by W. J. Lundy
With all of the aliens down, Clem eased off the trigger. He looked to Masterson, who was already on his feet and bounding ahead toward the ambush site. Clem pushed himself to his knees and gathered his equipment. He made another quick scan of the area before moving down, watching the crumpled alien forms as he approached.
The women on the road took notice of the approaching men. The heavyset woman drew a second handgun from her belt and leveled it at Masterson, who quickly put up his hands and slowed his approach. “All on the same side here,” Clem shouted, closing the distance. “I’m Clem; this is my buddy, Matt. Mind telling me who you all are?”
The woman lowered her weapon and grabbed the gold-sleeved body by a wrist, straightening its arm. Another female stepped from the back and, using a long blade, slashed down, removing the dead alien’s hand.
“What are you doing?” Clem asked.
The woman turned to face him. She stopped and opened what looked like a velvet bag attached to the gold-sleeved creature’s hip. She dumped its contents onto the road, the saucer-shaped devices clanging as they spilled out. “These are some type of mind-control devices. Only a guide’s hand can remove it once it’s in place.” She pointed as another woman used the dead alien’s hand to remove the saucer from the elderly woman’s head.
“Guides?” Masterson asked.
The women quickly circled back around the blanketed woman, the teen girls holding bags stuffed with goods, the roller suitcase now re-filled with the alien rifles. She looked at Clem and Masterson then down at a stopwatch hanging around her neck. “I’d be happy to speak to you, but we have to get off the road. They’ll have called for backup by now.”
An explosion roared from the north. Clem turned to see a mushroom cloud forming over the distant trees. “We were ready for their back up,” Clem said. “Mind telling me who you all are now?”
Before she could answer, an open-backed pickup truck raced onto the road from somewhere in the woods. The women quickly tossed their goods into the back and piled in.
“You can call me Ruth,” she said, tossing her blankets into the truck and pulling herself into the back.
“Now, you all coming or just going to stand here with your thumbs up your ass?” the woman shouted.
Chapter 20
The man’s heart still raced in a panicked frenzy; he stood by the window, looking out into a street filled with soldiers. Transports roared over the surface, surrounded by scores of the witnesses; no longer apathetic, they were now active and enraged. The high council will not stand for this. They will be out for vengeance and looking for someone to punish. He looked at the defiant woman he had been assigned. Why this one? he thought, dropping his head. Why not one of the more subservient wives from the refugee camps, who were eager for a fresh bed and comfort?
“What have your people done?” Francis said, eyeing the woman standing stoically behind a kitchen counter. He saw the smug expression on her face, the lack of understanding in her eyes.
Laura laughed defiantly. “My people? Are you no longer part of the human race?”
“What was it you said when the Messenger was killed?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and looked away.
“It was something about rejection; do you know what this act of defiance will mean to the community?” Francis turned away, pulling the heavy drapes closed. “There is so much you don’t understand; so much that your people don’t understand. If they only knew, they would stop these senseless attacks.”
She ignored him, moved to the refrigerator, retrieving a pitcher of water, and filled a plastic cup, slowly locking eyes on the locked front door. He caught her gaze and followed it. What is wrong with this woman? Why can she not see the comfort and safety the community provides?
“Don’t even think about running, especially not now. They would kill you for sure. They won’t be able to hold back the soldiers. The entire council will be out for blood tonight,” he said. And my blood with it when they discover my failure with this one.
“Why are you here, Francis? Why us? Why can’t you take a different family of prisoners?”
Oh my dear, how I wish I had a choice. Francis shook his head and moved away from the window. Walking around the sofa, he sighed and sat heavily on the overstuffed cushions. He shrugged before leaning his head back. “Again, I am not a guard and you are not a prisoner.”
Laura forced a smug laugh. “So I can leave then? You won’t try to stop me?”
“You’re safe here.” He clenched his fist, letting it rest on his thigh. She was lucky he did not believe in the practices of some of the other mentors. It was probably his French upbringing, his reluctance to violence, and maybe the distant thoughts of his own mother long gone. Besides, she was a strong woman, and Francis knew that barbaric methods would not work to win her over.
“I’m a prisoner. And you didn’t answer my question. Why us?” Laura asked, her tone changing.
“I was assigned to you. I am your mentor.”
“Who assigned you?”
“The Creators, of course. We never know why; it is just the way.” I wish I knew. What did I do to deserve this?
Laura looked away and left the room, taking the water and walking the hallway to a small bedroom. Francis followed her, keeping his distance. Katy was asleep. He watched as she lifted the blankets around the girl and tucked them in, leaving the cup on a nightstand. He turned to the window and saw the ominous shadows moving past the drawn curtains. He watched as Laura moved to the glass and drew back the curtain, then pulled back upon seeing the witnesses walking a silent sentry around the homes in the neighborhood.
He stiffened his jaw. “They are for our protection,” Francis said quietly from behind her, trying to sound reassuring.
