SKY WOMAN OF GROOM LAKE

by Charlie Peart

  “Running Free” was well equipped with GPS navigation, but it didn’t have auto steering or radar. Doug couldn’t tell how wide the storm ahead was or the direction it was moving. Doug tuned his VHF to WX01 and listened to the National Weather Service, which was warning about small, strong squalls in their area of the ocean.

  A squall like this one was very unpredictable and it could be dangerous. Doug knew it could move rapidly, just sit, or spread laterally like fire on the grass. He planned on steering around it, as best he could.

  As the boat drew closer to the thunderhead, the wind was picking up, and just as suddenly died. Doug knew this was a bad omen. It was the proverbial “calm before the storm” caused by a ring of heavy air surrounding the storm cell ahead.

  Doug had to slow the boat for safety, and called to everyone to make sure they put on their life jackets. After retrieving the life vests and showing everyone how to strap them on securely, Terri took her seat beside her husband at the helm. Tom, Laura, and Amie moved into the shelter of the cabin.

  Although beginning as a light misting, the heavy rain soon began pelting the boat and the once calm seas started piling up. A few more miles and the wind built up again and, this time, the gusts were so strong that they were violently shaking the kayak strapped on the hardtop.

  The seas were pounding the boat now, going from 6-feet to an occasional 8 footer, causing the bow to plunge, for a few seconds, under the water. The angry, purple waves cascaded over the bow, sending water spewing onto the Isinglass window, which Terri, as first-mate, had rolled down and secured a few minutes prior, to protect the helm from rain.

  In the cabin, the three occupants were tossed back and forth. Laura and Tom clung to each other, but Laura yelped every time she was thrown against the cabin wall by the strong wave motion of the seas. Amie, meanwhile, with her small stature, seemed to find a tiny corner she could scrunch into and not get heaved about as much as the couple. She was terrified, however, and went into her alien panic mode, uttering her strange “th,th,th” discordant sounds, which were extremely irritating and terrible for Laura and Tom to have to hear. The piercing noise emanating from Amie’s mouth, plus the pounding of the huge waves against the sides of the boat, made for a frightening cacophony of sound, similar to the wailing of the damned in hell.

  Doug knew they couldn’t run head on into the seas. He turned the boat to a 45-degree heading off the wind, as “Running Free” rolled violently and then crashed down into the trough ahead. Terri had already tied a lifeline around her waist and was trying to tie one around Doug as well. Doug couldn’t hold the boat in the forceful wind, so in between swells, he turned the wheel hard to port and gave it more power, putting the stern 45 degrees off the sea and using the throttles to stay ahead of the huge waves trying to broach the stern of his boat. With the turn to port, they were now heading northwest, away from their original course, and making minimal headway.

  Terri turned the VHF radio volume up on Channel 16 trying to hear if anyone else was out there with them. For an interminable period of time, Doug wrestled with the boat and the waves and listened to the rush of static over the radio. Finally, they heard voices. It was from a group of boats crossing somewhere ahead of them and just entering the storm.

  Terri called for assistance over Channel 16 and soon heard a reply. The group was in a convoy, just north of them, running to Walker’s Cay from Vero Beach and one of the captains gave his position, informing that their weather was not nearly as severe.

  Hearing this, Doug turned his boat from northwest to due north, and soon the turmoil subsided. The wind was dying down, as well as the rain. When he felt the seas were navigatable, Doug turned east again with the seas 3 to 4 feet off starboard. It was a wet ride, but they were now out of danger and making 15 to 20 knots.

  The Vero Beach party they had talked to over the VHF was directly ahead of them. Doug hoped they could catch up with them and join their group for safety.

  With the weather improving, Terri opened the cabin door and checked her party. Tom and Laura looked extremely pale, hugging each other for comfort. Amie, was huddled on the other side of the cabin. Although, with the calming of the seas, she was no longer making the irritating sound, she seemed to be lost in some sort of trance state.

  “Are you guys alright?” Terri asked, her hair dripping wet.

  Laura spoke. “Are you kidding? For a while there we were scared out of our wits. Are we going to make it?”

