Just Plain Weird

by Tom Upton

  Eliza reached across in the darkness, and set her hand on mine. Her palm was very warm, and she ran her thumb across my knuckles in a soothing, reassuring way.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I should have asked you about the gas.”

  She grunted. “Well, we have enough to get home-- if the thing ever turns over. You think it’ll turn over?”

  “Maybe-- if we sit here long enough, maybe the battery will recharge itself enough to turn the engine over once. Hopefully, that’ll be enough.”

  A long while passed in silence.

  “Should I try it again?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “How much longer?”

  “A bit.”

  Another long time passed as we sat there quietly. I felt as though we were a married couple whose children had grown up and moved away, and left us sitting here to realize we no longer had anything to talk about. I started to think about the scavengers, who might be roaming around, gathering the crumbs that the enormous salvage ships had left behind. I could see them in my mind, probably the same way the artifact had seen them; large dark eyes filled with evil intent as they searched and searched relentlessly. We would be nothing but sacks of minerals to them-- nothing more--just two sacks of precious substances sitting idly in a vehicle in a warehouse. A queasy horror set in when I realized exactly what happened to all the people. They were not killed in a war, not take away and imprisoned and turned into slaves. No, they were dissolved by the extractor beams, their bodies reduced to molecules of iron and calcium and copper and tin… everything of which human bodies are composed. We were nothing to the invaders but walking compost piles. All this was what had happened, and for the first time I had a clear sense of what it all meant. Until now, I had been going along with everything, trying my best to cope with a situation that was hopelessly weird, never stopping, though, to think what it all meant, to put it all in prospective. And now that I was doing that, I was nothing but mad, my rage growing the more I considered it all. How dared these creatures invade the planet? How dared they not acknowledge us as intelligent beings, with spirits and souls?…

  Just then, as though she could sense what I was thinking, Eliza asked, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You didn’t lie to me, did you, Travis?” she asked. “I would hate to think that after everything you could lie to me.”

  “No, I didn’t lie to you,” I said.

  “But you didn’t tell me everything you know, did you? That’s a kind of lying, you know.”

  “In that case…”

  She sighed miserably. “What is it, then? It must be something horrible. I know how you are; you wouldn’t lie unless it was something truly horrible. I won’t be mad at you, really. I know you think I’ll be mad at you, and maybe I should be, but I won’t. The way I’ve been feeling, I think it would be hard to be mad at you, no matter what you did. And that’s an awful thing to admit to somebody, and I hope you never take advantage of me admitting that to you. So what’s the deal? What do you know?”

  “I don’t think that this is the best time for me to tell you,” I said, already feeling that I was getting into an argument I couldn’t possibly win.

  “If not now, when? We appear to have plenty of time.”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what? Is it really that bad?” she asked, her voice getting a panicky edge. “Travis, you have to tell me. My mind is starting to race, here; I’m thinking all kinds of crazy things.”

  “Well…”

  “There goes ‘well’ again,” she cried.

  “Please,” I said. “Try to keep your voice down.”

  “Keep my voice down?” There was a lengthy pause, during which I could imagine how she would look if it weren’t dark; frowning so that there was a deep line running between her eyebrows, tipping her head to the side like a dog hearing a human utter a word that sounds familiar to it. “Why should I keep my voice down?” she asked, then, in a guarded way. “Travis, please tell me you have a headache-- you have a headache and that’s why you want me to lower my voice-- because it’s making your headache worse. Travis? Travis?”

  I wanted to tell her-- I really did-- but the words were stuck in my throat.

  “We’re not alone, are we?” she asked.

  “Well…”

  “Good God, Travis! How could you not tell me that? How could you not warn me?”

  I told her the truth, then, that I hadn’t wanted her to freak out. I had thought we could pop in, grab everything we needed, and pop out before there was a possible of running into one of the creatures-- if there happened to be any around.

  “You’re demented, you know that?” she told me, and her tone was oddly mild. “What if we would have run into one, and I never expected it. You think that wouldn’t freak me out? Oh, Travis, it is very sweet that you tried to protect me and all, but don’t ever do that again. Now, tell me what these things look like, so I know what to expect.”

  I gave her a description of the aliens.

  There was a long silence.

  “Cockroaches? Cockroaches that are… how long?”

  “About five feet.”

  “Five foot cockroaches,” she mused, and then added, “Damn, there’s not enough Raid in the world…. When we get back, you better show me how to shoot that thing. By the way, you did load it, didn’t you?”

  I assured her I did. I felt the barrel of the shotgun pressed up against my leg.

  “Travis, if you knew these things may still be around, didn’t you think that our driving into this building might not be quite strategically sound.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You mean all this junk is really that important?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Do you know what it’s all for?”

  “Some kind of interface, I think.”

