FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1)

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  She relaxed for a moment and caught her breath. Please, have the lug wrench be under there, she prayed to herself. After a moment, she began lifting the tire again, using one arm to lever the tire up while searching with the other hand. Her left hand finally felt what she'd been looking for. It was a long L shaped iron rod, slightly larger at the short end of the L. The tip of the long end was pointed like a large flat-headed screwdriver. Perfect.

  The scales were beginning to balance. It took her a few minutes to get the wrench out from under the tire, but it finally came. She hugged her newly found prize against her chest. For the first time in several hours, she knew she had a chance to live through this ordeal. A small chance, but very definitely a chance. It was enough. It was all she ever expected out of life. A small chance. She began to put the tire and floorboard back in place.

  Monday 2:05 pm

  In his younger days, Allan had thought flying in a helicopter would be a lot of fun, but as the WXYY traffic 'copter lifted off the ground with the three men inside, Allan couldn't grasp why he'd ever had such a silly thought.

  Although James had assured them several times that it was safe to have all three of them in the 'copter, as Allan felt his right side pressed against the outer glass, he doubted the man's judgment. Oliver was a large man and took up more than his share of the seat, leaving less than a foot and a half for Allan to wedge into. It was going to be a long flight and far from fun.

  "How long before we get to Pulaski?" He yelled to be heard over the sound of the blades above them.

  "Hard to say for sure. Depends a little on the weather and the winds. I'd guess two to two-and-a-half hours,” James replied as he steered hard left to miss some high tension wires, then added, "Maybe three. But don’t worry, this baby has an auxiliary fuel tank so we won’t be running out of fuel. I’ve learned my lesson about trying to fly on fumes.”

  Allan groaned. It was going to be a very long ride.

  Pack Animal

  Monday 3:25 pm, Dec. 6

  Homlin glanced over to the passenger seat beside him. His eyes fell on the folder of papers the car salesman had given to him. He smiled. Buying the car instead of stealing another one had probably earned him at least a couple of hours, maybe more. On top of which, the misdirection clue he'd left behind in the other car would at least keep his pursuer guessing, if not taking them off the track completely.

  Yes, he was rather proud of himself, even for fooling his passenger. It hadn't been necessary, really. Just an added touch but it had been fun. Vogt had never noticed the Mazda dealership right across the street from the parking lot. As far as she knew, they were in another stolen car, which would leave her thinking her chances of being rescued were better than they really were. At some point, that useful tidbit of information might be used against her.

  Homlin turned the radio back on and checked a half-dozen stations. Still no mention of any manhunt for him. Good. The idiots were still keeping it quiet, which would make Homlin's travels much easier.

  Admittedly, he'd taken a big loss this morning at the meeting. A big step back, but the game wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. They may have stopped his shipment of the FreeForm, but they hadn't stopped him or his people. Nor would they. He'd learned a lot about these humans. He had underestimated them for the last time. It was time to start playing dirty — time to start making up his own rules. He still had enough financial stability to quickly re-establish himself elsewhere. He'd been sure to have a backup just in case of disaster.

  It was one of the cardinal rules of planet migration. Always have a contingency plan. Well, he did. He needed only to reclaim a couple small items before disappearing into the fabric of another society. Once he pulled his finances out of the half-dozen banks, he'd change his identity. South America would do nicely. He'd find another way to disseminate the seeds of his people. Already he had a new plan brewing.

  All he needed was the crystal and the cocoon. He glanced at the digital clock on the dash. And in a couple of hours he'd have them. He reached down on the floorboard and picked up the bag of goodies he'd bought from the store next to the car lot. He chuckled to himself. A final little joke on Ms. Vogt before killing her. Just a little humiliating joke to pay her back for her meddling. It would be the perfect trick. Even the fool, Pritchard, would have to get the punch line and the message behind it.

  Monday 4:15 pm

  Oliver turned his head in Allan's direction and cupped his hands around his mouth so he wouldn't have to shout so loud. "James says we're coming up on Pulaski in the next few minutes."

  Allan nodded and smiled weakly. His headache had continued full blast, and the last two hours of the throbbing sound of the 'copter's blades had continually fueled it, on top of which he felt like if he didn't get on the ground pretty soon he was going to be air sick.

  He leaned over and put his face close to Oliver's ear. "Any word about another stolen car?"

  Oliver frowned and shook his head. "No word. It doesn't make any sense. The police are checking other forms of transportation to see if they can pick up their trail. They did find an interesting item in the car that Homlin may have left behind."

  Allan was about to ask him what they'd found when James tapped Oliver on the shoulder and pointed towards the ground at the small town of Pulaski, Virginia. They flew over the city looking for a place to land. As they flew over, Allan imagined that Waynesboro probably looked very similar from the air. Small, old, yet neatly kept only a few miles from the Interstate.

  They managed to find an empty lot only a hundred yards or so from the parking lot where the Toyota had been abandoned. James landed in the center of the lot and pointed the way to Oliver and Allan. Allan was grateful to finally be able to open the door and climb out although even as he did so, he suspected it would only be a few minutes before he was climbing back inside.

