Red Centre (21 page)

Frank moved between the two groups of
aliens. They were packing up, gathering their dead and wounded,
heading home. They now had what they’d come back for. Their war was
over.

But it wasn’t over. Not for Frank. He rushed
to retrieve Roy’s .357 from the ground, tucking it into his
waistband. He glanced at Roy lying on his back, nursing his leg
wound. His eyes moved again to Chris’ lifeless, blood-covered body.
They had made him do this. Chris had made him do this. It wasn’t
his fault. Chris was a casualty of war. A war Frank didn’t start
and didn’t want anything to do with, but something he was forced
into. The day they breached his home. His sanctuary. The day they
took Emma, they started the war

Frank dragged his left leg, stumbling into
the middle of the road between Roy’s truck and the craft.

“
HEY!” Frank called to the
grays, his call drowned out by the pouring rain.

The grays either ignored or didn’t notice
his call and continued their escape towards the ramp.

“
HEY!” he called again,
pressing on, trying to get closer.

His second call drew their attention. In
unison, the grays turned, locking onto Frank. Their piercing, black
eyes menacing. Lightning reflected in their eyes as it lit up the
sky.

Frank locked his gun against his shoulder,
his finger hovering over the trigger. With left eye closed, he took
aim. “Give me back me wife, ya sons of bitches!”

He squeezed the trigger. The shotgun
clicked. Nothing. A misfire. His wet shells now useless. Quickly
snapping open the gun he let the shells fall to the ground. He
advanced on the enemy, retrieving two more shells from his
pocket.

The grays continued towards the ramp.

The shells loaded, Frank pulled the trigger
again. The double barrel failed again.

Frustrated, Frank tossed his gun and whipped
the .357 from his waistband.

He ran as fast as he could, hobbling on a
wounded leg. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg, he wasn’t going
to let them escape—even if he had to crawl on hands and knees. They
were not making it off this planet.

His leg almost giving way. He stumbled.
Yelling in pain and rage, he approached the departing grays.

He took aim as the grays reached the top of
the ramp. The gun recoiled. Two shots fired.

Two bullets ricocheted, sparks lighting up
the side of the craft. The creatures, saved by poor aim,
disappeared into the craft.

Frank made it to the bottom of the ramp,
stopping. He looked into the glowing light of the craft. This was
it. No going back now. He hesitated.

Carefully planting his right boot firmly
onto the metallic ramp, one foot after the other, slowly he made
the climb. The light became more intense the closer he drew near to
the opening.

Halfway up Frank glanced back, looking into
the dark, rainy night. His world left behind. He may not come back
to it. His quiet life in the outback was no longer. It had been
gone for years. He was just the shell of the man he used to be.

His eyes snapped back to the opening. Three
silhouetted figures appeared at the doorway, startling him.

Undeterred, unafraid, Frank rushed them. He
took aim and fired over and over again, three shots emptying the
gun.

One bullet found its target. The stopping
power of this weapon lived up to its reputation—“a manstopper.” It
dropped the gray where it stood. Its lifeless body fell from the
top of the ramp, crashing to the muddy ground. Its head bounced off
the ground on impact.

Frank closed in, meeting the remaining two
stunned aliens at the top. Gun empty, he charged, ready to go hand
to hand.

One of the creatures revealed its two-foot
cylinder as Frank approach, ramming it into his chest. A blue spark
jolted from its end. Electricity charged through Frank’s body,
starting at his chest, running in all directions, going deep to the
bone. His body convulsed, then stiffened like a board.

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins. It was
the only thing holding him upright.

They would need a bigger
ta
s
er to stop this ox.
Amazingly, he powered through the attack and lunged, hammer fisting
the gray in the face. A tough left hook followed. So much power it
would take your head off if it connected. But before it connected,
the gray struck him again in the chest. His body stiffened again.
This time he couldn’t resist the force.

Electricity charged through his entire body.
He dropped onto his knees, then flopped to his back, lying in the
middle of the ramp. His body convulsed and then finally stilled.
His right leg twitched slightly.

