Aliens and Ice Cream

by Michael James

  Speaking of parents, she needed to go see her mom. So much had happened since she had made it here, there hadn’t been time to visit. And truthfully, she was a little scared. It gnawed at something fundamental in her core, to think of her mother so broken, and she wasn’t sure how she’d react.

  “I’m going up to see my mom,” she whispered into Matt’s ear.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “You haven’t talked to her yet?”

  “No. This is the first free second I’ve had. Can you...” She stopped, faltering over the words. “Can you come with me?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s hard to see your parents when they’re hurt.” She stared at the wall, and he rubbed her shoulder and nodded.

  “Is your dad coming?”

  “No, he said it’s fine for me to go up by myself, he said she spends her time sleeping.”

  Matt nodded and gestured for Heather to go. She turned toward the stairs, but not before reaching out for his hand.

  They crept into the spare room together and she squeezed his hand as the smell hit. Sweet and rotten. Even with the open windows, there was no escaping the odor. Someone had propped her mom up on two pillows, with her injured leg hidden beneath stained sheets. Her pale face glistened with perspiration.

  “Oh Matt.” Heather covered her mouth. She rushed to the side of the bed and knelt, taking up her mom’s hand in her own. There was a small towel on the bed stand and she used it to wipe the sweat from her mom’s forehead.

  “Mom.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Her mom’s eyes fluttered and opened, and she looked around the room, disoriented.

  “Heather. You’re here.” Heather blinked away tears and hugged her, trying to breathe through her mouth. Her mom smiled, a tiny and pathetic thing, not the normal smile Heather was used to, the one that took twenty years off her features and made her eyes sparkle. This smile was half-dead, the grin of a stranger.

  “You're hurt,” Heather said and swallowed repeatedly, trying to keep herself from crying.

  “I’m okay, sweetie. It's my leg.” Her Mom’s voice was low and soothing, as if Heather was the one that needed comforting.

  “Are you okay?” Such a dumb question, but all Heather had was words.

  “Everyone is doing the best they can to help. I’m doing well, given the circumstances.” Heather looked her mom up and down. Her face was pale and drawn, with heavy bags under her eyes. Her hair fell limp and lifeless on her shoulders and she looked like she had lost weight.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her mom sighed and looked away. “I had hoped it wouldn’t take this long. Someone would come save us. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Are they fixing you? How bad is it?”

  “Let’s not talk about that anymore, okay? I’m too weak to stay awake for long and I need to say something to you.”

  Heather’s stomach filled with cold fear, and her hands trembled.

  “Mom, no.”

  “You know how much I love you, right?”

  “Mom, no.” This time, Heather said it with more force. She didn’t want to hear this speech. People only talked like this if they didn't think they'd be around for much longer. If she could stop her mom from saying it, everything would be fine.

  “I’m so proud of you, honey. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve grown into.” Tears tracked lines down her mom’s cheeks.

  “STOP IT!” Heather hid her face in her mom’s shoulder. “Stop saying those things. You'll be fine.” But her mom wouldn’t stop. She was relentless, lashing her with love.

  “I don’t regret one moment with you, Heather. You’re a wonderful girl and a wonderful person. I love you so much. No matter what happens, remember that your mother loves you.”

  “Please stop.” Heather broke down and started crying. The stress and agony of the past few days combined with this moment to create an uncontrollable torrent of sobbing. She cried hard enough that she coughed and took a deep, shuddering breath to stop it. She continued to beg as the words tumbled out. “I’ll be good, if you stop. I promise. I’ll clean my room every day, I’ll get better marks, I’ll help with the dishes. I’ll do anything you want, please stop.”

  “Oh sweetie. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But you can get through this. You need to be strong.”

  “No. Please.” Heather couldn't understand herself. “I said I’d do whatever you want, why are you doing this?” She shut her eyes, blocking out the sight of this stranger who wanted to kill her with her horrible words.

  “You need to listen. Heather Keene, open your eyes and look at me.”

  Heather's tears dripped onto her hands and the world faded into the background. The stress of the past few days, the panic over Liz, it all vanished, and there was only her and her mother.

  “I'll do everything I can to make it through this. Your dad and Mr. Cutler are being very helpful, and they’ve stopped most of the bleeding. But there’s a chance I won't survive.”

  Heather realized that words were stupid things, suitable for day-to-day life, but inadequate to this task. There was nothing to say to express how she felt.

  “I love you, mom.” It was the best she could do, and she poured everything into those four words. Sixteen years of experiences summed up in four syllables that had been uttered by millions of people, millions of times. But in this moment, they were Heather’s words, and she gave them to her mom, with all her heart, because it was all she had to give.

  “I love you too, baby. So much. So, so much. You are the best of me. You’re such a wonderful girl.”

  Heather cried, and cried, and cried.

  “Your dad will need you to be strong. You need to be there for him.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m sorry.” The moment defeated her. Her shoulders slumped, and she blinked away the last of her tears. She wanted to sleep until this was over.

