Liz could have ripped her hair out. Her mom was so deep into denial, nothing was getting through.
“Well, you might as well finish it,” she said.
“Sure.”
This was pointless. Her mom was too hungover to deal with.
“I’ll make you food from now on, okay?”
“Whatever you want.” Alexandra leaned forward and squinted. “What happened to your face?”
“I tripped and hit the wall,” Liz said.
“You’re so clumsy. Try to be more careful.” Her mom finished her breakfast and glided past Liz. “I’m not feeling great today. I think it might have been the chicken I ate last night.”
Bad chicken. Her mom’s go-to excuse for why she felt sick. Never the twenty or so drinks she’d consumed, it couldn’t be that. Alcoholics were liars, first and foremost, and the people they were best at lying to was themselves.
“Get some rest on the couch, Mom. I’ve got some stuff to do anyway. Did you text your boss, like I asked?” Liz didn’t know how long this would last, and texting that you weren’t showing up for work seemed like the responsible thing to do.
“I’m sure I did.” Alexandra continued with the same bleary, neutral tone.
Liz opened her mouth to argue when the violent sound of alien alarms pierced the air. She screamed and clapped her hands over her ears, gritting her teeth against the pain. Her mom covered her head.
Even though it lasted only seconds, it left Liz dizzy and disoriented. A ringing remained in her ears and she swallowed several times to make her ears pop. Her mom rubbed her eyes and sighed deeply. Liz wasn’t sure how much more of this she’d be able to withstand. It was about eleven in the morning, meaning there were at least two more alarms to come before midnight. She shuddered.
Her mom didn’t say anything and drifted past her with vacant eyes. Liz tried to force the thoughts of alarms out of her mind and concentrate on the problems she could control. It was Wednesday. No sign of the police, no response from the government; three days under siege. It was time to get serious and figure out how she was going to get them through this.
Her first move was to take anything that could be useful and itemize it. The basement felt like the right place to start. When they bought the house, before her dad died, it had been unfinished, with the skeleton of the walls still showing. Her dad wasn’t handy, but he did the best he could by clearing a section of it. Mostly it was used as a giant storage deposit. They had visions of doing something with it, grand and indistinct dreams, but nothing materialized. Later turned into never once he died.
In the corner were assorted stacks of plywood and beams, left over from various construction projects. She couldn’t fathom how she could use lumber, but it felt like something she should put in the ‘needed’ category.
There were tools, old boxes of clothes, and unused toys from when she was younger. A tattered garden hose sat curled in the corner, covered in dust. She sighed. She couldn’t imagine what to do with any of this. None of her life skills included alien fortifications and she somehow doubted her sock-darning talents would be of any use.
Dejected, she decided to head back upstairs when a gleam flashed in the corner of her eye. On a desk, pushed against the side of the wall, was her dad’s old hunting knife. He’d never managed to go hunting, or fishing, but he’d always talked about doing it. In happier times, back when her mom smiled more than once a month, she bought the knife for him and had the hilt engraved: To my favorite hunter, A. Her mom always did things for her dad. With him, she was thoughtful, considerate, and loving. Most of that part of her died when he did.
She picked up the knife and turned it over in her hands. The ten-inch blade looked menacingly sharp. A silly thing, to consider this weapon against invulnerable aliens. She saw the videos. There was footage of bullets ricocheting off their hides. Still, it was a piece of her dad, and she needed to feel close to him right now.
The leather sheath that accompanied it had slits where they’d weave through a belt and she slid it on to hers. Once wrapped around her waist, she found the weight drew her down to one side. Heavier than she expected.
Now that it was buckled on, she felt both comforted and foolish. A silly grin broke out on her face and she sheepishly un-tucked her t-shit to cover the top. Her mom probably wouldn’t notice, but it was better to be safe. And it was nice to wear a piece of her dad. He couldn’t protect her, but he left her a silly knife. It would do.
Her mind turned to other thoughts of survival, specifically food. There was supposed to be a storm today, according to the Weather Channel that was miraculously still showing a forecast. She should make sure there were candles and flashlights, just in case.
Satisfied, she left the basement and got to work.
Matt
Matt and Heather hunched over the latest care package, with Abby sitting cross-legged on the floor behind them. They had all come back to life now that they had a steady supply of food and water and toilet paper and, oh my god, toothpaste. His dad even provided a couple of travel earplugs. Only two, so they’d need to share, but anything that blocked out that blaring alarm that let them get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep would be welcome.
Sleep occupied most of their time now. Catch a few hours, wake up to the alarm. Repeat throughout the entire day and night. Eventually, they’d cobble together something resembling five or six hours of sleep, but it still wasn’t enough.
The flinching concerned Matt the most. They all hunched in on themselves now when the alarms sounded, curling up like beaten dogs. The alarm was breaking them, one blare at a time. Heather and Abby both looked wilted. There was no other way to describe it. Giant, hollow circles surrounded their eyes and they moved in slow motion now. Every so often, Abby would take a shuddering breath that sounded like paper being crumpled. Her asthma was getting worse, day by day, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Unfortunately, Dad had forgotten to get a refill on her asthma medicine, but he hoped it would be okay. If they kept her calm, she’d be able to go for longer without it.
