Copperback (2 page)

“Please,
don’t be scared. We are not here to hurt you.” The alien’s voice was unwavering
and gentle. His English was unbroken and showed no signs of an accent. As if he
had spoken it his whole life.

The
audience of armed forces made no attempt to back down, even though his words
felt genuine. Guns remained pointed at the target, as the soldiers waited for
the next move.

“Why
are you here?” demanded the general, sounding gruffer than possibly intended.

“We
were blindly attacked by a primitive race that destroyed our planet as well as
their own. We had no choice but to leave.” His smile faded, replaced by a look
of despair. He sounded genuinely upset by the loss they had suffered.

Shaken
by all new fears, the general asked, “Did they follow you here? Do we need to
be concerned that they will attack us?”

“Yes.
They are coming. They will try to do the same to all your people, but you can
stop them.”

His
words were of no comfort to anyone, especially the media. Instantly, they were
in a frenzy again, warning the public to remain indoors and report anything suspicious.
Chase and I took that as our cue to leave. It would be easier dealing with our
own panic at home, rather than trying to comfort others that couldn’t hold it
together. At least I could quell my hysterics with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

Except
for the few beat-up pickups filled with gun-toting rednecks ready to kick some
alien butt, the streets were barren. Most people had heeded the recent warnings
and were hunkered down, waiting for the next wave. The radio on the way back to
the house held nothing new about our visitors. By the time we had pulled around
to the back of our house, the anchor had stopped talking and the radio was
silent. We could hear she was talking to someone else quietly, trying not to
broadcast the latest news, not until she was sure she had actually gotten it
right. My heart felt as though it was going to beat out of my chest, waiting
for the voice to tell us it was a hoax. When she came back on, it was clear
that she wasn’t going to ease our fears. Sooner than expected, another group
had landed in Sayner, Wisconsin.

Once
inside, we quickly made our way to the living room, so we could view the latest
developments on our TV. Watching everything unfold, it was easy to see the
coverage from one site to another had changed. The first group still had media
clamoring for up-close shots of the conversations taking place between the
military and the apparent ambassador of the strange group. With this new group,
however, more precautions were being taken, since they were being considered a threat.
Aerial cameras were mounted and video footage of these newcomers was being
shown from a distance.

They
had the same distinct features of the first ones: well-sculptured bodies with
similar attributes. However, as alike as they were in appearance, their
attitude told a different story. They were far from calm, like their
counterparts. Bodies were huddled together in masses, keeping close to each
other, fearful of what was happening. They were aware of their lack of clothing
and tried to shelter women and children, keeping watchful eyes for anyone who
would harm them. The few brave individuals that dared to get a closer view
showed that they were also different in another way. As sunlight caught their faces,
there was a gold reflection that bounced back in some tear-streaked eyes.

The
armed forces came just as quickly as the media, surrounding them with guns
pointed, keeping them en masse. Even a few groups of civilians that had come to
see the spectacle had brought guns of their own, hoping to cash in on saving
our planet from its destruction. It was nearly the same scene as before, but the
mood had changed drastically.

Before
even one word could be spoken to them, a shot rang out in the crowd. It was unclear
if this had come from a young officer who had not followed orders or one of the
happy-go-lucky drunks looking for a new trophy to hang on the wall. Whoever was
to blame, within moments, more shots were fired at the new aliens in an all-out
barrage. As bullets flew in every direction, the unbelievable was happening.
Most of the creatures were not falling. We were.

Incredibly,
at first glance, the shots looked like they were ricocheting off the intended
targets, and being flung back instead. Eventually, it became apparent that they
were not deflecting the bullets, but avoiding them altogether, allowing them to
miss. The bodies of these entities seemed to dissolve to sand when a projectile
came within striking distance, and reform after it had passed through. From the
helicopters’ view, the large numbers of innocent bystanders and military
personnel that were being cut down by their own ammunition, in comparison to
the few aliens that had been slain or injured, was overwhelming.

