Women of the Grey- The Complete Trilogy

by Carol James Marshall

  Disoriented, Lisa stood. She wanted to fight. She wanted to stand up for the imperfect. “Not all the same. Not none different. You are wrong. YOU ARE WRONG.” Lisa was yelling again, staggering towards Granny. She could hear some of the girls crying in the cage.

  Lisa’s tongue hit her teeth. They were sharp, and her vision cleared. Ice splattered the ground around her. Her anger made her stronger. This would end. Reaching for one of the guns she had dropped, Lisa would kill them all. With her teeth and with this gun.

  The Colonel fired three shots. Each hit Lisa precisely where he intended and she fell to the ground.

  “I’m sorry Granny, but she was going to try and kill you.” The Colonel said then Granny nodded to the Colonel. “We’ve got to find a better model for this. This is the third try and it just never seems to go well.”

  Walking over to the cage full of girls, he looked at them, then at Granny. “Is this batch four then?”

  Granny nodded and a soldier unlocked the cage doors. She simply stood staring at all the girls, then turned. The girls lined up and began to follow her. The line was perfectly straight, not a word or slouch of posture from the girls, who all looked forward, not bothering to dry the tears that stained their cheeks. The Colonel watched the formation, marveling at Granny’s powers.

  He had spent his lifetime with Granny, meeting her when he first came to the military as a young man. She had taken a liking to him, quickly taking him under her wing as he rose in the ranks. The Colonel found himself shielding her from higher ups that wanted nothing to do with alien beings.

  The Colonel felt differently now. Conflicted. Would they ever get it right? Sooner or later, Granny would come up with a plan to breed hybrid humans that could breed more hybrid humans. Maybe it was her ego, but she wanted a bit of herself and her race to cover the planet.

  Exhausted, the Colonel was glad it was over for now. He put his eyes back on the girls and followed Granny down the hall to the cars that would lead them to their helicopters. The girls looked forward, except for one. She was staring at the Colonel.

  He realized this girl wasn’t starting at him so much as watching him. Watching where his gun went. Watching if he was paying attention. He looked away from the girl, telling himself that there was always one in every bunch.

  Sunny remembered what she was told. “Blend in, don’t call attention to yourself.” She looked forward carefully, trying not to dart her eyes around. but she had to sneak a look at this human who worked alongside the Original they called Granny. Studying the Colonel, Sunny set his face to memory. She had to remember who he was so she could kill him later. Sunny was starting a mental list of those she’d kill as soon as she could. Granny was number one, and the Colonel a close two.

  Laying on her side, Lisa watched everyone leave. Blinking back tears of happiness, Lisa sighed. She knew everything must have an end, and this was hers.

  The assistant had been dreaming of cherries. Occasionally cherries would grow well in The Grey’s garden. Cherries were her favorite thing. The color of the fruit, the pop of flavor in her mouth would brush away the sourness of her life in The Grey. When the cherries were available, Superior Mother’s assistant hoarded them for herself.

  Now, opening her eyes, she woke from the dreams of sweet fruit. She rubbed her head, her arms, and was amazed she was still alive. Superior Mother had tossed her. She remembered that but shoved it aside. What use was it to remember the fear of that or the pain. She’d only help Superior Mother anyway. It was useless to play victim.

  A victim doesn’t believe in its abuser’s cause, they only unwillingly participate in it. Superior Mother’s assistant believed in The Grey. She believed that their leader could once again rise up, clean the addiction away, and sweep away the dirt of it all.

  She had always believed that The Grey was special. As a daughter of the Grey, she never back-talked or questioned the orders of a mother. On her first mission she had quickly killed her marks, proving that without doubt she would obey and do what was wanted of her. When her turn came to breed, the assistant didn’t think of her baby. It wasn’t hers. It was The Grey’s.

  Standing up, the assistant felt wobbly. She puckered her lips. How many times had she told herself not to think about that baby. It was born with brown hair. When she handed it over to the nursery mothers, they squinted at the baby, then gave her a look.

