Unbound Brothers

by Rob Rowntree

  Alan pointed at the dot and copied the creature’s gesture. His action raised a strange wobble in the creature’s neck; as its head bobbed, the bony protrusions in its back threshed about.

  Returning to the dirt drawing the creature pointed to the wavy line, that claw-like-hand moving sinuously. His manoeuvre complete he looked up and searched out the wagons that had arrived. He jabbed at them, then at the humans, and immediately back to the wavy line.

  Realisation dawning, Alan hoped the others weren’t getting this.

  Before he could make a decision, the creature pointed at the larger circle and then at himself before bowing down towards the pictogram. The meaning, although disquieting, was obvious. These creatures wanted to transport the humans but to...what? Their centre of government? Commerce? Religion?

  Alan held up a hand, palm outward hoping the creature understood that he wanted the alien to stay there.

  Walking back towards the others, detailed explanation eluded his overloaded mind; instead a mischievous impulse rose. Looking at the expectant faces he said, “They want to take us to their leader.”

  Although Stowe giggled, the others remained quietly stoic. Perhaps stress forced his hand, but he realised that they wanted more. “It drew a picture in the ground, a small dot, us, a wavy line, the journey, and a larger dot, which I assume is their major city or something like. I think the meaning is obvious. They want us to go with them.”

  A chill breeze stirred through the gathered humans before Conway said, “How many of us. Some should stay here.”

  “We didn’t get that far. So, what do you think? How many should go? And who should it be?”

  Woodland interrupted, “You’d better decide fast. They’re bringing up the transport.”

  Turning Alan saw the carts drawing nearer. Hauled by two sets of four legged beasts that possessed shaggy hair and bare faces, Alan wondered how strong the creatures were, the carts were big and bulky.

  Woodland chimed in again, “Perhaps you misunderstood. Maybe they weren’t offering to give us a ride to their leaders. Maybe they are just going to take us.”

  The massed throng of natives were moving now, a tide surging towards them.

  “Shit. Woodland, Pickering, Gibson get out in front, here and here.” Alan pointed to a couple of spots in front of the group. “ Don’t fry any of them unless you have to. A warning shot or two might see them off.” But even as he said it, he knew that was nonsense.

  Gibson said, “What! We’re going to have to shoot? To kill?”

  His voice seemed small and far away as Alan watched hundreds surge towards them, there to smother any resistance. They’re alien. Who can fathom their motivations? “I’m afraid Gibson, that is exactly what you will have to do.” The clicking and whistling rose, Kiki and Pickering whimpered and Woodland took his first shoot.

  Alan saw an alien explode in a mass of fried flesh and broiled innards. The death acted as a signal and the massed creatures swarmed and waddled forward at a kind of run. This was madness. The cacophony of voices rose and Alan prayed the others were taking aim. He fired, the rifle bucked, an alien’s head exploded, the tumbling body mowed down and scattered by those that came behind.

  Spurred on by the thought of those gnashing teeth Alan fired, and kept firing, destroying each and every target he aimed at. In his peripheral vision he saw other creatures going down, the fire power he and his team were bringing to bear enormous. But the creatures came on, a wall of committed determination clambering over their dead comrades in a mad dash to quell the threat posed by the four pulse rifles.

  The air sang with exploding atoms as the rifles fired, ionised air stinging the nostrils. Yet still they came on, merely jolted in their advance.

  There could be only one outcome and when it came, all Alan thought of was Jimmy, of how he’d let him down; how pitiful a brother he’d been, and for a few moments before unconsciousness welcomed him he thought he saw his brother laughing, bouncing in his bed.

  Jimmy’s voice echoed loud and clear, “Alan my brother, me love my brother. There’s always a way t—”

  The blow to his head sent him tumbling into blackness, Jimmy curtailed in mid-sentence.

  Chapter Twenty

  Journeys and Mutilations

  Alan’s head throbbed, exacerbated by a repeated jolt that ran through his body. Somewhere close by, people talked in muffled, subdued voices. He tried hard to catch the words before they were snatched away, devoured by the pain in his head.

