by Jake Bible
He entered his home, letting the door swing shut with a thud behind him. Cheryl stood in the middle of the living room with her arms folded against her chest. She was watching the flat-screen TV on the far wall. She did not turn away from it or in any way acknowledge his arrival. He grunted a ‘hello’ and slid his belt under his protruding belly then knelt to undo the laces on his work boots. He glanced up at her while finishing. In the glow of the TV, her face looked as if someone had chiseled it from a block of stone. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and held there by a crumpled piece of black cloth. A few strands had come loose and now draped down over her eyes. His daughter Hannah, his pride and joy, sat on a leather sofa set against the back wall. She had her socked feet tucked be-neath her. “Daddy!” she said. He smiled at her. She meant everything to him. She was the most beautiful little girl on the planet. Eight years old and painfully shy. Shy, except when around him.
Cheryl broke her gaze away from the TV long enough to gesture for him to come join her in the living room. “You have to see this,” she said. “Hurry.”
He finished stripping off his boots and set them next to Hannah’s little brown hiking shoes on the tile foyer, then ordered them all in a row against the wall. The TV contin-ued to fill the room with muddled sounds. He watched it with growing interest while making his way around the cof-fee table to his usual place on the sofa. There, he sat down heavily. The cushions wrapped around him with a whoosh. His first look at the TV had told him that something was wrong, but not what. And one glance at Cheryl let him know he needed to keep the negative stuff to himself. She looked worried enough for them both.
“So, everything okay?” he asked in a forced calm.
She flashed him a nasty look, as if he were stupid for even asking.
Snorting, he rubbed his jaw, realizing she was too wound up to say much, so he shifted his attention back to the TV. The images on the screen were coming from a news heli-copter far away from the scene. Tornado? Flood? Earth-quake? No, it didn’t look like any of those. Maybe some kind of rescue? Though, that didn’t reconcile with his un-ease. Terrorists? Again? He leaned forward, scratching his day old beard while further processing what he saw. On the TV, an army of emergency vehicles had formed a line in-tending to stop traffic from crossing a two-lane bridge. Fat beams of white light shined down from helicopters hover-ing above and illuminated police, fire, and other rescue units. Emergency bars mounted on the ground units lit up the area surrounding them in alternating blues and reds. Still, it didn’t seem all that much different from any other night of network news. Carnage and chaos were their stock and trade. If it bleeds, it leads. But what if it was terrorists again? Had those crazies found another soft spot to strike? He certainly hoped not. The last big attack had been terri-ble, the bungled response had been even worse.
The camera zoomed in for a tight shot of the vehicles. He could not pick out any movement on the scene, which struck him as odd. There should have been a minimal num-ber of responders near the vehicles regardless of what was happening, there to monitor radios, or direct resources. Where had they all gone? And what the hell were they re-sponding to?
“Wait, watch,” Cheryl said, seeming to read his mind. “They’ve been running a clip you gotta see. Just wait, they’ll show it.”
She pressed something into his palm, and his fingers in-stinctively wrapped around it, a cold bottle of Lonestar beer. Somehow, and it had always seemed like magic to him, his wife had made her way into the kitchen and re-turned without him noticing. Mindlessly, he opened the beer and crushed the bottle cap between his thumb and fin-gers, folding it up like a taco. Cheryl sat down beside him on the sofa, and he patted her knee in thanks.
The news anchor from the local station appeared on the screen. He was wearing an overly large blue suit with shiny brass buttons. Apparently, he hadn’t expected the focus to be solely on him. His brow knitted together in a look of perplexed confusion, as if he wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Jesse remembered seeing the guy before, but thought he usually did the Sunday weather. An uncom-fortable moment of silence passed before the anchor’s hand shot up to an earpiece. The picture cut away. Bold colors and blaring trumpets replaced the embarrassed reporter, but one thing they hadn’t shut off was the news crawler. It continued to scroll along the bottom of the screen, dis-playing a story about a man from Lubbock who had died after being pulled into a post-hole digging machine. Jesse stifled a laugh, knowing his wife would not find it at all funny. When the sounds and colors of the breaking news alert message cleared, the big-shot network news anchor from New York appeared. A single piece of white tissue stuck out from one side of his collar. Jesse hated the guy, so he reached for the remote on the coffee table, intending to switch to a different channel.
