by Alan James
“Good. We’re going to be in morning twilight before too long, and direct sun shortly after that. We’ve got to get her covered and,” he paused, “and, we’ve got to get rid of the body.”
Cory broke in, “Get rid of it?” he said, turning his eyes to Matson, “He’s …”
“Look Cory, you know as well as I do, that the six of us in this trailer, are the only people on Earth who know that Colonel Parker didn’t die over three years ago.” He continued as Cory lowered his head, “Look Son, just what would you have me tell folks, if his body suddenly turned up?”
“I can’t do it,” Cory said. “I won’t do it,” he affirmed, turning back to his screen.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to ask you. And besides, we don’t have to worry about that right now. We can keep him covered, and out of the way.”
Matson turned back to his screen, “So, everybody, what are we supposed to make of this,” he pointed to his screen. The same message was still there. Ten rows of the word PILOT, each one followed by a question mark.
Perkins spoke, “It hasn’t changed since you guys removed Parker.”
“Not at all?” asked Forest.
“Well, it hasn’t actually changed, but, the screen has blanked and then the same thing reappeared.”
“I don’t think that’s good,” said Kelly.
Matson turned to face him, “What do you mean, not good?”
Kelly stumbled, as usual, looking for the right place to start. “Look, I’m way outta my league when it comes to this science stuff,” he paused to look at Will, not fully knowing why, “or this science fiction stuff, but, I figure we’re lookin’ at this whole thing the wrong way.” He looked back at Matson, “Remember what this thing did when you didn’t give it what it wanted the first time?” He paused. “Well, now it’s askin’ for something again.” Kelly looked around the room at the other five; hoping one of them would pick up the ball.
“You think it’s asking for a pilot, don’t you?” asked Matson.
“Yes sir,” Kelly replied strackly, as if answering a superior officer.
“So, do you think we should give it one,” he paused, “right now?”
“No sir,” again strackly, “that would certainly make things worse, at least for the pilot. This thing probably killed Parker.”
“We don’t know that for sure son,” said Dr. Forest.
“Well, we do know that it took Parker up, and when he came back down, he was dead. That’s enough to tell me that I ain’t gettin’ in it ‘till I know it’s safe, or at least, a whole lot safer.”
“Relax Kelly,” Matson reassured, holding up two calming open palms. “No ones going up in her again ‘till I say so.”
“But, you’re not listening to what I’m saying, are you?” “She,” he pointed to the plane sitting outside, “may have a lot more to say about that, than you, or any of us do.” Kelly looked down the length of the trailer at Will. He could see Will, almost imperceptibly, move his head in the negative. At this point Kelly made his own decision. “She’s got six fifty caliber Brownings pointed right at us. And I’m with Cory on this one. I don’t like them pointed this way either. Do you have any idea what she could do with those?”
“What on Earth makes you think she might use those against us, or anyone else, for that matter?”
Kelly looked back down the trailer. Will was gone. He turned back to Matson, “She’s already fired her guns,” he said.
Matson, and then the others, quickly turned to look at the shiny plane sitting in front of them. “Christ,” Matson said, “look at the gun ports. I didn’t notice that before.”
“What?” asked Forest.
“They’re blackened.” Matson said turning back to Kelly.
Dr. Forest and Perkins both appeared to realize, at the same time, that they were each in near perfect alignment with the port and starboard guns. They stood and moved to the side. Matson, who was directly in front of the intake, seemed a little more at ease with his position, but, he stood anyway, slid his chair to the side, walked directly away from the window, and then, as if those few extra feet, between himself and the plane, would make any difference, he stepped quickly across the line of fire.
“Will.” Matson called to the back of the trailer.
“He’s not in here,” Kelly said.
“Where in hell’s name has he gone this time?” Talking to Kelly, he said, “You know the armament on the F-eighty-six, don’t you?”
“I know how to pull the trigger, and I know there’s an arming switch in the cockpit, but, I doubt that the switch will do us any good.”
