When Aliens Weep (17 page)

Dezi yawned and stretched his arms high. He was sure he could make an effective case that would get him out of the kitchen when Daisy joined Jose in the restricted area. They both need to eat. He nodded his head, a satisfied smile spreading over his face. Perhaps he might even have a little adventure.
Yeah . . . maybe I could wangle a trip down there now. Just to get the lie of the land.

He would start his own specialized delivery service. It would give him so much more to write in his journal as well. What possible harm could that bring?

Twenty Three Days AE (After Earth)

Chapter 14

Ginger Mae picked up the slops bucket she and Peter used for their waste and heaved it at the creature that had him in its grip. The odorous drippings coated them both, serving only to make the situation worse for Peter. Two other ungainly creatures grabbed her arms and subdued her, the accompanying buzzing of bees rising and falling in a frantic melody. She choked on the hot, acrid, burning smell that made its way inside her lungs every time she took a breath.

“
Noooooo.
You can’t have him.
Please leave us alone,”
she begged fruitlessly. Her tears flowed unrestrained, futility wearing her down as the creature that had Peter in its grip slipped through the door. Forcing her to the ground, the other two creatures released her and quickly fled through the door as silently as they’d arrived.

Ginger Mae slapped her hand on the floor. “No, no, no,
no,
” she moaned.
When will this nightmare stop?

The last few weeks had been such an improvement with Peter’s company. He was a serious man but not without humor, and very intelligent. She admired that in him. Even though they couldn’t recount and share memories from their pasts they were able to become very familiar with the attitudes, hopes and desires they both shared.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the images of what their brutal captors might be doing to Peter.

A flush of blood stained Ginger Mae’s cheeks as she recalled what had happened between her and Peter during recent weeks. She tried to recapture the thrill of their desperate lovemaking but found the lingering smell of the creatures interfered. She could feel the darkness in her psyche spread its tentacles, her newfound spirits a trophy for her inner demons that threatened to swamp the courage that Peter’s presence afforded her.

She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, the ceiling above a flat blank surface. Flexing her fingers and tightening them into a fist, she refused to accept the hopelessness of their situation. She could thank Peter for that. Her hunger for companionship had blossomed into something tender, something precious with Peter. And she knew he felt the same way. They had been brutally honest with one another. If they could ever find a way to get out of this infernal death trap, she knew she would like to spend as much time with Peter as possible. She felt an instinctive calm around him . . . a feeling of being where she belonged. Almost a feeling of comfort, of home . . .

She ran her hand slowly over the slight rise of her shivering abdomen. She could feel tenderness as she palpitated her still firm belly.
Could it be?
she wondered. Attempting to deduce the length of time they’d been held captive, and with the meager trove of medical wisdom she possessed, she gave up in frustration. Praying she was wrong, her eyes wandered around the cold bleak room. This was no place to birth a baby. She refused to contemplate what their captives would make of it.

Forcing the subject to the back of her mind, she flushed again, her good hand straying to the tender space between her legs where an aching and tingling forced her thoughts back to the wanton nature of their lovemaking.

He had filled her up and possessed her, worshiping her glorious breasts and urging her to new heights as their passion took on a wild and animal frenzy that seemed to last for hours. The following day, she found herself unable to keep her hands off him. Or her mouth . . . Her only desire was focused on pleasing him and making him want her more . . . she had to have more of him.

She blinked her eyes.
What the
. . .? She sat bolt upright and squinted her eyes to see what had caught her attention. Craning her neck, she twisted it at several angles to focus in on an imperfection she had spotted in the ceiling.

There appeared to be a straight line of demarcation that didn’t quite blend. It looked to be a hair lower than the rest of the ceiling. Ginger Mae calculated the wall to be ten feet high before it met the ceiling. The imperfection was in the corner of the room, close to the wall.
Hmmm.
She examined it from all angles but failed to find a better viewpoint.