The
gunplay stopped almost as quickly as it had started, and the cries of the
injured could be heard. Others were mourning over their losses. There were no
words any reporter could give that would paint a pleasant picture of what we
all witnessed. The stunned silence said it all. This event would forever be
remembered as the Sayner Slaughter.

“Checking
in?” I asked the happy couple trying to interrupt their giggles as they came up
to the front desk.

“Yes.
The name is under Tucker,” said the woman. She could barely contain her excitement,
saying the last name proudly.

Obviously
they were just married, judging by how close they stood, holding onto each
other and exchanging loving glances, hardly noticing anyone else in the room.
Her attention kept moving back and forth between her husband and the gigantic
stone on her hand. They, of course, would be staying in the honeymoon suite. It
was our biggest room out of five, and included a Jacuzzi tub and a bottle of
champagne. It wasn’t much of a view, but I’m pretty sure no one was in there to
admire the lack of scenery.

After
doing this so many times with other nauseating couples all summer, it was easy
to go through the motions and get them on their way: Credit card, keys,
signature and goodbye. I had nothing against someone being in love, but I could
live without seeing the blatant over-the-top affection. Dealing with customers
was always so much better when the couples were older and using this place as
an escape from screaming children, or to rekindle a failing relationship. They
at least didn’t have to make a big scene in front of everyone, using cute pet
names like “cutie pie” or “honey bunch.”

With
a fake smile plastered on my face, trying not to roll my eyes, I said,
“Congratulations! I hope you enjoy your stay. Breakfast is from seven a.m. ‘til
noon.”

“Thank
you, and oh, I’m sure we will be getting up late in the morning, if you know
what I mean,” she said with a cute little wrinkle of her nose as she gave her
new husband a peck on the lips.

They
walked away arm in arm, keeping close as they made their way to the oak
staircase and out of view. It took every ounce of effort not to yell back at
them to keep the noise level down tonight so others could sleep. I was sure that,
when they left, I would hear it again from one of the housekeepers: how they
spilled champagne on the carpet; or used bubbles in the hot tub, causing an
overflow in the bathroom; or forgot to leave a decent tip. Not something I was
looking forward to hearing.

“Was
that the Tuckers that just checked in?” I could hear Sally say, coming out from
the back office, behind the counter.

Her
plump, rosy cheeks grew in size with her genuine smile. The sparkle in her
green eyes made it hard to deny that the guest’s happiness was worth it. I
still wanted to gag on the thought of anyone calling me “cutie pie.”

“Yeah,
I don’t get it,” I said, still trying to shake the romantic couple from my
mind. “Why would anyone want to come here to Big Run to have a honeymoon, when
there are so many other places they could go? There is nothing to see here in
the middle of nowhere. We don’t even have air in the place.”

“Because
we are in the middle of nowhere, and we’re cheap. Some people still believe a
sleepy town is a great place for getting away, contrary to what you might
think, Emily.”

Aunt
Sally always had a positive attitude to everything; nothing ever seemed to
upset or frustrate her. Her heart was nearly as big as the rest of her. She
loved running the three-star bed-and-breakfast, and always smiled as each
person came in or left. Even when she got a call in the middle of the night
because something went wrong, she never seemed to let it get her down. She was
content with living here. I, on the other hand, was not.

I
had lived in Big Run, Pennsylvania with my mom and my brother, Chase, as long
as I could remember. My mom always owned the O’Neil B&B, which had been a
family house built in the late 1800s. I had followed my mom to work many times,
and I had always wished we could have lived in it, instead of our own house.
Our house was just a few miles away, but it was a shack in comparison to the
Victorian style of the B&B.

The
Persian rugs covering hard wood floors; the oak staircase that spiraled at the
end; even the stained glass windows that reflected blue and red light across
the room when the sun hit them – all of it was picturesque, like it had been
torn out of a moment in time when life was good, and nothing could destroy it.

