by Wm. Barnard
The driver got out and retrieved a briefcase from the back before walking directly toward me. While the stickers in the window offered a clue, his high and tight haircut along with the marine “hell dog” strut confirmed the military affiliation.
“Zach, I want you to meet one of my good friends, retired Colonel Appleton,” Jack said.
“Nice to meet you, colonel,” I said, trying to hide my extreme discomfort as the colonel crushed my knuckles with his vice grip handshake.
“Likewise, Zach. You can call me J.T,” he said in a deep, southern drawl. “You’re the writer, correct?”
“That’s right,” I said, faking a smile, but truly thankful that he had freed my mangled hand. At that point, I could only hope and pray to regain the use of it one day.
“Well, you are gonna have one heckuva story to write when we’re through here,” he said, grinning widely.
“It’s definitely sounding that way already.”
When Bill came over to join us, he embraced J.T. with a huge bear hug and it appeared the two were old friends. J.T. then asked Bill, “When are we going to see some fireworks around here?”
Bill hesitated before speaking and held his hands together. “I’m pretty sure tonight.”
“That’s fantastic!”
J.T then turned to me, pointing his thumb back towards Jack. “You know how many years I’ve been telling this old fart about alien aircrafts buzzing my planes? He always looked at me as if I had been sucking down martinis in the cockpit. Then, about five years ago, we we’re flying together to Vegas in my Cessna when one of my little buddies gives us a flyby. You should have seen ol’ Jack. Poor boy almost had a cardiac,” J.T. cackled while Jack simply smiled in reply, nodding his head as if slightly embarrassed.
“What does our government know about all this? I mean, I’ve heard about all this Area 51 conspiracy stuff for years…”
“They don’t know squat. I mean, there are people who work for the government who of course know aliens exist and all that. But as far as the government trying to cover up some event in Roswell, well, that just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. These aliens aren’t collaborating with our government, if that’s what you mean. They know better than to trust those rascals,” J.T. laughed. “Heck, they’re one of the main reasons The Ancestors are comin’.”
THE FLAMES OF A MASSIVE bonfire warmed us from the cool night air as we all assembled together for a late night barbeque. J.T. continued entertaining us with a myriad of stories when suddenly “the fireworks” started. Three huge cylinders of flashing light came soaring directly over our campfire in a straight line. The abrupt sighting caused everybody around me to begin yelling and clapping enthusiastically, while I sat stunned, unable to even move for a moment in my plastic patio chair.
Bill stood to inform us that we had just observed “a scout party” and we would see a fleet in the next day or two. Even though everyone else showed their elation, I felt my stomach drop before pushing my plate away. Trying to look ‘normal,’ I hoped the darkness concealed how all the blood had drained out my face.
NO MATTER HOW MANY PILLOW configurations I tried, sleep proved elusive as I flipped restlessly from side to side. Several times during the night, my nerves forced me over to the window where I scanned the sky for any space ships that might be watching over us. I don’t remember when, but exhaustion took over and I finally passed out. Waking right before sunrise, I felt I had been awake the entire night as I had slept so lightly.
Now sitting up on the edge of the bed, my anxiety level increased as I recalled having a nightmare about alien beings coming into Bill’s house and how they were leering over us while we slept. While I wished I hadn’t remembered the dream, pondering it only led me to question my decision to come to the ranch. As I tiptoed down the wooden hallway floors, I found the house quiet as no one else was up yet. Deciding to go for a walk and try to clear my head, I opened the front door softly in order not to wake anyone.
Just as the sun began to crest the distant peaks, I found a worn path and headed down through the woods. The same thought that had troubled me the night before kept replaying in my mind: What was the real agenda of these beings? Did they gather us together so they could whisk us away for their lab experiments?
This line of thinking rattled me so much I attempted seeing the situation from another perspective: If these aliens did mean us harm, they could have already abducted us. Besides, all the people I met at the ranch seemed relatively normal, minus their experiences, and none of them were harmed during any of their previous encounters.
For a second, I even contemplated what my peers would think of me. I also wondered if I would be stuck with some stigma, making it difficult to get other work if I became labeled as “The UFO Guy.”
After traveling what must have been a couple of miles, I came to the edge of a tree line where I could look over a small canyon. Stopping to scan the wooded valley below me, I saw in the distance a ribbon of asphalt which I estimated to be around a forty-five minute walk.
As I stared down into the gorge beneath me, my thoughts became absolutely overwhelmed with the unknown dangers I might face later that night. While I hated losing my cell phone and laptop, I decided right then that the rational thing to do was cut my losses and leave while I still could.
Increasing the pace back down the trail, my heart and mind sprinted as I wondered if I would even see any cars on the road ahead so I could hitch a ride. A sudden noise caused my eyes to dart up the steep incline beside the trail.
Now treading slowly and light-footed, I attempted to remain silent when I heard a twig snap. Frozen in my steps, I held my breath and tried to listen over my pounding heart.
Am I being followed or is someone really watching me?
I clenched my fists and began walking downhill again with the resolve that I would not be deterred. About ten minutes later, I finally began to relax a bit when I heard another sound you don’t hear in the city.
