Aliens and Ice Cream

by Michael James

  They were on their own. That’s what got him thinking. Realistically, it might take weeks before they sorted this mess out. Weeks where garbage would sit, uncollected. Drains would clog up. Power lines would be left alone. He didn’t know how long they’d have electricity. A day, maybe a week. If the electricity blew, they’d be out of water. Food too. There was no way it would last that long. They should ration now.

  Trying not to make any noise, he crept downstairs to the basement and rooted around the shelves for anything that could be used as a storage container. He emptied the bins they kept Abby’s dolls in. Tucked in a corner, near the furnace, he found a bunch of old pots they used to cook lobster in last summer. These would all work.

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  Paul leapt a half-foot in the air, barking out a scream. John stood behind him, rubbing at his thinning white hair that stood up in all directions, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. Apparently, Paul wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping last night. How could anyone sleep through that noise?

  “You scared me, man.” Paul gave a shaky laugh. “But yeah. Here’s what I’m thinking. We should fill up anything that will hold water. We don’t know how long this will last. With no one able to get outside to do maintenance, any rupture or break in the pipes could ruin the whole system. Anything that can hold water needs to be filled up. Bowls, jugs, anything. Same goes for electricity. There’s supposed to be a storm tomorrow. If the lines go down that will be it for power. So, we should charge everything. Every phone, every device, all of it. We need to get ready, in case this lasts.”

  “Do you think so?” John shook his head. “This might be over today.”

  Paul wasn’t in the mood to argue the point, so he talked around it. “Fine. And if it’s over today, then we’ll have tons of water we can use on the lawn. No harm, no foul. But it gives us something to work on while we figure this out. Right?”

  John rubbed his jaw. “Yes. I suppose that’s right. The police will be here in no time though, you watch.”

  “I hope you’re right, John. In the meantime, let’s also inventory the food. Separate perishable from non-perishable. Anything that’s going bad gets eaten first. And no more throwing food out. We eat everything now, every scrap. Peels, cores, everything. Also, we need to figure out a way to get something to the kids. They have nothing in that tree house.”

  “How would we get food to them though? Throw it?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Paul struggled to keep his temper in check. He didn’t have all the answers.

  “I can do the food and water,” John said. “What about Sharon?”

  Paul sighed. “I'll check the Internet while it's still working, see if I can learn anything else. I think the most we can do is keep her comfortable, pack the wound, and cross our fingers.”

  “She told me to keep it quiet, her injury.”

  “What, seriously?”

  John nodded, the raw horror fading from his eyes, now that he was talking. “Said she didn’t want to worry her family, that’s it would be too stressful for them. We’ll be out of this in no time when the police show up.” While Paul didn’t feel like bursting his bubble about the police, he didn’t see it as a viable option. The police were as trapped as anyone else.

  Paul rubbed his face. “That doesn’t feel right.”

  “It doesn’t,” John agreed, “but it’s what she wants. Doesn’t feel right to go behind her back either.”

  Something about that seemed off, but Paul had enough on his mind without adding another burden. He thought Sharon was being naïve but resolved to talk to her about it tomorrow if no help was forthcoming. No sense in worrying about that now, he’d focus on getting through the day. And maybe John was right. Maybe the army would roll in. You never know. Maybe they were already starting counter-measures against these seemingly indestructible robots.

  But deep in his heart, he knew the truth. They were on their own.

  Matt

  Through the cracks in the walls, Matt watched early morning sunlight bleed into the tree house. They had made the best of a bad situation last night but had gotten next to no sleep. It was hard to relax when black, egg-shaped death robots hovered above you, screaming out an alarm every couple hours. Sure, they didn’t seem to have any inclination towards shooting through the walls of the tree house, but… what if they did?

  He watched videos and newscasts late into the night on Heather’s phone before trying to sleep. They dozed on the half-rotten, splintery floor while Abby curled up into a ball on one of the beanbag chairs. He learned his little sister was made of sharp elbows and sulfurous farts. And she said he was gassy.