  Later, the pain evaporated to a dull aching memory and he opened his eyes. Darkness greeted him and he wondered if he’d been out of it for a complete day. Slowly, then with more reassurance his eyes registered detail; he knew then that he travelled aboard one of the wagons he’d seen earlier. A sliver of light crept in around the tops of the wagon’s sides. Fabric wafted at the rear, revealing a curtained opening. Light trickled in to illuminate the dank musty interior.

  Pickering, Stowe and Kiki huddled nearby on grass-covered wooden flooring; their faces and slumped posture indicating they’d possibly given up all hope of resistance.

  Along the wagon’s far wall Woodland and Gibson lay prone. Conway sat propped up alongside Alan, his eyes open and staring. Vacant.

  Alan tested his hands and legs. Thank whatever gods there may be, everything functioned normally, also nothing secured his limbs. The natives obviously felt that the humans were in no position to escape.

  Ignoring his discomfort Alan pushed into a sitting position and for the first time noticed two natives sitting high on the walls to the rear of the huge wagon. They sat on ledges secured to the main structure of the cart. On seeing him stir they whistled to each other, damn alien bastards.

  Well, this will teach me, he thought. Should have hidden the crew, landed someplace else. Too bloody wrapped up in Kiki’s abducting us all; didn’t think it through. Won’t make that mistake again.

  Looking over at Pickering, he queried, “Woodland? Gibson?”

  Pickering didn’t respond. Stowe looked up and offered a weak smile, “They’re alive, breathing. Gibson took a vicious blow to the head, sustained a deep gash. I don’t know how bad it is.”

  Alan’s mind flashed to images of Jimmy smiling as a youngster, and worse, of his head after the accident; of him bed ridden and lost. It couldn’t happen to Gibson too, not now. Cautiously he edged over to Woodland’s body. Reaching out a hand and ignoring the raised clicking and whistling from their guards he shook Woodland’s shoulder. The navy captain moaned and stirred. Alan repeated the action, “Come on Woodland, rise and shine. You’ll have a hell of a headache but I need you to get up. Come sailor, move it.”

  Woodland possibly did harbour serious injuries but Alan didn’t have the luxury of time. If the man’s injuries prevented him from helping, then so be it. Alan needed to know. The sailor coughed and rose up on his arms, “Shit Alan, we made it?”

  Heartened by Woodland’s response Alan said, “Only so far,” he said. “We appear to be the guests of our native buddies here and they’ve managed to hi-jack us quite nicely. We need to get out of here and fast.”

  Allowing Woodland time to compose himself Alan gingerly moved over to Gibson.

  Jimmy lay prone on the grass, a sliver of blood tracing a dent across the back of his scalp. He screamed and screamed for help but it— Not Jimmy. Focus. Focus.

  In the dim lighting, Gibson’s hair looked slick. Blood? Alan touched the glistening patch gently, already hardened into a matted scab. It felt cold and damp. He sought Gibson’s neck for any signs of a pulse, relieved when a small but regular beat ticked against his finger. Re-inspecting the wound, Alan tried estimate the damage. He needed Pickering over here.

  “Pickering. Can you help me?”

  “To do what?” Pickering’s tone hinted at self defeat, or resignation.

  “I’d like to help Gibson, make him more comfortable; to do that I need an expert opinion as to his condition, your opinion.”

  Tentatively, an
d urged on by Stowe, Pickering rose and came over. Kneeling next to Alan, Pickering worked methodically, checking the extent of the injury and generally probing limbs and rechecking pulses. Eventually, Pickering said, “It’s difficult. His outward signs indicate that he’s pretty stable, but with a wound like that it’s difficult to say how he’ll be long term. If he comes around, I’d say he’s probably got a reasonable chance of surviving, but his... Hell Alan, you know more than most... It’s not something I can predict. He may have severe mental deterioration or just slight loss of function. It’s the best I can do for now.”