They hauled a half-dozen shipments back and forth. Blankets, pillows, a small battery-operated lantern, some books for Abby, and a flashlight. It was almost like a little camp out, if you could forget about the death aliens from above. Compared to what they were used to, the third night in the treehouse seemed as luxurious as a hotel room.
Sleep notwithstanding, all of it helped, and even Abby seemed to perk up. For the past hour, she’d been coloring in her book, legs in the air with her feet knocking together. Her full attention was on staying in the lines, and the tip of her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth as she picked the next crayon to use.
She was so little.
Matt took a deep breath and looked away, back into the last crate. Heather was unfolding some fresh clothes and stacking them in the corner. Underneath one of the shirts, was that…?
“Hey, Abby, I have a treat for you,” he said. She looked up from her drawing and blew a strand of hair out of her face.
“Actually, it’s a treat for all of us.” He held up his prizes. “Ice cream!”
Abby was a hippo for ice cream, and she jumped up, clapping her hands. Dad packed a bunch of ice cream sandwiches, five in total. Probably the remains of what was left in the freezer. Matt suspected his dad bought these for the barbecue.
“Ice cream!” Abby tore into the first package. Heather also took one from him, squeezing his upper arm as she did so. She’d been doing that a lot lately, touching his shoulder, his hip, his forearm. It was wonderful, and distracting, and he assumed it was a by-product of being in a stressful situation. He tried not to think about it.
His feelings for Heather were becoming increasingly complicated. During the endless minutes trapped in the tree house, he’d find himself studying her. The way she’d smile when he told a joke, or her slightly upturned nose. How her unshakable calm managed to de-stress the situation. They found more excuses to stay close together, watching over Abby or talk
ing about nothing for long stretches of time. Heather was wonderful.
The bars had already started to melt, and he let his sit in his hand. He wasn’t in any rush. It was enough to watch Heather fold herself cross-legged beside Abby and enjoy the snack.
The scene went blurry. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned away, looking outside. They kept the front door open now, because why not? The breeze helped with the heat and the aliens didn’t show any interest in them if they were indoors.
“Your ice cream’s going to melt, Matt.” Heather spoke through a mouthful. He didn’t turn around. Instead, he started talking.
“If this was a movie, the aliens would be defeated by something they never considered. Some element or chemical that was unique to Earth, a random factor outside their knowledge of the planet.”
“Like water?” Heather asked.
“Ha, I wish. No. Something else. Lawn fertilizer. This ice cream sandwich. A couple of plucky kids would figure it out and the world would be saved. I’m positive the president would be played by Andy Garcia.”
Abby looked up from her savagery, her mouth covered in melted cookie. “Our ice cream can beat the aliens?”
Heather laughed and stood up. “Why not? Why can’t the destructive power of our ice cream stop the alien menace once and for all?” She made attacking motions with the bar, pretending it was a knife.
“I’m-” Matt started to say something and cut himself off. It was dumb. He was dumb. But Heather raised her eyebrows at him and encouraged him with a smile.
“What were you going to say, Matt?”
“I think I’m going to throw this ice cream sandwich right at those fucking aliens.”
Heather continued to stare at him for a beat and then doubled over laughing, the rich, sincere sound pushing the walls of the treehouse back a little.
Abby danced around him, pointing, and singing, “Matty said a bad word, Matty said a bad word.”
He let it go on for a moment and shrugged. “I’m not kidding, though. I am absolutely going to throw my sandwich at them.”
“Can you throw that well?” Heather stopped laughing and joined him at the door.
“Nope. I’ll be lucky to clear the stairs.”
“Well, I can. Martin Keene made sure his daughter knew how to throw a baseball.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s do it. Let’s cover those pieces of shit in vanilla hellfire.”
Matt laughed and nodded. They broke the remaining sandwiches into pieces, leaving one for Abby. Matt held it out to her.
“What about you, Abs? You in?”
Abby looked back and forth at them both and then snatched the last bar. “You’re both bananas. I’m eating the ice cream.”
They laughed, the third time in a fifteen-minute period, breaking the previous record of ‘barely at all’ for the past three days. It was a record Matt hoped to continue breaking.
He and Heather positioned themselves at the door. The nearest alien hovered in front of his house, a good forty feet away, silent and remote. These things had stolen everything. His best friend, his neighborhood, his family. Hatred and adrenalin flushed through him and he had to force himself to a measure of calm.
“Here goes.”
His first throw went wide, missing the alien by a dozen feet. Heather’s throw didn’t do much better, it was on target, but didn’t go far enough.
“It’s like we don’t even want to save the world,” she said.
“Right? Our throwing is garbage.”
“You can do it, Matty,” Abby said from behind them, although it was hard to understand her as she was attempting to fit the whole bar in her mouth at once.
He took a moment to square up, lining up the alien with one hand. He took aim… threw… another miss. Heather shook her head and let out a theatrical sigh.
“Fine. I guess I’ll save the world then. Step aside.” She rolled her shoulders and moved him to the side, giving her an unobstructed view of the door. “Time to take back the Earth.”