  Beside him, Heather had fallen into an uneasy doze, snoring gently. She remained an enigma to him, so self-possessed, it was borderline creepy. He had lost count of the number of times he’d struggled to keep tears from his eyes, but Heather’s face remained a stoic rock the whole time. He had no idea how she was processing the news. For himself, he kept mentally cataloging the list of the dead. Pete, almost for certain. Kate died in front of his eyes. Well over half his friends from school didn’t answer their texts. So many people, murdered by these killer death robots from outer space.

  Outer space. He turned the idea around, inspecting it from different angles. Were these things from another planet? He thought it likely. He wasn’t aware of any technology close to what they displayed. There were too many of them, their robotic features too advanced. It’s what everyone online was saying, except for the crazy few who thought the whole thing was a false flag exercise by the US government.

  None of the movies about invasions worked like this. There was always a plucky hero who saved the day and figured out the alien weakness in the nick of time. Not a tired and scared boy trapped in a tree fort with his little sister and his next-door neighbor. In his fantasies, the type that entertained him at night as he fell asleep, he was always the hero. Defeating the villain, getting the girl, winning the fight. Real life sucked in comparison. He sure didn’t feel like a hero now. He missed his parents.

  The alien siren went off again, causing him to flinch. So loud. Heather sat upright, a small scream escaping her lips. Abby groaned and burrowed further into the bean bag chair. After a couple seconds, the noise stopped, leaving behind a slight ringing in his ears.

  Heather blinked a few times before rubbing her eyes and yawning. He tried to smile at her, but it was a weak thing, lacking any joy.

  “It was a dream, right?” she whispered. “The police came, and we're saved?”

  “Yeah, you missed it,” he said. “There were a bunch of cops and one of them wore aviator shades and dressed all in black. He destroyed the drones with a giant shotgun.”

  “That’s good. Did he have a decent quip?”

  “Not bad. He said, ‘I won’t drone on about it,’ and shot them.”

  “That’s… kind of terrible.” She smiled when she said it and Matt grinned back. He liked seeing her smile. He wished they could keep going, trading silly jokes, but Abby yawned and sat up. Deep circles surrounded her eyes.

  “I’m thirsty, Matty,” she said.

  “Me too, Abs.”

  “What time is it?” Heather asked.

  “About seven? I turned my phone off.” He rubbed a hand through his short hair. It must look horrible; he could feel clumpy mats of congealed gel. Beside him, Heather got up, wandered to the small cupboard in the corner, and sorted through the drawers.

  “Well, there’s a pop, at least,” she said, holding up a can that looked a few years old. “Probably flat, but it’s better than nothing. An old box of fish crackers too.”

  “When are the police going to get here, Matty?” Abby had snuck her hand into his and stared at him with trusting eyes. He felt insignificant. Much too small for this huge task.

  “Soon. Don’t worry about it. For now, let’s have a drink. Don’t tell mom we had pop for breakfast.” Over Abby’s head, he exchanged a long look with Heather, who shook a ha
ndful of crackers into each of their hands.

  “I miss Fuzzy Bear,” Abby said, sighing. Her lower lip stuck out again. Matt didn’t know what to make of that. Fuzzy Bear was Abby’s childhood stuffed animal. He couldn’t remember the last time she had talked about it.

  “I’m sure Fuzzy Bear is safe with Dad,” he said. “Both Mom and Dad are fine, we talked to them last night, remember?”

  “I guess.” Abby sat down at the tiny table in the center of the floor and munched away at her crackers, her shoulders slumped.

  “Let’s call our parents and let them know we made it through the night.” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t think I slept more than an hour.”

  Heather nodded and behind Abby’s back, motioned him over. He got up from the small table and they moved to the far side of the tree house.

  “How long do you think we’ll be in here?” she said under her breath, low enough that Abby couldn’t hear.