  Alan grasped Pickering’s shoulder, “Pickering, it’s okay. You’ve done well.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “I like to think so. It always matters. Everything does in this situation.”

  Woodland leaned closer. “You already said we’ve got to get out of here at the earliest opportunity”

  Conway, suddenly more alert, interrupted, “I’m not so sure about that. If they are taking us to their centre of government, perhaps we should remain here and wait for an opportunity to interact with their leaders. You said it yourself Alan, they’re alien and therefore their behaviour is going to be unusual by our standards.”

  Woodland rounded on Conway, “Would you say these beings display intelligence?”

  “Of course,” Conway replied, clearly annoyed.

  Woodland fumed, “In that case why didn’t they try a more subtle and non confrontational approach? No, don’t answer that. If you take what just happened and the historical information we learned via Maslov, I say these beings are anything but approachable. Hell, they probably think we are no more worthy of respect than the beasts in the fields, or worse. After all, we are ‘of the other’, outside of their world view.” Woodland fell silent for a second before stating his decision. He said, “No, you stay if you want Conway, but at the earliest chance I get I’m out of here.”

  Conway spluttered then said, “I still feel that whatever we do we should stick together and as head of this expedition—”

  Alan, listening to all this had had enough. He cut him off, “Conway, you lost that right when you started keeping secrets from us.”

  Stowe stirred a little, “What secrets?”

  “Perhaps Conway would like to expound upon the Peterson and possibly the cargo it was carrying. After all, that’s what this trip is all about. Right Conway?”

  “Now, you look he—”

  The wagon jolted to an abrupt halt, throwing Pickering and Conway across the straw covered floor.

  Their guards clicked and whistled and one of them clambered down from his perch to exit through the rear flap. With the flap open Alan used the brief opportunity to examine the situation outside.

  Alan remembered seeing two wagons when they’d been taken, and that second wagon sat behind them now, on a rough track of a road. It differed from their transportation inasmuch as its side-awnings were down and the passengers therein had an unrestricted view. Alan also saw those passengers clearly.

  They appeared to be natives, but each being had a distended lower abdomen and rear. Apparently distressed, other natives attended to their needs, doling out bowls of some unseen liquid. A commotion at the rear of the wagon caught Alan’s attention, as several natives lowered a ramp.

  Suddenly aware of Alan’s interest, the remaining guard clicked-whistled furiously, evidently admonishing him for his unwarranted curiosity. With surprisingly fluid motion the second native jumped from his ledge and swung out through the open flap. Once outside the creature tied it shut with short lengths of cord.

  With the humans alone in the wagon for the first time, Alan decided to take stock and make some sort of plan for escape.

  “Right, ideas into the pot please. We can’t stay here and we don’t know when an opportunity for escape will present itself. For all I know this is it. So don’t hold back.”

  Kiki said, “Can’t you see it’s over. You’ve lost.”

  Alan laughed, “Hardly, our message will arrive any day now and then your little Earth-first paranoia-fest will be blown.”

  “We’ll see. I bet you never sent a message. You’ve just invented it as a way of raising morale.”

  “Believe what you will.” Dismissing further discussion, Alan turned to the others. “Anything more proactive from the rest of you?”

  Conway said, “Yes, I—”

  From outside came a loud keening wail. First one voice then more joined the dissonance, until it became almost unbearable. Discussion forgotten; those that could, crawled over to the gap in the rear curtain.

  Through the slit, Alan saw that the occupants of the second wagon had disembarked and now sat in a depression at the side of the road. Each individual sat prone, small legs apart. Several other natives roamed amongst them.

  “Look at the ones standing,” Stowe said. “See those fancy sashes and belts. I don’t remember seeing much clothing on them before.”

  “Perhaps,” Pickering interjected, “they represent some sort of authority, or have a religious significance.”

  “Maybe.” Fascinated Alan looked on, noting that other natives not involved in the unfolding events lay on the ground looking up at the sky. Their arms wavered as they had the preceding night. Were they praying? Imploring their gods perhaps?

