Red Centre (19 page)

He took a deep breath. He had to do this. He
had no other options.

The blade sliced the tape, freeing the
creature’s legs.

Cautiously he climbed up into the truck bed,
pulling his shirt over his nose. With legs split to either side,
the creature centered beneath, he hobbled over it to reach its
bound hands.

With the knife carefully positioned between
the tape and its rubbery flesh, he paused one last time, looking
directly at the creature’s closed, motionless eyes.

Was it still out cold? He hoped.

The knife sliced the tape. Its limbs
dropped.

Chris leaped off the side of the truck as
fast as he could and shivered.

For all he knew, if the creature suddenly
woke, it could tear him limb from limb. It was the enemy, an enemy
he didn’t know. It was also his only link to Shawn. Perhaps his
only chance at getting him back. If he had to defend himself and
butcher it with his knife, he would. But what would he have left?
He might as well pack up and go home, tell Kate and the girls the
devastating news that Shawn was never coming home. Ever.

Chris edged closer to the side of the truck,
slightly crouched, holding the knife in a reverse grip.

Moving to the open tailgate, he figured the
feet was the safest place to be when encountering a live alien, if
it was still alive.

“
Hey?” he yelled at it,
readjusting his grip on the knife.

It lay motionless. He observed its long,
slender, rubbery leg. Touching it would be like touching a gray
toad. He hesitated.

With hand hovering just above its ankle, he
considered just poking it with a stick. After all, that’s what
you’d do with a dead animal, a dead toad.

He grabbed its leg and shook it. “Wake
up!”

Its black, almond-shaped eyes snapped open
like a shutter on a camera. Eyelids blinking multiple times. With a
tilted head it looked directly at Chris. His own reflection gazed
back at him in its glassy eyes. The blank stare unnerving.
Confronting.

When it was unconscious it just seemed like
a life-sized rubber doll, but when it stared—Chris realized what he
was looking at—something not from this world. There was something
behind those eyes: intelligence. Most likely far more advanced than
anyone on this planet.

Chris took a step back to give it some room,
his footing unsure as he moved away. He feared this thing. He was
by himself. Alone. No backup. No one would hear him scream out
here, if it attacked.

Suddenly he realized how foolish it was to
leave his shotgun in the cab of the truck. Now his only defense—the
small pocketknife.

Wounded, the gray struggled to sit up. It
held its left arm close to its body, nursing a large, black-colored
wound, the dog collar and chain still fastened around its neck. Its
unfamiliar movements and freakish appearance ran shivers up Chris’
spine.

With the blade still open, he tucked the
pocketknife into his pants pocket and tugged the shirt, uncovering
his nose. It probably didn’t do any good anyway. It wasn’t as if it
was filtering the air for him.

He raised his hand, a sign of
non-aggression, stepped back a little and fished for his wallet.
Holding up a wallet-sized photo of his son, he slowly extended it
out to the creature and carefully edged forward.

Not sure what Chris was trying to do, the
creature turned its head slightly. Its black eyes moved to the oval
object partly hidden in Chris’ left hand.

Chris looked down at the object, moving it
behind his leg partially to conceal it. He moved the photo into its
line of sight. “This is my son.”

The creature slid its frail body to the
edge, slowing climbing out of the truck. It stood tall. Tall and
thin. The chain dangling from the collar locked around its pencil
neck.

It stumbled forward.

“
Hey!” Chris raised his
right hand to stop its advance. Fear of the unknown insisted he
prepare for combat, if required. “This is my son, Shawn. Have you
seen him?”

The gray didn’t respond, its eyes fixed on
the oval device. Chris scratched the side of his cheek. “I know you
probably don’t understand a single word I’m saying.” He ran his
fingers through his hair. “I really need you to understand this.
Please.” He waved the photo to get its attention. “My son!” Chris
looked into the sky, knowing nothing was going in. “You friggin’ …”
He searched for words to show his displeasure. “... mutated frog,
piece of shit!”

Chris breathed deeply, trying to compose
himself. This wasn’t working.

Slowly stretching out its long fingers the
gray reached for the object.

Chris pulled back.

He looked down at the object and then back
at the creature, its hand remaining stretched toward him. Maybe if
he gave it back it would help him. A trade. He couldn’t get it to
work anyway.

He carefully handed the item to the gray,
keeping it at arm’s length. Its long, slender fingers wrapped
around the device. Its fingers freakishly long and gray—but very
human looking. It gently pressed on the symbols in a well-rehearsed
pattern. A password.

The object sparked alive.
The middle strip of red light glowed; the little symbols around the
outside lit up with the same deep, red glow that Chris had seen
before.
Now we’re getting
somewhere.
Would the others come and
trade, or would they simply take him too? What choice did he
have?

As though it was finally relieved that it
had activated the device, it let itself crash back into the truck,
leaning against it to hold itself up. The device slipped from its
grasp, falling into the dirt. Chris’ eyes followed the object to
the ground and then quickly back to the creature. It was laboring.
Every breath it took seemed like a struggle.

The creature let itself slide to the ground.
It looked to the heavens above. It no longer seemed concerned by
the device ... or Chris.

It looked as though it wanted to die. As if
it was time to die.

The object’s lights pulsated ever so
slightly. A pulse he hadn’t seen before. What had it just done?

His body went numb. Shit! A GRENADE!

He bolted, diving into a small group of
trees, the only cover he had. Hands clutching his head, he curled
into a ball, eyes tightly shut, anticipating a blast that would
shred or engulf his body.

Was this it? Would they now just find his
charred, twisted body in the middle of nowhere? If there was
anything left. Maybe he would now get to see Shawn. Is this how he
would die?

