by Cara Bristol
“Get Psy,” Tigre said. “Have him intercept the female, do a mind wipe, and relocate her—”
“Before we do anything drastic, let me try to get rid of her,” Chameleon interjected. They had no way of knowing how a human would react to a mind-cleansing. Would the last few minutes be erased? Or would she lose days or years? How far back would the amnesia go? He had dedicated his life to saving others; he hated to rob this human of her identity unless there was no other choice.
“What can you do?” Wingman asked.
“I can personify an Earth life-form and convince her to leave.”
“Okay. Try that first, but bring Psy with you as backup,” Tigre said. “If you can’t get her to leave, then Psy needs to do a mind wipe.”
“Better hurry,” Shadow said. “She’ll have us in sight in two minutes.”
Psy met him at the hatch. “We need to split up,” Chameleon said. “I’ll approach her. You should remain out of sight, unless I call for you.”
They exited the craft. The rumble of a primitive engine indicated they didn’t have long. Psy veered left, ducking into the thicker flora, and Chameleon trotted off to intercept the human. He had to see a life-form to be able to personify it. He couldn’t mimic the female herself because she would think it strange if she came face-to-face with a doppelgänger. Fortunately, as the Castaway had descended into the field, he’d caught sight of an indigenous life-form.
* * * *
Kevanne idled on the quad considering whether to proceed or go home. Recent storms had knocked down a large fir, which lay across the service road. Too much fallen timber lay in the dense woods to allow the quad to pass through easily. She sniffed the air, but smelled only fresh, rain-drenched evergreen and a tinge of exhaust from the four-wheeler. If there’d been a fire, there should have been signs of smoke by now.
Maybe the meteorite hadn’t struck out here. Distances could be deceptive. It could have hit the next county over—or burned itself out before landing.
Except a fireball that big wouldn’t burn out. So, maybe it was a UFO. Which would be really cool! She’d never met an alien.
As a kid, she’d seen every episode of every Star Trek and all the Star Wars movies. The sci-fi channel was her favorite as an adult. Dayton who’d watched auto racing and football had mocked her favorite shows. He’d pulled the plug in the middle of one episode. She’d yelled at him, and—
It’s over. It’s over. She cut the engine to the quad. In the silence, she inhaled the scent of damp earth and evergreen and released the bad memories on the exhale. They ought to bottle this smell, she thought then chuckled. They did bottle it. You could buy pine-scented everything.
What she didn’t smell was smoke. She didn’t hear any crackling. She should return to the house, make a honey-do list, go to town, and hire somebody. Maybe she’d treat herself to a burger at Millie’s and drop in at the antique store and see if they had anything “new.” She couldn’t afford to buy much—she had to save the insurance money for the business—but occasionally she’d find a bargain on a treasure. Like her patchwork quilt. The fabric squares reminded her of the kind of patterns used for men’s boxer shorts, but she imagined some grandma lovingly sewing it from bits and pieces of clothing that had belonged to the family. Sometimes she pretended her grandma—the one who died when Kevanne was a baby—had sewn it.
I’d better go back. I have a lot to do today.
But instead of firing up and reversing the four-wheeler, she swung her leg over and slid off. She loved hiking in the woods, but with the bad weather, she hadn’t been out in days. She checked the sky. Still gray—and the forecast had predicted at least two more days and two more inches of precipitation. The light spot where the meteorite-fireball-not-UFO had broken through had filled in with dark clouds.
Better make haste before the next deluge.
She jumped over the log and hurried up the forest service road, surveying left and right for any signs that something big and fiery had hit. She’d gone maybe a quarter mile when a chuffing noise caused the hair on her nape to stand up.
She froze.
A huge bear lumbered around the bend.
Bear! Oh god! Bear! What do I do? What do I do? Play dead? Climb a tree—no, bears can climb. Walk away? Oh my god. The shovel. I left the shovel on the quad.
