Challa (5 page)

“Charlie, would you escort this man to the exit?”

The security guy Compton had seen standing guard in front of the stage was back. Giving the alien girl one final look, he thanked the barker and followed the man named Charlie out of the tent, where Max and the girls were waiting for him.

“Hey, Comp! Where have you been? We were starting to get worried.”

“Sorry. I got turned around in there.”

He glanced back at the sideshow tent one last time. Charlie remained standing at the exit, in case Compton changed his mind. Too bad Max and the girls were still here, or else Compton would have.

As he trailed behind the others who were gunning for the main part of the carnival where the rides and food booths were located, Compton knew he would be returning. He had to. He had no choice.

He had to find out why the alien girl affected him like she did.

More than that, he had to find out why the hell he cared.

Chapter 5

Run

Where is he?

“Are you sure you’re okay? Damn it, Challa! What happened out there tonight?”

Challa raised a hand to ward off Lawson’s angry, insistent questioning. “I told you. I’m fine. You didn’t leave me any water up there, and I got dehydrated!” she lashed back, hoping he wouldn’t hear the quivering in her voice.

Where did he go?

“Do I need to get Doc over here to check you out? Fuck this! You’ve never fainted like that before!” Lawson was persistent, if not irritatingly smothering when it came to her welfare. But Challa could understand. Army had been right. Without her, the carnival would have been dissolved years ago.

“Answer me, woman!”

She shook her head. “No. Don’t get Doc. You know every time he prescribes something for me to take it makes me sicker, throws my metabolism all out of balance. I’m not human, Lawson! You know that!”

They were yelling at each other. It was becoming more frequent now. Maybe her being here was no longer the godsend the man had thought she’d be. After all, she wasn’t one of them, wasn’t like them, and she didn’t think like them. What’s more, Challa had her own mind, shaped as it was after years of captivity and servitude.

What is his name?

Growling softly, Lawson crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. Turning away from him, Challa looked down at her wristwatch still sitting on the makeup counter where she’d left it. The man must have read her mind.

“No. You’re not going out running tonight. I forbid it.”

Her temper flared, and she whirled on him. “You
forbid
it?” As soon as she’d said the words in that tone of voice, Challa backed down. She’d learned very quickly that Lawson always won the battle when he faced adversity. On the other hand, soft promises and wheedling usually helped her get her way. Challa bowed her head and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, Lawson. But I have to go. I need some fresh air. I need to run. I…I can’t think straight.”

I can’t think of anything except the man who smelled of tart lemonade.

“I won’t be gone long. I promise. But I’ve got to go. I have to run, and you know that, Lawson.”

“How do I know you won’t just keep on running?”

Challa sighed. It was an old argument. Whenever she most needed to get away, whenever she felt the overwhelming burn to run, he always hit her with the same question.

“I will return, Lawson. I promise.”

The man relented. He knew she never broke her word. Saying she promised was as good as cuffing a chain about her ankle, and he accepted it.

Except she didn’t promise to stay nearby. Challa held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t tag that part onto her deal. Instead, he tossed his head and gave a little exasperated noise, turned, and walked out of the tent. The moment he was gone, so was she.

* * * *

Max and the girls hung around the carnival until closing time. Compton relented, not wanting to cause a scene between himself and Max. But Max would put on a tirade if he knew Compton had lost all interest in the carnival. All interest, except for the green-skinned woman in tent number four.

As was to be expected, Max had chugged too many beers. The girls weren’t as badly off, but they definitely couldn’t be trusted behind a steering wheel, either. Which left Compton to do the honors and get everyone home safe and sound.

As it was Max’s car, and Max had picked him up that evening, Compton chose to leave the vehicle in his friend’s driveway and walk the three miles back to his place. Even with the artificial leg, three miles was nothing compared to the hikes he’d been forced to take during boot camp, and later when he was on assignment.

Besides, the trek gave him the chance to think things out. Relive those brief moments in the tent when it had been just him and the alien girl.

Challa.

Those Klieg lights had been torturously bright. Still, he’d managed to make out a lot more detail in her face and head when he’d gotten up close to the cage.

She’s the real thing. She’s the real honest-to-God thing!

The mantra kept repeating over and over in his head as he strode along the edge of the road.
She’s the real thing! She’s the real thing! She’s the real thing!

And suddenly he was a ten year old all over again. His stomach was in knots. His imagination was revving into overdrive. A million questions were racing around inside his mind, all vying for one of the golden tickets which meant they would be asked the next time he saw her.

The next time…

Compton paused in the roadway. Blanton Road ended at a dead end. Somebody’s property lay on the other side of the barbed wire fence. Strother Road T-ed Blanton. If he took a right on Strother, it would lead him out of town, toward the carnival. Left would lead him—

“Fuck this,” he mumbled, turning right.

The city limits sign was at the end of Strother. There, the road became FM 309. In the distance, Compton could see the carnival lights. The rides had been shut down, but the clusters of smaller individual lights from the knot of trailers and vans were visible.

The night was warm. The waning half-moon overhead gave him just enough light to keep him from stumbling around in the dark, and from accidentally ending up in the ditch bordering the road.

