue was Lester's health. Those guys weren't SEALs, and Lester could have taken both of them, had he been in better condition. As it was, he might be a bit slow.

  While Lester was still moving around to get into a better ambush position, there was a new factor; he could hear a motorboat coming across the bay, getting closer.

  What annoyed him more than anything else was that he still didn't have a clue what they were supposed to be finding here, which meant he couldn't figure out why he'd had the crap beat out of him. For all he knew, he and the opposition were just hammering away at each other because each assumed the other had an objective. He'd seen that happen before, more than once. He contemplated retirement, starting immediately, then decided he'd just stay hidden behind the woodshed, aching, till he had a clearer idea what was going on.

  ****

  Popham Bay

  The Cottages

  Two days after Button Day

  "To be honest," Laura said from the front of the boat, "we're not sure where the cottage is. It's getting pretty choppy out here, and we're starting to get wet." She looked behind her where Tom was running the motor. The Daniels' aluminum boat was kicking
up spray and Tom was getting the worst of it. Laura, in the front, got a bit less. "You'll have to speak up," she said into the phone. "It's kind of noisy out here."

  Jag, still in the cottage, sighed. He had no desire to be loud enough to give away his position, but there wasn't much to be done. "I'll come down to the beach," he said into his phone. Got that?"

  "Take care." Laura huddled down a bit and watched the shore ahead grow closer.

  Onshore, Shaman shook his blond dreadlocks. "How's it looking, mon?" As far as anyone knew, he'd never been to Jamaica, but there were people in Brighton willing to take up a collection and send him there.

  "Laura and Tom are coming in across the bay in a little boat. We know that much. We know that there's an American team here, but haven't a clue why. That's assuming either of them survived your beating, of course. We don't see anyone around, but someone's been feeding the dogs and someone's been throwing things at them. Cope thinks there's something out in the bay, so it may up and swallow Laura and her crazy cousin any moment. Meanwhile, one of us has to go down to the beach to wave them in. They can't tell where the cottage is from out on the bay."

  Shaman nodded. "Makes as much sense as anything in life. I'll go." And he was off, garbage-can lid held out like a shield and a leaf rake tucked under the other arm. The only thing he didn't have was a helmet, but Jag figured a pot would just fall off his head anyway. Once Shaman got over the mound of rock and dead trees thrown up by previous storms, he could see the boat, still well offshore. He waved the lid and the rake, then watched the boat turn towards him.

  At the last moment, Tom cut power to the outboard and tilted it up. As the boat ground into the pebble beach, Shaman grabbed the rope Laura tossed, and between the three of them, they managed to drag the boat up far enough to be reasonably safe. "Thanks, Shaman," Laura said.

  "Pleased to meet you." Shaman shook her hand. "Jag's back at the cottage. "How are things on the island?"

  "Clyde Books is out there with the Daniels brothers. One of them's got a space alien inside him. Tom, here, has a space alien inside him, too. There's a spaceship on the bottom of the bay and we have to find a stone to open it up so all the space aliens in the planet can go home." She shook her head. "How's that sound to you?"

  "Didn't you forget the part about American special agents kidnapping people?" Shaman started to laugh, and Laura joined him. "This is nuts," she said. "Take me to Jag. How are the dogs?"

  Inside the cottage, the four of them held a conference. Laura described her mission, to get an object that looked like a rock from the Daniels' cottage next door. Jag listened carefully as she told him about space aliens inside people. He refrained from saying anything, but decided the most likely possibility was that the Yanks had lost a nuclear bomb over the bay a while back and that he'd been sleeping with a nutbar woman. You never know in these small towns, he thought, you never know.

  With a straight face, he said, "We have the advantage in numbers. Those paintball guns shouldn't be fast enough to get all of us. They don't know if I have a gun." He turned to Laura. "I don't. I don't like guns much any more and shooting a US citizen armed only with a paintball gun isn't a good idea."

  "What do we do?" Tom asked. He sounded completely sane to Jag."

  "Objective one," Jag said. "Get the rock from the Daniels' cottage." Objective two, get the rock to High Bluff Island. That means an expedition to the place next door."

  "I'll go first," Laura offered.

  "Nope. You wouldn't recognize an improvised dogturd-throwing device until it was too late."

  They went cautiously, armed with garden tools and using fold-up TV tray tops as shields. They entered the front door, which was still unlocked. They came finally to the kitchen at the back, having not been interrupted in any way.

  Then they spent half an hour looking for the rock, without success.

  Eventually, all of them were looking out the window, watching for an ambush that seemed unlikely to happen. Abruptly, Shaman said, "Somebody threw a lot of crockery at Cory. Do you suppose they might have thrown a rock, too?"

  The rest of the group considered this. Jag shrugged. "Worth a try."

  They crossed the deck, Cory barking happily in the Ulysses trees to see them again, Shaman going as point man, and Jag walking backward at the end. There were a lot of rocks around Cory, many of them roughly the size of the one they were looking for. "Maybe I can get a bucket," Jag said, "and you can take them all."

  "I don’t think so." This from Tom, who bent over and picked up one rock. He touched it in three places and it flashed blue, briefly. For a moment the attention of all four people was concentrated on the rock. Jag took it from Tom and inspected it. Cory started barking.

