Bambi's Alien Abduction (Earth Girl's Guide to Surviving an Alien Abduction Book 1)

by Aubrey Cara

  I think the smell of our cooking food attracted another huzzah. Or maybe we’re the meal they can smell.

  More dust rains down on us, and it sounds like the two creatures are talking to each other, like whales. I walk over to the opening and crane my neck, trying to see out without getting my face too close to the danger zone. All I see is sand, and the darker scales and spikes of the thing out there waiting to eat us.

  Vhars ate barely any of the scorpzilla I gave him, and he’s not looking so good. He has to be in a lot of pain. His scales have gone as pale and pasty shade, as the underbelly of a frog. His yellow-shaded Alogorian eyes are closed, but I don’t think he’s sleeping.

  As if sensing me staring at him in worry, he says, “My father will come. Or he’ll send someone.” I’m not sure if he says this to reassure me or himself. His voice is raspy and weak, as if it hurts to talk.

  Right then, one of the huzzah slams down overhead, and debris rains down. I squeal, hoping the ceiling doesn’t cave in. I grab Fluffy and toss him on Vhars’s lap then snatch up the thick furs they keep here for bedding. I don’t want to get trapped in here, but I doubly don’t want to get my head smashed in by falling rocks.

  I sit down and scooch in as close as I can to Vhars’s unbroken arm side before shaking the furs out and pulling them up over our heads and tucking them behind us. Vhars’s head is much taller than mine, so the blanket tents more in front of me.

  I snatch Fluffy off his lap and pull my legs in, making myself as small as possible, tucking in the blankets, trying to form a seal. It’s dark and somewhat suffocating, but there is some air coming in. And then I realize it’s from Vhars’s broken leg. It’s stretched out in front of him so the furs just lie across it. If the ceiling collapses under the huzzah, there’s nothing to protect his legs from being crushed, but there’s not much I can do about that. We may both be smashed and all of this will be for naught.

  Holy Mother Mary, I hope I don’t die under a blanket with Vhars.

  “I would have let you die.” The confession is uttered so quietly, I barely hear it over the orca sounds of the huzzah overhead.

  “We already established I’m not like you.”

  “I underestimated you. You are strong and resourceful.”

  Was that a compliment?

  This is sounding a lot like deathbed confession. I frown over him, but can’t see anything in the dark.

  “I don’t want to be Yon Tor,” he says, shocking the breath right out of me. “I used to think about it when I was a ling. I’d dream of being like him and my grandfather. Now, I just want off this forsaken planet, but he probably won’t ever let me leave. Even though I’m not wanted here.”

  I’m assuming the he in this equation is Oathar. And Vhars is probably right. I have no idea what his father will do to him, but there’s a good chance it will involve working in the mines or cleaning up stegorhinuffalo poop for the next fifty years.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” I say. “But you haven’t exactly made it easy for anyone to like or trust you. Case in point, right now. This moment. You’re supposed to be at the mines serving as underman, but you decided you were too good for that shit, because oh, no, the son of the Yon Tor couldn’t possibly dirty his hands. And then, to top it off you stole me. The carrier of life. Why did you think that would make anything better?”

  “You do not understand.”

  “What? How you thought kidnapping and selling me off to the Monrok was going to help your cause? Nope. I don’t.”

  “I took you to get even. And because I do not want you here.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.”

  “You do not belong here.”

  “Maybe you don’t either,” I snap. “Ever thought about that?”

  “Yes.”

  Whoa, that knocks the wind out of my sails. If we were on Dr. Phil, we would have heard a collective gasp from the audience. I’m in the odd situation where my natural instinct would be to comfort and reassure him, but what do I know? It doesn’t take a degree in psych to know he’s got some deep-seated angst going. And I’m not even close to equipped to handle it. I don’t think Oathar is either. They both need some intense family counseling.

  The screeching and banging around of the huge scary Lehor monsters overhead is getting louder and more aggressive. I curl myself up tighter, totally internally freaking out. Fluffy squirms against me, and I loosen my grip on him only slightly. “Could we talk about something nice?” I gripe.