Compton pressed the stem on his watch to check the time. It was just past eleven thirty. Everyone would be in bed by now. What did he plan to do once he got there? Hell, he didn’t know what trailer she was in. What did he hope to accomplish by going back to the carnival?

He continued down the roadway.
What the fuck are you doing?

“I want to see her. Talk to her,” he answered aloud.

Why?

Hell if he knew. All he could swear by was the fact that it was like some kind of invisible rope had been tied around his waist, and someone at the other end was reeling him back to the carnival, slowly and inexorably.

A breeze rustled the trees. Barbed wire fences bordered the road on both sides, and untamed land lay on the other side of the flimsy barriers. The humidity made his t-shirt cling to his body, but it didn’t bother him. Compton had faced far worse conditions.

The exercise felt good. He loved walking the country roads. He loved the summery smells of the fields, and the sounds of crickets and other insects calling out to each other. Off to his right a handful of fireflies blinked at each other, reminding him of a time when he and Max would capture them in a jar, then poke holes in the lid with a screwdriver.

The breeze rustled the trees again. The road took a bend to the right, and the carnival disappeared momentarily from sight. Compton kept his pace steady and even. He didn’t fear anyone coming up on him unexpectedly. This was America, not a foreign country where Americans were despised. Country folk and small-town people looked out for one another, especially families who had their roots here.

His eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, enough to where he could see a mailbox standing on the side of the road to avoid walking into it. Large shapes moved beyond the fence line—cattle settling for the night.

The road swerved back to the left and Compton jerked to a halt at the figure standing in the middle of the road not a dozen yards away. Instinctively his hand reached for his waistline, as if to grasp the handgun he no longer wore since his medical discharge. But the ingrained survival mode remained, and would always remain.

At first he thought it was another fellow like himself taking a midnight jaunt down a dirt country road, until the figure moved, graceful and flowing, like an acrobat underwater. It drew nearer, yet for some unexplainable reason, Compton no longer feared it. He waited patiently. Expectantly.

It’s her.

Deep in his gut, he knew it was the alien girl.

The figure took a few steps toward him. Not down the road to pass him, but directly, unerringly in his direction.

And then he saw them. Her eyes. Those strange yet beautiful blue eyes with purplish flecks that appeared to glitter with a light all their own.

Compton started. She could see in the dark like a cat. The realization made her appear all the more otherworldly.

One more step and she was close enough for him to see she still wore that odd bathing suit garment that ran from around her neck, over her small breasts, and down between her legs.
It was made not to hinder her wings when she unfolds them.

He opened his mouth to break the silence, not expecting her to speak first.

“Who are you?”

She had an accent. A pretty thick one, but not enough to keep him from understanding her.

“My name’s Compton Scott. You’re…you’re Challa?”

“Why are you on this road?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he answered back automatically. Was it his imagination or was she wearing perfume? Whatever it was, it was coming from her and not from the vicinity.

She hesitated, and he took the moment to take a step toward her. Challa kept her ground, to his relief.

Tell her the truth
,
Comp
.
Tell her the truth. She’ll know if you’re lying to her. She’ll be able to tell.

How do you know?

Man up and talk to her. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

“I’m on my way back to the carnival,” he admitted, carefully watching for her reaction. Strangely, she didn’t seem surprised.

“To see me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Compton frowned. “Why are you out here…alone…you
are
out here alone, aren’t you?” He glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone else was behind her, but the stretch of road looked clear as far as he could tell.

“I’m alone, yes. I…I was heading for town.”

“At this time of night? Nothing’s open. Cooper rolls up its sidewalks after five, except for the A and P. It’s open until ten.”

Her face wore a confused expression. “What’s A and P?”

“It’s our local supermarket. You weren’t…you weren’t heading in to get something from the market, were you?”

The girl shook her head. “No. I was heading into town to try and find you.”

Compton felt the blood rush to his extremities. It was suddenly difficult to breathe without inhaling the gentle fragrance of…

…honeysuckle.

She was wearing honeysuckle.

“Me?”

He started to ask more when the sound of vehicle coming down the road interrupted them. Headlights crossed the two-lane and aimed in their direction, heading toward town.

Without thinking, Compton rushed to her and dove for the ditch on the opposite side where the car wouldn’t see them. Challa gasped in surprise but didn’t fight his hands as he pulled her down into the grass and dirt.

The station wagon trundled past them and continued on. The driver hadn’t seen them. Or if he had, didn’t care that he’d nearly run them down. Compton waited until the sound of the engine faded before helping her to her feet, and leading her back onto the road.

A minute passed, then two. His hand remained holding her upper arm, with its soft, warm firmness. Mere inches parted them, and Compton noticed how the top of her bald head was even with his chin.

The honeysuckle smell was stronger. As a boy, he had often sat under a thick canopy of the flowers, pulling the stems from the petals so that it revealed the tiny droplet of sweetness inside. A sweetness so strong in his memory, he could still taste it on his tongue.

Would she taste like honeysuckle if he licked her? If he…kissed her?

“That was Lawson, looking for me,” she finally said, looking up at him.

“Who?” God, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t glue two words together at this point, she was so intoxicating.

This woman. This…alien.

“Lawson Hall. He owns the carnival. I promised I wouldn’t stay out too long. I have…I have to go back.” She continued to watch him. Waiting to see what he would do, what he would say.