Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609)

by J. K. Accinni

  He looked over to the man guarding him as he moved around in the cockpit, readying his flight. He glanced back to the lounge and saw Tarek hand a gun to Abdul. He could see from the cockpit that whatever had been on the van was now stowed away in the belly of the jet. He looked away as Tarek came forward. The Arab nodded to the man guarding him, instructing him to leave the cockpit.

  “Your wife and child will be released once this flight has reached its destination. I do not want you disturbed by the images of what will happen to your wife and child if this plane does not arrive in Las Vegas. My disappointment will be swift. Abdul will be left onboard to guide you. He is a simple man with a simple task. But you are not to underestimate his determination to martyr himself. Are we clear?”

  Joe stared at the man holding the gun on him, wondering what kind of life he must lead to be able to do this to an innocent family. Or is he just insane?

  “I asked you if all is clear to you. Did you not hear me?” The gun was at his throat, painfully pressed against his Adam’s apple.

  “Yes, yes, I understand.” His movements seemed to be in slow motion as he fastened himself in. Clearly there was to be no flight plan filed. He wondered if the airport would alert the authorities.

  “A flight plan was filed for you this morning. We could not take the chance with you, now could we? And yes, I realize you have probably guessed our cargo, but fear not. You are not the only one. Another plane will take off two hours after you, for another destination. It is headed for New York City. We know the plane will never get close enough to the city to do any damage so we plan to offload to a waiting truck. The authorities will be so busy with the results of your little excursion that they will be too busy to check all of the small little ways one can penetrate the defensive line of such a big city. But we will not be suspected this time. The Pakistani government will be blamed. On instruction from China and Russia, of course. Everyone knows how Pakistan betrays the U.S. as it sucks away at your taxpayers’ money. And you know the Israelis will have to respond when their wounded devil cousin demands retribution.

  “Can you see the delightful possibilities?” His face shined, greasy with religious fervor, demonic malevolence making his eyes glitter. Joe looked away, wanting to be sick, wishing he could die now. He had no reason to live with his family in their hands. His life was done.

  Leaning over his seat, he vomited. Tarek looked down, seeing the vomit splash his socks and his sandals. He glared in disgust.

  “What do you expect?” Wiping his mouth on the tail of his shirt, Joe fatalistically turned back to his gauges. “What if I told you I’m too sick to fly?”

  “I would have to call my associates keeping company with your wife and baby. I would then have to ask them if they were feeling too sick to do their jobs. What do you think they might say?”

  Joe decided to keep his mouth shut. He rubbed his stomach, hoping it would settle down. There was nothing he could do or say to change what was going to happen. Everything that mattered to him had been viciously snatched away. He stared blankly out the windshield, feeling venom in his blood. Nothing he could do? Nothing . . .? He shut his eyes for a second then took a deep breath. These scum fuckers haven’t heard the last of Mama Lansing’s oldest boy Joe. Not by a long shot . . .

  Chapter 17

  Kenya McCready tried unsuccessfully to make herself comfortable in Captain Cobby’s stateroom. Pregnancy sure brought out the chivalry in a man. Even though he had kindly insisted she rest in his own cabin, she still could not rid herself of the conflicting smells of salt water, wet fur, dung and fish. This was definitely not her idea of a cushy break from the sanctuary. She rubbed her expanding middle reflexively. Sauntering over to the side of the room, she opened the porthole in case she needed to vomit. Her stomach rebelled, queasy from the slight rocking motion of the yacht. Yeah, the yacht’s the real deal. She wished the girls back at the home could see her here. But without the animals. And the smells. Maybe with an icy margarita, some jive-ass tunes and one or two sizzling hot, fine pieces of dude flesh to hang on her every gesture.

  *

  An hour ago, she had stood at the side of the extra-wide metal gangplank attached from the dock to the yacht. The animals had placidly trudged over the gangplank. Terrified to cut in line, especially when the camels started to board, she had decided she would happily wait her turn, preferring to evade the brunt of their wicked kicks.

  The craziest thing had been the cats: the lions and the tigers. They had chuffed, unusually alert, heads moving like metronomes, slowly taking stock of their surroundings. Yet they had showed no reaction to the unusual situation. They had single-mindedly padded onboard, deliberately taking their time. No fighting. Not even a quick spat with a kennel mate.