  “Interface?”

  “Yeah, the telepathic communication between the artifact and me wasn’t working well enough. I wasn’t always understanding what it meant, and, I guess, it wasn’t understanding me too well either. I think it wants me to build this thing to improve communication. It wants to learn more about us-- humans-- how we think.”

  “Do you know why it chose to contact you?”

  “Well, the only other choices he ever had were Doc and you, but it concluded that you both were not viable.”

  “Not viable? What does that mean?”

  “It thinks in terms of being qualified to be a pilot. Apparently Doc had some of the traits that fall within its guidelines, but he is too old really, and little narrow-minded.”

  “Oh, and why didn’t it pick me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Well?”

  “Can’t I just say that you were disqualified?” I wondered.

  “No, no, you can’t. Tell me why-- exactly.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You’d rather not? What?-- you think I’ll bite your head off if it’s something unflattering? I understand it’s not you saying it; you’re just passing on an opinion. So tell me.”

  I struggled to come up with the right wording. “It seems as though the females of the species with which he is familiar are very rational.”

  “Oh, that’s all? I’m not rational enough? That’s not so bad. Why would I be offended by that?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be.”

  “Unless you’re sugar-coating it? Are you?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “Why? You think I can’t handle the truth? Just tell me, Travis. I’m not, like, three years old.”

  “It really doesn’t matter.”

  “Yeah, it does. It does now. It’s been all built up and everything.”

  “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “All right,” I sighed. “The artifact believes you’re-- insane.”

  �
��Insane?”

  “Insane,” I confirmed.

  “You think, maybe, that’s one of those misunderstandings you were talking about?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Insane?” she said, mulling the word over, and then asked me, “Do you think I’m insane?”

  “We were talking about the artifact.”

  “Yeah, but I’m asking you,” she insisted.

  “Me? No, I don’t think you’re insane.”

  “So you think I’m normal?”

  “Why do you have to do this?” I asked. “We’re sitting here, in the dark, in the cold, and you’re going on about what people think of you-- not even people, but what a machine thinks of you-- a machine that was built by aliens.”

  “You’re avoiding the question. I’m not talking about the artifact now. I’m asking you,” she said. “Do you think I’m normal?”

  “I don’t think you’re insane.”

  “But do you think I’m normal?”

  “What?-- there can’t be anything between insane and normal?”

  “Is that what you’re saying, that I fall in between?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” I said.

  She was silent for a moment.

  “Should I try turning it over again?” she asked.

  “Maybe wait a bit longer, to make sure.”

  “Did you hear something?”

  “That’s just the wind outside.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh,” she said vaguely, and then came back with, “Well, would you say I’m closer to normal or closer to insane?”

  “Right now, I’m getting closer to insane by the minute,” I said. “Eliza, will you please leave it alone. It’s like you’re picking on a scab and it’s bleeding all over the place, already.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous, I can’t help talking. I just go on and on and on about whatever happens to be at hand. I really can’t help-- what was that?”

  “What?”

  “That noise. It sounded like a scratching noise-- like rats make.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” I said.

  “Well, you’re deaf, then, because I heard it-- it was pretty darned loud, too. I sounded just like a huge rat scrapping its claws-- there it is again.”

  This time I did hear the sound. To me it sounded vaguely like the sound of nails dragged over a chalkboard.

  “Should I start the engine?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet? You want to wait for one of those things to--to what? What exactly would they do?” she asked, her voice rising along with her anxiety.

  “Shhhhhh. Lower your voice. The artifact didn’t say they were deaf, you know. As far as what they would do to us-- I would imagine it would have something to do with dissolving our bodies in order to extract their chemical components.”

  “Yuck!”

  “Eliza, please--”

  “Should I try the engine now?”

  “Wait,” I told her. “We’ll only have one chance. If it doesn’t start…”

  “You have the shotgun, right?”

  “Yeah, and it’s going to do us a lot of good in the dark. Just shut up and wait.”

  The scratching sound grew louder-- claws being dragged across the cement floor. Inside the four by four, the air was cold enough for me to see Eliza’s breath, tiny puffs coming from her mouth faster and faster. I tried to look out the windows, but the warehouse around us was pitch-dark. I wondered if the aliens were like insects on earth, many of which were nocturnal. I wondered whether they could see in the dark. I wondered did they have enough knowledge of earth to realize that no vehicle ought to be parked inside such a warehouse. Or did they have some kind of sensors that could detect organic life?

  Seconds ticked by, and the scratching became more complex. It sounded as though they were working on something, using their razor-sharp claws to perform some task.

  “Travis?”

  “Not yet.”