  The noise intensified, invading Alan’s, and presumably all their minds, like some bass animalistic discourse. Primal.

  Kiki laughed, “You guys are so dumb. They’re giving birth.”

  “What?”

  “Look,” she continued, “over by the far side of the depression. See that one there,” she pointed, “If you look you can see a small head emerging from between its legs.”

  Alan watched and saw that indeed there appeared to be a head breaching from the creatures abdomen. Unlike humans the aperture of the birthing canal lay further back towards the rear of the body. The creatures crouched in an uncomfortable crab-like position, raising the body from the ground. “That position looks a difficult way to give birth. It doesn’t seem fit for an evolutionary adaptation. Why hasn’t nature produced a more central birthing canal?”

  Woodland said, “Who knows? And what’s more, who cares?”

  “You know, the more I look at these creatures the less I understand. There’s something out of whack here.”

  Before Alan could say more a clawed hand slapped at the gap they were peering through forcing them to scuttle back into the wagon’s dark interior.

  From outside they heard the first cries of a mewling youngster; its high pitched whistles and clicks soon joined by others, the combined sound rising to almost painful levels.

  The idea that they came out here to bear their children at first seemed strange but upon reflection Alan felt it no different than taking women into hospital to give birth in a controlled environment. Possibly those walking amongst the mothers were the native equivalent of physicians and medical staff.

  Woodland said, “Perhaps this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. They’re distracted and we have a chance to surprise them.”

  “What about Gibson? Stowe said.

  Woodland looked over at Conway and pointed. “He’ll be staying here. He can take care of Gibson.”

  Stowe looked to Conway. “Is that true? Will you be staying here?”

  Conway hesitated, “I don’t think Woodland’s giving me a choice. But I will graciously remain to take care of Gibson to the best of my ability. It’s the least I can do.”

  Shaking his head, Alan decided Woodland’s suggestion was a little rash. “Woodland, it’s too soon. What of our equipment? I suggest we try and recover anything they brought along; only then, if the chance arises, should we make a break for it. What would we eat? Drink?”

  An ear slicing shriek came from outside.

  Conversation stopped. They scrambled back to the gap in the curtains. Many of the prone natives held youngsters. The small bundles of life shone wet and slimy in the arms of their parent. For a
moment Alan felt distracted by the normality of it all, the sheer overwhelming ordinariness of mothers with their babies.

  Woodland tugged at his arm and pointed towards the far side of the depression. Several sashed-natives were examining a newborn. They held it roughly, gazing at its face and prodding and turning the head. Suddenly animated by whistles the group of sashed natives - Doctors? Priests? - held out the pups arms.

  The gasps from inside the wagon were loud and Alan worried that their guards might hear them outside. The newborn had wings; a fine membranous spread of skin and filigree bone secured to its back by bony protrusions. Before Alan could articulate the right question, the natives holding the youngster brought out savage looking knives and hacked into the child. Quickly and deftly removing the membranous wings, they reduced the newborn to a smaller version of themselves. Behind the surgeons a number of belted natives brought up a brassier and hot iron. The squeals of the youngster having its wounds sealed forced Alan’s stomach to clench. Stowe and Kiki retreated from the opening.

  Unable to tear his gaze away, Alan watched as newborn after newborn was examined, then ‘rearranged’. Some obviously died; discarded and left like rubbish on the dusty ground. For the first time in a long while Alan felt disgusted, repulsed by the scene and yet he kept looking.

  Then something unexpected happened. The so-called inspectors examined a newborn and left it unharmed, moving to the next before continuing their macabre task. Eventually around five newborns hopped around the carnage, flapping new, untried wings. They bobbed and jumped and fluttered about the visceral remains of their siblings, sometimes landing upon the bloodied remnants with sickening squelches.

  Alan watched as the parents collected their mutilated children and returned to the other wagon. The ones that possessed wings they left behind.

  As they pulled away, Alan realised there may be more to these aliens than he’d first thought. But he couldn’t dislodge a sudden fear, convinced that if they’d do this to their own...