by Ansel Gough
A few small boxes and other tools—ax, shovel, rope—lay scattered around. No sign of a dumb ass. Although something could squeeze up in the corners against the bed wall, out of sight. Chris got up onto his knees. He really wanted to cover every inch of the bed, just to be sure. His forehead pressed to the cold glass, trying to see around the corners. Trying to see deep into every part. Then something shifted. “Shit.” Chris jumped, and so did Lisa. Maybe it was just a possum, or some little freak of nature getting out of the light. He wasn’t sure.
“What?” Lisa grabbed his arm.
“I’m not sure.”
Still without a positive ID on anything, Chris moved the light around, changing his position. Suddenly a large, gray, open hand slapped the glass. Chris fell back against the dashboard out of shock, the flashlight dropping to the truck floor. Lisa screamed.
Chris fumbled for the light, trying to compose himself. He felt cold air rush into the cabin. Lisa’s door wide open. Night invading his space. He caught sight of Lisa bolting into the darkness, overcome with fear. Chris watched as she disappeared into the night. Running blind. Shit.
Chris groped again for the flashlight. He felt the truck shift, as though someone was rocking it—moving around in the bed.
Finally snatching the flashlight he lit up the back of the truck again through the back window. A slender figure, one he had never seen before, slipped out the back of the truck. He could hear it moving on the gravel road around to the driver’s side. His eyes were drawn to the open door. Holy shit!
Chris lunged, grabbing the door, slamming it shut and hammer-fisting the lock. The movement outside stopped. All was still. Just the blowing wind and the sound of Chris breathing hard, lowered in his seat, almost on the floor.
He tightly gripped the light, shining it through the driver’s window, his mind racing. He didn’t want to look, but he had to. He had to know what was really out there. Was this just some sick, outback, hillbilly practical joke? Did they know about his son? And if it was a joke, someone was going to get a serious whoop ass. He could feel his fear turning to rage. He took two quick breaths. “ARRRGHHH!” he yelled, the scream so loud it ripped his throat raw.
He clenched his fist, tucking in all his fingers, making a tight wrecking ball. “WHERE’S MY SON, MOTHER—”
His war cry was dampened by the enclosed truck and whipping wind.
Chris kicked open the door, ready for a fight. Adrenaline replaced fear. His flashlight searched for his enemy. The truck sat alone on the empty road, its headlights shining into the sparse trees. Chris spun around. No one was there. He ran around the truck, shining the light in the back and underneath. Nothing.
Chapter Eight
Isolation
Lisa exploded through the trees, smashing branches and twigs, dodging in and out, only the moonlight to guide her way. Branches struck her body and face like thousands of tiny whips. Her bare arms and legs absorbing the punishment. As she pushed forward, a short, razor-sharp twig sliced her right cheek; adrenaline suppressed the sting. She pressed on. Gotta get away.
She glanced over her shoulder, blood dripping down her cheek. Breathing hard, her lungs craved oxygen. Her body shook uncontrollably; every part trembled with fear.
Hard dirt mounds tripped her. Stumbling, she braced herself as both hands skidded on rocks and sandy dirt. Wincing in pain she dusted grazed hands, which burned like fire.
Summoning her last remaining energy, she climbed up a small, rocky embankment. Had to find a place to hide. To hide long enough to make sure it was safe. Her eyes glanced around in front of her.
Just the open wilderness.
She’d always loved nature. Even as a child she loved animals and the great outdoors. Never fearful of even the creepy crawlies. Other girls would be terrified by the spiders and snakes, but she was fascinated. She seemed to have a connection with them. However, now she found herself running from something she didn’t understand.
She stopped to take a breath, get her bearings.
Dry leaves crunched on the ground behind her. Someone walking? Hopefully Chris coming to find her. She spun to see what was there.
Nothing.
Her heart pounded, as if it would give away her position with its deep thumping. She tried to calm herself, taking a deep breath. She reminded herself that the adrenaline surging through her body, shaking her core, was there to help. It was the only thing she could do to get a grip. It worked, a bit.
She reached into her pocket. A ranger always kept a Swiss army knife on them for all occasions. She fumbled with the knife, still looking up to scan the area, while trying to open the three-inch blade. Her shaking fingers couldn’t get the little blade out. Come on you bitch-of-a-bastard!
Finally her nail caught the little slit and folded out the blade. She held the little knife in front, taking a fighting stance, ready to fight for her life. Her head moved from side to side, searching, waiting for the impending attack.
The sound of movement felt as though it was all around her, as though something was circling, hiding amongst the trees, stalking her. Her body naturally followed the movement, to face whatever it was head on.
The movement stopped. The predator yet to show itself. Her eyes darted around; she held her breath. It seemed eerily quiet. Not even the crickets were chirping, as though all of nature was lying low, disturbed by this unknown visitor.