  They took it anyway, acting as if her child was returned merchandise from a thrift store. That hurt. Sometimes, while she worked her way up, working missions and following orders to perfection, she’d catch glimpses of the daughters of The Grey walking through halls or in the cafeteria. There was never a brown-haired girl.

  The assistant was crying now. She pinched herself. Punishment for thinking. She’s told herself over and over. Thinking about herself, that baby, anything, was bad. It was better to accept, look forward, and do as you’re told.

  Sniffing, she walked through the broken door. She’d find Superior Mother and somehow bring her back to her quarters. Bring her back, clean her up, and shove her out in front of the crowd of mothers.

  She’d get this done, somehow. The halls were quiet and the assistant took note of it. The halls of The Grey had gone quiet since Red spread from bad habit to addiction. This was a different quiet. It was ghostly. It was a quiet running silently through the walls and doors sneakily taking over the place.

  Reaching the end of the halls that led to Superior Mother’s rooms the assistant stopped. She was dizzy, her head felt heavy and unattached. It felt like Superior Mother had severed it and then stuck it back on.

  Slowly, she walked down a second hallway that led to a gathering area. There were several of these in The Grey. A common room, where many would gather to chat or whine. When she first opened the door, it was silent also. Deathly silence rang out, but there was a rush from somewhere.

  The rush sounded like wind, nature, outside. The assistant was confused by it. It was the sound of an open window on a breezy spring day. She hadn’t heard that kind of sound in years, not since her last mission. That caused her to pause as well. On her last mission, she had luxuriated in opening windows. It seemed silly now, but back then doing something as simple as opening a window thrilled her. Especially in the morning. She could open a window, grab a cup of coffee, and just listen. She didn’t venture out much back then. She still had the hurt of losing Jesse on her mind.

  The assistant loudly sighed, then pinched her other arm. She wasn’t supposed to think of him. The father of the baby. That was done. That was thinking about herself again and so was the window. The window was thinking about herself again. Double pinch for that.

  Walking around the common room, everything looked normal until she spotted the door that led out. A foot was at the door, but the foot was on its side. As if someone was lying on the floor next to the door and their foot got caught.

  How was that possible? The assistant steadied herself as she went, putting her hands on each table and chair as she passed. She wanted to hurry but if she rushed, she’d fall. Her vision was as groggy as her head.

  Reaching the door, she held it and looked down. A man lay there in a puddle of blood. Except for television and movies, she hadn’t seen human blood before. She didn’t like the smell of it. The smell made her already queasy stomach gurgle a little.

  Kneeling, she looked at the man. Murderer, thought the assistant. Why else would a human be dead in the halls of The Grey. He had come with bad intentions. This human had come to kill them all.

  What did he find out about them, she wondered? Looking at him now, the assistant laid her head against the door frame. She wished she could think straight. This dizziness, the thoughts about her life, the weakness in her legs were all working against her. Leaning over, the assistant slapped the dead man. “There. That’s for my sisters.” After all, in The Grey they were all sisters.

  Putting her back against the wall, she shoved against it and worked her way back up to standing. Looking down the
hall to some of the mothers’ quarters, she could see two other dead humans up ahead. With two hands on the wall to steady herself, the assistant slowly made her way to the other bodies. Once she got near them, she sat on the ground and scooted herself over to them.

  Mother Angela and Mother Melissa were laid out. Neither moved, blinked, breathed. The assistant shoved Angela with her foot and Melissa with her hand. She shoved them hard. If they were acting foolish or playing possum, now was not the time. They needed to get up and help her find Superior Mother. She was the only one that could do anything about this.

  They didn’t move and the assistant shoved them again, and again. She shoved them till she was lying on the floor next to them as well. They were dead. She had seen the gunshot wounds, but she believed they were stronger than that.

  The Women of the Grey were an elite race of hybrid aliens. They did not succumb to human guns. They did not bend to the will of something as stupid as a bullet, but they did, and the assistant didn’t like that thought. Instead she chose to believe that they willingly died. Angela and Melissa could have done something to help them all, but they were probably high on Red.

