by William Bebb
As it yowled again tears began trickling down her wrinkly face. She took a deep breath before screaming at him, “Scat, Thomas! Get back to the house before I come down there and wring yer furry flea bitten neck! Go on now, move it!”
The cat looked up at her for another moment before raising his tail and walking stiffly away.
The piece of plywood she sat on creaked and cracked ominously again.
She rechecked the shed's cramped attic space quickly for something else to keep her from falling but other than cobwebs, dust, and spiders there was nothing. Wiping at the tears, she willed herself to remain motionless and silently prayed for her husband or someone (ANYONE) to come save her.
*****
Amalia raised her hands when she saw a grinning Colonel Wilcox standing in the middle of the office pointing a gun at her. I knew he was nuts! Crazy bastard probably already killed his replacement, Hussein. Only question is why he hasn’t fired yet. His gun has a silencer on it. What does he want from me?
“Good afternoon, Amalia. Don't be shy, come on in and lock the door. And don't worry, I won't shoot even though you've proven yourself pigheaded on more than one occasion,” Wilcox said, and laughed quietly.
Without looking away from him, she shut the door. “Okay, what do you want?”
“I want to trust you, Amalia. I really do. I want to believe you're still human.”
She blinked in confusion before speaking. “What are you talking about? Of course I'm human.”
“That's probably just what a pig faced alien would say. Aswan would have said that too if I hadn't seen his true form.”
“Where is Colonel Hussein? What have you done with him?
“Look behind you. See for yourself.”
Amalia turned and saw a man with dark curly hair and dark brown eyes with a gag stuffed in his mouth. He was securely tied to General Heller's big leather office chair with a long bright orange extension cord. He looked bewildered and scared, but not at all like a pig faced alien. “I see what you mean, Brad. Whatever he is, he's certainly not human,” She lied, trying to sound as sincere as possible.
“Damn it, woman! I told you before, call me colonel or Colonel Wilcox!” He yelled, as the gun shook in his hand. “And don't try and patronize me, Amalia! I know he looks normal now. Somehow, he's reverted to his disguise again. He's trying to look normal for you. But I know he's not human. He's a fucking pig faced alien!”
“Calm down, colonel. Let's think this through for a minute. May I remove his gag so he can talk?”
“Okay, but first why don't you drop that gun you have in your shoulder holster, under your jacket. Just take it out slowly and drop it on the floor. Once you get that gag out you can hear for yourself about Admiral Branson and how he's an alien too. And if either of you scream for help I'll shoot you both. Is that understood?”
“Fair enough,” Amalia said, slowly removing her gun from under her jacket. She saw Wilcox's gun pointing directly at her face and decided to play it safe and dropped it to the floor before moving toward Aswan.
Pretending to have trouble removing the gag with one hand, she quickly loosened the end of the extension cord with the other while blocking Wilcox view with her body. As she finally pulled the gag out his mouth the phone on the desk rang.
Still pointing the gun at them, Wilcox pushed the speaker button. “Wilc-” he started to say in his regular voice then started over with his bad impression that sounded like a man from India impersonating a woman. “Will you please hold all calls? I have told you before; I am not to be disturbed.”
“Sorry sir, but there's a Professor James Anniston on the line for General Heller. I've got a Class A clearance for his calls and he says it's urgent.”
Wilcox almost pressed the button to hang up the call as Aswan and Amalia watched him. Biting his lip, he looked uncertain before saying, “Go ahead and put him through.”
Amalia managed to slip Hussein her pocket knife while Wilcox had been distracted by the phone.
As he waited for Anniston's call to be put through, Wilcox glanced over and saw them both looking interested in what the professor might have to say.
*****
The vinyl passenger seat had a growing pool of drool as Frodo sat up and panted.
FBI Agent Shannon Mendez didn't mind, and in many ways thought the dog was a vast improvement over her partner, Simon Hicks. She wondered briefly where he was, but knew he was a big boy and could take care of himself.
