Shades

by Mel Odom

  "Isabel," Jesse called. "I just felt an electrical surge. We can't stay…"

  Then the van's engine hiccuped and died.

  "Get her out, Jesse," Isabel said.

  "My baby!" the woman moaned. "Give me my baby!"

  "I'll get her," Isabel promised, but her heart sank when she saw the jumble of boxes and bags strewn across the backseats. She looked for a child seat but couldn't find one. Desperately, she moved boxes, not knowing if she was uncovering the child or burying her farther.

  "There she is! There she is!"

  Surprised by the woman's voice, Isabel glanced forward.

  The woman's face was a mask of blood, and tears streaked her cheeks. But she was smiling. Jesse had almost succeeded in cutting the woman free, and she was able to turn in the seat.

  "There's my little angel!" the woman cooed excitedly. "There's my little Abbie! Come on to Mother, Abbie! Come on!"

  Confusion dawned on Jesse's face as he peered past the woman. He looked at Isabel and shook his head.

  Isabel's heart nearly stopped. Her immediate thought was that something awful had happened to the baby. Overcoming a preternatural fear of seeing what was there, she turned and looked into the seat.

  A child, surely no more than a year and a half old, sat curled up like a fetal ball at the bottom of the seat. Boxes framed her. She had blond wisps of hair and chubby cheeks. A pink bow sat atop her head, matching the frilly dress and

  matching underpants. Pink tennis shoes with white laces covered her feet, looking impossibly wide and blunt.

  "See?" the woman said. "That's my baby. That's my little Abbie." She smiled, then groaned as Jesse continued cutting her free of the seat restraints. "The doctors said she didn't make it, but 1 knew they were wrong. A mother always knows."

  The oddity of the woman's words barely touched Isabel as she pushed her way into the backseat. "Hey," she said to the little girl. "Are you all right?"

  The child glared at Isabel, folding her pudgy arms across her body.

  Jesse helped the mother from the van, having to fight against her efforts to help Isabel get her little girl.

  Shifting, Isabel reached for the child. Before she could reach her, though, the little girl cocked her head and snarled, baring her tiny white teeth in a feral grin. Surprised by the reaction, Isabel hesitated.

  "Isabel," Jesse called.

  Isabel tried twice to speak.

  The child snarled and snapped. She looked at Isabel, then pointed a tiny, blunt forefinger. "You don't belong here."

  Jesse peered into the shadows that filled the van. "What are you looking at?"

  "The baby," Isabel whispered.

  "I don't see a baby," Jesse said. "Where do you see her?" He reached forward and moved boxes, reaching through the child as if she wasn't there.

  Before Isabel could reply, hesitating as she tried to frame an answer that would make sense, the little girl stood and bolted toward the front of the wrecked van. She scrambled over the boxes and seats on all fours, moving with the lithe leaps of a jackrabbit.

  Drawn by the glint of malicious intent she'd seen in the child's face, Isabel followed. She scraped an elbow on a jagged piece of windshield safety glass as she clambered from the vehicle. Outside again, the glaring intensity of the sun hammered her.

  "Isabel!" Jesse called frantically. He tried to get out of the van to follow her but struggled with the tight confines.

  Dizzy and not comprehending the situation, Isabel watched as the little girl loped up to the stricken woman lying on the ground.

  The woman reached up with her hands, unable to get to her feet because of her injuries.

  "Mother!" the little girl called in sadistic delight. The child's face split into a gamine grin that looked years older and bloodthirsty.

  "Abbie!" the woman whispered. Tears ran down her bloody face. "Oh god, Mommy didn't want to believe what the doctors told her. Mommy knew you were alive somewhere. I'm so sorry, my darling, that I wasn't there for you." She beckoned with her hands. "Come to Mommy, baby. Come to Mommy. Mommy swears we won't ever be apart again. Mommy will always be there for you."

  The child-thing… Isabel could no longer think of the little girl in any other fashion… stood just out of the woman's reach and crossed her arms. "You killed me, Mommy."

  Pain wracked the woman's features. "No, Abbie, that's not true! Oh god, that's not true!"

