by Alan James
“Well yes … no … He uses pictures … symbols.”
“I can sew that cut on your forehead,” the doctor broke in.
“What?” Brandt turned.
“Your forehead, do you want me to sew it closed?”
‘Christ,’ Kelly thought, ‘what are you doin’ Doc, let the S.O.B. bleed to death.’
“No,” Brandt barked, then softer, “no, maybe later.” He motioned at Kelly again, “What about these pictures?”
“Well, He showed me where He comes from … what it looks like. He showed me pictures of my brother.”
“And how does this thing know your brother?”
“Hell, I don’t know … I don’t even know my brother … I mean, I don’t even have a brother.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Kellerman?”
Kelly could tell that Brandt’s temper was growing shorter. “Look, I don’t know how to explain this part. It seems He tries to manipulate me, with emotions. He made me believe I have a brother, and that he, my brother, is in trouble. He wants me to help.”
“And what is it he wants you to do?”
“Look, I know this isn’t the answer you want to hear, but … I don’t know … yet,” he added at the end of the sentence as he saw the fire blaze in Brandt’s eyes. “I don’t know, I swear, I don’t know.”
Brandt reached to wipe away another rivulet of blood making its way down from his head wound. He wavered slightly. Kelly’s eyes went to the doctor who looked back knowingly. ‘Maybe it won’t be too long,’ he thought to himself, ‘time might solve this problem.’
“How do you make it shoot?” Brandt said trying to gain his feet. Forest stood, instinctively helping.
“Damned Hippocratic oath,” Kelly muttered.
“What was that?” Brandt asked, now standing on his own.
“I said the damned thing shoots whenever it wants to. I don’t really have any control over it.”
Brandt once again pointed the Colt at Matson.
Kelly raised both hands, palms up, “OK, look, best I can tell you is: it shoots when I’m in trouble, or when I’m hurt … like when your goon slammed my shoulders, or when you kicked me.”
“Or when you were hanging from the Sikorsky?” Brandt asked.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Brandt began to stagger. Taking a couple quick steps backward, his knees gave way and he went down slowly on his butt. Using his free hand to support himself, he maintained aim in Kelly’s general direction.
“Get over there with them,” he said to Forest. “Sit doctor,” he ordered, as Forest had remained standing. “Looks like I’m not going to last until help gets here,” his head fell to his chest.
Kelly anticipated standing and rushing him, but Brandt recovered quickly.
“It’s time to take care of loose ends,” he said, almost at a whisper. “If I pass out … the plane disappears … and I won’t let that happen.” He rolled forward, tucked his legs under, and pushed himself up, staggering in a small circle until finally maintaining a semblance of balance. Kelly watched as the forty-five wavered side-to-side, slowly rising until it was pointed at a spot just above his brow line.
‘God,’ Kelly thought, ‘I hope this ain’t gonna be like in the movies, where the guy stands there, talking for ten minutes before he shoots.’
It wasn’t. Kelly watched as Brandt’s finger, seemingly in slow motion, squeezed the trigger. He heard the sound. He thought that strange. He had always heard that you never hear the shot that kills you. ‘Any second,’ he thought, ‘I’ll feel the pain … or … maybe, I won’t.’
He had closed his eyes and visions of the night before came rushing over him. ‘Oh Jesus, I don’t even get to see my whole life. It just starts with last night.’ He watched as he stepped from the motor pool car and walked toward the trailer. The old airplanes, the control tower and its broken windows … ‘and there’s was Cory, holding the little thirty-two on me … ‘Lieutenant,’ he says, just like last night … and there’s Cory, holding the little thirty-two on me, ‘Lieutenant,’ he says, just like last night … and there’s Cory …?’
“What the …, I can’t even get my last dream right. It’s got a damn hic-cup in it.”
Kelly’s eyes were now open slightly and the vision of Cory continued to perplex him.
“Lieutenant,” the voice called again.
Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Lieutenant, it’s me, Cory.”