The ice cream sandwich flew in a perfect arc, sailing unimpeded through the air toward the unaware alien.
It hit with a splat.
“Holy crap, you hit it!” Matt grabbed her by the arm.
“Holy crap, I hit it!” she repeated and then they were jumping up and down, hugging each other and his face was full of the scent of strawberries and her hair tickled his neck. He could feel the push of her chest against his and the whole thing was too confusing to do anything with, so he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it.
She ended it, probably not aware of the impact it had, but kept one careless hand on his shoulder.
Outside, the alien showed no adverse effects from the ice cream. It hadn’t so much as moved. The ice cream did not burn into its exterior like acid, nor did it wobble and fall from the sky. Nothing. Ice cream did not save the day.
They both stared at it for a few more moments and Matt was startled to realize he felt deflated. Even though he knew it was impossible to beat the aliens with ice cream, apparently even a small shred of absurd hope was enough to leave him depressed. The moment was nice while it lasted.
Beside him, Heather made a sound like a cough and he looked over to see her blinking rapidly. His stomach plummeted and oddly, he was more scared now than he had been in the past three days. He realized that while he had cried at least a half dozen times, this was the first time for her, at least since the moment he escaped into the tree house.
Her lower lip trembled, and she rubbed at her face, as if annoyed by her tear ducts. Matt wasn’t sure if touching her was okay but wanted to do something.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and then blushed. What a dumb question.
“That’s probably the last ice cream I’ll ever eat in my life,” she said. “Of everything that’s happening, I don’t know why that’s the part to bother me. I should have enjoyed it more. Savored it or something. Even if we make it through this, it’s going to be a long while before vanilla ice cream tops the priority list of things humans need.”
Matt couldn’t make his mouth form words and he was at a loss for what to say.
“You can have the rest of mine, Heather.” Abby approached and held out the last bite of her sandwich. Her small hand found Heather’s. “I don’t mind. You should have it.”
That made Heather blink even more, and she leaned over to give Abby a hug.
“Thank you very much, Abby. That’s very generous of you.” Heather closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She put the last bite of ice cream into her mouth and held it for a moment before swallowing. When her eyes opened, they were clear again.
“You’re probably pissed that I missed so many times and wasted it. I’m sorry.” She scuffed at the floor with her shoe.
Girls were crazy confusing. “Why would I be mad at you? You hit the alien. You’re better than all of us.” Without any better idea, he gave her a thumbs up and a massive, shit-eating grin. It all was absurd, but she smiled back and took his hand, cupping it to her chest. She stared at him with big, wet eyes and their faces inched closer together.
He had no idea what was happening, so rather than live in the moment and screw it up, he disengaged and stepped back. Heather wiped her hands on her jeans and appeared flustered. He needed to put his eyes somewhere, so he turned and looked out the window that faced up the street.
It was like looking out onto a stage, everything was so quiet and still. Big drops of rain started to fall, finally, and he hoped the storm would deal with some of this oppressive heat. The tree house wasn’t even close to water proof and they’d probably get soaked, but anything was better than this sweat box.
He let his mind wander, watching the rain fall outside. In the distance, he heard low rumbles of thunder. Looked like this was going to be a big one. Close to the path to the forest, the stains from Pete’s family remained and he hoped the downpour would, at least, wash that away. The rain could put them to rest. Beyond them, the equipment left out from the men do
ing electrical work sat unperturbed.
“Hey.” He interrupted his own thoughts, the word blurting out. “Did that junction box just move?”
Pete
Another foot.
Pete tallied the distance. Three feet. He’d gotten three feet closer to his house. It was a lot. It wasn’t enough. At this rate, he’d get maybe five or six feet a day. He needed to pick up the pace and that meant bigger steps or more frequent moves.
It was maddening to be this close to water without being able to get at it. He had long since stopped worrying about the headache that assaulted his skull, letting it fade to background noise. His tongue was disgusting in his mouth, like a puzzle piece he couldn’t get to fit properly. Even his joints had started to ache, a persistent throbbing that made it impossible to find a comfortable position. And the heat. The relentless heat inside this box that came with the daylight. He wasn’t even able to produce sweat anymore.
Part of him wanted to run. Kick the entrance to his portable jail open and sprint toward his house. He’d die, but it would be over, and he wouldn’t be thirsty anymore. He could feel his organs shrinking in his body. Everything was shutting down.
He lost track of his count and his phone was long since out of charge. Had it been half an hour since the last step, or an hour? Shit, did he need to start the timer in his head again? He wanted to scream.
“It’s been about ten minutes.” Matty was beside him again, and Pete nearly sobbed with relief. When he concentrated on counting, Matty would vanish and then it was only him, the heat, the iron box.
“Thirsty.” He couldn’t make his voice louder than a whisper. There wasn’t moisture left for talking.
“You have to go faster.”
“Can’t.”
“I’ll stay with you. But you have to try more frequent moves. Do one in another ten minutes. That will let you do a step every twenty minutes, three feet an hour.”
“Scared.”
“I know you are, buddy. But you have to do it.”
Aliens and Ice Cream Page 13