When
I was eighteen, Sally moved back from Pittsburgh to help my mom run the old
place. It wasn’t exactly her dream to come back home, but after most major
illnesses had been cured, thanks to the Vesper and the Franklin Vaccine,
hospitals didn’t have as much need for a large nursing staff. With a
substantial bonus and severance pay, she had bought a house near the inn, even
though she could have stayed with us. She had used what was left to renovate
the entire inn: fixing plaster and paint that had chipped off walls; refinishing
wood floors; and adding new fixtures to the bathrooms, including a private bath
for the honeymoon suite. With the improvements, business picked up, and
everything was great. However, as with all good things, sometimes they have to
come to an end.

I
got the call while away at college my sophomore year. Being only a week away
from Christmas break, I had planned to come home and celebrate the holiday,
then take off to a local ski resort with some friends for New Year’s. Chase had
to make the call, since Sally was still at the hospital. There was an emptiness
to his voice when he told me. The road had been icy. Mom had died on impact.
Sally walked away with hardly a scratch. In one ghastly moment, my world was
turned upside down.

 My
mom had been there for me my whole life, since my dad had split before I could
even walk – and she was gone in an instant. I had no desire to finish school,
and regretfully came back home for good. I knew she would have wanted me to
continue, to get a degree and move on to a large city with a larger paycheck,
but I could barely even get out of bed without falling apart. Chase tried to be
there for me as much as possible, but for months I couldn’t leave the house. I
had shut down completely and just needed to be alone. Sally brought dinner over
almost every night, attempting to get me out of my depression. Every time I saw
her smiling face, I couldn’t help to think why she didn’t feel the same way I
did. How could she keep going on as though nothing had happened? My heart was
torn apart, and there was nothing that could ever fill it again.

I
lived in solitude for months. I finally had to give in and force myself to cope
with the loss of my mom:  to push the memories aside and move on, even if I
couldn’t feel it in my heart. That, or possibly be put away; I was content with
either. Sally had suggested that I should work at the inn to help out. She
thought being around people would help me come out of my funk, and maybe even
smile again. I didn’t believe her, but I still did it, hoping that one day I
could leave this town – this place that I felt had taken so much away from me.

The
years passed and the pain faded, but I was still here at twenty-five, and it
felt like I had been sucked in by the small-town charm, just as Sally had. I
always knew there was something out there bigger than me, waiting for me to
find it; I just had no idea when or where. I was allowed to stay in my solitude
for the most part, as long as I made an effort to come out and show I knew how
to communicate with other people on a rare occasion. It wasn’t to my liking,
but it was better than four padded walls and art therapy every day.

I
leaned over, feeling the coolness of the wood against my arms, keeping the
stifling temperature in the room bearable. I finally smiled back at Sally,
still standing at the desk with me – we both knew it was half-hearted, but I
didn’t care. My day was almost over, and I could go home and be alone.

“I
also wanted to tell you that Chase is here with the delivery, and is asking for
you,” Sally said. “I’ll cover the desk so you can run back.”

“Okay,
but he could have come over when I got home,” I said, walking back though the
office to the kitchen. “It’s not like I don’t see him almost every day anyways.”

Chase
may have moved out a few months ago to be closer to work, but he managed to never
miss a hot meal when given the chance. He was a grown man and made decent
enough money to move out and live with a few friends in an apartment across
town, but he was still used to the idea of being taken care of by one of us. I
did his laundry weekly, and I made sure he stayed out of trouble. We were
always close, even when our mom passed, but it had become just a routine to me.
I already felt sorry for the girl he would end up with. I just hoped she was
planning on raising a grown child.

I
worked my way to the kitchen, where cleanup was being finished. The full house
from the previous night took twice as long to pick up after. Large loads of
dishes still in the sink, along with trash that was rotting in the summer heat,
gave a pungent odor to the room. As much as I wanted to stay inside, the smell
was driving me towards the screen door, where I could see the red Ford pickup
that belonged to Derrick Carter.

Every
Saturday afternoon, Carter’s farm in Dubois made its delivery to us, bringing
fresh eggs, milk, and some seasonal crops. This late in July, the load they
brought included some corn, potatoes, and tomatoes. Chase had worked on the
farm since graduation, and usually it was just him and Mr. Carter’s son,
Derrick, who made the rounds. There was someone new with them today; he was
sitting with his head down, crammed into the back of the truck.

