“The name’s Red. Who are you?”
“Call me Hank. Are you alone, Red?”
“No, Hank.”
“How many are with you? Wait, no, don’t tell me, because if there’s very many of you, they’ll make you a priority target.”
“A target for the Celeruns?”
“Yes. Are you familiar with them?”
“Maybe. You’re breaking up real bad, so tell me what to do before we lose our connection.”
“We have to keep this very short.”
“In that case, Hank, I better give our location before we lose you.”
“Stop! Don’t say it!” The signal dropped, but Blanche thrust the antennae in Jerome’s hand and motioned for him to heft it higher. Jerome climbed on top of a table, shoving honey cakes and wine out of the way. The signal returned. “I have a sophisticated scrambler, which will shield the both of us, but the Celeruns might have figured out how to circumvent it by now.” Hank’s voice sounded even and steady, like a man in control. “They understand human language quite well, but wordplay, metaphors, and picturesque speech confounds them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you say someone looks like a bow-wow, they’ll take it to mean she looks like a dog’s bark. If you say your heart is on fire, they’ll think that the circulatory organ in your chest is aflame. These are common references though, so they can quickly look up their correct meanings. The key to confusing their interpreters is originality. The more unusual the turn of phrase, the more it slows down their intelligence gathering.”
“I still don’t understand what you want from us.”
“Tell me where your heart is.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t give me any landmarks or names of places,” Hank said. “Use unique imagery; paint a picture, a reference to something you wouldn’t find in a dictionary, a thesaurus, or Wikipedia.”
“Wikipedia—but the internet is gone.”
“They saved everything on it,” Hank said.
“I’m still not following.”
“Home is where your heart is,” Professor Linkletter said. “I think Hank wants to know our location, but he wants you to do it without giving names of places or landmarks the Celeruns might recognize.”
Red looked to the others at the party. “How should I tell him how to find us without using coordinates or names?”
He was met with shrugs and indecisiveness.
“We’re losing him,” Blanche informed. “Better come up with something fast.”
“Don’t worry,” Michael stepped up. “I got this.”
He seemed so sure of himself that Red let him take the microphone. Michael didn’t waste a moment.
“Hey, mister, think about these things: what a kid says before he eats Brussels sprouts.” He didn’t pause for a breath. “What you do on the playground when a girl tries to kiss you.” He looked to Red for assurance that he was doing well. Red shrugged and returned a scowl, but Elizabeth gave Michael a nod of encouragement.
“One more clue,” Michael said. “A little hello in the middle of two cops eating breakfast.”
“Gimme that,” Red snatched away the microphone. “Hank, sorry about that. I’ll think of another way...”
“Oh, shoot,” Blanche informed. “I lost the transmission.”
“What were you thinking, Michael? How in the world is he going to figure out Akron, Ohio from all of that?”
Michael turned to a boy about his own age.
“What do you say before you eat Brussels sprouts?”
The boy said. “Yuck.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yum?” A ten-year-old girl volunteered.
Michael looked at her as if a turd had fallen out of her mouth.
“Ack,” Nate said. “I say ack.”
“Me too,” Michael nodded.
“And what do you do when a girl wants to kiss you?”
Nate puckered his lips, making a come-here motion with his fingers.”Plant it right here, baby.”
“No,” Michael rolled his eyes. “I mean if you’re a kid.”
“Back before I knew better, I ran away,” Nate said.
“Now put it together.”
“Ack.” A smile spread across Nate’s face. “Run.”
“Ahh,” came from Blanche. “Akron.”
“Good thinking, son.” Father Bob said. “So explain the deal with the cops eating breakfast.”
“Cops eat donuts for breakfast. And donuts are shaped like O’s.”
“A little hello,” Professor Linkletter said, waving the tips of her fingers on her right hand. “As in…hi. What a clever young man you are.”
“I don’t get it.” Red admitted.
“It’s wordplay for the state of Ohio, Red,” Blanche explained. “Donut. Hi. Donut. Get it?”
