Sweat dripped from her brow.
A steel door crashing to the ground would have attracted as much attention as a gunshot, and she found herself shaking in panic. Bower pushed the door past vertical, allowing it to lean up against the doorframe. Her fingers felt cold and clammy.
Elvis crept back and spoke to her from the other side of the door.
“We’re clear. There’s a light at the far end of the alley beside us, but nothing at either end of this back street. I can see down the alley beside the factory, there are a couple of guards down by the tankers, but they’re pretty lax.”
“Help me with the door,” Bower said, starting to lift.
“Not just yet. I’ve got to get a truck first, remember.”
“You’re going to leave me?”
Bower was horrified.
“Here, you keep the gun,” Elvis said, pushing the revolver into her hand.
“What?” Bower replied, taken back by the notion.
“If anyone springs you, pull back on the hammer and fire. Aim for the center of the chest. Actually, aim a little lower. The kick is going to bring your shot up about a foot anyway.”
“You can’t leave me,” Bower protested. She was leaning against the wall inside the hallway, her head poking through the gap while the rest of her body remained within the darkness.
“Listen. I need you to think straight. You, me and Stella creeping through the streets at night wouldn’t end well. We’d attract too much attention. One man alone can move unseen. You’ve got to trust me on this. I will be back for you.”
“But the gun?”
“If I get to the point where I need to open fire on someone, one bullet won’t be enough.”
Elvis pointed down the street. “If everything goes to plan, you should see a truck pull up down there. No headlights. I need you to stay tight until then, OK?”
“OK.”
“Remember, if you hear gunfire nearby, you run, OK?”
“OK.”
“If I’m not back within two hours, you move out on foot, OK?”
“OK.”
“If you see the horizon lightening and sunrise approaching, you get the hell out of here, OK?”
“OK.”
“And move away from the rising sun.”
“OK.”
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
“OK,” Bower replied yet again, although she was anything but convinced. Her face must have given away her doubts.
Elvis smiled, saying, “Hang in there, sweet lips.” And that brought a smile to her face, disarming her entirely. Sweet lips, she’d never been called that before, and she doubted she would ever be called that again. The novelty was refreshing in a way only Elvis could manage.
Elvis kept to the shadows, working his way down the road before disappearing around the corner. He never looked back. Bower would have felt better if he’d looked back. She slumped against the wall. Sitting there, she looked at the gun in her hands. The revolver felt so heavy, as though it knew it didn’t belong in her fingers and was trying to escape.
In the half-light, she could see the alien at the end of the hallway behind her. With all that transpired in the past few minutes, she’d forgotten about their interstellar friend. Tentacles waved in the darkness. That was when it struck her; the door was open. This is what the creature had been waiting for. What would it do now when freedom seemed so close at hand?
“Red light,” Bower said. “We need to wait here. We have to wait for Elvis.”
“Green light.”
Bower felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“No. Red light, red light. It’s not safe, not yet.”
The alien advanced on her, pulling in its whip-like tentacles as it moved down the narrow hallway. Bower stood, facing the creature in the darkness.
“No, please, don’t.”
“Green light.”
“You don’t understand. If you go out there, they’ll find you. They’ll kill you.”
“Green light,” the creature repeated. Bower felt as though she was talking to herself. As her voice firmed, so did the alien’s mimicry.
Tentacles began striking the walls in anger, threatening violence. In the close confines, the writhing mass of fronds closed on her. She could hear the central mass of the creature humming, pulsating like a hive.
Bower held out one hand, signaling for the creature to halt.
“You’ve got to trust me. I want to get out of here as much as you do, but I can’t. It’s a red light for me too. You must wait. I am here with you. I won’t leave you. Red light, please understand. Red light.”
“Green light,” the creature replied, raising her own voice against her, almost on the verge of yelling. The thrashing tentacles began breaking through the particle-board lining the hallway. Before her, a seething mesh of razor-sharp whips cut through the air barely a foot from her face.
Bower felt the grip of the revolver in her hands. Her fingers tightened on the handle. With her thumb, she pulled back on the hammer, cocking the gun.
“Green light,” screamed the alien and she expected rebel soldiers to come bursting through the door behind her.
Bower trembled. She thought about raising the gun and threatening to shoot. That had worked in their initial interaction when Adan had cast them into his colosseum. The alien had responded by retreating and protecting its core. Would the alien respond the same way now? Or would the threat of violence destroy the trust they’d established? Did any such trust exist? Had it ever existed, or was it simply a construct of her own imagination?
Bower suspected a threat would work, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer what would only ever be a hollow bluff. There had to be another way. Violence was cowardice, the petty refuge of a dull mind. She had to let the creature go. If the alien wanted to chance itself alone on the run, she had to respect that.
Her thumb gripped the hammer, slowly lowering it back in place against the firing pin of the bullet already set in the chamber of the revolver. As she did so the creature froze. Not one of the hundreds of tentacles threatening to strike moved. The various blades seized in midair, regardless of the contorted shape in which they were held. For a moment, it was as though Bower was looking at a modern art sculpture.
