Red Centre

by O.G. Gough

  The gun lay a few feet away with the tiny light shining into the blackness. He quickly moved to retrieve it.

  Gun locked to shoulder, Chris pointed the barrel at the stalagmites. With the back of his arm he wiped blood, sweat and water from his face and re-focused his eyes. Whatever was there before was now gone. “Roy!” He cursed his name under his breath.

  Cautiously he pressed forward—closer and closer to clear the rocks. Sweat ran down his forehead into his eye, the salty drop stinging. Wiping at it with a sleeve, he quickly returned his grip to the shotgun. He blinked to let tears flush his eye.

  Water splashed from behind the rocks as Chris closed in. Immediately he sighted the shotgun on what appeared to be a dark leg. His heart pounded. Shallow breaths. He cocked the gun.

  “Don’t you move!” he commanded, while circling at an angle—slicing the pie—to identify the target.

  He stayed low, shifting his weight, adjusting his aim.

  And then he saw it.

  Leaning against the cave wall was a slender, grayish, humanoid creature. The same one Chris had hit with the truck. Except now he could see it properly. In full view. Its almond-shaped, black eyes locked on Chris’ eyes. Chris thought he could almost see his own reflection. It held its arm as though it was hurt.

  Cuts covered parts of its body, highlighted by dry, purple liquid—probably its blood. The same purple blood covered parts of its silver space suit. It was hard to tell how hurt it was with all the water around and in the dim light.

  The creature shielded its smooth, gray head as the flashlight shone in its eyes. Chris couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Was it real? It didn’t seem real.

  He banged the side of his head with an open hand; angry, frustrated. He didn’t want to admit it, but Shawn had probably been taken by something unearthly and this creature was the proof.

  “Where’s my son?” he screamed, veins popping at the side of his neck. Face red. Seeing this thing in the flesh put his head in a spin. The only way to cope was with anger. But it made him think that Frank and the crazy Russian weren’t so crazy after all.

  Without taking his eyes off the freak he carefully removed his backpack. He tried to keep the gun aimed right at the creature’s head. It dared not move. He removed a rope from the backpack. This thing had to be restrained.

  Looking at its rubbery skin, he hesitated, not sure if he wanted to touch it, or even if he should touch it. What did he know about it anyway? Nothing. Not to mention it was also bleeding.

  Every sci-fi movie he had ever seen popped into mind. Could this thing spray acid from its mouth? Was it part lizard? He pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. Not that it would protect him, but it made him feel better. What if this creature had some foreign disease? What if it was radioactive? This was a major discovery. Should he call a government agency? Or try to get this thing to communicate? All these questions flashed through Chris’ mind. His military training was conflicting with his one and only desire to find his son.

  One thing he did know, this was bigger than four guys in the outback of Australia chasing down aliens. They now had one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hostage

  Under the cover of night the three men hauled the creature to the back of the Corbin house. It had been hogtied, and the backpack placed over its head. They finally reached the second shed. They carefully placed the creature on the ground. It didn’t put up a fight. It seemed too incapacitated for that.

  Frank slipped a key from his jeans pocket and guided it into the lock.

  “I call this me little Alcatraz,” he said, pushing the large doors open. The shed dark inside.

  Eager to see what this shed had to offer, Chris started to edge forward to make his way in. What other secrets was Frank keeping?

  Frank turned to Chris. “This is as far as ya go.”

  Chris stepped back to take a breather. He ran his fingers through his short hair. It was wet from sweat. “What else do you have in there? What don’t you want me to see?”

  “I don’t trust ya enough yet,” Frank said sternly to Chris, with an eye-locked gaze that looked as if it could turn to blows at any minute. “And until I do, ya ain’t getting in.”

  Roy punctuated Frank’s statement with a raised middle finger, held close to his large stomach, and a crooked smirk. His face bruised and swollen from the earlier beating.

  Chris looked over at Roy and then back at Frank. He knew Frank meant what he said. His eyes wandered down to the strange figure lying on the ground. “What’re we doing here, Frank?” He looked up at the two men. “This is too much. We can’t keep this thing.” Chris wiped some sweat from his brow with the back of his dirt-covered hands. “This is bigger than us four guys. This is huge. We need to bring in the government, or something.”

