The Commander's Daughter - Revised

Mitt sat in his hammock chair and stared up at the hole in the roof of his makeshift cabin.   His little hideaway had been his home since he ran away at the age of 15.   Now, five years later, the borrowed pieces of tin roofing panels and plywood sheets were in desperate need of repair.   However, on this cool, clear autumn evening, the sky beyond bristled with stars and he felt as if he were looking through a portal into infinity.  

Sighing peacefully, Mitt picked up the battered copy of “Heart of Darkness” from the pallet table next to him.  The book had been part of a care package given to him by the locals in the nearby town of Archer, TX.     This was his third time reading it and he still found new things to love about it.  He quickly flipped through the dog eared pages until he found where he had left off.   Settling back into the hammock chair, he began his escape from reality.  

A flicker of light flashed through the window and he glanced, panicking, to the right.  Did someone finally find his place?   There was no oil equipment out here and no nearby roads.   He didn’t know who owned this land, but he had never seen anyone else in the area.  Turning down the lantern, he stumbled over to the window and looked for the light.   Outside, the world was dark and eerily silent.   Peering into the darkness, Mitt realized it was not a flashlight or headlights that he had seen, but a strange blue glow in a thicket of trees about 500 yards from his cabin.  Grabbing his lantern and jacket, Mitt hurried out of the cabin into the field to investigate.

Outside, a gentle breeze bit against his skin.  Winter was definitely around the corner, Mitt thought to himself as he zipped up his jacket.   The dried grass crunched beneath his feet, the only sound breaking the otherwise still night.   The weird smell of old rain, barely perceptible, permeated the air.   Looking up at the sky, Mitt couldn’t see any clouds. 

“Where is the smell coming from then?” he wondered out loud. 

Finally approaching the light, he saw what seemed to be a ship buried within the trees. 

Mitt gasped. 

“No way am I this lucky”, he thought as he rushed over to one of the trees.  

There in the middle of a clearing, was a large circular object, about 50 feet across and as tall as a house.  Its outer skin seemed to be made of a shiny light blue material.  Mitt thought it looked a bit like aluminum, but it shimmered and almost seemed transparent.   The smell seemed to be coming from the craft as well. He noticed that it was floating about 8 feet off the ground with no noticeable landing struts. 

A snap of a twig caught Mitt’s attention and he glanced to the left of the craft.  His mind raced at the sight of three creatures that looked remarkably like the gray aliens everyone describes in stories.  They were busy manipulating a black box about the size of a suit case.   Mitt turned his gaze back to the ship.  His heart pounded in his chest and his hands trembled with excitement.  

“It’s so different from everything I have ever read!” he mused.  “I wonder if there is a door or something where I can see inside.”

Mitt left his outpost behind the tree and cautiously snuck away from the aliens and around to the other side of the clearing.   He began to hear a faint noise that sounded a lot like a choir.  He checked over his shoulder again to make sure the aliens hadn’t spotted him.  Then he turned towards the direction of the noise and carefully walked towards it.

Just around the bend of the ship, Mitt found what he was looking for and his heart leaped.  An opening was visible in the bottom curve of the vessel with a black metallic ramp leading to the ground.  He quickly walked up to the edge of the ramp.  His heart was beating so rapidly now he thought it might just pop out of his chest.  He had no idea what these aliens would do to him if they found him here, but at the moment, he didn’t care.  He glanced around the edge of the forest and then slowly moved his head around the corner of the opening to look inside.  

The choir-like sound was much louder inside the craft.  It seemed like it reverberated from the walls themselves, which glowed with an intense white light.  The walkway continued up into the craft for a dozen feet where it apparently leveled out into some sort of room.   Mitt strained to see more, but the floor was just above his head height.   He had to go inside.

“Oh man, this is probably a bad idea”, Mitt thought as he hopped onto the ramp, paused to look around, and began sneaking up the ramp and into the ship.

As he reached the top of the ramp, the walkway expanded into a huge round room that strangely seemed to be larger than the ship itself.  The choir like sound had increased in intensity and his teeth seemed to vibrate with the sound.  He felt a bit dizzy and disoriented in the bright lighting.   

Mitt rubbed his eyes and when they came back into focus, he saw three black chairs in the center of the room, in a triangular formation.   They looked a lot like plastic lawn chairs, and he wondered to himself what they could be made out of.  Surrounding the chairs were black panels that seemed a lot like the screens he had once seen on a smart phone.   There were no buttons or levers anywhere.

Behind him, Mitt heard a noise and he saw the feet of the aliens just visible beside the ramp.   Panicking, he quickly looked around the room for a place to hide.  As far as he could tell, there was nothing in the room aside from the chairs.  Suddenly he heard an odd female voice.

“Over here, quickly!”

He looked and saw a small black square in the wall about 20 feet away.  Running towards it, he dove inside the darkened area hoping this was not some sort of trap.   The door slid shut behind him and he was in total darkness.

After a few seconds, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around to look at the source of the hand.   In front of him was a tall creature that looked a lot like a normal human girl.   Her skin seemed to glow like the walls of the room he was just in.   She stood at least a foot taller than him and had shimmering white hair.  Her facial features were elegant, but seemed slightly off to him, as if her nose was just ever so slightly too small or her eyes slightly too large.  She gave him a small smile and spoke.

“You know, you really are not supposed to be here.”

Mitt stared at her, speechless for a moment.  Then he managed to get his head together and formulate some words in the right order.  

“You are an alien?”

She grinned and shook her head.

“No, you are the alien.  I am an Anu.  My name is Marus.”

“Uh, I’m Mitt.  I have so many questions.   What are you doing here?   How can I understand your speech?   Why are you glowing?”

Marus chuckled.

“Slow down.  Why am I here?   Well, I guess you could say I ran away from home.   My father is the commander of the Anu fleet.  He is planning an invasion of this planet.  Those clones are collecting samples of the various plants and animals on the planet.   They will use that to figure out a way to kill everything here.  As for why you can understand me – well, I am speaking your language.”

“Wait, you’re invading us?  Why?  We didn’t do anything to you.”