She would need Peter to lift her up. Her heart quickened. If he would let her stand on his shoulders, she could examine the discrepancy up close. Perhaps it masked a trap door. Or a vent . . . or the beginning of stairs . . . or the entrance to a time machine. Laughing, she fell to the floor with her giddiness getting the best of her. Who knew what it was? She smiled to herself and nodded. She would find out. This could be the break they were waiting for.

Without wanting to stop herself, she drifted back to thoughts of what she wanted to do to Peter. Over and over, again and again.

She couldn’t remember any details of her former sex life and was surprised to find herself so . . . intense . . . so hungry. As her eyes fastened unwaveringly on the little miracle she had found in the ceiling, she squirmed, allowing her fingers to travel back down to that special spot as she basked in her happy glow and waited for Peter.

Ginger Mae slept long and deep, her satisfied stupor a drug to her system. She remained relaxed as she was assailed by her dream of hands reaching out to her, attempting to drag her away and the larger, heavier, capable hand on her shoulder. The meaning of the dream shifted around in her sleeping consciousness, even as she’d long ago dismissed it as a figment of her imagination; something wrought from the trauma of her captivity. She tossed in her sleep, murmured and curled up tighter on her pallet.

***

The persistent sound of buzzing bees woke her. Her eyes snapped open as her nose identified the hot burning trademark of her captors.
Peter!

She scrambled to her feet and backed up against the farthest wall, pretending to be invisible. Her cry of alarm escaped as she took in Peter’s horrifying condition. They had laid him out on his pallet, unconscious. The creatures with their alien demeanor cascading sparks, stood at the door watching her. She swallowed hard and turned back to Peter, a dressing clinging tightly to his shoulder joint where his arm used to hang. Gone. First his hand, now his entire arm. She held her hand to her mouth in terror.
Oh, my God. Someone, please come save us.

A sound at the door drew her attention
.
Seconds passed as she stared, voiceless. Without warning, they pounced on her. She screamed at the top of her lungs, making her body go limp in an attempt to hinder her removal. Muscular arms wrapped around her body as she felt herself being lifted off the floor and moved toward the door. Cascading sparks touched her skin, landing like drops of cold ice.
God . . . no.

“
Peter
. . . help me!” she screeched. Gathering all her might, she bucked in their arms, refusing to go quietly. “You dirty lousy pigs. Get your filthy pig hands off me!” she screamed, her eyes rolling back, wild and frantic, spittle frothing in the corners of her mouth.

At the door, she managed to free a leg, instantly pulling it up to her chest to let loose a jackhammer foot into the face of the nearest beast. Her ears hurt with the decibel of sound from the wounded creature. Before she could formulate another thought, she felt a prick at the back of her neck and the darkness came rushing to take her home.

***

Ginger Mae felt like she was drowning. She had no trouble breathing, but the arms and hands that waved at her from above exerted a puzzling pull on her. A dragging down.
Shouldn’t it be up?
she wondered flippantly as if a drunken haze. The arms reached for her again as she began to flail. The sudden touch of a heavy hand calmed her. Her breath slowed . . . rhythmic and stable. Her consciousness swam from the depths of her dream.

Her eyes slowly opened. She focused blankly on the ceiling of her enclosure, her newly discovered faint possibility of escape staring her in the face without comprehension. No sign remained of the calming hand. A whisper penetrated her stupefied condition.

“Bonnie . . . Bonnie. Please . . . help me. Psst . . .
Bonnie.
”
She heard a sob coming from the
same direction. She reached up to rub her eyes awake and was shocked to feel pain. Letting her arms fall back to her pallet, she tried to lift them again; more pain. She carefully craned her neck back to locate Peter, observing him crawling toward her on the floor.
With one arm
.

Everything came flooding back to her. They
cut
off
Peter’s arm. She felt paralyzed with terror, her heart pummeling the inside of her chest. Peter’s voice finally registered.

“My poor Bonnie.” He was crying flat out, now. “What did they
do
to you? I’m so sorry, baby. The bastards. I’m gonna
kill
them.”