With her heart pounding in her chest, perspiration breaking out on her forehead and her fingers shaking, Bower tried to stand still. She was aware that the creature had only just realized she was holding the loaded gun.
Bower bent down slowly, placing the gun on the ground, keeping her eyes on the pulsating mass at the heart of the convoluted creature. The tentacles remained stationary, locked in place, and she wondered what the hell this intelligent being from another world was thinking.
“Green light,” she said softly, stepping to one side, hoping the alien could squeeze past her. She had no doubt the alien’s tentacles could manipulate the door and move it out of the way. She only hoped the door didn’t crash to the concrete floor.
There was silence for the best part of a minute. Sweat ran from her forehead, stinging her eyes, but she fought the urge to react and wipe them. Sudden movements didn’t seem wise. Bower pressed her back against the wall, trying to give the alien as much room as possible, but she refused to step outside the door. She was stubborn and she knew it, but she believed in Elvis. She believed he knew what he was doing, and this was the only way she could conceivably communicate that to this strange alien intelligence.
Still the alien remained motionless, barely half a foot away from the gun lying on the concrete, and Bower found herself wondering what it was thinking. Was the alien looking at the gun? Was it looking at her? Perhaps seeing her in far more than the visible spectrum, which was so woefully inadequate in the dark. Could it sense her heartbeat? Could it measure her body heat, or the rush of adrenalin signaling a flight or fight response? Did it understand how unbearable it was for her to do neither? Outwardly, the creature may have seemed inert, but she doubted th
at was true of its inner reasoning. Bower felt as though Stella was reading her mind.
Finally, the creature replied, saying, “Red light.”
Bower breathed a sigh of relief. The muscles of her body, so tense just moments before, relaxed. At the same time, the fronds and blades of the creature flexed and sagged. Bower was surprised by the parallels between them.
What point of logic had convinced the alien to wait?
In that instance, Bower got a glimpse of its thinking. Like her, the creature must have been subject to a raft of emotions. Like her, the alien had to choose whether to blindly follow instinct or to think critically. And like her, this otherworldly mind had to rise above its own fears and doubts.
Relieved, she sank to the ground, her back against the wall.
Bower hadn’t really thought about what the alien creature was going to do next, only that it wasn’t going to proceed out the door. She assumed the creature would back away again and keep its distance, but it didn’t. In the darkness, Bower felt tentacles touching her shoulder, only they weren’t probing or glancing over her, they were resting limply on her arm and thigh as she sat there. Bower reached out with her other hand, resting her fingers on the thick, leathery appendages. Tiny insects streamed back and forth, barely touching her before retreating again.
“I know,” she said. “Oh, how I know, but we have to be brave. For now, it’s a red light. Elvis will come back for us, I know he will, and then we will have a green light.”
The alien never responded.
Sitting there, she could feel a pulse running through the limp frond resting on her leg. Unlike a human heart, the alien creature pulsated like the chatter and stutter of a water pipe with air in the line.
Bower sat there by the door, peering down the road, hoping, almost willing for Elvis to appear, while dreading the awful implications of a violent gunshot breaking the still of night.
What would the alien do if it heard a gunshot close by? Bower had already picked out her escape route, a dark alley leading away from the factory on the other side of the back road. She wasn’t sure if it was heading west, but if they were sprung she figured she needed to get some distance between her and the soldiers around the factory. Anywhere that led away from the guardhouse on the main street seemed like a good idea. What would this interstellar creature do if it saw her running from the factory? Would it follow?
Minutes seemed like hours.
After an age, Bower noticed the sky lightening ever so slightly. What had been a deep Prussian blue, a skyline as dark as coal, slowly warmed. Stars began to fade. The sky on the horizon revealed a growing sense of color pushing back the black of night. There was still an hour or so before dawn broke, but Bower’s heart sank. She was alone. It was time to go.
Turning to the creature, Bower’s heart broke as she said, “Green light.”
To her surprise, the alien seemed lethargic. The creature registered her words, but it took time for it to respond and stiffen its spiky tentacle-like legs. Could Stella have been asleep? Thinking about it, she realized every animal on Earth slept at some point, some of them had a shallow sleep, but they still had a distinct, cyclical metabolic change regardless. Some, like dolphins, had the ability to shut down one hemisphere of their brains at a time in a bizarre form of half-sleep, but every animal slept, recharging its neural batteries. And yet, Bower reasoned, she could be reading her own exhaustion into the creature’s behavior. Perhaps the alien was lost in thought. As for her, she’d have loved nothing more than to curl up in a soft bed. The thought of running madly for her life was daunting, but it had to be done.
She got to her feet, leaving the gun on the floor, and began heaving the door to one side. When she turned to grab the revolver it was gone. She looked up and saw the creature holding the gun by the barrel, a tentacle wrapped around the shiny steel. Bower reached out and took the gun cautiously from the alien.
“Green light,” she repeated softly. She knew this was the command the creature had been waiting for, but even it seemed reluctant, as though it too were longing for Elvis to return.
