by Marie Dry
I can't even budge him. What is he made of, granite?
He lay on his back, his hands almost fisted next to his hips, as though he'd been carved that way. His skin had returned to its original bronze tone, making him seem strangely warm. If not for his odd skin color and the pronounced ridge bisecting his bald head, he could have passed for human. He was almost handsome, in a fierce, dangerous kind of way.
She snorted inelegantly at his unconscious form. "Stubborn jerk."
Changing her tactics, she wrestled his hands together in front of him instead, but each arm felt like a ton of bricks. No wonder the raiders couldn't hurt him. Her knees hurt from struggling with him on the hard cave floor and sweat ran unpleasantly down her back as she worked.
And to think, a few minutes ago, I'd thought I'd never feel warm again.
Her torn dress tangled around her legs, adding to the difficulty of her task, until finally she jerked it up and shoved it into the waistband of her pants.
"Next time I want to feel feminine, I'll put on some damn makeup," she muttered.
Taking a breather, she studied his prone figure with suspicion. But nothing moved. She looked closer, watching for the rise and fall of his chest as proof he was still breathing.
Crap, I must've hit him harder than I realized.
Hesitantly, she placed her fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. Nothing. Leaning down, she pressed her ear against his chest. She really had no idea if his body functioned the same as hers, but there had to be some way to tell if he was still alive.
She listened for a long moment, hearing only a strange humming sound coming from somewhere deep inside his abdomen. Satisfied, she went back to her task.
After dropping the rope for the third time, she bit down on the tip of her glove and pulled it off with her teeth. Her fingers no longer restricted, she finally managed to tie his hands together.
Feeling a bit safer now that his hands were secure, she leaned back against the cave wall to rest for a moment.
It was strange. When she'd first seen him at the raiders' camp, she'd been convinced that he was there to save her. Yet now, he was her prisoner. Not that the thought gave her much comfort. Even unconscious and bound, he was the last creature she'd ever want in her cave.
Most of her knowledge about aliens was from what she'd seen in old sci-fi movies. The aliens would invade Earth, usually to hunt and kill the men and kidnap the women. If there was even an ounce of truth to those movies, she was in serious trouble.
As she rested, she studied his face. His eyelids had no lashes, but a thin ridge ran around the edge, giving them a sinister, deadly look. His ears were a lot like a human's, but more recessed into his skull. Even if she hadn't seen him slaughter a whole camp full of raiders just that morning, his sharp cheekbones and a square chin would have been enough to convince her that he was an extremely dangerous warrior.
Fierce and strong.
In the movies, she was always drawn to characters with those traits. That was one of the reasons she anxiously anticipated each new episode of Space Ranger Walker.
What on earth am I supposed to do with him now?
She ached in places she normally didn't even notice. And while she would have loved to wash the stink and memories of the day from her body, she couldn't leave him lying in the entrance.
Looking around, she noticed the hook mounted in the wall on the right side of the cave. She vaguely remembered her father installing it there for some purpose, though what that was, she'd forgotten. It would be perfect to secure the alien to, as long as she could manage to move him that far.
After a few minutes of trying to roll him over to the wall, she gave up. He was just too heavy. She sagged, tired and sweating from the exertion.
If she couldn't secure him to the wall, what else could she do? She really didn't like the idea of him being mobile the moment he woke up, hands bound or not.
Run. Get off the mountain.
Hopeful the snow had stopped falling, she pulled back the sheet of canvas. Dammit. Her shoulders slumped. God really was punishing her. Outside, the snow lay thick on the ground. The impenetrable waves coming down made her heart stammer.
Shivering again, she dropped the canvas.
Now what?
With a stroke of inspiration, she went to retrieve the hover board she used to move coal and other heavy articles around. Despite its fancy name and high price tag, it was nothing more than a piece of plastic that forced air out the bottom, making it possible to float heavy loads around for short distances. The contract Natalie had with the Forestry Department was the only reason she'd been able to afford it.
After bringing it over to where the alien still lay unconscious, a horrifying realization struck her. Could he have been pretending this whole time? But even with her guard up, she was no match for him. So why would he bother? Just to be sure, she kicked a booted foot.
"Ow! Dammit!" she cursed softly, jumping around, holding her foot. He hadn't so much as flinched. "Bastard! Son of a cow! Big footed alien!" She resisted the urge to kick him again.
Maybe he really was made of granite.
Limping around him, she poked him in the stomach with a screw driver. If he was faking it, surely that would startle him into a reaction. Instead, she almost lost her grip on the tool when it stopped abruptly, as though she'd jammed it against the cave wall.
Still, he didn't move.
Tossing the screw driver aside, she stuck the hover board as far as she could under his left shoulder and hip. Groaning, she pushed his back, trying to roll the rest of him onto the hover board. He barely moved an inch. Panting and wiping the sweat off her forehead, she rested for a moment, leaning weakly against his warm muscular side.
Who knew capturing an alien would be this exhausting?
She sighed then, bracing her feet against the cave wall, pushed her back against him and heaved.
He rolled easily onto the hover board.