Marus frowned.

“No, you didn’t.  That’s why I ran away.   My ancestors used to live on this planet.   As the story goes, we ran the planet and created your ancestors from the primal creatures that were here at the time.   Eventually, your ancestors drove us off the planet with the assistance of some other races.  We were outcasts for a very long time.  I don’t know how much you know about space, but it is not a very friendly place.

Eventually, we made our way back, some of us at least.   My father wants to lay claim to this planet again.   He seems to think that it will make him a hero in the eyes of our people.   I tried to explain to him that you were not a threat, but if we did take over this planet, we would be no better than your ancestors that drove us off of it in the first place.   He didn’t take my words well and threatened to lock me up.  I got away and snuck onto one of these vessels. “

She paused and glanced at the door he had come through. 

“You have to get off the ship.    If the clones find out that you are here, you will be treated like a specimen.   There’s a maintenance hatch right over here.”

Mitt watched as she began moving boxes away from one of the walls.  She uncovered a small glowing control panel and sang to it.  The floor opened up in a small circle just big enough for him to fit through.

“Hurry.  They will know that this hatch is open and investigate.”

“Wait, come with me.  I have to tell someone about this invasion, but they won’t believe me unless you are with me.”

“That’s why I came.   I didn’t expect to meet a Terran so quickly, but I will go with you.  Now go.”

Mitt begun lowering himself down the access port towards the ground.   He was almost ready to drop when the door behind Marus slid open and the room was filled with blinding white light and that loud chorus sound. 

“Oh no!  Run, Mitt!”

Marus shoved Mitt down the hole and he fell clumsily to the ground.  He quickly managed to get back on his feet and looked up to the hole he had just fallen through just in time to see it seal shut.   He could make out the edge of the forest just a dozen feet away from him and he ran for it as fast as he could and kept running until he had cleared the thicket of trees and was back in the open.

He looked back into the thicket.  The vessel had not moved, but seemed to be flickering.  It then rose up into the air about 100 feet and hovered for a moment before it shot off into the night sky at an incredible speed vanishing into the back drop of stars in only a couple of seconds. 

Mitt stood there staring at the stars for what seemed to be hours.  His grumbling stomach stirred him back to reality and he made his way back to his cabin.   He ate the sandwich and chips he had left on the table next to his hammock and began trying to figure out what to do next.  He wished Marus had escaped and hoped that she was not hurt.

The next morning, Mitt walked into town and stopped in front of the Archer County News.   He stared at the golden lettering that was emblazoned across the top of the large plate glass window that adorned the front of the weathered brick building.  He had no idea where to go to warn people of the invasion, but his friend Stacy worked here and often did reports about the Air Force base up in Wichita Falls.   Maybe she would have some tips.   If she believed him, that is.

He walked in the front door, the attached bell clanged loudly against the glass.  Stacy looked up from her computer and smiled.

“Hey Mitt!  Sherriff’s looking for ya.”

“The sheriff?   Why?”

“Don’t rightly know.   Something about some cows that got killed last night.  Drained of blood with holes poked in them.   John’s got the story.  We’re probably gonna run it as a ‘News of the Weird’ sort of thing.   So what brings you into town?”

“Well, Stacy, something strange happened last night.”

He spent the next hour filling her in on the details of the previous night’s encounter.   She asked some questions and took some notes, but Mitt felt like she might be patronizing him.  His suspicions were soon confirmed.  As he wrapped up the story, Stacy grinned at him.

“This is great stuff, Mitt.  You really should be a writer, ya know.  This will go great with the cow story.   You mind if I write it up?”

Mitt sighed.  “Fine.  Uh, but I have another thing in mind.  If I were going to, you know in the context of the story, tell someone about it to help stop the invasion, who would I tell?  You know people.  Who would I contact?”

Stacy thought about it for a moment.  Then her eyes lit up. 

“Well, shoot, you could talk to Major Collingsworth over at Sheppard.  He handles all of the UFO type stuff in the area.”  She laughed, “You know, they call him the shredder?   Supposedly, he doesn’t even bother to file most of the reports.  Just shreds em.  Least that’s the rumor.”

Mitt was not encouraged by her recommendation, but he thanked her and took his leave.  Stepping outside he looked at the green directional sign indicating Wichita Falls straight ahead, then began walking, thankful that it was fall and not mid-summer.

The sun was beginning to set as Mitt reached the edge of Sheppard Air Force Base.  He had made it through most of the city by following the train tracks and keeping an eye on the large military aircraft in the sky.   Eventually, he cut across an open field and stood in awe as he watched a series of jet fighters take off from the runway in from of him.  The sun was setting and the orange glow reflected off the canopies of the aircraft making them seem almost, but not quite as magical as the Anu spacecraft. 

His silent revelry was interrupted by the quick chirp of a siren behind him.   He turned around and saw a military vehicle behind him.  An airman stepped out with his gun drawn.

“Get on the ground, now!”

Mitt was stunned.  He stalled for a moment as the military police officers approached him.   Two officers now faced him with their guns drawn demanding he get on the ground.   Mitt warily complied. 

“I need to see Major Collingsworth”

“Shut up and put your hands behind your back!”

Mitt was quickly handcuffed and shoved into the back of the police vehicle.  

The next few hours were simultaneously boring and unnerving for Mitt.  He sat in a holding cell by himself.  He could hear bits and pieces of conversation happening outside the door to his cell.   As the hours ticked away, he found himself hungry and a bit claustrophobic.   Eventually, the door opened and an airman ordered him up and out into the hallway.   He was escorted to a small room with a single table in the middle.   He was ordered to sit in a chair next to the table and handcuffed to the table.  After a few minutes, a women in a suit walked in followed by two young airmen in uniform.   The airmen stood in the corner while the woman settled down in the chair opposite him.

“I am special agent Crawford with the DHS.  I gather your name is Mitt Rawlings?”

Mitt nodded. 

“What are you doing on this base, Mitt?”