“Hey,
Emily!” Chase called as he carried a crate full of fresh sweet corn, just
picked that morning.

We
looked so much alike, no one ever questioned we were related, and often
remarked we looked like twins, even with the three year age gap. We had the
same blue eyes and curly chestnut-brown hair, even though he was wearing the
same dirty baseball cap he always wore to cover up his disheveled locks that
were in need of being cut. He had a bit more athletic build and a much deeper
tan than I did, from working in a field all summer. His grey Penn State T-shirt
was wrinkled, and looked like he had slept in it for the last few days. He
probably had, since he hadn’t been over to do his laundry for a while.

“Hey.
Sally said you wanted to talk to me,” I said. I could feel the heat blast me as
I held the door open for him. The weather was even muggier outside than it was
indoors. I wasn’t planning on moving any further into the sun than necessary.

“Yeah,”
he said. “You remember that Sayner I told you about, the one Samuel got last
week?”

“How
could I forget?” I asked. As few of them as there were, I had never seen one
other than on a television screen. Chase had told me last week that the
Carter’s had bought one from another farmer who was retiring. It was such an
oddity to know one was even close to town. It was also a bit scary, since it
was well known that they had a tendency to act out of line, and people usually
wound up hurt by their actions. I was surprised that people hadn’t lined up at
the farm to buy a ticket to see the freak show.

He
put the heavy crate on the counter and turned back to face me and the door I
still held open. He looked past me, pointing out to the truck. “That’s him out
there in the back.”

I
followed his gaze back out to the man I had seen in the back of the truck when
they arrived. From a distance, he looked no different from any of the other
guys from the farm; all of them had tans from working outside every day in the
blazing sun. The filth that covered his clothes didn’t look much different from
what Chase would look like after a day of hard work and sweat. His head was
still lowered, not looking up; his mane of blonde hair was matted down, and he
had his knees brought up close to his body, hands clasped around his long legs,
trying to make himself as small as possible.

“He
doesn’t look any different than you, Chase. He’s ugly, dirty and probably
smells just as bad. Are you sure you’re not a Sayner?” I jabbed him in the
side.

“I
think Emily might be right, Chase. I think the only thing you have on that
Copperback is smarts, and that’s cutting a close second.”

Derrick
had gotten out of the cab and stopped around the side of the truck. He looked
pristine in stark comparison to the farmhands. His jet black hair was slicked
back in place by gel, and he wore a freshly pressed denim dress shirt and
jeans. I had never seen him so clean cut before, and it was impressive. He now
had someone with him to do his share of the work, so he could afford to not get
his hands dirty. His smile gleamed back at us, but I could tell it was meant
only for me.

 “Sorry
I had to bring him, but my dad’s not feeling well today, and I don’t trust this
thing by himself without a babysitter.”

Derrick
turned to look right at him when he said it, but the Sayner didn’t move or
react. He was a motionless statue, sitting there.

“Does
he even understand what you’re saying to him?” I asked. I had no idea about
them and had always been so curious.

“He
understands enough. He doesn’t talk, though. Not sure if he can. He’s probably
too stupid to figure it out.” His taunts at the Sayner brought no reaction. “We
have some work to do. Grab those boxes and hand them to Chase.”

The
Sayner came to life instantly and stood up. Without raising his head, he placed
one large hand on the side and vaulted out of the truck, landing lightly on the
ground, hardly disturbing the gravel under his feet. His gait was nothing like
a farmhand. He seemed to almost glide along the ground, as though he was as
light as a feather. His height towered over Derrick’s, who was at least six
foot. He was slender, but I could still see the muscular frame pressing against
his shirt. When he grabbed for the crate of eggs, the brown freckles that ran
down the backs of his muscular triceps from under the shirt were apparent, as
was the crude branding of the Sayner mark on the back of his hands. The pale
irregularity against the smooth, tan skin couldn’t go unnoticed.