What would happen to them on the run? How far would she get through this gun-ravaged city? Once people started moving around, how far could she go with an alien following her? Should she hide? Elvis said not to hide, but her instinct told her she should crawl into some dark hole. Who should she trust? Her judgment or his?
And Stella, the alien had trusted her, but what did Bower have to repay that trust? They would have been better off being on the move several hours ago, putting more distance between them and the rebels. Would the creature realize that and feel betrayed? Elvis hadn’t returned. She had to strike out on her own with Stella, with just one bullet to protect them, with just one bullet to attract hordes of rebel soldiers. Bower wanted to say she was sorry, to apologize to the alien in advance, but the creature would have had no idea what she was talking about.
As Bower moved out of the doorway and into the shadow of a large wooden crate, she saw a covered truck pull up at the end of the road with its lights off. Her heart leaped. Elvis climbed out of the cab and opened the back of the truck.
“Green light,” she said softly to Stella, beckoning the creature outside.
Multiple alien fronds picked up the door, manipulating it as the creature passed through the doorway, leaving the door leaning in place behind it. At a glance, it would look like the door was still closed. Clever girl, thought Bower.
Bower peered around the side of the crate, looking to see if anyone was further along the back road. Once she was sure no one was watching, she darted down the rough gravel road. Stella kept pace beside her, rolling forward on her spindle-like legs. The alien creature moved swiftly and silently beside her. Bower got the impression Stella could have easily outpaced her, but the alien remained at her side over the hundred yards or so it took to reach the truck.
Elvis was standing in the open back of the truck, waving with his hands, urging them on. The alien sprang up, landing in the cargo deck. Elvis began pulling down a canvas cover to hide her from view when Bower climbed up as well.
“You don’t want to ride up front?”
“No,” she replied, struggling to catch her breath. “I need to be with her. To let her know everything’s going to be OK. As scared as we are of her, I suspect she’s more terrified of us. She needs someone with her.”
Elvis nodded. “Hey, I got through to a Government checkpoint on the shortwave radio in the truck. They said the Americans are holed up at the US embassy. I think they mean the Rangers, so that’s where we’ll head.”
Bower reached out, touching at the thick blood seeping through his shirt, running from his shoulder down his front.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not my blood,” Elvis replied with a grin.
How he could respond like that, she didn’t know. For her, there was nothing laudable in the violence of war, and yet she was glad he could disconnect himself in this way. His casual disregard had to be some kind of psychological defense mechanism, insulating his mind from the horrors he had to inflict to survive. One day it would catch up with him. One day these memories would haunt him, and she knew it. Although his acts were justifiable, they were odious nonetheless. Post-traumatic stress wasn’t cowardice. There was only so long a sane man could maintain the illusion of detachment necessary to survive a war-zone. When his fall came, she hoped it wasn’t from a great height. She hoped there was someone there to catch him.
Chapter 14: Embassy
The alien creature wrapped its tentacles around the wooden slats in the back corner of the truck, holding on as Elvis sped through the darkened streets. Bower sat to one side, bracing herself as the vehicle careened one way and then another. Elvis had a lead foot, both when accelerating and braking.
The canvas cover at the back of the truck flapped in the breeze, allowing the growing dawn to seep through. The sky was a dark shade of blue. Streaks of scarlet lit up clouds high in the sky, slowly tr
ansforming the night into a ruddy pink morning. With just a few clouds in the stratosphere, it was going to be another scorching hot day.
Bower sat there across from Stella wondering what she was thinking. As for herself, Bower was regretting not sitting in the cab with Elvis. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were times when the truck felt like it was out of control, careening around corners, bouncing out of potholes. Her life was out of control. In that moment, the truck became symbolic of all she’d been through over the past week, a roller-coaster ride without any brakes. She wanted to stop. She wanted to yell out to Elvis and tell him to stop the truck and let her out, but she knew her feelings were misplaced. Getting out of the truck wouldn’t solve anything. She had to be strong and endure. Looking at Stella, she knew she shouldn’t read her own emotions into the alien’s character, but she couldn’t help but think Stella felt the same way. The pulsating mass of tiny creatures at the heart of the alien appeared to grimace the same way she did with each erratic turn.
Elvis stopped the truck on several occasions, and Bower could hear him talking to Africans. As he drove away, she got glimpses of the various roadblocks they were negotiating.
Bower felt she was going to be sick. Fumes leaked in the back of the truck. The unrelenting flap of the canvas seemed to pound inside her head. In the growing heat, the sides of the truck seemed to close in on her, causing her to feel claustrophobic, nauseous. Her world narrowed and she fought not to vomit.
Finally, the truck slowed and turned sharply, as though they were entering a property rather than turning on another road. Bower could hear voices calling out, American voices. The truck rode up over the lip of a curb, its engine whining. She could hear Smithy and Jameson calling out to Elvis. Her heart jumped.
“Goddamn,” Jameson cried.
“You son of a bitch,” yelled Smithy.
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