Mitt considered his answer for a moment.  The handcuffs were beginning to chaff his wrists and he was hungry.   He considered that this whole idea was a huge mistake.   He knew what the DHS was and he was not entirely confident that they would even consider listening to his story.   He looked at Agent Crawford.  She was young, and very serious.  There seemed to be little chance that she would take him seriously.  On the other hand, being a crazy drifter would be safer than being a suspicious terrorist.  Besides, you never know what someone might believe.  

Mitt decided to tell her the complete truth from the time he saw the lights until he was arrested.  She sat quietly during the whole story, seemingly unaffected by any aspect of his account.   When he finished, she stared intensely at him for a moment.   Then she stood, told him to stay put, and then walked out of the room.   He looked wryly at the handcuffs holding him to the table and chuckled at her command.

After what seemed an eternity, an airman entered the room and disconnected him from the table.   He was escorted out of the building and into a waiting police vehicle.   They silently drove him to the main gate and pull off to the side of the road.   The officers walked him a few dozen feet away from the road and removed his handcuffs. 

“We have been ordered to release you.  You are officially warned not to return.   If you do return, you will be charged with trespassing on government property and charged as such.”

The airman then handed Mitt a folded up piece of paper, returned to his vehicle, and drove away.  Mitt unfolded the paper and read it.

“ORDER NOT TO ENTER OR REENTER MILITARY RESERVATION”

The notice basically stated what the airman had said to him.   He would be fined or imprisoned if he reentered the base without the explicit authorization of the base commander under the authority of Title 18 USC 1382. 

Mitt sighed and looked over at the airbase.   A flight of fighters drifted across the sky in the distance.   He wondered how long they would last against the Anu.  

“What a waste,” he thought. 

He made his way through town, looking for a place to sleep for the night and wondering if there even was a Major Collingsworth.   He managed to find a boat parked in someone’s backyard.  It wasn’t a great place to sleep, but it was off the ground and had a great view of the stars.  He lay down on a padded bench, pulled his coat in tight around him to fend off the chilly wind, and stared up at the stars in the sky wondering if one of them was a ship where Marus was safe and warm.

His dreams were unsettling.  Large football shaped vessels dropped from the sky like mountains of death.  Green clouds of poison fell heavily from the sides of the ships, landing on the ground in thick billowing plumes.   Human jet fighters screeched overhead followed by strange alien aircraft shooting blobs of yellow and green.  All around him people were screaming.  The clouds of green gas surrounded him, enveloped him, and he began choking.  He looked to the sky and begged whatever was there listening to take mercy.

Mitt woke gasping.   The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.   Time to go.  He hopped out of the boat and made his way back to the highway to begin the long walk home.  He had only been walking for about an hour when he came across a small crowd gathered outside of some official looking building.   A short, tubby man with a gravelly voice stood on a platform screaming into a megaphone.   Mitt could not make out what he was saying very clearly, but it seemed to have something to do with an upcoming disaster and the government ignoring it.   Mitt couldn’t believe his luck.   Maybe this guy could help him.

Mitt approached the man and interrupted his tirade.  

“I know about the incoming invasion.  Who can we talk to to stop it?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, son.  What invasion”

“There are aliens who are about to invade our planet.  I met one.  I was just arrested at the air base when I tried to tell them about it, but they let me go.  I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The man shook his head and gave Mitt a dismissive gesture. 

“Look, son, I don’t have time to deal with crazies.   There are real things to worry about.   Maybe you should go bother David Icke or George Noory or something.”

Then the man went back to his megaphone leaving Mitt stunned and confused.  A young man walked up behind Mitt and tapped him on his shoulder.  He smiled at Mitt.

“Don’t mind him, he always comes across as pretty gruff when he is in his activist mood.  Look, skip the David Icke stuff, your story doesn’t fit his world view.   If you want to share it, check out Coast to Coast AM.   It’s a radio show.  You can call in and tell them.  Maybe someone can help.”

Mitt frowned, “Thanks, but, um, I don’t have a phone.”

The young man looked confused.

“Well, maybe you can go to the library and use their computer?  They let you use headphones.  You can go to the one here in town.”

Mitt frowned. 

“I am not from here.  Where is the library?”

The young man gave him the directions, just a few blocks away.  Mitt made his way over the library and explained that he was from out of town and could he please use the computers.  The librarian smiled and agreed.  He managed to figure out how to find Coast to Coast and discovered it was only available during late nights.  He would have to wait.  He thanked the librarian and started the long walk back to Archer.

The trip was hard.  Cold weather was definitely on its way.  When he finally made it back to town, he saw a light on in the Archer County News offices.  He peered through the window and saw Stacy at her computer.  He tapped on the window.  She jumped and turned to look at him, not really seeing him in the dark. Once her eyes adjusted to the contrast, her face changed from one of fear to a warm smile.   She opened the door and let him in.

“Wow, so you came back!  How was your walk about?”

Mitt scowled as he reviewed his trip in his head.  Not exactly something he wanted to share with a reporter. 

“Well, it was interesting, but not newsworthy.  Or, well, nothing you would be interested in.”

Stacy looked intensely at Mitt for a long time.  Mitt avoided her gaze.   After a while, she laughed.

“Mitt, I don’t need to know, hun.   Really, I don’t.  I am not so far gone that I can’t be a friend.   Tell me, though, why are you here, hun?   It’s really late, ya know.”

Mitt looked at the clock hanging on the wall of the news room.   It was 11:30. 

“Well, Stacey, I was wondering if you could tell me how to call in to a radio show.”

He spent the next few minutes explaining his request and at first she was surprised and puzzled.   After a few minutes, she put the pieces together and her surprise turned to horror.

“Wait a sec, hun.  You’re serious?  That was not some story?  That was the truth?”

“As best as I can tell it.”

“Huh.   Well, I guess this is worth a shot.”

She pulled up the website and got him into the caller queue. 

“Look, Mitt, it is always scary the first time.  Just talk.  The really good radio hosts will understand.  Your story is a good one.  Just tell it like you told me.”

She handed him the headset and kissed him on the cheek.

“If you are telling the real truth, please do what you can to save me.”

