Whether or not the speculation was wishful thinking on Eric’s part, hearing it made all of them feel better.
Lydia made a point. “If we are going to have to make ourselves known anyway, why not just leave? Maybe we could find another landing spot.”
“The Aliens would probably follow us. Besides, we would be deserting Rob Parker,” said Eric. “I am afraid that we are still in for a fight.”
For a minute, they were all silent. Eric spoke again. “We must lure them outside somehow. It is our only chance, but — ” As the answer came to him, his eyes lit up. “I know, I know. Why have I not thought of it before?” He was amazed at his own stupidity. It was simple. As the others listened intently, he explained. “Our ships are different in the way they replenish their energy. The Aliens’ requires the use of a respirator. All we have to do is to damage that and they will have to come out of the ship to fix it. It should be easy. I will go myself. If they do not get suspicious, there will be no trouble. Keep the radio on and attempt to keep them engaged in conversation.” Excitedly, he left the ship.
Holding a twenty-two caliber pistol, the smallest gun he could find, Eric managed to crawl around the ship without being seen. Even if they did not spot him, Eric knew that when he shot at the respiration to disable it, they would hear the gun. Getting away afterwards was going to be the problem. But he would still have the gun. To his knowledge, the only weapons the Aliens had were spears, and they would have to catch him first to use those. If Torpi came out without his shield and those bullets worked on the Aliens, he felt that he could fell them all before they knew what hit them.
Capture was his biggest fear. No, he would rather die or go back in time forever. As he readied to fire the shot into the respirator, Eric heard a loud, “Ba — loom!” It did not come from inside either ship. He dashed back into the bushes to seek cover. Looking back, what he saw astounded him. By a huge SUV with an emblem on each side he saw a uniform-clad law officer bearing a smoking shotgun. While blue lights flashed on top of the vehicle, a loud voice yelled, “Cut that out, you damn fool redneck. You wanna’ git us kilt? Them could be real Marsians in thar. Git on the horn and git us some help out heah.”
The two sheriff’s deputies were scared to death. Not quite sure what they were seeing made them uncertain about how to approach the matter.
The senior officer had not moved. He had one eye glued on the space ships while out of the corner of the other, he tried to look around.
“Ernest,” he told his partner, “what in hell you ’spect me to tell ’em? That they’s somethin’ or somebody out here in space ships?” He wanted the help all right, but he didn’t want to be ridiculed later on.
Without another word, both men backed off. The ships remained dormant. Nobody peeked out, and the deputies couldn’t tell what was inside. When their radio squawked, they both almost jumped out of their skins.
“Two-fifty-one, two-fifty-one. What’s your ten-twenty?”
That human voice startled them back to reality. Ernest jerked the mike out of the car and replied, “We’re in the woods just off Rollie Lane, ten-four.”
Though he’d been too excited to give his number, the operator recognized his voice. “If you’re ten-eight, take a signal twenty-six on Rollie Lane. No numerical address. It’s one and a quarter miles from Highway Eighty-two.”
Ernest did not reply immediately. First, he looked at his partner, then at the space ships. Deciding that the interests of science were not as important as his own safety, he nodded his head and turned to his partner.
“Let’s go, Billy. That drunk will be a sight easier to handle.”
Billy made no protest, he just followed right along.
Meanwhile, Eric had gone quite a way back in the woods to make sure he was not seen by those deputies. He wanted no part of a confrontation with the law. Even if the gun blast brought the Aliens out into the open, Eric could not risk a shootout with the police. Besides, he had nothing against them. It was the Aliens that he had to attack.
Since this might also bring out the Aliens at this inopportune time, Eric decided to lie low. For the time being, he abandoned his plan to disable their respirator. He could return to his own ship when he was sure the deputies left. Judging by their conversation and apparently inferior intelligence, he felt sure that they would leave. Even if they stayed, Eric would have discounted attempting conversation with those two. It was going to be difficult enough to communicate with any Earthling and make him or her believe what he would say. But trying to do so with an ignorant, uneducated individual would be impossible. A better chance would come. Right now, Eric just needed a place to hide until he was sure it was safe to come out.