“Don’t,” Cheryl said.
“Good evening,” the anchor began. “We regret interrupt-ing your normal programming tonight, but we did so to bring you important breaking news. In a few short mo-ments, you will see something, which at first might appear made up by Hollywood. However, I assure you, what we are about to show you is very real.”
The deep, vibrating bass from the subwoofer of Jesse’s expensive surround-sound system rattled the pictures on the wall. A woman walked behind the anchor, trying to stay out of the shot. She plucked the tissue from his collar. Jesse drained his beer in a series of gulps and scooted forward, slamming the empty bottle down on the coffee table. The three remotes lying there all bounced in sympathy. He leaned back and settled into the sofa. Then he noticed Cheryl. She was twirling her diamond wedding ring nerv-ously around her finger. He placed his hand back on her thigh to reassure her that everything was going to be okay.
The news guy did seem worried. But he always looked that way with any breaking news story. Still, Jesse had nev-er seen the guy look this worried before. He squeezed the folded bottle cap between his fingers a little harder, consid-ering why.
“It appears,” the anchor continued, “a number of areas outside metropolitan New York are experiencing unusual activity. Many of the reports are still unconfirmed. Emer-gency response teams are on the scene and doing what they can. We have reports from local authorities that everything is under control. Though, of course, that could change at any moment. And if the situation does change, we will bring you the very latest.”
Jesse stretched to grab the remote, again intending to switch channels. He stopped when Cheryl lifted her hand, threatening to smack him with it.
The anchor drew a breath. “Senior Washington officials have informed our network that this was not a terrorist at-tack. However, they have asked us to advise everyone in the affected areas to please stay indoors and remain off the roads so authorities can respond to what has been labeled an ‘unanticipated incident’.”
“What the?” Jesse said. “An ‘unanticipated incident’? What the hell does that mean?” He reached for his empty beer bottle on the table and stopped. He leaned back. “I hate this dumbass.”
“The President has left his extended vacation early. His staff has scheduled a news conference, which we are ex-pecting to occur within the next hour.” The news anchor paused and pulled his shoulders back, trying to look even more serious.
Jesse wasn’t buying it for a second. “Can’t we just change the channel?”
“Shhh,” Cheryl said sharply.
“Here is what we currently know,” the anchor said. “Small creatures, animals of sorts, or perhaps something of unknown origin.”
“Aliens!” Cheryl said. “They’re aliens, Jess. I know it.”
He squeezed her thigh gently, and she stopped talking.
“National Guard units have been alerted and are current-ly responding. Reports are coming in of sporadic gunfire in several areas. Casualty numbers are unknown as of yet, but we will bring you the very latest as it arrives. At this time, we only have a few reports for areas outside of New York City, but we are working with local affiliates to stay on top of this breaking story.”
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sp; Jesse nodded. “New York,” he repeated. “Figures.” He turned to Cheryl and let out a derisive laugh. “Can’t be all that bad. It’s happening in New York City. They always blow this stuff out of proportion when it is about their pre-cious city. Center of the damned world.” He then reconsid-ered. It didn’t look like a terrorist attack. What if it was important? What if she was right? What if these were aliens? Little green men coming to take over Manhattan. Nah, couldn’t be. Had to be something else.
The anchor grabbed a sheet of paper and glanced at it. “We have a video provided by one of our local stations. Some of you may have already seen it. It apparently shows the aftermath of one of these incidents.” The anchor drew an excited breath. “I must warn you the video we are about to show you is extremely graphic and very disturbing. We would like to ask, if you have any small children in the home, please have them turn away from the television.”
Jesse leaned back on the sofa and folded his arms across his chest. He was intrigued but remained skeptical. They never showed the truly horrible stuff. The stuff he’d seen plenty of in Iraq. He continued to laugh half-heartedly, ex-pecting Cheryl to say something to their daughter about not watching. Maybe tell her to go to the kitchen, or to her room. But when his wife didn’t say anything, he turned to say something instead. Then he stopped himself. Had she seen this already? Would she be able to handle it? He’d ex-posed her to quite a bit already. She’d been hunting with him and had even shot her first armadillo.