She recalled that you needed to behave differently if the animal was a black bear or a grizzly. While the latter were territorial, the former were predatory. This animal’s coat was light brown like a grizzly’s, but black bears could range from light to dark. Why did I have to run into a bear? Why did I leave the shovel on the quad?
Everything in her screamed to run like hell, but she knew better. She inched away, not taking her eyes off the animal. It lifted its head and stared at her. It had weirdly light, almost-silver intelligent-appearing eyes, and she’d almost swear the animal had sought her gaze.
“Stay there, Mr. Bear, stay there.” She spoke softly, partly because she’d recalled you were supposed to speak in a nonthreatening tone, but mostly because she was so freaking scared, she could hardly croak out the words. “I mean you no harm. It’s just little old me, and I’m going to leave now. You can have the woods all to yourself.”
Her heart pounded like she’d run twelve blocks.
I have to get to the quad. Have to get to the quad.
With excruciating slowness, she inched one small step at a time until she smacked into something solid. A scream bubbled up into her throat until she realized she’d gotten off the path and backed into a tree. Maybe she could duck into the woods?
She vetoed that idea—the bear could travel through overgrown brush better and faster than she could. “Go away! Please, go away.” She waved her arms, but the animal continued to stalk her. He’s not leaving. Oh god. It’s a black bear. He’s going to eat me. She tried to step back onto the road, but the belt of her yellow slicker caught on a branch. As she tore it free, she bumped a hard lump in her pocket.
She dug inside and pulled out a canister of bear spray. Hands shaking, she uncapped it, dropping the lid.
The bear stood right there. Saliva dripped from its muzzle, and its odd silver eyes gleamed. It reared up on its hinds legs and let out a menacing growl.
Kevanne shot it in the face.
The bear howled, a surprisingly man-like sound.
She screamed and ran.
She tore down the road as fast as her legs would go. She expected to hear the thundering footfalls of a bear in pursuit, expected a swipe by a massive clawed paw, but she didn’t stop. She ran and ran. She leaped over the fallen log and jumped onto the quad. Firing it up, she reversed and sped away.
* * * *
“She’s gone.” Psy emerged from the woods. “Are you all right?”
Chameleon collapsed into his natural form. “I can’t see! She shot me with something.” His eyes, nose, and mouth burned.
“Yes, you scared her, and she reacted,” Psy said calmly.
The pain was excruciating. He started to rub his streaming eyes, but Psy grabbed his hand. “Don’t do that until we figure out what she shot you with. Let’s get you back to the ship.”
Psy had to guide him. What if he’d been permanently blinded?
“Okay, the steps are right in front of you. One foot up,” Psy said. Chameleon stumbled into the spacecraft.
“The drone captured it all. We saw what happened,” Tigre’s voice boomed. “Let’s get him into a med pod.”
Psy helped him climb into the capsule. The lid closed, and the unit ticked as the analysis wave rolled over him. Moments later, a cool mist sprayed his face, providing some relief but not enough. Then a robotic arm swiveled out and pried open his left eyelid. He flinched. Liquid squirted into his eye, cooling the burn. Then the medi-bot treated the other eye.
The top rolled off the capsule, and he sat up. Besides Psy and Tigre, Wingman had joined them.
“Better?” Psy asked.
“Much. Thank you for your help.”
He wouldn’t have gotten to the ship if not for the Verital’s assistance.
“What did she shoot me with?”
“According to the medi-report, it was a plant-based irritant that causes a burning sensation when it comes into contact with mucous membranes.”
“Why did she attack me? I wasn’t threatening her.”
“She felt threatened,” Psy said. “She was scared to death. She was afraid you were going to eat her.”
“Actually, you were threatening her.” Wingman smirked. “While you were gone, I uploaded the complete body of knowledge available on Earth’s Internet onto a data dot. The Earth creature you personified? It’s called a black bear. It’s an Earth predator. They’re considered very dangerous.”
Chapter Five
The bear’s paws had been blue!
Kevanne got halfway home before the realization hit her. She replayed what had happened. The animal had reared up and waved blue front paws. She hadn’t noticed the hind feet.