  “Everything seems to be okay now. We got caught up in a squall. I can’t say that happens too often, but these rough weather systems are out here and they come up pretty fast. So you never know what can happen,” Terri explained.

  “I guess it’s a good idea to keep our life jackets on,” Tom stated emphatically, bile coming up into his mouth occasionally from the intense motion of the rocking boat.

  “Yes, it’s always good to be safe. But the worst is definitely over,” Terri said encouragingly.

  “Thank God,” Laura murmured. “I thought the boat was going to tear apart and sink.”

  Terri smiled now, realizing how frightening these things could be for those not experienced in boating. “Well, we’re behind another group of vessels, which is good for protection, and we’re heading to Walker’s Cay. The weather should get lots better from now on. In fact, you can come out on deck in a little while, if you want to. But it’s still pretty wet outside the helm area. You’re probably better off where you are.”

  Surprisingly, Amie came out of her trance and, upon hearing these words, hopped up, following Terri onto the deck. Doug gave Amie an encouraging pat on the arm. “It was a little rough for a while, but we’re okay. We’ll make it. Just hang in there.”

  Amie held onto the hardtop support structure and looked out at the ocean. It had returned to a deep, brighter blue color, with little foaming whitecaps, and it now looked benign in comparison to how it had been just minutes before. “How much longer do we have to go, Doug?”

  “Well, that took us a little off course, but according to the GPS, we are only 20 nautical miles away. We should see some kind of landmark soon. I can see the other boats a half mile ahead of us.”

  Satisfied, Amie seated herself in the rear of the boat. She began meditating to restore her depleted energy.

  About a half hour later, Tom and Laura emerged from the cabin. “Well, that was quite an adventure!” Tom exclaimed.

  Doug smiled encouragingly at the young man but said nothing. He thought to himself that their little sea squall adventure had been nothing compared to what they were in for with this strange alien they had aboard ship. He, as well as the others, was clueless as to what was going to happen with Amie. Here he was heading to port soon, and hoping nobody would check the passengers on his boat. If they did, what would they make of Amie. Even with the wig back on, she would look pretty strange. And, of course, she had no identification. Doug was more worried about that than waves and wind, which was something he had experienced before and could handle.

  “So once we dock, what happens then?” Terri asked Tom, nodding toward Amie. The little alien sat cross-legged, her eyes dark and devoid of light, as she seemed totally absorbed in her meditations.

  “Well, I don’t know exactly,” Tom replied hesitantly. He explained to Terri that, from what his dad had told him, there were spaceships from Amie’s planet that might be still searching for their lost crewmembers, even though years had gone by since they had crash-landed.

  “So she somehow calls to them and they swoop down and get her. Is that the gist of it?” Terri asked Tom, with a sarcastic tone.

  “I guess so. I’m as clueless as you as to how it will actually work. I guess we will just have to wait and find out.”

  ‘Tracer’ rendezvoused with his team. “I’m going with ‘Gunner’ to talk with Nicholas Rossi. Stay in place here until I call you, unless you apprehend the alien. Maybe we can find out something from Rossi that will end this wild goose chase.”

  The
duo drove back down I-95 to Palm City and turned into the community of Lighthouse Point. Arriving at Nick Rossi’s house, they rang the bell and Nick opened the door with a chain lock in place. He didn’t know these men, but from the haircuts and sunglasses, he surmised they had been sent from the government.

  ‘Tracer’ introduced himself and ‘Gunner’ and showed his identification, asking politely if they could come in for a short while to talk. Nick knew that it probably would not be that short of a conversation, but he felt he had no choice. He had expected that there might be a renewal of unwelcome attention coming his way from the government. Now, here it was, as the agents stood, on his doorstep.

  Nick opened the door and the men followed him into his living room. The lead agent suggested they all sit down. “So what’s up?” Nick asked with obvious agitation, as he seated himself in his new lounge chair.

  The lead agent explained how they had been looking for Amie and the trail seemed to be leading to St. Lucie County. He explained the recent discovery of items positively connected with the alien. Imagine our surprise, he told Nick, when we realized that Nick Rossi lived the next county over from where we have discovered the possible hideaway where the alien being has been living.

