An Alien Rescue

by Gordon Mackay

  The organised search lasted two days as those who took part would cower from or avoid anywhere that looked hostile or remotely suspicious. No one in the search team wanted to go looking for him, all believing he had been taken by the spirits who jealously guarded the mountains.

  His beautiful Toyota Celica was eventually dragged from the desert before being unceremoniously dumped without reservation at the rear of a police yard where it would attract even more dust and sand. It was destined to provide shelter for the town’s feral cats. The racy-red metallic paint bleached itself into a much lighter shade while the vehicle’s presence became all but forgotten beneath am aged and paint splattered tarpaulin. The cream-coloured Abbey caravan was manhandled into an overgrown corner of the campsite and deposited next to another. By pure chance, their doors were directly opposite each other, where Scott’s British right-hand drive caravan had its door on the left, while its counterpart European model had its on the right. The fact that both doors were only an inch apart meant tighter security and no-one would have access into either. The contents of Scott’s cupboards and fridge had already given rise to smells of decay, but the violent temperatures to which the caravan was subjected to meant stench wouldn't last very long. Buzzing flies inside the windows were common with untold numbers of dead bugs darkening the window ledges. The other caravan had previously suffered from the same fate. It too, had seemingly been left behind by its affluent European owner, where it had been deemed they must have left the country, dumping the van to avoid paying the costs of camping for as long as they had and maybe cheaper than hauling it back to Europe. And until either owner returned, the vans would remain tucked away in the quiet corner behind the toilet-block out of harm’s way and prying eyes. It hadn’t stopped the rear lights and reflectors being removed during darkness, one night, possibly to service another; and it would only be a matter of time before the wheels and other parts followed suit.

  Scott’s family didn’t want to know about the car or the caravan, they had been the vehicles he had used to leave them by. The equipment he had taken with him from their home, all his most prized possessions; his wife hated them with a passion.

  As for Scott, he was just another missing person whose out-of focus black and white photocopied picture was stapled onto local Moroccan police station notice-boards; until his face became boring or the print faded. The A4 sized pictures would eventually end up as crunched balls of paper in trash cans. His family never visited the country where he disappeared, he had already left them so was considered gone. Written-off. His wife insisted his daughters should never refer to him again, preferring them to forget he had even existed.

  As for a local shepherd boy, he foolishly told his family what he had seen and heard about the time Scott disappeared, that he had witnessed Allah’s passing overhead, flying towards the forbidden mountains. And like others before him, he too was threatened and beaten into silence. He was forcefully persuaded it was not their beloved god which the young one had heard, but the devil’s own disciples coming to steal infidels - as was their firm belief in all such matters. As long as they did not venture into the mountains, Allah would protect them, they felt. Should they ignore the ancient myths, disaster would befall them all in an instant. The locals feared to discuss what might have befallen those who went missing, never referring to the mountain that towered above them as anything else but evil and haunted.

  The wonderful sight of a streaking meteor was shared by a young couple on their honeymoon, both looking at the twinkling stars through love struck eyes and emitting sounds of surprise and glee as it shot... upwards. “It looked as if it might have been going up instead of downwards,” suggested the girl, feeling a little confused by what she had just seen. He agreed, though commented they must have got it wrong somehow. They both blamed their error on too much champagne and not enough sleep, smirking at their embarrassment. They each made a wish for a married life of happiness, sealing it with a kiss. They joked about what they thought they had seen regarding a shooting star in reverse gear, suggesting they should perhaps return to their hotel suite and go to bed.

  As for Scott, his name faded from memory and no one spoke of him again, except his two growing daughters, but only in the privacy of their own company. They, at least, missed him. As for Scott, no one ever saw him again, on Earth.