Terrified he'd woken up, she jumped away in fright, only relaxing when he didn't move again for a long moment.
"Just my luck. Why couldn't I have gotten one of those small, weak aliens? But no, I have to get an alien that weighs a ton, with muscles made of boulders." Still muttering angrily to herself, she punched in the command for the hover board to move to the opposite wall where the hook was installed.
Sore, tired, and frustrated, she lifted her foot, tempted to kick him again, only to drop it back onto the floor. "Can't kick a defenceless creature, alien or not," she mumbled.
Moving alongside the hover craft, she snorted at the ridiculousness of her situation. Here she was showing mercy to a creature that would more than likely chop her head off the moment he woke up.
"You know," she said chattily, the hover board softly humming as it moved ever so slowly across the cave floor. "I feel sort of bad about hitting you with my club. After all, I am grateful you killed those raiders."
Other than the weekly TC calls to Julia, she'd been alone, hadn't spoken face to face with another living creature in almost two years. And now she was carrying on a one-sided conversation with an alien.
"With my luck, you're the general of a whole army of aliens about to take over Earth. Or--" She snapped her fingers. "--you've no resources left on your planet and came to take ours." She snorted again. "If that's the case, you're SOL. We're in the same boat."
The hover board finally reached the opposite wall and stopped. Still foolishly hopeful, she rushed to the entrance again and pulled back the canvas. Snow continued to fall in a soft, white curtain. It blanketed everything, coating the mountain in silence.
Looking back at the alien, she briefly considered commanding the hover board to take him as far down the mountain as it could.
Yeah, as if he isn't pissed off at me already. She seriously doubted a little snow would stop him from exacting revenge for that little stunt.
She sighed. It's going to be a long winter.
Chapter 4
Did he ju
st move?
Inching silently toward the wall where she'd left the shotgun, Natalie reached for it, but changed her mind and grabbed the club instead, gripping it with both hands. Then, hunching on the cave floor, her club at the ready, she watched him for a long time.
Finally deciding the twitch she'd seen must have been her imagination, she straightened her aching body with a groan.
Was there any way she could convince him to go away and leave her in peace? Probably not. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to communicate with him.
She glared down at him. "The only thing that would make all this aggravation worth it is if you turned out to be friendly. And helpful." Her loneliness crept back in. "Someone I could talk to."
Sweating and groaning, she wrestled him off the hover board and propped him against the cave wall, only to jump back in surprise. Somehow, during the time she'd been moving him off the board and trying to get him to stay sitting upright against the wall, he'd turned green and copper again. The color he'd been when slaughtering the raiders. His clothes changed color to blend with his skin and that, more than his speed and the way bullets bounced off him, showed her how advanced his technology was.
For a long moment, she watched his hands, expecting to see the silver sword miraculously appear again. When it didn't, she inched forward. She still had to secure his hands to the hook.
It took all her strength to move his hands over his head and fasten them to the hook. The muscles in his upper arms strained against the material covering him, and she could just imagine it ripping to shreds. A claw still tipped each finger, though they weren't as long as when he'd been slicing through the raiders. She shuddered at the memory.
Natalie sat back on her haunches, gingerly studying him. Why, after all that pulling and heaving, didn't he come to already? She didn't want him to, but at the same time the anticipation was killing her.
Feeling lost and helpless, she felt the tears rolling down her cheeks and wiped at them angrily. Her father would've known exactly how to handle this situation. Loneliness tugged at her as it always did when she thought of her father. With her head bowed, she sat there, on the hard cave floor, for what felt like forever.
At last, blinking back the tears, she mentally shook off her melancholy. This is no time to feel sorry for myself.
She grabbed the rest of the rope where it hung from his hands and tied his legs together until he looked like a mummy from his ankles to just below his knees. She would have gone higher, but she ran out of rope. Feeling slightly better, she stepped back to admire her work.
Shivers racked her whole body, reminding her of how cold she still was. Cold and dirty.
She felt disgusting, like she'd been infected by a flesh-eating disease and she could still feel the imprint of the raiders' groping hands on her thighs. Even her hair felt violated.
She grabbed the shotgun and staggered toward the back of the cave where a small alcove indented the wall. Calling it a bathroom was an exaggeration. All she had was a basin she filled with water after heating it in an urn set over her precious coals. But it was better than nothing.
Her father had originally planned to bring in water from the waterfall that cascaded down the valley. He'd even devised a plan to heat the water without using coal. But he'd passed away before seeing those plans realized.
Propping the shotgun against the wall, she gripped the edges of the basin to steady herself, her exhaustion finally taking its toll. She was too tired to feel afraid anymore, and the adrenaline that had been pumping through her system for hours now finally started to dissipate. Nausea rolled up her throat. She whirled and ran for the nearest bucket, making it just in time before her stomach expelled its contents.
Leaning over the bucket, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to rid herself of the memory of the raiders' leering faces, the blank stares on their decapitated heads, the blood gushing from torn flesh.
She heaved again. It took a long time for her stomach to settle, before she felt like she could move without vomiting.
