by Lizzy Bequin
“Don’t move,” a tiny voice calls from the cockpit door. “Hands where I can see them. Don’t make me shoot you.”
I raise my hands slowly as a grin spreads across my face inside my helmet.
The little human is more resourceful than I realized.
CHAPTER 9: CLARE
I squeeze my fingers tightly around the handle of the tiny gun, struggling to keep it steady.
Another rush of adrenaline hits me as Rogar turns toward me, hands up, palms out. Squinting one eye shut, I do my best to line up the pistol’s sights on his broad, bare chest. It doesn’t help that the deck of the ship is tilted almost forty-five degrees. I’m standing with one foot on the floor and the other perched on the edge of the cockpit’s door frame.
Rogar just chuckles.
I’m the one in the position of power right now. I’m the one holding the gun. So why is he being all nonchalant about it while I’m over here practically shitting my pants.
Okay, I’m not wearing pants, I’m wearing a loincloth, but you know what I mean.
Rogar is silhouetted against the sunlight pouring in from the big door he just opened at the rear of the ship. He has one foot planted on the tilted deck and the other braced against the wall. He takes one slow step toward me, and my body tenses up.
“I’m serious,” I rasp, mustering my very best Clint Eastwood impression. “Don’t make me kill you.”
His face is still hidden inside that helmet, but when he speaks, I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
“Oh yeah, just try me.”
My heart is hammering against my breast bone so hard it feels like it might pop out and run away. Rogar is right. I know I don’t don’t have it in me to shoot him, even if he is my kidnapper. I’m that girl who catches a spider and takes it outside instead of killing it.
Still, now that I’ve started this, I have to follow through. I have to bluff my way through this, otherwise there’s no telling how this alien bounty hunter will punish me for my defiance.
“Just put the gun down.” The smile has gone out of his voice now. He’s negotiating. “We’re crashed on an unexplored world, human. You’re going to need my help if you want to stay alive.”
“Stay alive for what? A life as some alien criminal’s little sex slave? Screw that. I want you to promise me you’ll take me back to Earth.”
Rogar snorts.
“Fine. Put the gun down, and I promise I’ll take you back to Earth.”
A tremble runs through my arms. The air rolling in through the open hatch is thick and humid.
“I don’t believe you.”
“No fair,” Rogar says as he takes another step toward me. “You told me you’d put the gun down if I promised to take you home. Now you’re changing the rules.”
“What? No I didn’t! You’re the one who said that. Stop trying to confuse me.”
Another step.
“I’m warning you,” I stammer. “Don’t come any closer.”
Rogar takes another step anyway.
He’s almost close enough to pounce on me now. I need to think fast. Okay, so maybe I can’t kill him, but I can wound him if that’s what it takes. I swing the gun downward and aim at the corded muscles of his thick, powerful thigh. I pull the trigger.
I’ve never fired a gun before, let alone an alien weapon. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this.
A jagged bolt of blue energy shoots from the barrel of the tiny pistol and zaps Rogar’s leg. His muscles tense and his body grows rigid as more little lightning bolts writhe over him. He collapses backward with a heavy thump, his body settling into the lowest point—the corner where the wall meets the deck.
Oh shit. Did I kill him?
Did I just kill my only hope of getting off this planet?
My first instinct is to rush forward, but I catch myself. Who knows what kind of tricks this guy has up his sleeve. He might only be playing dead.
“Rogar?”
I move forward slowly, stepping my way over the loose cable snaking over the angled floor. I keep the gun aimed at the big alien, watching for any twitch of movement.
His chest is still heaving up and down with a slow, steady rhythm, and I can hear the raspy sound of his breathing modulated by his helmet.
He’s alive.
That fact makes me happier than it probably should. I remind myself once again that this alien kidnapped me. He is not a good guy.
Still, I need him. The last thing I want is to be stranded on an alien planet all alone.
“Rogar?” I call again, but again he doesn’t answer.
I kneel beside him, keeping the pistol trained on his midsection. Reaching out tentatively, I place my palm against his chest, which is still moving up and down rhythmically with his breathing. His heart is drumming steadily underneath.
He seems to be fine. He’s just knocked out. I guess this little weapon that I shot him with is some kind of stun gun.
My fingertips tingle at the feel of his cool, smooth scales. Without thinking, I find my hand running lower, riding over the ripple of his carved abdominals. The sensation of that supple, scaly skin on top of his rock-hard muscles sends a sexy chill through my core.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
What the fuck am I doing right now? This is zero percent permissible. It’s inappropriate on about twenty different levels.
For one thing, I’m feeling up a knocked-out dude. Way to be creepy Clare. For another thing, there’s no telling how long the zap from the stun gun will keep him out. He could wake up at any moment. What am I gonna do if that happens?
Zap him again, I guess.
Still, he does seem to be pretty much comatose for the time being, and there’s one detail about this guy that I want to explore while I have the chance.
I want to know what’s going on underneath that helmet.
Staying in a crouch, I carefully crab walk my way around to his head. While keeping the gun aimed at his sleeping body, I use my other hand to grip his helmet. My fingers curl underneath the rim. I can feel the soft breeze of his exhalations as he breathes.