  “Do you have anything you might like to tell us, Nick?”

  “I’ve already told your people everything that I know.”

  “Douglas Peyton seems to be a friend of yours,” ‘Tracer’ interjected.

  “Yes, Doug and I are old friends. So what about it? I have lots of friends. Get to the point.”

  “We found some items today in a Ft. Pierce home. The items belong to your assistant Shelley Carson – a jacket, a wallet and a purse. Plus, there was a blonde wig and a blue pantsuit matching the description of the clothing the escaping alien was wearing. Any idea how these items might have ended up in a house only a few miles away from where you live?”

  “I have no idea,” Nick stated, looking straight ahead.

  “And when we did a trace on the owner of the home, where these items were found, surprise, surprise, the home is owned by a guy named Douglas Peyton.” ‘Tracer’ folded his arms across his chest and just stared at Nick.

  “I don’t have a clue how those items got in that house. I’m not sure why you think I would know the answer to your questions.” Nick was nervous, but determined not to cave in to these men. He tried to look as calm as he could, but it was hard under the pressure.

  “But Douglas Peyton is your good friend, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And a house he owns has items in it that belong to your assistant, Ms. Carson. How do you explain that?” asked ‘Tracer’.

  “I can’t explain it. I don’t know much about Doug’s rental houses. Maybe you should ask him.”

  “Oh come on Nick, you can do better than that,” ‘Gunner’ said in a snarly voice. “Why did you pay Peyton five hundred dollars? Was that a payoff for hiding the alien at one of his houses?”

  “That money, which is none of your business by the way, was a reimbursement to Doug and his wife for all the things they bought for me to help me move into my house. Terri bought this rug you’ve been standing on, while I was up in Maryland. She and Doug laid it out for me here. They have been really helpful. Terri helped me decorate this house. I hope you like it, by the way.” Nick smirked. He was feeling stronger. They didn’t have anything on him, he knew, or this conversation would have been a lot shorter and probably would have ended with him sitting handcuffed in their vehicle. But, he knew they would keep on his trail until they could find something. They were close, he thought, but not close enough. The sad thing was they were going to start bugging Doug and Terri now, also.

  “We know from the neighbor that the Peyton’s have gone on a long boat trip. They went with some other people. Do you know who is traveling with them?”

  “Yes, the other couple is my son, Tom, and his wife, Laura. They are down here visiting me for a few days.”

  “Where are your friends, the Peytons, headed in their boat?” ‘Tracer’ wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure. There was some talk about going to the Keys, some talk about just heading down to Miami. It all depended on how well Tom and Laura handled traveling by boat.”

  “And when will they return?”

  “A couple of days, is what I heard. It was all open ended.”

  “And you didn’t want to go with them?”

  “I was going to go, but then I started feeling unwell. I think I might have picked up a flu bug or something.”

  “Yeah, right, The flu!” ‘Gunner’ snorted in disbelief.

  “Yes, the flu. So I didn’t want to infect everyone. I decided to stay home. But I insisted that my son go, because they only have a few days down here and I wanted them to have a good time, not be sitting around taking care of me.”

  The agents asked a few more questions. Receiving the same vague responses from Nick, they finally gave up in frustration.

  “We’re not finished with you yet, Nick. Stick around town for the next few days, will you?”

  “No problem. I love it here in Florida.”

  “We’ll be back, Nick, when we find out a little more,” ‘Gunner’ threatened.

  “As I said, I’ve got nothing to hide. Come back and see me again anytime.” Nick got up and walked them to the door. He didn’t bother to say goodbye.

  When they were in the car, ‘Tracer’ said “I didn’t think we’d get very far with him. He may be under some kind of mind control. The Peytons and Nick’s son may be under this Amie’s power, also.”

  “I think Rossi is just being an uncooperative asshole. It’s pretty obvious the alien didn’t get down here on her own. That Nick puts me in a bad mood,” said ‘Gunner’ sullenly.