The television switched to an image from a shaky cell phone camera. Cheryl started stabbing her finger at the screen again, leaving him with unsaid words on his lips.
“This is it,” she said. “This is the video I told you about. You gotta see it. Aliens, I’m sure of it.”
Jesse continued to watch. He progressively leaned for-ward, closer and closer to the TV. The folded bottle cap he’d been squeezing between his fingers fell onto the carpet by his feet.
-2-
LIVE REPORT
THE IMAGES DISPLAYED on Jesse’s high-end TV re-mained washed out through no fault of the expensive LED panel. White shapes flitted across the screen, moving too quickly to be seen clearly. Wild dogs? Coyotes? Couldn’t be, he thought. They were walking on two legs, not four. And the necks were too long. What the hell were they? Al-iens? No, that’d be even crazier. His wife was wrong. Just wrong. She had to be. As much as he loved her, she some-times bent the needle to the crazy side.
The television cut back to the network news anchor. A single still image of scattered bodies, ringed by blurry white forms, zoomed out to appear in a box over his left shoulder.
“What are those?” Cheryl asked. “They’ve gotta be al-iens.”
“Nah, not aliens,” Jesse replied. “Has to be something else.”
His daughter Hannah spoke softly, too softly for him to understand what she had said.
“What, dear?” Cheryl asked before he could.
“Dinosaurs, Mom. Those are dinosaurs. Velociraptors. We saw them in school.”
Cheryl and Jesse turned to her in unison. Hannah was squeezing her favorite teddy bear, Poochy, between her folded arms and looking back proudly.
“What?” Jesse said, confused. He turned back to the tele-vision. The graphic had shrunk too much to verify what Hannah had said, but it kind of made sense.
Cheryl tried to stand, putting her hands on top of her head. “That’s crazy. They’re aliens. I know it. What are we gonna do?” She sat back down, bouncing him on the sofa.
He touched her on the back. “Shhh. Don’t worry. Listen. Listen to me. It’s going to be okay.”
“We now go live to our local network affiliate who has a reporter on the scene.”
The picture shifted abruptly. An attractive female dressed in a dark blue pantsuit appeared. She seemed to be from a well-mixed ethnic background he could not quite identify.
“I’m Trina Martinez-Herald live near the Berkshire Bridge. Behind me are the first responders, and they are—” She stopped. The camera shook as if bumped, and skewed sideways. She let her microphone slump, and it bounced off her ample chest with a popping sound. Jesse tilted his neck to match the new angle of the shot.
“What the hell, Charlie?” the reporter said. “Get back over here. Don’t you run away.” She received no response from her cameraman, so she shook her head and stepped forward to readjust the camera on her own. The image wa-vered slightly before leveling out. She then backtracked to where she was standing earlier and held up her microphone.
“We are live here at—”
Something flitted past behind her, racing from left to right.
“Did you see that?” Cheryl asked. Jesse nodded absently.
The reporter stopped talking and moved sideways. She remained partially in the frame and staring off camera at something. She seemed puzzled by it. Behind her, a white shape went streaking past. Then another. And another. They looked like the blurry forms Jesse had seen earlier.
The reporter kept moving closer to something.
Closer still.
They did look a lot like what Hannah had said, like dino-saurs. But that was impossible.
The woman’s eyes shot wide in terror. She opened her mouth to scream. It seemed to take a long second before any sound came out. Then it erupted all at once, and she screamed so loudly that her microphone clipped.
Cheryl flinched and grabbed Jesse. “What are those things? What the hell are they?” Her voice was pleading. She was shaking her head as if her mind was refusing to believe what her eyes were telling it.
“I dunno,” he replied, watching the reporter stop and take another breath before screaming again. He tucked his arm around Cheryl and pulled her closer.
Something slammed into the reporter. Cheryl jumped and pulled herself even closer to him. He could feel the bite of her fingernails through his work shirt. If he hadn’t been wearing it, she’d have probably drawn blood.
