My head turns to Kodiak. The thought of him rushing out and confronting the orb terrifies me.
His black nose is near my shoulder, and I lay my left index finger on it, reinforcing the need for quiet.
That usual grin slips a little, and his ears twitch as if listening to the faint whirring of the craft.
With a finger to my lips, a breathy Shh rolls off the tip of my tongue in a hiss.
Please, let him understand the level of desperation in the command.
Sweat trickles the length of my forehead and trickles into my eye, causing an insatiable itch. One I can’t scratch. The back door, still open, shows a clear view across the road, the length of the ditch, and beyond the hills.
Careful to keep my movements fluid and slow, I lean next to the door’s frame, trying to stay within the confines of the backseat. Several seconds tick by that feel more like an eternity.
The soft whirl increases in speed and begins to pulsate, but it doesn’t grow louder.
I pray it’s a sign the sphere isn’t going to get closer.
My neck cranes forward a bit, and I’m careful not to stick my head out farther than needed. The smooth metal curve of the side of an orb hovers over the middle of the yellow line, ten feet away.
Shit. What’s it doing?
Panic slams into my chest, making it a chore to suck in breath.
Quiet as a mouse, I slide the shotgun from the carrying strap. My heart beats in an erratic pattern and sweat streams down my face, dripping onto my shirt.
An urge to exhale a puff of air to dislodge rogue hair from my eyes eats at me. But I can’t risk making any abnormal sounds or taking my hands off the gun. These machines are dangerous, fast, and far too intuitive for mistakes.
The end of the Remington is level at the edge of the open door, and my anxiety builds. I hope—no, pray—the thing zooms away and leaves me and Kodiak in peace.
The back of the seat serves as a makeshift brace for my left arm and keeps the grip on my shotgun firm and steady.
The obsidian sphere floats several feet above the middle of the highway.
Come on, get the hell out of here.
Even though it would mean certain death, I want to blast it into a million tiny pieces. The sight of its dull black surface causes bile to rise in my throat. What these things represent, what they did to my parents, shows a blatant, evil disregard for human life.
My finger twitches on the trigger. It would be so easy—one shot from a tiny little press of the cold, round steel resting next to my skin.
Eeny, meeny, miny, mo . . .
Catch a sphere. Don’t let it go.
If it hollers, make it pay,
One less monster in my way.
I narrow my eyes on the heartless machine. The struggle continues to rage inside my heart. One quick force of the trigger and all sadness, frustration, and anger lurking inside will rush out, free and flying on invisible wings of the projectile.
No, I can’t risk it.
There’s Kodiak to think about; he needs me, and I need him. Plus, I made a promise to find Sissy.
Survive and find Sissy.
To release the pressure—in my heart and off the quaking digit—requires focus.
“Breathe.” The word, barely above a whisper, rolls off the tip of my tongue. Survive and find Sissy. I draw in a cleansing breath to purge my thoughts. Live to fight another day.
The alien craft streaks upward, so fast, my eyes lose focus.
Where’d it go?
A quick scan out the back window reveals a blue sky, and the other fields of view produce the same result.
No. No. No. It can’t be that easy.
A dark blur blots out the sea of blue overhead.
“Got ya.” Slapping a hand over my mouth, I stifle the words.
The craft disappears to resurface farther away. On a dime, it halts and then hovers in the air like a Christmas ornament twirling from a tree branch. In a flash, it’s on the move, and stops closer to a grassy bar ditch.
Go away. Please, leave, already.
It’s bewildering to ascertain how it sees our world. Does it even have visual capabilities, or does it scan the geography with computer code? Regardless of what or how it comprehends or digests information, I get the sense it’s searching for something.
The flow of blood pounds in my ears, hot and loud.
Please, if you’re up there, the silent prayer fills my thoughts, make it go away, make them all leave. The sphere’s sudden resurgence, and what its next stage of attack might be, causes my stomach to flip.