  She had thought it looked like a contrived scene from a movie. As she had marveled at the behavior of the cats, she had seen two men working furiously inside the yacht directing the animals where to go once they had made it onboard. The cats, bears and the ungulates had made themselves comfortable on the large, slippery fiberglass deck. The camels had settled down nicely, looking very comfortable, sitting with their legs tucked under their big brown bodies. Their curly heads had swayed this way and that, long batting eyelashes above expressive eyes which missed nothing.

  The bears, all eight of them, had taken up more than their share of room at the bow of the yacht. Massive furry craniums had rested on commodious haunches to create a seamless clique.

  Her attention had veered to the back of the line where Abby stood, trying to hurry along the herd of goats. She had motioned to Kenya, waving her over.

  “I need Captain Cobby and his son Kane. Go onboard and find them for me, please. I need them to help me with the turtles. Go ahead now.”

  Kenya had eyed the gangplank. The goats had reached the yacht and boarded, funneling to the deck next to the cats. Oh boy. She had winced as they settled down next to the felines. The gangplank had been almost clear. A troop of ring-tail lemurs, after prancing their way across the lawn, had joined her as she took her turn on the gangplank.

  “Captain Cobby? Captain?” Kenya had waved her hand in the air as the two men had looked up, watching her waddle onto the yacht, all long caramel legs and belly. “Oh, Captain Cobby, Abby needs you. You too, chicky.” Eyeing Kane, she had placed her hand on her back to support her spine. “Something about the turtles. She probably needs help lifting them.”

  “Miss, you look like you could use a place to lie down.” The captain had taken her arm, unexpectedly directing her through the salon to the cabins. He had opened the first door they had come to. “Take mine, it’ll be safe for you here.” Clearly trying to get her out of the way, he had smiled charmingly, then closed the door with her safely inside.

  Yeah, inside with all the rocking and the disgusting smells. Fuming, she paced the small room, missing all the action. She fingered a golden hoop dangling from her ear. What about the hunk of hotness who appears to be the captain’s son? Maybe this little jaunt wouldn’t be all work, after all. If she didn’t get out of this cabin, she wouldn’t be meeting anyone. She wondered what had happened to Abby’s brother, Scotty. Yeah, two hot guys who could be at her beck and call. Excitement at the juicy opportunity made her bold.

  Turning to the stateroom door, she cracked it open, finding no one about. Listening, she could hear banging from above.

  Cautiously, she crept across the salon to the stairs, side-stepping a troop of elderly monkeys. She glanced down at her foot, her sneaker landing on something squishy. She wrinkled her nose and wiped it on the side of the steps. Ah, why bother. It’s not like it won’t happen again. Slowly, she ascended the stairs, peering around the deck. The coast was clear. She scampered back toward the gangplank in time to see everyone rushing across the yard to the yacht.

  The strange man she had met on their arrival held a young girl in his arms. Jose, she remembered. He was crying. Scotty ran alongside them with his funky little pet on his hip. Is he crying too? Th
e captain’s son carried a Louis Vuitton suitcase, probably a fake, she sniffed. Abby and the captain shouted to get out of the way, manhandling a large thirty-five-pound wood tortoise between them. She backed up against the railing, quickly removing herself from their path.

  The sound of a gruff broken motor drew her attention to the ground behind the procession. Bringing up the rear, an overlooked tiny brown dog tried to keep up. He looked like a long-haired toy poodle with a turned-up nose. She could hardly make out his features. He just looked like an entirely curly brown mop head. Brown eyes without any white, brown drop of a nose, barely discernible brown lips. Except for his teeth, she realized, as he grimaced comically up at her. Itty bitty white chicklets. He looked like a baby werewolf. As the crowd rushed past her, she scooped him up. He snuggled up on her shoulder against her neck, just like he belonged there. Flicking his teeny pink tongue out, he licked her cheek, a quick thank you. Yes, I do have that effect on men and boys. Giving the little dog a soft kiss, she carried him back down into the salon where all the action was congregating.

  The salon reeked with noise and hot smells. Jose placed the young girl on the sofa where she lay unconscious. Abby and the captain clambered down the stairs after having secured the turtle. Jose started yelling at Abby.

