by JA Huss
Sighing, I consider my options as he waits. I can either roll around on my knees and try to get up – or I can get up with some dignity left intact. I shrug and extend my good arm up to him. "Sure."
He takes it and I brace for the explosion of agony that will surely come from my shoulder, but he pulls me to my feet in a smooth, gentle manner. I manage to end upright with only a few squeaks of pain escaping my lips.
"That was unlucky, eh?"
"Unlucky? I almost shot you. I figure that's pretty fucking lucky myself."
"The accident, friend. An unlucky thing to hit that animal."
I grab my gun and ignore him as I hitch my pack up on my hip and shuffle through to check my ammo supply.
"Missing something?"
I give him a long once-over and he waits patiently for me to finish. "You do realize you're trespassing, right? Aliens are not permitted in the RR under any circumstances."
"You'd be surprised," he says.
I swing the shotgun on the strap so it's out in front of me, brace it on my thigh to compensate for my injured shoulder, cycle the next round into the chamber, and then point it straight at his chest. I strain to prevent the wince that really wants to spread across my face. "Look, I don't know who you are, or why you're here, but as a Farm Family Representative of Council 3, I'm asking you to leave under Regulation V.1.b – Aliens are not permitted in the Rural Republic under any circumstances. I have the authority to shoot and if you doubt me, I apologize ahead of time for taking your life. You are hereby legally warned."
"Look, sweetheart–"
I squeeze back and the round blasts out of the chamber but he's high above me in the air as the shot passes into the trees. The leaves rustle and the birds are wild once again. The recoil pain isn't as bad from the standing position, but I feel the blood leaking out under the skin on my hip, creating a bruise. I push the pain down. "I've been shooting since I could walk, sweetheart, and I've had a really shitty day. Do not fuck with me."
He flies off over the trees about a dozen yards away and I can just barely make him out as he lands in the cover of the brush.
"Is that how ya treat someone who saves yer life? Shoot them?"
I snort. "Saved my life? I must have missed that one while I was sleeping."
"Except ya weren't sleeping, Junco. You were unconscious."
It isn't often that I get stunned into silence, but an alien knowing my name in the middle of nowhere can do it. "How the hell do you know my name?"
Silence from him now.
The glimmer of light that was previously there is gone, and so is he.
I take stock of the mountaintop meadow. Where are you, where are you?
Silence.
I pivot on my heel, gun braced one-armed against my stomach to catch the recoil, and do a proper survey of the area. My good arm is tiring quick after all the adrenaline I've used up and it begins to shake. I force the bravado. "Guess you decided to take my–"
Then he is behind me, the gun is flying across the field, and he's twisted my bad shoulder just enough to make me scream out. His lips touch my cheek as he whispers, "Look, I'm not usually the type of person who abuses little girls, but you've shot at me two times now and I'm not going to stand for it. I'm here for the moment and yer just gonna to have to deal with it. Ya got it?"
He eases up on my shoulder and pushes me away from him.
I rub the flaming tissue and wince. "Did you just insult me?"
He tilts his head at me. "What? Me? Ya tried ta shoot me – twice!"
"I might be little, but the way you said it implied I'm insignificant. Which I assure you, I am not. And besides, you're the one who's trespassing, right? That's you." I point my finger up at him. "I have every right to tell you to leave, I'm a fucking representative of Council–"
"3, yeah, I heard ya the first time. Who gives a shit? I'm here. Get over it."
I stare at him in the dim moonlight and quite frankly, I don't care for what I see. "You're so fucking lucky I'm injured."
"Or what?"
"Why are you here?"
"Why are you here?"
"Oh my fucking God, are we in playschool or what?"
"I know where you were going."
I laugh. "The road only goes one place, alien. That's not a hard deduction."
"I know what you were gonna do, as well."
That's it, I'm done. I begin walking down the hill.
"Oi! Where're ya going?" he calls.