  Frank took an aggressive step towards Chris. “American? Australian? Ya know what the government does with this kind of stuff? It disappears.”

  Chris shook his head in disbelief. “We don’t know that. This is a major discovery. We’ll let the media know. Bring it to the world’s attention.”

  “Ya think this ”—Frank pointed at the lifeless alien on the ground—“will bring the day of disclosure from all major governments?”

  Making a gun shape—thumb up and pointing his index finger—Frank pointed at each one of them. “Bang, bang”—then to his own head—“bang. A bullet to ya head and dump ya arse in the bloody desert. You’ll be just another internet conspiracy theory that no one can prove existed.”

  Chris swallowed, realizing the seriousness of the situation and knowing Frank was probably right. Who would believe them? “I don’t know if I’m prepared for what happens next.”

  “You don’t have to be here if ya don’t wanna.” Frank motioned to Roy to grab the creature’s legs. The two men struggled to get a good hold on the slippery creature’s suit. Chris kept his distance as the two men slipped inside, half dragging the slender figure.

  Chris stepped forward, really wanting to see what kind of freak show Frank could possibly have in this second shed. Why all the secrecy? His eyes drifted to the star-filled sky, mind pondering what kind of hell they would bring on themselves and the world.

  After a few minutes, the pair came back out. Frank quickly re-secured the chain and padlocked the door. “We’ll let Pav examine it in the morning.”

  “They’re going to come back for their comrade. You know that, right?” Chris said. “There will be more.”

  Frank pushed past Chris, heading for his back door. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “It’ll be war,” Chris called after him.

  Frank stopped, turned to face Chris. “I told you. Ya didn’t get it. We’re already at war, ya dumb son of a bitch.” Frank turned to Roy. “Get the guns. We’ll change shifts every three hours.” He glanced around at the surroundings. “Remember, they may already know it’s here. They could be watching us right now.” He paused for a moment. “Yankee, you’re up first.”

  ***

  An array of stars littered the night sky. A beautiful sight. Chris didn’t get this kind of night viewing back home. He leant against the cold, iron shed wall, staring at the view. Roy’s gun rested on his shoulder. His eyes were heavy. It had been a long night and day and now this night was starting to drag.

  Three hours past. Roy was due to take over, but the fat bastard was a no show.

  Eyes heavy, Chris struggled to stay awake. He wobbled on his feet a little and at times jolted awake. Rubbing his face and eyes, he slid down the shed wall to rest on the ground. Chris shook and scratched his head, trying to stay awake. Bloodshot eyes blinked in slow motion; head slowly dropping forward; he slipped into a micro sleep.

  Images of alien faces flashed into mind.

  War. Destruction.

  He quickly shook off the sleep, taking short, quick breaths—heart pounding. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Was this really happening? It all seemed like a dream. Ever since Shawn disappeared, life
didn’t see real. Nothing much else seemed to matter. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate and his breathing.

  He glanced at his watch again. This is bullshit! He peered into the quiet night sky. Was Shawn up there, somewhere amongst the stars? His mind still couldn’t process it. It was too unbelievable. Even with all he had witnessed, he just couldn’t accept it. How could he tell Kate? Shit! Kate! He hadn’t spoken to her in days. He grabbed for his cell. It wasn’t in his pockets. Must have left it in the Cherokee.

  The Cherokee was parked at the front of the house. Its yellow, four-way lights lit up as he approached. The doors unlocked. Chris quickly searched the interior for the phone. After a moment he found it amongst the trash. Damn it! Battery dead. He laid the gun onto the driver’s seat and searched for the car charger, standing at the open driver’s door.

  He quickly plugged the phone in and turned the ignition to get the cell charging. The slow phone took a moment to turn on. While waiting he twisted his neck side to side, loosening up. The screen flashed alive. Two missed calls and three text messages. I’m in trouble, he thought.

