Fire in the Woods

by Jennifer M. Eaton

  One thing for sure—he was hurt, and I was all he had. “David, this is really serious. You’re going to need a doctor.”

  A bead of sweat trailed from his hairline to his cheek. “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  I picked up the phone, but David, still clutching his hand, kicked it out of my reach.

  His eyes teared up. He shoved his fist under his arm. “I told you, no hospital.”

  “Okay, you can be an idiot, or you can let me help you.”

  He sprinted to the sink. “Just let me take care of this. I’ll be okay.”

  Apparently, the choice of the day is idiot. I turned on the water for him. He placed his wounded hand into the stream and rested his cheek on the opposite arm. Breathing labored, he hid the ghastly sight from me. Not that I really wanted to see it, but he needed serious help. This was no time to be chivalrous.

  I opened the corner cabinet and pulled out gauze and tape. “You need to at least let me bandage it.”

  He dabbed his palm against his shirt and looked at it. “It’s not that bad.”

  I shook the box of gauze at him. “Did you see how much of your hand you left on that stove? You’ll probably need a skin graft or something.” I opened the box.

  Frowning, he backed away. “I’m okay. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Here, give me the bandage.” He held out his good hand.

  Raising an eyebrow, I held out my own palm. “Give me your hand so I can look at it. I need to see how bad it really is.”

  He drew his injured hand tighter to his chest. “Jess, please, just let it go. It really doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  A sense of tranquility crept over me.

  No. Not this time. I didn’t know who he was, or how he made me calm all the time, but I wasn’t going to allow my instincts to slip into oblivion ever again. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.

  I grasped his wrist. He winced.

  Didn’t hurt?

  My left butt cheek it didn’t hurt.

  I flipped his hand over, but he held his fingers in a tight fist. His pinky, blackened like char, stretched out slightly from the waxy bubbled skin beneath.

  Oh Shi…dang. His hand wasn’t on there that long, was it? Maybe I really didn’t want to see the rest, but I had to.

  “Open up.”

  His brow twisted, his eyes implored. “Jess, please…”

  Let it go, Jess, he said he’s fine.

  Pushing my own thoughts aside, I gritted my teeth, threw the box of gauze on the counter, and pried his fingers opened. Well, I tried to at least. Darn he was strong.

  A puff slipped from his lips. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

  He opened his hand.

  Sometimes your brain can’t compute what your eyes see. Sometimes you need to stare, hoping maybe you’ll wake up and find out everything was a dream. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t wake up.

  David’s lower lip quivered. Agony and fear quaked in his eyes. I held his gaze. Thoughts of him freezing in mild temperatures, magically appearing in my room, staring at birds and spiders as if he’d never seen them before…All very strange. Maybe unexplainable. Or was it?

  My gaze trailed back down his arm, along his strong wrist, and over the rolls of waxy-white melted skin, to the light purple mottled flesh it had once concealed.

  Purple. Mottled. Flesh.

  I took the deepest breath of my life and held it. Swallowing down hard, I bit my tongue, but I didn’t wake up. The taste of copper spread through my mouth.

  David’s palm trembled in mine. “I really wish you’d say something.”

  I let his hand go and backed away. “I, I don’t even know what to say.” Hugging myself tightly, I paced the room, fumbling with pieces of a puzzle that were fitting incomprehensively in my head.

  Another deep breath didn’t help the freak-out simmering in my chest, building, burning, and begging me to high-tail it out of there. I forced in another slow, controlled breath as I walked into the living room. I sensed him following me, but I stared in the opposite direction, focusing on nothing.

  Reaching the most calm I could hope for, I turned. “This is why the Army wants you. You have purple skin under your regular skin.”

  David looked down. “You’re smart enough to know it’s a little more than that.”

  9

  My hands shook, my heart played hopscotch in my chest. “Okay.” I paced the floor, rubbing my trembling fingers together. “So, what are you…some kind of science experiment gone awry?”

  He laughed half-heartedly. “No.”

  “Genetic mutant?” I tugged my hair. “David, why the Hell is your hand purple? Why are they looking for you?”

  “One thing at a time.” He sat on the couch. “Can I have that bandage? This actually does hurt pretty bad.”

  My body dove into auto-pilot. I stormed into the kitchen, grabbed the box of gauze, and sat next to him. Biting my lower lip, I turned his hand over. The peachy-pink top layer had melted and peeled back, revealing deep lilac tones beneath. I ran my index finger over the darkest spot, and he winced.

  “Why didn’t you move your hand when it started to burn?”

  “I did. I guess the outer skin layers couldn’t handle that kind of heat.”

  Cringing, I ignored the implications of outer skin. First things first. I started a loose gauze-wrap. “How long will this take to heal?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been burned before.”

  A few pieces of white tape sealed off the dressing.

  “Thanks,” David said.

  I bought some extra time by picking up the medical supplies piece by piece and arranging them neatly in the box. Out of plausible means of procrastination, I sat in the recliner and stared at the carpet. I counted how may strands of the pile I could see. At eight hundred and forty-one, I closed my eyes and turned to him.

  “I’m waiting,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “I’m not really sure what to say.”