After what seems like an hour, it up and moves in a streak. It’s about to head off into the tall oak trees next to the ditch, my presence still undetected, and I breathe a little easier.
Oh, thank God. I’m staying off the roads starting tomorrow. Three spheres in less than a month are bad news. I’ll be hoofing it through pastures and sliding through barbed wire fences if it means staying away from the flying terrors.
To add salt to the misery, not following the asphalt poses a level of difficulty all its own when it comes to scavenging for food.
Roads lead to stores, even in the smaller, rural areas.
That’s a worry for another time. Right now, your biggest problem is that stupid orb.
Kodiak, restless, shifts in the seat. Before I can grab him by the neck, he pokes his head out of the car to inspect the scene.
In a rush, the sphere zooms to the car’s open door.
My heart, now resting in my throat, threatens to gallop straight out of my mouth. Earlier, the view of the ditch had filled my vision, as well as the wooded field beyond. In less time than it takes to blink, a black blob obliterates all light from view.
A second, that’s all I have. Shit or get off the pot.
Without hesitation, I blast it with the shotgun. The condensed bang, in the cramped space, makes my ears ring like church bells. A few shards of glass from the shattered car window pepper my face, neck, and chest, but most streak outward. Terror and confusion lend an otherworldly quality to the moment.
A single thought pierces through the veil of turmoil—Kodiak.
Though everything happens at once, events unfold in slow motion, out of sync with the universe.
It takes an excruciating amount of time to move. A slow glance to the side reveals the dog’s alive and well—no blood or cuts visible.
Relief, palpable and thick, weighs my limbs. The pressure in my head’s unbearable, making it difficult to think. I crack my jaw open to relieve the deafening sensation in my ears. The acrid scent of gunpowder clogs my nostrils.
It’s like swimming through molasses when I move.
The force of the discharge manages to shove the machine back by a foot or so.
Hovering a few feet away, even over the harsh ringing in my ears, the whirring changes to a lower pitch. A dull thump begins, like a drum banged from a mile away; its rhythm—faint but steady—vibrates deep in the bones.
It bounces slightly in the air, and I raise my gun higher, careful to not take my eyes from it for even one moment.
Several cartridges sit in the barrel. It’s imperative to make them count. My finger wavers over the trigger. An internal debate takes flight: should I shoot it one more time?
The deep thwack continues. Thump. Thumpa-thump.
If I’m lucky, the blast did something to it—disabling it somehow.
The orb slides closer with a lazy grace, now five or six feet away, it begins sinking to the ground.
Kodiak and I, unable to tear our eyes from its bobbing surface, watch from the confines of the car. Broken pieces of window lie across the seat and road below. Thank goodness for safety glass.
The dark craft settles to the pavement, and all sound ceases.
Kodiak and I stare at one another with disbelief. My furry companion’s expressive eyes are serious—the ridge above his nose furrows when his gaze falls on the orb.
Should I get the hell out of here or inspect it
further? I can’t decide, so I sit in the car with my gun aimed, watching for any signs of movement. A full minute passes, and still no action or sound emits from the alien object.
Hesitant, I slide off the seat and scrape debris from my lap. Careful to not cut myself, I clean a path for Kodiak’s paws.
His eyes lock on the downed sphere.
Once the seat is clean, his long body leaps out of the car. Instead of waiting for me, he heads straight for the object.
“Careful, boy.”
He sniffs around the bottom while I contemplate how it can sit on the pavement, still and unmoving.
This part of the asphalt slopes downhill, and it’s a circular object. Standard physics dictate it should tumble and follow the slope of the ground.
Well, Tilly, it’s alien—it can do whatever it wants. Who knows what kind of technology it carries?
Kodiak circles its dark, sinister form. His long nose snuffs and blows in exploration.
“Hey, get back here.” My voice, stern, but not too loud, echoes in my skull.
Not entirely sure the machine is out of commission, I inch forward, ready to turn tail and run at the slightest sign of change.
This is too easy, since there’s no visible damage.