Mitt looked at her.  For the first time he began to feel the very real impact of what was going on.  It wasn’t just his story after all.  Everyone really was going to die.

“I don’t really know what to say, Stacy.   If I can, of course I will.”

Mitt put on the headset.   For a few minutes all he heard was the radio show.  Then he heard a warning.

“Mitt, you will be on the air next.”  

“Hi Mitt, go ahead”

For the next few minutes Mitt tried to explain his experience as best as he could without sounding ridiculous.  Stacy held his hand through all of it and it was a warm and welcome feeling, but he ended his time on the air feeling empty.

“Well, that was something.  I guess there is not much else to do.”

“Wait,” Stacy said.  “Just wait.  This show is all over the place.  Ya never know, ya know?”

They listened for about an hour.   Mitt was ready to give up.  Then they heard a new caller.

“Yes, oh, hey, I am on the air?  Um, OK.  Listen, this is for Mitt.  I hope he is still listening.  Look, I believe you.  I HAVE to meet you.  Just meet me tomorrow at the news place you mentioned.”

The caller hung up with no further message.  Mitt sat stunned for a long while.  When he composed himself, he turned to look at Stacy.

“Mitt, don’t even ask.  You can sleep on that couch over there so long as you give me the story.”

Mitt nodded and smiled gratefully.  The tidal wave of events and his sheer exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.  Sleep came easy to him that night, even though he was nervous about his impending visitor.  As the first rays of sun began lighting up the sky, Mitt awoke to find Stacy still at her computer.

“Hey.  Did you sleep?”

“Nah, too excited.   I wonder who this fella is who is showing up.”

“Well, wonder no more.   Look.”

Mitt indicated the Jeep pulling up in front of the building.  At least the visitor was prepared.  It wasn’t an easy trek out to his cabin even on foot.  The man stepped out of the vehicle.   He was short and bald.  He wore a pilot’s jacket and a fedora and looked a bit like a miniature Indiana Jones.  Mitt and Stacy stepped outside to meet him.

“Hiya.  You must be Mitt, huh?  Name’s Max.  You ready to go?”

Mitt looked back at Stacy.

“Uh, just let me lock up, hun.”

Stacy locked the office and the three of them climbed into the Jeep and drove off towards Mitt’s cabin.

Mitt stared at Max as they left town.   Max grinned at him, and then turned back to the road.   Mitt decided that Max was insane.  He never stopped grinning and his general demeanor was just a bit off, almost inhuman.  Finally Mitt could no longer keep quiet.

“OK, Max, why are you here?  What is your interest here?   Do you have some way to stop this invasion?”

Max’s grin vanished in a blink.  He looked behind him at Stacy and then at Mitt.  Then he looked out at the road.

“Uh, no.  Sorry kid.   Nothing like that.”  Max sighed and looked at the sky. 

“Don’t you wish pretty days like this would last forever?”

Mitt looked hard at Max for a while and then shook his head and looked out at the trail ahead of the Jeep.

“It’s right over there, just where that trail splits off.  You can see the thicket over there.”

“What is that?” 

Stacy leaned forward pointing at the sky.  A silvery craft about the size of an RV was descending at the place Mitt had just indicated. 

“Jackpot!  Finally!” exclaimed Max.

Mitt and Stacy looked quizzically at each other as Max turned to meet the descending vessel.  When they arrived, everyone quickly left the Jeep and approached the small vessel.  A door slid opened on the side of the craft and Mitt’s heart leaped when Marus emerged from the craft.

“You’re alive!  Oh thank the gods!”

Marus did not share his enthusiasm.  She looked at Max and Stacy and then back to Mitt.

“Who are they?  I can’t carry them all.”

A bright flash of light erupted around them and through them.   Mitt blinked and turned to try to find the source of the light.  To the north he saw a brilliant glow on the horizon.

“It is too late.  We have to go.  Mitt, I came back for you.   I didn’t plan on guests.  I can only carry one other.”

Mitt turned to look at Max and then Stacy.  Stacy was still staring at the light in the distance.   

“My mom….”  Her voice trailed off.

“Mitt, we have to go.”  Marus’s voice was persistent.

“Stacy…”

“Mitt, I can’t.   My mom.   She’ll need me.”

Mitt turned to look at Max, but he was already on the ship. 

“What are you waiting for?  Let’s go!”

Marus shook her head and turned to Mitt.  He looked fiercely at her.

“I tried.  I really tried to warn someone, anyone.”

Marus smiled sweetly.

“I warned you.  It wouldn’t make a different anyway.  Come on, let us leave.”

Mitt looked back at Stacy.

“Stacy, I’m sorry.”

Stacy looked at Mitt and smiled.

“Don’t be, hun.  I got a hell of a story, eh?  Besides, I need to go help my mom.  Look, be safe, OK?   Maybe check in sometime?”

Mitt smiled and hugged Stacy.  She hugged him back warmly.

“Sorry for not believing you, hun.   Heh.  Who would?”  She looked north to the fading glow.  “Do you think we stand a chance?”

 “I don’t know, Stacy.   I don’t.”

“All aboard, dude!  Time to go!”  Max urged from the doorway.

“Go, hun.  Be safe.”

Mitt entered the craft and the door closed behind him.  Stacy watched as the craft glowed and flickered for a moment before launching to the sky and disappearing into nothing.

The Invasion

The night had been quiet.  Carrie was watching TV.  Calvin was on the computer goofing off.   Laurie was upstairs playing a video game.  Normal 21^st century life.  But it all changed without just a doorbell.

The two men at the door seemed safe enough.   They said they were selling something to clean floors.  Calvin thought it might be good to listen to them.   The floors had not been quite right since they decided to adopt a bird.   So he invited them in.

For a few minutes, it seemed like it was another annoying sales call.  The talked about the merits of a clean house and walked around looking at the various room.   Carrie was the first to suspect something.  She told Calvin that it was time for them to leave, but Calvin being overly nice – to a fault – was hesitant.   It was a mistake. 

When the supposed salesmen got everyone back in the main room, they both pulled guns on Calvin, Carrie, and Laurie. 