  “A day? Maybe two? We can go without food, but we need water.”

  “We need to figure out a way to get out of here and back into our houses.” Heather bit her lip. “Those alarms are awful. Why are they doing that?”

  “No idea,” he said. “For now, we need to hunker down. You never know. Maybe the police or Army will show up.”

  Heather stopped her puttering and gripped his forearm. “Do you believe that?”

  He wanted to lie to her. He wanted to tell her everything would be fine. The sun coming in through the window made her hair shine. He wanted to be her hero.

  “No,” he said, finally. “We’re on our own.”

  Liz

  Liz couldn’t stop watching TV. The images cascaded in from all over the planet. Everywhere, the stories were the same. The sky ripped apart, millions of black drones pouring through the rip, and everywhere they appeared, death.

  “Turn that off.” Her Mom clumped down the stairs, a glassy, pale look about her. Last night’s bender had been epic. She chugged a bottle of vodka down in half an hour. The only bonus of her Mom drinking so much, that fast, was that she passed out. Liz didn’t even think she woke up for the alarms that blared every few hours.

  “It’s everywhere, Mom,” she said. “All over the world. I’m scared.”

  “Okay,” Alexandra shuffled past her, into the kitchen, rooting around the fridge for something to drink. She didn’t even make eye contact.

  “The president is making an address soon,” Liz called after her.

  “Great.” The faucet turned on and Liz heard sounds of slurping. On the best of days, her mom was withdrawn and unhelpful. She didn’t know why she’d thought a crisis would be any different, but she had hoped that it would draw out something resembling a parent. No luck. Liz suspected she’d have to figure out what to do on her own.

  “It’s starting,” she called out. No answer from the kitchen. Liz turned up the volume on the TV. The presidential logo appeared on the screen, but the image flickered. The TV had been spitting jerky images all day. It would be clear for one moment and then go fuzzy and indistinct, like the signal was getting scrambled or something. She flipped through the channels to see if any were better, but it was the same quality across them all. Further, the president was broadcasting to every network in North America, even the specialty cable ones. She clicked through hundreds of channels, every single one showing the presidential logo. That, more than anything, caused her mouth to dry in fear.

  The screen faded to the interior of the White House where the president sat, flanked by two other men, one in a military uniform with hollow and sunken eyes. The president's hair stuck out, and he hadn’t shaved.

  “My fellow Americans,” he began. “Yesterday, at approximately four-thirty, Eastern Standard Time, crafts of unknown origin attacked us. These crafts bear no markings, contain no pilots, and upon arriving, launched an unprovoked assault against every state, city, town, and village in these United States. Through consultation with leaders of other countries, I have confirmed they repeated this attack across every continent and country on the planet. We responded with all the combined force available to the United States to repel the attack. So far, our attempts to neutralize the threat have been unsuccessful.”

  He paused, reaching out with a trembling hand to take a drink of water.

  “In the meantime, I ask that all Americans, and anyone listening to this telecast, follow this one simple instruction: do not go outside. These crafts attack any person who leaves their home or building. We don’t yet understand the source or purpose of these attacks, but through trial and error we learned the crafts will only attack people outdoors. For now, I urge every single person to stay inside, stay safe, and do not engage the crafts. Effective immediately, and with full support of Congress, I am declaring Martial Law across these United States. Every government service is now on hold, excluding our military forces.” He took a deep breath and shuffled the papers on his desk. The two men beside him hadn’t blinked.

  “If you are indoors, you are safe. Ration your food, and store as much water as possible. We expect electricity will be unavailable within the coming days. If you go outside, you will receive no assistance. This is a difficult message to hear and it’s even harder for me to have to say. I will provide further updates as they become available. As the Commander in Chief of our military forces, I have directed that all measures be taken toward our defense. No matter the duration of the fight, the American people and the strength of the American spirit will prevail. Stay safe, and God bless America.”

