Unidentified Flying Suspect (Illegal Alien Book 2)

by Carrie Harris

  But it was beginning to look like I couldn’t, and with every site that failed to yield anything but urine and disappointment, I grew more and more discouraged. There were only two potential locations left on the map, and I didn’t have high hopes for either of them. Both sat too close to the air field for what I considered comfort. Anyone climbing in and out of the drainage tunnels in those areas would have almost certainly been spotted unless they did it in the dark of night, maybe with an invisible UFO. That wasn’t entirely impossible based on everything I’d seen, but I didn’t count it very likely either.

  I parked my car in a Rally’s parking lot about a half a block down from one of the sites and walked down the block to where the street ended in an overgrown field. By this time, I’d grown so despondent that a Rally burger sounded kind of good, and I’d had a hard time eating them ever since Jenn told me about the employee there who’d been arrested for adding his own special sauce to the special sauce. Even though the story had turned out to be false and had come out years ago, I thought of spooge every time I ate at Rally’s. But I was too beat down by my failures to care about it now. That was how low I’d sunk. Spooge burger low.

  This tunnel looked the same as all the others. The same damned grass. The same overgrown mess. The same cracks in the same concrete. The same pile of Sankanium piled right inside the mouth of the tunnel…

  I drew up short in complete and utter shock. Blinked. The Sankanium failed to disappear. It still sat there, glittering in the light that filtered down the grassy slope. The tunnel beyond was smaller than the others and would require that I stoop or lop off my legs below the knees. I decided on stooping, but first, that pile needed inspecting.

  It didn’t yield much in the way of clues, but I took a moment to document it anyway, trying to remain alert for any signs of movement or sounds of approach. The process didn’t last long. I took a few photos, put on a pair of gloves, and sifted through the pile. I didn’t know if the gloves were necessary or not. Whether this stuff would take fingerprints or if aliens had prints to record. But the familiarity of the process helped quell my excitement and keep me centered. I needed that steadiness, because I felt an intense urge to whoop for joy and maybe pump my fist in the air a few times. I’d needed a break, and I’d have to thank Jehovah for this one the next time I remembered to pray. I didn’t do it as often as I probably should have, but if I managed to get out of this situation with an alien in custody, I was going to have a nice, long, thankful chat with the man in charge.

  The pile didn’t provide any other clues, but I wasn’t sure I needed them. It all made perfect sense. The fuckwit had been scavenging Sankanium from the tunnels under the city. I didn’t have a great theory to explain how the Sankanium had ended up under Toledo in the first place, but I wasn’t sure I needed one. Maybe it was a natural resource humans just hadn’t found yet, or we’d found it and didn’t know what we had. Regardless, it was there, and the fuckwit had been collecting it. I knew Sankanium was valuable—the pyrex had been willing to kill over it. The Men in Black were willing to steal for it. This fuckwit had been willing to suffocate me over it and kill those two sewer workers to boot. It wasn’t a huge leap to imagine the fuckwit hoarding it. Maybe to make repairs to his ship, or to sell to the highest bidder, or whatever alien scavengers did once they’d gotten their tentacles on some goods. He’d take it to the alien flea market, for all I knew.

  The Sankanium found on the air field grounds had been part of his stash. I was sure of that now. Maybe the fuckwit had been transporting it across the grounds of the air field, preparing to abscond with it, or delivering it to his fence, or something. It would have had to be at night to avoid discovery, and that had probably worked just fine at first, but with the air show coming up, late night activity at the air field had increased, and he could have been caught unawares, startled, and dropped the Sankanium as he fled for cover. Or he’d just been careless.

  It occurred to me that I should have asked Tsishe the proper pronoun for this fuckwit, since it might be a female fuckwit or even a genderless fuckwit. But then again, I didn’t really give two shits about political correctness, so I supposed the masculine pronoun would do until I learned otherwise. It also occurred to me that I was rambling to myself out of pure relief that the case had opened up. Now I’d try Hardwicke again. I had something concrete to show him, and we’d go into the tunnel together to bring this bastard to justice and find out once and for all if aliens really had nards. Now that I’d thought about the whole gender and genitalia thing, I couldn’t suppress the curiosity. I still found fart humor funny too.