  “What the hell is going on here? These are the cats you told me about? Are you kidding me? And I guess you just forgot to mention the bears?” Kenya decided to find a quiet seat in the corner where she could sort out who was who. Looking past Abby to the doorway, she saw a man and woman enter the salon. A child trailed behind them. Holy Christ. It looked as if they had been beaten. She knew exactly what those bruises meant. Bracing the little brown dog still perched comfortably on her shoulder, she took a seat at the granite table near the galley and tuned in, trying to make sense of all the shouting voices.

  “I told you we have cats.” Abby turned away to open a door which let out a deluge of dogs. A liver and white springer spaniel, a small skunky looking Shih Tzu, and a pumped up curly-haired, white mutt which ran over to Abby’s brother, jumping up on his leg. The funny little creature he called his pet flew out of Scotty’s arms to land on the back of the white dog’s neck, where he perched, wrapping his skinny leathery arms around the dog as if it was his long lost buddy. Scotty spoke from the sofa where he sat holding the young girl’s hand.

  “They’re not dangerous. Echo implanted them. They do exactly what we want them to do. We had to save them, Jose. Can we worry about the cats later? What about Chloe?”

  Abby’s cute brother was mighty concerned about the girl on the sofa. A colorful macaw abruptly flew into the salon, touching down atop the stainless steel refrigerator next to her. She carefully opened the refrigerator, juggling the little brown dog on her shoulder. Scanning the shelves, she grabbed an apple. Removing a knife from the drawer at the sink, she sliced into the apple, handing a piece to the macaw. The brilliantly feathered creature took it in his claw and made himself busy eating, as if he knew all along that refrigerators were for perching on and copping fresh goodies. Turning back to the crowded salon, she saw everyone staring at her.

  “Hey, chickies.” She gave a cute little salute and took her seat at the table. She felt the pointed stare of the moon-faced guy who had entered with the beaten woman and child. She thought the woman could be pretty if she didn’t have the cut down the side of her face, ending with a poorly stitched lip. The man’s round bespectacled face bore into her own; telegraphing suspicious hostility. Hey, what’d I do? The dorky guy turned his back to her, opening his mouth to speak as the captain pushed him aside.

  “We’re all loaded. The trucks are on their way to Tampa. They’ll meet us at the dock. I think it would help if everyone sat down and we filled them in on the plan. We need to get organized down here so I can cast off. Everyone here is going?”

  Kenya sprang up out of her chair.

  “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. You have to let me off and take me back. I got responsibilities, ya know.”

  Abby raised her hand at Kenya. “Give me a minute, will you? I’ll let you make up your own mind about what you want to do. Although I would prefer that you decide to come with us. That’s an invitation, of course.” She lowered her hand, turning back to the crowd in the salon.

  “Why did you bring Chloe onboard? Is she sick?”

  Scotty started to speak the same time as Jose, who still shed silent tears. “I tried to tell you. Chloe is my sister.”

  Abby looked skeptical at Jose’s words.

  “What—?”

  “Please, just listen to me. We’ve been through hell. Did you know Chloe’s father turned out to be Omar Nasir? Her Uncle Brooks was the same Senor Brooks who orchestrated my adoption to the Diaz family. Those monkeys over there are his.” He pointed to the elderly troop that had made themselves comfortable all over the elegant sideboard near Kenya. “Remember Scotty telling us about them? Well, they’re the very same monkeys that lived down the street from my house when I was a boy and my parents were murdered. The whole thing was some kind of a plot to steal a baby for Nasir’s wife. Chloe is my baby sister. They stole her and murdered my parents.” Jose broke down, cradling the young girl in his arms, his tears dripping down into her hair.

  “My God.” Abby and Scotty looked shocked to the core. The captain and his son looked uneasy, Captain Cobby’s face draining of color.

  “This is Omar Nasir’s daughter? Kane, you must have known that. They’ve lived on the island for years. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Dad, Chloe is younger than me so I never paid that much attention. It’s not like I hung out with her until Scotty started to date her. I didn’t grow up around here like everyone else, remember?” The bitterness in his voice caught Kenya’s ear. She stood up, clapping her hands over the din.

