Contact

by Johnny B. Truant

  Things got easier from here. No one would know they’d come out of the house even if they got caught. That was half the battle. Heading back in through the shed should be easy, especially if they waited for nightfall. Even if they were spotted, they could pretend to be anyone — newcomers even. Or maybe they could don gray suits and pretend to be aliens. These stupid people would believe anything.

  But they were also moving away from the human clot, and that made things easier, too.

  They skirted the lake to the off-screen alcove where they’d seen everyone gather after that initial THUMP. The way they’d all run down here that day, it was as if Jesus (again, E.T. Jesus) had jumped down here and demanded worship. That hadn’t lasted long. Shortly afterward, the hippies had moved from interest in whatever was here to active avoidance. Just like they would with the fire: they’d run to it, knowing it could hurt them, like lemmings. Then they’d leave, and steer clear of the reeking smoke.

  The alcove was like that: first interesting, now deserted.

  “Start recording,” Vincent said as they neared it, still unable to see what waited behind the trees.

  Terrence touched the device mounted above his sunglasses, finally useful out here in the sun. “Recording.”

  “You give a verbal time index?”

  “There’s a time index on the file sixty times each second, Vincent.”

  “Manually.”

  “Why would I do it manually?”

  “To index it, asshole.”

  “The file indexes it, Vincent.”

  “Jesus, Terrence. Just say the time, and make me happy.”

  “Okay. ‘Fourteen twenty-seven p.m.’”

  “What day?”

  “Tuesday, I think.”

  “Day of the year.”

  Terrence was rolling his eyes, so Christopher stepped in front of his face, front and center on the camera above his sunglasses. “Hi, everyone, thanks for tuning in today. I’m Christopher Green, and I’ll be your host for the reveal of whatever the fuck the frightened villagers saw. It’s Tuesday at two twenty-seven PM, and — ”

  “Fourteen twenty-eight now,” Terrence corrected.

  “ — fourteen twenty-eight, and —”

  “Shut up, Christopher. Terrence, start a new file. Delete that one.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Terrence said.

  “You can’t delete and start again?”

  “It’s repurposed surplus. I figured I’d just cut it up when we got back inside.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Who exactly are you trying to impress with this dramatic footage, Vince?”

  Vincent looked at Christopher. Possibly because he didn’t like being called ‘Vince’ and possibly because the question was valid. This footage wasn’t for posterity. It was for the people in the bunker since the trio hadn’t allowed them to come topside in person. Posturing as if they were doing the moon landing was stupid and self-important — two things Vincent was usually bigger than.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

  They moved forward through the trees. When they reached the clearing, Christopher felt his breath stop. He couldn’t say why, but it caught in his throat nonetheless.

  He fell back a step, staring at the titanic stone finger pointing straight into the sky.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “What is this?” Christopher said.

  “It’s a rock.” Vincent shrugged, unimpressed. “I figured we’d find a weapon or something. This is what they were so worked up about?”

  But Terrence, at least, seemed to respect the thing. He moved forward and touched its surface. With, Christopher thought, something like reverence.

  “Quartz. Feldspar,” he said.

  “Bless you.”

  “It’s granite.”

  “So what?” Vincent shrugged.

  “What’s it doing here? It has to weigh hundreds of tons.”

  “That’s fantastic. Let’s make countertops.”

  Terrence had made a half circle around the stone, looking up, letting his mounted camera take it all in. He reached the stone’s side and jumped as if goosed.

  “What?” Vincent’s hand flinched toward his gun.

  Terrence turned and pointed. “Check it out.”

  Behind him, partially concealed by the trees, was a second massive stone, and he’d jumped when moving between them, as if shocked.

  Christopher didn’t want to stand between the granite fingers as Terrence had. Vincent stood farther back, avoiding them even more. The straightest path toward the second stone was directly between them, but Vincent and Christopher were hugging trees rather than using it.

  “You getting all this, Terrence?” Christopher asked.

  “Getting it.”

  “Fascinating footage,” Vincent said, thick with sarcasm.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Rocks. I’ve seen rocks before.”

  “Look at the ground, Vincent.” Terrence pointed. The soil and spare grass looked like a bunched-up rug at the thing’s foot. “These were dropped here. Or stuck here, or something. Like Cameron said, about the pyramids and stuff.”

  “I like Cameron fine. Anyone who’s right with Benjamin is right with me. But … the pyramids?”

  “You’re questioning Cameron talking about that stuff and then citing Ben as your frame of reference? Do you remember when everyone thought Ben was crazy, before all this happened?”

  “Motherfucker, I still think Ben is crazy.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Christopher asked.

  Vincent waved the question away. “Before you hooked up with us. It’s nothing.”

  “Except that it’s not nothing.” Terrence turned to Vincent. “It’s the reason we were sent here in the first place.”

  “No, it’s not,” Vincent argued. “We came to get what Cameron needed about Meyer Dempsey.”

  “Who is special because … ” Terrence made come on now gestures with his hands. Christopher assumed he was trying to get Vincent to admit that aliens were real — something he seemed reticent to do based on the stones. As if he’d forgotten that Earth had already welcomed an alien fleet.

