The Bones Beneath My Skin

by TJ Klune

  Nate choked out a laugh. “She’s…”

  “Yeah,” Alex said tiredly. “She is. What did Ruth tell you?”

  “Something about Seventh Sea. About… you. That you’d disappeared ten years ago. Become a ghost. There were men there. They claimed to be NSA.”

  “They weren’t NSA.”

  “I know. She knew that too. She covered her tracks. She’ll be okay. She’s faced far worse than government drones.”

  “They already knew about us. About you.”

  “That’s what the water guy said. He was watching us, wasn’t he? The whole time.”

  “I think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Another test,” Alex growled. “That’s all it ever was. To see what she would do. To you. Out in the real world.”

  “You took her,” Nate said again. “From that place. From the Mountain.”

  “I had to.”

  “You gave up everything. Your life. Your job. To get her out.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to sleep.”

  That didn’t sit well with Nate. “That’s not fair.”

  “I don’t care,” Alex said, pushing himself up the bed.

  “You don’t get to keep shit from me. Not anymore.”

  “I get to do whatever the fuck I want.”

  “Obviously,” Nate said bitterly.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “What happens after?”

  “After what?”

  “After this. After you get her to wherever she needs to go. What happens then? I just… go back to my life the way it was before? Go back to—” Nothing, really. Nate had absolutely nothing. The cabin had been the last thing. The truck, but that was in the bottom of a ravine. “And what about my brother?”

  “What about him?”

  “He has a family. If they know who I am, then they know who he is.”

  Alex didn’t respond.

  “You think about her,” Nate said, voice low. “I get that. I do. I really do. But do you ever stop to think what you’ve done to me?”

  Nothing.

  “You don’t, do you? Because you do whatever the fuck you want. It doesn’t matter who gets in your way. You brought me into this. You made me a part of this. Everything that happens from this point on is because of you. And maybe the same thing happened to you. Maybe you didn’t ask for any of this. For her. But you need to remember—”

  And there it was, wasn’t it? That little thing he’d forgotten in the face of everything. Randy. The water guy who wasn’t a water guy. He’d known more about Alex. What had he said? His file. Alex’s file. It’d been detailed and—

  Did you ever wonder why they picked you? Out of everyone? Why they chose you. They picked you because you were broken.

  They picked you because they wanted to see if it would latch on to you. Like a host. Symbiotic.

  They wanted to see what it was capable of in the face of human grief. I think even they were surprised just how far it went. You thought you were a glorified babysitter. You didn’t know that you were part of the test.

  “Who was it?” Nate whispered. “Who was it that you were grieving over—”

  “Don’t.” It was one word. A single syllable. But Nate heard everything Alex didn’t say. It was a warning. A threat. Nate could push, he really could, but it wouldn’t end well. For any of them.

  He lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling, feet hanging off the edge to the floor.

  Shadows stretched along the walls.

  He knew Alex wasn’t asleep, even as the minutes ticked by.

  Nate was exhausted, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

  Then: “I did what I had to.” It was said quietly. Barely above a whisper.

  Nate said nothing.

  “She… No one deserves to be in a cage. No one.”

  Alex was sleeping a moment later.

  Nate stayed awake long into the night.

  Toward dawn, he slipped from the room, leaving Art and Alex asleep in the bed.

  The mountain air was cold. He could see his breath rising around his face. He pulled the collar of his jacket up and rubbed his arms.

  A logging truck went by without slowing.

  The motel office was dark.

  There were no other cars in the parking lot. Their truck sat quietly in front of the room. Out in front of the office near the street was a large wooden electric pole.

  And next to the pole was a phone booth.

  Nate looked back at the motel room door he’d shut behind him.

  He thought about going back inside. About taking off his coat and climbing into bed, pulling the thin, scratchy comforter over his head. Of waiting until Alex rose and muttered they needed to get back on the road.

  I get to do whatever the fuck I want.

  Nate went to the phone booth.

  The metal door screeched on its hinges as he slid it open.

  He fished in the pocket of his jeans for the couple of quarters he’d found at the bottom of his duffel bag.

  He dropped them into the coin slot.

  He picked up the phone.

  He pressed the receiver against his forehead and took a breath.

  And then he dialed the number from memory.

  He wasn’t even sure what day it was as the call connected and began to ring over a crackling line.

  In his head, he could see it. The house that he was calling. He’d been there just once. It’d been… before. Before his parents had found him in the cabin. Before everything had gone to shit.

  It rang seven times before there was an answer, a single word thick with sleep. “Hello.”

  Nate couldn’t find his voice.

  “Hello,” the voice said, sounding a little more awake. A little angrier. “Who is this? Do you know what time—”

  “Ricky.”

  A beat of silence. Then, “Nate? Is this—what the hell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why are you calling so early?” Why are you calling at all?

  He let it go. He said, “I need you to listen. Don’t talk. Just listen.”

