Pete lay on his back with his hands on his stomach. Beside him, Matt seemed blurry and indistinct, wavering in and out of focus. Still, Pete could make out the concern on his face.
“Time?” The advantage with this version of Matt was Pete hardly needed to talk to be understood.
“I don’t know how much time it takes for their motion sensors to reset. Obviously, you’re moving at threshold too low for them to register as movement. But a step every twenty minutes seems reasonably slow.”
Pete nodded. Matt made good points, but he wasn’t the one who huddled in terror after each move, feeling the eyes of the black things on him, on the box. He hadn’t been able to look outside, but he was positive they were hovering, waiting for their moment to strike.
After three feet of movement, Pete had moved the box half off the grass and onto the street. There was a six-inch gap between pavement of the road and the bottom of the box. A few more steps and he’d be entirely on the street. For now, he enjoyed the slight breeze that came in through the gap and he rolled over to put his hand into that air current.
The breeze felt wonderful and flushed out some of the stale air. He let it melt over his fingers and closed his eyes. He could almost pretend he was somewhere else, maybe on a beach or at the park.
Using his elbows, he army crawled to the curb and put his body out over the edge. He had just enough room to rest his head against the pavement. Although the space was only six inches high, he could see down the rest of the street and realized he was pointed at the treehouse. He needed to figure out some way to tell where he was going, but one problem at time, he supposed.
“It’s time, Pete.”
Regular Matt wasn’t this pushy, and Pete thought Box Matt could use a couple lessons in not being an asshole. Box Matt was relentlessly focused on moving.
“Too early.”
“It’s not too early. You have to go faster, or you’ll die.”
“No.” Pete sat up and crossed his arms. Distantly, he heard a rumble. Was that the black creatures, planning something else? He couldn’t connect the sound to anything in his experience.
“Tell you what,” Matt said, and Pete thought he could see a smile on the dim outline of his face. “I have a surprise for you. You lift the box one more time, now, and I’ll get you some water.”
The deep rumble came again, louder this time. Pete still couldn’t understand what the sound was, although he thought it might be something he’d heard before.
“Drink? For real?”
Matt nodded. “Promise.”
Pete didn’t know how Matt was going to pull that off, but trusting him had worked out so far, and regardless of whether it was Regular Matt or Box Matt, either Matt was much smarter.
Against the screaming of his joints, he assumed his Buddha pose, picked up the box and moved forward a foot. Now the box was a full two thirds off the grass and when he put it down, it sat at an angle, with the section on the grass raised six inches off the ground, the curb acting like the fulcrum on a see-saw.
In his haste to get water, he had forgotten to freeze with terror in anticipation of the laser blasts, and he felt a little cheated when he realized they still weren’t coming. Apparently, a foot every twenty minutes was doable. It made him wonder how much he could push this. A foot every ten minutes? Every five? Either way, he had done what Matt asked, so where was his water? But Matt had vanished, so Pete didn’t even have a chance to ask him.
He settled in to have a good cry, albeit a dry one, his body having long since lost the ability to spare moisture for tears. He didn’t think he was going to survive. His body couldn’t continue without water and he couldn’t move any faster. If dehydration didn’t kill him, aliens would.
Outside, there was one more deep rumble, this one louder than ever, like it was coming from directly overhead. He curled up into a ball on the ground, expecting to feel the hot blast of lasers. Box Matt had been wrong. A foot every twenty minutes was too fast and now he was going to die.
Instead, he heard a tap on the roof. The aliens were poking at his box. One tap, then another and then another. Soon, all the tapping sounds blended together and then it was the constant noise of a million tiny fingertips tapping on his box, marrying into a constant, droning rush.
Terrified, he crawled away from the part of the box that tipped open and huddled on the far end, putting his bum right on the street. Next to the curb, a movement caught his eye. A small twig was crawling along the ground, on its own power.
No, that wasn’t right. He squinted and moved closer, putting his head directly over the twig. It wasn’t moving on its own, it was being pushed.
By water.
A small, insignificant trickle of water was running alongside the curb. Pete didn’t know what to do. Was this a trick? He covered his head with his arm and with the other, reached out and dipped his finger in the tiny stream. Nothing happened. His finger got wet and nothing else.
The loud rumbling sound happened again, and his dehydrated brain finally put the pieces together.
Rain. It was raining.
The trickle of water by the curb was now a stream as the runoff from the street collected and made its way downward toward the houses. Panting, he brought his head down to street level and put his lips against the water. He drank.
No water had ever tasted so good. He could taste the dirt and tar and detritus, and it was delicious, and he couldn’t stop drinking. For the next several minutes, the only sound he heard was the noise of him slurping water, getting as much of it into him as possible.
It was a downpour, and soon the trickle of water turned into a rush. More than he could ever want and when he was done drinking, he splashed it onto his face and hair and arms. It was wonderful. Matt had done it. Matt promised him water if he moved and now, he had water.
His body responded immediately. He could literally feel the water soaking into his organs, filling up his blood, and even though he had probably already drunk a gallon, he couldn’t stop himself from drinking more.
