Aliens on Vacation

by Clete Barrett Smith

  Tate bent down, stuck his face within a few inches of mine. “You see that crowd, boy? If they decide they want to come in here, they sure won’t be using any warrants.”

  Tate made a horrible sound in his throat, then turned and spat a gob of phlegm on Grandma’s porch before settling his eyes on me again. How could Amy possibly share even one atom of DNA with this guy?

  “I’m the only one who can control that mob, so working with me’s the only way to guarantee no one gets hurt. You hear me?” He glanced at his watch. “Now, it’s almost noon. You got one hour to round up your Grandma and any of her customers and bring ’em out front, real peaceable-like. You have my word they won’t be harmed. But I’ll be taking them to the station and closing down this business, for good. That’s the best deal you’re gonna get. After that, well…whatever happens, happens. You understand?”

  The sheriff stood back up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You got one hour.”

  I checked my watch every thirty seconds or so. The minutes remaining till Tate’s deadline ticked by in my head as I tried to think of something I could do as we waited for the Intergalactic Police Force to arrive.

  Unfortunately, they were about the only people who hadn’t shown up. Every resident of Forest Grove seemed to be out front, forming a massive mob that filled up the streets as well as the sidewalk. The crowd spilled over the fence and right into the front yard.

  People were getting noisy, restless. Some waved signs that said things like forest grove is for humans and trees only, and extremely illegal aliens not welcome here. Some of them threw things at the house when Tate wasn’t looking.

  And it wasn’t just the locals we had to worry about. Big white vans with satellite dishes on top rose above the crowd like stones in the Nooksack River, the lettering on their sides a jumble of alphabet soup: KIRO, KOMO, KING, KCPQ. All the Seattle television stations. The people who climbed out carried big lights and cameras, which they either pointed at the house or used to interview the citizens.

  The camera crews all had big umbrellas set up over their equipment. Huge, dark clouds had been blowing across the sky all morning. When that happened around here, the sun was completely blotted out, and the sky got an eerie, dusky look in the middle of the day.

  Grandma, Mr. Harnox, and I huddled together in the sitting room, trying to brainstorm a way out of this mess. We took turns peeking out the windows. Right now it was Grandma’s turn.

  “Oh, great galaxies, there he goes,” she muttered.

  “What’s he doing now?” I asked. We didn’t even need to use Tate’s name anymore.

  “He’s on that bullhorn again. Some nonsense about ‘Is this the type of place we want in our community?’ and ‘Vigilance is the only way we can be sure that our children are safe.’” She did a pretty good imitation of his gruff, self-important voice. “I swear, that man is doing everything but handing out the torches and pitchforks. And it’s funny, isn’t it, how he only seems to fire up the speeches when one of those TV cameras gets near him.”

  I grunted and drummed my fingers on the chair’s armrest. I was having serious trouble picturing a scenario where all of this ended well. What could the Intergalactic Police Force possibly do, anyway? Would they just make things worse? I was coming to the realization that maybe the arrival of more aliens wasn’t the solution to this problem.

  But what if they didn’t show up? What then?

  I had been racking my brain for a Plan B but was coming up blank every time. I checked my watch. Again. Fifty minutes left.

  Grandma turned to look at me. “Scrub? Honey, are you okay?” I shrugged. “As okay as can be expected, I mean?”

  “It’s probably just my stomach.” We hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. Too nervous. “Speaking of torches and pitchforks, maybe we should get the house ready for a worst-case scenario. You know, board up the windows, maybe push some furniture up against the doors?”

  Grandma just shook her head sadly. “If those people decide they want to come in, they’ll find a way in. We won’t keep them out by force.”

  I knew she was right.

  Grandma looked out the window again. Mr. Harnox caught my eye, then stood up and silently motioned toward the hallway.

  I followed and met him near the kitchen door. “What’s up?” I whispered.

  “Little man…you know I wish no pain to the humans…none of the suffering, yes?”

  I craned my neck to look up at him and nodded.

  He held up one long and twisty finger. “However…if they come inside…and try to do the harm to your ancestor-woman…” He fixed me with a stare. “I will stop them.” My breath caught in my throat. “I stop them hard. Are you understanding this?”

  I nodded again. I understood too well.

  I remembered the effortless way he had plucked the two big teenagers off the ground and held them in the air. My imagination conjured up a horrible scene: the mob rushing the house, Mr. Harnox on the porch, scooping up grown men and hurling them back into the crowd, mowing down the citizens of Forest Grove like bowling pins. People could be killed, probably would be killed. Grandma losing her business would be the least of anybody’s worries.

  Oh, man. This was getting worse and worse. “Look, just sit with Grandma right now, okay? Don’t do anything until I tell you. Okay?”

  Mr. Harnox nodded and walked back to the sitting room. I paced up and down the length of the hallway, taking deep breaths. I glanced at my watch. Forty-six minutes until the deadline. Forty-six minutes until the riot starts. Oh, man. My stomach was so knotted up with worry that I felt like throwing up.

  Suddenly an idea came to me. A desperate idea, and not a very good one. But I had to do something.