  “Don’t feel sorry for anything. You did nothing wrong. You’re my wonderful, brilliant baby girl.”

  The words rose into the air, dissipated, and nothing remained. The emotion they carried left no impression and the world outside continued. Heather needed to fill the space, so said the first thing that came to her mind.

  “They won’t let me get Liz. She’s stuck in her house and I know how to bring her here, but they won’t let me.”

  Her mom squinted, leaning back against the bed.

  “Let? Who won’t let you?”

  “Mr. Cutler and dad. They say it’s too dangerous.”

  “Heather.” Her mom sighed and closed her eyes. “I’ll say this once because I’m tired and I think I need to sleep again soon. People don’t have permission to ‘let’ you do anything. Not now, not ever. Not me, not your dad, no one.” Her mom grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “You are Heather Keene. You do whatever you want.”

  “It’s dangerous, and I think-”

  “What did I just say?” Now her mom’s eyes opened, intense and piercing. Heather recited the words back, tasting their meaning, considering.

  “I can do whatever I want.”

  “Goddamn right. You need to hear this Heather. For your entire life, you'll be around people who want to slow you down. Partly because you’re a woman, partly for reasons that have nothing to do with you. I listened to those people, and I slowed. I ran life at a light jog so everyone else could keep up. Do you understand?”

  Heather nodded, surprised by the intensity in her mom’s words, but caught up. She’d never seen this side of her mother.

  “Tell me, Heather. When people try to slow you down, what are you going to say?”

  She looked at her mom and saw the person she must have been before a series of choices led her to this path. She smiled.

  “I’ll tell them all to go to hell.”

  Krista

  Krista had watched the way Heather reacted to Matt. How she maneuvered herself beside him. How she made sure their shoulders always touched. Matt stood an inch sho
rter, so they didn’t line up, but it didn’t stop her from pressing against him.

  She used similar tactics in the early days with Paul, finding excuses to put her hands on him, the most obvious demonstration of interest she could give. Matt took after his Father, as he seemed oblivious to the clear signs Heather sent.

  Heather had tired of the arguing and went upstairs to see her mother, dragging Matty behind her. Martin shrugged and muttered a response before heading back down to the basement to ‘work on the hole’, a phrase that would have struck Krista as humorous in any other circumstance.

  Paul grunted something inarticulate and then took the strange device into the living room for further examination. His eye had swollen shut and his face mottled with bruises. It was crazy how he attacked Martin, something she never expected.

  But now, they were all back together. Her family. But what should have been a moment of pure happiness became distorted by what she had done to Paul. She couldn't look her kids in the eyes, too worried they'd read the guilt on her face. She hunched into herself, looking on the floor, the walls, anywhere.

  Last night, she left Paul alone although it had been torture. She spent the night crying, sobbing out her remorse and trying to figure out a path forward. Paul had to forgive her, to let the healing begin. It sounded so simple in her head.

  Her feet took her to the kitchen, and she kept her hands clenched by her sides. Paul leaned over the strange device, turning it over in his hands, running his finger over the sides. He looked up at her when she entered but remained silent.

  “Your poor face.” She tried to touch where his eye swelled shut, but he pulled his head back and didn’t let her. He mumbled something she didn’t quite catch. Trying another tactic, she pulled a chair close and sat down.

  “Did you see Heather and Matty together?” She picked a harmless topic, keeping her voice light. Anything so he'd talk to her. “Something's going on. They can't stay away from each other.”

  “Huh.” Paul grunted and kept his eyes on the device.

  “It’s good to see that side of him. I don’t think he’s had a girlfriend before. I didn’t even know he was interested in Heather.”

  “If I fucked Sharon, it could be a trifecta.”

  The breath left her body with a whoosh and she gaped at him, not knowing what to say. When they fought, Paul never took shots. He’d reason, he’d cajole, he’d placate, but never attack. This staggered her.

  "You can’t fix this, Kris," he said, his voice low. "You can’t come in here like nothing happened."

  She tied her fingers into knots. “I know. I'm not sure what else to say except I’m sorry and I love you.”

  “Why did you do it?” He still didn’t look at her, and she kept her eyes focused outside the window.

  “I don’t know," she said, the words providing no relief for either of them. "I made a mistake. I was drunk, and it's no excuse, but there it is."

  “Wasn’t I a good husband?”

  She opened her mouth to say yes, but then stopped to consider. “Well, no. Not really.”

  Shock registered on his face and his mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I don’t mean that,” she said and waved her hands. “You weren’t bad, but you weren’t great either.”

  “I was faithful to you, at least.” He held up his hands and counted off on his fingers. “I was always here for you and the kids. I never complained or drank too much or went out for crazy boys’ nights.”

  She cut him off, anger rising to the surface. “That’s the bare minimum of a marriage. You’re giving yourself credit for showing up. You want a medal because you’re present? I did everything. Every shitty part of being a couple, you put onto me. I disciplined the kids and kept the house going. I did all the chores. You sat there, every weekend, puttering around, being the good guy.” Now tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped them away. “We’re not in a relationship, Paul. We just live together.”