Air slowly escaped from her partly opened mouth as she exhaled. She breathed in again through her nose, filling her lungs; out through the mouth, trying to calm herself. She repositioned her fingers around her knife. Sweaty palms made the small knife slippery. A chill ran up her back, down her arms to her fingertips and over her head. Her arms felt heavy and weak, as if they would fail her if she had to use them. Fear gripped her body as the creature came into view, its slender frame silhouetted in the moonlight. It stood maybe six feet tall. Its lean build was that of an extreme athlete. Its black, oversized, almond-shaped eyes glistened in the blue light. Darkness made it hard to see its strange face, but it appeared to have a very small mouth; a couple of holes for a nose.
It slowly advanced toward her, head slightly turned as though it was examining her. She froze, wanting to run, but unable to. She could see it better now—not that she wanted to—its gray skin the look of rubber. It had what appeared to be a skin-tight bodysuit over its slim body, covering its arms to the wrists and to the end of its toes. Its movement very calculated and unnatural—between human and machine. Its arms moved with the same corresponding leg as it walked.
Tears threatened again to fill Lisa’s eyes, but she refused to let them come. It was all surreal. It was all too much. She felt a confused mix of curiosity and fear. Fear dominated. Her chest thumped from a pounding heart; every breath rapid; almost hyperventilating.
She gripped the knife, her only defense.
She didn’t know whether she could face this strange creature, or would she just crumble and drop the knife?
With seconds to spare, she made a decision: run!
Turning to run, her ankle twisted and crunched. Lisa swallowed her scream and stumbled to the ground, the blade tumbling across the dry ground. The wind knocked out of her, she lay face down in the dirt, the knife just a few feet from her fingertips. She could hear the creature getting closer. She turned over to look back, her hand searching, searching for anything to grab—a rock, a branch, dirt! She clenched a small branch, tossing it aimlessly toward the advancing freak. A useless but desperate effort.
A tear trickled down her cheek. “Stay away from me!” she screamed, pleaded.
The creature continued, ignorant of her plea. Ignorant or deaf.
“STAY. BACK!” She screeched out each word at the top of her lungs. It continued to advance, almost in reaching distance. Rolling over she dragged herself along the ground toward the knife. She clutched it, along with dirt. Adrenaline primed her body, ready to defend itself. But just as she was about to whip her body around with a screaming slash—
Lisa’s truck barreled through the bushes, crushing its own road. It burst through to the open, rocky area where the two stood. Chris could see the strange creature standing close to Lisa, now fixated on him and the speeding truck.
Chris pushed the truck harder, straight toward it. As the truck bounced, Chris lost sight of both of them, just for a split second. As soon as it stabilized, he only saw Lisa, still on the ground.
The gray, gone.
The four-by-four pulled to an abrupt stop, small rocks crunching under its tires. Lisa, more than happy to see Chris, desperately hobbled on an injured ankle to the passenger door.
***
Hitting a mound of dirt the truck bounced into the air, landing front wheels first, back onto the sandy road. Twisting and crunching, the old truck had never known so much abuse; a trail of destruction left in its wake. Chris was intense, not taking his eyes off the road.
Lisa was in shock—dazed. She stared straight ahead. “Destroying plants in a national park is an offence,” she said in a monotone voice. All her confused mind could think of was the damage Chris had caused. That was all she wanted to think of. It was the only way to feel somewhat normal again.
Chris glanced over at her for a moment. Dumbfounded. It was something his wife would say to him. Maybe it was a woman thing, to think of something other than themselves.
His eyes drifted down to the white-gold wedding band around his finger. It was snug. When they first got married, it was loose and he had to be careful not to lose it. He would often leave it at home for safe keeping when at work, much to his Kate’s disappointment. Kate preferred he let other women know he was spoken for. How would she react with him driving around the outback of Australia with a young woman in the car at night? Kate wasn’t really the jealous type. She trusted Chris, but she preferred to avoid confusion and the appearance of wrongdoing. Chris loved that about her.
Chapter Nine
Black Tracker
Dabbing rubbing alcohol on her grazed knee Lisa winced in pain. She sat on the step at the front of the ranger station with a first-aid kit. The morning songs of the local birds sounded out amongst the trees; the sun barely up. Chris leaned against the side of his Cherokee watching on as Sergeant Jack MacKenzie circled around Lisa’s truck. He had his notebook out, slowly taking down notes.
Bits of trees and shrubs hung off the front bullbar. Dried-vegetation skid marks painted the front and sides of the truck. Fresh dents covered the hood; a crack across the windshield; the side mirror—completely ripped off. MacKenzie pulled some of the small branches off and dropped them onto the ground. “Looks like you took out a few trees,” he called over to Chris.
Chris reluctantly pushed off the side of the Cherokee with his back to join MacKenzie.
“You’re sure you hit the, arr … alien?” MacKenzie said as he scratched the side of his face. He wasn’t sure what to make of their story.
