SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  Philip grabbed the hands of both Amy and Three.

  “I’m not giving up. Nick, go find Sunflower!”

  The tiny blonde woman nodded and shot into the darkness, her dragonfly wings droning like the overworked engine of a miniature lawnmower.

  Amy ran with Philip and Three for another hundred meters. Without warning, she pulled the other two to a stop.

  “Wait a sec … I recognize this place. This is where I live!”

  Philip squinted at her. “Pardon me, dearest, but you must be mistaken.”

  “He’s right,” said Three. “You came from 1995 or whatever, not the boring olden days of cave people.”

  Amy stamped her foot. “No! I mean, this is my neighborhood. There’s old Mr. Whitehead’s house, that red place is where Hassini lives, and across the street is Ellen’s house.”

  Three shrugged. “So? Where’s your house?”

  Amy pointed to the mansion on the north side of the street. A pile of red-painted gables, peaked dormers, and steep, redwood-shingled roofs were combined with a four-story crimson tower, shaped like a wooden rocket bolted onto the side of the large house.

  “Cool story,” said Three. “You know we’re about to be eaten alive, right?”

  Philip glanced nervously at the sauropods behind them. The lizards had linked arms and were dancing a happy jig up the center of the empty street. Somewhere in the small village, church bells began to clang.

  Philip pulled the girls forward. “Run for the door! Be quick about it!”

  The three teens ran across the dew-covered lawn toward the front porch. Halfway up the steps, the large walnut front door opened and Mr. Woodley leapt out, a green dressing gown over his pajamas and a pointed nightcap over his gray hair.

  “Amy? Theresa? What are you doing outside? Come, come!”

  The older man waved the teenagers up the porch and into the mansion. He slammed shut the heavy wooden slab and secured it with a dozen brass locks and chains.

  “Everything’s gone mad,” stammered Woodley. “Cats and dogs running in the streets! Ungodly machines shaking the earth! It’s the end of days!”

  Philip peeked through a curtain. “Indeed.”

  “Stay away from the windows, young man,” whispered Woodley. “The horsemen of the apocalypse will see you!”

  “It was a giant metal cat, not a horse,” said Three.

  “Three!” hissed Amy. “I mean––Theresa!”

  Philip shut the curtains and turned to Woodley. “I’m very sorry, but my friend Nick is still out there.”

  Hans Weiss strode in from the kitchen wearing a blue silk dressing gown.

  “You won’t see that friend tonight if he’s smart,” said the tall butler. “He’ll be hiding in a cellar somewhere.”

  From the doorway to the kitchen, the young maid Anna peeked at the assembled company. A cotton gown and yellow robe hung from her thin shoulders, and a simple cap trimmed in lace covered her hair.

  “Is it safe?” she whispered.

  “Not yet, dear,” said Hans.

  Woodley cleared his throat and glared at the tall servant.

  Hans bowed his head. “I mean––Miss Anna.”

  Three wandered into the parlor, her boots thudding quietly on the soft blue carpet. She stared in wonder at the array of lacquered furniture, paintings, and treasures locked in cabinets behind glass.

  “This is your house, Amy? You never told me you were rich.”

  “I’m not. This place belongs to Mr. Woodley.” Amy’s eyes widened. She spun around and jabbed a finger at the older man. “You’re E.G. Woodley!”

  Woodley tilted his head slightly. “I certainly hope so, young lady. I was this morning and I hope nothing has changed.” He turned to the butler. “Hans, fetch the gun and my pistol and be quick about it!”

  “Already have done, sir.”

  The butler handed a long, double-barreled shotgun to his employer and lifted a black .38 revolver from a pocket of his dressing gown.

  Philip held Amy’s hand. “Is this truly your house, dear? Something has upset you.”

  “This IS the address where I grew up, but it’s not the right house. We lived in a four-bedroom ranch. This is E.G. Woodley’s house, the one that burnt down in 1912.”

  Mr. Woodley cracked open the barrel of the shotgun. Hans gave him a pair of red-jacketed shells and the older man shoved both into the open breech of the gun.

