by Geoff North
Hank nodded and turned the ignition back on halfway, just enough for the intermittent wipers to clear the windshield again. He peered through drizzle and spotted the weapons resting between the two farmers. “One twenty-two caliber single shot… the other’s a hunting rifle—looks older and more worn than the truck. How do you want to handle this?”
“Turn back and try another road?”
“Fuck that. There aren’t many more roads to try and I don’t feel like driving down muddy trails all goddamned day. No, we’re going through right here. I want to set up base somewhere in town before dark.”
They exited their vehicle and started towards the half ton.
“You boys lost?” One of the farmers asked. He lifted the brim of his John Deere hat up for a better look.
“Nope,” Hank answered. He showed them his cell phone. “Map on here says this is the place I wanna be. Birdtail Municipality. Population nine-hundred and thirty-three. Seems the whole place has just dropped out of existence in the last few months. It’s made the folks we work for kinda curious. You boys wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Who the hell you work for? FBI?”
“No sir. FBI has no jurisdiction in Canada.”
“Well then if you’re not going to tell us who you work for, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
Mike was keeping an eye on the other farmer, the bigger one. His hand was resting on the handle of the hunting rifle laid out beside him. “What’s your name?”
“Weibe. Brad Weibe.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “I own this half section right here, and I have every right to turn the two of you away.” He lifted the rifle up and rested it across his chest.
Hank could see Mike’s hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. He had that dead eye look on his face that could only mean one thing. Question and answer time was almost up. Weibe looked terrified, but he wasn’t going to back down. Stupid farmers. “Let’s cut through all the shit, Brad. We’ve been trying to get into your town all morning. There are guys like you blocking the main highway and back roads. What’s it all about? Why has Birdtail quit talking to the world? You folks got something to hide?”
“We got no secrets, mister,” John Deere hat said. “My name’s Erik Driscoll and I own land up the road you just came down. If you’re not going to tell us who you are and why you’re here… well maybe I’ll call the cops and tell ‘em we have trespassers.”
Hank smiled. “That’s all fine and dandy, Erik. Pull out your phone and call away.”
Driscoll did nothing.
“What about you, Mr. Weibe? You wanna call the police? I’m betting you guys don’t even have phones, do you?’ He wagged his cell in their faces. “Wanna borrow mine? Oh… that might be a problem because the tower supplying your signal was powered down a few hours ago. Why would the people of Birdtail willingly cuts ties like that with the outside?”
“Just get back in your vehicle and go,” Brad said. “We’re not letting you through.”
“Give us a break, fellas. We just want to make sure everyone in town is okay. Is it an environmental issue?” Driscoll picked up his twenty-two. Hank heard Mike sigh. “You got one of those brain-washing outfits running in there? Or is it something else… folks been seeing strange lights in the sky? Come on, guys, last chance. Level with us and no one gets hurt.”
Driscoll tried to point the gun at Hank and was shot in the chest. He fell back into the truck box and Brad watched in stunned silence as blood ran up the box grooves and mixed with the falling rain.
“Don’t be a jackass, Brad,” Mike said as he holstered his revolver under his jacket. “Don’t even think it.”
Hank stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulders. He pulled the hunting rifle away gently and handed it to his partner. “Didn’t have to go down like this, you know. Now how about you come into town and introduce us around before more people get hurt?”
***
Stewart was seated next to Ethan on the couch. The younger boy was watching a movie and eating potato chips. Stewart didn’t have much of an appetite and wasn’t interested in the movie. He was staring out the window instead, watching it rain. He felt even more trapped when the weather was crap. There was no escaping Birdtail. His parents’ minds were owned by a pair of monsters. The girl he thought he once loved was under their control as well, as were her parents. Everyone in town was controlled. If Stewart tried to warn Loren—if he tried to warn anyone—his little secret would be discovered. And Stewart had no desire to be discovered. He rolled the colorless chunk of Funtak between his fingers. He never left home without it. He would tear it into two pieces and plug his ears out in public—just in case he ran into a certain grey-skinned, black-eyed monster. He didn’t want to hear a single word that thing or his witch girlfriend had to say. It was a stupid defense, he realized—an almost useless weapon against something far more powerful. But it was all he had.
“What do you boys want for supper?”
Stewart jumped and Loren laughed. “Hey, it was a pretty simple question. My Mom’s heading downtown to grab a few things. She said she would get us whatever we wanted.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Suit yourself.” She poked Ethan’s shoulder. “What about you, brat? Your choice.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “Burgers, and lots of fries!”
“You got it. I’m going with her to pick up some more movies. Looks like we’ll be stuck in here all night with it pouring outside.”
Stewart watched Loren and her mom run through the rain to the car in the driveway. DVDs were the last form of entertainment Birdtail offered since the internet was cut. There was no more satellite TV or cable. Grocery store shelves were thinning. Delivery trucks were seldom allowed into town, and Stewart wondered how long the supply of frozen food the restaurants had in stock would last. Would the community live off what they could produce after that?