“Protection? Or to keep me from leaving or from talking to the neighbors,” Laura protested. She turned and edged past him back into the living room, stopping in front of the door. Francis sighed and followed close behind her. He watched as she put her hand on the knob. “What would happen if I walked outside and went next door?”
Francis shrugged, knowing she would be killed before she reached the street. Maybe he should let her; end this struggle and take his chances with the council. “And why would you want to do that?”
She shook her head at him in frustration. He could see tears welling at the corners of her eyes—she was breaking.
“I don’t know… to borrow a cup of sugar. What does it matter?!” she said, her voice rising.
“I can send for anything you need; within reason, of course.”
With that, Laura finally burst into tears, her frustration peaking. He approached her, but she turned away and put up a hand. “Don’t even,” she shouted.
Francis backed away with his hands at his sides, his face showing sympathy but his mind smiling; this woman that put up the strong front was finally breaking. “You just don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” she shouted. “Why are they here?”
Francis frowned and turned his back to her, smiling when she could not see. He took several steps before pausing to look back. “They may kill us all for what happened today. That’s the law if a community turns against a Messenger,” Francis said wearily before moving to the dining table and sitting. He folded his hands in front of him and looked down. It was the first time he had allowed Laura to see real emotion from him, and not the optimistic look of an infomercial sales clerk. He would have to use this opportunity to bring her into the fold.
“If that’s the law, then why are we still alive?” she asked.
He would have to plan every word. Every bit would have to draw her in to convince her that their path was the only way, and anything else would mean death or a life of suffering. “They are in session. Our only hope is that the elders consider this an outside attack and not from within the walls of the communal,” Francis said in a low voice while looking down at his hands. “Might I bother you for some tea? You’ll find it in the pantry.�
�� A simple request, would she oblige him?
Laura nodded and opened the cabinet door, removing a covered tin filled with tea bags. As she retrieved the kettle from the stove and filled it, she asked, “Who are the council?”
Francis sighed and looked up at her with serious eyes. “They are everything,” he said, the pitch of the salesman gone from his voice. “I’ve never seen them. I never will. They never come down.” He was not lying; in all the years he had been in the community, he’d never been allowed an audience with the Creators.
As far as Francis knew, they never visited the terrestrial planet and always stayed hidden from human eyes. He looked at her and pondered if she was ready and would be able to accept the truth should he tell her. There were arguments among the council that only children should be taken. It had been their way for centuries. Adults were deemed incompatible with the knowledge and would not accept the message; they were too old, too stubborn even, and their world views already coded.
But this was a migration and if the communities were to succeed, they would have to take in everyone. At some point an agreement was made; a worker class would be needed, and they couldn’t wait for a generation of children to come of age. The compromise was to accept women, mothers, with the reasoning that they would sacrifice for their offspring and willingly join the community.
“To Earth, you mean?” Laura asked.
Francis nodded; he would try. “Yes. Laura, I know this all sounds strange to you, unbelievable even, but they have been here long before any of us. Your indigenous people probably felt the same when they saw the first white man. But, you shouldn’t fear them; they don’t consider themselves guests or invaders. In their eyes, this is not our planet. It is theirs. They have invested in it, and we are the guests.”
“Guests?” Laura asked, moving to the table with the kettle and two small cups.
Francis thought for a moment. “Guest is the wrong word. Children, maybe … or extended family left to occupy a residence. But they’re back now, and they aren’t happy with the way we’ve taken care of their home, the path we have taken. This was their planet and meant to be their home.”
She poured the hot water over a tea bag, filling the mug, and slid it across the table. Francis lifted it and teased the string, dunking the bag into the steaming liquid. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip before setting it back in front of him. “They’ve been here many times—many, many times over the ages. They planted the seeds, passively guided us, kick-started our development, and tracked our progress. All the signs of their visits were there if people had bothered to look. They are much older than us, you know. Their written history dates back to before the dinosaurs.
“When they first visited, they found a place that is only a shell of what it is today. Over a thousand years ago they started the exodus plan with hopes that when their planet died, ours would be ready for their arrival; that our people and technology would be ready for them.”
“A thousand years ago?” Laura asked.
“That was what they call ‘the beginning’. The first time a Messenger stepped foot on our planet and chose to intervene in our development, they formed their first outpost in the depths of a cave and used it to explore and examine our ways. The Messengers found us to be violent and disgusting creatures. Earth was rejected by the council, and it was determined the planet was not ready for their arrival.
“This is why they first came to live among us. It was a small presence then; only a Messenger and a few guides to show us the way. A small human tribe was chosen and their leader given the truth. The first time they shared their message, they started a following that grew and spread quickly. That should have put us on the correct path to paradise; instead, our species resisted and failed to come together. Most of the populous rejected the message, and it led to wars with the tribes that failed to follow us.