Chris nodded. “I must have.”
MacKenzie leaned in to look at the hood a little more closely. “Have you had anything to drink?” He scratched at some of the paint/skid marks with his fingernail.
Chris shook his head, crossing his arms. Lisa approached from behind to join the conversation.
MacKenzie looked up from his notebook. “We’ll have to run some tests.” He stood back to take in the whole vehicle, taking a few snap shots on an ancient-looking digital camera—first generation, very low quality, very outdated.
He slowly moved around the truck, looking it up and down, snapping the camera as he proceeded. Chris and Lisa slowly followed behind. They weren’t sure what he was looking for, but it didn’t take much guess work to know he didn’t believe them. They finally reached the bed. MacKenzie rested his arms on the tailgate, staring into the empty bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and down to the back of his neck, giving it a small rub.
He removed a small flashlight from his police belt, holding it loosely. “And you had it in the back as well?” MacKenzie continued.
Lisa nodded. MacKenzie’s flashlight sparked on, shining around the bed. Nothing unusual there. “Then it jumped out and chased you?” He scratched the side of his head with the back of his light. “So how did you get it in the back in the first place?”
“We didn’t put it in the back!” Lisa said. “It was just in there!”
MacKenzie turned to face them, leaning his back against the truck. “So it just climbed in there itself?”
“I don’t know. I guess so,” Lisa said, putting her hands on her hips, getting a little exasperated.
“This is getting a little out of my expertise.” MacKenzie closed up his little notebook and slipped it into his top shirt pocket. “Nothing more I can do here.”
“What about the Baker family?” Lisa took a step toward him. “Don’t you want to see where they were—” she bit her bottom lip, not sure if she wanted to believe what she was going to say “—taken?”
MacKenzie started to walk towards his patrol four-by-four. “Lisa, can I talk with you for a moment?” Lisa followed the sergeant over to his truck, just out of earshot from Chris.
MacKenzie rested his hands on his belt. He looked down on Lisa with chastising eyes. “To put it bluntly, I don’t believe you or the Yank.” He nodded his head toward Chris. “You’re better than this. I’m not sure what you guys are up to alone out here. And I don’t know what game he’s playing. Seems to me, he’s trying to get some sort of media attention, some renewed interest in his son’s disappearance. Not that I can probably blame the guy.”
“It’s the truth,” Lisa said softly.
MacKenzie looked around behind him, as if searching for an imaginary friend to back him up, and scratched his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t know if he got you drunk, or drugged you—but this is just bullshit. Surely you don’t expect me to believe this? I’ve been around these parts all my life.”
“I don’t drink, remember?” Lisa fired back.
MacKenzie shook his head in disbelief. He raised an index finger, wanting to speak, but just gave up. What would be the point?
He slowly climbed into his four-by-four.
“Jack?” Lisa called, wanting to reason with him. MacKenzie slammed the door. She tapped on the window. He punched the gas, leaving her stunned and in a cloud of dust.
***
Loose pieces of the Baker’s tent flapped about as a small breeze blew through their deserted campsite. Chris walked around the site looking for clues. He squatted down, staring into the vacant tent. How could a family of four just disappear? Could this be what happened to his son? Wrong place, wrong time. Plucking grass off the ground he played with it between his fingers. Contemplating. There was nothing to see here. No evidence of anything strange.
He was careful not to touch anything. This place would soon be a crime scene and he didn’t want to mess that up. His training had taught him that; he had never worked any kind of investigation, but had served for a number of years as a part-time guardsman in the National Guard when he was in college. The plan was to go on to Special Forces, but he didn’t make the cut. It sounded cool, but his heart really wasn’t in it. The pay was the main attraction at the time. It helped out with college fees and he got paid to stay fit. Even though it had been many years since he served, he still retained a lot of the discipline and expertise learned.
***
The hot, morning sun beat down on Chris’ parked Cherokee. It was parked in almost the same spot as Lisa’s truck the night before; the place where Lisa took flight into the wilderness to escape.
Chris wandered off a short distance, walking the trail of destruction he had carved into the fragile landscape. Crushed and bro
ken trees lay before him.
Finally making it to the small clearing where he had found Lisa, he searched the surrounds. He struggled to believe what he had seen last night. How could anyone else be expected to believe it? And he had seen it with his own eyes. It was crazy talk. A dog barked in the near distance, breaking his thoughts. Following the sound of the barking dog he made his way up onto a slight ridge overlooking a small clearing. In the distance three men and the dog searched through the scrub.
The muscular, brown-haired pit-bull pulled hard against its leash. Its thick, studded collar was a sure sign it was used in these parts for pig hunting. And it was hot on a scent, but not for pigs. Roy was on the other end of the leash, fighting with one hand to stop the dog from running off. His other hand busy nursing his shotgun.