Kelly rolled his head up and saw the young man standing in front of him. Still not sure, he fingered his forehead, checking for the gruesome forty-five caliber hole.
“Christ Cory, where in God’s good name did you come from?”
“ … been hiding in one of the drainage culverts under the service road,” he said with a quivering lower lip. “I got to watch the whole shootin’ match from there.” He paused as he took a deep breath, then, “Looks like I got back here just in time.” Tossing the empty pistol to the ground, he finished with a lilting voice, “Good thing I had one round left.”
“Yeah … yeah, good thing,” Kelly said, while looking down at Brandt’s body, then back up at the young man. “You did good Cory, but, you scared me worse this time than last. Hell, I thought we were meetin’ up at the Pearly-Gates.”
“Hah,” Cory laughed in a sudden release of emotion, “after all this, are you sure that’s where we’re goin’?”
A PILOT, AT LAST
Kelly slid the twelve-by-twelve inch square piece of plywood over the broken spring. It rested in place perfectly. Cory had found a pair of wire cutters earlier, and was about to cut the spring short enough that it would no longer protrude beyond the upholstery. Kelly stopped him in time and then took a full fifteen minutes explaining why that would not be a good thing to do. In the end, he told him that the plane was alive, and “how’d you like it if I cut off one of your fingers.” That seemed to get the point across.
“All right, I think I’m ready to give this a try. You guys better all move outside. I’m not sure what the vibrations will do, but there’s liable to be glass from these hangar windows falling all over the place.”
Kelly lowered himself into the seat and reached for the belts. “What the hell?” he said, not finding them on the first grab. He spun in the seat, checking the floor of the cockpit, then the area immediately behind the seat. He would have sworn that there were belts when they removed Parker.
“Hey Ken,” he yelled as Matson was walking away, “this thing had shoulder and leg belts, didn’t it? … when we removed Parker?”
“Of course it did, you couldn’t fly it without them.”
“Well, it ain’t got any now.”
Matson’s shoulders slumped, his hands hung at his sides. Then, scratching his head, “Maybe you ought to climb down then, ‘till we can rig somethin’. You’re liable to kill yourself without restraints. You saw the way it can maneuver … hell, it’ll plaster you all over the insides of the canopy.”
“I’ll take it easy Ken, real easy. I just want to get it runnin’, take it up few feet, then set it right back down, that’s all.”
Matson shook his head, then herded Forest and Cory outside.
Kelly leaned back hard against the plywood. It was working; no problem with the broken spring. As he looked up at the opening over his head, the canopy, not so much as snapped shut, as it just, all of a sudden, seemed to be closed, instantly. Taking only a moment to marvel at that, he grabbed the joy stick and moved it slowly to what he thought might be the neutral position in front of him. He moved his feet to the rudder pedals; no pedals. He pushed into the floor board where they should have been, and the metal gave way. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘we do have rudder pedals.’
He pulled back on the stick, ever so slightly; nothing happened. He pulled back more; still nothing. Laying the stick side to side, he looked to the rear of the disc wings. Nothing moved.
“Hell, the drive unit, t
he gravity drive, isn’t even working. I ought to be able to hear it, or feel it, but there’s nothing.”
While holding the stick, he re-centered it, then concentrated, trying to will the unit to start; still nothing. Putting both hands on the side of the cockpit, just below the canopy rail, he closed his eyes and relaxed. At first the results were the same, but then, slowly, he could feel himself drifting, floating, his vision clouded with the soft rose color of that far off place. And then, there, just out of reach, was his Brother. Kelly reached for him but the image moved just far enough away to be out of his grasp. Kelly tried to step forward, and then reach again. The image moved away, just enough, again and again.
“Brother,” Kelly said softly, “why do you taunt me?”
The figure turned slowly until it was facing away from him. It wore a one piece covering not unlike a jumpsuit, except there were no pockets, no zippers or buttons. It almost appeared to be painted on the figure. As Kelly watched, a spot on his Brothers lower left back began to turn a deep crimson. He was bleeding. He was bleeding in the same spot that Parker had bled. He was bleeding as if punctured by the broken spring in the seat.