My boots shift on the cracked pavement. An internal struggle bounces around inside my head and turns my stomach in knots. Should I trust the blast has taken it down?
“Come on. You heard me.” I point at a spot next to my leg. “Here. Now.”
The dog’s head turns to face me. Intent on ignoring my command to get away, he swivels back to face the sphere. Giving it one last loud snort, he lifts his hind leg.
“Don’t you dare.”
His eyes light up like a Roman candle. He lets loose an arching, yellow stream of urine that rains onto the sphere’s surface.
The liquid runs along the curve of the sleek globe and then toward the bottom a few inches before gravity pulls it to drip onto the asphalt.
It’s one of the most ludicrous and surreal sights I’ve ever seen—a dog, peeing on alien technology.
“Oh, man.” A high laugh bursts out of me, releasing the pent-up stress of the past few minutes. “Score another point for Team Kodiak the Canine and Tilly the Traveler—Alien Asshats zero.”
This lousy alien sphere has just had its ass handed to it by a girl and her dog.
My hate for the indignity, terror, and murders these spheres represent—now summed up in this one perfect moment by a simple, everyday act of a hound.
“Piss on you.” Throwing my arm in the air, I shoot my middle finger at the sky. “Take that, assholes.”
Kodiak follows my lead. He beats his tail on the ground twice then stretches his neck to howl triumphantly into the sky. The echoes of the howl reverberate to the distant hills, bouncing over one another until it sounds like a pack of Kodiaks are yelping in unison.
Unable to resist the primal urge to join in the dog’s victory song, my voice rises in a loud, high human howl. Yipping and yelping, it undulates with the force of the yell.
“Come here, boy.” Motioning my hands for Kodiak to jump on my waist, his paws settle on my hipbones, and we dance around the sphere.
To signify the elation of the moment, and solidify this jubilant win, “We are the Champions” by Queen, bursts from my mouth.
Walking on his back legs, front paws shifting to my cupped hands, he mimics my dance moves and tries to keep up with my rusty singing voice. His high-pitched yelps compete with my deeper, throaty melody.
“There ya go. You’re a stud. Wonder if I can teach you how to floss?” One more victory lap around the sleek kill and my hands lower him to the ground.
It’s time to inspect the dead enemy.
The pad of my index finger pushes the metal surface. It doesn’t budge. I stand on my tiptoes, unable to reach the top. Stretching as high as my short legs will allow, I push with all my strength, but the big metal ball stays put.
Careful to not step into the puddle of cooling dog pee on the ground, I nudge my shoulder into the middle of the orb. It still won’t move.
“I don’t understand. How does this thing stay upright?” A line forms between my brow while I contemplate the dilemma.
Kodiak lets out a grumble and sits to watch my actions.
My finger trails a path along the smooth, dark exterior of the surface. It’s warm, bordering on hot.
Can I break it open or scratch the surface with another shotgun blast? That question leads to others. What’s inside, circuit boards and lights? Or is the technology not even remotely close to what man uses? What if it’s made of something else, some element never discovered in our solar system, our galaxy? The thought doesn’t settle well.
The sleek, seamless metal is thick.
A swoosh, followed by a small rumble, emits from deep within its bowels.
Kodiak leaps back with perfect doggie grace, but my feet tangle in my haste to get away.
In an innate reflex, arms out and palms down, I reach out to break my fall.
My ass hits the pavement, and the shotgun slides under the car with a loud clatter.
Oh, Jesus. T-that—can’t be good.
Paralyzed with fear, I stare in open-mouthed horror.
The rumbling and pulsating tone speeds up. An opening appears in the middle of the sphere. The inside reveals soft light that spills onto the pavement. The opening reminds me of a rectangular window.
Someone steps out.
What the fuck?
I’d always assumed these things were artificially intelligent machines, like drones. Instead, they’re not just spheres, but pods carrying aliens in a hunt for humans.
These speculations are wasting valuable time. My torso twists to lean toward the undercarriage of the car. I need the shotgun, but it lies out of reach, inches from my fingertips.