“Michael,” Elizabeth hugged him close. “I’m so proud of you.”
The crowd squeezed in around him to pat his head and shake his hand. He looked mighty pleased with himself, but his eyes went to Red’s as if his adopted father’s approval mattered the most.
“Nobody’s going to figure out Akron from that,” Red said, too preoccupied thinking about the incident at Schlotz’s to notice the boy’s crestfallen expression. Good grief, had he been attacked by an alien scout? As shocking as the realization of the existence of aliens had been, it had never crossed his mind that it might be the precursor to an entire invasion.
“Don’t tell me any of you are taking this talk about space aliens seriously,” Veronica said, hands on hips. “Especially you, Red. As the mayor of Hewego, you have a responsibility to keep this kind of nonsense in check. We wouldn’t want panic tearing down what we’ve worked so hard to build.”
“Lighten up,” Elizabeth said. “Even if Hank’s a nutter, he’s a human being, and that makes him family. If the plague has taught me anything, it’s that there’s nothing more valuable than each other. Let him come.”
“Just so long as we agree there are no space aliens,” Veronica said. “Our cozy little community is off to a good start. I’d hate to see paranoia spread. That kind of thing could ruin us.”
Her words sobered up the party. She had a point. And if he hadn’t seen what he had seen outside Schlotz’s, Red might have made a similar speech. Now didn’t seem like the right time to mention his encounter. His eyes darted to the ceiling, wondering about who was up there. Were they listening and perhaps watching? The thought left him cold.
Chapter 11
On a hot day in August, Red and Elizabeth sat in their kitchen eating tomato salad; the cucumbers and celery had just come in and the combination was refreshing. They were just chatting about random things from their pasts, with no particular aim or goal. She talked about the time she hiked the Grand Canyon with her parents, got bit by a snake, and had to be airlifted to the nearest hospital. He brought up his four years in the service and some of his more daring exploits. He mentioned that he had learned some Arabic during his time in the Middle East.
“I didn’t know you knew any other languages. Say something,” she encouraged.
“You don’t know Arabic. I could make up words and you wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Humor me.”
Red obliged and rattled off the first thing that came to mind.
“You ordered a cheeseburger,” she said.
“No—the exact phrase I thought was: My camel for a cheeseburger with extra onions. You got the general idea, but your interpretation is way off in the details.”
“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud,” she said, her enthusiasm never waning. “I’m branching out.”
“You mean my thoughts are no longer enough for you?” Red complained as he sipped water. He hadn’t been exactly happy the day Elizabeth admitted she had been reading his thoughts since the day they left Mrs. Jenkins’s house.
“Don’t you see how this is a breakthrough? I’m not just hearing your thoughts, I’m seeing what you see, feeling what you
feel. This means my ability to read a person isn’t limited by language. When you spoke in Arabic, I didn’t understand the words, but I saw the cheeseburger you pictured in your mind. And it was loaded with everything. I felt your mouth salivate at the thought of it, I could smell the onions, and I also felt a pang of sadness over the fact you can’t have them anymore, at least not until Veronica’s ready to start butchering some of the herd. Personally, I hate hamburgers, and I don’t miss them a bit.”
Red scratched his temple. His wife was more aware of what was going on in his head than he was. How very disturbing. “Woman!” he said a little more forcefully than he had intended. “Stay out of my mind.”
“Don’t act like a caveman, Red,” she snorted. “Trust me when I say that I have better things to do than poke around in that thing on top of your neck all day. It takes a lot of concentration to do it and I have enough on my own mind without having to worry about what’s on yours.”
“Duly noted.”
“My ability isn’t completely reliable, but imagine how handy it would be if we were traveling abroad.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will be useful when we board that next flight to Paris,” Red remarked sarcastically. “Or the next time we visit the Great Wall.”
“Humph.” Elizabeth took her empty plate to the counter and slammed it into the sink. “Who are you to mock me? At least I don’t believe in grocery store aliens! What do you think it was shopping for—panty liners?”