  I was dialing the phone when something launched itself out of the tunnel and knocked me flat on my back.

  CHAPTER 38

  The sky whirled overhead as I toppled to my back, knocked over by whomever (or whatever) had just launched out of the tunnel. It was tallish and humanish but had flung itself at me so rapidly that I couldn’t have given a better description than that. Nor would I have been able to identify the assailant in a line up, if it came down to it. I was too busy flying through the air with the greatest of ease and no grace whatsoever, and I had no chance to make a visual assessment.

  Thanks to my recent training obsession, I managed to fall well, if “well” meant “without hurting myself too badly.” I took the bulk of the impact on my hip, where the all-too-sufficient padding absorbed most of the shock. There were some advantages to growing into middle age and all the bodily changes that came with it. If I’d fallen like this as a cute young thing, pre-pre-pregnancy? My bony little hips would have probably shattered. But all the bonbons, ice cream cones, and takeout meals had served me well in the padding department.

  As a result, the landing might not have been pretty, but I didn’t break anything. It still hurt like hell, though. In the movies, I would have rolled out of the fall and into a smooth run, tackled my assailant before he got away, and handcuffed him while thumpy-thump music played in the background to show what a badass I was. This did not happen. I did not miss the thumpy-thump music, but otherwise I wouldn’t have complained.

  Instead, I laid there in shock and pain, groaning. Maybe only a second or two, because I’d trained myself to move past discomfort, but I wasn’t a robot. My body hurt in umpteen places, and the shoulder I’d dislocated felt like it was on fire. The burning sensation took my breath away for a moment, and the surprise of what had happened pinned me there while my brain tried to catch up with my new and not-at-all improved situation.

  It felt like time lurched back into motion after a second or two, and I scrambled to my feet. My attacker had already gained significant ground on me. He was fast. Tsishe had prepared me for that when we’d talked. He also had tentacles where his arms should have been. Somehow, she’d failed to mention that essential detail, which I thought should have been the first thing to come out of her mouth, description-wise.

  The tentacles in question looked less octopus-on-land and more horror-creature-from-the-deep in my opinion. They lacked suckers, and instead sported a smooth, snakelike surface. They were longer than human arms and probably would have grazed the ground if they hadn’t been curled up to allow the creature to run more easily. The long, fleshy coils bounced against its sides with every step in a manner that made me think of a large-breasted woman without an adequate sports bra. Frankly, I was surprised that the jiggle factor didn’t knock him over entirely, but the tentacles’ thickness and weight was counterbalanced by an equally long tail in the back, so maybe that accounted for it.

  The creature didn’t wear clothes, but from what I could see it didn’t seem to have the kind of private bits that needed covered. Everything was smooth like a Ken doll, at least from the back. Otherwise, it was humanoid, hairless, and covered in that same scaly skin of the tentacles. The tips of the tentacles were brownish, but the rest of its body was a burnt orange color that reminded me of that Crayola shade that never gets used because it looks like fried snot.

  I finally realized I
should be chasing him and lurched forward, but the pain of the impact stole most of my speed. The unreal sight of him slowed me down even more as I tried to process what I was seeing. It felt wrong, the same wrongness that had struck me when I’d seen the no-mouthed face of Ronda’s assailant last winter. The bone-deep knowledge that the thing in front of you was inhuman, something that didn’t belong on this planet. The knowledge that the stories you’d thought were the most ridiculous of fictions actually rang true in some ways.

  It felt like my reality had been sprained. I had been waiting for confirmation of my experience with the no mouthed alien for so long, and now that I had it right in front of me—albeit running away at high speed—I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Triumph warred with fear as it occurred to me that now I had a responsibility. I’d seen them twice and could no longer dismiss them as hallucinations. I knew for certain now that aliens walked the earth. Murdered people. Scavenged resources from us, resources they were willing to kill for.

