The Krinar Captive

by Anna Zaires

  When Emily was clothed, he handed her a fruit smoothie that his house had prepared, and said, “Let’s go.”

  Grabbing her backpack on the way, he led her out of the house.

  * * *

  Her thoughts in turmoil, Emily followed Zaron outside, sipping her smoothie without tasting it. Her regular clothes—a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and Nike sneakers—felt oddly rough and uncomfortable, as if they belonged to someone else. Her body, though, felt fine, with no traces of soreness from yesterday’s sexual marathon. Zaron must’ve healed her while she slept.

  Last night and the rest of yesterday’s day were a blur in Emily’s mind, a tangle of barely remembered images and sensations. All she could recall was pleasure that seemed too intense to be purely sexual. It reminded her of the time she’d accidentally tried a designer drug in college. It was as if everything had been enhanced, the ecstasy surreally acute. Was that from his bite, or had he used some kind of alien drug as an aphrodisiac? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t dare betray her knowledge of this Krinar trait—not when she was so close to freedom.

  “How am I getting to the airport?” she asked instead when Zaron began walking in the direction of the lake. The sun was already high in the sky—Emily must’ve slept late—and the air was thick and humid. “We can’t walk the whole way, can we?”

  “No, of course not.” His response was biting. “I have a vehicle stashed nearby.”

  “Oh.” He had a car in the jungle? “Where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They continued walking in silence. When Emily finished her smoothie, the cup dissolved in her hand, startling her. She wanted to ask about that, but when she glanced at Zaron and saw his shuttered expression, she decided against it. Her captor—soon to be former captor—was not in a good mood.

  Before long, Emily’s T-shirt was clinging damply to her back. The humidity was such that it was actually hard to breathe. It was going to rain this afternoon, she could feel it, and she wondered if that would delay her flight. Or maybe the alien invasion would, she thought, and couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

  “What’s so funny?” Zaron gave her a sharp look.

  “Did your ships already arrive and make contact?” she asked instead of explaining.

  Zaron shook his head. “It’s happening in a couple of hours.”

  “And you’re already letting me go?” Emily couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “What if I talk before then?”

  Zaron’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything, and Emily exhaled in relief when he just kept walking. Why had she just tried to provoke him? She knew he was already on edge. Was some twisted part of her actually hoping he’d get angry enough to force her to stay?

  Pushing the thought away, Emily followed Zaron through the thick forest. Before long, he turned west and headed up a narrow dirt path that wound through a tangle of trees and bushes. They walked like that for what seemed like a mile until they entered a clearing.

  There, half-hidden under a canopy of trees, was a monster pickup truck.

  “We’ll take this the rest of the way,” Zaron said, fishing a set of keys out of his pocket, and Emily watched open-mouthed as he opened the car, threw her backpack in, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “You drive this thing?” she asked in amazement, and he gave her a puzzled look.

  “Of course I drive. How else would I get around on your planet? We’re not allowed to use our flying pods yet.”

  “Right.” Emily climbed into the truck—literally climbed, as the step was thigh-high for her—and buckled herself in. “I just never pictured you in something like this.” She hadn’t pictured her alien captor driving at all, but if she had, it would’ve been in something sleek and futuristic, like a Tesla.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Zaron’s expression was unreadable as he started the car. “I needed something sturdy for this terrain.”

  “Gotcha,” Emily said as the vehicle began to make its way through a seemingly impenetrable wall of tall grass and low bushes. She was grateful for the seatbelt as they hit a ditch and climbed over it. “I see what you mean.”

  She expected them to continue like that for a while, but within minutes, they hit a dirt path and, other than an occasional pothole, the rest of the drive was smooth. Zaron didn’t speak, and neither did Emily. His shoulders were tense as he drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Emily sensed that a single word or gesture from her was all it would take for him to turn back. She could feel it in the electric tension that crackled between them and in the silence that felt as thick and heavy as the air outside.

  Biting her tongue to keep from saying anything, Emily looked away, staring blindly out the window. She couldn’t let herself weaken now. She had a life back home that didn’t revolve around a gorgeous extraterrestrial, a life that she’d worked hard to build. She was obviously not thinking clearly; else she wouldn’t be tempted to give in to this madness.

  It felt like the drive lasted forever, but when Emily glanced at the dashboard clock, she saw that only two hours had passed since they’d gotten into the truck.

  “We’re going to the Liberia airport?” she asked as they entered the city bounds, and Zaron nodded.

  “It’s the closest one with international flights. I got you a direct flight to the John F. Kennedy airport.”

  “Thank you.” Emily didn’t know what else to say. For someone who didn’t want her to go, Zaron was being incredibly considerate. “I really appreciate it.”

  He didn’t respond, and a few minutes later, they were pulling up to the Departure area. Zaron parked the truck at the curb and jumped out, walking around to open the door for Emily. She was about to jump down, but he caught her and brought her down, his grip on her waist incredibly strong yet gentle.

  “Um, thanks,” Emily mumbled when he released her and took a step back. His touch had shaken her, the heat from his palms penetrating the thin fabric of her shirt, and her heart thumped against her ribcage as Zaron reached into the truck and pulled out the backpack, handing it to her.

