Challa

by Linda Mooney

  Then, to his astonishment, her bluster melted like cotton candy in the rain. The next thing he knew, her face screwed up, and the alien girl burst into tears.

  Chapter 2

  Blind Date

  “Come on, Compton, don’t let us down! We’re counting on you!”

  Compton rolled his eyes and fumed quietly. Fuck. I don’t need this! Unfortunately, Max was his best bud. The man had been there for him all through their elementary, junior high, and high school years. He had steadfastly supported him despite protests from his parents when Compton had opted to enlist less than a year after graduation. But, more importantly, Compton knew these past eight months in the VA hospital would have been unbearable without Max’s visits to keep his spirits up.

  “Hey, man. What do you say, huh? Please? Kimmy has been begging me to take her to the carnival ever since she saw the posters for it. It’s only going to be here a few days. Through Sunday.” The man’s voice dropped. “And get this. Did you hear they got a real alien in their sideshow?”

  “Knock it off, Max. Sideshows are major geekdom, and you know it. It’s probably some guy with a birth defect.”

  “Girl, Comp. It’s female. And Rainey says she looks legit.”

  “Then it’s possibly a costume with real elaborate makeup,” Compton countered.

  His best friend snickered. “Yeah, most likely, but aren’t you the teeniest bit curious to see her up close? I mean sheesh! It’s Friday night! Time to let your hair down! You’ve been cooped up in that house ever since you got home from the hospital. You need to get out and get some fresh air! Mingle with humanity again!”

  “I can mingle just fine without dragging around a blind date,” Compton complained. He made sure to keep his tone at mid-bitch level. It wasn’t time to cave in. Not yet. If Max knew he’d snagged Compton’s interest at the first mention of sideshow freaks, the guy would have ragged him unmercifully. At the moment, however, Max was in phase two of his game plan.

  Compton sighed loudly into the phone. Yep, Max was on a roll. Worse, Compton knew the announcement of a real alien headlining the sideshow had intrigued him ever since he first saw one of the posters for himself, taped on the front plate glass window at Booker’s Feed and Seed. He opened his mouth for another weak excuse, but Max ramped up the insistence.

  “If you come, I’m paying for everything. Even the beer.”

  Compton nearly swallowed his tongue. “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “Nope. Want me to text message you so you can have proof?”

  “Are you on some kind of drug you haven’t told me about?”

  “Cut it out, Comp. I mean it. I want us to go out and have some fun. Chug a few beers. Nosh on some of those outlandishly expensive hotdogs. Get sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl so we can throw up afterwards and start all over again. And the best part? Copping a feel inside the House of Horrors.” The man was sincere all the way. It wasn’t so much the fun Max was trying to sell. It was prying the ex-Army specialist out of his cave, and trying to reintroduce him into society.

  “With a blind date?” Compton said.

  “Her name’s Jeanette. She’s twenty-four, and she has a two-year-old son. She had a lousy boyfriend who wouldn’t make a go of marriage once he found out she was pregnant. She kept the baby, and now’s she trying to balance a job and a kid. She’s a lot like you, Comp, in that she never gets to go out. Who knows? Maybe the two of you will strike up a friendship! Or something more! Kimmy says Gina likes carnivals, and I remember how much fun we had going to them when we were growing up. So what do you say, amigo?”

  “Who’s Gina?”

  “Jeanette. She goes by Gina,” Max explained.

  Rolling his eyes, Compton relented. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go. But, Max? Listen…Max?” He raised his voice to be heard over the man’s whoop of joy. “Max, no bringing up the stint overseas, you got me? Not the explosion, nothing.”

  “Not a word. Scout’s honor.”

  “Screw you, Max. You never were a scout.”

  The man answered with a hearty laugh. “We’ll be by to pick you up around seven. See you then.” Before Compton could reply, the call ended.

  Compton stared at the cell phone for a minute then threw it on the bed. A glance at the clock radio on the bedside table read a little after five. There was ample time to shower and shave, and get ready.

  Groaning, he reached down to begin unstrapping the prosthetic leg.