“Jesus,” Kelly said out loud, “he’s speaking in pictorial metaphor. He wants a direct connection, like He had with Parker.”
The thought of another direct connection … one that meant connecting directly to the plane instead of the little piece of metal … a connection that he would have no control over, scared him. Two times, his previous connections were broken by pure luck. The other time, Dr. Forest had been there to pull the piece of metal from the wound in his palm. This time, there might be no way to free himself.
A feeling of closeness, of claustrophobia, seized him from all sides. He could feel the cockpit closing around him. As it continued to smother him, his Brother was pleading again, “Kelly, take my hand,” he said, reaching.
His name rang in his ears. His Brother had called him by his name. With his face warming and tears welling in his eyes, he pulled his hands from the sides of the cockpit. He felt the entire ship rumble. As he thought of it, the canopy opened, and he could hear glass falling from windows in the hangar. Afraid to touch the cockpit again, he moved his legs to the side and tucked them toward the rear along the sides of the seat, then, leaning forward quickly, he pushed himself to a standing position without using his hands.
Stepping out onto the wing he could see the others. They had run to the middle of the open area between the two hangars.
“Kelly, are you all right … what was that?” Matson yelled, as they moved back toward the opening in the hangar.
As Matson called his name, Kelly heard his name again, in near unison, in a soft whisper. It came from the cockpit. As he looked back to where the sound had came from, he saw blood, his blood, lots of his blood, below the canopy rail where he had held his right hand. The dressing that Forest had applied was soaked. Grabbing his hand and holding it to his chest, he watched as the blood in the cockpit quickly disappeared into the chrome surface. “Kelly,” came the whisper again.
Bothered by this new voice; a voice he wasn’t sure was real, or perhaps existed only in his head; he moved to the packing crate and stepped down off the disc.
“Kelly, let me look at that,” Forest said, rushing up to grab his hand. Unwrapping the bloodied cloth, the doctor was surprised to see that the wound was healing well. “I thought you had torn the whole thing open again, but, it’s doing nicely.” He paused and worked Kelly’s arm through a couple ranges of motion. “Does your arm or shoulder hurt?”
Moving his shoulder joint a little by himself, “No, not really Doc … feels pretty good,” then, with a puzzled look, “where in hell did all that blood come from?”
Was there more than what is here on this bandage?”
“Yeah, the canopy rail was covered with it.”
Forest looked at the wound again, “It must have come from here, but this is all closed up and scabbing over.” He looked up over Kelly’s shoulder at the disc. “I think your friend is helping,” he said, nodding into the hangar.
Kelly turned to look, “I’m not so sure he’s my friend Doc.”
“What do you mean Kelly,” Matson asked, “and what was that noise that rattled the hangar?”
“Kelly,” the whisper came again.
Kelly looked at the others. They showed no reaction, just a look of question as he turned and continued to stare into the hangar. He knew then that the voice was in his head, and that he was the only one that could hear it.
Kelly broke his concentration on the disc and looked at the others, each in turn. Forest recognized the lost look in his eyes, “Kelly … Kelly! Hey Kelly!” he said, shaking him.
As the glaze left his eyes the doctor guided him to the hangar wall and sat him down, leaning him back against the cold steel.
“C’mon Kelly, we want to help,” Matson offered, “Tell us, what’s going on … please?”
Kelly raised his head, looking at the nearly full moon. He felt the almost healing, cool desert wind play on his neck. ‘How many other people on Earth are looking at this same moon, at this very moment?’ he thought, ‘and how many are wondering what they’re going to do with the flying-saucer sitting in their back yard?’ “Not many, I’ll bet,” he said softly.
What’s that, Kelly?” Matson asked, “I didn’t hear you.”