  “Okay, let me help with a topic. Why are you purple?”

  David straightened. His lips parted, taking in a slow breath. “I was born that way.”

  “This is going to take all day if you’re going to answer like that.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” He brushed his fingers over the bandage. His lips tried to form several words before he raised his eyes. “I’m Erescopian.”

  “Meaning?”

  He set his jaw, blinked, and began: “I was born on a transport ship. This is only the second world I’ve ever set foot on.”

  Huh? “Wait. What? Are you telling me you’re from another planet?”

  “Not really. I guess you can say my parents were from another planet. I was born in space.”

  A giggle burst from my lips. “Come on. Seriously.”

  David looked down and fiddled with the edge of his bandage.

  I took a deep breath, searching for comprehension. “I don’t believe in little green men.”

  “Technically I’m not little. I’m bigger than you are, and I’m not green.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You can’t be from another planet. That’s called science-fiction. Accent on the fiction. It’s not real.”

  “Okay, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to lie to you?”

  “Yes.” My voice quaked.

  “I, I…” He sighed. “I don’t know enough about your culture to make up anything convincing.”

  I covered my face with my hands and rubbed my eyes. The calm settled over me again. This time I let it, relished it, but the truth still seeped in. “This is real? You’re really from another planet?”

  He nodded.

  Eight hundred and forty-two, eight hundred and forty-three. I concentrated as hard as I could on the carpet. Anything was better than dealing with this insanity. I wish I didn’t believe him, but I did. It explained a lot.

  I looked up into his s
wirling blue eyes. Not blue. Turquoise. Not human. They’d never been human. How could I have been so blind?

  Aliens. It was crazy. I mean, movies and books and stuff talk about aliens. It’s entertainment, right? Not real life. My hands formed fists. I needed to keep it together.

  This was a story. The story of a freaking lifetime, and I was the only one who knew. I needed to find out what was going on. Be calm. Be cool. If he was going to eat me or snatch my body, he’d have done it already. I glanced at my camera. Should I take a picture of his hand? Get proof? Soon, but I needed to know what was going on first.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “My ship crashed the night before we met. I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do. I ran, and then I met you.”

  “So you’ve only been here four days? How do you speak English so well?”

  “I extracted your language from you a minute or two before we met.”

  “Extracted?”

  He rubbed his chin. “You screamed when I did it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

  “That loud, screeching noise in the woods?”

  “Yeah.”

  I held my forehead. “Holy crap.”

  A pounding on the front door started us. David darted to the door and peeked through the sidelights. “It’s a girl.”

  “Maggie.” I sprang for the door, unlocked, and opened it.

  She ramrodded her way in, smashing the door toward David, concealing him.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, looking around. “We’ve got to get you out of here. They are starting house-to-house searches. They know David’s on the base somewhere. Sweetie, I have a really bad feeling that your friend…”

  David kicked the door closed. The color drained from Maggie’s face.

  I squeezed her hand. “You were right, Maggie. David is the guy our dads are looking for.”

  “Hello, Maggie,” David said.

  Her eyes bugged out. She froze, agape. After a moment, she turned cautiously, as if standing on cracked glass. I moved beside David, slipping my hand around his elbow as her gaze slowly dropped over him.

  The fear drained from her eyes. “Da-ha-hang,” she said. “You sure don’t look like you have a flesh-eating disease.”

  I crinkled my brow. “A what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what they said on the news.” She blinked her eyes away from David and turned to me. “If they don’t find him tonight, they’re going to evacuate everyone.”

  Dread crept into my chest. What were we going to do?

  “I don’t have any diseases,” David said.

  “Obviously,” Maggie absent-mindedly spun her golden tresses with her right pointer finger. She’d inched her way into guys’ hearts with that little move since the sixth grade. It never bothered me before, but for some reason this time I struggled to keep from pummeling her to the ground.

  She dropped her hair. “So—Jess is still alive, so I’m guessing you’re not a serial killer or anything, so what’s your deal, anyway?”

  I thought of lying, but it didn't make any sense. I needed help, and Maggie was all I had. “He was in the plane that exploded the other day,” I explained. “Well, it wasn’t a plane exactly.”

  Maggie raised her brow, glancing toward David.

  “Short-range communications conveyor vessel,” he said.

  “Huh-wha?” she asked.

  “He’s from another planet.”

  Maggie glared at each of us for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Yeah, right.”

  I should have figured it wouldn’t be that easy, but if they were searching houses, we were in deep trouble. We needed to get this part over with, and quick. “David I know it will probably hurt, but show her your hand.”

  He unrolled the gauze, wincing, and held out his palm, tilting his violescent alien skin into the light.

  I pointed at his wound. “His human-skin melted. That’s his real skin underneath.”

  Maggie scratched her forehead. “I’m still not buying it. I’ve seen what they can do in the movies. That’s not even all that good a make-up job.”

  I huffed. “Maggie, we don’t have time for this.”

  “Does this help?” David grabbed the charred pinky sticking out from the gauze, and twisted. The digit popped right off.

  I nearly puked. Holding my stomach didn’t help. “What the heck did you just do?”