“Don’t you understand? The Messengers guided us in the hope we would build a great society that they could one day join. They did not want to destroy us. However, we failed to evolve in time; we are still living as hundreds, even thousands, of tribes under many banners. The Creators have run out of time. Their planet is dying, and they can no longer wait for us to grow into a harmonious society. Now they have come to correct the wrongs of our way, and they will not stop until it is complete. Those that have taken witness have ensured this.”
“Witness? Why do you call them that?”
“They have been given the truth; it shows them the way and has made them genetically superior—”
“It kills them. I’ve seen what it does, it took away my friends and neighbors,” she blurted out.
“The truth saves them, improves everything about them, and brings them into the communal in a way we could never comprehend.”
Laura looked away, clenching a fist and watching the shadows pass by the kitchen windows. “Then why were we spared from it?”
“Every civilization must make sacrifices to advance; the witnesses made that sacrifice for us. They have been granted the true potential of our race. You think of them as dead, but they aren’t… they now live in full connection with the Creator,” Francis said, looking up at the ceiling. “One day, they will be far greater than any of us.”
Laura scowled. “Is this just religious indoctrination, an interstellar cult? All of this is sounding more and more like a galactic holy war.”
Maybe she wasn’t ready, he thought. “You mustn’t speak that way. It’s blasphemy.”
“Blasphemy? You know we won’t stop, that we won’t stop fighting—wait, of course, you do know, don’t you? That’s why you’ve separated us from our men.”
“The soldiers have declared your men dangerous. Your men attacked us,” Francis said with sincerity.
“Attacked? Who are you, Francis? How did they get you?”
Thunder cracked in the distance and rain began to tap against the roof. Francis grinned and leaned back in his chair. Maybe she understands more than she lets on. “I am not important. You shouldn’t think in the ways of individuals. It will only prevent you from seeing the truth. We are a community; we must do what’s good for the community.”
Laura bit her lower lip, ignoring his statement. “Where the hell are you from? They’ve been here less than a week, yet you talk like you’ve known them your entire life.”
Francis grinned, thinking to his first days in the community as a child; a day when he was extracted from the burning rubble of a bombed city, tanks rumbling in the distance. How the Messengers took him in and showed him the way. His face broke into a smile. “Because I have been with them my entire life.”
Chapter 21
Rain pounded and soaked through his uniform top. They patroled in a column with James leading the way, winding a path up the steep hillside toward the radio tower just visible in the distance. Lightning flashed, exposing bits of the darkened trail in strobes of uneven light. He couldn’t get his mind off the walled community and the people inside. His heart told him Laura was there, and he wanted nothing more than to return. Looking ahead, he saw Rogers and James. He knew they wouldn’t steer him wrong; he had to trust them as he always had.
James paused at the end of the thick woods. Kneeling, he let his eyes pan over the clearing ahead and pointed to a lone grassy hilltop barely visible in the low light. The steel bunker door cut into the hillside was barely visible between the flashes of light. “You think the others made it up here?” Jacob whispered.
Rogers shrugged. “Someone did, and they made a half-assed attempt at camouflaging the door with brush. I wonder who? Only one way to—”
“Wait,” James whispered, extending an arm to ease them back into cover. He waved and pointed down the trail before ducking back into the brush.
Jacob followed the scout’s gloved hand and saw them: three tall Red Sleeves leading a fourth and shorter Gold along the muddy trail that led to the radio tower. The aliens moved through a clearing of high grass, following the trail toward them at
an angle. Jacob knew from the previous trip that the trail would disappear in a bend before traveling past where he now stood. The two Reds stalked out front, leading the way, with the Gold in the middle, and the other Red following farther back.
Jacob crouched in the heavy brush and raised his rifle, taking aim. Rogers reached over and squeezed the hand guard of his M4, shaking his head side to side. “No guns. We fire up here and they’ll be all over us.” Rogers released his grip on the rifle and pulled a fighting knife from a scabbard on his chest. James smiled and quietly slipped across the trail before ducking into cover.
Jacob searched his belt, looking for his own knife. Rogers looked back at him and whispered, “Let them pass. We’ll take the lead two, and you take down the one in the rear. We need this to be quiet.”
Jacob nodded. “And the Gold?”
“We’ll handle that one last. It doesn’t appear armed, maybe it’s wounded,” he said.
Jacob tipped his head in Rogers’ direction and watched him slip away. He then did the same. Squatting and slipping back into the wet foliage, he allowed himself to blend with his surroundings completely before the alien patrol emerged from the cover of the bend. Jacob’s heart rate quickened as the first of the Reds moved past his hiding spot.
He could hear the creak of the alien’s uniform, flexing and squeaking in the rain like polished leather. The thought distracted him. It wouldn’t be leather unless the aliens had cows, or is any hide leather? The aliens’ helmets emitted a soft glow of light where they fit over the creatures’ heads. Jacob wondered if they had special optics like night vision and thermals. They must, he told himself. They’re advanced. But if they do, then why haven’t they spotted us? Or maybe they have and it’s all a trap, maybe they planned all of this. Another moved past, and finally the smaller Gold figure slowly neared Jacob’s position.