I start to tug.
Without warning, his arm snaps up, and his gauntleted hand clamps around my wrist. It’s so fast that I don’t even see him move. One moment he was lying still, and the next he has my arm trapped in an iron grip.
So I do the only sensible thing in that situation.
I panic, scream, and shoot him again, more or less in that order.
His supine body convulses and thumps against the metal paneling of the ship as more of the blue electricity zaps through him. I can even feel a tingle of electricity in my own forearm where Rogar is holding me, and it doesn’t feel good.
Fortunately, after about a second, he releases his hold on my wrist, and his arm slumps back to his side.
Phew. Okay, that was too close. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with this guy, and I need to figure it out pronto.
I leap to my feet and scramble back to the compartment that holds the stasis field. As I suspected, the pink energy beam has disappeared. Whatever zapped the ship earlier must have disabled the power supply.
Oh well, scratch that idea. Anyway, even if the stasis field was working, I don’t know how I would have gotten Rogar’s massive body in there. He’s way too heavy for me to move on my own.
Come on, Clare. Think. I can’t just keep zapping him every time he wakes up. Sooner or later this little pistol will run out of energy. Either that or Rogar’s brain will get fried. Both ways, I’ll be up poop creek.
Maybe I can tie him up? Now there’s a thought! I search the corridor for something I can use as a rope. Maybe one of these insulated cables could work.
Before I have a chance to give it a try, there is an awful sound of breaking stone, and the metal hull of the ship groans painfully as it shifts and tilts forward.
The rocky cliff is crumbling beneath us.
> My stomach leaps into my throat as the ship see-saws on the edge of the precipice. One more rockslide, and the whole thing could tumble over the cliff.
“Rogar!” I shout desperately.
I tuck the gun into the waistband of my loincloth and grab hold of his metal shoulder armor. Yes, when he wakes up, I’m going to have one very pissed off alien bounty hunter on my hands, but at this point, I don’t care. If I lose him now, I’ll be well and truly screwed.
But he’s too darn heavy. I tug with all of my might, but the dead weight of his massive body refuses to move. I adjust my grip and tug again, digging in my heels and straining with all of my strength.
He doesn’t budge. I collapse back onto my butt.
“Rogar!” I cry again. “Wake up! The ship’s gonna fall!”
He’s still dead asleep.
There’s another rumble as the rocky outcropping beneath the ship shifts and crumbles. The hull shrieks in protest as it scrapes against stone.
We’re going over.
I let go of Rogar and sprint toward the open cargo door at the back of the ship. The deck is gradually angling upward. It feels like when I’m running on the treadmill at the gym and I turn up the incline. Only this time it’s not a matter of burning a few extra calories.
It’s a matter of life and death.
The cables and wires on the floor shift as the deck tilts. A loose crate tumbles past, narrowly missing me. I have to scramble the last few feet to the door on all fours.
I jump free just as the ship finally lets go and tumbles over the edge of the plateau.
My body lands with a thud on the dry, stony ground, scraping my bare skin and knocking every ounce of air from my lungs. Behind me is the deafening sound of total chaos as the ship crashes down the side of the cliff.
As my breath finally returns, I flop over onto my back, panting. I spit the taste of dry dirt from my tongue and prop myself up on my elbows to survey the scene around me. A massive cloud of dust and debris is blooming where the ship just slid over the edge. Beside me and stretching back along the plateau is a deep furrow that the craft plowed into the ground when it crash landed.
The sounds of the ship tumbling down the slope gradually fade away, replaced by an eerie stillness. Something that sounds like a bird caws in the distance. The sun beats down between the sparse clouds, and I can already feel it burning my skin.
I’m alone on an alien world.
I’m going to die.
PART TWO:
STRANDED
CHAPTER 10: CLARE
A couple of hours after the crash, I’m standing ankle deep in the muddy shallows of a wide river.
Shielding my eyes against the blazing sun, I look back up the slope that I just finished descending. Except for its stony crown, the plateau is clothed in a thick coat of forestation that comes right down to the riverbank, leaving only a narrow strip of dirty beach at its hem.
Despite the withering sunshine, I was too afraid to venture into the blue shadows of the jungle. The intermittent croaks and chirps echoing between the dark trees kept me at bay. Once or twice I even caught the sound of something quite large lumbering through the underbrush.
Instead, I kept to an open swath that had been cut by a recent mudslide. I spent about as much time sliding on my butt as I did on my feet. If nothing else, it helped me reach the bottom a bit faster.
However, since I’ve kept out of the shade all this time, my skin is tingling with the very beginnings of a sunburn. Another hour, and I’m going to be fried to a freaking crisp.
And for the five thousandth time, I scold myself for letting Amber talk me into wearing literally the least practical outfit in existence.
That gets me thinking about Amber. Is she okay after that shoot-out at the convention center? Is her Jason Momoa lookalike boy toy okay? Is anybody looking for me back on Earth? Have they contacted my parents?
Oh God, I’m never going to see any of them again.
A wet ache pulses behind my eyeballs, but I sniff it back.