  "I'll take that." Four pairs of eyes turned around in shock, to see Lester, paintball gun held at his hip, standing by the old outhouse.

  The four of them spread out at once, watching Lester. That had been a suggestion from Jag. Cory lay down, panting happily to see so many people.

  "Whatever it is, toss it here." Lester swung the gun back and forth slowly, fixing on Jag, who held the rock. "Now."

  Jag gave the rock a very high toss towards Lester, who reached for it with one hand. Before Lester could get it, Shaman went into the air, grabbed the rock, and threw it over his shoulder towards Tom, who got it as it rolled into the Ulysses trees. At that point Shaman landed on his feet, and a paintball caught him beside his nose. Shaman ran forward and wrapped his arms around the SEAL, planting a kiss on his lips. They both went down and didn't get up.

  In the silence that followed, Cory walked to the end of her leash and licked the faces of the two men on the ground. Then she rolled her eyes and went out like a light on top of them.

  "That Shaman guy play basketball or something?" Laura asked.

  Jag scratched his head. "Seems to me I heard something about that. Not sure." He turned to Laura. "Now what?"

  Laura turned to Tom. "Now what?"

  "Well," Tom said. "I have to get this thing to the middle of the bay by tomorrow morning." He looked at the bay. Looks a little dicey at the moment. Let's wait till morning."

  They spent the night in Laura's cabin. After supper Cory woke up, followed, an hour later, by Lester, then Shaman.

  Darkness came about seven, and Laura turned on the electric fireplace. They watched TV for a while, catching up on the news, drinking beer, and sharing a bag of chips. Lester, tied to a chair, shared Afghanistan stories and memories with Jag. There seemed to be a lot of ways to laugh about people being blown up and shot.

  Potto, just outside the door, didn't bark all evening. Jag said there was no point in anyone standing guard; if Sammy or another SEAL came, he'd just take out the guard anyway. Around nine, Laura and Jag changed the dressing on Lester's head wound, and gave him some aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

  Around eight, Jag went into town and got his handcuffs, some chain, and a lock, to make sure Lester couldn't move further than the bucket beside the bed he was confined to.

  But they took turns staying awake in the darkened cabin, in two-hour shifts.

  Eventually, morning came.

  ****

  Chapter 8: September 20

  This day is sunny, the winds calm.

  Three Days after Button Day

  Toronto

  On the Islands

  In the early morning Gabriel Dumont, resurrected leader of the Métis, and Darkh Blood, ghost hunter, took the 6:35 a.m. ferry to Ward's Island. Olnya, in a green dress, blue shoes, and blue hair, met them on the ferry without saying a word. The two men ignored her.

  "Feeling better, now, Mr. Dumont?

  "Well, sir, I'm starting to relax, finally."

  "The hotel room was a bit much, I presume. I figured after I showed you how the toilet worked, you could handle most of the rest. Did you get any sleep?"

  "Slept a hundred years. Learned to do without at times back in the buffalo days. I'll survive."

  "Liked the hot and cold ru
nning water?"

  "Oh, they had that at one place I stayed in Paris, back then. A bit more trouble, but the same idea."

  "Learn much from the TV?" Darkh watched Dumont's reaction.

  "The culture's changed a lot; people haven't. Learned a lot, even if I didn't understand all of it."

  "You seemed to like the breakfast."

  "Bacon, eggs, toast. I suspect it's popular anywhere." Dumont sighed. "I'm going to have to learn to live again. That's going to be the hard thing." He stared away. "You're taking me to the islands so my head stops spinning?"

  "I would, but I've got another reason, too."

  "More ghosts?"

  "You know, Mr. Dumont," Darkh said as they joined the people leaving the boat, "it turns out I really only needed to see one. Just one."

  "Personally, I don't even know why one was necessary, but what did one ghost teach you?"

  "That there was more to the universe than what I knew. That there seems to be something outside life. That it follows that God isn't an impossibility."

  Gabe smiled. "I may have had a few problems with the church, but I knew that since I was a child."

  They walked past Hatches' Corner Cottage and along the narrow roads to Barb's Jams. At the door, Darkh knocked.

  "You again," Barb said.

  "I lied to you," Darkh said.

  "Figured that much, myself."

  "I've got word from the Daniels brothers in Brighton."

  A pause. "Come in. I'll make tea." Olnya went in, followed by Darkh and Gabe. Barb waved them to the kitchen table and put on a kettle. The water must have been hot already because she had a teapot on the table, with bread and some jams. Gabe read the labels, discovered saskatoonberry jam, and smiled broadly for the first time in more than a century.

  "So tell me," Barb said, "how you can have word from the Daniels when they've made a policy for more than twenty years never to make a phone call?"

  "First," said Darkh, "my name is Darkh Blood. I live in Kitchener and my life's ambition has always been to find a ghost. Thanks to you and the late Rademuller I'm a happy man. These two," he indicated Gabe and Olnya, "are Mr. Gabriel Dumont and Ms Olnya Light. I know little about them, and they know little about each other, it seems."

  Barb put her finger up to stop the conversation and went into the next room. In a minute she came back with a book called Gabriel Dumont Speaks. She looked at the picture on the cover then set the book onto the table. "Remarkable resemblance," she noted. "Now tell me what you know about the Daniels."