I suck in gulps of the cool night air, trying to catch my breath. It would be undeniably easier to call the police or some government authority and let them handle the alien and his inexplicable appearance. But the bullet wounds that cross his body like a grim constellation mock that notion. My gut tells me that giving him to the government would be a terrible idea. Frankly, I don’t trust that my government wouldn’t do something horrible to an alien. I should have faith in my country, but I just don’t. It’s a stark and disturbing thought. The idea of my extraterrestrial patient being handed over to unscrupulous hands wrenches my heart. My resolve solidifies around that painful knot, instincts flashing an unwavering warning: ‘Don’t call the police.’
Stifling a shudder, I kneel next to him, reinspecting his injuries. The pulses of dark, alien blood have dwindled to a sluggish ooze, and his pulse is strong beneath my fingertips. Encouraging signs. Yet, he remains limply unconscious, and the night air is growing chillingly cold. Under the moonlight, his blood almost shimmers, as if someone has stirred mica powder into the dark red liquid.
“Gotta get you back to the cabin,” I mumble, half to myself, half to my unconscious companion.
I glance anxiously in the direction of the cabin. My gaze turns back to the alien. Carrying or dragging him the whole way back isn’t possible; I’ve exhausted much of my strength just hauling him away from the wreckage.
I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get his guy back to the cabin. There’s no way I can get the truck through this steep terrain. I’m almost certain I would get the vehicle stuck in the soft ground. There are too many boulders and much of the ground is mud. Perhaps there is something in the cabin I can use. I need to see what supplies I can find there. I’m praying that there are materials there that I can use to create a makeshift stretcher – a blanket and rope at the very least.
I pat the alien’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back,” I promise.
My heart is pounding as I scramble back toward the lake’s shore, twigs snapping under my shoes and the chilly wind burning in my lungs. Slivers of moonlight penetrate the dense foliage overhead and paint a surreal, silver path leading me back to the cabin. The forest’s silence is broken only by my jagged breaths and the frantic thudding of my heart.
Relief floods me when the cabin comes into view. Spotting the garage next to the cabin, I veer in its direction. I’m more likely to find supplies to create a travois or something similar there. I rush inside the garage’s side door, flicking on the overhead light. My eyes dart along the cluttered shelves, laser-focused on finding what I need. My eyes fall on a rolling platform – the kind that mechanics use to work on the underside of cars – half hidden under a dusty tarp. With a grunt, I yank it out. I’m pleased to see it has thick rubber wheels that should hopefully allow me to take it over rough terrain. I sent a silent thank you into the cosmos for small favors. I also grab the tarp and roll it up. Turning back to leave, I also spot a hefty length of rope and tuck that under my arm with the tarp.
I race back along the dark path, dread filling my veins at the mental image of covert government agents, or worse, more aliens, showing up. Terror is like ice in my veins. Visions of an alien invasion causing mass panic, or shadowy men in suits whisking me away for interrogation flash before my eyes. But the boiling fear doesn’t repel me – instead, it fuels me.
Branches lash against me like vengeful spirits as I run full tilt back to where I left the vulnerable, unconscious alien. He’s exactly where I left him, still out cold.
“You’re gonna be okay. Just stay with me,” I assure him, setting the mechanic’s cart next to his still form. I wince, feeling every knotted muscle in my back protesting as I lay the tarp over the cart’s flat surface. This is all so out-of-this-world crazy that I would think I’m in a nightmare or a weird, drugged-out dream, but it’s real. I’m trying to lug an unconscious alien spaceman back to my cabin.
Mustering all the barely-there strength I have left, I grasp the alien under his arms. Praying the alien doesn’t wake up and freak out, I heave and grunt, feeling my muscles scream as I manage to shift his upper body a few inches onto the flat surface of the cart. I repeat the move, taking deep breaths, feeling the way sweat beads on my brow and drips down my back as I heave his lower half onto the cart. His feet hang off the bottom, but I can do nothing about that. At least the tarp should protect his skin from getting dragged along the ground.
“God, I hope you’re not dangerous,” I mutter to the alien, thinking about all the movies I’ve watched with evil aliens wanting to invade and terraform our planet.
Despite my trepidations, I wrap him gently in the tarp as if he were a swaddled baby. I pull it around him, tucking the edges beneath to ensure it stays put. Picking up the rope from where I dropped it, I tie each end to the front two corners of the cart. It’s crude but should do the trick for hauling him home.
I then form a loop with a knot at the center of the rope and, bracing myself with a deep breath, step into it. I adjust it over my hips, feeling like a beast of burden.
“Okay, Lilith, you can do this,” I encourage myself before setting off on the journey back to my cabin. Each step is torturous, burning my thighs and punishing my back as I drag the alien home. Several times, the wheels get stuck in the dirt, and I have to stop and dig them out, but bit by bit, I get us a bit closer to safety.
With grim determination, I slowly trudge alongside the lake and then down the forest path back to the cabin. The entire trek I berate myself because I am bringing a freaking alien to my home. He’s probably dangerous. He probably eats dumb-ass nurses as a pre-dinner snack. I clearly have no sense of preservation whatsoever.