  “This is indeed my house, young lady, and this is the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and twelve. As you can plainly see, a fire has not occurred and the ceiling of my stately manor continues to cover all of our heads.”

  “Amy, it doesn’t matter,” said Three. “It burnt down in your dimension, not this one!”

  Philip peeked through the curtain. “Hush! We have guests.”

  The white-painted planks of the front porch creaked and splintered under the movement of something extremely heavy. Murmurs and menacing giggles rattled the windows.

  Woodley lifted the shotgun. “To the ready, Hans!”

  “En guarde!” shouted the butler.

  The two men leapt into the entrance hall and pointed their weapons at the front door. Amy, Three, and Anna took cover behind a sofa in the parlor.

  “Why can’t I have a weapon?” growled Three. “You could cut off my hands and I’d still be a better shot than these bozos.”

  “Because they’re scared of you,” whispered Amy. “It’s the madness in your eyes.”

  “Madness is hiding behind this couch and waiting for a stupid sauro to eat me.”

  Deep whispers came from outside the front door. The faint sounds ended with four careful knocks.

  “Hello, there,” said a gruff male voice. “Is anyone home?”

  “This is dumb,” said a deeper voice. “Let me in, Plastra, so I can murder everyone!”

  “You catch flies with honey, not blood,” said the first.

  “Have you ever seen a dead body, Plastra? Flies everywhere!”

  “Point taken.” A heavy thud shook the door. “Open up! We just want to talk.”

  “That’s a shocker,” said Three. “I always thought sauros were the ‘kill first, ask questions later’ kind of guys.”

  Scrunched up behind the sofa next to them, Anna wrapped her arms around her knees and shivered. “Horrible things. Please don’t let them in!”

  “Don’t worry, Anna,” Mr. Woodley said over his shoulder. “Hans and I will protect you from harm.”

  Three rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but who’s going to protect you?"

  “Stop it,” said Amy. “The sauros will eat them first. That gives us a chance to run.”

  “Good point.”

  Woodley waved Philip to the door. “Boy! Open the door and see what these men want.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but they aren’t men.”

  “Enough of your lip! Hans and I can handle these ruffians. Open it.”

  Amy stood up from behind the sofa. “Philip, no!”

  The dark-haired teen held up a hand. “Not to worry, Amy. Please stay there.”

  Woodley and his butler pointed their weapons at the door as Philip approached. The teenager turned all the latches, unclasped the locking chains, and pulled open the heavy wooden slab. Huge, shadowy beasts darkened the porch outside.

  “Yes?” Philip asked with a raspy voice, and cleared his throat. “Good evening.”

  “I don’t know if it’s good or not,” growled a deep voice. “But it’s going to be very, very bad for everyone if you don’t give us our friend.”

  “Your friend? Who, may I ask, is that?”

  “Don’t play stupid,” growled the voice. “George is here and he’s got enough stupid for the entire planet.”

  “They killed him already!” growled another voice. “Murder everyone! Slice open their bellies!”

  “Shut up,” said the first voice. “Listen carefully, monkey boy. Hand over Nistra and we’ll all go away. Probably not quietly or peacefully, but we’ll go away
. You’ll live to see another day, bounce little monkey babies on your knee, and tell scary stories about what happened. On the other claw, if you chopped up our friend and baked him into a sauro pie, then you should kneel down and pray to the monkey gods, because we will definitely kill you.”

  “Hey, Plastra––let’s turn THEM into pie!” shouted another deep voice.

  “Shut up,” said the sauro. “I hate pie. Now, what’s your decision, monkey boy? Our comrade, or a painful death?”

  “Wait a moment,” said Philip. “Is the friend you’re looking for called Nistra?”

  “Of course!”

  “I thought he drowned in the crash. But to be honest, I have no clue where he is. If you’re working for One, why do you care about Nistra?”

  “We’re not working for anyone,” sneered Plastra. “Hand him over and we’ll take it from there! The tracker says he’s at this location.”

  “What’s all the growling?” asked Mr. Woodley. “Tell us what’s happening, boy.”

  Philip turned to Woodley and Hans.

  “Pardon me, sir, but these … gentlemen say that a friend of theirs is inside your house, and they’d like to speak with him. His name is Nistra.”