“Don’t be a hero.”  One of them pompously said, “Just let us get what we want and move on and nobody will get hurt... much.”

The other invader laughed wryly.

Calvin glared at the speaker.

“You need to leave now” he said.

The first salesman laughed. 

“I don’t think you really get how this works.  You see, you sit there impotent and I and my mate here get to do what we want”

The salesman put the gun up against Calvin’s head.

“You get it?  Now sit your sorry ass down and watch.”

Calvin didn't move.  He glanced his eyes over at Carrie.  She stood, fuming, looking at Calvin.  He nodded subtly at her and took a deep breath.

“I told you once.  You really need to leave here.”

The salesman laughed, half-heartedly at Calvin’s comment.

“Do you not understand what is going on here, man?  I am going to enjoy your women and then kill you.   You don’t get to tell me what I should do.”

“Hey, man!  I get to enjoy the young one,” the other salesman shouted.

“Fine! Yes! Whatever!  Now shut up!”

Calvin glared at the salesman for a moment and then spoke.

“Damn you.”

The salesman laughed. 

“Feeling less of a man, eh?”

“No.  It’s not that at all.   We just don’t have any more places for bodies”

Then Calvin struck.   The salesman had no idea what was coming.  Calvin paid no mind to the gun.  His wife and daughter were behind the gun and he could avoid it.   He attacked the first salesman and took out his trachea with an adrenaline backed grab to the throat.   Meanwhile, Carrie tackled the second gunman and slammed his head into the metal stair railing, then bit into his throat with all of her power, ripping his carotid artery. 

Both of the salesmen were laying on the ground unconscious from loss of blood.  Calvin turned to Carrie. 

“Sorry for the mess.   Guess we should get that floor cleaner after all?”

Laurie looked at the bodies and shrugged.

"Well, maybe they have some demo units in their car?"

Rebecca

The rain seemed endless.   All around me, the ground had turned into a boggy marsh.  The lightning surprised me more than the thunder, but neither could shake me from my grief.  I was alone now.  Nothing could change that and I knew it.  In my desperation to try to make sense of it all, I ended up at this clearing.   This seemed to be the place where it all started.  Perhaps this is where it should end.

It was incredibly hot that summer.  Hot and humid.  The combination of those two gets into your head and makes you a little bit crazy.  We were certainly crazy that summer.   When the dog showed up in our yard, it didn’t really seem like much of a big deal.   Animals came and went all the time.   But this one just stood there on the edge of the yard, staring at us with its dark eyes.  Looking back on it, I wonder if he was lonely or hungry.  I really wish I had thought about it back then.

At first, it was innocent.   We threw sticks and he ran after them.  He would chase us around while we ran.   It was fun.  Then my brother tripped and the dog jumped on him.  My brother didn’t like that at all.   It seemed like something welled up inside of him, something inhuman.  He grabbed the dog by the throat and drug him to the wood shed.   I followed, silenced by my brother’s intimidating glares. 

 

The first sounds were strange.   A squishy thud, a quite yelp, then just squelching and silence.  I stood stony faced and stared at the mess, at the death.   My brother told me to bury him in the clearing, this clearing.  It wasn’t easy to dig into the clay that summer.   I struggled at it and wanted to give up or ask for help, but my fear kept me in line.   I had no idea what my lack of courage would lead me into.

Over the years, the memory of that summer faded, but its influence never left.   Somehow, the act of burying that dog gave me a confidence that I could get through anything.   I made it through school and got a great job.   I was on top of the world.   That was when I met Rebecca.  She was everything I could ever hope for -- strong willed, attractive, and ready to take on the world. Oh, and a redhead.  That was a bonus.

We were doing well and living a happy life.   My life as a youth and that summer were a distant and never considered memory.  We were happy.   Then my brother showed up on my doorstep on night, a rainy night like this one.   He reeked of whiskey and women.  

“Let me in you worthless fag!” He yelled at the door as I struggled with my housecoat and made my way to the foyer.    I opened the door and let him in.

“What are you doing here?  Are you OK?” I asked, somewhat perplexed at seeing him after all of these years.

“Fuck yeah, I’m great! Helluva night!  One for the history books!” He winked at me.  

“You are soaked, why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a towel.”

“Fuck that, get me a drink!”  He looked down at himself and laughed.  “OK, and maybe a towel, too.”

“Just a towel.  He doesn’t need a drink, I can smell his stink all the way over here.”

It was my dear Rebecca.   She was standing at the base of the stairs, glaring fiercely at my brother.   She had never met him, but I had shared plenty of stories of my youth with her.   She never seemed to find any sort of affection for him.

“You have some nerve showing up like this.  Drunk, filthy, unannounced.”  She stormed over to my brother and glared up at him, her short stature betraying the viciousness in her soul.  

“Oh, but you are a fiery wench!”  My brother chortled.   “I think I have just one more in me.  You want me to tame this beast for you, brother?”

I was mute.   And I was enraged.   No, of course not, you pig.   You dare not touch my love, my life, my very reason for living.   And yet, I stood there mute, intimidated by my brother’s presence.   That same impotence I felt all those years ago.  He grabbed my Rebecca and threw her to the floor.  She fought of course and I stood there, a lame and useless excuse for a human.  Her eyes reached out to me, begging for help, yet I was paralyzed by it all.  

It did not take long for my brother to lose his temper and do the unthinkable.   As he wrapped his hands around her throat and crushed the life from her body, something stirred in me and broke me from my brother’s spell.   I screamed with a rage I did not even realize I had in me and tackled my brother.  It was too late.  He had robbed her of her life. 

I don’t remember what happened next.   The police said he was killed when his head caved in on his brain.  I remember wondering about the lead crystal vase and how its makers would never have expected it to be used in the way it was.  

I was never charged.   The police ruled Rebecca’s death a homicide by my brother and my brother’s death a result of me trying to stop him.   It didn’t matter to me in any case.   I stumbled through my weary life for a few months.  The consolations for my loss and atta-boys for my actions rang hollow in my ears.   Twice I had let a life be taken because I had not acted.  