The reporter staggered forward. Again, she was struck hard. She collapsed, disappearing from the shot, going si-lent for a moment. Then from off camera she began shriek-ing, “Oh God, oh God, no!” And the oversized speakers next to the TV amplified her wailing cries.
The TV screen went dark. Had they cut it? Had they cut the feed? Mouth opening and closing mechanically, Jesse got stuck between hoping so and hoping not. The image stabilized. They hadn’t cut the feed. The reporter came back into the frame, rolling away from the camera, trying desperately to lift herself to her knees and escape her at-tackers. White-skinned creatures smothered her, too many to count.
“Hannah, shut your eyes!” Jesse snapped, keeping his own eyes glued to the TV.
In seconds, the reporter’s clothing was shredded and fall-ing off. She screamed out another high-pitched shriek and tried to stand, only managing to rise to her knees, her face remaining twisted and strained. She stumbled toward the camera, reaching out with bent fingers for the lens. She got nearer, and the microphone dangling from her hand fell away. The audio signal popped twice and cut off. Sound-lessly, she fought to get her feet beneath her while using her arms to protect her face. One of the white-skinned creatures leapt high enough to grab her arm. The thing hung there by its teeth, thrashing. Ribbons of pink flesh tore off, along with the navy blue material of her pantsuit. Skin, muscle, and tendons stretched like red rubber bands, pulling away from her body before finally snapping. The startled creature fell to the ground. Its mouth was full of meat and fabric. In a frenzy of chaotic motion, more creatures pounced on the stolen flesh while still more leapt on the woman and dug at the growing wounds, clawing away at them with three-toed forearms, or biting and tearing at her with their teeth. The reporter’s arms fell limply to her sides as if she’d lost control of them. Her mouth swung open. Stumbling closer to the camera, she dragged the mass of creatures along with her. Her lips began moving. She was trying to say something. It could have been, “Help me,” or maybe “Mama.” One of the creatures landed on her shoulder and perched there, digging in
with its hind claws. It bent its neck sideways, obscuring most of her face from the camera. Then it shuddered, pulling at something. Finally, it leapt away, springing off her, leaving behind two gaping holes where her nostrils had once been.
Trina Martinez-Herald frantically snatched again for the camera. She gripped it with her bloody fingertips. On the screen, her face was huge, red, and out of focus. She and the camera fell as one to the ground. The image shifted to display a sideways picture of short, brown grass, lit by the high-powered light mounted on top of the camera. Jesse wanted to look away but couldn’t. He was too enthralled by the unfolding violence. One of the creatures moved closer to the camera. This time, the harsh light brought out every detail in crisp, clear high-definition. He realized Hannah was probably right. They did look like dinosaurs, straight out of Jurassic Park, only paler, meaner, and a whole lot uglier. In its mouth, the creature held a long bluish-gray cord with an orb attached to one end. The orb swung back and forth like a ball on a string.
“Is that… Is that her eyeball?” Cheryl asked in a quaver-ing voice.
The creature cocked its head to one side and stared into the camera lens. It blinked twice. Crimson blood ringed its maw. It then jerked its neck upwards and opened its mouth wide. Eyeball and trailing optic nerve vanished down its throat in one swallow. Icy waves of revulsion shot through Jesse. He instantly regretted what he had seen, but there was no taking it back. Movement in his living room caught his attention. As if yanked from a nightmare, he remem-bered his family and turned to Cheryl and Hannah.
Cheryl had covered her mouth with her hands. She was shuddering uncontrollably. She slowly leaned forward, roll-ing onto her feet. Without saying a word, she went stum-bling down the hallway toward the bathroom. Jesse sucked in a breath, fully inflating his chest. He rested his palms on his knees and forced himself back into a state of practiced calm.
Taking him by surprise, Hannah, with her teddy bear firmly clenched in her hands, clambered onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him. She was breathing rapidly. He could feel her tiny heart thudding away. She saw that? he thought. She saw that? Aching inside for being so stupid as to let her witness the brutal attack, he scolded himself, wanting to take it all back and somehow erase it from her memory. But he realized he couldn’t, so he did the only thing he could think of doing. He wrapped his thick arms around her and held her close to his chest. She sniffled and let go of her teddy bear to hug him even harder.