Red sent imaginary darts at his wife’s head. He had told her the entire tale on the condition she would not belittle him or tell another soul. He shoved everything off of the table with a sweep of his arm, sending plates, glasses, serving dishes and silverware alike crashing to the floor. As he stormed out of the house, he heard Elizabeth shout at him.
“Real mature of you, Red. Like I said before, you’re a big, grumpy ass!”
Chapter 12
Elizabeth regretted bringing up the alien in such a condescending way, but Red had made light of her ability to read thoughts. She frowned at the mess on the floor, knowing the dishes would stay there forever unless she cleaned up the remains herself. The food was a different story. She cleared up the glass shards and dish fragments, and opened the back door and yelled for Zena. The dog was a living garbage disposal. A mound of black and brown fur bounded out of the woods, through the garden and back door, sliding to a stop in front of Elizabeth. The dog knew that when Elizabeth called, it could only mean one thing—cleanup duty.
All Elizabeth had to do was stand over the mess and point. “Treat!”
The dog wasn’t picky. As long as the vegetables were coated in oil, or in dressing, it was the next best thing to steak. Zena gulped dinner down in less than a minute. Elizabeth let her lick the floor clean, patted her on the head, and then opened the back door. Zena chose to curl up on the living room rug instead, ignoring Elizabeth’s order to go outside.
“Even the dog doesn’t listen to me,” Elizabeth complained.
After cleaning the greasy spots with soap and water, she plopped down on a rocker, nursing her wounded pride.
Zena was asleep on her back, snoring away, privates totally exposed as her hind legs splayed out in utter relaxation. At least someone was content. Elizabeth retrieved her lopsided experiment in basket weaving from the coffee table and started working the reeds in and out, in and out, hoping the repetitive motion would calm her down.
Red could be such an insensitive jerk. She let out a long sigh. After an hour of working on the basket, and numerous splinters in her fingers, the handle popped off and scratched her chin. She was swearing when a knock rattled the front door.
It was Nate, all bug-eyed and out of breath. “We have a new arrival.”
They’d had newcomers before and it was always exciting, but Nate seemed unusually agitated over the development. Why?
Reading people’s minds was becoming more second nature than she had let on. The young man’s thoughts centered on the two-way radio from the celebration in the library. A picture of a middle-aged black man with a neatly trimmed beard and broad shoulders hung in his head. She realized Nate thought the two were connected.
“It’s not Hank, is it?”
“How the hell did you know that?” Nate gave her a sidelong look.
“Just a guess. Well, what does he want?”
“He says he’s from the government.”
“It still exists?”
Nate shrugged.
“The town council is gathering in the Assembly Hall to meet him.”
Elizabeth went out to find Red. She figured he was out in the woods behind the house, searching out possible logs to chop up for firewood, his favorite place and way to unwind. She found him deep in the forest, sitting by the creek, chewing on a piece of grass. When she told him of the arrival, he wordlessly got up and started toward the town center. She had to jog to keep up with him. Obviously, he was still mad at her for the ‘alien’ comments.
They were the last to arrive at the former burger joint, which now served as the town hall. The council was already assembled: Dr. Patel, Professor Mary Linkletter, Farmer Morningside, Jerome Fireside and Father Bob, the man whose impartiality kept everything peaceful. Veronica Albright, who not only looked sharp, but had a sharp mind as well, was the last council member. The other women in town disliked her, probably because she was both beautiful and opinionated, but Elizabeth found the former computer guru’s forthrightness refreshing.
Elizabeth’s role was council secretary. Basically, she took roll call, brought in a pitcher of drinking water and glasses, provided the snacks, and jotted down the minutes. Of all the people on the council, Elizabeth felt that she was the least qualified, that she’d only been selected for the council because her husband was the mayor. For that reason, she tried to melt into the scenery and not make any waves.