And so I made my way to this clearing.   This place where I long ago buried my first victim.   My tears mean nothing compared to the rain coming down.   My grief and sorrow are a hollow tribute to the trust that was betrayed.   There is nothing left for me to do except make an offering suitable to the transgression. 

One slice and then another.   I feel nothing.   The crimson pours out and mixes with the muddy water below me, but I hardly notice.   I stare up at the rain falling down.  The night is beautiful.  As I fade to blackness, I think once again of Rebecca.  I hope she can forgive me.

The Voyager

THE VOYAGER

The interviewer nestled in his seat.

"Thank you so much for giving me the chance to talk to you Mrs. Stevens"

Mrs. Stevens, a deceptively young looking woman sat before him in blue jeans and a thin t-shirt.  She smiled a sweet smile.

"Oh, please call me May."

"Alright, May.  I would like to talk to you about your husband.   As you are no doubt aware, the anniversary of his dissapearance is 6 months out and I was hoping to get your impressions on the matter.  It will be the 7th year since he has dissappeared and most people are assuming that he will be declared legally dead."

"Yes, you are correct.   He isn't, though."

The interviewer was surprised.  "Wait.  Are you saying he is alive?"

"Well, of course.   He would never do something as foolish as dying without letting me know first.  No he is alive.  He's just travelling."

"Travelling where?"

"Well, wherever there is a story, I imagine.  He is much like you are; although a bit older and wiser.   He wants to tell the stories.   He lost his inspiration here and decided to build that ship and travel elsewhere."

"You mean his spaceship?"

"No I mean the Nautalis.  Of course, I meant the spaceship, dear.  What else?"

"I apologize.  But why would he leave you?  Did your marriage have problems?"

May smiled.  "Problems?   Hardly.  We have the best marriage you can imagine.  Stable, friendly.  We are best friends, you know.  He lived his life and I led mine.   When our lives intersected, we lived every single moment.  Isn't that wonderful?  Not a moment lost."

The interviewer hesitated.

"Um... I am not sure I understand.  You are aware of his infidelities, yes?"

"Infidelities?   You mean Sarah and Rebecca?  They are hardly infidelities.  They are family, dear.  Of course I knew.   Now did you come here to discuss our sex life, our romantic life, or our public life.  I must admit, you have me somewhat confused."

"My apolologies, maam.  I meant to discuss your relationship with James.  And to gain some insight on your feelings on his disappearance."

"Oh, that, right.   We are all handling it well.  He will return when he feels it is time.  We each have our own lives, after all.  I have taken up costuming.. again.  I did it when I was younger.  Never lost the knack.  I guess it is like riding a bike.  The others have done their own things, of course.  Oh, and don't call me ma'am.  That sounds so stuffy."

The Kind Son

THE KIND SON

There was once a wealthy old man.   He had two sons that he loved very much.  James was his oldest son and was a famous war hero.  He ran one of the old man’s businesses and brought a lot of money to the family, but he was mean-spirited and rude to his workers and customers.  Samuel was the younger son.   He chose to travel the world rather than join the military.  He refused to run one of his father’s businesses and instead spent his life travelling and taking odd jobs whenever he could find them.

One day, the old man called for his sons.  When they both arrived, he treated them to a feast and said, “My sons, I love you both.  I am old and will not live forever.  I need to decide who will run the family businesses when I am gone.” 

James laughed and said, “How is this a question, father?  I have run one of your businesses for years.  I am famous and a great leader.  Samuel has wasted his life spending time with common people.  He is nothing remarkable.  I should run your businesses.”

Samuel frowned.  “Father, it is true that I spend my time travelling and visiting with people that did not grow up wealthy.  But I have this so that I could better understand how you grew up.  I do not know if I can run your businesses, but I would like a chance to try.”

The old man pondered for a moment and then stood.

”Tomorrow morning, you will be taken to a town in a neighboring county.  There you will be left with no money and only the clothes on your back.   You will not have access to any of this family’s resources.  I will send for you in 6 months and you can show me what you have done on your own.”

James protested, “Father, this is insane.  We should not have to start with nothing.  We have so much already, we can do anything we want.”

But the old man had made up his mind.  “This is the way it will be.  Sleep well.  And best of luck.”

The next morning, James and Samuel were left in the poorer section of a nearby town with nothing to their possession except the clothing that they were wearing. 

“This will be a fantastic adventure!” exclaimed Samuel.  “Would you like to join me for breakfast, James?  I know a baker around here who will take us in.”

“Are you crazy?” said James, incredulously.  “We only have 6 months.   We have no time to waste talking to your pitiful friends!”

James turned and stalked away mumbling.

Samuel smiled at his brother as he left and then turned walked the other way to his friend’s bakery.

Six months passed from that day and the old man sent his staff to find and summon the two sons back to his home. 

Samuel was the first to arrive.  He was well dressed and in good health.  He entered the main hall and greeted his father warmly.  

“Hello father, how have you been?”

“I have been well, my son.  It would appear that you have done well for yourself.”

“I think I have, father.   But where is my brother?  I have not seen him since that first day.”

“Here I am!”  James entered the room in a grandiose fashion.  He was in fancy clothing and smiled broadly.

The old man was impressed.  “You are looking well, James.  Tell me what you have done with your time.”

“Well, father, I now own the largest shipping company in the area.  The day you dropped me off, I was bitter.  I could not see how I would be able to win your challenge in such a short time.  Then I recalled a person I had met at one of our parties.   He owned the largest shipping company in the county and was doing well, but I saw that he could do better.   I reminded him of who I was and told him I was interested in helping him grow his company.   He agreed and made me a partner.   I immediately fired half of the drivers, doubled the work hours on the rest and raised prices.  I even convinced the local government to give us sole access to certain areas in the county.   Since I stepped in, my company’s profits have tripled and I convinced my partner to retire.”

The old man frowned at James then turned to Samuel.  “What about you?  Have you done anything as remarkable as your brother?”