  A small breeze blew on his back. A nice relief from the hot, humid night. Wind chimes on Frank’s veranda bounced around in the wind, making their annoying musical sounds. It drew Chris’ attention.

  A streak of light past overhead in the night sky. Maybe a shooting star or maybe lightning. He hoped that’s all it was. Chris didn’t see it well enough. A chill traveled up his back, over his head and down his arms to his fingertips. He wasn’t sure why; maybe just gut instinct. Something didn’t seem right.

  Kate would have to wait. He tossed the phone back into the truck, grabbing hold of the shotgun. He started to walk towards the house and stopped stone cold, head tilted to listen.

  Frozen for a second, goose bumps crawled his entire body. Adrenaline pumped. He heard the distinctive noise of one of the shed doors opening.

  With military precision, Chris moved close to the house. Gun ready, cautious. Security at this place was a joke, especially with Roy at the helm.

  Staying close to the wall he made it to the rear of the house and surveyed the area. He quickly shot a look around the corner. Shed one, where Pav lived: its door wide open. Shed two’s door still locked. Chris moved swiftly across the yard, gun trained on the door.

  He popped his head around the corner. The shed was dark. No lights on. He quickly turned on the little tactical light mounted on the barrel. His light shone around the shed space.

  Empty.

  Chris glanced behind him, noticing the busted back door to Frank’s house was wide open. Maybe the wind had just blown it open. After all, it didn’t latch properly after Chris smashed through it.

  The interior dark. Chris carefully made his way to the broken back door and slipped inside, past the old laundry, not making a sound.

  At the end of the dark corridor the living room light spilt out with a soft, yellow glow. Two men stood silhouetted in the small room, close to each other, in quiet conversation.

  The wooden floorboards creaked as Chris stepped slowly. Grip shifting on the shotgun, he edged forward carefully, quietly.

  Pav and Frank engaged in tense conversation. Their words muffled. Chris strained to listen as he approached.

  Noticing the intruder, Pav abruptly ended the discussion. It was obvious they didn’t want Chris overhearing anything.

  Pav held the small, black, oval object in front of him. Through the middle of the object a strip of red light glowed; little symbols around the outside lit up with the same, deep-red glow.

  Chris looked at the two men, concerned. “What’d you do?”

  Frank looked up at Chris, blue eyes piercing under thick, dark-gray eyebrows. “They’re comin’ ... They want it back.” Frank snatched the item from Pav’s hand. “Pav thinks they may be tracking this, or maybe trying to communicate. We need to get it outta here.”

  “Wasn’t that the plan?” Chris fired at Frank. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  Frank pushed past, butting shoulders into Pav. “We’re not ready for them.” He grabbed his trusted double-barrel shotgun off the wall. “I’ve gotta get this far from here.”

  “Why would you send out declarations of war if you weren’t ready?”

  “We thought we were,” Pav said sheepishly, in his thick, Russian accent.

  Frank briskly walked toward the back door, then stopped. Stone cold.

  A large, bright-red glow crept along the floor, flooding through the wide-open backdoor. It washed across Frank’s rugged boots, lighting up his weather-beaten body. The light had almost a life of its own, like an invading creature. One that couldn’t be stopped.

  Red light burst through the window frames. So bright it pierced the black-painted windows, almost as though the house was engulfed in fire.

  A deep hum, barely audible, vibrated softly through the light.

  The three men looked around them, encompassed in the glow.

  This was what Frank had asked for—the war he wanted. Revenge for his wife. Ready or not.

  Chris, on the other hand, was there for his son, for answers, trying not to die in the process. Pav ... well, he was there for the ride. Adventure. For science.

  Last time this happened they took Emma. Whose turn was it this time? Was their fate now the same as Chris’ son and Frank’s wife?

  Panic filled their eyes.

  ***

  The V8 engine of Frank’s F-250 roared as it exploded out the gate. The pickup truck fishtailed as it turned onto the dirt road. Dust flew everywhere.

  Pedal to the metal. The old truck had probably never gone this fast before. Frank was in the driver’s seat. Chris bounced around in the passenger seat.