  Woodley frowned. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Is it Greek? In any case, the man is certainly not in this house. We’ve no guests in the house apart from the two girls behind me. Isn’t that so, Hans?”

  The butler swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I mean … no, sir!”

  Woodley waved the end of his shotgun at the door. “Bid them good night, and fasten the locks.”

  “Certainly.”

  Philip closed the door and began to fasten the dozen brass locks along the frame.

  “Nistra,” whispered Amy. “Why are they asking about him?”

  Three shrugged. “Maybe the dumb lizard survived the crash. You did, and you’re as tough as a wet noodle.”

  “Thanks. But why do they think he’s here?”

  An ear-splitting roar shook the walls and cracked all the panes of glass at the front of the house. Philip jumped away from the door as a heavy weight smashed against the other side. The carved walnut burst apart and flew across the foyer, scattering chunks of broken wood and splinters everywhere.

  Two huge reptiles pushed through the leftover pieces of the door and sauntered into the house––towering, scaly beasts with arms like tree trunks, claws as sharp as knives, and wide, alligator-like jaws full of pointed teeth. Naked apart from scraps of clothing, their dark green armored skin was smeared with blood and sand and the occasional tuft of cat fur.

  Hans pointed the shaking muzzle of his pistol at the monsters. “Mein Gott in Himmel,” he whispered.

  Mr. Woodley jerked the shotgun to his shoulder. “Fire!”

  Amy covered her ears as a deafening boom shook the house and a cloud of evil-smelling smoke boiled to the ceiling. When it cleared, the sauros stood in the same place.

  The pair of giant lizards glanced at each other and giggled.

  “What was that?” asked Plastra.

  “For killing flies, I think,” said Astra. “Or scratching an itch.”

  The sauros marched forward into the room, forcing Philip, Woodley, and Hans into the parlor. The three quickly lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the sofa to protect the girls. The lizards followed them into the parlor, splintering the doorframe as their wide shoulders squeezed through and cracking the lacquered floor under the weight of their clawed feet.

  “Give us a challenge,” said Astra. “Don’t you monkeys have real weapons?”

  The window in the parlor exploded with a huge crash of wood and glass, and a brown sauro much larger than the other two tumbled onto the carpet inside. He stood and shook off the glass shards with a horrific snarl that made Anna scream.

  “It’s murder time!” he bellowed.

  Plastra tossed a broken part of the window frame at George’s head. “Shut up, you idiot! Can’t you use the door like a civilized person?”

  The giant brown monster blinked. “Uh … sorry. I got excited.”

  A stream of books and lamps flew across the room as Three began to fling anything and everything at the invaders.

  “Aim for the eyes,” she yelled. “They hate that!”

  Amy grabbed her arm. “Stop! If One sent them down here, they won’t hurt us.”

  Plastra sneered a mouthful of sharp teeth. “No one sent us here, monkey girl. Nistra snuck us onto a stupid starship to take it over, but the useless, monkey-made thing blew up and sank, so here we all are. Case closed!” A triangular device in the sauro’s claw beeped loudly. “My tracker’s going wild, so I know he’s not dead. Bring me Nistra!”

  A pot clattered onto the floor of the kitchen, and the group of sauros charged toward the sound.

  The back door was open to the garden and a cool night breeze flowed inside. A wide trail of mud led from the door to a large scaly hump in the center of the kitchen, wheezing and gasping his way across the tiles. Nistra pulled himself forward claw by claw, covered in dust, cobwebs, and rodent hair.

  “Rats,” he hissed weakly. “Rats … rats … rats …”

  Mr. Woodley dropped his shotgun and pulled his nightcap down around his ears. “What the devil is that?!!”

  “Oh, no,” whispered Hans. He ran to Anna and hugged her tight.

  Plastra knelt and touched the wounded sauro with a scaly claw. He stood and looked around at the other two reptiles.

  “Take care of Nistra,” he growled.

  George grabbed Plastra’s arm. “No! He’s not that sick. We can help him!”

  “I don’t mean the ‘kill him’ definition of ‘take care of him,’ you thick-yolked egg-eater. I want you to clean him up and treat his injuries.”