  * * * *

  Jeanette was not bad on the eyes. But after the first half-hour with her, Compton knew they weren’t going to make a couple.

  Max drove them to the fairgrounds located two miles outside of town. They followed the hand gestures of the attendants, and parked in the roped-off area on the grass. Once they got out of the car, they filed in along with the rest of the fair goers.

  The raucous free-for-all that was the hallmark of every carnival assailed them the moment they exited their vehicle. There was also the smell of popcorn, cotton candy, and something being deep fried. The growing crowd was adding to the cacophony, along with every assortment of bells, whistles, dings, and chimes coming from the gaming booths.

  True to his word, Max splurged and bought them armbands, which would allow them access to every ride without having to pay for individual tickets. Compton grimaced at the neon strip of orange plastic circling his wrist. It reminded him too much of the hospital bracelet he’d worn during his recuperation.

  “Hey! Get a load of this place!” Kimmy exclaimed. The multicolored lights bounced their shine off her face like a stained glass window.

  “Cool! I love carnivals,” Gina remarked, giving Compton a smile. “What part do you like the best?”

  “The sideshow,” Max answered for him. “We used to try to sneak in through the back of the tents when we were kids.”

  “Did ja ever get caught?”

  Max snickered. “Ask Comp. Tell her, old buddy.”

  Compton inwardly cursed Max’s future offspring. The guy was deliberately trying to draw him into the conversation. Seeing how Gina and Kimmy were waiting with expectant looks on their faces, he managed to lift one corner of his mouth.

  “Yeah. Once. We were ten, I think. Nine or ten. The owners dragged us outside by the backs of our shirts and threatened to feed us to the lions if we ever tried a stunt like that again.”

  Both girls gasped appreciatively. Gina covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no! Well, did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Ever do something like that again?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Max answered for him again. “That was me and Comp. Always getting our butts in trouble. The kids at school used to refer to the two of us as ‘Max and his Comp-anion’.”

  Among other things. The casual remark brought memories back to Compton that still rankled. In-Comp-etent. Nin-Comp-poop. Comp-lete idiot.

  “…first?”

  There was a pause. Compton grew aware everyone was waiting for him, staring at him.

  “What?”

  “Kimmy wondered where we should go first,” Max said, frowning. “Hey, you doing okay, bud?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Got caught up in some old memories,” Compton apologized with a grin.

  Gina touched his arm, a look of genuine concern on her face. “Are you still in some pain? Are you needing to sit down or something?”

  A flash of resentment heated his face, and Compton turned on his friend. “For crying out loud, Max! What did you tell her? You promised me—”

  Max raised his hands to ward off Compton’s verbal assault. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I promised I wouldn’t bring it up, remember? And I haven’t! Honest to God!”

  It was Kimmy who came to her husband’s defense. “Don’t blame him, Comp. It’s my fault. I’m the one who told Gina about you being wounded.”

  “Compton?” It was Gina, touching his arm again. “Hey, I’m fine with it. Honest, I am. I mean, about you losing a leg and all,” she tried to reassure him. “In fact, I kind of think it
’s sexy. You know, being a big war hero and all. Winning a purple heart.”

  “Bronze star,” Compton corrected her.

  “Whatever.” The woman shrugged. “I still think it’s sexy.”

  “Hey, enough small talk. Let’s get into some hot and heavy carnival action. Whaddaya say?” Max playfully punched Compton in the arm. Compton drilled him with a single glance, and the man backed off immediately.

  As far as Compton was concerned, the night hadn’t started off promising, and it was going downhill fast. But since they were already here, he figured he might as well try and make the best of it. At least Max had been right about one thing. The sideshow had always held a special fascination for them. “Let’s take in the freaks,” he suggested.

  Max whooped. “Awright! I’m game! What about you two girls? Ready to check out the two-headed baby? Or the bearded lady?”

  “Didn’t you say there’s supposed to be a real alien here?” Kimmy mentioned.

  “Oh, yeah!” Max nodded. “Come on. Let’s check it out. Comp, I’ll lay you odds it’s all makeup and prosthetics.”