  “Your passport is in the outside compartment, as is your wallet,” he said, his expression still closed off. “The boarding pass is inside the passport.”

  Emily nodded. She wanted to thank him again, but there was a thick knot in her throat, and she knew that if she tried to speak, she’d start to cry. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the people around them staring at them—or more specifically, at Zaron. Women of all ages seemed mesmerized by the tall, dark man who could’ve stepped straight out of their fantasies. Did any of them sense his otherness, Emily wondered dully, or were they all too blinded by his stunning male beauty?

  Zaron’s eyes were trained on her face, and for a moment, she thought he might again ask her to stay. This time, Emily didn’t know if she’d be able to refuse. Now that her departure was no longer hypothetical, she could barely breathe through the crushing pain. The thick, humid air seemed to be pressing in on her from all sides, making her feel like she was locked in a small closet. She hadn’t even gotten onto the plane yet, and she was already missing her captor, aching for him in the worst possible way.

  But he didn’t ask her to stay. “Goodbye, Emily,” he said, and before she could gather her thoughts, he climbed into the truck and drove off.

  * * *

  Emily didn’t know how she’d made it through security and onto the plane. The tears streaming down her face were blinding, and her throat felt like it was in a chokehold, the sense of loss crushing and all-consuming. She kept reminding herself about all the reasons why this was the right decision, but it didn’t matter.

  She couldn’t logic away the pain.

  “Is everything okay, señorita?” a concerned guard had asked in the security line, and she’d mumbled something about separating from a boyfriend. The man had given her a sympathetic smile and waved her through, and Emily had stumbled on, somehow getting on the plane where she now sat, listening
to the pilot’s pre-departure announcements.

  Her ticket was for a business-class window seat—another bit of thoughtfulness on Zaron’s part. Under normal circumstances, Emily would’ve greatly enjoyed the upgrade, but she was too upset to appreciate the gourmet meal and the free alcohol. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, and the five-hour flight seemed to stretch into an eternity. The only thing she managed to do was plug in her dead phone, so it would hopefully work when she got home.

  Finally, they landed in JFK.

  Her first clue that something was wrong were the frantic crowds inside the terminal. The always-busy New York airport was packed to the brim, with frustrated-looking passengers occupying every available seat at the gates and lining up along the walls. Each customer service desk had a line of several hundred people, and the airline employees behind those desks seemed frazzled and overwhelmed.

  “What’s happening?” Emily asked a relatively calm-looking man who was standing next to a snack kiosk.

  “Haven’t you heard?” he said. “The FAA just grounded all flights. They didn’t say why, but the President is going to be holding a press conference this evening.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The wait time for a taxi was almost two hours, so Emily took the airtrain to the subway, and then the E train to the city. The crowd on the subway buzzed with panicked speculation; nobody knew what the upcoming announcement would be about, but almost everyone thought it had to do with a major terrorist threat. Why else would the FAA ground all planes?

  Emily knew the real answer, but she kept her mouth shut and tried to ignore the conversations taking place all around her. New Yorkers were solitary creatures, conditioned not to interact with strangers, but the fear generated by the unusual events seemed to break down those barriers. Everyone was talking to everyone else, putting forth their ideas for whether it was the Islamic State or Al-Queda or something else entirely.

  By the time Emily got off at her Times Square stop, her head ached, and she felt sick from a combination of jet lag and hunger. She’d been too upset to eat on the plane, and her breakfast smoothie had been many hours ago. Not that eating would’ve helped the anxiety that was gnawing a hole through her stomach.

  The invasion was happening. It was real. Up until she’d stepped off that plane, some part of Emily had foolishly hoped that something would prevent the Krinar from going through with their plan, that they would change their minds for whatever reason. But of course they didn’t. They’d made contact, and the US government had reacted by grounding all flights.

  And it wasn’t just the US government, she realized, seeing the scrolling headlines on the giant screens in Times Square. Flights were grounded all across Europe and Asia. Emily guessed it was so that civilian travel wouldn’t interfere with military air maneuvers, should those become necessary.

  Shuddering at the thought, Emily pushed through the crowds in Times Square and hurried to Amber’s apartment, which was some five blocks away from her own studio in Midtown West. Thanks to her remembering to charge her phone on the plane, she had a couple of bars of reception, but whenever she tried to call Amber, she couldn’t get through. She suspected it was because the cell networks were overwhelmed; everyone was trying to call everyone else to speculate about the mystery threat that had halted all air travel. Hopefully, Amber would be home; it was well after eight p.m. on Sunday, and Amber usually had to wake up early on Mondays for her part-time breakfast cafe job.

  Amber’s one-bedroom apartment was on 10th Avenue, on the fourth floor of a walk-up building that hadn’t been renovated since the eighties. The building looked and smelled terrible, but the rent was low—by Manhattan standards, at least—and Amber could afford it on her cashier/freelance writer’s income.

  Feeling utterly drained, Emily trudged up the four flights of stairs and rang the doorbell.

