“Sir? Sir? Are you hungry?” Shit. He’s not budging. I stare at his placid, still face for a moment, trying to figure out what to do now. I grab his shoulder again and give it a harder shake this time. “Sir? I need you to wake up. You need to eat. I don’t know if anyone is looking for you, like your people or my government. Your ship is still in the forest, just waiting to be discovered by a hunter or fisherman or something. You really need to wake up. Please?”
Well, shit. At least he seems stable. That’s something, I guess. Letting out a sigh of defeat, I tug on a curl of my unruly hair, twirling around a finger in contemplation. I stand up and stare at the alien, trying to figure out what to do next.
Walking back to the kitchen, I scoop Mango up, feeling his purring vibrating my chest, a comforting balm to the unrest churning within me.
Giving him an affectionate kiss between his alert, golden eyes, I whisper, “What’re we gonna do now, bud? Our guest isn’t very talkative, is he?” Mango dips his head, rubbing against my cheek in a feline show of empathy, his quiet meow filled with what I choose to interpret as wisdom.
Once I return to the kitchen, I quickly clean up my mess. Then I turn the burner off under the soup and stand there feeling lost. What the hell should I do now? “The spaceship,” I breathe. A glimmer of hope ignites in my heart. Maybe something in there could help me communicate with him or even wake him up. Plus, it’s sitting in the woods, just waiting for a hunter, hiker, or someone to stumble across it and call the authorities. Then I remember the drag marks from pulling him away from the crash site. They lead straight to my door.
“You’re right, Mango,” I say, setting him onto a stool. “Stay here, keep an eye on Stormy while I’m gone,” I instruct the cat, pointing a stern finger at his pink little nose. I can’t keep referring to him as ‘the alien’, so Stormy it is until he can tell me his actual name. Mango’s twirling tail seems to convey his ambiguous feelings toward the assignment.
I roll my shoulders back and set a determined smile on my face, which probably looks more like a grimace. “Alright, let’s do this.” I stride out the cabin door towards the garage to find a rake and anything else I can locate that might help me hide a spaceship crash site.
CHAPTER 15
Lily
Taking a deep breath, I hoist the toolbox onto my shoulder and pick up the rake and shears before heading outside.
The breeze sways the foliage lining the path that leads back into the woods, whispering secrets between the pines. Each crunch of the gravel underfoot feels piercingly loud in the pervasive silence. As I walk, I notice a few drag marks tattooing the path, an aftermath of my trek dragging an alien home. Thankfully, it’s not that bad, so as I walk, I carefully rake over the marks, kicking fallen leaves and twigs over the area, camouflaging my passage.
As the path widens, I spot the gazebo framed by the lake. The morning light paints the lake in a brilliant palette of dawn hues – golds, pinks, and purples – like something out of a fairy tale. The water’s surface mirrors the watercolor sky, serenely undulating with the gentle push and pull of the murmuring wind. It’s pristine, untouched like a photo straight from National Geographic, and my heart aches at the sheer beauty of it. I yearn to bring a chair by the water. To spend a lazy morning basking under the sun’s soothing warmth, with Mango purring lazily by my side. But alas, such luxury is a far cry from my current predicament.
As I retrace my steps from the night before, I skirt along the lake’s shore before turning back into the untamed forest. I am relieved that the crash site and my path from it are not easily discernible from the lake’s edge.
Retracing my steps through the forest, I finally spot the spaceship after a short walk. Its destructive path through the forest is marked with broken branches and a deeply gouged forest floor. Swallowing hard, I tighten my grip on the garden shears, which now seem woefully inadequate for hiding evidence of a crash site.
I look around the forest, my ears perked for any sounds of discovery, but all I hear is the rustle of leaves in the breeze and early morning birdsong.
With the echo of the forest humming in my ears, I resolve to stop wasting time. Casting one last glance at the sky peeking through the canopy above, I walk cautiously towards the spaceship. The ship is somewhat triangular. It reminds me of a bomber plane but sleeker and more organic in shape. Its surface gleams like a dark mirror under the dappled morning light. It resembles nothing of the sharp, boxy-shaped ships bristling with weaponry like I’ve come to expect from sci-fi movies. I’m a little surprised that the hull seems to be wholly intact. I expected to see harsh, jagged edges of torn hull jutting out in violent angles – its once sleek design ripped and warped by destruction, but the surface of the ship is smooth and unbroken.
The door where the alien emerged from is still open, and the darkness inside the ship seems to swallow the light. Something is terrifying about that gaping maw, lined with unknown technology, leading into the darkness.
Slowly approaching the ship, I realize it is not much bigger than a mini-van. Last night, I was so overwhelmed that it didn’t occur to me to pay attention to the ship’s size, even though it had seemed much bigger in my mind’s eye.