I ignore him as he trots a little to catch up. He keeps his distance to a few paces behind as I make my way to the road and then begin the descent down the slope back to the Goat. When I finally reach it I wiggle into the back seat of the cab and lie down, trying to even out my breathing before he gets there. My eyes close as I hear him climb into the front passenger seat.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm sleeping. Get the fuck out of my Goat." My good arm slides under the seat and I allow my finger to caress the high-powered rifle tucked away for emergencies. I can't shoot it, my shoulder would never tolerate that, but it gives me comfort to know it's there.
He doesn't get out. Instead he talks.
"I saw yer headlights coming in the darkness. I didn't think much about it really, but the accident had me concerned. Ya hit yer head pretty hard, there."
Yeah, thanks for the update.
"I'm sorry for twisting yer shoulder, OK?"
My anger leaves me as I listen to his hypnotic words. I struggle to keep my eyes closed but an overwhelming force urges me to look him in the face.
"Junco, I did save your life. Ya had a bad concussion. It was a mistake to fall asleep. I was just tryin' ta help when I brought ya out of it."
This revelation jolts me out of my trance and I fight to shake off my weariness to get this story straight. "Wait," I say as I painfully push my body back up into a half-sitting position. "What? You were touching me when I was sleeping?"
He squirms a little at my tone. "No, look, it wasn't like that. You weren't sleeping, you were unconscious – I just – wrapped ya in my wings so I could bring ya back up."
"You were touching me." It's a statement this time, not a question. "In my sleep."
"Look, I saved your life, for Christ's sake!"
"How dare you swear at me! Don't you realize–"
"I'm sorry, you're right." he looks away and blows out a breath. "I shouldn't have said that. I forgot you are a pious bunch out here."
"Get out!" I snarl. I feel the blood rush to my face and the adrenaline flood my muscles as I watch him extract himself from my vehicle, stopping only to release one of his wings from the floppy seat belt as he exits the Goat.
I let myself smile after he leaves. That pious bullshit works every time on strangers. And he even heard me cussing like a soldier up on the hill. But I'm glad he's gone. I don't remember reading anything about avians having glowing green eyes before. Creepy.
When I wake my crusted-closed eyelids are the least of my worries. I struggle to force them open once I realize the sun is up. My muscles have been welded into my current sleeping orientation and no matter how hard I fight against it, they reward me with an intense shooting pain in my left shoulder with the slightest of movements.
A delicious smell meanders into the cab from outside so I force a shift in position until I can prop myself up without contorting my face into a disfigured expression. I ease my head up just enough to peer out the window and see the avian poking a stick at a roasting bird over a small campfire.
He looks up at me and smiles.
Dammit. So much for stealth. I should be ashamed of myself.
"Hungry now?" His accent is something different than mine, but I can't place it. "Still not talking, eh? Well, I made breakfast," he points to the smoking fowl, "so that should buy me some goodwill."
I wrestle around frantically for a second, trying to find an extraction route that won't cause me to scream, but I can't see it.
"So, how long do ya yo
ung ladies typically pout out here in the wilds, then?" he calls. "Can ya give me an estimate?"
I struggle again, pulling on the seat belt that hangs limply behind the driver's seat to get some leverage, but the aging bracket attaching it to the headliner snaps off from my weight and I give up and lie back with a sigh.
He appears at the broken window on the passenger side. "I can't believe you slept back there in that tiny space." He laughs at me, and I have to admit, he's got a nice look to him, plus his green eyes are bright in the sunlight and they are no longer glowing, so the creep factor has been dialed down a bit.
His large black wings are tucked tight against his back and the tips cup over the top of his shoulders, so I can't see much of them. A few loose arcs of dark hair tumble off his forehead and fall around his eyes. He's wearing some kind of foreign get-up that might be the alien equivalent of black jeans and t-shirt, but they are cut to his specific body modifications and made out of some kind of heavy canvas. It has the look of light armor, something we might wear for war games. His skin is light, but not fair. Like fall has stolen most of the golden tan of summer away.