As Peter broke down again, she struggled to sit up. Pain erupted all over her upper torso. Exhausted, she lay still, her heart threatening to explode, the sound of her rushing blood eclipsing her ability to hear.
What’s wrong with me?

“Peter? Can you help me?” Her words were met with more sobbing.

“Your beautiful breasts . . .”

“Peter, please stop crying. Can you maneuver over here and help me sit up?” A flash of annoyance overshadowed by a rush of sexual excitement overcame her.
Really?
Now?

She tried to tip her head back again to gauge his progress. Gratefully, he was on the move again. Inch by agonizing inch.

“That’s it, Peter. Just a little more. Come on, baby.”

As Peter reached her pallet, he loomed up over her, silent tears dripping from his face.

“How do you feel, Bonnie?”

His expression made her blood freeze. “I feel like a truck hit me. And I’m sure you don’t feel much better. Can you help me sit up?”

He held out his one hand in protest. “No, babe. Just lie there. Let me get you some water. You look chalky.”

She could hear Peter fumbling around with great difficulty.

“I can do it,” he declared between gritted teeth, his breathing labored. He finally held the container of water to her lips, saying nothing as most of the water found its way down the sides of her face to dribble down her neck, soaking the pallet.

“Okay . . . okay,” she choked. Peter set the container down, clumsily knocking it over, losing the rest of the water.

Ginger Mae took deep breaths, each word filled with pain, draining her strength. “What . . .
happened,
Peter? Your
arm
. . .” She tried to reach for his hand. Feeling a constriction around her chest, her hands explored the area, finding bandages.

She began to hyperventilate. “No . . .
no.
” Shallow breaths came fast and hollow. Her brain refused to accept the shocking realization.

“
Nooooo.
” The room echoed with her anguish and terror as she realized the pert lovely breasts she’d been so proud of were no longer there.

Twenty Four Days AE (After Earth)

Chapter 15

Bonnie hugged Daisy as she entered the nursery.

“When did you get back? Have you seen Hud yet?” She could feel the lumpiness from the altered state around Daisy’s neck. Her caftan didn’t quite cover the bizarre changes to her body that her new skills necessitated. But that’s what she’d wanted and everyone knew what a singularly focused young lady of a hundred and ten years or so Miss Daisy had been since she was a child.

“No, I haven’t had a chance to find Hud yet.” Daisy stepped back, her eyes searching Bonnie’s face with the fragile, yet eternal hope of a heartbroken child.

“Mom and Peter?”

Bonnie lowered her eyes but she couldn’t prevent a lone tear from brimming over onto her cheek, giving Daisy the news she didn’t want to hear.

“Not yet, Daisy. I haven’t been able to convince anyone to do anything about hunting for them. It’s been weeks, now.” She looked up, eyes flashing. “But I refuse to give up. Sooner or later, I’ll find someone that can help me. I just
know
it.” Bonnie noticed how subdued her tone sounded since so much time had passed. Was she, herself, beginning to doubt the viability of mounting a search?

Changing the sensitive subject, Bonnie dragged Daisy to a chair, shooing away the ever present and hovering minions. Bonnie shook off her perpetual malaise for Daisy.

“Enough of my problems. I want to hear everything about your first mission. Tell me everything.”

Daisy clasped her hands together and stood to pirouette like the ten-year-old she resembled. “It was . . . I was . . .
oh my gosh
. . . how do I tell you? It was just literally out of this world.”
Her eyes gleamed almost as much as the minions.

“I was accompanied by a Kreyven and two minions who were transported with me inside one of the spheres. Apparently the propulsion device also maintains the atmosphere. We entered a portal after the Kreyven swallowed us. I couldn’t see anything. But I knew I was safe. The Kreyven found the correct pathway and we landed on Tribith in no time at all.”

Bonnie was in awe. “Tribith? Do you know where it is?”

“Not really,” Daisy answered. “I do know it’s in another solar system, with an atmosphere that is made up of an entirely different state of matter.”

Bonnie wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”