Samuel replied, “I am sorry, father, but I have not.  That day after we were dropped off, I found a friend who ran a small bakery.  He treated me to breakfast and I told him of our adventure.   He offered me a job cleaning up the bakery until I could find something better.   While I worked at the bakery, I had the chance to speak with many of the customers.  They were upset that it had suddenly become much more expensive to deliver their products to areas around the county.   I thought about it and decided I could help them out.  I borrowed the baker’s truck and spent my time off delivering goods for the local business people.   My truck is small and I don’t have a lot of customers.   I do have two people that now help me, but I have not made such a huge impact as James has.  I guess I have failed this challenge.”

The old man sent them to their guest rooms and spent the evening in deep thought about his decision.   In the morning, he met his sons for breakfast. 

“I have made my decision.  James, you have taken a moderately successful business and tripled its profits.  You have managed to give this same business a market advantage and have sent the original owner off to a comfortable retirement.   At least this is the way you would tell it to me and perhaps yourself.   In fact, what you have done is use your fame to hijack someone else’s dream and hard work and alienated many of his customers.  In the end, you stole the business from the owner completely and convinced him that he was better off for it.”

“Samuel, you took a small job and used it to get to know the community you were in.   Using that knowledge you discovered a problem, ironically caused by your brother, and turned it into an opportunity to not only start a business, but to also serve your community.   Your results, while modest, are much more admirable and worthy of praise than the actions of your brother.  

Moreover, you started from scratch.  The point of this exercise was to see who was better fit to carry on my dreams regardless of what might happen.  James, you did not carry on my dreams.  You stole someone else's dream and perverted it to your tastes.  Samuel, you took something of your own and have made it into something that you are proud of without causing harm.  This was my dream in my youth.  Thus, you are my choice as successor.”  

The Crime Scene

THE CRIME SCENE

“I had to stop her” the man cried as he shivered in the rain.  The flashing red and blue lights shone bleakly on his face.  He looked up to Officer Stevens.  “You try, you know?  You try hard to do your best by them.  To make them understand the way the world is and to help them fit in with it.  You try!”

The man began to bawl.  Officer Stevens scowled.  This was not the night he was hoping for.  He gestured to his partner to look after the man and started to walk into the hotel room.   He stopped as he entered and swallowed hard to hold back the rising bile.  Inside the room, piles of rotting food, trash, fetid clothing, and two dead bodies greeted him.  The scents washed over him filling him with a sense of dread and disgust. 

The officer walked towards the body closest to the door, stepping gingerly over a maggot encrusted pile of what seemed to be the remains of pizza.  The body lay strewn over the bed.  It was a man, no more than 25 years old.  He was wearing dirty blue jeans and Doc Martin boots.  His worn out t-shirt had a blood encrusted slit through the middle of a Megadeath logo.  His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling through his dirty blond hair. 

Officer Stevens took a picture of the body with his phone and then turned to the other body, presumably the girl the old man was speaking about outside.   He stumbled over a pile of towels that had crusty white residue on them.   Choking back a fresh wave of bile, he made it to the far wall of the room.  The young gal couldn’t have been more than 20.   Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she was not in the best of health when her life ended.  She was wearing nothing but panties and a bra.  Her dark brown hair was disheveled and matted.  A tiny round hole on her forehead sat in stark contrast to the gruesome splatter of blood and brain material that clung precariously to the wall behind her.

“Everyone has a story”, Officer Stevens thought to himself.  “I'm not sure I really want to know this one.”

The Encounter

The Encounter

Michael reached the top of the hill and bent over, panting, trying to catch his breath.   Standing straight he stared in awe at the crimson clouds forming in the distance.   Purple lightning leaped across the surface of the deadly storm.   Michael stood entranced watching the growing mass of light and shadow emerging in front of him.   It was risky to be up here.  If the poison rain arrived before he could get to shelter, he would be dead within minutes as the toxins burned through his flesh and lungs.

Behind him, the klaxons in the town began their morose whine.   The eerie sound shook Michael out of his fascination.  He looked around and a cold chill swept through him. 

“Oh, no!” Michael exclaimed. 

He turned and ran back towards the town.   As he ran, he could feel the air growing thick in his lungs.  The hair on his neck began to stand up, charged by the growing static electricity.   Overhead, the sky darkened as the poisonous clouds began to block the sun. 

Reaching a small abandoned gas station, Michael ran inside and slammed the door behind him just as the awful green liquid began falling.   He fell to the ground coughing violently.  

After a moment, he stood and took stock of his surroundings.   The shelves were empty, long salvaged of their products by hungry survivors of the war with the Anu.  Dust covered everything.   Looking through the glass of the door, Michael watched the drops of poison hit the ground, vaporize, and slowly turning into a rolling fog.  

Michael then noticed a person in a long cloak running down the street.   The person stopped and looked frantically around.   Michael’s heart quickened.  That cloak would not last long in the rain.  He cracked open the door to the store and shouted out to the street.

“HEY!  Over here!  Get out of the rain!”

The person turned towards Michael and sprinted to the door.   Michael opened the door just enough to let the person squeeze through and then shut the door securely.   The stranger stood in the corner coughing violently. 

Michael looked for a towel while the stranger recovered.  He found an old box of napkins and tossed it over to the stranger.

“Here, try to clean that off of you.  Why were you out in that?  That’s crazy!”

“No one would let me in,” the stranger replied.   The voice was strange and distorted.  Michael decided it must be a result of breathing the mist.  The stranger seemed to gain his composure and stood.   He was unnaturally tall.  Michael began to get uneasy.  He backed away from the stranger, stumbling over a shelf.

The stranger took off his cloak and set it on the counter next to the door.  He was very pale, but his skin glowed as though lit up from some hidden light source.   His eyes were larger than a human’s and disturbingly dark.   His white hair was long and straight.   He turned towards Michael.

“Thank you, child.  I would not have lasted much longer out there.  My name is Pacu.”

“I… I have never met an Anu before,” Michael stated shakily.   “Are you going to hurt me?”

Pacu shook his head. 

“No, I am not.  I am here on a diplomatic mission.  The rain surprised me and no one would give me shelter.”