The alien, not missing the movement of my body, jerks his head—or at least something in the shape of a head—in my direction.
Even though everything happens in the span of a few seconds, time slows again, and my mind’s eye misses no detail.
The visitor’s black metallic clothing gleams, no exposed skin in view. He moves with precise motions. A smooth, black helmet connects to the suit and covers his head.
Bipedal, the shape’s humanoid: two legs, two arms, a torso. He’s slim, six foot—give or take a few inches—but overall not much different from my anatomy.
He raises a dark, gloved hand, fingers outstretched.
The humid air is heavy and hushed.
Like a deer caught in headlights, the blood pounds in my ears. My elbows bend against the pavement to support my weight. Jean-clad legs splay apart while my heels scramble on the rough surface. I’m not even going to die standing on my feet.
A deep, menacing growl tears the silence to shreds. Vaulting off the ground, Kodiak sails through the air and latches onto the being’s arm.
The white gleam of my dog’s teeth sinking into the black suit signifies good and evil, yin and yang, order and entropy.
A sizzling arc of electricity streams out of the alien’s fingertips, but the beam misses its intended target—me.
Instead of frying me on the spot, Kodiak’s protective gesture sends the electricity blast into the ground, inches from my feet.
Gray smoke rises from a small crater in the pavement.
The act of violence shocks me out of my stupor and lights a fire under my ass. Diving headfirst under the car to grab the gun, my arm pulls back triumphantly. With its reassuring weight now in hand, I flip onto my back and aim it at the alien.
“Die already, you bastard.”
Kodiak, teeth still firmly clenched onto his arm, hangs with his legs dangling. His hind paws kick midair to find a foothold. Growls, deep and hostile, send another spike of fear into my heart.
“Let him go, Kodiak.” Panic rises within, threatening to overwhelm my thoughts.
At this angle, there’s no way to shoot the alien without the dog being c
ollateral damage. Springing to my feet, the shotgun points at the alien as I try to get a better view.
“Kodiak, let go.” The saliva in my mouth tastes like ash and death. I must do something, but I can’t shoot if my dog doesn’t get out of the way.
If he hurts Kodiak—then I don’t care what happens afterward. A tremor runs through my arms and rage races through my veins like fire. Fury washes over me in a boiling mass of hate and makes me reckless. This dog is the only family I have left right now. Desperation, hate, helplessness, and fear blend together until I can no longer separate each emotion. It’s all twined together into one knot of terror.
“W-what do—”
The alien cocks his head as if trying to understand my speech.
“What do you want from me—us?” The sting of tears spills from a corner of my eye, and my resolve wavers.
He grabs Kodiak by the scruff of the neck.
“Please let him go.” The weapon in my hands shakes.
Kodiak, not giving up without a fight, sharp teeth exposed, snarls and snaps, trying to take a large bite out of the black-clad form.
Shifting my feet to edge closer to the alien, I tighten my hold on the gun.
With difficulty, I try to hold back the anger and fear. My voice is even and firm. “Do you even understand me?” What’s he thinking—or can he? “Do you get off on this—killing those who are weaker?”
Without a face, there’s no way to gauge his reactions. “Want me to beg? Is that it?” I’m not too proud if begging means Kodiak’s release.
The alien is as still as a statue.
“We don’t want any trouble.” I lower the shotgun barrel a bit. If I’m less threatening, he won’t see me as a danger. “Let my dog go, and we’ll leave you alone.”
No response to my voice. Kodiak hangs in the air like a ragdoll, snarl fading and eyes rolling.
“Please.” The tears come hot and fast at the thought of seeing his broken body lying crumpled on the road. To lose him, like my mom and dad, would be like losing my family all over again. I don’t think I can take that heartache.
The whites of Kodiak’s eyes show each time they revolve sideways to the alien.
Can he breathe while this bastard has him by the neck? Is he going to shoot electric fire directly into the dog’s body?
The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1) Page 6