Stewart couldn’t see that happening for long. Someone outside would discover the town’s secret eventually. Or maybe the freak and his girlfriend would drop dead soon.
Chances were even better Stewart would run into Allan Bagara before that happened. They would meet again, and Stewart would be prepared. He rolled the Funtak between his fingers and studied the outline of the jackknife in his jeans. He’d stolen it from his Dad. The blade was only four inches, but Stewart figured with enough pushing and twisting, it would get the job done. The last time Stewart had seen him Bagara wasn’t much more than a bag half-filled with shit walking on two feet. The jackknife had to be enough.
“You like the movie?” Ethan asked.
“I’ve seen better. Maybe your sister will get one I like.” Stewart grabbed Ethan and pulled him into a headlock. He took the knuckle of one finger and rubbed it playfully into the boy’s hair. “Maybe a tough guy movie or one of those cheesy slasher flicks. You like those?”
Ethan laughed and fought his way free.
Stewart turned his attention back to the rain and rolled the Funtak between his thumb and finger. Lightning flashed and thunder rattled the house. He would unplug the television if it got worse. He wasn’t in the mood for movies anyway.
***
Allan Bagara’s letter—continued
May 17, 2016
It’s raining hard outside. Lots of thunder and lightning. That used to scare me when I was a little kid. I always thought the Bogey Man was waiting out there when it rained this hard. He would make the lightning flash and the thunder boom just to frighten me. I like the rain these days. The noise too. Where’s the Bogey Man now? Where is he in all this grey? Maybe he’s planning some bad shit. Just like I’m doing.
I’ve talked to a lot of people. I’ve made them do things they didn’t want to do. Now I’m heading out to talk to one more.
And when I do, things will change. Something bad will happen.
Something really bad.
Here’s what it is.
I can�
�t control the thing out in the woods any more than the brain-dead residents of Birdtail can control me. My powers of persuasion are considerable. God-like almost. But compared to my little grey friend? Let’s just say that if I told him to jump off a bridge, it would be me making the big splat after the fall.
It can read my thoughts and I’ve started to suspect it may be playing Sheila against me. Maybe her trying to kill me was part of its plan. Maybe the two of them have been working against me the whole time. Did I mention these powers also make you paranoid as hell?
So what can you do against a thing that knows what you’re planning? You wrap a roll of tin foil around your head and write down on paper how you really feel. And it works! I’m just like all those crazies you hear about trying to hide from secret agencies and corrupt governments. The buzz is almost gone and my gums aren’t hurting half as bad. But it’s hotter than hell under this stuff and I can barely breathe through the little opening I poked beneath the eye holes.
I don’t plan on living the rest of my life wrapped up in metal. The alien gave us—it gave me—a powerful gift. I can make any one in the world do whatever I want by saying the words. My body has become grotesque. My ability to feel, to care, to love, and to make love, has left me. I would give it all up again a hundred times over for this power. It’s that addictive.
But I’ll never be completely satisfied until that greasy, yellow puss-leaking fucker in the woods is dead. And the only way to accomplish that is to do what it’s commanded me to do next. Things have gotten out of control. I thought I had all the angles covered, all the small holes patched up. But there’s bound to have been a leak or two since the Christmas concert. I can’t keep track of that many people. And there have probably been a lot more from the outside asking questions. You can’t cut off a community of a thousand and expect the world to forget them. Sooner or later those questions are going to need answers, and confiscating all the phones and computers won’t be enough. More outsiders will start wandering in and poking around. I’ll make them disappear but more will follow. Men in black suits driving black vans will be here soon. Government officials and guys that work for agencies we have no idea about will be drawn here. They’ll clean shit up and put a lid on things tighter than the alien ever could. I don’t plan on sticking around when they do.
Abe and Becky are due to come back soon, or so the thing’s told me. It isn’t a certainty, but we’ve started preparing for the worst.
That rubber soccer ball it’s been holding all these years is full of alien gut-juice. I’m going to pour it into Birdtail’s water system tonight and kill everyone. It will continue to spread, and wipe out all life within a thousand miles.
The alien wants to clean up the mess its species has left behind after their failed attempt to travel into the past and wipe out humanity. Me, Sheila, the alien itself—we’re all expendable. It will end up being a messier takeover of the planet. They’ll be forced to make real war and kill most of the population, but they will get what they want. It’s inevitable.
I’m not sacrificing myself for the cause. That’s the main reason I’m wearing tinfoil around my head and writing this down. I want someone, someday, to know what happened here and why I did what I thought I had to do. Allan Bagara wasn’t the total monster history made him out to be. I plan on running. I’ll find some corner of the world where a few smart people have survived. The human race is good at that. Surviving. Bouncing back from terrible odds. Like rats.
They’ll need a leader.
Someone to tell them what to do.
Chapter 24
Adam’s early growth spurt was just that, a spurt. His development slowed during their hard trek through the mountains. He was less than four months old, and already the size of a child entering Kindergarten. But he was ten times stronger than any other child living on Earth—past, present, or future. He had the strength, energy, and endurance to finish the journey.