  Jesse freed himself from the van and started for the woman. "She's hallucinating."

  Isabel looked at him, knowing that for whatever reason, Jesse couldn't see or hear the child-thing. He started for the woman.

  Afraid for Jesse, not knowing what the child-thing was capable of, Isabel stopped him. "Call nine-one-one again," she said. "Let them know what they're dealing with here."

  Jesse hesitated.

  "It would be the best," Isabel said. "I'll help her."

  Grimly, Jesse nodded and took out his cell phone. He watched the woman as he spoke, concern tightening his face.

  Isabel liked that about Jesse, liked the fact that he cared about someone he didn't even know. Still, she was worried what her dad was going to say when he found out both of them had been together.

  "Abbie!" The woman sounded plaintive now, growing weaker from her injuries and shock.

  "You killed me," the child-thing accused. "You didn't want me enough. You didn't try hard enough."

  Disbelief swept through Isabel as she knelt beside the woman and tried to comfort her. "It's okay," Isabel whispered, but she never took her eyes from the belligerent child-thing. "Whatever you're seeing, whatever you're hearing, it's not real." Nothing could be that mean or spiteful.

  The woman grabbed Isabel's arm in both her hands. "I didn't kill her! I swear!"

  Isabel let the woman hold one of her hands while she smoothed her hair with the other.

  "You killed me, Mommy," the child-thing accused. "You didn't want me. You wanted Daddy all to yourself. You were afraid you were going to lose him."

  "No!" The woman sounded hysterical. "It was an accident, Abbie! The umbilical cord got wrapped around your neck! They told me it wasn't my fault! Not my fault!" She looked up at Isabel, holding on more tightly. "They told me it wasn't my fault!"

  "I'm sure it wasn't," Isabel said.

  The child-thing shrieked in rage. Without warning, the creature ran straight for the fallen woman.

  Without thinking, intending only to deflect the child-thing so the creature couldn't harm the helpless woman, Isabel put her hand out. For a brief moment, she felt cold and hard flesh beneath her hand. Before she had time to take in anything else, the hum of a static electricity discharge crackled through the air.

  A lightning bolt came from nowhere and struck the pavement nearby. The explosion rocked Isabel and knocked Jesse from his feet.

  She glanced at Jesse, knowing he'd taken more of the brunt of the blast than she had. As she started to call out to him, a gray-green shape suddenly rose up from the woman.

  Stunned, the lightning blast still ringing in her ears, Isabel watched as the gray-green shape grew to ten feet in height. The shape took on distinct features, becoming a stooped dragon… at least, that was as close as Isabel could come to describing the creature… with short wings, and a long snout filled with curved fangs. The scales held a shimmering silver coloration under the direct sun, but the mottled charcoal and emerald colors looked like gangrene.

  The dragons eyes appeared multifaceted and actually moved back and forth in their orbits like camera lenses. A pair of antennae jutted up from the interior corner of the eyes, curving back over the dragon's head and twitching in perfect time. Unfolding forelegs that resembled those of a praying mantis and ended in serrated hooked claws, the creature swiped at her.

  Isabel dodged back, unwilling to leave the unconscious woman's side. The hooked claws passed within inches of her face.

  "Isabel." Jesse got to his feet again.

  "Leave!" the dragon snarled at Isabel. "All of you need t
o leave this place or you will all die!"

  Lightning flashed again, blinding in its intensity despite the brightness of day. This time, the lightning struck the van. Apparently enough gasoline had leaked from the vehicle to create a pool that ignited when the lightning seared into it. Isabel caught a brief glimmer of flames, then the van leaped into the air as the gas tank exploded.

  The mass of flame-wrapped burning metal thudded back onto the ground hard enough to send a tremor through the earth. A blistering heat wave washed over Isabel, pulling at her hair and clothing. As she covered her face with her free hand, she watched the dragon dissipate, fragmenting like a computer-generated picture being torn away pixel by pixel.

  In seconds only the unconscious woman and the burning van wreathed in flames and black smoke remained.

  Isabel gazed down U.S. 285 and watched as the state police car roar toward them.