Forcing himself, he grabbed at reality once more, and lowering his head he stared at the wound on his hand, “Nothin’ Ken, it was nothin’”. He turned his hand, front to back, then looked up, “Look, fellas, this is hard … I don’t … I …” he changed his train of thought, “I’m just a normal, healthy,” he half chuckled, “or at least somewhat healthy, red-blooded, all American boy. I never asked to be singled out for anything like this. I don’t know from this stuff … this alien stuff. All I can tell you … is … what I think … what I feel is happening to me. I’ve told you most of that already … but … now I think He wants me connected.”
“You mean like you were with that piece of metal shoved under your skin?” Forest asked.
“No Doc, he wants more than that. He wants me leanin’ up against that broken spring … connected directly to him … like Parker.”
“But it killed Parker,” Cory entered the conversation.
“I’m not convinced of that,” Kelly returned, “at least, not completely, not yet, but, the thought does bother me … a lot.”
“Can’t you operate it from here, from outside? Wasn’t that you doing all the shooting before?” asked Matson.
“No, that wasn’t me … well it was, but only indirectly. When I was hurt, I would use the piece of metal, and He would know I needed help. He was protecting me. I don’t think He’ll let me do that now. The feelings I got when I was just in there … He wants me inside … and connected.”
Matson and Forest looked at one another, then to Kelly. “You’re not considering doing that are you?” Matson asked.
“I’m starting to think,” he hung his head again, “that I don’t have much of a choice. Sitting here now, I can feel Him … while it sits in there … I can feel him. How crazy is that? It’s as if He’s getting stronger, or I’m getting weaker. I don’t think it matters which, but I get the feeling that it won’t be long before the urge will be overpowering.”
Forest put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, “What happened to the blood you just lost in the cockpit?”
“Same as on the wing when the metal piece disappeared; it faded into the chrome.”
Forest said, shaking his head slowly, “Well, that’s it then, isn’t it? This plane, this disc, or flying saucer, whatever you want to call it … like you said, it’s a living, breathing being, and now it has your blood. It knows you … and worse than that, now … it knows you intimately.”
Kelly reached out a hand to Forest, who helped him to his feet. He took a few steps toward the opening in the hangar and Matson reminded him, �
�What about seat belts? We haven’t had time to scrounge something up for you.”
Continuing his slow walk inside, Kelly said without turning around, “I think seat belts are the least of my worries Ken, anyway, anything we jury rig is liable to do more damage than good. Probably just cut me in two.”
One foot to the crate and the next to the wing and Kelly was up. As he moved to the open cockpit he remarked, “This gun arming light is goin’ crazy again.”
Matson, holding the big Colt, spun to look outside. Straining his eyes to see in the moonlight, “I don’t see anybody out here.”
“There can’t be anyone left, but us,” Forest said, “and from what Cory says, there wasn’t a soul left on the other side.”
Kelly turned to face the three men standing below him, “That only leaves one answer,” he paused, “Nevada’s on the way again. I’ve got no idea how far out He picked them up, so we better not take any chances.” He looked at Matson, “You guys have got to get out of here.”
“Sure Kelly, we’ll move outside like last time.”
“That’s not what I mean, Ken. You guys better try to make the highway, and then Tucson. This is gonna get ugly. They’ll bring three or four times the manpower that Brandt had, and they’ll be shootin’ first and askin’ questions later.”
“And what if you need help?”
Kelly gave them a half smile, “I appreciate the offer, but I think the best help you can give, will be to stay out of the way, so I don’t have to worry about you.”
“Listen Kelly,” Matson took on a somber tone, “if we should, somehow, all survive this … how will we find you?”
Kelly thought for a moment, “If you make it to Tucson, where’re you headin’ after that?”
“Probably back up to Maryland, where our help is.”
“Too many people up in that part of the country. This thing’ll stick out like a … hell, it’ll stick out like a flying saucer,” he chuckled.
“I suppose you’re right. You got any ideas?”
“Yeah, tell you what,” he smiled, “in a week, you start runnin’ an ad in the Sunday classifieds in the Miami Herald. You can do that by phone from Maryland. Make the ad say you’re selling an old surplus F-eighty-six, for parts, and leave your number. If you don’t hear from me after two or three weeks, well, by then I guess you can expect the worst.