  “Oh,” said George. “Sorry.”

  With glistening yellow eyes, Plastra turned to face the humans.

  “Time for me to take care of the monkeys.”

  George grabbed his arm again. “No! We don’t have enough medicine!”

  “Idiot! This time it’s the other way! I’m going to kill them.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Plastra grinned jaws full of sharp, pointed teeth at the humans.

  “Try to run. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter. I’m smarter, faster, stronger, and tougher than any Centauran on this stupid monkey planet.”

  “This isn’t Alpha Centauri,” said Three.

  “Yeah, it’s Earth, you moron,” said Amy. “Who’s stupid now?”

  Plastra shrugged and raised his claws. “Who wants to die first? So many choices.”

  Philip raised his fists and stood in front of Amy and Three. “Don’t touch them or you’ll regret it, you monster.”

  George looked up from bandaging Nistra on the kitchen floor. “Save me a leg!”

  “Breast for me,” yelled Astra. “Wait––do we have any mustard?”

  Amy crossed her arms. “Gross. Hey, um, there’s somebody at the door. Can’t you hear that? Might be tastier than us monkeys.”

  Everyone, including the sauros, stared at the open doorway to the porch, where something clattered like a woodpecker who’d drank too much coffee.

  Plastra stared at Amy and Three and nodded. “Yes, you pack of Centaurans are very skinny and lean. I’m going to see if there’s a fat little moggie outside. Trust me––if this is a trick, I’ll make summer sausage out of everyone. And yes, I still remember the recipe.”

  The sauro thumped through the house to the broken remains of the front door and stuck his head into the night air.

  “Sounds like a tap-dancing poona out here. Show yourself! Who’s there?”

  “Your worst nightmare!” squealed Nick’s high-pitched voice.

  The tiny sprite flew at the eyes of the giant reptile, punching and kicking with all her might, and somersaulting away from his grasping claws.

  “A sprite! Egg curse its black heart. I can’t see—someone find the sprite spray! Do you know what happens if we don’t kill it? The lit
tle buggers get in the walls and lay a thousand eggs a week!”

  “That’s an old sauro’s tale,” shouted Astra. “They lay eggs in candy.”

  “Shut up and help me!”

  The two other sauros rushed into the parlor and grabbed and jumped at the tiny blonde woman flying around Plastra. After a few seconds, George caught her in both claws. He had enough time for a satisfied giggle before Amy cracked him in the back of the head with an iron poker, and Nick buzzed free.

  The brown giant turned to Amy. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled. “Wait––what’s happening? I’m getting the shakes!”

  “Not enough Vitamin P in your diet,” said Astra. “I keep saying it, but you don’t listen.”

  A constant vibration rolled through the house and knocked paintings and lamps to the floor. George fell onto the blue carpet and held his belly with both claws.

  “The shakes!” he screamed.

  “You idiot,” said Plastra. “It’s not the shakes. We all feel it.”

  Amy spread her arms and steadied herself against a wall. “You’re both idiots. This is California and it’s an earthquake!”

  A roar came from outside the house, a sound like a really, really angry jet engine with fangs.

  Philip pulled Amy and Three back behind the sofa. “Get down!”

  The wall of the parlor blew apart in a tornado of bricks and splintered lumber. A giant armored cat charged into the house slashing and hammering at the sauropods with its titanium claws, a huge steel tiger stuck inside a tiny wooden cage and using every bit of its body to smash it to pieces in a cloud of broken plaster and snapped wooden beams.

  Amy ducked as the armored tail smashed through the wall above her head, covering her in dust. A line of glass shone red between the open jaws of the tiger, and she glimpsed an orange tabby in a pilot’s helmet.

  “Sunflower!”

  The giant machine smacked Astra through the front window of the house like a cat playing with a yarn ball, and dodged George’s dangerous claws by leaping straight up through the ceiling, creating a gaping hole and almost bringing that side of the house down on the heads of Amy, Philip, and Three.

  “Run!” screamed Three.

  The teenagers climbed through the large hole in the wall Sunflower’s armored tank had made, and dashed across the lawn followed by Woodley, Hans, and Anna.