Tales Of An Alien Invader

by Michelle Brown

  “No luck. Their lock must be different than the one at my house. It won’t open.”

  The three of us step back and stand on the porch for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I search about until I spy a fairly large tree branch lying in the yard a few feet away. I try to picture myself picking it up and swinging it at the window, but my mind won’t let me. Come on, this is what you need to do. Or else… My mind also won’t let me think of the “or else” at the moment—it’s too terrifying.

  “N-N-Now what?” Ned asks, a perturbed expression on his face. “D-Do we try to…break down the door or something?” He looks like he might get sick just saying the words.

  “Windows are far easier to break than doors,” Izzy says somberly. “Let’s go around the house one more time and see if we can find another way in.”

  We try all of the windows as we go around this time, but every single one is locked. Heading to the back, Izzy cranes her neck to get a better look at the top floor.

  “There!” she says, pointing triumphantly. I follow her gaze and see a cracked-open window on the top floor.

  In vain, I look around the yard for a ladder, hoping one will materialize out of sheer need. On the planet Actun, there’s a creature that can jump thirty feet straight up in the air with ease. That ability would be handy right about now.

  “How do we get up there?” I ask, squinting to get a better look.

  “You don’t,” Izzy says matter-of-factly. “I’ll climb that tree over there and let you guys in the back door.”

  I stare at the tree she is gesturing towards. Some of the branches look awfully flimsy, especially towards the top. Swallowing the rock in my throat, I approach it cautiously.

  “Maybe I should try first,” I say, though I have no experience climbing and have serious doubts I could even reach the second branch.

  “Waste of time, Felix,” she says. “I used to climb trees like this all the time when I was little. I’ll be fine. But before I go, could you please remind me what it is I’ll be looking for?”

  I repeat the story I told them earlier. “It is a small, silver globe on a chain. My parents found it on one of their digs in Europe. It is one of the first representations of the Earth as a sphere and it is very, very valuable. Priceless, even. My parents gave it to me for this school year to remind me of them, but once it ends, the globe is supposed to go in some museum.”

  “No offense to your parents, but that doesn’t seem like the smartest idea, giving a priceless artifact to a kid. Kids lose things all the time.” Ned picks up a twig and snaps it, throwing the two pieces. Raising his eyes to the second floor, he wrinkles his nose. “Be careful, Izzy.”

  Steadying herself, Izzy jumps and grabs hold of the first branch. Wrapping her legs around it, she swings herself up. With the agility of a chimpanzee, she climbs from one branch to the next, scaling the tree swiftly. She reaches the branch that puts her level with the balcony and scoots forward with her hand outstretched, straining to reach the balcony’s railing. The tree branch sags under her weight and creaks. Ned moves underneath the tree, his head tilted up to look at Izzy, arms stretched out as if preparing to catch her if she falls.

  The tree branch’s groan turns into a sharp cracking sound as Izzy finally grasps the railing. She heaves herself over the side just as the branch breaks off and crashes down to the ground, missing Ned’s head by a couple of millimeters. Izzy smiles down at us, her face shining from exertion.

  “See? Piece of cake,” she says and heads over to the open window.

  Wiping my hands on my shorts, I go over to where Ned is standing, his head still tilted back. We watch as Izzy pops out the screen, opens the window, and disappears inside.

  I gulp to clear my throat. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  Izzy meets us at the back door, looking remarkably at ease. Ned brings his hand to his face, biting at one of his nails. I wouldn’t be surprised if his nails were nonexistent by the time the night is over.

  For the millionth time today, a blanket of guilt spreads over me. Part of me can’t believe that there are people willing to put themselves at risk for me. Another part of me can’t believe I am letting them. And the most annoying part of me wonders if they would put themselves at risk if they knew what I really was.