Boo and Ann never would’ve made it, Becky thought, as she watched her son run circles around the fire his father had built. But had any of them known what was waiting once they made it to the plains of prehistoric Saskatchewan and Manitoba, they may have let the children left behind try. It was hardly the jungle paradise Becky and Abe had first encountered in prehistoric Africa so long ago, but it certainly wasn’t what any of them expected to find.
The Ice Age hadn’t crept into this part of the world. The farther south and east they travelled, the warmer it became. The great Plains of the future were now an endless vista of pristine forests, fresh lakes, and fields of wild grass. The effects of the volcanic eruption on the other side of the world hadn’t reached this far, or perhaps not to such a great extent. The evening skies were littered with dull stars, and as hazy as it was most nights, they could see the moon again.
So much for scientific facts, Becky thought. She had been taught the last Ice Age lasted over one hundred thousand years. This part of Canada should have been covered in ice. She wondered if the egg-heads had gotten it wrong, or maybe they had been sent back even further than they believed. It wasn’t as if they had computers and geologists to check with.
A third possibility troubled her even more; perhaps the alien’s interference with time had altered Earth’s weather in the past. Had the changes been intentional? Were they being led into a trap? There was no sense talking to Abe about it. He didn’t even know what an Ice Age was until he marched head on into one. It was best to keep these thoughts guarded, or better still, not think about them at all. They had made it this far. Whatever the future had in store—altered or not—they would see it through to the end.
“Sit down and eat,” Abe snapped. He smiled at Becky and shook his head. “How can a kid jog forty miles a day and still have energy to run around at night?”
“Kids are kids. They never burn out.” She held her arms out and Adam rushed into her. “This one would probably run all the way to the Atlantic Ocean without a break if we let him.”
Abe sat back and rubbed her leg. “It would give us some alone time.”
He’d reached across avoiding the leg that had grown back. She wiggled the five toes on her new foot and compared them to the toes of the other. Identical. Perfect. She may have been offended with him if it didn’t bother her still as well. The foot was a constant reminder of what they had become, of how the alien had changed them.
Adam worked his way from her arms and kissed her cheek before digging into the cooked bison meat. He made his usual grunts and gentle coos of satisfaction, but didn’t speak. The only words he knew were Da and Ma—Illee was pronounced Igee. He may have looked like a five-year old, but his mental abilities were on par with his true age. It was another unsettling reminder of what they were.
“We’re never really alone,” Becky whispered.
Abe glanced over at Illee. She was picking berries from a shrub less than thirty feet away in the remaining light. “I think she has a pretty good idea of how things are. Maybe she’ll take Adam for one of those long walks…” His hand moved up her leg and came to a rest against her abdomen.
She pushed it away. “We have to be so careful. I can’t risk getting pregnant again.”
“We’re always careful. Since Adam came along, we’ve been extra-careful.”
“Men are men—it’s the one thing that never changes across time.” She scooted away from him a little further.
“And women will always say no. I thought with only a few thousand humans left on Earth it was our responsibility to try and repopulate.”
She slapped his stomach. “Nice try.”
They travelled thirty miles the next day and another forty the day after that. The following week they averaged fifty miles a day. They encountered more herds of wild bison, great cats with fangs over half a foot in length, massive elk and moose with antlers spread out from tip to tip the length of two grown men. Flocks of geese, ducks, and other nameless, long extinct species of fowl blackened the skies. They never went hungry. Their bodies became
stronger, their endurance limitless. After running through the days they pressed on into the nights, walking by moonlight. The pace was relentless, but no one complained. No one needed rest.
And one early morning, as the eastern sky turned pink, they came to the hill, and their perceptions of where and when they might be came to a crashing halt. It was more mound than hill, sitting in the open of a grassy plain no more than forty feet high with gentle sloping sides covered in wild flowers. On top was a collection of seven large stones, circling the hill like a crown.
“They formed naturally,” Becky said.
Abe shook his head and held Adam back before the boy could go rushing up. “No, someone moved them there.”
Abe and Illee went first. Becky followed them up, holding Adam’s hand tightly. The rectangular stones were even bigger than they appeared from below. Each was placed on end and stood seven feet high. Abe guessed their weight at a hundred tons a piece. They were spaced apart evenly, separated in segments by five smaller blocks of rock. Adam crawled on top of one and jumped from one to the other until he came to the next tall slab. He jumped down, scrambled around it, and repeated the process. The ground inside the circle was flat and covered with dry dirt as grey as the stones surrounding it.
“I guess humans made it to North America a lot sooner than they figured,” Illee said.
The circle reminded Becky of a far more ancient Stonehenge on a slightly smaller scale. “I don’t think so. I think something interfered along the way.”
Abe was nodding. He rapped the stone Adam had climbed first with his knuckles. “You’re right. What do these smaller rocks remind you of? Where have we seen something like this before?”
Becky felt a lump form in her throat. “The craft trapped in the woods… The thing that alien pulled itself out of.”