  “Okay, fine.” Vincent looked up. “Aliens dropped big rocks down here. Despite not being anywhere around.”

  “Just because there’s no ships in the sky now doesn’t mean they weren’t when these stones were placed.”

  “There was nothing on the cameras.”

  “The cameras don’t show much sky,” Christopher said.

  Terrence gestured at Christopher for Vincent’s benefit, declaring a valid argument made.

  “No wonder you like Cameron,” said Vincent, rolling his eyes.

  “Look.” Terrence pointed.

  Christopher looked. He did not, however, step forward. Neither did Vincent. They watched Terrence move a few steps farther away, trading a single glance. I won’t mock you for being chickenshit about walking between those things if you don’t mock me for the same thing, he seemed to say.

  There was a third stone buried a few feet into the trees at the clearing’s edge. It seemed to have broken some branches on its way down, but they’d missed it in the shadow at first.

  “Three of them?” Christopher was more nervous than rocks should merit. It almost made him want to abort phase two.

  Terrence pointed. He almost seemed excited. “Four.”

  The four stones formed a perfect square, with Terrence in the center. Christopher couldn’t say why, but he wanted to grab Terrence and drag him out of there.

  “Okay, people,” Vincent said with an air of command. “We came up for two reasons, and figuring out what happened here was only one. It’s not Dempsey, returned in carbonite. So let’s go back to the house and get this over with. I’m hungry.”

  “It’s only two twenty-eight.” Christopher smiled at Terrence, hoping he’d give him the updated time, but Terrence was moving farther into the trees, exiting the box of stones at the far si
de, practically running. Vincent and Christopher shuffled down to join him.

  “Six of them?” Vincent said.

  Terrence shook his head and pointed past the two new stones, one of which had knocked a moderately sized tree flat. More pocked the distance. Trees intervened, but the pattern was clear: a double line of stones curving through the woods, arcing around the house. “More than six. It’s a whole row. Two rows.”

  And you’re standing right between them, Christopher thought. For some reason, the thought gave him goose bumps.

  “How many thumps did we hear?” Terrence asked.

  Vincent shrugged. Christopher didn’t know either. A bunch for sure, but maybe a bunch more beyond that. Not all sounds traveled down into the bunker, and there had been times he’d woken in the middle of the night, sure that something had just happened.

  Terrence, usually too cool, was looking down the double line of stones in both directions, almost excited. It was strange but amusing. “They’re circling the property.” He pointed, drawing an imaginary ring. “All the way around.”

  “Maybe,” said Vincent. “Okay, come on. Let’s go. We have shit to plant.”

  Terrence wasn’t moving. His eyes were on the blue sky, its clarity marred by the line of smoke billowing toward the utility shed. He looked over, his delight departed, replaced by what looked somewhat like terror.

  “Did you guys feel that?”

  “What?” Christopher asked.

  “I felt something.”

  “Come on, Terrence. Let’s go. This backpack’s getting heavy.”

  “Something just feels off.” He looked toward the lake then pointed. “Down there. I think it’s down there. Do you see it?”

  “See what?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s different. Is it the float? Was there always a float in the lake?”

  “I think so,” Christopher said.

  “Yes,” Vincent agreed.

  “You’re sure?”

  “No, you’re right. Someone must have run down there and put it in just now. Just to fuck with us.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Clearly,” said Vincent, reading the puzzled way Terrence was staring across the clearing. “What I don’t understand is why.”

  “Something’s different.”

  “Go down and look if it’s bothering you so fucking much.” Vincent rolled his eyes.

  Terrence’s cool slipped another notch. He stared at the lake as if it had slapped him. “No way. I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like the lake?”

  “I feel like we’re being watched,” Terrence said, now looking around in all directions.

  “Terrence … ”

  Terrence’s head ticked toward Christopher as if he had shouted. “You’re not serious.”

  Christopher hadn’t said anything. “Serious about what?”

  “She’s Meyer’s daughter.”

  “Who is?”

  “Lila.”

  Vincent was impatient to proceed with the mission and get back inside, but also with Terrence’s sudden baffling bullshit. “Let’s go, guys.”

  “What about Lila?” Christopher said. “Why are you bringing up Lila?”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

  “I didn’t say anything!” Christopher felt strangely defensive. He hadn’t said a word, but Terrence was looking at him like he’d caught Christopher pissing in the orange juice.

  “If you two don’t get the fuck over here so we can get this done,” Vincent said, “I’m going to revoke my ‘no gunfire’ rule and shoot you both in the dick.”

  “I can’t believe you can’t feel it,” said Terrence. “Can we check with Dan? I feel like they’ve all left the shed and are watching us from the trees.”

  “In the dick,” Vincent repeated.

  “Come on, Terrence,” Christopher said.

  Terrence looked up again then came forward. The flash of oddity on his face seemed to be waning. Once back with the others, his cool slowly returned. Still, Christopher could see a bit of his eyes’ whites through the sunglasses, and they kept ticking around, as if he felt a mysterious stare upon him. Upon them. It was stupid, but infectious. Christopher was catching his paranoia, wanting more than ever to hurry.