  The two men jogged over to the parking lot where a police car and a Virginia Highway Patrol car sat next to each other. Oliver strolled up to the three officers who were leaning against the cars. He quickly flashed something from his wallet, which Allan couldn't make out and suspected that neither could the officers.

  "What have you got for us, boys?" Oliver's voice suddenly had the slight hint of a twang. Allan smiled at the subtle change.

  "Not much, I'm afraid,” the Highway Patrol Officer spoke first. "Artie here discovered the car a couple of hours ago. By the time I arrived, he'd also found the attendant lying unconscious in the little booth over there. They've already taken him to the hospital. Last report, he hadn't regained consciousness yet. We did find this wedged down in the front seat." He handed Oliver a wrinkled map.

  "You mind if I use your hood?" Oliver asked as he opened the map.

  "Be my guest,” the officer replied.

  Oliver spread the map out on the hood, and the five men gathered around to study it.

  Oliver followed the pen line that had been sketched on the map. It started in Washington, D.C. and continued down Interstate 81 passing next to Pulaski and ending in Knoxville, Tennessee.

  "What do you think?" Oliver finally asked to no one in particular.

  "From what I remember hearing Pat say about Biogentrix Labs, they're supposed to have a small subsidiary unit just outside Knoxville,” Allan said.

  "That must be where the son-of-a-bitch is headed,” one of the officers responded.

  "I'm not so sure,” Allan replied.

  Oliver turned and looked at him. "You're not? Where do you think he's headed?"

  "Back to Waynesboro,” Allan said simply.

  "Even with this?” Oliver pointed to the map.

  "Even with that,” Allan replied. "First of all, we don't know for sure Homlin drew the line on the map, although I suspect he did. It could have been in the car all along. Maybe it shows the travel plans of the actual owner's trip to Washington, D.C."

  "Well yeah, it's possible but . . ."

  "But it's likely Homlin drew it. As I said, I suspect he did. I think he
drew it and left it behind deliberately to throw us off."

  Oliver pondered what Allan had said and began to nod his head. "That would be possible, no doubt about it. But why return to Waynesboro?"

  Allan frowned and wrinkled his brow. His head hurt so much it was difficult to think straight. Why did he feel Homlin was returning to his old stomping grounds? He'd thought it from the moment he'd first awakened and discovered Homlin had escaped. But he couldn't answer why.

  Then it came to him. "There's something Pat told me when we first started working on this case together. She said every time she would get frustrated tracking a dead end, she would return to the Waynesboro area. Eventually she'd pick his trail up. There's something special about the area. I don't know what. Maybe it's an alien thing — always returning to the original landing spot. I just think there's something there Homlin is returning to. I wish I could tell you what it is."

  Oliver looked down at the thin line on the map. After a few minutes, he looked up into Allan's eyes. "It's been a long time since I was in those mountains. I'd just as soon never go back there myself, but for some reason I can't explain either, I think you're right. We'll go on to Waynesboro. I'll radio the Knoxville Authorities to stake out the Biogentrix lab."

  "I suppose we have to get back in the damn 'copter." The throbbing in Allan's head seemed to increase just by the thought.

  "It's the fastest way." Oliver folded the map up and handed it to one of the officers.

  "I know. I know." And to think as a boy he'd thought such a trip would be fun.

  Monday 3:53 pm

  Homlin pulled up on the emergency brake and threw the stick shift in neutral. They were at the end of the line. At least, as far as they'd be able to go in the car -- the rest of the trek would have to be made on foot. He turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. He stood next to it a minute and stretched his tired muscles. It had been a long day and it was far from over. The walk would do him good. He needed to stretch his muscles out after the long time behind the wheel.

  He strolled over to the other side of the car and opened the passenger's door. He removed the bags from the floorboard, including the special "gift" he'd purchased for Vogt. He set the bag on the roof of the car and opened the much larger bag. From it he pulled out a knapsack and half a dozen containers of freeze dried food. He doubted he'd need it, but it was good to have a contingency plan in case he had to remain in the woods longer than he expected.

  It was just about time to let his traveling companion out of the trunk. He needed to find only one small item. He walked around the woods for a few moments, enjoying himself. It was great to be back out here. He much preferred the great outdoors over nasty city life. He continued to stroll around, not straying too far from the car until he found what he'd been looking for — a good stout staff made of maple. He held it in both hands and felt the weight and diameter. It would do nicely.

  He returned to the car carrying the walking stick with him. He took Vogt's bag from the roof of the car and placed it on the ground near the rear of the car along with the knapsack. He removed the car keys from his pocket and inserted one of them into the trunk lock. Holding the walking stick in one hand, he unlocked the trunk with the other then quickly stepped back and to one side.

  The trunk lid did not spring up as it had the first time. Instead it lifted a few inches and then remained closed. Was Vogt sleeping? Homlin wondered. Then it occurred to him that she could have suffocated. He hadn't thought about that. He certainly hoped that wasn't the case. It would ruin his surprise. He was about to lever the lid up with his walking stick when the lid began to rise on its own. Not actually on its own but with Vogt's help.