The dog whined softly as they drove toward the still crowded Sonny James dealership. Parked cars lined both sides of the road and traffic slowed to a crawl as they got closer.
Mendez was in the middle of a jaw popping yawn when an old truck passing by caught her attention.
There was a girl in the passenger seat that appeared familiar, but it took at least a minute until she remembered where she'd seen her before. It was the same girl she'd seen at the parking lot by the football field earlier. Hitting the brakes, she turned to see if the truck was still visible but it was gone. Horns honked behind her and she stuck out her arm and gave them the one finger salute before driving on.
Traffic was beginning to go a little faster when she saw a large piece of plywood propped against a utility pole in front of a small grassy lot filled with piles of pumpkins of nearly every size. The plywood had been painted with several bright orange pumpkins, but it was the words on the sign that made her pull to the side of the road and check her notebook. The sign said Owen's Pumpkins and the farmer they were sent to talk to had the same last name.
Frodo whined and scratched at the passenger side door when she got out.
“Okay, I'll let you out but don't go running off,” she warned the dog, before opening the door.
Frodo ran to a fire hydrant and attended to something of extreme importance, as Shannon walked toward the lot.
A boy, about thirteen years old, sat on a wooden crate beside the sign. He didn't look up as she walked over and stood beside him.
Looking over, she saw him frantically pressing buttons and wiggling a small joystick. She leaned down and recognized the game. It was the same one her nephews and nieces were addicted to. Demon Dashers wasn't her favorite kind of game, but she'd watched it played enough to know the boy wasn't very good at it. “Wait until the demon knight’s swing their swords then move closer and hit them,” she suggested.
The boy nodded and kept playing as two women walked out of the lot, each carrying a large pumpkin. Looking past them, she saw an older man in denim overalls and a straw hat laughing as another man thumped the side of a pumpkin and listened to the resulting sound.
Glancing down, she saw the boy had taken her advice. Already an impressive pile of demon knights lay around his warrior character on the small screen as he hacked his way through them.
The boy laughed as he reached the end of the level.
“Is that your dad over there, in the straw hat?”
“Yep. Thanks for the tip, lady. You must be really good at this game.”
“Not too bad,” she said, smiling. “So, were you with your dad when he shot that crow?”
The boy looked up and his eyes opened wide. “I uh...” he stammered. “What crow?”
She pulled out her ID card and showed it the boy.
“Holy crap. Are you really with the FBI? You sure don't look like the people they show on TV or in the movies?”
“How so? Why do I look different?” She smiled, expecting to hear him say something about looking too Hispanic or being a woman.
“You're just really pretty. You look more like a model or something.” He blushed as he said it but smiled when she giggled.
“You are quite the charmer, young man. What's your name?”
“I'm Tommy Owens. That's my dad, Craig Owens. Can I see your gun?”
“I'd show it to you, but then I'd have to shoot you,” she said, managing a serious expression as the boy's eyes shot open wide again.
“I'm just kidding, Tommy,”
she said, laughing.
“Oh yeah, that's funny,” he said, laughing nervously. Something behind her caught his attention as he shouted, “Hey, Frodo! Come here, boy.”
The dog had been sniffing a utility pole, but looked up and ran over as he recognized the boy. He barked, trotted over sat in front of him and panted as the boy scratched him behind his ears.
“You know this dog?”
“Sure. That's Frodo. I wonder if Jake's around here somewhere. Bet he'd like to meet a real FBI agent.” The boy continued to pet the dog as he looked around.
“Jake had to go to the hospital earlier.”
Tommy started to speak and she held up a hand. “Don't worry; I'm sure he'll be alright. Think you could keep the dog with you until things get straightened out with Jake?”
“What happened?” He asked, with obvious concern.
“It's a long story. I'm sure it'll be all over the news later.”
“Does this have something to do with Duprat breaking out of jail?”
“What!?”