Frank’s eyes darted around, unable to feel
his body. Paralyzed from the neck down. Eyes filled with fear, he
realized he was no longer a rescuer, but a victim. Just like
Emma.

Long, gray fingers wrapped around his ankle.
His body was effortlessly dragged by the gray up the ramp. They
disappeared into the bright light.

Gone.

The warm, morning sun peaked over the
treetops. Water droplets rolled off the leaves, dropping to the
damp ground below. Birds were chirping as the land awoke from its
sleep. Roy’s shit wagon and the Humvee remained parked on the dirt
road. All signs of the night before had been removed. Chris’
lifeless body lay on the wet ground, covered in dried blood and
mud.

A finger twitched. His chest raised and
lowered as air filled his lungs. Eyes flickered as the soft, golden
sun touched his face.

He was alive!

Sucking in a deep breath, his eyes opened
wide. In shock, he suddenly realized where he was. How he didn’t
die through the night was beyond him. Nothing remembered after that
final gun shot. His hand moved to his blood-stained shirt, feeling
for his wound. His skin felt smooth. There was no pain. Propping
himself up on his elbows, Chris lifted his shirt. No sign of any
bullet wound; only dried blood on his shirt. What the hell
happened?

“
They healed you.” The
distinctive, Russian accent of Pav broke the silence.

Chris slowly turned his head in the
direction of Pav’s voice. Pav sat on the ground, leaning against
the large, front wheel of the Humvee.

In disbelief Chris rechecked for any gunshot
wounds, not sure if he could believe the Russian. But it was true.
Somehow they had saved his life. Who were these creatures? How
could they possess power over life and death? Why save him?

Chris dropped back onto the muddy ground,
staring into the bright-blue morning sky. A gentle smile on his
face. He had survived, but no one would believe him. It felt good
to suck in the fresh, morning air. He thought he would never get
that chance again.

He turned to look at the Russian. “Hello,
Pavlova,” he said in a dry, drawn-out tone, not excited to see the
crazy scientist. “Why are you still here? And where are the other
two?”

“
Pavlovich,” he said in a
calm voice. “I let it go this time.” He got to his feet and walked
to Chris, staring down at him. “I don’t drive.” He grinned
sheepishly. “I hid in the trees. I waited all night for you to
wake.” He scratched his head. “The other two didn’t make it. They
were taken.”

Chris closed his eyes, glad they had spared
his life and not taken him. The gladness quickly washed away. He
still didn’t have Shawn.

***

Red and blue lights flashed. Police cars
lined the dirt road of the Corbin driveway. Cops were scattered
throughout the yard, in the sheds and in the house, like ants
swarming over food scraps. Boxes of papers, computers and other
boxes of evidence were seized and being gathered in piles in the
front yard.

MacKenzie stood on the veranda speaking to
Chris. Pav sat on Frank’s wooden chair, his head between two hands,
staring at the ground. MacKenzie took notes, as Chris explained the
night of activity. Chris was animated, waving his arms around.
Showing his blood-stained shirt, but his healed body.

At times, the conversation was heated.

MacKenzie shook his head in disbelief. It
was hard for Mackenzie to understand the magnitude of the
situation. There was no evidence. No proof of their story. He fired
repeated questions over and over again at Chris and Pav.

It was frustrating. The day dragged on.
Reports were filled in.

MacKenzie pointed his pen at Chris with a
stern look of warning on his face. He paused for a moment, not sure
where to take the conversation. Dropping his hand and then slipping
the notepad into his top pocket. With two thumbs place inside the
front of his pants he pulled them up around his belly, breathing in
deeply.

He scratched the side of his head with the
back of his pen, visibly frustrated with the situation. Turning his
back on Chris and Pav, he looked out into the yard at the other
officers. “I’ll come back in a moment.” He stepped off the veranda
and walked a small distance to contemplate the situation.