  “No. There is nothing nice to discuss. We are going to die here. My father will have to wait for a real breeding cycle if he wants another ling.”

  “Gaah,” I scream in frustration. Of all the Alogorians, I had to get trapped with the most obnoxiously emo brat. “I like Niin better than you.”

  “I have never liked Niin,” he volunteers.

  Funny, for some reason that makes me want to stick up for Niin. Instead, I say, “That’s something we have in common.”

  “The only thing.”

  The ground trembles underneath us, and I grab the knife I had wedged into the waist of my skirt. I hold it tight in my grip. I’m not sure what good it will do. It was great for killing a little scorpzilla, but going after a huzzah with it would be like stabbing King Kong with a toothpick.

  It’s still comforting to hold.

  I want Oathar.

  The thought is sudden and all-consuming. Tears sting my eyes, and my throat is tight. My badass meter has expired. I want my Beast Boy to come rescue me. No one else will do. I want his arms and no one else’s around me right this instant.

  I want to be done being strong for today.

  A piercing scream, followed by a cracking sound, sends chills down my spine. The roar of the ceiling crashing in fills my ears. Without thought, I throw myself over Vhars, and cover my head with my arms. I’m hoping the lump wedged between us is Fluffy. A huge chunk knocks the wind out of me, Vhars cries under me then struggles against me. I have a bad feeling the slab of ceiling that hit me landed on his legs.

  My ears ring in the following silence. I’m breathing heavy, my pulse pounding, but I can’t hear it.

  The furs are tangled over us. I pull them back and automatically start coughing. So does Vhars. My eyes sting from the dust, and I wave a hand in front of my face to push away the air, as if that will help. The space around us is devoid of all light, except the muted glow of the tash stone. It seems to be underneath something.

  When the proverbial smoke clears, I’m still not sure what I’m seeing. A portion of a huzzah body fills the pace in front of us, but it’s unmoving. It’s too dark to tell if it’s more than one, but the stench is awful.

  “Vhars?”

  “Help me.” His voice comes out thin and wheezy. “They’re crushing my legs.”

  I can barely make it out what’s in front of me, but when I get a good look at his legs, I gasp, covering my mouth. I struggle to get to my feet, falling against the wall as I’m hit by a wave of dizziness.

  “I’m here. Don’t worry.” I steady myself and then reach for one of the rocks piled on his legs. I heave it off, toss it behind me, then reach for another. Adrenaline keeps me numb through the process of removing the rocks, but as soon as I get down to his legs, I realize I’m shaking. My teeth are chattering.

  A beam of light breaks in from overhead, and it’s blinding. I toss a hand up and turn my face away from the stream of sun.

  My ears are still ringing, and it takes a minute for my muddled mind to process someone is calling my name. My knees go weak like my body recognized his voice before my mind did. I sag against the wall. “Oathar?” My voice sounds loud to my ears, but I know I barely whispered his name. I try to say it louder. “Oathar.” It hurts my head and makes my rib cage ache, but I shout his name, over and over.

  Then he’s coming through the opening feet first. The second he thuds to the ground, I’m pulled into his arms. Something breaks loose inside me, and I sob clutching onto him as tightly as he’s
holding on to me.

  “Zag gam ni, my little warrior. I am here.” He’s hunched around me, his face buried in my hair. I’m engulfed in his embrace, and I want to stay here forever.

  When my sobbing calms to shaky breaths and sniffles, he pulls back and studies me, running his hands over my hair. Arms. He checking out my legs. Belly. “Are you injured?”

  I shake my head then whip around in horror. “Vhars.”

  Bo’hob is kneeling over him. I’d lost my shit so completely I hadn’t even realized the healer had come down. He and another Alogorian are wrapping him in furs, and my stomach drops.

  “Is he dead?” I ask. Oathar stiffens behind me.

  “No,” Bo’hob answers, meeting my gaze as he scoops him into his arms. “Only unconscious. We’ve secured him in the furs to lift him out.”