  “Why are you—”

  “Rick.”

  “What?”

  “People are going to ask you questions. About me. I’m sorry for that. I know—I know you don’t… just. Whatever they tell you is a lie. I need you to remember that. Whatever they say… Do you remember when you showed me how to skip rocks at the lake?”

  “Nate?” He sounded alarmed now. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just—I don’t know when we’re going to talk again. Okay? And I want you to know that—I’m not mad. About everything. I want you to know that. I’m not mad. There are things, Ricky. Things that are bigger than you and me. Things that I never thought I’d see. Things you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Have you been drinking? Nate, what the fuck are you—”

  “I love you.”

  Rick didn’t respond. For a moment Nate thought he’d hung up. Then, “Nate. Are you okay?”

  Nate laughed hoarsely. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. But something big is happening. Something I can’t explain. And I just needed to—to hear your voice again. Skipping rocks. Remember?”

  “I remember.” Rick sighed. “You weren’t very good at it.”

  “Yeah. I learned, though. You taught me how. There’s—do you believe there are things greater than us?”

  “I don’t—Nate, what are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I’ve gotta go. Just—thank you. For showing me how to skip rocks.”

  “Nate, wait—”

  He hung up the phone.

  His hands shook.

  Eventually, he left the phone booth and went back to the motel room.

  Alex and Art hadn’t moved.

  She was snorin
g against his shoulder.

  Alex’s chest rose and fell.

  Nate climbed back into bed and waited for the sun to rise.

  chapter twelve

  They headed east.

  Nate asked where they were going.

  Art grinned up at him. “I have no idea. Isn’t that awesome?”

  Nate let it go.

  They kept to back roads. Alex said main highways were off-limits if at all possible. They couldn’t take the chance.

  They hadn’t made the news. There was nothing about them on any radio station Nate could find. Nothing in any papers he got when they stopped for gas.

  Alex said that didn’t mean civilians weren’t looking for them.

  There were beasts in Montana.

  Art demanded they pull over, jumping up in the seat, stretching over Nate and plastering her face against the window. “Alex!” she cried. “Alex, look at them! Alex, pull over, pull over, pull over.”

  He thought Alex would keep going. Would tell her they didn’t have time to stop.

  Art had said time was fluid. That it could bend.

  Alex stopped.

  In a flat field with a snowcapped mountainous backdrop was a herd of bison. There had to be dozens of them.

  Art was scrambling over Nate and out the door even before Alex had turned off the truck. The air was cool. Nate stared after her for a moment before turning to tell Alex that it’d been good of him to stop.

  But Alex wasn’t there.

  His door was open, and he was crossing around the front of the truck.

  Art stood at the top of an embankment, gazing down at the bison below. She was waving her arms wildly, face alight as she glanced over her shoulder at Alex as he approached. He didn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. Art did enough talking for the both of them.

  Nate thought he should stay right where he was.

  This didn’t concern him.

  This wasn’t about him.

  Alex looked back at the truck and arched an eyebrow, jerking his head toward the field.

  Nate was out of the truck before he realized he was even moving.

  “…and they’re so much bigger than I thought,” Art was exclaiming, nose a little red. “I mean, you see pictures of them, but that doesn’t show anything. Look at them! They’re huge. Oh my heck, there are babies. Alex! Nate! Look at the babies.”

  Nate came to stand next to Alex. Their shoulders brushed together by accident. Alex was warm. Nate didn’t move away.

  But then the breath was knocked from his chest because Art was right. They were big, far bigger than he ever expected them to be. And they were close. He could hear them snorting and snuffling, heads bent low as they grazed. “Wow,” he breathed. “That’s… wow.”

  Art laughed. “Right? That’s what I said.”

  “You ever seen these before?” Alex asked him.

  “No. There aren’t too many bison in DC.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Imagine that.”

  “You?”

  Alex looked back out at the animals. “Once. A long time ago. It was… yeah.”

  Nate didn’t push. He’d already gotten more than he expected.

  But then Alex said, “I was just a kid. Road trip. Went through Glacier. Yosemite. It—haven’t seen them since.”

  Art tilted her head back, looking up at them. “Were they this big back then?”

  Alex shrugged. “Bigger, even.”

  Her eyes widened. Then, “Do they taste like bacon? Can we get one and see?”

  Nate coughed explosively.

  He asked questions. Of course he did. It was in his nature. It was who he was.

  The problem with asking questions was that sometimes he didn’t want to know the answers. Not exactly.

  “Greys,” he said suddenly as they drove down a bumpy road.

  Art hummed but didn’t look up from her book.

  “Aliens.” He breathed heavily through his nose. “Big heads. Big black eyes.”

  “What about them?” she asked.

  “Are they… are they real?”

  She looked up at him. “You really want to know?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Yes. They’re real.”

  “Oh,” Nate said, unsure what to do with the information now that he had it.