  Red caused them to not care. Red caused them to be sloppy and die by the human’s gun. They chose it. They chose death. This was their fault.

  “Stupid girls…” the assistant hissed then laid on the floor, watching the ceiling warp in and out of her vision. What she could not understand was the addiction to Red. These mothers were smearing the red goop that came out of humans all over their bodies. It was disgusting, and for what? Feelings? Or maybe, she thought, lack of feelings. They didn’t want to feel anymore. Well, that was easy. She had taught herself long ago to not think about things. If a thought happened, she’d push it away, pinch herself to remind her that the pain of that thought wasn’t worth it.

  Instead, these just put Red all over them. The assistant rolled over to her belly. The smell of the dirt on the floor made vomit rise in her throat. If she puked, she’d have to crawl through it. She swallowed hard several times, willed herself not to vomit. If she could spare a hand at the moment, she’d pinch herself again. That pinch would be for thinking about the dirt on the floor a bit too much. The floor was dirty, yes. Get over it.

  She rose a bit and began a slow crawl to the door that led to the bedrooms for mothers. The living quarters of the older ones. These were the mothers that were a bit higher on the food chain. She was working her way to this wing. She thought she was almost there when this happened.

  No matter, though. Once she found Superior Mother, she’d get the mess cleaned up and maybe then then she’d be granted a room here. She heard it was quiet. The older mothers mostly kept to themselves.

  When she had reached the other side of the door the assistant looked up. There were bodies everywhere. Bodies of humans. Bodies of mothers. Not a sound in the room. A despicable silence. The assistant blinked, then blinked again. Thinking that maybe each blink, like windshield wiper blades, would clean away the debris of bodies. It wasn’t working.

  It bothered her that she could smell the humans. That’s why the dirt in the hall bothered her. It wasn’t just their dirt tracked in the halls, but dirt that humans brought in. The dirt from their homes, cars, parking spaces, whatever, now tracked in The Grey where it didn’t belong.

  This is why she almost vomited. She wasn’t being silly. The assistant wished she could take that last pinch back since she didn’t deserve it. She’d save it and next time she was going to pinch herself she’d remember she had one in the bank.

  Placing one hand on her head the assistant felt it for cracks. Why was she still so very dizzy? Maybe the fall had broken her open, like an egg. She couldn’t feel anything. That was both disappointing and helpful.

  Crawling over to a wall, she carefully avoided eye contact with all the open eyes near her. It was as if they were still there watching her but were just too tired to move. She expected to hear breath, a sigh, a moan, or a whimper. None came, just the stillness and the open eyes looking at her.

  The assistant cursed. She would find Superior Mother, she thought, with her eyes closed as tightly as she could. Then she’d explain all this. Tell Superior Mother to get up. Drink some hot tea, get chipper, and fix this.

  “Fix this.” “Fix this.” She rested her head against the wall. “She will fix this.” The assistant dared to look down. The eyes of Mother Loraine looked back up at her, but Loraine wasn’t there. The assistant hated herself then. Hated herself because she had always loathed Loraine.

  How many times did she wish Loraine would never come back from a mission? At least a dozen. How many times did she roll her eyes when Loraine made a comment about Superior Mother’s rules? Every time, thought the assistant. Every damn time. Now Loraine looked at her. The guilt was palpable. “You were a self-righteous bitch.” The assistant felt better. Life would be better with Loraine not in it.

  She was at the end of the hall now. Almost to the cafeteria. One more hallway to go. When she got to the cafeteria she was sure she’d see somebody. That person would tell her where Superior Mother went, then they’d help her find their leader.

  By noon tomorrow, all this would be wiped clean and she’d be making tea, knitting, and all would be well. Maybe the pounding in her head would be gone. She’d feel airy, sweet without a hint of dizzy.

  At the door she heard it, a moan. A soft moan. It sounded like a man. A male. The assistant opened the door, disappointed to see bodies everywhere again. She had hoped that as she reached the center the carnage would lessen.