Rain. He could hardly wrap his head around it. He was going to be able to keep moving. And now that he knew twenty minutes was workable, he could go even faster. He might make it home in two more days.
Now the only sound he could hear in the box was his own laughter.
Paul
The storm reached its peak, and the power flickered twice. Only a dip, not even enough to reset the clocks, but enough to send Paul into a near panic that ended in a clipped message to the global chat group. They needed to cook all their food, immediately. It was great to have bags of dry pasta and rice, but if the power went out, it would be almost inedible. He suspected soaking it in water overnight would probably be a workable alternative, but it would be unpleasant.
He had all four burners going on the stove and was boiling all the rice he had been able to find. Anything already cooked was going into Tupperware containers and Ziplock bags. It was alarming how little there actually was. Between feeding the kids, himself, John, and Sharon, the fresh food was almost entirely gone. There was one apple left, and almost all the vegetables from the fridge had been eaten. They’d been prioritizing the meat in the freezer, and Paul worried if he should cook that too. Maybe the chicken. There were pounds left over from the amount they’d purchased for the barbecue.
So many things to juggle. He’d been trapped in the house for days, how was it possible there wasn’t enough time? But the balls were in the air now and his hands were moving at top speed. John was downstairs, hammering away at the concrete foundation, getting ready for Krista and Martin to break through the hole they were digging. They tried to estimate where they’d come out, but it was tricky. John was essentially removing the entire foundation.
“This will be bad for your house,” John had told him, frowning at the idea. “If I take out the foundation, your house will begin to sag.”
Paul swallowed his temper, and asked, “How long would you think that will take, John?”
; “Oh, within six months, you’ll notice the floors aren’t level. After another year, there will be real problems.”
“I see.” Paul pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, resisting the urge to strangle the man. “Thank you for bringing that up. Can we agree that for right now, our main priority is helping Krista and Martin? In the meantime, I’ll make sure I have the names of some foundation guys in my phone. When all of this is over, maybe I can get a two for one deal.”
John seemed satisfied with that stupid, pointless answer and Paul had to give his head a shake. If he was alive in a year to see his house collapse, he’d consider it a blessing.
Sharon was another problem he’d need to solve. They’d gotten the artery to clog, but she slept most of the time now, and when she did wake, it was only to take more Ativan and Tylenol. He had taken her pulse and although he didn’t know what he was feeling for, it seemed to be weak and erratic. Every hour, he’d try to get her drink juice and eat small bites of food to keep her strength up, but it felt like a losing battle.
Speaking of which, he needed to check on her. The rice on the stove would be fine for ten minutes.
There was a little milk and cheese left in the fridge. He cut the cheese into bite-sized pieces and rounded out the meal with a small amount of the pasta he had cooked, topped with a spoonful of butter. Sharon had hardly eaten since Sunday and he figured the more he could do to get calories in her, the better.
Upstairs, the door to what he had come to think of as ‘her’ room was ajar. Sharon was conscious, although her eyes were bleary. The smell in the room was unpleasant, the moist blood combining with the dry air to make a sour, metallic odor. Like spoiled meat. He tried to breathe through his mouth.
“Hi.” He kept his voice low, like he was in a hospital. “I brought you some food. I’m going to open some windows, okay? Get some fresh air in here.”
“Hi Paul, that will be fine.” She smiled at him and he set the food down beside her. This room looked out on to the backyard, which in turn backed on to the forest. Hovering above the treeline, he could see one alien. He wondered if that meant anything. Did they only stay where there were people remaining, or were they everywhere? He couldn’t check anymore as most of the major internet sites had stopped working.
Sharon picked at her food without much enthusiasm, selecting a small piece of cheese to put in her mouth. She hadn’t moved in three days, and he’d been too scared to change the dressing. Regardless, Sharon said to leave it where it was, but he couldn’t tell if the bleeding had stopped or not. The cloth underneath was rust colored, which he took as a good sign that no new blood was coming out.
They were using a makeshift bedpan, a ceramic casserole dish he found under the stove. In the first few days, Sharon had managed to go to the bathroom a few times, but it had been dry for at least twenty-four hours now.
“How are you feeling?” He wanted to rub her shoulder, do something to show he cared, but he was too afraid to touch her.
“I want to talk to Heather. Is my phone charged?”
Last night, Paul gathered up all the devices to ensure they’d be at full power. He said, “Yeah, but are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She attempted to sit up straighter but winced at the motion. “If Martin knows, it’s only a matter of time before he slips and tells Heather. I need to speak with her. Also, I don’t think I have too much longer left.”
“Don’t say that, Sharon. Martin will be here soon and then we can figure out what to do next. I’m sure he’ll have some ideas.”
“Oh, he’ll have some ideas.” Sharon smiled to herself, but Paul didn’t get the joke. “But I’m too tired to play ‘everything will be alright’ with you. You’ve done a wonderful job. The best anyone could expect in the circumstances.” She rested her hand on top of his and looked at him seriously. “You’ve been very brave, Paul.”
He laughed, but it came out like a crazy bark. “I feel like I should be saying that to you.”