  I’d taken a vow to protect people, and these aliens were breaking the law. Maybe there were other extraterrestrials out there who didn’t get off on killing humans and taking their things, but these suckers were scum. I could not let this one get away. That thought finally broke me out of the stunned, motionless state and got me running full on. The fuckwit wasn’t quite as fast as the pyrex had been, but it had a good lead on me and a better stride. I could only hope that my determination and cardio training would carry me through.

  The fuckwit had already fled through the grass, away from the Rally’s. As I finally gave pursuit, it looked back to see me coming and continued across a beaten dirt track and into the overgrown cornfield beyond. Its umber colored head bobbed among the stalks as it ran, and I tried to mark its progress as I crossed the street and rushed into the corn in pursuit. Once I was deep into the field, I couldn’t see over the stalks, which already reached my forehead—it would be a good year for corn. Although it had gotten dry and hot, the early rain had gotten the crop off to a good start.

  Luckily, the fuckwit hadn’t made much effort to cover his tracks. If he’d slipped through the corn stealthily, it would have taken an awful lot of luck to catch him. But instead, he’d cut a wide swathe through the rows, and I followed the trail of broken stalks with ease, trying to watch for him among the corn as I ran. I didn’t want him to circle around behind me and wrap that tentacle around me again, and as a precaution against that happening, I kept my hand on the hilt of my firearm, ready to draw if necessary.

  The corn opened up a few feet shy of the air field fence, which was topped with concertina wire. A section of curled wire hung loose from its moorings. It swung to and fro as I emerged from the corn, suggesting that it had just been ripped free. Sure enough, I could see the fuckwit on the other side, running pell-mell across the airfield. I hadn’t gained much on him, but I hadn’t lost ground either.

  “Aw, hell,” I said, trying to catch my breath. It wasn’t too bad, but I felt ragged enough to know I’d be in trouble if I managed to close in on the fuckwit. My cardio regimen had done me plenty of good, but after all the physical abuse I’d been through lately, I wasn’t eager to get into another physical altercation with a dude whose tentacle reach was twice my arm reach. But perhaps I wouldn’t have to confront it on my own. If I could chase it toward the air field guards, I’d have plenty of backup. And witnesses too. Something told me I’d need them.

  I climbed the fence without too much trouble and leaped to the ground on the other side. The fuckwit looked back again to see me in pursuit, and I took the opportunity to shift my direction, hoping to look like I was trying to cut him off. The ploy worked, driving him toward the side entrance of the air field, where I knew a set of guards had been posted. I sprinted after him, digging deep against what I knew to be increasingly depleted stores of energy.

  When the guard first spotted the fuckwit, I heard his reaction before I could see him. My view was blocked by a small guard house to the side of the gate, but the shout of surprise was unmistakable. The fuckwit startled, looking in that direction, and sprinted past at full gallop, quickly steering away from the guard house and off onto the runway.

  Although I’d counted on the presence of the guards, and counted on them giving pursuit, it still took me aback to see Hardwicke come running out from the small structure. I shouted his name, and he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

  “Audrey?” he asked. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “No time to explain! Come on!” I urged.

  We ran as fast as we could. He easily outpaced me with his longer legs and fresher constitution, but it still wasn’t quick enough. The fuckwit reached the runway and climbed into the first aircraft it came to—a little white stunt plane.

  “Crap on a stick!” yelled Hardwicke, and I had to agree.

  CHAPTER 39

  The alien used its tentacles like lassoes, pulling itself onto the wing with rapidity. It at appeared to have a passing understanding of human aircraft, because it didn’t take long for the thing to orient itself. It turned its head to scan the vehicle before loping right over to the cockpit and throwing itself inside.