  “Emily! Thank God!” Amber all but jumped at Emily, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug the moment the door swung open. “I was so worried about you!”

  “I’m okay,” Emily said, smiling at her friend—who, as usual, was wearing a paint-splattered bohemian dress and had flecks of paint in her thick red hair. Amber was an aspiring artist as well as a writer, and she spent all of her free time working on her paintings. “I’m so sorry I got delayed like that. I didn’t mean to dump George on you for so long. How is he?”

  “Your cat is fine—a total sweetheart, in fact,” Amber said, leading Emily into the apartment. “It was no problem keeping him. But tell me, what happened? You were supposed to return two weeks ago; then I get that mysterious little email from you and then nothing.”

  “Yeah, about that…” Emily put her backpack on the floor. “Can we actually turn on the news first? I think it might be easier to explain after the President gives his speech.”

  “What?” Amber gave her a confused frown. “What speech?”

  “You haven’t heard, huh?” It wasn’t uncommon for Amber to avoid her phone and computer when she was in the throes of artistic inspiration.

  “I’ve been painting all weekend,” Amber said, confirming Emily’s guess. “Why? Did something happen?”

  “You could say that. Come, let’s turn on the TV.”

  As soon as they entered the living room, a gray ball of fur streaked across the floor, meowing loudly. Laughing, Emily bent down and picked up her cat, who began purring as soon as he was in Emily’s arms.

  “George really missed you,” Amber said, picking up the remote to turn on her TV. “He barely ate the first couple of days, just stared out the window and—oh, shit!”

  The news channel was showing stranded travelers in airports all over the world, with people lying, sitting, and standing all over the terminals. Taxi lines outside seemed to stretch for miles, and traffic jams in and around major airports were horrendous.

  “Yeah, it’s like that in JFK too. I made it in right before they grounded the planes,” Emily said. Sitting down on the couch, she cuddled George tighter against her chest, deriving comfort from his warm, furry body.

  The news anchor was reporting on the situation and speculating on the content of the President’s upcoming press conference. What really puzzled everyone was that it wasn’t just the President who was scheduled to speak at nine. All world leaders were expected to address their citizens at the same time.

  “What’s going on?” The freckles on Amber’s pale face stood out in stark relief as she turned to face Emily. “Do you know something about this?”

  “Just watch,” Emily said as the cameras switched over to the image of the White House, where the President of the United States was walking into the press conference room. Stopping in front of a tall podium, he looked directly into the camera, and Emily noticed lines of tension etched into his normally stoic face.

  “Good evening,” he said, and Emily had to admire his composure. Despite everything, his voice was calm and reassuring. “I’m sure many of you are wondering what’s behind today’s extraordinary events, so I’m going to get straight to the point. Earlier today, NASA detected an unusual object in Earth’s orbit. Shortly thereafter, we—along with most other developed nations—were contacted by a humanoid extraterrestrial species who call themselves the Krinar. Supposedly, they seeded life on Earth billions of years ago by sending us DNA from Krina, their home planet. Afterwards, they guided our evolution with the goal of developing a species that was similar to them in many ways. We are that species, and they have deemed this to be the right time to make contact with us. Their ambassador has assured me that, while they do intend to build a few settlements on our planet, they are interested in peaceful coexistence, not war.”

  He stopped to take a breath, and the room exploded with questions, the reporters trying to outshout one another.

  “How do you know this is for real and not some hoax?” screamed a blond woman.

  “What do they look like? Where is their planet?” yelled a tall, balding man.


  “Is the object in our orbit their ship? How did they approach unseen?”

  “How did they get here? Do they have faster-than-light travel?”

  “What kind of technology do they have? What kind of weapons?”

  “What are they really after? How do we know their intentions are peaceful?”

  “Why do they want to build settlements here? Are they trying to colonize us?”

  This went on for a solid minute until the President raised his hand, palm facing out.

  “Silence, please,” he said in that calming voice of his—the voice that had served him so well during the election and subsequent presidency. Instantly, the reporters quieted down, the frantic roar in the room dying down to an uneasy hum.

  “Now,” the President said, “I’ll do my best to address some of your questions. NASA has confirmed that the object in our orbit is indeed one of their ships. There are several more ships nearby in our solar system. At this point, we are certain that this is not a hoax. Their ambassador has told us that Krina is in a different galaxy. Given that, the Krinar must have the means to travel faster than the speed of light. Their technology appears to be far more advanced than our own, and we assume their weapons must be too. However, since we have no reason to believe that their intentions are hostile, that should not be cause for concern. As far as their external appearance, it is human. The image of the Krinar ambassador will be distributed to the news outlets immediately after this press conference. This is all we know at this point; as we learn more, we will disseminate that information. In the meanwhile, I urge you all to stay calm and go about your lives as normally as possible. This is a great turning point in our history. Let’s make sure it’s one we can look back on with pride. Thank you all, and good night.”

  The room exploded again, but the President was already walking out, surrounded by his aides. As soon as he left the room, the image on the TV screen split into eighths to show similar press conferences taking place all over the globe, and the anchor—who looked as shell-shocked as the viewers undoubtedly felt—began to summarize the President’s speech.