After she’d blasted it—its bellow had sounded like a man’s yell. While she had always believed animals were smarter than people gave them credit for, the bear’s gaze held an eerie intelligence.
Blue feet. Silvery eyes. The manly sounding yell.
What if it hadn’t been a bear, but a guy wearing a suit?
Then he deserved to be shot with bear spray for scaring her like that. Not funny. Not funny at all. And stupid.
Spring bear season had opened. Only an idiot with a death wish would prance around the woods in a bear costume. Unless the hunter pretended to be a bear to lure in other bears? There’s no lifeguard in the gene pool. He’s lucky I didn’t have a shotgun instead of pepper spray.
She didn’t own a gun of any kind. She could never shoot anything—even if her life was in danger. Fortunately, she had had her bear spray. Local news had reported the bears had come out of hibernation and were foraging for food. So she’d bought some spray and tucked it into her raincoat as an insurance policy when she hiked in the woods. The claws on the beast had been as long as her fingers, the canine teeth sharp and surprisingly white for a creature without dental care. Reconsidering all the facts, she had to conclude it had been a bear. Not a man. A bear.
Arriving home, she parked the quad in the barn. After her close encounter of the ursine kind, she needed a pick-me-up. She’d go to town, see about hiring a handyman, and then treat herself to a glad-to-be-alive lunch at the diner.
* * * *
Argent was tucked just off the main highway. To get there, you turned left at the billboard proclaiming ARGENT…A GREAT PLACE TO VISIT, headed west for a block, and tried not to blink so you wouldn’t miss the town. Sitting at the red light, Kevanne noticed the town council had replaced the old vandalized billboard. Under the words, “great place to visit,” someone—high school kids probably—had sprayed the words “but you wouldn’t want to live here” on the old one.
She did want to live here. Because it was small and out of the way, Argent soothed like a balm to a wounded soul. She and Dayton had lived in Spokane, Washington. In earlier, happier days, they’d driven by Argent to go snowboarding, a few times stopping at the diner for breakfast before hitting the slopes. He’d mocked Hicksville, but she’d fallen in love with the cozy little town forgotten by time.
While most small communities may not have accepted strangers, the residents of Argent had welcomed Kevanne with open arms. Maybe they pitied her because she’d been widowed young or the slowly dying town desperately needed new blood, but they’d treated her like a local from the start.
The new billboard still carried the same message, but instead of a laughing little boy, a cowboy of indeterminate age smiled down on the highway. Although she’d sworn off men, she could admit the dark-haired model was ruggedly handsome. But if passersby rode into Argent looking for cowboys, they would be disappointed to find an ordinary Idaho town with ordinary folks. Even before completing some online marketing courses, she’d questioned the council’s advertising. The “town” such as it was didn’t have a lot to offer families with small children or those seeking the cowboy and/or Western experience.
The light changed to green, she saluted the cowboy, and turned left.
She parked outside the bait shop, her first and most important stop. A bell over the door tinkled as she entered. “Hey, Gus!” She waved to the owner behind the counter.
“Good morning, girlie! Anything I can help you with?”
His address didn’t offend her. Eighty if a day, Gus called all men and women under fifty “sonny” and “girlie” respectively.
“My roof is leaking. I need a handyman. You know anybody?”
“Nobody specific comes to mind, but folks around here are pretty handy. You might check the bulletin board.”
“That’s why I’m here.” It had been on the bait shop bulletin board she’d spotted the real estate ad for the lavender farm. Her therapist had given her an assignment: once a week get out of the apartment and do something she enjoyed. So, one Saturday, she’d driven to Argent to visit the little antique shop and to have lunch at the diner. That’s when she’d found and bought Grandma’s quilt. After lunch, some force, some kismet had pulled her across the street into the bait shop. The ad, LAVENDER FARM FOR SALE, had jumped out at her. As if it was meant to be. She put an offer on it that weekend—a big, scary move for a newly widowed woman, but she’d felt a surge of pride because she’d forged ahead despite being nervous.