  Entering the hallway, the assistant leaned against the wall, her eyes rushed to find the sound. Halfway through the hall was a man. He rolled himself from side to side, holding his chest, moaning loudly.

  She didn’t want to help him. It was a human man and they weren’t allowed in The Grey. Besides, he was here with the other humans that had come to kill. So why should she help him? All the mothers that she could see in the hall were dead.

  “I hear you. Come here. Help me,” the man called out to her. What did he hear she questioned? The opening of the door? Her breathing? The sound of his voice cracked open her chest. She knew that voice.

  “Jesse?” She didn’t ask him this question. The assistant asked the air in front of him. She asked the universe. The world. She asked everyone but him.

  “Judy?” The assistant let out a loud sob. It caught her off guard, her grief, her love almost knocking her over. She was not supposed to ever see him again. The assistant fell to her knees, crawling as quickly as she could over several dead mothers and one human woman.

  She fell to the floor next to him, cuddling herself in the crook of his arm. His hand fell to her head and started rubbing it. It was a reflex of love.

  “I came for our daughter.” His breath was shallow, almost gone. Judy didn’t have him for much longer. He’d fade soon. How to tell him she didn’t know where their child was?

  Judy looked up. The baby’s hair was the same color as his. The baby had his hair. She should pinch herself, but stopped. There was a pinch in the bank.

  “I’m sorry, Jesse. I had to.” He ran his fingers in her hair, holding her in his familiar grasp. Judy remembered the feel of love then and a sob once again escaped her mouth. She had put love away for so long. Forcing herself to not think about it. To not linger in the want of it.

  “I love you, Jesse.” Judy was choking now. “I loved her.”

  Jesse rolled over taking both his arms, bringing Judy into him. “I had to know. I had to…” He closed his eyes. Judy pressed her lips to his, whispering. “I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t...” He was gone.

  There was no breath. Judy gently put him back on his back. She hoped he had heard her. Rubbing her lips together, licking up the tears that smeared her face, Judy smiled. That was a gift. She rolled away from Jesse’s body, grateful for that last moment with him.

  She needed to move on, find Superior Mother and fix this. Then, Judy told herself, I’
ll get my daughter back. I will. She kissed Jesse on the forehead and then corrected herself “I’ll get our daughter back. I promise.”

  She needed to stand up and walk out. Judy looked down at Jesse, the one human she had loved, and closed his eyes and said “J plus J equals awesome.” It was a stupid thing he would tell her before he left to work each morning. She had found it so redundant and annoying. Now though, it was silly and sweet. She was the redundant one.

  Judy swung open the doors that led to the cafeteria. Sunlight slammed into her face. Looking up through her dizziness she took note the roof was open. The top of the mountain was opened up like someone had cut off the peak. Birds were flying inside The Grey, and the blue sky passed by the front of Judy’s eyes.

  Looking up was like looking at a wonderland, but then Judy looked down and saw bodies come into focus, twenty, thirty, fifty bodies splayed everywhere, Judy clenched a table, then sat down.

  The Grey was now a grisly wonderland. To look up was blue sky, birds, and a cool breeze that kissed as it went by. To look down was death. Death in multitude. Death in vast numbers. Death done purposely.

  Judy rubbed her face with her hands. She knew then that Superior Mother was among the dead. Where, she did not know. She felt like shaking the bodies “Hey!! Wake up!!! Where is our leader?” That would do no good. The dead can’t answer questions.

  Lying across the bench, Judy wondered. Was she the last of them? Was she the last of The Grey? She closed her eyes, the dizziness sinking her.

  The Colonel wanted to nap on the helicopter. If he did, Granny would not look kindly at him. She was a sour old bitch, that was for sure. She seemed incapable of understanding that he was now an old man that needed and wanted his bed more often than not.

  Granny sat perfectly still with her eyes fixed on the mountain as they rode away. She turned to look at the Colonel, then slightly raised her hand. He understood, looked over to his left and spoke into his com. “And it all fell down.”