  They walked away from the stones, approaching the house, keeping to the shadows and out of sight. They stopped behind the garage, at the end of the house opposite the kitchen and porch.

  Vincent and removed the first brick of C-4 from his pack. “You got your shit together enough to do this, T?”

  Terrence nodded. “Yeah. But let’s be quick.”

  “I don’t want to be out here anymore than you do.” Vincent looked toward the trees, where the lawn was flattest and the hippies had built their shantytown. There were tents scattered through the trees and a handful on each of the home’s sides, but most were on the roadside. There was no way to be sure that they’d all left their tents and shacks to watch the shed burn, and that surety would decrease by the minute. Curiosity only lasted so long. The plan to get back inside assumed the people around the house would eventually lose interest — leaving the shed unattended so they could get back into the bunker through the secured trap door.

  They’d planned to leave explosives along the lake side — enough to mostly level the house. No house, no site to flock to. Vincent figured a blast at the right time (with another distraction to get the hippies out of the way) would scare off the current refugees. The lack of any structure would deter the remainders. But Christopher wasn’t so sure. He’d even tried to raise Cameron on the radio, sure that the boss would agree and countermand Vincent’s plan, but Cameron had been unreachable.

  Christopher didn’t really think the hippies were flocking to the house and figured any idea that they were was stupid. Meyer Dempsey’s place wasn’t on some sort of tour. They weren’t being drawn by the idea of camping around a mountain villa. They were here because ships had come. Because the place supposedly had an energy. Christopher hadn’t felt anything, but it was hard to deny that the hippies did.

  Leveling the house would merely expose the bunker’s concrete top, at the bottom of a smoking crater. Then the hippies would camp right on top of them.

  Terrence was working fast. He already had the first brick mostly wired to the remote trigger. “You sure this shit won’t just blow up the bunker?”

  “You ever been in the military, Chris?” Vincent asked.

  “No.”

  “Weapons technology has changed a lot since C-4 was basically a glorified construction explosive.” He patted the brick. “In the Corps, we called this shit C-5. Because it’s more than C-4, get it? No matter what they call it on the box.”

  “What box?”

  “It’s an expression,” said Terrence, his eye still flicking around whenever he looked up from his work.

  “Set right, it’s pretty directional,” Vincent said. “The bunker is reenforced not just with rebar, but solid fucking iron plating. It’s meant to withstand nukes as long as they’re not dropped right on top of it. But even if it turns out to be shitty construction, which it won’t, 90 percent or so of the explosive force will go forward, not down.”

  “You’re sure?” said Christopher.

  “You’re welcome to come stand in front of it when it goes off,” said Vincent.

  “One in,” said Terrence. “Move down. I want — ”

  Christopher didn’t find out what Terrence wanted because Terrence stopped cold, probably when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Christopher had been looking out at the mountains while Vincent was talking so he saw it come. He saw how fast it came.

  “Shit,” Vincent said.

  “Get the backpack, Vincent.”

  “Shit.”

  Christopher stood from his crouch, back to the home’s siding. He couldn’t move his eyes from the sphere hovering fifty feet away. He’d never seen one up close, and as much as he felt he might be close to shitting his pants,
he couldn’t turn away. The motherships had an indented ring around their middles and various protrusions on their surfaces — but the shuttles, it turned out, were polished and perfect like giant ball bearings. The thing had shot up from somewhere behind the peaks on the western horizon, screamed forward over the lake then stopped on a dime to hover without a sound. If he’d blinked, he’d have missed its approach entirely.

  Beside Christopher, unseen, Vincent said, “Back up.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to outrun it, Vincent.”

  “Back up,” he repeated. Christopher glanced over and saw Vincent carefully zipping and securing his backpack, never moving his eyes from the sphere. Terrence was already halfway down the home’s length, walking backward.

  “Come on, Christopher.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Slowly.”

  He backed up, almost tripping on Vincent. The sphere stayed where it was, silent and still as a hole in the air.

  “To the woods. Get to the woods.”

  “It knows what we were doing.” Christopher looked at the lone brick of explosive they’d left behind. So much for blowing up the house. They could remodel the garage, but that was about it.

  “It can’t know what C-4 is,” Vincent said.

  But that wasn’t what Christopher meant. He was thinking of Terrence, and how he’d said he felt watched. Terrence, who’d gone between those big, strangely forbidding stones. He didn’t mean that the ship, now that it had arrived purely by coincidence, would see the brick and cast judgment. The ship had arrived because of what they’d been doing.

  The ship slowly glided as if on rails. No vibration, its motion smooth and perfectly soundless.

  “You see on the news,” said Christopher, “about how they’ve leveled houses and cities with those death rays or whatever?”

  “When people mess with them,” Vincent said from behind him.

  “You’re right.” Christopher eyed the approaching, featureless sphere. “Clearly, it doesn’t have a problem with us.”

  There was a shout. Many shouts. Followed by the tromping of what sounded like thousands of feet in stampede.

  “More are coming!” Vincent shouted.