  “Okay.” Izzy rubs her hands together. “Ned, you keep watch. If anyone comes up the driveway, you’re going to need to shout a warning to us. Then, hide. Hopefully we’ll have enough time to get out the back door before anyone comes inside.” Izzy gives the directions with such authority, I can’t help thinking she would make a fantastic military leader one day. That, or a fantastic mob boss.

  “The main place we should search is Curtis’s room,” I add. “If he’s hiding it in the house, it’s probably there.”

  I try to shrug off the sense of foreboding that’s nagging me as I cross the threshold into Curtis’s house. In and out. We’ll be in and out in no time.

  Walking through the house is like walking through a dream. Picture frames hang on the walls, displaying a smiling, innocent boy who bears no resemblance to the terror that stomps the hallways at school. My senses are heightened; every creak in the floorboards sounds unnaturally loud. Izzy leads the way, climbing the staircase and sticking her head into rooms as we pass. She doesn’t talk as she does it, but instead nods her head towards the door when she locates the correct room at the end of the hallway. We’ve officially arrived at enemy territory.

  Izzy tries to open the door all the way, but is hindered by the clothes littering Curtis’s bedroom floor. In sharp contrast to the pristine hallway, Curtis’s room appears to have been hit by a hurricane. Along with clothes on the floor, gum wrappers and school papers are scattered everywhere. Wading through the piles, I circle around when I reach the center, overwhelmed. I don’t see how Curtis finds anything in this mess, let alone how I’m supposed to.

  There is a desk covered with pop cans, markers, and more clothes in the corner. Making my way over to it, I search through the drawers while Izzy sifts through the massive amount of junk piled in the closet.

  Come on, globe. Please be here somewhere.

  A wave of irrational anger washes over me. Why didn’t the elders on Bopton insert tracking devices into our serum containers? Hadn’t someone else lost their serum container on a mission before? But I already knew the answer. They had not. The title of Number One Failure belongs exclusively to me.

  After my search of the desk reveals nothing but old Cheetos, a stapler, silly string, and a smelly old shirt, I move on to some other obvious hiding places. Under the bed—clothes, a basketball, several fruit-rollup wrappers, and a bottle that contains a liquid that appears to have congealed. Under the mattress—the only place in the room that appears free of any belongings shoved in it. On the bookshelf—old comics, pictures from previous school years, old yearbooks, half-finished homework, and an army knife.

  Desperation increasing, I begin to toss things aside as I look; it’s not like I’m making the place any messier in the process. Izzy follows my lead, sending a pair of Curtis’s shorts flying through the air. The minutes creep by and a lead weight forms in my stomach. Tomorrow is Friday. This is my last chance.

  A shout breaks through the silence. “They’re coming!”

  Ned’s voice sounds frantic, and I can picture his face shadowed with pure terror as he calls out his warning. I’m sorry, Ned. I’m so sorry. Izzy and I dart out of the room, but we halt as a door opens when we reach the bottom of the staircase. Throwing open the nearest door, Izzy lunges inside, pulling me along with her and into darkness. Heavy footsteps tromp down the hallway. I peer through the tiny crack in the doorway, begging the powers of the universe that someone doesn’t open the door we’re behind.

  Curtis lumbers into view. “I’m going to my room,” he shouts and disappears. The stairs creek under his weight as his clambers up them, and another set of footsteps approaches. A middle-aged woman with Curtis’s dark hair and pug nose sto
ps directly outside the doorway. I realize at that moment that Izzy and I are in a front closet, coats pressed against our backs. The realization occurs at the exact same moment I figure out what the woman is doing.

  She’s taking off her coat.

  Draping it over her arm, Curtis’s mom reaches for the door. Sucking in my breath, I imagine the horror on her face when she discovers two strangers in her closet. She’ll call the police. We’ll go to jail. And all of it, every single last bit, will be my fault.

  “Mom!” Curtis’s voice yells from upstairs. “Have you been going through my stuff?” His voice drips with accusation.

  She pauses as she answers. “No, honey. If I was going to go through your room, I would clean it. Which is what you should do, by the way. Your room is filthy.”