  He gaped at her and she deflated. This wasn’t how she wanted this conversation to go. “It doesn’t matter. I made a mistake.”

  “A mistake.” He turned the words over in his mouth, chewing around them like a rotten piece of fish. “A tiny slip up.”

  “I never said it was tiny. I hurt you and I'm sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “That’s a first.” He snorted, and she blinked. Another shot. She didn’t recognize this Paul, this man who lashed out to hurt her. It was more than the words, it was the tone, the body language, all of it. This was a man who was checking out of a relationship and she needed to stop it, had to keep trying. Somehow.

  “There’s nothing I can do to make this right. I made the worst mistake I could make, and I hurt you. I’m not ready to give up. All I can say is I’m sorry, over and over. For as long as you need to hear it and as many times as I can say it. I’m sorry and I love you.”

  He glared at her. A low-level rage simmered behind his eyes and he had that squinty glare that meant he was trying to control his temper. She opened her mouth to respond when Heather stormed into the room, on a mission.

  “Hi Mr. Cutler, can I have the device please?” No greetings, no niceties, only an open palm extended toward Paul like it was her right.

  “What do you need it for?”

  “Because I have an idea. May I have it please?”

  Paul’s eyes flicked toward Krista, the parent in him overtaking the husband. Asking her for permission, for clarification. She almost told him what to do but stopped herself. Bailing him out somehow led to the place they found themselves in now. He needed to deal with this himself. Rather than respond, she stared at the ground.

  “Sure.” He handed the device to Heather, who turned it over in her hands, like she was looking for something. “Be careful with it, though.”

  “Thank you.” Heather took a step toward the door. “I’m going to get Liz. I won’t be long.”

  Before Krista had any chance to respond, Heather spun and ran out the front door.

  “What the fuck?” Paul yelled after her. “Stop!”

  But it was too late. In seconds, Heather was halfway down the street, running back to her friend’s house. Krista ran to the front door, but no further.

  “If she doesn’t make it, there goes our only way of getting out of here.”

  Krista didn’t say anything but nodded to herself. She watched that stupid, stubborn girl run and smiled.

  Heather

  She shouldn’t have stolen the device like that, but her mother’s words bounced through her head and she felt brave and foolish and destructive. If she waited for the adults to do something, nothing would happen. Besides, they’d used the transmitter a few times now, and it worked. The aliens hovered in the air, ignoring her.

  She remembered Matt's advice, his concerns around the effective use of the device. If it only worked up to a certain weight, it might not work for her and Liz at the same time. Whatever the range was, it worked for Matt and Abby, but her and Liz combined would be bigger than that. It didn’t matter. What she had planned didn’t require them to be together.

  The empty bottles in front of Liz’s house gleamed in the sun. The faint reddish-brown residue of Alexandra stained the porch and Heather needed to swallow several times to stop herself from heaving. She breathed through her mouth and tried not to look at the remains.

  The front door was still open, and Heather poked her head inside the house. It had only been hours since she dug the transmitter from the alien, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then. The alien sat, undisturbed, right where she left it on the living room floor, surrounded by fleshly glops of matter and viscous fluids.

  She heard a noise from the kitchen, a clanging, and stepped around the carcass to investigate. Liz must have gotten up, which Heather took as a good sign. However, she couldn’t remember if she had cleaned everything up. In the sink, had she left...?

  Liz stood in the kitchen, holding her dead mother’s severed hand. She
turned it over, like she was examining a sculpture. Heather gasped and rushed forward, swatting the offensive limb out of Liz’s grip, before her head could register what she was doing.

  “Don’t touch that.” She took Liz by the shoulders, expecting tears. Something. Instead, Liz looked through her and beyond. Nothing registered, and Heather recoiled from the vacancy within Liz's eyes.

  “I’m sorry I hit you. Come out of the kitchen, okay?” Liz let Heather pull her into the living room, head down, stringy hair falling over her eyes. She still wore the same clothes Heather put her to bed in last night.

  “We’re getting out of here. Go upstairs and throw your stuff into a bag, clothes and underwear and toothbrushes. Don’t pack too much, only what can fit into a backpack.” Liz stared dully at Heather and didn’t respond. “Do you understand me, Liz? We're leaving.”

  Liz blinked and turned to leave. This behavior worried Heather, it seemed like Liz was in shock. It wasn’t a problem she knew how to solve, and besides, she had enough to deal with. Hopefully, Liz would come out of it when she was around other people. Maybe seeing Pete would help.

  Heather walked to the closet by the front door and dug between the coats until she found a spare travel bag. She took it into the kitchen, and kicked the severed hand into the corner, letting a small scream escape her lips.

  She recalled Matt’s dad worrying about food, so she searched the cabinets and grabbed anything that was compact and non-perishable. Cans of tuna, beans, and granola bars. In the fridge, she found a bottle of water, some soft drinks, and some leftover pasta that appeared edible. In moments, her travel bag was bursting, and she thought there was enough. Any more and she'd be too encumbered.