  “It’s a prosthetic. My people don’t have five fingers.” He lifted his hand. The skin around where his pinky should be hung loose like a straw wrapper. The empty flesh wiggled as he flexed his remaining digits. Bile pooled at the bottom of my throat as he massaged the extra flesh on his hand. He pinched it, and the hole disappeared. You’d never know he’d just lost a finger. The skin simply closed over, leaving no trace of the missing pinky.

  “Wait. That’s like, impossible.” The building nausea ebbed away as our gazes met. I guess it wasn’t impossible, because it just happened, but my stomach churned anyway. “That was really creepy.”

  Maggie folded her arms. “Yeah, and fake-looking. What’s up with the freak show? Nothing you do is going to make me believe tall, dark, and gorgeous here is E.T.’s cousin.”

  I rolled my eyes. What would convince her? “David, tell her what she’s thinking.”

  “What?”

  “Read her mind. That will convince her.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not doing that again. You fell to the ground screaming when I extracted your language. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Maggie snorted. “Did you guys rehearse this? ’Cause you’re not all that convincing.”

  “Just do it for a second,” I told David. “Will it still hurt if you don’t yank as much information out of her head?”

  David looked down, sucking in his lower lip.

  Maggie laughed. “Come on, E.T., I gotta see this. Read my mind. Tell me what I’m thinking.”

  David raised his eyes.

  Maggie smirked as his gaze fixed on her. The clock on the wall clicked three times, and all expression melted from her face. She blinked, and rubbed her temples. “Ouch.”

  David’s eyes widened. “Why would you want to do that?” He looked away. “I’m not even sure what that is.”

  I smacked Maggie on the arm.

  “What?” she giggled. “He’s hot.” Her forehead crinkled. “Hey! You just read my mind. That was sooo cool. Do it again.”

  David backed away. “I’m a little afraid to.”

  “Do you believe us now?” I asked.

  “Wow,” she said, rubbing her chin. “If you really are some kind of alien, that would explain a lot. Dad’s been pretty cryptic on the phone, and he’s totally freaked out. He has us all packed and ready to go to our shore house at a minute’s notice.” Her eyes glazed over David. “Boy would my Dad love to get his hands on you.”

  “Maggie, you wouldn’t.”

  “Nah, of course not. I’m not the goody-two-shoes military brat everyone expects me to be.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at David. “Do you still have that People Magazine from last month?”

  What? “Um, Yeah. I think so.”

  I rifled through the magazines on the coffee table and found July’s edition under Dad’s Bass Fisherman Quarterly.

  “Here you go.”

  She plucked the magazine out of my hand. “Huh, I was right.” She held the cover up to David’s face. “Do you know you look almost exactly like Jared Linden?”

  Jared graced the magazine cover, lying in the grass and looking right back at me. I thought it earlier, but placing the photograph right beside David made it undeniable.

  “Omigosh, you’re right.”

  “Except his eyes are different,” Maggie said, squinting at the photo.

  David shrugged. “These are my actual eyes. The rest of me formed into what Jess was thinking of when we first met.”

  I gulped. “What
?”

  David ran the fingers of his uninjured hand down my arm. “When I pulled your language out of your head, I also took on a form that I thought would relax you. It’s standard protocol.”

  Maggie perked up. “Cool. You’re a shape-shifter? Like in the movies? That is so awesome. Change into something else.”

  “It doesn’t really work like that. It’s not something I can just do at a moment’s notice.” He re-wrapped his hand with the gauze. “This façade is a means of protection for a pilot in case they fall into unfriendly territory. You can only use it once. It’s like wearing a suit, but I can’t take it off.”

  “What happens if you take it off?” Maggie asked.

  “I can’t put it back on, and it’s the only one I have. I had one chance to choose the correct form.”

  Maggie snickered. “You sure did pick a nice one.” She walked around him, summing him up as if he were for sale. “So, Jess was thinking of Jared Linden, huh?”

  David blushed. “Yeah, and a few other people. I didn’t have much time, so I cued in on the key things she was thinking about and let it go.”

  Maggie messed his bangs. “Chris Stevens’s hair and shoulders. Adam Mayer’s dimples.” She turned toward me. “So, whose rear-end does he have?”

  Oh no, she didn’t. I blushed and headed for the kitchen. “I think I need something to drink. Anyone for an orange juice?”

  Maggie’s obnoxious ring-tone echoed through the house. She tapped on her screen and answered, “Hey, What’s up?”

  I was half-way through my second glass of OJ before David slid beside me at the kitchen table.

  “Are you mad?” he asked.

  “Am I mad?” Another swig of citrus rolled down my throat. “Mad that you read my mind? Mad because you stole the best parts of all my favorite guys? Mad that you are the man of my dreams, and I like you, and I thought you liked me, but you end up being some kind of an alien? No, I’m not mad at all.” I slammed my glass on the table, splattering juice across the counter.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  I gripped the edge of the counter. “How about sorry? Sorry for dragging me into this. Sorry for lying. Sorry for stealing stuff out of my head.”

  “All right. I’m sorry, but I only did what I was trained to do. I had no idea who you were and I needed to protect myself.”