  The screen faded to the Presidential seal, and the TV flickered a few more times before Liz turned it off. Her lips tingled, and she couldn’t catch her breath. The edges of her vision turned black and a hollow rushing sound filled her ears. She rested her head against the side of the couch. Aliens. That’s what the president hinted at. Crafts of unknown origin. Every city on Earth attacked. This was real.

  “Mom, did you hear any of that?” Liz called out.

  Her Mom walked back into the room with an orange juice. She hadn’t bothered to wash her face and mascara smudged her cheeks. Her expression was dull.

  “He said to stay outside?”

  “Inside, mom. Inside. He said it’s…” Liz struggled to get the next few words out and needed to pause for a breath. “He said it’s an alien attack and that they won’t attack you when you’re inside.”

  Her mom didn’t react but stared at her for a long moment before shaking her head. “I’m sure you misheard him. Try CNN and see if they know what’s going on.”

  “I didn’t mishear him. He said, ‘crafts of unknown origin’ and he said they’re attacking everything.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Even if we can’t go outside today, I’m sure they’ll have it figured out by tomorrow.” Her mom couldn't focus on this conversation, she was too hungover. Liz tried a new approach to get her mom’s head back in the present.

  “Heather and Matty and Abby are in the tree house. We need to figure out a way to get to them. They won’t have any food or water.”

  Her mom sighed and rubbed her temples. “I can’t deal with this right now. Can you give me five seconds to myself? Is that even possible?” Alexandra’s voice rose with each syllable and Liz shrunk down and retreated. She had pushed too far.

  “Sure, mom. I only thought-”

  “You didn’t think at all, that’s the problem,” her mom snapped.

  Liz nodded and took a step closer to the stairs, closer to the safety of her room. It would be unusual for her mom to try something sober, but this wasn’t a usual day.

  “I’m sorry, mom,” she said, keeping her voice low, like trying to soothe a startled cat. “I’ll go clean up the kitchen, okay? You rest on the couch.”

  Her mom stared at her, suspicious, like she was expecting a trick. Finally, after a pregnant beat, she nodded and turned to the couch. Liz released the breath she had been holding, the real horror of the situation sinking in. Trapped in a house with her Mother. There was a real poss
ibility Alexandra would kill her before the lasers did.

  Krista

  Krista hung up the phone, reassured that for the moment, at least, her babies were fine. Matt told her about finding drinks and crackers, trying to keep his voice brave for Abby. She was so proud of him. What a strange time to feel pride, but there it was. Comforting her. Her little man was stepping up to protect his sister.

  Paul was also doing well, surprising Krista with his resourcefulness. He’d talked to her about his ideas with the water and the food, and she agreed. It was good to see him handling this and coming up with solutions. Normally, she needed to do everything and responsibility from him was welcome.

  Today, she took on the role of inventorying food while Martin collected water. With only the two of them their situation wasn’t dire, but that wasn't her concern. The only thing she cared about was Abby and Matt, and how to get supplies to them.

  Throughout the day, she’d glance out the window, at the black egg-shaped pods that dotted the skies. They’d glide from position to position, but they were always there. At any given moment she could count a dozen, circling the houses, waiting. The faint sounds of chainsaw-rip lasers could be heard faintly in the distance, and she flinched every time she heard it.

  The President’s recorded message still played on a loop in her brain. Don’t go outside. She remembered his eyes. His scared, tired eyes. She recognized that look; she’d see it in other traders in the office. That look that said, ‘I’m careening down a well and I can’t see the bottom’. She’d join the others in celebrating their downfall. ‘Dead man walking’ they’d call out after the sales numbers for the months were released. The bottom five were cut every quarter, no questions asked.

  Krista was always in the top.

  That’s how she did things. Why play the game if you’re not playing to win? It’s why she was always in the top earners category. It’s how she stayed in an environment that spat people out after a month. And it was how she would figure out a way to get to her kids. Killer robots or no killer robots.