  “As opposed to…” Compton countered. “Come on, Max. Throw me a bone. What else could it be?”

  “The real thing?” Max laughed.

  “Max.”

  “Play fair, Max,” Kimmy warned him.

  “Awright, awright. My twenty if it’s something other than makeup and a costume. Like maybe a birth defect.”

  “You’re on,” Compton agreed, and the two men shook on it.

  Chapter 3

  Challa

  Challa stared at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need much makeup. She didn’t really need anything additional to pull off “Challa, the Alien Girl”…other than to be herself.

  “Break a leg, Challa!”

  Challa waved a taloned hand and gave the woman a smile. “Same to you!”

  Marlene smiled back. “Aww, hon. You know the guys don’t come to look at some old fat chick covered in hair. They come to see you. But thanks anyway.”

  Challa watched the bearded lady trundle away to take her seat in the sideshow. A quick glance at her wristwatch on the dressing table told her it was time she took her seat, too. Or in her case, her cage.

  Every evening when she walked down the tarp-covered, narrow, tunnel-like corridors behind the different stations of the sideshow, it was like walking them for the first time. Enclosed and claustrophobic, they reminded her of the corridors on the spaceship. Except the spaceship never smelled like grass and earth and metal.

  She reached the wall of the tarp with the number four spray-painted on it. Pushing it back, she stepped into the twelve-by-twelve interior and stopped. Sight of the enormous cage always sent shivers up her spine. However, this cage obeyed her. She had the key to let herself out any time the steel bars started closing in. At no time was she an unwilling prisoner. Not like she’d been with the Arra.

  Familiar footsteps sounded down the other end of the corridor. Challa waited until Lawson came to “tuck her in”, as he referred to it. A moment later, the carnival owner stuck his head through the slit.

  “How’s my girl tonight?”

  She managed a weary smile. “Fine, thank you.”

  He glanced around, double-checking to see if everything was in its place and ready. “Looks like we’ve got a good crowd gathering.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she managed to reply.

  Lawson narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound your usual self. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “I think I had a bad carrot for supper.” It was an old joke between them, ever since that night when he accosted her while she was robbing the kitchen trailer. A lot had happened between then and now. She flashed him another quick grin. “I’ll be okay. I’ll sleep in tomorrow to catch up on my rest.”

  The man’s frown deepened. “I keep telling you, Challa. Stop all those late-night jogs you take. One of these days you’re going to get caught, and it won’t be by someone who knows you’re with the show.”

  She averted her eyes, knowing he was right. But she lived for those runs in the deepest part of the night. The carnival kept to the small towns and cities, always setting up camp just outside the city limits to avoid breaking any ordinances. In almost every case there was a small wood or patch of undeveloped land nearby, studded with trees and undergrowth. She’d spend hours taking in the raw, wild landscape. Savoring it as only she could. Letting all the scents and textures of the area seep into her bloodstream. For when she was in the woods, she could imagine she was home…almost.

  Memories of her real home were nonexistent, and the stories she’d been taught were more like dreams than actuality. She hadn’t been born when her parents were abducted by the Arra. And when she was born, she was immediately taken away from them. Challa had grown up a prisoner and a slave, nothing more than a commodity, until others of her kind revolted and escaped the Arran ships. They’d spent two years floating aimlessly through space before landing on Earth, where they separated to seek a new life and the chance for a future.

  Challa fought back tears. She had survived, but ever since landing, there had been very little that made her happy. And that included her stint working as “Challa, the Alien Girl” for Lawson Hall’s Carnival and Sideshow.

  “Sorry, Lawson, but you know I can’t help myself. I’ll try…I’ll try not to stay up so late when I go, okay? And I’ll stay in seeing distance when I run.”

  The man grunted instead of replying, and disappeared. Coming from Lawson, it was not an approval, but rather a reluctant acceptance of Challa’s uniqueness.

  Adjusting her lightweight, specially-made bodysuit that blended almost seamlessly with her coloration, Challa took her position on the floor in the corner of the cage. Curling up, she bowed her head to hide her face, preventing the crowd from seeing it when the curtains opened.