  “We’ve got to call the cops. No, the newspapers. This is big.” Kenya whipped out her cellphone, looking over to Abby with raised eyebrows.

  “No, Kenya, the police can’t do anything. They’re all dead. They’re dead.” Jose wept, blubbering through his tears as Abby held his hand.

  “Baby, tell me what happened. Who’s dead?” Abby looked back up at her brother. “Scotty, what happened?”

  Without warning, Abby, Scotty and Jose froze, then turned to the funny little creature with the fanny pack and shades. They appeared to be waiting for the little guy to talk to them.

  “What bad man, Echo?” They continued looking at the creature. Abby suddenly made a fist and brought it to her mouth. “Oh my God. Echo killed him?” She turned back to her brother.

  “Yeah. Looks like Chloe’s uncle killed Mrs. Elbarad, too. We saw him shoot Chloe’s father.”

  “He wasn’t her father.” The bitterness in Jose’s voice brought their attention back to the young girl. Kenya was just beginning to realize Abby’s brother might be involved with her. Chloe. She watched as he stroked her hair, her head lying motionless on Jose’s lap. Hmmm, the girl must be a little older than I first thought. But what was that action with the creature? Oh yeah, that’s right. Her name’s Echo. I’m sure Abby was talking to the creature. Echo. And it seemed like Echo gave her an answer right back. She was starting to get nervous. Just what the fuck’s happening here?

  “Uh, Abby?” She stood and waved her hand to get Abby’s attention. She started to squirm with everyone’s attention on her. “I think I should go now.” She plastered a great big smile on her face, feeling her facial muscles rebel. “I think you can handle everything from here, so I’ll just say goodbye.” Edging to the stairs, she backed up as she spoke.

  “Peter, can you handle Miss McCready for me, please? She must need to lie down by now.” Nodding at Kenya’s obvious condition, Abby pointed toward the cabins.

  “No, no, that’s okay, I feel fine.” Kenya kept the smile beaming as the dorky guy with the specs attempted to maneuver her to the cabin hallway. He shoved her through the door to one of the smaller cabins, isolating her from everyone.

  �
��Kenya dear, would you please have a seat?”

  She shot him an imperious evil eye. Peter the dork couldn’t have sounded any more patronizing if he tried. “Don’t think so, chicky. Either you let me out of here, or I’m calling my lawyer. By the way, what’s with everyone wearing the stupid wraparound shades? Not cool at all. Did you see them on the weird-oh pet of Scott’s?”

  “I am a lawyer. They have eye infections. Now sit down.”

  She could see his temper start to sizzle beneath his oh so prissy manners. His face looked like it had been dipped in blanched putty, all saggy and stiff. Almost like he had lost the ability to show expression. Weird dude.

  “That’s better. So where do you live?”

  “What’s it to you?” She perched carefully on the edge of the only chair in the cramped room. Taking her time, she primly smoothed her white shorts, crossing her shapely legs as if she were waiting for her royal escort to arrive to sweep her away to the ball.

  “Quite the prima donna, aren’t you?” He sat with his head cocked, as if listening for something. Just as she was going to let him have it, she heard a noise which could only mean the engines were starting. The yacht slowly glided away from the dock. She saw the shore diminishing through the porthole to Peter’s left.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She bounced up out of the chair before he could stop her, swinging open the cabin door, prepared to give Abby a very unflattering piece of her mind. She stopped dead as if she had been struck by a lightning bolt. Her eyes beheld a glowing brilliance—was it gold? No, it was all different colors—generating from Abby, Jose and Scott’s eyes. She backed up, smacking into Peter as he emerged from the hallway. Pushing her aside he sat down next to the child, who appeared to belong to the woman with the gruesome lip. Without commenting, he spoke softly to Abby, who, along with Jose and her brother, had removed their shades to light up the room. Dumbfounded, she collapsed on the floor, finally speechless. Her mind raced, her flight or fight instinct engaged, honed by all the years she had taken care of herself. She was finding it near impossible to accept that the incandescent colors were coming from their eyes. She scanned the room, her gaze landing on Scott’s pet, Echo, as she observed it removing its ridiculous sunglasses to expose the same luminous eyes. What the heck?