After taking a fortifying inhale, I hesitate for a long moment before stepping into the heart of the vessel, utterly unprepared for what I might encounter. Or who. Oh god, I never thought to check if anyone else was with him inside the ship last night. What if there were other aliens with him and I left them behind? Oh man, I really don’t want to find a dead alien or something even worse inside that darkness.
Pausing at the entrance of the strange spacecraft, I brace myself. Inhaling deeply, I try to determine if it smells like death inside the ship. My senses are assaulted by the sharp tang of charred metal and the sulfuric scent of burnt rubber. But more importantly, there’s no smell of death – a scent I know all too well. Releasing the breath I’d been unwittingly holding, I steel myself and step further into the metallic beast.
Blinking away the darkness, the ship has an interior that resembles nothing I’ve ever seen. Most of the back half of the ship is dominated by a strange egg-shaped enclosure that looks a bit like a dentist’s chair under a glass dome. Its translucent surface has a slight blue tinge to it. I approach cautiously, hands outstretched towards the pod, on guard for any signs of danger. I touch the glass softly. It is cold and still under my fingertips. I walk around the pod, looking for a way to open it. The uninterrupted, sleek surface doesn’t give me any clue, so I move on toward the front of the ship.
Much like the back half, the front half is dominated by a glassy, futuristic cockpit. It is sleek and sharp, the edges and angles hinting at a technological sophistication far beyond anything on Earth. There is a single wide seat in the area, which reassures me that there probably wasn’t anyone else in the crash. The light from the open door barely reaches the cockpit and I feel like I’m a world away from the rustic cabin.
I stare at the dark, giant command center, filled with an array of buttons and switches, currently off and silent. The dappled sunlight that reaches this far into the ship shows an alien script carved with odd hieroglyphs into the buttons that I can’t even begin to comprehend. I clasp my hands together tightly, my mind suddenly riddled with paranoid thoughts. What if I accidentally initiate a launch sequence or trigger a hidden defense mechanism by messing with technology far beyond my comprehension? It would be just like me to launch my dumb ass into orbit accidentally.
A chill gnaws at me. I’m in over my head – I’m starkly aware of that. But as I look around at the environment so completely different from my own, surrounded by the cold hum of alien technology, I also feel somewhat sad. Is this it? There is nothing in here as far as I can tell – no clutter, no mementos, not a single personal item, not even clothes. Spartan doesn’t even begin to describe it.
I check the ship’s walls, looking for drawers or cubbies or something. Despite my search, I find nothing. There are thin seams in the otherwise perfectly smooth wall, but I cannot pry them open. It’s just an empty shell of a ship, sterile and impersonal. I had hoped to at least get some clothes for my patient but there is nothing here as far as I can tell.
With a shrug of defeat, I finally slink out. I stand in the entrance to the ship and watch my surroundings for a moment to make sure I’m still alone. I waver for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do now. I can’t imagine that anyone is out here, wandering the area, but I would feel better if I could hide the ship.
I decide to use all the branches the ship broke when it crashed through the forest to my advantage. As quickly as possible, I start grabbing the broken boughs and piling them around and over the ship. It’s completely haphazard and wouldn’t pass even a cursory inspection, but it’s the best I can do. I just hope no one will come within a hundred feet of the site. Sweat trickles down my back as I lug leaf-covered branches and pile them around the crash site. It takes more than an hour – closer to two – to finish camouflaging the ship.
Despite wanting to keep working to hide the ship better, dread starts to pool in my belly. I’m worried that Stormy will wake up while I’m gone.
The camouflage job is not that great. I just hope it’s enough to buy me some time to figure all of this out. I sigh, brushing a stray curl away from my face.
Hauling my borrowed equipment, I head back towards the cabin, my thoughts pulling me into a haze.
My boots crunch against the gravel as I walk. I tried to hide the signs of our supernatural visitor’s rough landing and trek to the cabin. The half-hearted sweep of leaves and soil to cover the indents now seems pitiful. Here’s hoping that no one is actively searching for my alien.
The cabin’s sharp-angled roof peeks through the forest’s canopy, its dark wood greeting like an old friend promising a refuge.
My heart pounds in my chest and not entirely from the physical strain of the manual labor I’d just experienced. My thoughts are all over the place.
When I get back to the cabin, I slowly open the door, making sure to stay silent. I tiptoe inside and check on my charge. Stormy is right where I left him. I stare at him for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically. Assured that he is safe and alive, I decide that I need to call my aunt and then take a shower.
Mango twines about my ankles and I scoop him up before he starts whining for attention. Cradled in my arms, I check the time on my phone. New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of me, so I do some quick math in my head. That means it’s just after 4 a.m. there. I decide that I can wait a few hours to call Aunt Zizi. Hopefully, that’ll give me enough time to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell her.
I guess I’ll take a shower first.
CHAPTER 16
Lily