  We waited. The scratching stopped, and then resumed, this time louder. Whatever it was doing, it was moving closer to us. Eliza reached over in the dark and grabbed my hand, hard. I could feel the nerves in her hand jumping under her skin. The scratching again stopped, and this time there was a long silence. I wondered for a moment whether it had left. Not being able to tell for sure was nerve-racking. I imagined myself as a hunted animal, which I actually was, with darting eyes, sitting there in the dark with Eliza holding my hand while my other hand slipped down to feel the reassuring hardness of the shotgun barrel. The scratching never resumed, though, but instead was now replaced by a humming noise, which seemed to get louder and then softer, louder and softer. I would have believed the noise to be some kind of tool if it had been steady, but the undulating quality of it threw me off. What exactly was this thing doing? Ohmigod, I finally realized. It’s flying-- they can fly! The artifact didn’t say a thing about them being able to fly. But there it was, the sound of its wings as it flew, closer and farther away, circling overhead, probably searching or maybe already figuring out that it wasn’t alone in the dark.

  “What is that noise now?-- that buzzing noise?” Eliza asked.

  “It’s flying.”

  “It’s flying? It can do that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know-- I just figured it out myself.”

  She snorted. “You weren’t kidding about a problem communicating. The artifact doesn’t tell you that these things can fly, and I’m the one who’s insane?”

  I shushed her, then. The humming had stopped; it hadn’t stopped abruptly, but faded away. I tried to figure out where it had landed, playing the sound over and over in my mind. It was impossible to tell for sure. It might be on the opposite side of the warehouse, or it could be right next to the side passenger window, staring in at me, the blackness and its repugnant form blending in with the darkness around us.

  I heard Eliza draw a breath, as though ready to speak and I squeezed her hand very hard, hard enough to make her wince. At least she got the message to keep her mouth shut.

  Seconds passed slowly, as I listen intently and tried not even to breath. All I could hear at first was my heart beating, hard and fast. Something told me this would be a very bad moment for Eliza to open her mouth and say something. She must have had the same feeling, as she remained silent. I could feel her hand trembling, maybe out of fear but probably from forcing herself to keep quiet. It must really have been killing her; she was one of those people who just have an impossible time not saying something when they have something to say-- she would never in a million years win one of those contests to see who could remain quiet for the longest time.

  I thought I heard something, then, a soft rustling sound. It was near the car, but I couldn’t say exactly where. I was certain we were about to be discovered. I turn Eliza’s hand over. I pinched my index finger and thumb together, and pressed them into her palm, and made a twisting motion. I wasn’t sure whether she would understand, but she reached for the ignition. I heard the keys make a little jangle in the dark, as if asking, Now? Now?

  I waited a few seconds, before I said, “Now!”

  When she turned the ignition, the engine caught and roared to life. The headlights flickered dim and then bright. The alien was right in front of the four by four. It was standing on its back legs, leaning forward somewhat. It was not five feet long, but at least seven, its large triangular head looming forward. Its eyes were large and dark and it was impossible to tell whether they were focusing on anything. Its mouth looked like black pincers, opening and closing menacingly, like some medieval instrument of torture. It just stood there, in the beams of the headlights, and didn’t move. It might have been startled by the lights-- it was impossible to tell.

  Eliza didn’t scream, but released a long loud keen, as her hand fumbled with the gearshift. I put my hand on top of hers, and help her drop into drive. She quickly glanc
ed at me, her eyes wild and questioning.

  “Floor it!”

  She did, and the four by four shot forward. We hit the alien with a loud sickening thump, and blue blood jetted from its mouth, behind the wicked-looking pincers, in a fine spray that speckled the windshield. It didn’t seem very hurt, though, just stunned. A heartbeat later, it took flight, emitting a loud clacking noise that could only be a warning signal to his-- her--its companions.

  “Crap!” I yelled. I shoved my door open, and jumped out. I pulled up the shotgun and aimed it toward the creature, just as it vanished into the darkness near the rafters of the high ceiling. I squeezed the trigger, firing a shot into the dark, trying to guess where it might be. The shotgun roared incredibly loud, coughing a flash of fire from its barrels. I didn’t know whether I was very lucky or it was hard to miss your target with such a weapon, but the panicky clacking stopped and then was a loud crash as somewhere in the darkness the alien crashed into a display. I imagined it as an old World War 2 airplane, an engine afire and trailing smoke, angling down to its smoky doom upon the earth.

  I jumped back into the four by four, and slammed the door shut.

  “Get out of here,” I told Eliza.

  All of a sudden, Eliza turned from a very good driver into the worse driver the planet had ever known. She must have clipped, sideswiped and crashed into about twenty displays before she made it out of the retail area and into the back room. She didn’t even slow down as she flew through the back door and out into the dark swirling snow that was still falling, although letting up some. She turned on the windshield wipers, and the blue blood blended with the black snow before it was all washed away.