  I ran upstairs to my room and rifled through my junk drawer. There—buried underneath a pile of alien coins—Tate’s crumpled up business card, the one he had given me the day I met him at the grocery store.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and studied the phone number. Maybe he’d listen to reason, I told myself. Maybe if he agreed to break up the mob, send everyone home, then we could let him in and at least talk to him, make some sort of compromise. I couldn’t think of what that might look like, but the only thing that mattered at the moment was getting all of those angry people out of here, defusing the situation and avoiding any violence.

  I clutched the card and tiptoed down the stairs. After peeking in and making sure that Grandma and Mr. Harnox were still in the sitting room, I snuck into one of the front rooms that had a phone.

  I took a deep breath, rehearsed my opening lines a few times in my head, and dialed the number.

  “Hello?” The voice was muted, hard to make out.

  “Sheriff Tate, this is Scrub, the boy inside the bed-and-breakfast.” I rushed the words, trying to get him to hear me before he said no. “Please listen to me. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, so I’m asking you—”

  “Scrub? Is that you?” Definitely not Tate’s voice.

  “Yeah…”

  The voice was louder this time, but still hushed. “Scrub, it’s me. Amy.” Even with everything that was happening, it still felt good to hear her voice.

  “Amy! Hey, why are you answering this call? Where are you?”

  “I’m in my dad’s patrol car.” I carried the phone to the window and peeked out. Tate’s patrol car sat at the edge of the crowd, where the street turned into a dead end.

  “I don’t see you.”

  “I’m lying down on the floor. I just…I can’t stand to watch what’s going on out there.” Her voice broke. “But I couldn’t just stay home, either.” She was silent for a moment. “Why are you calling my dad?”

  “I’m trying to keep things from getting ugly.”

  “Too late. Things are already ugly.”

  “I know, it’s just…I’m afraid that if I don’t do something, people are going to get hurt. Or worse. I think—”

  “Scrub, I need to tell you something
. I wasn’t sure I was going to—Oh, never mind all that. Just listen to me very closely.” Amy’s voice had changed. It was more urgent, and she sounded more sure of herself. “I overheard my dad talking to his deputy. He’s planning to storm the house with as many people from the mob who will follow him.” I watched Tate circling through the crowd, handing out copies of The Forest Grove Gazette and pointing at the house with a scowl on his face.

  “How do you—”

  “Just listen. He knows he’s being watched, especially with those TV cameras out here. He’s going to climb up on the porch and give a big speech to get people riled up. That’s the signal for his deputy to sneak around the back of your grandma’s house and fire his gun in the air. When the shot goes off, my dad will have an excuse to take action. People will figure the shot’s coming from inside the house, and then when he runs to the front door his supporters will follow him.”

  I looked from the window to where Grandma clutched at Mr. Harnox. “That sneaky jerk, I’ll—”

  “Don’t talk like that about my dad.”

  “Why not? He’s—”

  “Scrub. He’s my dad.”

  “Then why are you trying to help me?” This was getting very complicated.

  “He’s my dad and I believe him. I just don’t believe in him right now.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s doing this all the wrong way. He should be—Never mind. Look, I just needed to tell you so you could make sure everyone in there is safe. I keep trying to talk to him about leaving, doing this another way, but he won’t listen to me.”

  “Well, can you at least try to stall him?”

  “I’ll do what I can, but—”

  “Amy! He’s headed for the car!”

  Click. The line went dead. I watched from the window as Amy jumped out of the car, just as Sheriff Tate opened the door. She started talking, waving her hands in the air, while he stood and frowned at her, arms crossed on top of his big belly.

  I set down the phone and walked back into the sitting room. Grandma was at the window, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “All of those people out there. Who would have thought? I’ve spent my life running an inn for space aliens, and yet this is the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like a bad movie.”

  A lightbulb went on in my brain. I suddenly knew what to do. That’s all it took, those two words. Bad movie.

  I looked at my watch. Forty-one minutes left on Tate’s deadline, if he honored it. I had to act fast.

  “Grandma, stay here and watch things out front, okay? I think I can fix this.”

  “But what are you—”

  “Just trust me, okay?”

  I searched her eyes and saw the trust that I feared I would never see again. “You be careful. And let me know if you need my help.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” I ran down the hall and out the back door.

  I snuck out to the backyard. The forest closed in on Grandma’s house, leaving only a narrow walkway on each side and shielding me from the view of all the gawkers out front.

  I made it to the storage sheds and grabbed a double armload of supplies. Three trips up and down the stairs later, a pile of everything I needed sat in the middle of my room. Newspaper, cardboard, a string of Christmas lights, an oversize tub of Elmer’s glue, a package of long, skinny balloons, a bag of flour, and some paint. Also the Complete Stage Makeup and Accessories Kit for Tourist disguises. I sat on the floor and got to work, trying to ignore the crowd noise underneath the window.

  I hadn’t made a papier-mâché project since first grade and had forgotten how messy it can get. I had also forgotten how bad I am at making papier-mâché projects.

  I checked my watch as I worked. The minutes rushed by much too quickly. The light coming in through the window was definitely getting duller with the threat of thundershowers. When there were ten minutes left, I had almost finished, but some parts were still goopy and damp. I rushed to the bathroom and brought back two hair dryers to speed up the drying process. It was a good thing I had used mostly glue; real papier-mâché takes forever to dry.