Her therapist had been a little surprised. “Buying a farm wasn’t what I meant,” she’d said.
While therapy had helped her deal with Dayton’s death, buying the farm had been the turning point, and marked the beginning of living again, of rediscovering Kevanne and liking her.
She was disappointed to see there weren’t any handymen for hire, but she’d come prepared and tacked up her own help wanted flyer. She scanned the other ads, noting free kittens and puppies and chicks for sale, and a “best offer” request on an old lawn tractor. Needs work, the ad said. Come summer, she could use a lawn tractor but not one that needed work. She had enough things requiring repair!
Beginning with fixing the roof herself. She walked up to the counter. “I need some shingles and some roof sealant.”
“This way.” Gus tottered to the back of the store.
There were a couple of boxes of shingles and some gallons of sealant. The charcoal-gray shingles wouldn’t match the roof’s medium brown, but she didn’t care. Once she got on a sounder financial footing, she’d replace the whole roof, but for now, leak-free would be good enough. She paid for a box of shingles and gallon of sealant, lugged the purchases out to her car, and then strode across the street to Millie’s Diner.
The smell of fried eggs, bacon, and coffee hit her nose as soon as she stepped inside. Millie’s was packed. Locals occupied all the tables and most of the counter seating. She shrugged out of her yellow slicker and hung it on the hook with the other raincoats. She waved at a few folks and then squeezed into the lone vacant counter stool next to a stranger.
The guy on her left, a local, had finished his meal. Remnants of the omelet special smeared the plate he pushed away. He’d doused everything in ketchup. “Looks like we’re gonna get more rain,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Looks like it,” she said.
“Have a good day.” He picked up his bill and wended his way to the cash register.
The stranger on her right squinted at a menu like it was written in Chinese.
Pad in hand, Millie bustled over. “What can I get ya, hon?” Nearly as ancient as old Gus, Millie owned the place. Breakfast smelled appetizing, but after climbing on the roof, riding into the woods, encountering a bear, and watching YouTube videos on how to repair a leaky roof, the morning had kind of gotten away from her. It was nearly noon.
“Cheeseburger and fries and a coffee,” she said.
“Got it,” Millie said.
“Is the cheeseburger good?” The stranger’s blue eyes we
re so light, they were almost silver.
“I like it,” Kevanne replied. Something about him seemed so familiar. Had they met before? Had she run into him somewhere?
“You ready to order?” Millie asked him.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he replied in a deep, accented voice.
“Same to drink?”
“Yes.”
Millie left to place their orders, and Kevanne surreptitiously eyed the stranger, trying to recall why he seemed so familiar. She was sure she’d never heard the voice before. Maybe she’d seen him across a crowded room? Could he have been a business associate of Dayton’s?
She watched as he fiddled with the ketchup bottle, the napkin dispenser, and the salt and pepper shakers. He sprinkled salt into his palm and sniffed it.
No, not an associate of Dayton’s.
Maybe he only resembled somebody she’d met? Faint lines in skin tanned to mocha radiated from his eyes. Thick medium-brown hair fell over his forehead, and he kept pushing it away as if it annoyed him.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she commented, trying to place a nationality to his accent.
He chuckled. “No, I’m not from around here, although I’m staying in the area temporarily.” She’d always been a sucker for a man with a gravelly voice. Bass? Baritone? Whichever, it was sexy as hell. There was no greater turn-on than a man with a deep voice whispering naughty suggestions in your ear. Or even asking what’s for dinner. It was sexy, period. Not that she was interested.
Dayton had had a rather high voice for a man. People sometimes had mistaken him for a woman on the phone. She’d giggled once…
“Two coffees.” Millie set mugs of steaming brew in front of them and bustled away.
Kevanne took a big gulp. “Perfect as usual.”
The stranger took a drink and spit it back into the cup. “It’s bitter!”
Kevanne stifled a snort. “Millie’s coffee will put hair on your chest.” She liked strong coffee. Black. Unadulterated.
He glanced at his chest. “It will?”