Shivering and weak, she carried the bucket into the tunnel to leave it in a different cave. She didn't have the stomach to deal with the clean-up just yet.
When she returned to the bathing alcove, she clumsily turned the spout on the urn to fill the clay basin she used for washing with water. Of all the things she missed about the farmhouse, she missed running water the most.
She shed her down jacket then started to strip off the torn dress but hesitated. She could see from where she stood that the alien still sat unconscious against the wall near the mouth of the cave, but that didn't erase her unease.
With a sigh, she moved some metal crates, positioning them in front of the alcove. They were empty, making them easy enough to stack. Ensuring he would only be able to see her head and shoulders should he happen to wake up, she then fished out a clean pair of jeans, a warm sweater, and socks from the wooden chest.
Natalie stripped off the rest of her clothes, tossing them into a pile to launder. The yellow dress, she'd burn.
Exhaustion weighted her limbs as she washed her hair, constantly checking for signs that the alien was rousing. After wrapping her wet hair in a towel, she lathered up a washcloth with cold, soapy water. She cringed as the cloth touched her abused skin. Tears ran down her cheeks but still she scrubbed every inch of her body. The bite marks and bruises stung anew when the cloth moved over them and she winced. Her cheek still felt swollen and puffy from her captor's blows.
Every hair on her body stood on end, but it wasn't from the cold. Something in the air had changed, the eerie quiet of the falling snow intensifying.
Slowly, slowly, she turned her head.
Red, devilish eyes stared at her with unblinking menace from the mouth of the cave.
Natalie froze. The most savage gaze she'd ever seen followed her trembling hand as it crept up to cover her vulnerable neck.
He growled, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Chapter 5
The temperature dropped, as if the very air was terrified. The sound of the wind, slapping against the canvas over the entrance, died as the alien continued to stare at her, sitting with his hands still tied to the wall.
Her mind screamed at her to move, to get dressed, to render him unconscious once more. Anything but stand there frozen, with her hand against her throat. His gaze traveled down her body to settle on her bare breasts. She could feel the heat of his eyes, searing her flesh. At last, her muscles obeyed and she dived behind the stack of crates. Drawing her knees to her chest, Natalie closed her eyes and pressed her back against the boxes.
I tied him up, he can't hurt me.
She peeked around the corner of the containers, straight into his unblinking red eyes.
"Uh, hello?" She waved hesitantly then cringed. "Um, excuse me while I, um--"
Hiding behind the boxes again, she fumbled for her knitted blue sweater, slipping it over her head before pulling on the thick woollen pants. Resting her head on her knees, she closed her eyes for a moment then dried her palms on her thighs. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, then stood up and walked around the stacked boxes.
He watched her every step, like a predator stalking its prey. His nostrils flared, as if he could smell her from such a distance. Could he hear the sound of her heart, beating in intense panic, as well?
What did one ask an alien? Especially one you'd clobbered and tied up?
"Do--do you speak English?" She barely heard her own voice over the pounding of her heart in her ears. The cold, in the surrounding air and rising up from the floor of the cave, seeped into her bare feet until her knees ached. She reached for her boots, never taking her eyes off him.
His expression didn't change.
If only she could believe he was more scared of her than she was of him. This alien, this male didn't fear anything, did he?
Desperate to get her boots on, to feel less vulnerable, she moved to sit down on the cave floor, but her sore muscl
es protested and she lost her balance. The empty boxes scattered as she tried to right herself, her bum landing with a faint thump. She half expected the alien to start laughing at her clumsiness, but he only continued to watch her with his intense gaze.
Natalie retrieved one of the scarred leather boots and jammed her left foot inside, only to realize it was the wrong foot. She hastily jerked the boot onto her right foot and reached for the other one. As if she wasn't frantic enough, his gaze, following her every move, was making her more self-conscious.
"Well, do you? Speak English, I mean?" she asked, more in an effort to distract him than honestly wanting to know. Although, if they could find a way to communicate on some level, it might make her feel less vulnerable. "Or maybe Spanglish?" Surely he would've made the effort to know the languages of the country he landed in. Most people spoke a mixture of English and Spanish. Though some, like her parents insisted on speaking pure English.
The cold from the cave floor seeped through her thick winter pants, freezing her behind. She pressed her trembling hands against the wall and pushed herself to her knees. She needed to get to the shotgun.
Keeping a wary eye on him, she walked over to where she'd propped the weapon against the wall. With slow, careful movements, she lifted it. The bullets from the shotgun wouldn't penetrate his armoured skin, but her father had always said that even the now extinct elephants had been vulnerable if shot in the eye.
Barely breathing, she watched him for any sudden moves as she inched forward, careful to stop well out of reach of his enormous, heavy-looking boots. She drew her shoulder back and purposely glared at him.
"I know the bullets from this gun won't hurt you, but let me reassure you that I can shoot any target I aim for." She motioned with the shotgun. "You make one move, and I'll shoot you in the eye. I bet those red eyes of yours aren't bullet proof," she said, proud of how tough she sounded.