  "I've got to call your father," Jesse said.

  Isabel nodded. "Don't tell him I'm here."

  A troubled look filled Jesses face. "I don't like lying to your dad."

  "He's not ready for this," Isabel said.

  "He may find out."

  "And he may not," Isabel said. "If he doesn't have to know, I don't want him to know." She paused. "Not yet, Jesse. Not like this." And if there are any repercussions from that, III deal with them then, she thought.

  Grudgingly Jesse nodded. He opened his cell phone and walked to meet the arriving state police car.

  Gazing at the burning van, feeling the unconscious woman's hand in hers, Isabel suddenly remembered that Jesse hadn't seen the child-thing. The realization burned into Isabel's mind. The woman had seen the creature, and she'd seen the creature. The only thing different was her alienness. Even if she and Jesse got past the whole chemistry thing and discovered the attraction between them was real and not just a phase, they would still have to deal with her alien nature.

  That had seemed to be a constant stumbling block for Max and Liz, no matter how much they seemed to genuinely care about each other. And Liz knows Max is an alien. Jesse doesn't have a clue about me. How am I… we… supposed to deal with that? Isabel felt all knotted up inside. She needed to do something, but she had no idea what.

  The child-thing knew me, she reminded herself. Maybe the child-thing didn't know my name, but it knew that I was different. It hated me for that difference. She watched Jesse with the state policemen, knowing that one way or another her life was going to change again.

  Heart pounding inside his chest, Max stopped when River Dog did. They stood in front of a small house with peeling paint and a collection of dreamcatchers and chimes hanging from the leaning front porch. The slight breeze made the chimes tinkle, and the sound was barely audible over the crash of destruction coming from inside the house.

  River Dog turned to the two small boys holding his hands. "Stay here. I will care for your mother." He glanced up and caught the eye of an older woman, who immediately came forward and took the boys by the hands.

  Something crashed inside the house.

  A group of young men arrived and stood in the narrow street before the house. Max figured they'd been working on a construction project because they carried sledgehammers, crowbars, and hammers.

  "This is Cathy Callingcrow's house," one of the men said. "What is going on here?"

  River Dog held up a hand. "Let me handle this."

  Another man elbowed his way through the gathering crowd. Max recognized George Grayhawk at once. The man didn't look any happier to see him there.

  "What is goig on?" Grayhawk demanded.

  "Grampa's spirit," one of the two small boys yelped. "He's inside the house."

  Max caught the brief blur of motion from the corner of his eye. As he started to turn, a chair crashed through the

  window, hurtling glass over the porch and the gathering crowd.

  The woman drew back the two small boys as they started screaming in fear. Some of the men stepped back as well, herding the small children and other women back from the house.

  "River Dog," Grayhawk spat. "This thing with our ancestors' spirits grows worse. They've returned to our homes, to the homes of their descendants, and given us warning to leave, but never before have they hurt anyone." He locked eyes with Max. "This is all happening because of the Visitors. Because of your involvement with the Visitors."

  A low wail of pain and fear came from the house.

  George Grayhawk led four men into the house.

  "Come," River Dog told Max.

  Knowing the Mesaliko tribe blamed him, Max figured the last place he belonged was inside someone's house. He wanted to leave, just get back into his car and get back to Roswell.

  River Dog never even glanced back for him, only stepped up onto the swaying porch and charged into the house after the other men.

  Making his decision, Max followed the shaman into the home. The woman's screams sounded louder inside.

  8

  small as the house had seemed on the outside, the structure seemed even smaller on the inside. Max felt awkward and embarrassed and scared all at the same time.

  A woman… Max had to assume she was Cathy Callingcrow… cowered in a corner with her hands over her head. Blood wept from a long cut on her cheek. Sobs and violent trembling wracked her slight frame. She wore jeans and a mans T-shirt, and didn't look thirty yet.

  The furniture in the room had been overturned. Ragged tears across the material testified to the use of knives or claws. Holes showed in the walls. A kitchen chair stuck out from one wall, two of its legs curled and bent underneath while the other two legs pierced the wall. The chair was a match to the one out on the porch. Pictures lay scattered across the carpeted floor.