  Chris cradled the oval object in one hand and the shotgun in the other. His eyes locked on the side mirror. Just the blackness of night. A small, red glow illuminated some of the hills behind, about where the house sat. Nothing was following, just yet.

  He didn’t really get a chance to see what was casting the light. They ran so quickly to the truck he dared not look up. Part of him didn’t really want to believe, so he didn’t look. Maybe that and maybe fear. The red glow was enough to scare the shit out of him.

  He looked down at the glowing object in his hand. What was this alien item? Was it really a tracking beacon? Maybe it was a weapon? Who the hell really knew, except for the friggin’ aliens? He had to get his mind straight. He was on this crazy adventure with this old man, and right now he had to make it work. “Do you think they’re tracking this, or did we just leave the house unsecured?”

  Frank was intense. He just grunted. It was a grunt that said “you might be right.”

  Without really thinking he ripped the truck around, almost losing control as the old truck did a one-eighty. More like a one-ninety, but no one was measuring. Dust and dirt sprayed upwards. The old pickup stalled out. Bits of gravel pinged the roof and hood, covering it like thick, red rain.

  The truck, frozen on an elevated ridge of a man-made dirt trail, the most common kind of road out here. Frank thumped the steering wheel with an open hand. “Bitch of a thing!”

  He tried to get it started again, one foot pinning down the clutch, the other pumping the squeaking gas pedal; headlights dimmed as power sucked life from the battery in an effort to turn over the heavy engine.

  The engine spluttered—as if fuel and spark couldn’t connect.

  Frank killed the lights, pumped the pedal. Tried again.

  No go.

  They weren’t going anywhere. Alone on the dirt track.

  Reaching past Chris, Frank retrieved a dirty, old, yellow flashlight from the glove compartment. He was out of the truck first and popped the hood to take a look.

  Chris opened the door, standing behind it for cover. His eyes drifted around. The night, eerily still. Not even the crickets were chirping. The air had turned cold; either that, or fear made it feel cold. No nearby cities; no street lights o
ut here. The moon and stars lit up the sky like a paid light show. He had never seen the stars or moon so bright. You probably didn’t need streetlights out here. The moonlight bathed everything a deep blue.

  Chris laid the shotgun between the door frame and the truck body. Eyes ever watchful.

  “Turn it over, dickhead.” Frank’s gruff voice broke the silence.

  Climbing back into the truck, Chris slid over to the torn driver’s seat. The sun-faded steering wheel well worn from many years of Frank gripping it. It was old, just like Frank and the rest of this truck. Chris twisted the key. The truck sputtered, almost caught the spark and died just as fast.

  Banging noises erupted from the engine. All Chris could see was the faded paint on the lifted hood, blocking his view.

  “Go means go, ya bastard!” he heard Frank yell out.

  Broken beams from a shifting flashlight caught Chris’ eye as Frank worked in frustration. He would offer to help, but doubted Frank would want it. Anyway, he didn’t know much about fixing cars. Frank seemed to know what he was doing.

  Turn the key on command, that was his job. Best stay out of the old man’s way, or piss him off even more.

  Chris’ eyes moved around the cabin. In all the excitement, he hadn’t realized the black oval object was no longer glowing with red lights. It lay still on the dashboard. Chris slowly reached out to grab it. He didn’t want to set it off again, but this was his chance to take a closer look.

  “Turn it over!” Frank shattered his concentration, yelling out the command.

  The engine tried to turn over. No use. Chris let his hands drop off the wheel and the key. This was hopeless.

  Wind blew through the open passenger door. The trees rustled.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, red beam of light cut through the cabin. The oval object sparked alive again. One by one the strange symbols lit up in order. Chris scurried out of the truck, shielding himself behind the door. He gazed into the night sky. He squinted as a bright star appeared to fall out of the sky and morph into a fireball as it approached the stranded pair. Red light overpowered the darkness.

  Awe struck at the sight, Chris froze for a moment—which felt longer—and then pounded the top of the roof with an open hand. “YOU BETTER MOVE YOUR ASS!”