  There is silence for a moment. The doorknob begins to turn when Curtis’s screeching returns. “But someone moved my stuff. I can tell!”

  Sighing, the woman removes her hand from the doorknob and I hear her footsteps on the stairs a few moments later. As soon as they fade away, I open the door and peek out. Signaling for Izzy to follow, we tiptoe towards the back door. Passing the family room on the left, a sportscaster recaps the night’s games as a man plops himself down on a couch. Skirting past undetected, we arrive at the sliding glass door at the back of the house. I open it as quietly as possible, we slip out, and I notice the night air has a new smell to it. It smells like freedom. Closing the door behind us, Izzy and I race to the shed at the back of the yard. Collapsing behind it, we find Ned crouched down, looking like a person in a hospital who’s waiting to find out whether or not their loved one is going to make it.

  We made it.

  After catching her breath, Izzy’s face breaks into a magnificent smile. “That was intense!” she whispers, grabbing my arm. “I thought we were goners for sure.”

  Ned starts laughing a somewhat hysterical laugh beside me. “When I saw the car coming up the driveway, all I could picture was Curtis’s face when he found you guys in his room. He’d be so confused, so angry. Like a rhino trying to do math.” His shaky laughter results in a coughing fit, and he sputters for a few moments before falling into silence.

  “Yeah, well we made it.” I say, giving each of them a grateful smile. What I don’t say is that we failed. That I’m more terrified of what is to come than I ever was inside of Curtis’s house. And I most certainly don’t say the thing that’s most on my mind.

  What am I going to do now?

  CHAPTER 15

  I wake up Friday morning, my decision made. I really don’t see any other solution. I’m going to have to leave. Tonight. I take a moment to look around my room. My baseball bat is leaning against the wall, a reminder of tonight’s game. My tablet sits on my desk, displaying a website which describes tips on surviving in the wilderness. Under my mattress, untouched but not forgotten, is the book that contains the Helomax, my only link to home. The designated date and time for communication is still 93 days away.

  93 days is a long time.

  Fortunately, part of my training on Bopton included studying survival techniques for my assigned planet. I can identify plants that are safe to eat. I know, in theory, how to build a fire. I can build a shelter out of brush. What I don’t know is how I’m going to remain undetected. What I don’t know is how I’m going to deal with the crushing loneliness that lies ahead of me.

  I’ll figure it out.

  After brushing my teeth, I touch the bare hollow of my throat where the globe used to rest. I can feel its absence as much as I used to feel its presence, like a limb that has been torn from my body. This is normally when I would take the three drops of serum. I swallow reflexively and wonder how much time I have before I change. I’m counting on at least twenty four hours.

  I figure that’s a reasonable guess. After all, I doubt that the serum’s effects wear off right away. That would be reckless. No, there must be a certain amount of time before the transformation occurs in case of extenuating circumstances. My situation definitely qualifies as one.

  I know it should be the last thing on my mind, but I can’t help feeling glad that I will be able to play in tonight’s championship game. It shouldn’t be important to me, but it is. To be on the safe side, I thought about leaving this morning, but if I didn’t show up for school, the secretary would call Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt. Then the police would get involved, and I wouldn’t have enough time to disappear. Escaping under the cover of darkness is the wiser decision.

  I try not to think about Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt’s reaction when they discover I’m gone, but I keep seeing their faces in my mind. I picture Aunt Shirley’s tear-streaked face, her hands twisting her curly hair as she wonders what she did to make me leave. I see Uncle Matt taking out his catcher’s mitt and throwing a ball into it over and over and over again, a shattered look in his eyes as he stares at the empty spot across the yard where I used to stand.

  But they’re not my real family. Nothing will ever change that. Still, an annoying stinging burns my eyes as I think about them, and I wipe my hand across my face angrily. There’s a rule that Boptons are supposed to follow on all missions. Something they’re supposed to live their life by every day that they’re away from home.