  The other Alogorian scrambles up the rubble like a monkey and then holds a hand down. Bo’hob lifts Vhars up overhead to be pulled out. Oathar watches with a stony expression, not moving to help.

  After Vhars is through, Bo’hob motions me forward, but Oathar waves him off. “Are you strong enough to hold onto me?”

  I nod, even though I’m unsure if I am. He picks me up, my legs go around his waist, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He climbs out much like the other Alogorian, but a little bit more carefully. He keeps one hand on my back, only lets go when he has to pull us both up and out of the opening. Once out in the heat of the sun, he moves to set me down, but I cling to him.

  There’s a bloodbath of dead huzzah I quickly turn away from and bury my face in Oathar’s neck.

  “Come, Bombee. Bo’hob needs to examine you.”

  “I don’t want Bo’hob. Just you.” I know I’m being pathetically clingy, but something snapped inside me between the cave-in and now, and all I know is Oathar is my safe place. I’m not letting him go.

  OATHAR

  I let Bombee cling to me, even though the bruising I glimpsed on her makes my stomach clench with worry. I want Bo’hob to tell me she is well. Even then, I may not believe it.

  My friend is loading Vhars into his hildy. I avoid looking at my son, even though my instinct screams at me to go check on him, but I harden my heart against that voice. I’m torn in half by the fact he put Bombee and our ling in danger. She was nearly killed because of him. My son.

  Shame and disappointment eat at me. How could I have raised a Alogorian capable of this?

  “Did he hurt you?” I hold my breath, almost not wanting her to answer, but having to know.

  She pulls back and cups my face. “No, he never hurt me…and you should go check on him.”

  I shake my head. “I do not want to see him.”

  She holds my gaze. “Yes, you do.” She takes a deep breath and lets her legs down from my waist. Her hands release me.

  I let her slide down my body but keep my hands on her back. She winces as she steps on the hot sand and alternating lifting one foot then the other. I move to lift her back up, but she takes my hand and tugs me along.

  At least Bo’hob will be able to check her over. Large bruises cover her body, and she holds one arm over her ribs. The more I see of her injuries, the more I think seeing my son is not a good idea. My vision hazes, and my pulse spikes with impotent rage. I killed three huzah to get to her, and it’s still not enough. Not when my mate has been put in such danger.

  My mate.

  My feet stutter in the sand, and Bombee pulls back to look at me with her luminous dark eyes. The concept of life mating, once so foreign and outlandish, seems natural and right when I look at her. I cup her delicate face and bring my lips down to mate my mouth with hers.

  She sucks in a breath of surprise and then melts against me, her hands coming up to twine behind my neck. I stroke her cheek and pull back. Her eyes remain closed for a moment before she blinks up at me, and it makes me want to kiss her again.

  “What was that for?” she asks.

  Before I can answer, Bo’hob interrupts with a clearing of his throat. “Yon Tor.”

  My gaze jerks to his face. I cannot remember the last time Bo’hob has used my honorific in earnest. His mouth is drawn down. His eyes hold sadness. But also something else. “What is it?”

  “Vhars is badly injured. His legs...they are beyond any repair that can be done on Lehor.”

  “What does that mean?” Bombee asks, not understanding the full scope of our ways here. Many would believe an injury such as this is the will of the ancestors.

  “It means if he is ever to walk again,” he explains, “we must send him to Pacbar, our galaxy’s capital planet. Only a Zapexian-trained physician will have the technology to help him.” He stares at me for a weighted moment. “What do you want me to do?”

  It’s as if a boulder is pressing down on my chest as I wander over to where my son is settled, unconscious, in the back of the hildy. Tqe is already halfway to where the wrecked hildy lies open on its side. My first view at Vhars is a blow to the gut. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to appear so mangled.

  “Is this just from the cave-in?” My startled question bursts out of me, as I look back at Bombee and Bo’hob.

  Bombee shakes her head, and comes to take my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I fought him while we were flying in the hovercraft.”