Thoughts and fear stabbed rampant in his
mind.

They say your life flashes before you when
you’re about to die. His didn’t. All he could think of was his
family. His beautiful wife. Three wonderful children. His other son
who had died so young. That was his happiness. His world. Nothing
else mattered.

Would his shattered family ever recover?

The old bastard Frank was right. Kill every
last one of those frog-eyed fuckers.

Chris opened one eye;
unclenched his teeth.

Nothing
happened.

Removing tight hands from
around his head, he craned his neck over the bushes to sight the
truck.
On the red dirt lay the gray.
Motionless.
Chris couldn’t even tell if it
was still breathing.
The object lay next
to it, its red, rhythmic, glowing lights still
pulsating.

Chris squatted down next
to the ailing creature and placed the photo of Shawn in its
hand.

“
You
bring back my son”—he leaned over, removing the dog collar—“and
I’ll get you home.”

He took the device in his
hand, carefully wiping the dust with his shirt.

From the truck’s bed,
Chris leapt to the roof. Heavy boots dented the already beaten,
rusted top.
Strong wind whipped around his
loose clothes and fit physique. He stood tall.
He looked at the glowing device, its light painting his face
red. He punched his right arm up into the air.

Lightning arced across the
night sky. Thunder cracked.

“
COME
GET IT!” he yelled into the night.

With arm extended he stood
frozen on the truck roof. Savage wind battered his tired body. The
sweet smell of impending rain threatened.

“
Come
get it,” he said softly, exasperated. This was his final pea. He
could do no more. Nowhere else to turn.

Cool rain peppered his
face.

It felt as if hours had
past, even though he knew it had only been twenty minutes. His hand
and arm tingled due to lack of blood flow. He remained firm in his
commitment. If he had to climb a mountain for a better signal, he
would.

Another six minutes past.
Eight.

Chris dropped to his
knees, slumped in a small pool of water collecting on the rusty
roof. Cold water soaked through his jeans, swallowing his
knees.

He dropped the pulsing
object in front of him and stared at the water splashing off its
metallic casing.

His body shook.
He sobbed. The same uncontrollable sobbing he
experienced when Aaron died. He sobbed for Shawn, he sobbed for
Aaron, he sobbed for his family.

Suddenly the rain around
him stopped, as if an umbrella had popped up over the
truck.

Without warning a shaft of
blinding, white light beamed down on Chris. Shielding his eyes, he
looked above into the silence.

Soon a large, red glow descended on him as
the large craft lowered itself, not far from the truck. No sound,
no sign of propulsion. It slowly drifted down, floating just a few
feet above the center of the dirt road.

The white light stayed trained on Chris as
it maneuvered into position. It was surreal, almost dream like.
Everything seemed to slow down. His heart thumped in his chest. He
could feel the side of his head starting to pound. This was really
happening.

The red lights around the
outside of the craft were hypnotic. Chris
jumped from the truck.
He cautiously
approached, arm stretched out with the device in hand. His eye
started to twitch.

What was going to happen
next? He didn’t know.

He paused halfway between the truck and the
craft. Maybe he should have brought the gray with him—better still,
the shotgun. These frogs weren’t going to get him too. He felt for
the pocketknife. Still there. He turned back to the truck to see if
his resident alien was making his way over. It was a no show.

He turned back to the craft and froze. Three
thin personages suddenly stood a few feet in front of the bright,
burning light. It was amazing and terrifying at the same time. He
was witnessing something that would rock humanity.

His heart raced.

Silhouetted by the craft’s
powerful radiance,
the middle figure stood
a few feet in front of the other two. They seemed more like
bodyguards, sentinels guarding the way. The two appeared to each
hold a thin, long cylinder in their hands. About two feet
long.

The two sentinels broke
formation, starting to slowly circle around the edges of the
road,
their appearance covered by dark,
backlit shadows. The slow rain was whipped sideways by the strong
wind.
A lump formed in Chris’ throat. Were
they going to give him a beat down? Take him? Experiment on him? He
clenched his teeth and slipped the object into his pocket, taking
out the pocketknife. He kept it close, concealed. The other hand
formed a fist.
Take out the leader first.
Blade to the side of the head. Run like crazy for the shotgun.
Drive like hell.
He played the scenario
out in his mind.

“
I come in peace,” Chris
called to the leader, his voice shaky. “I just want my
boy.”

The sentinels continued to
circle and slowly move in. No indication that they had understood
his request.
The leader began to walk
towards Chris.
Do I meet these bitches
head on?
His eyes darted back and
forth.
Stay calm,
asshole
, he told himself.

Light beamed through the trees to Chris’
right, followed closely by the roar of a V8 engine. The large
Humvee burst out of the scrub onto the road, a short distance from
the meeting point, interrupting the close encounter. Small trees
were crushed under its heavy, large tires, as it carved its own
road.

The aliens stop their
advanced, unfazed, but unsure of the men’s intended
actions.

Frank sat behind the wheel with a battered
Roy in the passenger seat. Frank hit the brakes. The men’s heads
jerked forward as they skidded to a stop in the muddy water.

Pav was in back. He held onto his gear,
hoping it and himself wouldn’t slide along the floor. All the gear
was alive and ready to go. Lights flashed and computer screens
glowed. He pounded on the keyboard, inputting commands. He grabbed
the joystick, turning the dish on the roof, taking aim at the
craft.

It was go time.

“
Fire! Fire!” Frank
screamed orders. This was their opportunity and he wasn’t going to
let these bastards get away.

Pav’s index finger hovered over the
joystick’s red trigger. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
This was his moment.

He pulled the trigger hard. The hum of
electricity amped up, gathering power. Ready to unleash its
power.