***

A few minutes dragged by. MacKenzie returned
to the veranda. “Frank and Roy are going to be charged with the
kidnapping of the Baker family. They are considered fugitives and
if they reach out to you, you’ll need to notify your local law
enforcement. If you attempt to help them in any way or not report
any contact, you’ll be charged with aiding and abetting.” He
pointed at Pav. “We’re taking you into custody for now. You’re not
under arrest at this time, until we determine your involvement in
the Baker’s kidnapping.”

Pav dropped his head, knowing that things
probably weren’t going to go well for him. He was not even a legal
resident of Australia and had far outstayed his visa.

MacKenzie pointed at Chris. “For now you’re
free to go. The Bakers have identified you as their rescuer.” He
paused. “You can call yourself a hero for now. But don’t get too
comfortable with the title.” He leaned forward, looking directly
into Chris’ eyes. “I’m gonna dig and dig, until I uncover all the
evidence in this bizarre freak show. If something doesn’t add up,
I’m going to drag your arse to jail. You hear me?”

“
Am I free to
go?”

“
For now.” Mackenzie stood
up straight. “I suggest you go back home for now, but make sure you
make yourself available if we need you to testify ... or for
further questions.”

Finally it was done. Two police officers
took Pav into custody, cuffing his hands behind his back and
leading him to a patrol car. Chris breathed a sigh of relief as he
was allowed to go free.

***

The piercing sun was high in the sky,
scorching everything in its path. The red desert stretched out in
all directions as far as the eye could see. Heat waves rose from
the black asphalt highway. Mirages of small bodies of water formed
in the distance. All was still.

Speeding down the lonely road, the bright
red Cherokee interrupted the silence, its tires slapping the road
as it drove. Chris sat solemnly behind the wheel. His eyes wandered
over to the picture of Shawn on the passenger seat. He had failed.
Tears welled in his eyes.

His foot slowly eased off the gas, moving to
the brake, bringing the Cherokee to a stop on the side of the road.
He took the photo in his hand, staring at his son.

The Cherokee’s door flew open. Chris placed
his foot on the hot, rocky dirt, the heat of the day smacking him
in the face. Hesitant to leave the comfort of the air-conditioned
vehicle, he looked into the blinding blue sky.

His hand slid into his pocket, his
fingertips feeling the smooth surface of the oval object. He
removed it, resting it in the palm of his hand, and studied the
alien symbols covering the outside. His fingers gliding over the
top. His mind worked as he tried to picture the gray punching in
the password to get it to work. He tried to replicate the actions,
to no avail; the object appeared dead.

He tried again and again. No combination
seemed to work.

Dropping hands down by his
side, he took a deep breath. Overwhelming frustration set in. He
slowed his breathing, closing his eyes for a moment.
One last try
. He waved
the device around in the air, seeing if he needed to catch a
signal. It was worth a shot. He moved onto the road.

Gently he pressed on each symbol. That had
to be the combination. He paused with anticipation. He really
believed he had it this time.

The device didn’t react.

“
Son of a bitch!” Chris
tossed the device, like a football, as hard as he could into the
surrounding desert.

His head dropped, eyes closed. “Please …
Please, God.” He mumbled the words, stumbling on the word
“God.”

“
Help me. We can’t lose
another.” Chris raised his head, looking around. He was not a
religious man, but this was all he had left. Looking into the sky
again he screamed, “WE CAN’T LOSE ANOTHER! YOU HEAR ME?”

He wiped this mouth with the back of his
hand. His other hand made a tight first. White knuckles. He spun in
a circle, looking at the dry desert around him. Dead grass and
dead, sparse trees. Rolling, sand-covered hills. He was small and
insignificant compared to the vast, surrounding landscape. A harsh
environment. It remained undefeated.

Stepping toward the Cherokee he stopped and
did a double take on the desert. He didn’t want to go back, but he
had to. Leaning into the four-by-four, he grabbed his cell and
punched in a quick text message: “I’m coming home.”

He slammed the door closed behind him. Sweat
ran down his forehead and back. He quickly restarted the car,
blasting the aircon on. The cool air felt good. He pulled the stick
into drive; the indicator ticked. Just as he was about to drive
off, his eyes caught the sun’s reflection coming off the oval
object, half buried in the dirt where it had landed.