“Why’s that? If we turn it off, it can’t fire, right.”
“Well, under normal circumstances, I’d say yes, but, well, it’s an electrical switch, not manual. It arms the trigger, not the guns. And besides, the plane has obviously armed itself at least once already. It had to in order to fire the rounds that blackened the ports.”
Matson, with a near hopeless look, asked, “Then what do we do?”
Kelly looked at the shiny remnant of the eighty-six on the other side of the glass. “She’s got six, fifty caliber rounds chambered, one in each gun. The Brownings are gas operated. The recoil from each previous shot moves the action and chambers the next round. If you remove those rounds, there’s no way she can chamber new ones by herself.” He looked back at Matson, “That is, unless she’s made modifications to the guns along with the rest of the changes.”
“Can you do that, son?”
“I’m a pilot,” he said, “I had mechanics to do all the reloading. The closest I’ve ever come to a Browning, out of an aircraft, was when I fired one mounted on the back of an army jeep. I watched the army guy load it, but I wasn’t paying much attention. Best I can tell you, we’ll have to remove the ammo belts from the feeders, then, pull the slide back to eject the live round from each gun, and I see lots of problems, right off the bat.”
“What do you mean?” Forest asked.
Kelly walked to the window, paying no attention to the line of fire. “Look at her nose,” he said with a nod in that direction, “there are no longer any access panels. She’s as smooth as glass. How do we get inside?”
“Maybe, the same way I opened the canopy,” Matson offered.
“Yeah, maybe, but I still see an even bigger problem.” He turned to look at the plane once more, “What if she doesn’t want us inside?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Matson said. “I guess it could get really dicey … if she decides to get defensive.” He paused, then looked around, “Where in the hell is Will?” he yelled. “He should be helping with this. Damn it,” he exclaimed out of frustration, “he might have an angle on this we haven’t thought of.”
“I’ll go look for him,” Perkins offered. “You don’t need me right now anyway. You can monitor the screen while these guys cover the plane.”
“Yeah, sure, but don’t stay gone too long. I’d rather be down one man, than two.”
As Perkins nodded and headed for the door, Kelly grabbed him by the arm, “Look, Perkins, you know Will a lot better than I do, but, well,” he struggled for words again, “he’s been acting strange lately, especially when he’s alone, and especially when he’s got that little piece of disc skin with him.”
“Will’s probably the steadiest hand we’ve got here Kelly,” Matson said. “He was here even before me. What do you mean by him acting strange?”
Kelly thought carefully, knowing he was the outsider here; arriving only hours before. “Haven’t you guys noticed how he acts with that material?”
“Yeah, I have,” Cory said, thumbing back at Will’s station. “I’ve seen him take it out of the drawer, when he thinks no one’s looking. He just sits there … rubbin’ it,” he paused, “that is kinda strange, isn’t it?”
“And he’s got a lot worse since the plane landed.” Kelly continued to explain, “When I went to the shed to
find him, I’d swear he was talkin’ to someone, but, when I had a chance to look inside, well, he was the only one in there.”
Matson waved Perkins toward the door, “Kelly, let’s you and me have a talk … Doctor,” he turned to Forest, “you and Cory head back outside and start stretching out one of those chutes. Take a look around and see what there is to tie off to, we don’t want those things blowin’ all over the county when the wind picks up in the morning.”
Matson walked to the back of the trailer and took Will’s seat. Kelly followed, but before he sat down, he flipped the switch on Will’s screen, “You know how to read this screen, don’t you?”
“Look,” Matson said, “before we talk about anything else, we’ve got to straighten out this trust issue you have with Will.”
“Sir,” Kelly slipped back into his military character, “I mean no disrespect, but, do you know how to read this screen?”
Matson looked Kelly in the eyes, and recognizing the intensity he saw there, turned to Will’s screen, “Well, yes, for the most part. It represents telemetry on the physical configuration of the aircraft. Landing gear, dive brakes, canopy opened or closed and locked, see there,” he pointed, “the indication is that the canopy is open,” he paused. “Will went over that stuff with us ages ago, why?”