  And then I was out of time. I appraised my work. The cardboard was cut sort of crooked; the papier-mâché looked lumpy in too many spots; and the paint colors didn’t exactly match the original.

  But it would have to do.

  I crept down the stairs, cradling my project with both arms. Grandma and Mr. Harnox were in the sitting room, huddled together, peeking out the front windows. I shuffled down the hall, eased myself through the swinging door, then slipped through the kitchen and out the back door.

  I shut the door as quietly as I could and stepped onto the back porch. All of those black clouds made the daytime feel like twilight, and a steady gust of wind pushed against me.

  I set everything down in a pile on the porch, then picked up one piece at a time and started putting it on. When everything was in place, I used a window as a mirror. I turned in circles, looking at myself from all angles. The Jungle Boys would die from their chittering laughter if they saw me like this, but it was now or never.

  The timing had to be just right. I wanted to be in position when Tate started to—

  “May I have your attention, please?” The sheriff’s voice boomed through the bullhorn from the other side of the house. “Some of you may not believe in creatures from the depths of space.” The bullhorn amplified his drawl so that it filled up the darkening sky. “But I have served this community faithfully, and I tell you today that I have seen what I have seen!” I could hear the crowd respond to that out front, a swell of murmured approval. “And I have photographic evidence to back it up!” He received applause and a few cheers.

  I started down the back porch steps, then stopped. I scanned the backyard, looking for Tisdall, Tate’s little deputy. I couldn’t afford to run into him before I could get out front and carry out my plan. Tate droned on as I squinted into the backyard, which was covered in shadows.

  “We’ve all seen the peculiar goings-on at this place of business over the years, have we not?” Some shouts of approval from the mob. “The weird-looking guests that stroll though our town, talking strange and acting more than a little bit off. Am I right?” More shouts and whistles from the other side of the house.

  No sign of Tisdall. The plan could have changed—maybe Tate thought he could get the crowd ready to charge by himself, without the warning shot from his deputy. I reached the bottom of the steps and braced myself for action.

  “Now, I don’t pretend to know everything that’s going on here, folks,” Tate said. “But I do know this: even though this bed-and-breakfast is always full of strange customers…there never seems to be a single car parked out front. You ever notice that, my friends? Have you ever seen a car here? Now just how can that be?”

  More whistles and catcalls. I had a moment of panic when I didn’t think I was going to be able to go through with it after all.

  But then an image of Grandma came to me, huddled inside and watching through the window, terrified of what might happen. I had to make this up to her. That helped me focus.

  “So I guess the question I have to ask all of you is this,” Tate bellowed. “Whether or not you believe in life on other planets…” He paused. I took a deep breath and readied myself.

  “…is this really the kind of establishment we want in our town?”

  A roar of “No!” Tate had done his job. Signal or no signal, that crowd sounded ready to move. Time for me to act.

  I reached behind me and switched on the battery pack. The Christmas lights blinked on. Now or nev—

  “What the…?”

  The voice startled me so badly, my heart stopped. I turned to look, and there was Tisdall, across the backyard. He stepped out from the shadow of a storage shed and into the gloomy pre-storm light.

  He gaped at me, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  And then I noticed that his gun wasn’t pointed at
the sky, ready to take a warning shot. He gripped that gun in two shaking hands, and it was pointed right at me.

  I realized that maybe this wasn’t the best plan in the world.

  My legs were frozen in place. Even when Tisdall started running straight at me, yelling something incoherent, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t breathe.

  He closed the gap quickly, each step bringing him closer and closer. I was so scared that I couldn’t even close my eyes or cover my face with my hands. I was doomed to just stand there and watch the end of it all. The end of me.

  I was dimly aware of the sound of the crowd members out front, yelling and chanting themselves into a deafening, senseless fury. I had time to say a silent prayer that Grandma would somehow be okay even though my plan had backfired and I had failed her and she might never see me alive again—when Tisdall tripped over a croquet mallet and fell face-first in the grass. When his body hit the ground, his arm flailed around, and the gun went off with a roar that sounded like a cannon.

  My ears were ringing from the explosion, but I could still hear a few things from out front. Someone screamed, and then Tate yelled into his bullhorn. “We’re under attack! Follow me!”

  My legs started to work again.

  I raced around the side of the house, my legs churning underneath all of the cardboard and papier-mâché. The mob surged toward the house, Tate in the lead. I dashed around the front porch, waving my hands over my head. I hadn’t rehearsed any good noises, so I just let fly with a “Whoo-oo-oo!” like a Halloween ghost.

  The first person to see me was a big woman in a pink housedress. Sometimes when little kids fall down, they’re so surprised they open up their mouths to cry and no sound comes out for a few seconds. That’s exactly how she looked: her eyes the size of headlights, her mouth open in the scream face with no sound coming out. But then, just like that hurt little kid, her lungs caught up to her, and she belted out the loudest shriek I’ve ever heard. Everyone in the crowd turned at the same instant, and there were more screams, and then everything happened at once.