  “Of course you did. I would expect no less from my little warrior.”

  Her face flushes at my words. “We crashed because of me. He broke his arm and leg…I’m sorry, Oathar. It’s my fault.”

  Shock rocks through me at the guilt in her shaky voice as she stares at Vhars. Tears are in her eyes. I grab her shoulders and pin her with a sharp look. “This is not your fault. You did not do this to him.” Then it hits me. “How did he get to the mah-kun if he had a broken leg and arm?”

  She looks down, but her lips tilt up at the sides when she peeks up at me. “I dragged his ass across the desert with my halter top.” She motions to her liberated orbs, and my heart flips. I study Vhars and realize his arm is also splinted with what looks to be the bindings for her chest. “He stole you, but you helped him?”

  She shrugs. “I couldn’t leave him. He’s your son.”

  I already knew she is my life, but this moment makes it irrefutable. She has captured my spirit. It is hers, now.

  “What are you going to do, Oathar?”

  Thinking of the life he would have here on Lehor without the use of his legs makes my stomach knot. It would be a constant struggle. He already feels so encumbered by the responsibilities of being my son. But, should he be sent away to have his legs fully repaired, it will be seen as going against the will of the ancestors. There are many who will deem him unfit to be Yon Tor. There are those who already do.

  I stroke my hand over his ridges and think to when he was just a ling. How simple things were. All day, I’ve been ready to exile him to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, but now that the time has come, my chest aches with indecision. I swallow thickly, knowing what I need to do.

  I turn to Bo’hob. “Take him to Pacbar.”

  My friend blows out a breath and claps me on the shoulder. “You are doing the right thing.”

  I nod, knowing to my marrow it is the right decision, but my chest is hollowed out. I rest my hand on Vhars’s ridges one last time and wonder if I’ll ever see my son again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Earth Girl’s Guide to Surviving an Alien Abduction

  Tip #12

  Never tell off the VIAs (very important aliens).

  They don’t like that.

  BAMBI

  Bo’hob doesn’t leave until after scanning me. I have two broken ribs, a sprained ankle and wrist, but the three buns in my oven are A-ok. He also hands over Fluffy, who has a fractured tail Bo’hob assures me will heal just fine, if a little crooked. The eye, on the other hand, is a loss.

  Poor Fluffster is going to remain a pirate snake.

  There was a debate on whether or not we should return to the village. Oathar
thought I should rest, but I want to get this meeting with the elders over with. In the end, we compromised, aka, he got his way and we went to the village to bathe and sleep. I ended up sleeping through the night and most of the next day. When I woke up, it was too late to leave, so I went back to bed and slept some more.

  I hate when he’s right, but I guess my body needed it.

  Oathar has been attentive but quiet. Maybe a little broody, even. I’m pretty sure he’s still processing everything that happened with Vhars. We’re in the hovercraft on our way to meet the Elders, and Oathar’s grumpy silence is starting to get to me.

  “Do you wish you went with him to Pacbar?” I ask.

  “No.” That’s it. Just a clipped no.

  I give an internal sigh. Monosyllabic answers have kind of been Beast Boy’s jam since we returned from “the incident.”

  “You know, talking helps.” Or, at least, that’s what people say. “It’s obvious you are upset. It’s unhealthy to let your hurt fester.” I leave off the fact that Vhars let his hurt fester, and look where that ended.

  “I am not festering,” he snaps, because, clearly, he’s festering. “Leave it be, Bombee.”

  “Fine.” I pat my hair, which I put up in Khaleesi braids for our meet and greet with the Elders. The bruises on my forehead and cheek are tender but less puffy. Since there are no mirrors, I had to check myself out as best as I could with my reflection on the hovercraft.

  I make a mental note to request a full-length mirror for our bedroom. With the proper placement, Oathar may enjoy having a mirror as much as I would. I smile to myself. I’ll have to remember to add that as an enticement when I ask for one.

  “Can this thing fly with the top down?” Desert terrain has given way to purple forest, and I want to fly through the forest like an ewok in Star Wars.