“And what about the guns? Did he tell you about the guns?”
“He might have, I can’t rightly say I remember one way or the other.” Again he asked, “Why?”
“Earlier, I let Will know that I was aware that the guns had been fired. He asked me to withhold that information from you, and it became evident that he didn’t want you, or the others, to see his screen. So, I ask you, why would he do that?”
Matson stared with a puzzled look. “If what you say is true, then I don’t know. I can’t imagine why he would do something like that.”
“Look,” Kelly said, pointing to the nose area of the plane, “when the guns are armed, and I mean electrically, because they are already armed physically, you will see six small red circles, three on a side, right here. One of us has to monitor this screen at all times, at least until we find a way to permanently disarm her.”
Matson was now in a hard place; he had to decide to either trust a friend he’d known for years, or this newcomer. At that instant the nose of the little three-view on Will’s screen went red. Three shots rang out.
“She’s shooting at us,” Matson screamed as he dived for the floor.
“No,” said Kelly, squatting next to him. “That was small arms fire.” Then, standing slowly, “Look, the window glass, it’s still there. Those shots came from out by the lean-to at this end of the trailer.” Kelly helped a shaking Matson to his feet. “Is there another gun in here?”
“What’s wrong with the one under my desk?”
“Somebody barrowed it awhile back, and I’m afraid it was Will. I think Perkins is in trouble, or worse, and we ain’t gonna be much help to him without some firepower.”
“No, th-that was the only gun,” Matson stuttered, still trembling.
Kelly looked around, searching. A broom handle … something heavy … hell, he’d settle for a stapler, or a paper weight.
“There was a very-pistol in the back closet where Cory found the cot. Would that help?” Matson asked, still crouching as they moved toward the door.
“Wait here,” Kelly said, pushing Matson against the hallway wall, “and stay down.” He made his way quickly to what was more of a long skinny storage room than a closet. He felt for the light switch. No light and the door opened the wrong way, so it blocked most of the light from the trailer. He moved his hands over the shelves, searching in near darkness; blankets, spare parts, paper reams, flotsam, and then … there! There it was. He grabbed the small box next to it … cartridges, he hoped. As he made his way back to Matson, he already had the pistol broke open. He pulled a cartridge from the box and rammed it home. He closed the pistol and put a couple extra rounds in his side pocket. As he Passed Matson, he whispered “You’d better stay here.”
“No argument from me,” Matson said quietly, “be careful.”
As Kelly left the trailer he threw the switch next to the door, hoping it would dowse the harsh porch light. It did. In the darkness, he made his way down the steps to the side of the trailer away from the plane. He continued, in the dark, down the length of the trailer to the little lean-to. He stopped to listen; he heard nothing. As he started to make his move around the corner, he picked up a shadow, cast by the flood lights that were still illuminating the plane. The shadow was getting larger. He waited until the man turned the corner and walked into the same darkness that engulfed himself. He pulled a very cartridge from his pocket and tossed it onto the roof of the lean-to, and at the same time he stepped out from his cover. As the man’s attention was drawn to the sound on the roof, Kelly demanded, “Don’t move, or I’ll blow your damned head off.”
“Jesus, don’t shootdon’tshootIt’smeCory,” he paused, but not very long, “don’t shoot, please don’ shoooot.”
Dr. Forest, who was following close behind Cory, was now also, frozen in place. Kelly stepped out into the light.
“Almighty, son,” Forest said with relief, “you scared us half to death. Was that you doin’ all the shootin’?”