“Couple of deputies came by about half an hour ago and asked us to call 911 if we spotted him. I overheard one of them talking to my dad. He said Duprat killed someone and escaped from the police station,” the boy said, and shuddered slightly as he looked around uneasily, as if Orlando might be hiding behind a pile of pumpkins.
“Are you sure about all this?”
“Yes ma'am. Are you gonna help catch him?”
I already caught the son of bitch once, she thought but only nodded her head slightly in response.
*****
“Come on, stinky, we got some hiking to do before nightfall,” Orlando said, as he prodded Agent Hicks in the back with a long sharp stick.
They'd been walking through the forest of pine trees for about thirty minutes and Hicks still felt sick from the hot dog. He was finding it hard enough just to keep walking let alone think of a plan to overpower his captor. The worst part was that the kid with the sharp stick and three guns wasn't as stupid as he looked. Handcuffed or not, he wasn't taking any chances with him, at least for now.
He tried to pick up the pace as he carried the backpack of supplies further into the woods. From the direction of the setting sun, he surmised they were heading roughly south but beyond that their destination was still a mystery. He'd asked twice where they were going and both times his captor only laughed and said not to worry about it.
At least it's not anywhere as hot as it was in Afghanistan, a few years ago, Hicks thought. I must have a sign hanging over my head saying please kidnap me. Only difference is back then I had a battalion of troops trying to rescue me. Now, no one even knows I'm missing. On the bright side, he's only poking me with a stick whereas back in Afghanistan they were using blood stained swords. But if numb nuts back there would just make one teensy weensy mistake, I know I could take him out.
Orlando was feeling pretty good considering how badly his day had been going so far. He let Hicks move a little further ahead before slipping the gun back in the holster. Feeling like he deserved a reward, he reaching into his shirt and removed the foil wrapped hotdog he recovered from the wrecked Pinto.
Dropping the wrapper, he took a huge bite out of it and chewed as he walked. After less than a minute he had wolfed down the rest as he followed his smelly new 'friend'.
“Mm, you sure have good taste in hotdogs considering what a nasty smelling bastard you are,” Orlando said, while laughing and poking Hicks with his sharp stick again.
Agent Simon Hicks did indeed smell badly. His head throbbed and he'd been taken prisoner by a redneck of the worst sort, yet as he stumbled through a small creek bed he smiled. He hoped his friend with the sharp stick would soon fall victim to whatever had hit him after his brush with a food he swore would never again pass his lips; the humble hotdog.
*****
Affecting his best New Delhi accent (which really wasn't very good) Wilcox spoke into the speakerphone while still holding a gun on Amalia and Hussein. “Ello, this is Colonel Hussein. I am in command while General Heller is away. How can I be of service?”
“We're fucked. Damn little fuckers gonna kill everyone except the Amish,” Anniston said disjointedly.
“Is this Dr. Anniston?” Wilcox dropped most of his bad accent as he stared at the speakerphone.
“Damn straight, it's me. Just thought you fellows should know that we're all bloody well fucked,” Anniston said, leaning against a small pine tree and cradling his aching broken hand in his lap. With the phone wedged between his shoulder and neck, he took another sip and was surprised by how empty the brandy bottle had mysteriously become. “It's all over. And tell everyone to stop worrying about that explosion. They said it was just an accident.
Oopsie daisy, so sorry we blew up a few people, but don't worry that was just an accident. Unlike what they're planning for the rest of humanity. Do you hear me? We're all bloody well doomed!”
“Dr. Anniston, did these aliens look like pigs by any chance?” Wilcox asked, dropping all pretense of trying to disguise his voice and staring at Hussein.
“Pigs? I don't have any idea what they look li-” Anniston paused a few seconds before asking, “Colonel Wilcox, is that you?”
“That's not important now. Tell me where you're at so we can come take you somewhere safe and debrief you,” Wilcox said, in his most soothing and comforting tone of voice.
“You're still there? And in charge now? Damn it. We've got aliens threatening to wipe out humanity and a sick power mad asshole in charge is the best we can do?”