Luck was with him. As he reached the other side of the gully near their former landing spot, almost hidden by the heavy brush and tall pine trees, Eric saw a small wooden house. Behind it was an old outhouse. That would serve him well. He headed towards it.
Tim O’Hara had been out on the town. Upon reaching the front steps of the wooden porch, he could not remember if there were three or four. As he gingerly put his left foot on the bottom step, he began counting them aloud.
“One, two, free, izzit four, fourah? Sh — can’t wake Mabel. Mabel’ll kill me. Woo — ooe, is she gonna’ be mad.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin and, with effort, raised his two-hundred-pound bulk over the last step. The pitcher of beer he drank had reached his brain. His vision was blurred and double. Stumbling and falling forward against the front door, he knew the damage was done. Mabel was sure to awaken now. But she slept on. Tim fumbled through his pockets for his key.
“Wisht it was back in the good ole days. I could just walk right in. Mabel never locked the door then,” he said, bemoaning days of yore when country people never locked up.
But those days were gone forever. Since two elderly people had been murdered right in their own home less than a mile down the road last year, Mabel took no chances. So, now, Tim couldn’t get inside his home.
“Damn it. Tha’ key’s gotta be on this ring somewheres. I’ll jes’ go ’round back.” He held up one key but saw two. “If it’s not on a’ thos’, I’ll find a way to get in. But if I’m gonna break in, I gotta go to the back — sure can’t do it here by that window.” He tiptoed back down the steps away from the bedroom where Mabel slept.
“Ha, ha.” He giggled as he heard his wife snoring soundly. Satisfied that she was asleep, he began singing in a loud whisper as he walked around the house. “When Irish eyes were smilin’ and my heart was young and gay — ” He stopped in the middle and shook his index finger. “If I can’t get in the back door, clear the road. Outhouse, I’m on the way,” repeating it until he reached his destination. He tried key after key and tugged at the back door knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He climbed on a rickety stool and tried unlatching one of the windows. The stool slipped and Tim crashed to the ground.
He gave up. “I don’ care if I nevah get in there,” he chanted. “Listen to that. I made a rhyme. I’m a poet and don’ know it,” he added gleefully as he staggered over to the outhouse.
Trapped in it, Eric had to show himself. As the man came toward the building, Eric exited, confident that this drunk would not be able to convince anybody of what he had seen anyway. Eric was cautious. He decided to say nothing, but if the drunk insisted, he would give as little information as possible.
Staggering backwards and reeling on his heels, Tim squinted as he looked Eric over. “Well-ll now. You’re a mite too big to be a leprechaun, aren’t ya? And you’re not big enough to be a space giant. So what are ya? Could be I know who ya are?” he asked without even pausing for breath.
“Could be you’re Mr. O’Reilly up to ya tricks again. I told ya after the last one — when ya put on that gorilla head last St. Patrick’s Day and sneaked up to me window, ya did — that ya couldn’t fool me, Danny. I knew ya then, too. Now go on with ya before ya wake Mabel or we’ll both need a mask to cover the bruises.”
Eric wa
s taken aback. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. Before he could reply, old Tim continued, his brogue getting stronger by the minute. “Danny, me boy, there’s somethin’ I want ya to tell me. Where’d ya get a mask with a funny lookin’ pug nose? Oh, ya are original, ya are.” He bobbed his head. “Drunk or sober, though, I’d know ya anywhere.”
The volume of his voice increased with every word. Before he got the last sentence out, he spoke loud enough to wake the dead. He did awaken Mabel. She stormed out of the back door with a broomstick in her hand, her flannel nightgown streaming out behind her. Halfway down the porch steps, she lost a slipper and had to put it back on.
When she looked up and saw Eric, she was terrified. The broom fell to the ground as she ran screaming into the house to call the sheriff.