  “Oh, good,” I said, slowing down slightly from a full on sprint to a jog and trying to catch my breath. I wasn’t quite to the point where I couldn’t talk, but my voice sure shook. “No way it’ll be able to start that plane. It probably has never flown a plane before. Besides, I don’t think pilots leave the keys in the ignition. Planes take keys to start, right?”

  “I have no fucking clue,” said Hardwicke, “What is that thing?”

  “Alien.”

  I delivered the word in a flat tone. If we were going to argue about the existence of aliens, I wanted to capture this one before we started debating in earnest. While we were wishing for things, I wanted to stop running. I just hoped that the fuckwit would busy itself trying to fiddle around with the plane long enough for us to catch up with it.

  The fuckwit reached up with one curling tentacle and somehow managed to close the cockpit. It took me aback; did alien tentacles come with opposable digits on the end? But there was no time to ponder how it had accomplished such a feat or known to do it in the first place. Perhaps my assumption had been wrong, and it knew planes after all. It certainly had proven to be more intelligent that I’d expected. Either way, it had backed itself into a dead end. Even if the cockpit had locked and we couldn’t pull it out of the plane, one of us could stand guard while the other went for a maintenance person to open it. And backup to contain the fuckwit once it was cornered. Something told me that the thing was going to fight us hard once it knew it was cornered.

  We drew closer. A few more steps, and we’d be able to touch the wing.

  Within the cockpit, something sparked. Like the fuckwit had snuck a Fourth of July kiddie sparkler in there and was lighting up in celebration of his great escape. Seemed like a stupid idea to me in such close confines, but what did I know? Maybe the damned creature was inflammable or fed on fire or some such crap. I had no idea what to make of the phenomenon until I heard the growing hum and roar of the engines beginning to catch.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, stopping short and trying to figure out how you were supposed to climb aboard this aircraft. I didn’t see a ladder bolted to the side or anything.

  “What did he do, hotwire it?” demanded Hardwicke over the growing tumult, his face wild with shock and exertion.

  “I have no clue. Maybe there was a key in there after all, or they don’t need one. Maybe he has magical alien hotwiring skills. I don’t know. How do we get up there?”

  Hardwicke circled the aircraft, but I backed away. The roar of the engines was growing to deafening volume, and the air began to buffet at me as the plane sucked it in. Getting pulled into a jet engine wasn’t tops on my list of things to do today. Besides, I still couldn’t see any way in, even if we did manage to get atop the plane. The cockpit was still closed. I figured the glass had to be reinforced to withstand all the pressure
of flight, so it wasn’t like we were going to be able to put a foot through it. And it sure looked like this alien knew his way around human aircraft. I had to assume that he could fly that thing and focus on some way to stop it. If I was wrong, the plane would just sit here and make noise until we caught him.

  “We need help,” I muttered to myself, pulling out my phone. “I think I have one of the maintenance guy’s numbers.”

  I’d taken down Genaro’s number just in case I had questions, and I was hoping he was on site. A quick glance around the area didn’t show any help in the offering, but we were tucked off in a corner of the air field where I didn’t expect significant traffic. While I was looking through my contacts, the sound of the engines changed, and I looked up to see the plane lurch into motion, thumping over the wheel chucks and dragging them along with it.

  “Stop him!” commanded Hardwicke, trotting alongside the plane.

  “What do you want me to do, leap onto the wings? What if he takes off?” I replied, but I didn’t think Hardwicke could hear me. Frankly, I couldn’t hear the damned phone either, and I didn’t want to retreat far enough away to complete the call. I stuffed the phone back into my pocket, trying to come up with a better plan.

  Hardwicke had found a sweet spot where he could trot alongside the slow-moving plane without getting buffeted by its Windstream. I could see him eyeing the landing gear as if he might decide to grab onto it, but he gave up on the idea, presumably for the same reason I had. There would be no guaranteeing our safety if we got on that plane. We would have to stop the fuckwit some other way. And as soon as that occurred to me, I had an idea.