“Watch who you're calling an asshole, you old fart! Besides, it sounds like you've been drinking. Just get yourself, the bitch and that other old fart back here now or by God I will have you shot!”
“I was worried about humanity just a short while ago, but after talking to you suddenly our extermination doesn't seem anywhere near as tragic. Cheerio, you idiotic man and don't hold your breath on getting an inoculation either,” Anniston said, torn between laughing and crying as he threw his cell phone against the pavement. It shattered in dozens of tiny pieces as he dropped his head and wept.
Wilcox stared at the speakerphone as it made a crashing sound before falling silent.
Hussein took the opportunity to slice the last of the extension cord holding him to the chair as Amalia stepped slightly away from him.
“Dumb old fucker, probably just as drunk as he is senile. Still, better safe than sorry.” Wilcox punched the intercom button for the command post switchboard.
“Communications,” a voice spoke.
“Did you get a location trace on that call from Anniston?” Wilcox asked.
“Got it narrowed to roughly a five mile area.”
“Give the location to the military police. And while you're at it go ahead and call the sheriff's department and local law enforcement too. See if they can help find that RV and bring them in!”
“Yes sir.”
Wilcox hung up and turned as Hussein was in mid leap diving toward him.
Amalia grabbed the metal briefcase on the desk and swung it at Wilcox at the same moment.
Yelling in surprise, Wilcox started pulling the gun's trigger.
*****
The truck picked up speed as Thomas headed for home. All he wanted was to go back to bed and maybe get drunk. He risked a glance at Betty in the rear view mirror and was again struck by how pretty she was. Even sitting there with her head oddly cocked to one side he couldn't help admiring her beauty. There wasn't one particular thing that attracted him. It was an unidentifiable quality, but the closest he could come to it was the girl's uniqueness. She seemed unlike any other girl he'd ever met. But she scared him too. A nagging doubt kept flaring up about her being his granddaughter. Why does she act so weird? What's with her head anyway, tilted like that?
Betty quickly reached for the tuner knob on the truck's radio and twisted it away from the station playing classic country music. She stopped at a place where there was only stat
ic and turned up the volume.
The old man jumped and the truck swerved for a few seconds before he regained control.
“Listen, Miss Betty, turn that racket down! Who said you could touch my stereo anyway!?” Thomas shouted over the din of roaring static.
Betty ignored him until he started to reach for the knob. She slapped his hand and leaned forward apparently listening to the static.
He unrolled the driver side window and saw the town's crazy lady standing next to her grocery cart full of cans on the side of the road. A news van was parked nearby and a young lady with a microphone was talking to her. Upon hearing the truck with loud static playing out the open window they, plus a guy holding a camera on his shoulder, turned to stare at him.
He waved, trying to act like he drove around listening to static every day. “Betty, turn that-” He started to say as they passed the people, but she interrupted him while shutting off the radio.
Flipping on the turn signal for his driveway turn off, he sighed in relief.
“I need you to drive me to the Children's Hospital in Birmingham, after I go get something.”
Pulling into the driveway, Thomas looked at her in confusion before continuing toward the house. “You sick?”
“There's no time to explain. I have to meet someone there.”
Sitting in the truck, he shut off the engine and asked, “You got a boyfriend there?”
“I cannot explain. I have to get something and when I get back you have to drive me there.”
Girl's nuttier than a jar of crunchy peanut butter. Heck, maybe she even knows she's nuts? Maybe I could get a doctor to check her out. Do they have a psychiatric ward there? He wondered. “Okay, but we need to have a talk, young lady. I don't appreciate the way you've been treating me. Granddaughter or not you need to learn some manners.”
Opening the door and climbing out she said, “Yes, of course. I will be back soon.”
Thomas watched as she ran quickly across the yard, disappearing into the woods within seconds. Shaking his head, he climbed out of the truck and belched. It was one of those nasty almost soapy tasting kind and he grimaced in disgust.