  The lead agent planned to stay in the area for a while, hoping something might turn up. He asked his partner to call command and get current and future incoming customs info from all ports in the Bahamas. “We’ll get a trace going on that. I want to find out if a Doug and Terri Peyton show up on any rosters. You can check the Florida Keys and Miami too.”

  Around 1 pm, “Running Free” was in the bright sunshine and the clear, blue-green waters of Little Bahama Bank. They had passed west of Tea Table Cay and were following the other boats right into the old marina at Walker’s Cay.

  Doug told Amie to get in the cabin and stay hidden there, once they entered the channel. Twenty-five minutes later, he idled the engines and coasted alongside one of the docks at the marina. Terri had already placed the yellow quarantine flag on the portside antenna, as requested by Bahamian authorities for any vessel entering port until it cleared customs.

  Disembarking, Doug followed another group of captains heading to the customs and immigration office. Doug filled out the forms in the office and paid the fee. The customs officer had plenty of other people to process that day, thanks to the conga line of small boats Doug had followed into the marina. With a brief handshake, Doug returned to his boat, feeling greatly relieved.

  When Doug returned, all smiles, Terri took off the yellow flag and replaced it with the multi-colored Bahamas courtesy flag. Doug informed his crew that they would stay in place that night. “We have enough provisions with us through tonight. Then we’ll head a few miles south to Rosie’s Place at Grand Cays. They have food, fuel and a grocery store there. There are a bunch of small cays in this area. We can get food and fuel at Rosies, and then move on to one of those smaller cays for some swimming and sunbathing. So let’s break out some chow and just relax.”

  Amie came out of the boat cabin looking as human as possible. Laura had combed her snarled and tangled wig for her, and also loaned her a pair of sunglasses. There were quite a few boats docked at the old marina, with lots of people nearby, and Amie would have to be careful. Laura noticed, with relief, that the sunglasses really helped Amie to disguise her strange facial features.

  It was time for lunch, and Terri pulled the food she had prepared from the small refrige
rator in the cabin. There were turkey sandwiches for all, plus a strawberry jelly sandwich that Tom had thought to tell Terri to make for Amie. His father had informed Tom, when passing him that large bag of grapes back in Florida, that Amie was a vegan. Also, there was a container of cubed watermelon.

  Upon spying the watermelon cubes, Amie, who had by then eaten all of her grapes, grabbed the container and began eating cube after cube of the delicious, fresh watermelon, for which she had a particular fondness. Terri watched Amie reaching in to the container with her long, gray fingers and greedily stuffing cube after cube of soft watermelon in her little mouth and then mashing them slowly around, while dripping melon juice down her face and onto her shirt. Terri felt herself starting to lose her appetite. She re-wrapped her sandwich and returned it to the fridge.

  “What’s the matter, hon? No appetite?” Doug asked her.

  “Maybe it’s only a slight case of seasickness,” Terri responded, trying to be polite.

  But Amie had read Terri’s mind and realized that her eating habits disgusted the humans. In fact, the men did not eat the watermelon either, after Amie finally relinquished the container. Only Laura reached in and took a couple of pieces to eat as her dessert.

  As the sun began to set, Amie sat alone in the aft seat, contemplating her fate. Her four crewmembers had spent the afternoon enjoying their time on the cay, leaving her alone on the boat to attempt, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to contact her people.

  Thanks to Doug’s outgoing nature, the two couples had already moved from their boat to mingle with a party taking place on a 45-foot sport fishing boat, docked nearby. All of the boats that came from Vero Beach had already moved on leaving the 45-footer, “Hooked on a Feeling”, in addition to “Running Free”, docked in Walker’s Cay for the night.

  Thanks to Doug’s outgoing nature and ease at making friends, they were being allowed to dock at Walker’s overnight. Doug had been quite fortunate in meeting the skipper of “Hooked on a Feeling”, Captain Jake, earlier in the day. Doug learned from him that boats were not allowed to dock at this cay overnight, but had to drop anchor away from the old marina. However, the skipper had an “in” with Sergeant Gibbs, the Bahamian official in charge of patrolling that immediate area.