The journey to the back door is a battle against my own exhaustion and the bumpy terrain. With each jolting motion, I can’t help but wince in sympathy for the extra-terrestrial being, but you know what? He’s still breathing and alive. I spent the first half of the journey expecting to hear the sound of his ship exploding but it never came. A good thing, because if someone hadn’t noticed his crash before, an explosion would undoubtedly bring people to investigate.
Finally, the back porch of the cabin comes into view, and for a moment, I allow myself to stop, panting heavily. I want to cry in relief when I finally spot the glow of lights from the windows. It’s taken me almost two hours to traverse what I walked in less than 10 minutes earlier. Stubbornly, I shake off the fatigue swamping me and finish the last bit of the journey. Once I reach the cabin, I step out of the rope and prop open the back door.
Carefully, I use the edges of the tarp material and carefully pull him off the mechanic’s cart. With a groan that makes me sound like a dying elephant, I begin to pull, each muscle straining under the weight. Dread pools in the pit of my stomach and I swallow a sob as the alien doesn’t budge. How am I going to get him inside? I’m out of strength. I sit on my ass in the doorway and try to catch my breath. I silently send up a prayer for help. I am so close, I just need a little more strength.
Taking a few minutes to rest, I stare at the alien. In the light coming through the open doorway, I can get a better look at his harsh face. Most people look relaxed when asleep, but this guy looks like he’s frowning, even unconscious.
Finally feeling as ready as I think I’m going to get, I grab the tarp again. I plant my feet on either side of the door jam and grit my teeth. Breathing out through my nose like a bull, I finally haul him up the singular step and into the mudroom.
I trip backward and fall as I get the upper half of his body through the back door. I lay on the floor, panting, with stars swimming before my eyes. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Suddenly, the quiet is punctuated by a plaintive meow. I jerk upward, startled, only to find Mango perched on the top of the washing machine to my right, his bright eyes watching me with an almost eerie tranquility. Relief washes over me, replacing the adrenaline in my veins.
“Well, aren’t you just the king of the castle, watching your haggard subjects do all the hard work?” I pant, mustering a weak grin at my furry companion as I sit up.
I force myself to get off my ass and finish pulling the tarp until I finally get the alien safe inside. His body rests on the floor of the mudroom, his gunmetal skin standing stark against my makeshift tarp stretcher.
“Whew,” I breathe out. A sweat trickles down my forehead as I squint at my cat, “Now, let’s see what we can do for our guest here, Mango.”
CHAPTER 13
Ravok
Pain. It’s the first sensation that claws its way into my awareness, insistent and unyielding. The agony makes me wish for the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, but I am not that lucky. Like miners digging through layers of bedrock, my nanites tirelessly work to repair the massive amount of trauma my body’s endured. I haven’t felt pain like this since the early days of combat drills with my training pod.
I struggle to open my eyes. It’s an almost insurmountable task, like lifting boulders instead of mere eyelids. When I finally manage to peel them open, sunlight floods my vision. I squint against its harshness, my vision slowly adjusting to the searing brightness.
I gaze at the unfamiliar surroundings. From the worn wooden surface under my body to the rudimentary construction of the dwelling, I realize that I am in a place that is primitive, even by human standards. I am laid out on the floor like discarded cargo, as though the humans who brought me here didn’t care enough to provide something more comfortable. However, I am relieved to realize that I am not back at the human military compound. Anything is better than that.
I find no signs of immediate danger. No armed humans are watching me with distrust and fear in their eyes. There is no sign of advanced security systems. I’m not even strapped down or secured in any fashion. No one even seems to be in the building with me.
I need to make my escape; to get back to my ship and assess it for damage. However, when I try to sit up, the pain is so overwhelming that my vision starts to darken. A low moan of agony slips from my lips before I can seal my mouth against any sound escaping.
I must accept that I cannot make my escape until I heal more. My nanites demand rest to expedite the healing process. Judging that I am safe enough for now, I let them pull me back into the merciful void of unconsciousness. Every thought, every sensation, slowly fades into nothingness as I lapse into a dreamless sleep.
A soft, melodic chirping noise rouses me from unconsciousness. My senses swim, awash with disorientation. At first, I think I am back on my home planet – a place I haven’t seen in years. The sound, so similar to the native Cularia birds that sing in the dense forests of my home, lulls me into a brief second of tranquility.
But as the threads of sleep begin to unravel, I realize the truth – it is not a Cularia I’m hearing, and I am not on Cryzor. I ignore the pang in my chest at the realization. My focus shifts, narrowing on the sound. I realize I’m hearing a human female’s voice, lilting and gentle. My translator must be malfunctioning, stealing my understanding of her words and rendering her voice into a simple melodic song.
Pain still ripples through my body, yet it isn’t as blaring as before. My nanites have been mending my damaged body while I rested. But they haven’t completed much yet, so I’m far from ready to challenge my captors.