Cory stepped out of the darkness holding his crotch, trying to hide the fact that he had wet himself. “Sorry about that Brickman,” Kelly said to Cory, “now I guess you know how it feels.” He turned to Forest, “No, it wasn’t me.” Then realizing there was still a shooter out there somewhere, he held the pistol up at the ready and began scanning the darkness down the path that led to the shed. He heard a small movement under the lean-to, but, again, he could see nothing. “Cory,” he said, “move over by the doctor, and both of you cover your eyes for a second.” Kelly walked to a spot about twenty feet from the end of the trailer and fired the pistol into the ground. The bright red light illuminated the underside of the lean-to with an eerie glow; and there, in the rear, sitting with his back against the wall, was Will; a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. It was all poor Cory could take. Without a word, he took off as fast as his legs would carry him. After about ten feet, he tripped over a piece of the picnic table that was destroyed earlier by the vibrations from the plane. He fell headlong into the starboard wing tip, striking it with his forehead. He lay there, in the light of the floods, out cold.
BETRAYAL
Dr. Forest and Kelly had just made their way inside the trailer. Forest had gathered up a couple hand towels and was about to make his way back outside to attend to Cory, who was still lying motionless where he had fallen. The walkie-talkie, still on his belt, suddenly screeched to life.
“Help,” a soft, shaking voice whispered. “Help me,” it pleaded again.
Forest grabbed the radio and keyed to talk, “Ben? Ben, is that you?”
Matson, who was trying to come to terms with just being told, by Kelly, that Will had a bullet hole through his head, turned to the doctor and motioned for the radio. “Ben, where in hell are you? What happened out there?”
“Don’t talk so loud, they’ll hear you,” Perkins pleaded. “I’ve got the volume turned all the way down, but, it’s still very loud.”
Matson turned to Kelly, “Was there anybody else outside with you? What’s he talking about?”
“I didn’t see anybody else, just me, the doctor, Cory, and,” he hesitated, “and Will.”
Matson looked at the walkie-talkie, then put it to his mouth and whispered, “Where are you Ben?”
“I’m in the bushes, on the north side, off the path to the left.”
Looking at Kelly, “You got a couple more rounds for that thing?” gesturing at the very-pistol.
Kelly nodded.
“Would you mind seeing if you can find him, and keep an eye out for anything else out there?”
Kelly opened the pistol, tossed the spent cartridge at the
trash can next to the door, and shoved a fresh one home. As he headed for the door, Dr. Forest started to follow.
“No, Doctor,” said Matson, “Cory can lay where he is awhile longer. I want you safe in here ‘till we find out what’s going on out there.”
This time Kelly thought about asking for a flashlight, but decided against it. It would only make him a better target.
***
Kelly held close to the side of the trailer. He was now at the lean-to, the same spot where he had first seen Cory’s shadow. Now that he knew where to look, he could just make out Will’s body, head sagging, sitting against the wall in the darkness. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘I should have thrown the switch on those floods.’ The light partially bathed the path he was about to walk along. ‘Anybody within a hundred yards will have no problem seein’ me the minute I step out of these shadows.’ He decided if he was going to be a target, he’d make himself as hard as possible to hit. The bushes that Perkins was hiding in were the same ones he had seen on his walk to the shed; just five or six scraggly pieces of sage about four or five feet tall. With the very-pistol raised at his side to chest level, he ran along the side of the path away from the light. It was a dash of about twenty yards to the first bush. His problem now was he didn’t know which side of it to hide behind. He moved to the darkest position he could find and crouched. He listened. He heard nothing.
Finally, “Perkins,” he whispered; still, nothing but silence. “Perkins, where are you?”
He moved to the next bush in line, farther into the darkness. “Perkins,” he whispered again. “Perkins, it’s Kellerman, where …”
He was interrupted by a meek call from somewhere out by the farthest bush. “Overrr herrrrre,” the voice whispered, barely audible.
Kelly moved another bush closer. “Perkins, is that you?”
“Yes,” came another whisper.
“Perkins, do you have the pistol? Who was doing all the shooting?” No answer. He moved to the next, and then the last bush in the line. There, lying as close to the ground as was humanly possible, was Perkins. He was completely prone, with both hands flat on the ground and pulled up toward his chin. His face was lying in the dust and as he raised it as Kelly approached, the dust, caked from sweat, fell in chunks.