  It’s a simple one, really: Don’t get attached. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded once again that I’m a failure. I couldn’t even get that part right.

  When you know you’re never going to see people again, you are filled with a newfound appreciation for them. The same with when you know you’re never going to experience something again. Walking through the halls that day, I chuckle fondly as Old Tom mutters while cleaning graffiti off of a locker. I smile when my mathematics teacher writes problems on the board that I normally find easy to the point of frustration. Most of all, I cherish every joke, conversation, and moment I have with Izzy and Ned.

  The school day zips by before I even realize it’s gone, and my last significant event as a human arrives. As Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt drive me back to the school that evening for the game, they try to engage me in conversation about school and other things. I think they’re trying to ease my nerves, but that’s about as hopeless as getting a shark to go on a diet. Besides, even though I feel like vomit is going to erupt from me at any moment, it’s kind of…exhilarating.

  Coach Pritchard is swinging a bat over his shoulder and eyeing the other team when I walk up to join my teammates. Without meaning to, I end up standing next to Michael as we huddle around the coach. He must have passed his math test; I haven’t talked to him in days. While waiting for the customary pre-game pep talk, Michael gives me a small smile, which I don’t return. I know he had something to do with my globe going missing, even if he only stood by as Curtis took it. Most things are forgivable—ruining my life is not. Without smiling back, I shoulder my way to the other side of the huddle, leaving Michael gazing after me with questioning eyes.

  Coach Lenoy is smiling encouragingly at all of us, filled with unrelenting optimism. Coach Pritchard motions us closer, and everyone leans forward in anticipation of his speech.

  “Now, boys, listen. You may not be the most talented group I’ve ever coached. You may not have the most heart. And in all the years I’ve coached, I’ve never seen a group so slow. However, I do know this: You have what it takes to beat that sorry group of nobodies you’re up against today. If you do, you can leave this field proud, knowing that you lived up to what potential you have. If you don’t, you can add it to your list of failures, because winning is what the game is all about.”

  Silence descends upon the group when he finishes. That was our pep talk? Really? Feeling like a balloon whose air is deflating, I glance at my teammates. Each of them is wearing an expression I imagine is similar to my own.

  “Now let’s go warm up!” Coach Pritchard finishes, turning around.

  Coach Lenoy puts a hand on Coach Pritchard’s arm. “Wait a second. I have something to say.”

&nbs
p; Coach Pritchard faces us again and places his hands on his hips, his eyes darkening.

  “Now granted, this is the only team I’ve coached,” Coach Lenoy begins, “but I’ve been playing the game for as long as I can remember. And when I see you guys on the field, I remember what it’s all about. The flash of triumph when your bat connects with the ball. The satisfying sting in your legs as your slide home. The exhilaration of making a catch. When you go out there today, that’s what I want you to think about. Think about what you love about the game, because if you really love it, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose; all that matters is you have the chance to play. That being said, I know you guys can do this. I know tonight can be yours. So let’s go out onto that field and show them what we got! Go Panthers!”

  Coach Lenoy’s speech ends with a chorus of relieved and invigorated cheers. I look behind me as I jog onto the field and see Coach Pritchard waving his hands and yelling while Coach Lenoy stands with his arms crossed. Maybe next year Coach Lenoy will have his own team. I bite back the prickle of disappointment that comes when I remember I won’t be here to see if it happens.

  We end up taking the field first, and I begin to list off my typical outfield mantras in my head. Please don’t let any balls come my way. Please let the other team strike out quickly. I trot out to right field, saying my mantras in time with my steps. Unfortunately, it becomes clear that the other team, the Cardinals, is also playing to win.

  Three base hits in a row and the bases are loaded when a six foot tall block of muscle steps onto the plate. Squinting from the field, I shake my head. That can’t be right, can it? There’s no way that guy is eleven or twelve years old. He makes Michael, who is one of the largest kids in our school, look like a munchkin.