An African American man, bald but with a graying beard was at one of the swivel stools bolted to the floor in front of what had been the dining counter. He swiveled around when Red and Elizabeth entered, and stood to offer both of them a firm handshake.
“I’m General Hank Moore,” he said with a gentlemanly southern drawl. “United States Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs. Glad to meet you.”
Red’s demeanor stiffened at extraterrestrial. Hearing the general talk about it out in the open was what Red had wanted, but after keeping his own sighting a secret for so long, he was having misgivings about talking about it. He’d originally seen the general, as a potential ally, someone to verify that the alien he saw at the supermarket was real. Now that Red was listening to another man making similar claims, his cynical hat had come on.
“Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs?” Red asked with an incredulous squint.
“That’s what I said.” General Moore motioned for everyone to be seated around the long counter.
Red gave Elizabeth a quizzical look; he wanted to know if she had sized up the newcomer yet, but she hadn’t quite gotten a grip on the general’s thoughts.
“Get him to talk more,” she whispered to Red, hoping that would help open the general’s mind to her.
“How was the trip here?” Red asked.
“Tough.”
Elizabeth had paper spread out on the table in front of her, pen ready, prepared to take notes. She jotted down a few things, but her main purpose was to zone in on the newcomer’s thoughts. A person’s words were the windows into his or her mind. Even if she didn’t understand their meaning, they flowed from the mind like water from a wellspring. She had learned how to swim against the current to reach the source, but entering the general’s mind was like diving into a mighty river. The torrent threatened to sweep her away, but she fought with all her strength and skill. In her limited experience, she had never met a mind quite like this before.
Her hand stopped writing as she gazed into space—the general’s innermost space. She saw images of steam coming out of the radiator of a jeep and the general’s weathered brown han
ds trying to fix the problem. Next came images of endless highways and camping out under the cover of trees with starlight flickering overhead. She also saw numerous occasions when the general pulled an unusual-looking phone from the secret pocket inside his flannel shirt. Holy crap…the thing was powered by a nuclear battery. The general worried that carrying it so close to his chest would give him cancer, but he held onto the phone like a lifeline nevertheless.
“I’m in,” she let Red know with a whisper.
As General Moore talked to Hewego’s senior council members, pictures ran through his head. These pictures generated the words he used, but he carefully filtered everything he said. Not that he intended to conceal anything, nor did he intend to mislead them; the man was simply so disciplined that every word, every action, had to pass an inspection first.
She saw him camped out on the side of a road, a pup tent in the background, warming beans over a small fire. He placed a call on his nuclear phone. She couldn’t make out what the party on the other end of the line was saying, but she saw his thoughts grow darker and graver. He appeared to age ten years all at once. He collapsed into a mound, scraping the dirt with his nails, and sobbed. From the short trip inside his mind, she understood that he wasn’t an emotional kind of guy. What could have possibly gotten to him like that? Elizabeth didn’t want to know.
She knew she ought to look away, break the link, but like some sicko driving past a fresh car wreck, she couldn’t help but stare.
“Elizabeth.” Veronica came to her chair, setting her hands on both Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You look pale. Are you feeling okay?”
She shook her head, fighting back tears—the general’s tears. “Just a bad piece of meat, I think.”
Veronica returned to her own seat, while Elizabeth maintained her link with the general.
On the journey to Hewego, he had met up with two guys carrying machine guns. They both addressed him as General Moore. She couldn’t be sure whether these were genuine memories or delusions, but she was inclined to think the former. His mind wasn’t a jumbled tangled mess like a deranged person’s would be—she’d touched a few minds of the mentally ill in the past few years, and this man was not one of those. In fact, the general’s mind was extraordinarily organized—like hanging files where everything was neatly labeled, and all the corners of the paperwork matched up without any curled edges. General Moore genuinely believed himself to be the highest ranking member of the United States government to have survived the plague. She perceived him as Atlas, the weight of the world bowing his back, and he needed others to help shoulder the burden. Her chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice, but she had to learn more.
Red the First Page 6