  "That's a good little girl. I thought for a moment you were sleeping on the job. Now, step out very slowly."

  The spring in the trunk lid allowed the lid to open completely without Pat holding on to it. Despite the reduced light of dusk, she had to blink her eyes to adjust to the relative brightness of the outside.

  "Can't you give me a hand? My legs are so stiff, I'm afraid I won't be able to get out on my own."

  Homlin laughed. "You do play such an innocent little victim sometimes. Go ahead and fall down. Why should it bother me? Just get out now and do it very slowly."

  Pat glared at Homlin for several seconds before finally deciding to give in. She decided the easiest way to get out was to climb out backwards. That way if she did fall she'd at least have something to cushion her. She turned around and placed one foot on the bumper of the car. She held on to the car to steady herself as her two feet finally made it to the ground.

  "Perfect, just perfect," Homlin said and as Pat turned around to see what he meant, he brought the end of the walking stick down hard against her skull.

  Monday 4:35 pm

  Allan tried resting his head against the Plexiglas door of the chopper but quickly removed it when he found it only made the pulsing pain from the vibrating worse. It wasn't fair; his headache made thinking increasingly difficult, but it didn't seem to have the least effect on his worrying. If anything, his ability to worry seemed heightened by his discomfort. Life just wasn't fair.

  What if they were wrong? What if Homlin wasn't on his way back to Waynesboro but was actually driving down Interstate 81 towards Knoxville? If they were wrong, it was quite likely the mistake would cost Pat her life — if she was still alive.

  Allan had spent most of the day rationalizing that Homlin wouldn't dare kill Pat until he was sure he had escaped and no longer needed a hostage. How long would it be? Again, no way of telling, but it couldn't be very long. The longer Homlin was free, the more likely he would consider Pat unnecessary cargo. They had to find them quickly.

  He leaned over to Oliver and shouted in his ear, "Tell me again, how far to the Waynesboro area?"

  "We're guessing about an hour to an hour and a half. The landing area may be a little closer. It’s north, northwest of the town," Oliver replied. "Try not to worry, we'll find them before . . ." There was no point in finishing the sentence.

  Monday 4:32 pm

  The floor of the trunk felt harder and more irregular, Pat thought as she struggled to wake up. As she regained consciousness, she realized she was no longer in the trunk and she'd not been sleeping. As she turned her head and became suddenly dizzy from the pain, she remembered turning just in time to see Homlin lowering the boom on her.

  You bastard. I'll get you for this. You better believe it. Pay-backs are hell. She started to push herself to a sitting position and found her hands snugly tied together in front of her with leather straps. She rolled around until she was in a position to push herself up. As she did so she noticed Homlin leaning against the car, the trunk lid still open. What was he was holding in his hand? It looked like a rope or . . .

  "That's a good doggie. Welcome back. You weren't out too long. Are you ready for our walk?" As Homlin spoke he tugged on the leather cord in his hand and Pat felt a strangling sensation around her neck as she was thrown off balance. Her hands instinctively went up to her neck. She wasn't quick enough to get them under her so she landed hard on her face in the dirt.

  "It'll take a little getting used to, but I'm sure you're at least as smart as the Golden Retriever you used to keep,” Homlin said as he pulled on the leash a second time.

  "Cut it out, you bastard.” Pat tried shouting but could only get a horse whisper out. Her hands pulled at the metal choke collar cutting off her wind.

  "Keep your hands away from it,” Homlin shouted as he knocked her hands away from the collar with his stick.

  Pat laid on the ground for several seconds trying to catch her breath and figure out what to do. As her mind finally began to clear, it became obvious Homlin had been busy while she'd been unconscious. Not only had he tied her hands securely together in front of her with the leather thongs, but her feet were also tied so she could only take short steps. To top it off, she was wearing a knapsack with at least thirty pounds of supplies.

  I'm a damn pa
ck animal! How dare he, that son-of-a-bitch. He’s going to die for this. If there had ever been any doubts in her mind that she'd kill him one day, they'd been completely washed away.

  Then she had a terrible thought. Had he found the lug wrench and screw drivers tucked away in her coat pockets? If so, all was lost. She may as well hang herself with the choke collar for whatever defense she'd be able to muster. But as she lay there quietly getting her bearings, she was fairly certain she could feel the heavy iron weight pressing against her right side.

  He hadn't bothered to frisk her. There had been no reason for him to. She still had a chance.

  "Let's go, pup. We've got a fair walk ahead of us." Homlin pulled on the leash for the third time. Pat experienced the momentary panic again as her wind was cut off, then Homlin let up on the leash and the chain relaxed.

  "You be a good little dog and I’ll let you live at least for a little longer." Homlin slammed the trunk lid down. "You give me any grief, and I won't hesitate to shoot you on the spot. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, it's very clear,” Pat said.

  "No talking!" Homlin shouted and jerked the leash with both hands, dragging Pat off her feet before she'd fully stood upright. "You are now my pet dog. You're no longer a human being. Dogs bark, they don't talk. You have anything to say, you bark. One for yes and two for no. Do you understand?"