"That's nice. Short jokes. Very funny." My voice sounds as cranky as I feel.
He lets off a little laugh. "Need some help out?"
I scowl and try to think up another way. But I can't. "Yeah, sure. Just come around here to the other side of the Goat and get in so you can push me up a little." Then I add, "Please."
He smiles at my manners, which make his eyes twinkle a little. Not glow, but still. The creepiness is just under the surface.
The old door creaks as he opens it and I try to turn and look at him but the shoulder flares up at my attempt. I feel his hands reach under me to my good arm and I struggle not to laugh, but it bursts out anyway. I wriggle away from his touch before he pulls back in hesitation.
"Now, what the hell was that?"
"I'm ticklish, so kill me. You can't just slip your hands into someone's pits and not expect them to laugh."
"Can I push you up or not?"
"Yes, push. Just don't stick me in my pits."
He does push and I flail around like a turtle on its back for a few embarrassing seconds, then find myself upright and looking out the window facing the campfire. It smells wonderful.
"Whew, that's better," I say as I turn my whole body so I can see him properly. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." I even manage a smile, which in turn allows him to offer me one back.
"Would you like some help with that shoulder before ya eat?"
"What's that mean?" I ask, looking at him sideways.
"The wings, darlin'," he says, pointing a thumb towards his shoulders, "they heal, remember?"
Of course I remember but I'm not even remotely interested in letting him get a hold of me again, so I lie instead. "No, I'm fine. Really." And just to prove it I scoot over to the door and flip the handle with my good hand, then smile back at him as I push it open.
His hand goes to my good shoulder and stops me before I can make my hasty exit. "Relax, Junco. I can fix it. We aren't going to get far with ya like that, anyway."
"I don't know what you mean by we, but in case you haven't noticed my legs are just fine."
"Yeah, I see that. But we won't be walking out of here. That would take days."
I laugh a little and send him a crooked smile. "The Goat has a winch, so don't you worry about me."
"Sorry, darlin', you won't be winching anything if you don't let me take care of that shoulder."
My lips involuntarily form a snarl and my eyes narrow in anger. "What's with this darling bullshit? Stop calling me that."
He just smiles. "Fine, Junco. Come here, I'll fix the shoulder. Think of it as a gift."
"No." I move to get past him but his eyes catch mine and begin to glow. I'm drawn in and I can't stop looking at him.
"I said come here, Junco."
In my mind I say no. But my body is already wrapped up in his wings and my head begins to spin. I can hear him whisper in my ear, and his breath dances across my cheek.
"Does it feel good?" he asks.
"Mmmmhmmmm, yesss," I say, slurring my words a bit. The heat from his body exchanges between us and my shoulder is sucking it up like a vacuum. My thoughts twist around in an incoherent mess as we sit, melded together. He stays that way for several minutes and my mind is carried away with the effects of his body.
Then I am high above looking down on the Stag. I see a few straggling antelope and watch the wind caress the grass as I begin to float away. "Stop, no flying."
In an instant the heat is gone and the avian has twisted me around to see my face. "What did you just say?"
My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore but my head is really fuzzy, like I'm drunk, so I don't even remember what I said.
He shakes me a little to jar my memory. "Junco? What are you talking about?"
I think hard and squint. "Flying? Did I say flying?"
"What about flying?"
"The Stag is burning," I say as I try to open my eyes.
I feel his chest collapse as he exhales. "What?"
"Just a dream," I say, forcing myself to concentrate. "It was just a dream. Didn't make any sense."
We sit there as I recover. He's still got his arms around me, but his wings never return to make their addictive cocoon of healing. I stay still as the world comes back to me a little at a time. Then our closeness gets weird and I push him off. He hops out and comes over to my side of the door to help me out.