Now is no time to start crying like a little baby. My chances of making it back to Earth are beyond slim, but I have to a least try. And in order to do that, I need to stay alive.
The first order of business is dealing with this sun.
Okay, I’ve totally got this. I know that elephants wallow in mud to protect themselves from the sun. Anyway, I think that’s why they do it. I’m not an elephant, but I see no reason why it wouldn’t work for me too.
Plus, I’ve got plenty of mud right here, squishing between my toes in this riverbed. I bend down and scoop up some of the stuff, and I nearly retch as I bring two big, dark handfuls of river mud above the surface of the water. It smells ripe, like rotten eggs times a thousand.
Still, beggars can’t be choosers. Doing my best not to breathe through my nose, I smear the fetid mud over my arms and legs.
Aside from the awful smell, this is pretty great. The cool mud soothes my hot skin. I swipe it over every exposed part of my body, and I even lie down on my back by the water’s edge to roll around and coat the places I can’t reach.
God, I hope there aren’t any aliens watching me right now.
On the other hand, maybe if they saw me like this, they would think I’m a crazy woman and leave me alone.
At last I’m done. Holding on to an overhanging limb, I lean out from the edge of the river to inspect my reflection on the gently rippling surface of the water. Pretty much every inch of me is caked in thick, sticky mud except for my eyes and my lips.
Despite my situation, I can’t help laughing at the sight of myself.
In addition to protecting me from the rays of the sun, my muddy disguise will surely scare off any dangerous wildlife I may bump into.
I wonder what all of those horny boys at Comicon would think if they could see me now.
Maybe I can market this stuff when I get back home. Instant boy repellent that doubles as sunblock.
I’m already starting to feel more cheerful and optimistic. Okay, so smearing mud all over my body is not exactly the achievement of the century. But it gives me a good feeling of being in control. I’ve solved one problem, and I’ve taken the first steps toward survival.
Now what?
The answer comes from my grumbling belly.
I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast back in San Diego, and my stomach is aching with hunger. Even more pressing is the dry sensation in my throat and on my lips. I feel like I sweated out a gallon of fluid coming down that slope, and now I’m parched.
How long can I make it without water? A day? Two days tops?
I look at the river flowing by, and the soft gurgle of its glassy ripples is tempting. But it’s way too risky. There’s no telling what kind of bacteria could be living in there.
Tilting my head back, I stare up at the sky. There are clouds up there, but they are big, fluffy, white nimbuses. I don’t know about the weather on this planet, but I’d say if it’s anything like Earth, there’s not going to be rain any time soon.
A flock of little creatures flies high overhead. At first, I think they are birds, but as I look closer, I see they resemble flying snakes with leathery wings like bats.
I shiver.
There’s definitely wildlife here too. Fortunately, none of it has taken any interest in me…yet.
I need to find shelter, water, and if possible food. My best bet for all three of those would be with the crashed ship where it fell over the side of the plateau. Even though the ship must be wrecked really badly, maybe, just maybe, I could still take shelter inside it or under part of the hull. And surely Rogar had some kind of food stashed away somewhere on board.
Rogar.
I feel a sharp pang of guilt for leaving him behind like I did.
I tell myself there was nothing I could have done about it—his body was way too heavy for me to move, and I definitely would have died too if I had stayed in the ship as it went over the cliff.
But I didn’t have to
zap him with that stun gun.
Yeah, but he didn’t have to abduct me and drag me halfway across the galaxy either. I can’t forget that fact. It’s his fault I’m stuck on this awful planet.
Still, I could sure use his help and protection right now. And as messed up as it sounds, I kind of…miss him?
Great. I guess I can add Stockholm syndrome to my growing list of problems.
Whatever. No time for that now. If I’m going to reach the wrecked ship before it starts getting dark, I should hurry. The hot sun is still high in the sky, but it’s on its way down, and the terrain between me and the ship won’t be easy going.
The river is flowing toward the side of the mountain where the ship went over. Maybe I could let the current carry me. Then again, I have no clue what kinds of creatures are living in those watery depths, and I really don’t want to get eaten alive by alien piranhas.
I decide to play it safe and go on foot.
As I walk, I try to stay focused and keep my eyes and ears open for the slightest sign of danger. It’s hard to do, however, as I keep finding myself getting distracted by the natural beauty of this place.
The landscape of the planet, at least in this region, is filled with numerous striking buttes. Some are broad like the one we crashed on top of while others are more like massive pillars rising from the earth.
The rock formations remind me of when I was a little girl and my parents took me to see Monument Valley. However, while that famous park on the border of Arizona and Utah is a red sand desert, this place is lush with jungles. Green and blue and purple leaves nod in the lazy breeze. Huge, variegated elephant ears, curling ferns dripping with dew, and curious, mimosa-like puffball flowers.
I’m on a freaking alien planet. It’s almost impossible to grasp that fact.
I guess of all the worlds where I could have wound up stranded, this one isn’t so bad. I mean, we could have crashed on a frozen planet for example. Then I’d really be regretting this costume. Or a lava planet. That wouldn’t be good either.
Assuming I am able to survive here—and that’s a massive assumption—it’s very likely that this planet will be my home for the rest of my life.