  Outside she could hear the noise increasing. Lawson was right. It was a good crowd tonight. In fact, it was a good crowd every night, practically. Ever since she and Lawson came to an understanding, and he offered her a job as one of the sideshow attractions, business has been brisk. No, correction—business has been nothing if not booming.

  “You’ve single-handedly saved the carnival, Challa,” Army once told her. “We all owe our jobs to you.”

  That may be, but who is going to save me?

  Charlie checked in on her. “I got dibs tonight, Challa.”

  She nodded, and the young man vanished. Because of the way she was promoted, the carnival often saw its share of curious onlookers with something more than looking on their minds. She’d even had stuff pelted at her through the narrow bars. Taunting was inevitable, as were the scathing remarks of disbelievers. That didn’t bother her. But when someone took it upon himself to try and climb up on the stage to approach her directly, that’s when Challa’s survival instincts took over.

  Usually, all it took to dissuade the obstinate customer was a full-throated hiss, the sight of her needle-shaped teeth, and a warning swipe of her five-inch talons. But there had been that one time in one of the thousands of small towns where they’d set up shop when one customer didn’t take the hint. Either he was soaked to the ears in alcohol, or something else had fueled his unstoppable intent to peel the costume off of her, and prove she wasn’t a real alien.

  Thank goodness Lawson had been able to bail her out before she’d inadvertently revealed her true self to the sheriff and everyone else at the county jail. But ever since then, Lawson had someone assigned to run crowd control, to prevent a customer from trying that kind of stunt again.

  Tonight, Charlie would be her front man. Dear, sweet, six-foot-four, and three hundred plus pounds, the eighteen year old was the son of Gerald McCarthy, a.k.a. Iron Man Mac. The Strongest Man in the World, who also incidentally won a bronze medal in weightlifting at the summer Olympics in China.

  Challa grinned. Nobody crossed Charlie. Nobody.

  The noise swelled. She heard the telltale
swoosh of the curtain parting. Following that, the two overhead spotlights came on, illuminating the interior of her cage. She could feel their heat on her back.

  The illusion was very realistic. A captured alien being held behind bars of steel. It made for great drama when it came time for her to make her move.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Lawson Hall’s World Famous Carnival and Sideshow proudly presents…Challa, the alien girl!” Lawson announced her himself. It was the only job he let no one else take over. The man could be on his deathbed, and he’d find a way to crawl out of it to do the show.

  “Take a look, everyone, but please keep your distance. She’s dangerous.”

  “She’s fake!” someone yelled, and the crowd laughed in response.

  Lawson continued, unaffected by the catcalls. They were expected. “You’re welcome to your own opinion, sir, but we here know better. Just as we know better than to get her riled.”

  That was her first cue. Slowly, Challa began to unfurl herself, slowly stretching as if awakening from sleep.

  “Hey, how much of that camouflage paint does she go through in a week?” another voice chided.

  Challa answered the man’s question by lifting her face and staring directly in the direction where it had emanated. Several people gasped. A few stepped back. Their terror began to cloud the air with the scent of something burning.

  The music began. Another cue. Slowly, she rose to her feet, keeping her hands behind her back. When she was certain everyone’s eyes were on her face, Challa opened her mouth and hissed.

  Several people screamed. A few men initially jumped, then chuckled to cover their embarrassment. It was all part of the show she’d performed for the past twenty-three months.

  Her eyes searched the sea of faces turned up at her. She needed to find one patsy to focus her attention on. Make the crowd believe she had taken a personal interest on him. Have them believe she would love to rend him to shreds if she ever got out of this cage.

  In the back of her mind, she took notice of the age groups represented. It was the normal young adults, the high school kids and college bound. The closer Lawson parked near a small branch campus, the more they’d see of them. Tonight looked like that kind of crowd. There was a smattering of older couples. And a few sets of daring parents with school-age children. Challa kept searching; time was getting tight. Her whole performance never lasted over twenty minutes, and already she could sense she was starting to stretch it.