Unperturbed, Tim O’Hara let out a belly laugh, made a remark to Eric that “at least you fooled somebody,” and asked him to wait while he fetched his wife to let her in on the joke. As Tim staggered back up the steps, he chuckled softly at his thoughts that it was the first time in a long time anybody got the best of Mabel.
Seizing the opportunity to slip away, Eric left. Sneaking back through the woods, he suspected that by the time he returned, the two deputies would be gone. Their frightened eyes told him that they would leave at the first chance. When he got near the space ships and found no men and no police car, he was not surprised at all. He got to his own ship without incident and climbed aboard.
Rob looked into the face of evil. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he was strapped to a chair. Torpi stared down at him.
“I know you’re a snoopy reporter, trying to tell the world what we’re doing. Oh,” he chuckled, “I’m going to give you your story, but you’ll never live to tell it.”
He pulled up a chair and turned it backwards, sitting within inches of Rob. “First off, I’ll admit that we killed those police officers, the S.O.Bs.”
When he sneered, Rob spit right in his eye.
With a hard backhand across Rob’s face, Torpi left a bright red mark, but Rob didn’t cry out; he wouldn’t give Torpi that satisfaction.
Torpi wiped off the spit and continued in a monotone. “The Svarians have the key to immortality, and we want it. We’ll get it at any cost. I have plenty of men to sacrifice. What’s human life, anyhow?”
“It’s important to us, you fool. We can’t live forever, but we do have the good sense to make the best of it while we’re alive. You wouldn’t know this, but, as the famous author William Faulkner said in his book The Old People, ‘There’s nothing worse than not being alive.’”
“Pfff. You humans act so superior, but the truth is you exploit each other all the time. Your politics are totally corrupt and even on a one-on-one basis, you treat each other with contempt. Your policy is, It’s all about me.”
Leaning his head forward as far as he could, Rob retorted, “And what’s your policy, Torpi? Isn’t it the same thing? At least we have laws that stop people like you from killing to get what you want.”
Torpi stood and pushed Rob’s chair over backward. He stood over Rob. “It’s a ‘survival of the fittest’ world. The same applies to our planet. We know what we want and we take what we can. Right now, we want all of Eric’s secrets, and we’ll get them.”
Before Torpi walked out of the room, Rob had wiggled his chair to an upright position again. Torpi stared back at him with the threat. “You managed to get up this time, but it won’t happen again. The next time I put you down, it’ll be for good.”
Chapter 6
FRANK DEES CAME TO the paper in a bad mood. On this humid, ninety-five degree morning in the middle of July, the air conditioner wasn’t working properly, one of his reporters was still missing, two policemen had mysteriously disappeared, and nobody on his staff had come up with a damn thing. It was discouraging and depressing. Now, to top it all, by nine-thirty a.m., his ace reporter, Rob Parker, had not shown up for work. And a hurricane had just crossed Jamaica, headed their way.
“What the hell does he think we’re running around here?” Dees screamed to nobody in particular. He stood up, shoved some papers off of his desk and kicked a chair out of his way. “Damn it all! Mona’s missing. Parker’s on the story, and he hasn’t even come in to make a report on what he’s found.”
By then, everybody turned to face the boss. His furrowed brow told them it wasn’t the story the editor was interested in, it was the missing reporter. Dees showed more concern than anyone had ever seen him express before.
Seeing that he needed support, tall lanky Morris Olsen walked over to where Dees stood. Putting his arm around the editor’s shoulders, he looked at Frank with clear blue eyes and spoke with gentleness learned over the years.
“Don’t be upset, Frank. Let’s call Parker’s apartment. He’s been going night and day. Maybe he just overslept.”
Morris picked up the phone and dialed. He let it ring about a dozen times before putting the receiver back in its cradle. His, “Rob’s probably on his way here now,” didn’t console Dees in the slightest.
“I’ll try his cell phone,” Dees said as he dialed the number. Still no answer. Saying nothing but fearing the worst, Dees snatched his coat off of the rack and left the building. When he returned an hour later to tell them he had no luck, he’d worked up a head of steam strong enough to stir some action. Five minutes after his arrival, the entire newsroom was in an uproar.