"I'm starving. Can I have some of that?" I point over to the browned bird strung up over the coals.
"Help yourself, there's water too."
"Aren't you going to eat?" I ask. But he just walks away and busies himself with his pack.
"More for me then. And hey," I call out, "thanks, I guess. Shoulder really does feel better."
Chapter Three
He's leaning up against a twisted cottonwood trunk on the other side of the now-dead campfire and I'm gulping down the last of the filtered water from the stream just below us on the hill. "You do realize that you're in a lot of trouble for this," I say, pointing to his uneaten portion of grouse on the spit. "Prairie chickens aren't in season and strangers aren't allowed to hunt in the RR. And aliens are totally forbidden." I stick that in to remind him that he's still a trespasser.
He looks up just long enough to insult me with a dirty look and then goes back to his tech device, his black hair dropping down to cover his forehead and hide his eyes. Ever since I told him about my dream he is acting different and it makes me uneasy, so I talk.
A lot.
"You're a good cook though," I continue. "Not many people can pluck all the feathers out of such a small bird." He doesn't even look up this time.
The tech isn't anything I recognize, but that's not saying much since Farm Families aren't supposed to have much tech in their regular life. My father wasn't in any way obsessive or extreme in his adherence to the doctrine, plus we're military and that comes with certain privileges in the tech department, but I only had a few personal tech items as a kid. I wasn't allowed any communication devices and I wasn't allowed to have programmed learning. I had to read books and study the old-fashioned way.
"So, what do you have there? Some sort of phone or computer?" I ask.
He looks over and laughs. "A phone, eh? Earth must've entered the 22nd century while you were out planting corn or something." His head returns to the device in his hand.
"Mmmmhmmm. Yet another insult. That must be your default setting. And for your information we produce horses, not corn."
He looks up and lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at me slightly, then holds up the thing in his hand to let me see it. "Sorry. It's a tracker."
I look at it intensely until I can make out a small map with some blinking lights. I'm almost afraid to ask but I do anyway. "What's it tracking?"
"Me, maybe? Not sure yet," he replies as he bows his head once more.
I let out a little
"Oh," and then get up. "Well, thanks for breakfast and the healing stuff." I try to think of a word to call it so it doesn't sound like I'm being flippant or rude, but I can't find one. "I'm gonna get going now." I gather myself up and walk back over to the Goat where my shotgun is propped up against the mangled front end.
"Oh, and thanks for retrieving my shotgun," I say as I turn around to find him directly behind me, his wings slightly uplifted, like he's on the verge of something. I never even heard him move and the creepiness from last night is back out in full force. "Wow, you're quite quick and silent when you want to be."
"I think we should stick together, Junco. In fact I was thinking I can help get ya back to safety. Ya know, help ya get the Goat back up on the road. Even though yer healed, yer still pretty–" He hesitates.
"I'm pretty?" I ask.
He laughs a little and shakes his head, which pisses me off for some reason. "No, I was going to say pretty weak, ya know. From yesterday's crash. But then I wondered if ya would take that as an insult as well."
I roll my eyes and try to push past him to get the winch hooked up to a tree, but he leans his hands on either side of the Goat, essentially boxing me in. I shoot him a nasty look and he drops his hands to let me through.
"Thanks for all your help," I call back to him, "but I'm going to take it from here. And I won't report you, so don't worry about that. Just get hell out of the RR before anyone else sees you." I turn to see how he's taking the news but he's not there. When I turn back he's in front of me again.
He shakes his head at me.
I shake mine back and raise my eyebrows.
"You'll refuse my help?"
"Look," I huff, "you have those people tracking you and neither of us is supposed to be out here in the first place, so let's just cut our losses and move on. Separately."
He looks down to the tech that is still in his hand. "They can't see anything here. Some sort of shield."
"Right. That's called a defense system. The deeper you go into the Stag, the thicker the shields. So why don't you just fly over to the Mountain Republic where they probably can track you?"