Cataclop, cataclop.
Stopping for a few seconds, I confirmed the hooves of a horse.
Great! I knew it; I am being followed.
Deciding to push on, I tried to find a place to get off the trail and hide behind some trees. I made it over a small ridge, facing back down the trail, when I was surprised to see a tall black horse with a large man in the saddle coming up the hill towards me. Realizing he could see me, I knew I couldn’t hide now so I attempted to play it casual.
“Good morning, Bill!” I said.
“Mornin’. It’s a beautiful day, huh?”
“Man, it’s gorgeous out here,” I replied, but my eyes immediately went to the rifle strapped to the side of the saddle.
Trying to pretend that I hadn’t noticed the firearm, I quickly said, “Yeah, we don’t exactly have views like this where I’m from.”
Bill removed his Stetson straw hat and used his flannel shirtsleeve to wipe his brow before looking down at me.
“You trying to get away, Zach?” he asked point blank.
“Huh?” I stammered, guessing I looked as guilty as I felt.
“You know, get away and think. I try to do it at least once a day.”
“Oh yeah. Definitely, I, uh, just…”
Bill cut me off, “I’m sure you are going through some real turmoil inside, not knowing what to think about all this. I mean, it’s a lot to digest,” he said gently.
“Yeah, it is.”
“We’ve all had those doubts and even experienced some fear initially, Zach. But those tend to vanish. I can guarantee that you’ll be glad you came in the end. ”
His calm demeanor helped me settle down a tad, making me feel slightly foolish for my paranoia.
“Climb on up and I’ll give you a lift? Coming down this trail is a lot easier than having to trudge back up it,” he said, patting the back of his horse.
I grabbed Bill’s extended arm, put one foot in the empty stirrup and pulled myself up onto his horse.
“I don’
t recommend walking out here alone, Zach. We do have our share of mountain lions and black bears,” Bill added as we started back towards the ranch.
“Bears? That hadn’t even crossed my mind. Note to self: Take hike on treadmill next time,” I cracked.
We headed up the steep trail and I scanned the thick, unknown woods besides us. While I felt temporarily relieved to be on the safety of Bill’s horse, I also recognized that the situation back at the ranch could quickly turn precarious.
CHAPTER 8
The clear blue sky had cleverly dissolved into a pink haze as the sun faded behind the horizon for the night. Soon a small convoy of cars and pickups began pulling into Bill’s driveway with members from his local tribe. Even though Bill and Gloria had prepared plenty of food for dinner, complete with a roasted pig that had sat above a fire pit the previous day, everyone who had arrived brought coolers full of more food and drinks.
As the events that would actually unfold that night drew nearer, uncertainty set in. Bill must have noticed my constant pacing and instinctively headed toward me. Reaching into the cooler that lay open near our feet, he offered me a can of Mountain Dew. His enormous hand dwarfed the green soda can as he looked sternly at me. “Our Ancestors told us specifically to only drink Pepsi products.”
I stared at Bill silently as I tried to process the strange request.
Unable to keep a straight face, Bill laughed loudly.
I shook my head and chuckled.
Bill had picked a timely place to reveal his wit and his strange little joke helped put me more at ease.
As everyone gathered to sit down and eat, a sleek, extended town car glided up the driveway. Darkly tinted windows matched the deep black paint job, making it virtually impossible to peer into the car. The chauffeur got out, hurrying over to open the back door for a tall, distinguished-looking man in a black suit and tie. Jack, Bill and J.T. got up and walked excitedly over to greet the newest arrival. While I inquired from everyone at the table, no one seemed to know anything about this mystery guest. As they all strolled back over to where we were all seated, Jack waved me over.
Jack said with a beaming smile, “Zach, this is Mr. Boris Wolff, a former ambassador to the U.N.”
“Mr. Zach Miller, it’s a great privilege to meet you. I have enjoyed your work for years,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. His accent told me Swiss German, but the abundance of hair products and a designer suit cried Los Angeles.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I said, flattered that he had read my articles.
“Thank you, Mr. Miller. Our lives are about to be profoundly changed. I can think of no one else that I would rather have than you to record these events. We are certainly expecting great things from you. ”
“Well, I hope I don’t let you down, Mr. Wolff,” I said, humbled by his compliment.
Gloria Hunter walked over to greet Mr. Wolff and he proceeded to kiss her tiny hand, making her blush.
Jack put an arm around me, whispering as we walked back to the picnic tables. “Mr. Wolff is a heavy hitter, Zach. He’s respected around the world for his humanitarian efforts. He was actually one of the key players when the U.N. negotiated a peace agreement in the Congo a few years back.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, he’s not exactly one of those self-serving political types who is always trying to get his name out there,” Jack stated as we sat down to the feast before us.
As dinner came to a close, several tribe members walked out to their cars, returning with drums and now wearing full Native American regalia, complete with feathered headpieces. The wind began to pick up so we all sat, forming a semi-circle on one side of the immense bonfire, avoiding the heavy wall of smoke that blew steadily in the other direction. Once the drummers started beating in unison, I glanced around the group, noticing several people with closed eyes who appeared to be meditating.