“Damn! Now two of our own are missing and here we sit with most experienced investigators right in this room. We should be able to find Mona and Rob. I want some action.” He pointed around the room to four of his best men. “I want every one of you to drop whatever you’ve got going. Get on this, and get on it fast. Make sure you don’t duplicate each other’s efforts.”
Dees issued orders as fast as he could spout them out, and they knew he meant business. Reporters scurried out the door and moved off in different directions as fast as they could.
When they were all out of sight, Dees spoke to the air. “Now, I’m coming to look for both of you myself. If this is some kind of a joke, you’re both gone forever.”
The editor knew in his heart that this was no hoax. His past experience made it easy for him to spot a critical situation. A man who’d seen all that he had was seldom fooled. With a heavy heart, he left to pursue his own course of action. Until his reporters were found, he would not rest.
With a determination to search every square foot of ground around Ink Road, the last place Rob was known to be, Frank headed in the direction of the airport. Rain splashed on his windshield, and he cursed the fact that he had not worn his boots. The ground out there would be soggy and muddy, but he wasn’t going back for them. If he ruined his new shoes and got his feet wet, so what? It wouldn’t be the first time.
As he approached the airport, the rain ceased and the sun peeked out from behind a cloud. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. He thanked God for small favors and slowed down so he wouldn’t miss the turn on Ink Road. If he hadn’t known about where it was, he would never have found it. The green and white sign was nearly covered by tall shrubbery. He turned off onto the dirt road and, dodging puddles, drove on the red clay for a mile, making a couple of turns along the way. It was woodsy and quiet. No houses could be seen through the dense pine trees. Whatever the trees didn’t hide, the brush did. Dees pulled over to the side and shut off his motor.
His first impulse was to hop out of the car and yell out Rob’s name. That was ludicrous since he had no clue as to where Rob might be, so he got out and looked around, not knowing what he expected to find.
A baby frog hopped over and croaked. Birds sang. Other animal life scampered about, carefully hiding from the unknown enemy. No other humans were to be seen.
“Now where do I go from here?” Dees asked himself.
Far in the distance, he heard a plane approaching the nearby airport, but he couldn’t see it. He walked a few yards and seeing a path to the left, took it. It led him to
another road where he was surprised to find a mailbox. It read, “Tim O’Hara,” in big, bold letters.
Dees chuckled. “Find an Irishman and you’ll see his name. They’re proud of their heritage. I’ll stop and see if he knows anything. Once I tell him my mother’s maiden name was O’Brien, he’ll cooperate and help me if he can.”
Frank first tried the front door and when there was no reply, he walked around back. He was so busy looking at the obsolete old outhouse that he didn’t see the broom. Tripping over it, he had nothing to catch onto so he fell flat on his face in the mud. Swearing aloud, he picked himself up and brushed what he could from his clothes.
“That does it,” he said aloud. “I’ve struck out. I may as well give it up. If anybody was home that spiel I spouted out would have brought them running.” Turning around, he trudged back down the path toward his car.
A short distance away, the Svarians were running out of supplies. Eric had not told his fellow crew members or Mona, but their pills were running low. It had taken more than he anticipated to keep them going, and with Mona using them, too, the supply was almost depleted. He was extremely worried. Finally, there was nothing to do but bring it up for discussion to see if they could come up with a solution.
“I can go. I can bring food back,” Mona volunteered as soon as she was apprised of the situation.
All along, she knew she could leave and save herself, but she’d grown to like and respect these people and wanted to help them of her own free will. If she chose to leave, they wouldn’t have done anything to stop her. She knew that they liked her, too. She had to convince them that she could go get food and return with relative safety.
Lydia challenged her decision. “Mona, you will run a risk. The Aliens might see you leave.”
“No, they won’t. I can slip out without being seen. You forget, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to sneak around. Reporting teaches many things. But,” she laughed, “usually I’m trying to get in some place, not out.”
Time Will Tell Page 8