“Maybe we can agree that we’ve both been brave. And the kids have been brave, and maybe even Martin and Krista, in their own way.” She pursed her lips. “I suppose they’re both happy they’re stuck together.”
“Why would they be happy at that?”
Sharon looked at him for a long moment, like she was considering something. “Never mind. It’s nothing. It’s a bit hard to think. Can you get me my phone please?”
Paul nodded and gave her a small pat on the shoulder before he left. She wasn’t making much sense and he worried that she was starting to lose her faculties. He worried she was correct – she really didn’t have much time left. Unless they found a way out of this house, she might be gone soon.
He was glad she was going to call Heather though. With everything going on, you couldn’t keep secrets from the people you love. Who knows when things would get worse?
Heather
Outside, the rain fell in thick, torrential waves. Visibility was almost gone; the downpour was so intense. Heather crouched on the other side of the table, by the rope hole in the corner of the treehouse, in the section they had come to think of as the bathroom. Between the table and the noise created by the rain, she had some semblance of privacy, and Matt and Abby understood her need to be alone.
She stared at the phone in her hands, dazed. The call with her mom left her fractured. Heather tried to remain stoic through it all, but the picture her mom painted was gruesome and severe. Her leg was shot in the initial alien attack. Days spent upstairs, drifting in and out of a fuzzy sleep. No real medical care, and the only company coming from two scared and distracted men.
Due to the worsening cell reception, the conversation ended up being unclear and filled with static, with Heather needing her mom to repeat herself over and over. Her mom ended up saying she was fine, it wasn’t that serious, that she’d be okay, but Heather had trouble believing it.
When Heather was little, many years ago, her mom took her to the museum. They were doing an exhibit on the planets and Heather’s imagination had been filled with daydreams of travelling to the stars. Her favorite one was Jupiter, not only because it was the biggest, but because it was the fake biggest. Most of the planet was gas, the interior hidden by a misty cloak that concealed its true size. And the clouds were the weakest part of the planet. Anyone could blow away a cloud, but there stood Jupiter, the largest planet in the whole galaxy. Heather liked that very much, the idea of becoming bigger by covering yourself with your weakness.
Of course, she begged her parents to take her, and of course her mom did. Heather didn’t even remember where her dad was, but she didn’t mind. There was never any real expectation that he’d come. It was rainy that day, Heather remembered that clearly. The kind of drizzle where you never properly prepared for it. Everything all wet and slick, but never raining hard enough that a person would think to bring an umbrella.
Her mom decided to take the train, and they pulled up to the station while the train rolled in. They had to scramble to make it, they were so close. Her mom fell on the platform, taken by surprise by the sneaky rain that turned the pavement into a skating rink. It had been a hard fall too, hard enough that her mom cried out and grabbed her hand close to her chest. Still, she got to her feet and hustled Heather on to the train, not complaining another word about the fall.
The whole day at the museum passed in a wondrous blur for Heather, surrounded by planets and stars and asteroids. Her mom even stopped at the gift shop on the way home and bought her cookies, putting the final touches on the day. The only down spot was Mom refusing to hold her hand, instead keeping it tucked inside her long coat pocket that she didn’t take off.
Later that night, her mom went to the hospital. Her dad, red-faced and huffing with anger, blamed Heather. Broken wrist. Snapped in half when her mom fell on the platform, but rather than ruin the day for her little girl, she tucked it to her side and soldiered on. An entire day, her arm in blazing agony and none of it showed on her face.
She
stopped to buy cookies.
So, when her mom told her, “My leg is fine,” she didn’t believe it. And her dad was too self-absorbed to be able to give her the full story. And now Heather was left with the same problem she always had. Too many emotions and nowhere to put them. Rather than cry, or scream, she inhaled and focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. And with each exhalation, another feeling got buried down deep where it couldn’t touch her.
She did this for ten minutes, longer than normal, but when she was done, she felt quite confident that no tears were going to come out and that none of it would show on her face. With a final, shuddering breath, she got to her feet and rose from behind the overturned table, ready to face the Cutlers.
Matt’s mouth was in such a deep frown that it was almost comical. It seemed like he overheard parts of the conversation. Well, nothing to do for that except prove she wasn’t bothered.
“It’s all good,” she said. She ran one hand through her hair, keeping it casual.
“Your mom is hurt?” he asked.
“Her leg, yeah. Nothing serious though. I think she’ll be okay.”
Matt nodded slowly but didn’t look convinced. Still, no further questions came, and that was enough. Heather wasn’t in the mood to answer them.
Before she could say anything else, she was tackled around the waist by a sobbing Abby who squeezed her legs, burying her face into Heather’s thigh.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” she said.
Heather opened her mouth to repeat her lie, but this time choked on the words. She blinked rapidly, making sure her eyes stayed clear. No words, but she could stroke Abby’s hair with a single hand.
Matt came over next and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He didn’t say anything either, only offered her comfort. With her other arm, she hugged him back. For a moment, she let her head rest against his and she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, but she let herself accept what was given.
Outside, the world continued.
Aliens and Ice Cream Page 14