We must have been sitting there for thirty minutes when I became edgy and wanted to stand. Just as I rose to my feet, I ducked my head as a massive orb streaked right over the ranch. Grazing the nearby tree line, it moved much faster than any military jet, yet strangely didn’t create a sonic boom as it turned sharply and shot straight back up into the heavens.
Inhaling deeply in attempts to get my heart rate down, I squatted down onto my hind legs while continuously swiveling my head around to scan the horizon. For the next few minutes I waited nervously before seemingly out of nowhere, six orange triangles appeared directly overhead. Spaced evenly with one in the center, their symmetric positioning created a star shape as they hovered about a half-mile above us.
Feeling light-headed, I reached behind and pulled a chair underneath me and sat, clutching both of the armrests tightly. Even though the night breeze had grown chilly, sweat drenched the back of my shirt as I rocked anxiously back and forth. Several people near me bounced to their feet, thrusting their arms to the sky in excitement for what would come next while I remained seated, only managing to chew on what was left of my thumbnail.
As I watched the orange triangular ships descend, it was like peering through a kaleidoscope. Each vessel spun horizontally, rotating a full one hundred and eighty degrees, turning aqua green in the process. With every triangle now pointing toward the center, they converged until no visible gaps could be seen between the ships. At this point I couldn’t say for sure whether it was still six individual ships or somehow they actually became one, but the end result was a perfect hexagonal shape.
Once the united spacecraft descended to only a few hundred yards above us, it came to a stop and began circling clockwise. This foreign machine appeared to be much bigger than our largest aircraft carrier, so it was uncomfortable having it hover over our heads. After about a minute, the ship began its quiet decent again, causing an avalanche of fear to slowly crush the air out of my lungs.
Suddenly halting only a couple of feet above the steel roof of the pole barn, the ship hung completely motionless before emitting a soft fluorescent light from its bottom, illuminating the area where we sat. Although in a semi-state of shock, my mind clicked on auto-pilot as I stood up and began making mental notes for my journal later.
Out of the barn, twelve beings came walking toward us, and I became instantly struck by the paradox of how similar these aliens resembled ones portrayed in many of the Hollywood movies.
A metallic ash scent now in the air left me confused as to whether it came from the ships or these alien creatures or both.
Giant egg shaped heads attached to diminutive bodies that stood no taller than four feet made them almost look childlike. Four long spindly fingers with an equally elongated thumb hung disproportionally from their small frames. Their tiny noses and mouths appeared like pinholes compared to their giant, slanted eyes, the black pupils and black irises making it impossible to tell what their eyes focused on.
While all of them had grayish skin, it appeared to vary in tone with each alien. The suits they wore were made of an almost transparent yet glossy fabric, and it looked unlike anything I had ever seen. Having always attributing those cinematic versions of aliens as simply the products of imagination gone wild, I now wondered if some of their stories were actually inspired from firsthand accounts.
Walking directly toward us from the barn, each of these beings selectively approached a few people. I noticed the African man Geb smile widely, unable to contain his excitement at what appeared to be a reunion with two of the aliens. His wiry arms moved around rapidly as I overheard the trio speaking in his tribal dialect.
The conversation between two other aliens and an elderly man from Bill’s tribe resembled what you would expect from old friends. Trite things like, “How’s your wife,” and the, “Say hi to your family for me,” which, if I had not been so astounded by what I saw, would have struck me as comical.
Bill Hunter conversed for several minutes with one whom I would later learn was the leader of the group. They both eventually began walking side by side toward the crowd an
d as I watched them pass by several people, my eyes went wide once I realized they were coming directly to me. Tensing up and having no clue what I would do, my feet felt cemented to the ground, taking away my option to run.
Closing within a few feet from me, Bill put one of his arms around the shoulder of the alien while his other arm extended out to me, saying, “Zach, this is Shanda. He asked to talk with you.”
“Hello, Zach, nice to finally meet you,” the alien said, as if he were right off of Main Street, U.S.A.
“Hi…” I stammered. Still feeling like I was caught up in a dream, I struggled to believe that this was indeed happening.
“Zach, we had hoped you would come and we’re glad you are willing to bring our message to the world. Knowing you must have many questions, we hope, with time, to answer all of them. We will help you stay in contact and assist you in any way we can. Do you have anything you want to ask me now?” Shanda asked.
“Where are you from?” I said, surprised that my tongue could actually move.
“We are not from any place on your maps of the universe.” Shanda’s short reply made Bill chuckle. I stood silently, and Shanda said, “Why don’t you see if you have more questions after I have addressed everyone?”
Bill then turned around and used his thundering voice to instruct everyone to gather into a large circle. Stepping to the middle of our group, Shanda began speaking in English and basically reiterated some of the things Bill had told me over the last couple of days. Not until after about five minutes into his dialogue did I even realize that while I could hear him clearly, it wasn’t audibly; Shanda was communicating to us telepathically.