He stepped towards Michael.   Michael backed away in a panic.   Pacu raised his hands to indicate he meant no threat and sat in the chair next to where Michael had been standing.

“I.. I.. I don’t understand!  A diplomatic mission?  You people are dangerous, you want to kill us! ”

Pacu sighed.  “We are no more dangerous than you are.  Your mayor understands this and wants to find a way to make things better for all of us.”

“NO! You killed everything I know!  You destroyed our planet!”  Michael stormed to the door and jabbed his finger at the glass, indicating the rain outside.  “This stuff is YOUR fault!”

Pacu’s face twisted.  “What is your name, human?”

“Michael.  Why do you care?”

Pacu chuckled.  “Well, Michael, I don't want to just call you ‘human’ all the time. “ 

He stood.  Outside, the rain was beginning to die down. 

“But you are correct.   We did try to destroy you.   I don't know why.  I was just a boy then. All the people that knew about that were killed by your soldiers.   But I know we didn't make the rain.  Your people did.”

Michael was stunned.  “Liar!  Why would we do that?  Why would we do THIS to ourselves? ”

“I am not lying.   There would be no point.   Your soldiers attacked us with something that we had no defense against.   It destroyed our ships and left us stranded here.”  

He pointed to the storm outside. 

“It also made the rain.” 

Michael was indignant.  He glared at Pacu then turned and stalked down one of the barren aisles of the store.

“No.   No that can't be true.”  He stopped and turned to face Pacu.   “Why would we do something like that?”

Pacu shrugged.  “I don't know really.   Your people were desperate.  Perhaps we would have done the same thing in your situation.  The point is that now that the fighting is over, the rain is killing us all.   If you hadn't let me in here, I would have died out there.  And all hope with me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should have left you to die!” 

Outside the rain had stopped and the poison mist was drifting away.  Pacu reached for his cloak and positioned it around his shoulders.  He turned to look at Michael.  His expression was enigmatic.

“Perhaps.  Still, I must go find your Mayor now.”

Pacu began walking towards the door.

“Wait!” shouted Michael.  “You said, 'All hope with me'.  Why are you here?”

Pacu spoke quietly.

“Because I know how to make the rain go away forever.  I am giving my discovery to your mayor.  Hopefully we can learn to live together in peace.”

 

He turned and bowed slightly to Michael. 

“Thank you for saving me, Michael.”

Michael stared in stunned silence as Pacu left the store and closed the door.

The Poacher

THE POACHER

A poacher was captured in the woods and brought to the local nobleman for punishment.  The nobleman was bored and decided to amuse himself by challenging the poacher.

"You have been caught stealing my deer.  The sentence is death.  However, I am in the mood to be entertained.  If you can convince me why I should spare your life, you shall go free."

The poacher paused for a moment.  This was most unexpected.  Finally he said, "Simply put, sire, it was not your deer."

The nobleman, taken aback by this asked, "What do you mean?  It was in my forest!"

The poacher replied, "With all respect, m’lord, it is not your forest.  If you might indulge me a chance to prove my point.  I am certain I can entertain you."

The nobleman thought on this for a moment.

"Fine.  Tell me then, how is it not my forest?"

The poacher asked, "Well, sire, do you tell the trees when to grow?"

The nobleman responded, astonished, "of course not!  What difference does that make?"

The poacher then asked, "Well, sire, did you tell the deer when to have children?"

The nobleman, now agitated, responded, "Of course not!  Tell me, what is the point of this?  How does any of this give you the right to kill my deer?"

The poacher replied, "Well, m’lord, then it is not your forest.  How can you claim something you cannot control?  I certainly don't claim those deer.  I did not even have the right to kill that deer. Those animals have a right to their own lives.  Yet, I am starving as are my children.  I killed one deer to feed my family.  I am not sure that I am a worthy recipient for the life it might have had.  I had hoped that what it would have given to me and my children might have given us the chance to bring something amazing into this world.

Now that is wasted.  The deer was left to rot, my children likely condemned to die from neglect and starvation, and you will be unaffected, save a little entertainment at my expense.  

I killed one of the deer in these woods, yes.  I also thanked it for its sacrifice.  Maybe it meant nothing to something already dead, I do not know.   It meant something to me because I value what it gave up for me.  When was the last time you thanked some poor chap you killed on the battlefield for his sacrifice to let you stay in these hallowed halls?  When was the last time you were grateful for the sacrifices those under your care make for you?"

The nobleman was outraged.  "Why you ingrate!  I keep you safe!  My guard keeps you from fearing for your life!  My army protects your home!"

The poacher retorted, "My nobleman, you are mistaken!  I have never seen your guard arrive until after the bandits have left.  I have never seen your army until after my home was put to the torch.  You have provided nothing to me.  Everything I have is something I have done for myself.  I do not mean to seem ungrateful, sire.  I simply have nothing to be grateful for.  I do not mean to take anything from you, either, because I would not want anything taken from me. 

That deer might have died from old age if I had not killed it and you would have given it no thought.   Now, because of your soldiers, it is rotting in the woods.   No has gained anything from this.  There has only been the loss of one deer’s life.   And so I ask you, sire... What would you accuse me of?"

The nobleman was furious.  He slammed his fist down onto the arm of his throne.

"Send him to the dungeons!”

The guards grabbed the poacher and drug him away.

That night, the nobleman did not sleep.  He paced his room for hours, often stopping to stare out the window at the forest beyond.  When day broke, he brought the poacher before him.   He peered intensely at the poacher.  Then he stood, approached the poacher, and bowed deeply.

"I bow to you because you have done what no other man in my charge would dare.   You have humbled me.  I did not sleep last night.  I am troubled that I have lost my place in the world.   Your words have reminded me that I am mortal and no more or less of a man than any other in my charge.

"You are correct in that I can bring about the death of everything in this realm, but I cannot control the life of anything.  I could, by right, kill you for killing a deer I thought I owned, but that would bring nothing but your death.  Nothing is gained.  It is obvious that we have something to learn here.  I therefore release you with no charges.  My kitchen will give you the equivalent of what we have wasted on this ordeal.

Go now and try to be happy."