  "Where is he?" Grayhawk demanded.

  "I'm here, George Grayhawk!" a harsh voice roared.

  Looking to the center of the room, amazed at the destruction that had already taken place, Max saw a tall man dressed in jeans, a khaki shirt, and stained work boots standing in the doorway to the small kitchen on the other side of the room. He wore his gray hair braided on either side of his head. A beaded headband crossed his forehead, marked with a twist of eagle feathers that hung down behind his head. His face was lined and parched like leather that had been left out in the sun too long.

  River Dog looked at Max. "Do you see the spirit?" the shaman asked.

  Max nodded. "You don't see him?"

  "Henry Callingcrow is not my ancestor," River Dog said. "He is of my family, but not of my fathers blood. Where is he?"

  Max pointed toward the doorway to the kitchen. "There."

  "What is he doing?" River Dog asked.

  "He's here to punish me," Cathy Callingcrow croaked from the corner. "He says our people should not be here. He says we are all going to be punished by violating the treaty that the Mesaliko agreed to with the spirits."

  "I don't see anyone here," Grayhawk challenged.

  "He knows you," Max replied. "He called you by name."

  Uneasy, Grayhawk turned to peer at the doorway

  "He's there." Cathy Callingcrow wiped at her face with a shaking hand. "He said he was going to kill me."

  River Dog moved, staying away from the doorway and walking to a position in front of the woman. "I won't allow him to hurt you now, child," the shaman promised.

  Henry Callingcrow darted into movement without warning, stepping into the group of men. His fists flailed, knocking the men down like a WWE wrestler mowing down ninety-eight-pound weaklings. Thunder crackled in the room, and lightning blasted a jagged streak down one wall. The burn pattern smoked and stank.

  George Grayhawk and the other men yelled and cursed in fear and rage as they tried to regroup. Grayhawk managed to swing his crowbar, evidently judging the ghost's location from another man who suddenly flew backward. If the crowbar touched the spirit… and Max wasn't sure that it did… the heavy tool did nothing to slow it.

  Henry Callingcrow stepped toward River Dog and the cowering woman. Sh
e screamed in terror and buried her face behind her arms.

  Another group of men reached the doorway of the house and started to come inside.

  River Dog held up a hand to the men. "Stay. You can do no good here."

  The new arrivals didn't like the idea, but they also saw how the spirit had left George Grayhawk and his construction team sprawled on the floor.

  Knowing he couldn't stand by and do nothing, though unsure if there was anything he could do, Max moved to intercept the ghost. He stopped in front of River Dog with a hand outstretched. In the small confines of the room, there wasn't much room to maneuver.

  Henry Callingcrow's face was livid with rage. "Go away, outsider," he ordered in a hoarse voice. "Go away and maybe you'll live."

  Max wanted to speak, but if the ghost was really some ethereal remnant of the man who had once lived, he didn't know what to say to him.

  River Dog began to chant behind Max. "Listen to me, Cathy Callingcrow," the shaman said, "listen to me and don't be afraid. Vengeful spirits are powered by our fears. Our ancestors learned this the first time they faced them. If you are not afraid, they can't hurt you."

  Max didn't believe that. But as he watched, the manifestation standing before him seemed to waver, like a computer monitor scrolling to refresh an image.

  River Dog continued chanting.

  "No!" Henry Callingcrow barked. Then he threw himself forward.

  Moving on instinct, Max intercepted the ghost, putting out both hands to stop the creature. There was a momentary resistance, as if he were pushing through heavy pudding or gelatin, a terrible cold feeling, then lightning blazed into the room again.

  In the next heartbeat the ghost faded from sight.

  Panicked, breathing hard, not daring to believe the thing was really gone, Max glanced desperately around the room. What had made it go? River Dog's ancestor had passed into his body before disappearing.

  "Is it gone?" River Dog asked in a quiet voice.

  Max stared at Grayhawk, who was urging his men to their feet.

  "I think so," Max said. Then he noticed that the young woman was limp against River Dog. "Is she…is she…"