  “Yeah, but honestly? Those guys are jerks. Seriously. If you ever meet one, just punch it in the face.”

  Nate didn’t know what to do with that either.

  Alex snorted but said nothing.

  Art’s face scrunched up. “They have a weird obsession with probing. Like, okay, we get it, you want to see what the insides look like, but my word, there are scans that can do that. You don’t need to stick something up an anus to find out. I think they just have a rectum fetish. Do you know what fetishes are? I do. It’s when you—”

  “Art,” Alex said.

  Art sighed and went back to her book.

  Nate rolled down the window, trying to gulp in as much fresh air as possible.

  He didn’t ask any more questions for the rest of the day.

  They had a routine when they stopped.

  They didn’t want to be seen all at once. Two men traveling with a girl could be memorable. Motels were fine. They’d park far away from the office, and either Alex or Nate would go in, leaving the other two in the truck.

  Same with food. Only one of them would go inside.

  Gas stations were trickier. Some had cameras. Art would slide from the seat, lying down by Nate’s legs. Alex would go inside and pay. He’d come back out and fill the tank. It was quick and easy. No one ever paid them any mind.

  Until Havre, Montana.

  It was a little town near the Canadian border. They’d swung south before heading north again. They were spinning their wheels, waiting for something to happen, for Art to tell them the way. She’d said it wasn’t time yet, that she’d know when and where she needed to go. She’d tried to explain it to Nate, telling him it was a tug in her head, because she didn’t need to speak where she’d come from. The first time she’d ever even had a mouth was with Oren.

  That had sent Nate spiraling for hours.

  She’d laughed at him.

  Alex had scolded her.

  She’d apologized.

  Nate wasn’t sure she’d actually meant it.

  “We need to stop,” Alex said, approximately a week after Art had sat on a picnic table and told him she was an alien from another planet. “Need to fill up.” It was late afternoon, and they’d probably need to start looking for a place to stop for the night soon. There were heavy-duty sleeping bags packed in the bed of the truck that they’d managed to grab before fleeing the cabin. Art had wanted to use them immediately. Nate had said he’d rather have a bed if at all possible.

  He’d never seen such a look of betrayal on a space princess’s face before.

  He’d almost felt guilty.

  Art nodded but didn’t look up from her book. “Tell me when I have to get on the floor, partner. I’m with a cowboy about to partake in a shootout to save the woman of my dreams from the clutches of her evil oil-baron uncle.”

  Alex glanced over at Nate. “I blame you for those books.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Just because you don’t know how to read.”

  “He knows how to read,” Art said. “He just doesn’t like to. It’s because he doesn’t have an imagination.”

  “And you do?” Nate asked before he could stop himself.

  She looked up from her book. “Of course I do. Don’t most people?”

  There were times like this, times when Art seemed so damn human that he could almost forget what she’d told him while she sat on a picnic table in the middle of nowhere. That she was essentially a ghost possessing the body of a little girl who’d been in a coma that she’d never wake from. And when he did remember, when she said something like having an imagination, it threatened to send him
into another state of panic. He’d never thought about it much before this. Never thought about the implications of what it could mean to find out humans weren’t alone in the universe. It was science fiction. It was aliens coming down in their spaceships and blowing up buildings and trying to enslave the human race. It was little green men with lasers or robots with spindly fingers. They were monsters from deep space, and that’s all they were to Nate. He’d never had any reason to believe otherwise.

  But here she was, in the body of a ten-year-old girl. She liked reading. And bacon. And her sunglasses were on her head, and she was staring at him with such an inquisitive look on her face, like she couldn’t wait to hear his answer. It was so fucking outside of the realm of what Nate considered possible that he couldn’t even begin to fathom what it meant.

  So he said, “Yeah. I guess. Most people do.”

  She nodded before turning back to her book. “Except Alex.”

  “Except Alex.”

  “I don’t have time for an imagination,” Alex muttered, but he kept glancing at Nate like he knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

  Art had been… vague about where she’d come from. She said it was much farther than humans had ever been before, which—okay. That was probably true. Because the universe was terribly vast, and from Nate’s rudimentary knowledge of astronomy and space travel, he didn’t think they’d gotten very far outside of their own solar system, much less the galaxy. He remembered, loosely, a quote he’d read from Carl Sagan, who said there were more stars in the heavens than grains of sand on all the Earth. It hadn’t meant much to Nate then. He hadn’t really given it more than a passing thought.

  But now?

  The thought was wondrously horrible.

  He thought about asking Art if there were others out there. Other… aliens. Besides the asshole Greys.

  He couldn’t find it in himself to force the words out. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer.

  Sometimes he could almost make himself believe he was on a road trip with a man and his daughter.

  Who’d broken into his cabin.

  And then forced him on said road trip when soldiers and helicopters came.

  He was pretty close to spiraling when he saw the sign.