Ship Wrecked: Stranded on an alien world

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  The sheriff, continuing to maintain a grasp on his shoulder mic, briefly made eye contact with Deputy Kirk before turning back to Cameron.

  “Don’t leave town, Cameron. I’m serious … You don’t want to be in any more trouble than you’re already in.”

  Cameron began to object. “I’m starting school … semester starts …” noting then the sheriff’s menacing expression was all it took for him to shut up.

  “Don’t make me regret letting you go. I’ll want to talk to you more later.” Sheriff Bart Christy hurried off toward his SUV.

  Deputy Kirk said, “I would have locked you up forever, douchebag. You were lying right to his face.” Unlocking the handcuffs, the deputy headed off to his own vehicle. Both vehicles sped off, leaving Cameron standing in the middle of the street all alone.

  He rubbed his sore wrists and considered his alternatives. He could return home—a home where he wasn’t exactly welcome. His foster parents didn’t shed a tear when he told them goodbye earlier in the morning. They even helped him pack—seemed practically jubilant at the prospect of having him gone. He could ignore the sheriff’s parting words, continue his five-day trek back to Stanford, but then recounted Sheriff Christy’s icy-cold eyes riveted on his face. The guy was not someone to mess with. The stories he’d heard about the man were an exaggeration, he always thought—akin to small town, old wives tales. Cameron turned, his eyes following the course the winding street took up the side of Gant Mountain. Ramen had said his ship was nearby, but hidden. How on earth does someone hide a spaceship in a civilized area? Sure, only a few homes are up here, but still … And then he remembered Jericho. The name of an old research facility—now closed—it was a big sprawling compound. A chemical leak back in the early 1990s forced its closure. It was the reason so few people lived up here. Truth was, it was a fairly insubstantial mishap—no one injured. None even got sick. Still, today most of Gant Mountain was pretty much unpopulated landscape. People didn’t want to take chances getting sick. The site was on the government’s long list of superfund sites, but who knew when they were going to do anything about it. He thought about the facility—how it had been carved out of the granite mountainside. Perched on a secluded ten acres, surrounded by high fences topped with razor wire, he considered it just might be the perfect place to hide a spaceship.

  Cameron turned and, glancing back down the street, thought, Be smart. Get the hell out of Dodge. He climbed in his truck and, putting it in gear slowly, proceeded up, not down, the winding road.

  Chapter 7

  Ramen hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the Carsons’ home was close to where his ship was hidden. The Jericho Research Facility was less than two miles away, the side road turn-off aptly named Jericho Ridge.

  Tall pines flanked both sides of the access road; in the far distance Cameron could see a gated fence. Studying the long drive toward the facility, he debated whether his old truck could safely plow through the recent two feet of fresh snowfall. Shrugging, he engaged the four-wheel drive and slowly proceeded forward. The sound of snow crunching beneath the wheels soon changed to one of whirling as four rubber tires sporadically slipped and slid. The going was slow, but he eventually made it to the front gate. The sobering fact that he might need to wait till spring to drive back out wasn’t lost on him. I could be on my way to sunny California this very minute, he mused.

  The engine idling, billowing puffs of white exhaust smoke filled the air. He remembered coming up here while still in high school. Most classmates did the same thing, at one time or another, either on a dare or just to brag they’d done it. Possibly sacrificing their very lives to enter the dreaded, possibly haunted, toxic Jericho Research Compound. But the truth was, there really was nothing of much interest beyond the fence. The big locked gate prevented him now from moving forward. He looked beyond the gate. If Ramen was telling the truth, there was a spaceship inside—somewhere. Cameron rolled his eyes at his own gullibility. I’m such a tool.

  He grabbed for his phone and then hesitated. He shook his head and began tapping out a text message.

  Heather — sorry I lied to you. That wasn’t Todd. It was a hitchhiker. Was the guy your dad’s looking for. And he’s an alien. Like from F-ing outer space. And no, I’m not on drugs. Telling you cause I’m about to drive onto the Jericho campus on the mountain. Think his spaceship is parked. I should stop texting now — certain you’ll already think I’m crazy.

  He tapped the send icon.

  He stared at the quasi-enclosed keypad, supported atop a metal pipe with a small solar panel on top, as a long-forgotten tidbit of information suddenly rattled around in his head. He still remembered the old code and wondered if it had ever been changed. Taking his foot off the brake, Cameron let the truck creep forward several feet. Buzzing down the window, he tapped 4219 onto the keypad. Immediately, he heard a faint electrical hum as the twelve-foot-high chain link gate began moving sideways. A part of him was disappointed; would have been okay if the access code hadn’t been accepted. He accelerated forward, once again hearing the wheels fight to gain purchase on snow-topped ice. Tall trees edged both sides of the road for close to a half-mile, then came a broad clearing where, starting back up against the cliffs, a wide swath of once tall pines were sacrificed for the Jericho Research Compound structure. Unimpressive architecturally, the buildings were all four-storied. Comprised of massive gray concrete slabs, they were peppered with hundreds of surprisingly small windows. The now-abandoned buildings looked just as cold—as miserably inhospitable—as the inclement weather occurring outside.

  Cameron scanned the terrain and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. What am I doing here? Ready to turn around, something caught his eye. Off in the distance, beyond the farthest building, looked like a faint line of footsteps in the snow. They would be easy to miss, with the heavy snowfall quickly erasing the tracks. Only faint impressions, they soon would be covered up. Truth was, the rather large appearing tracks could possibly be those of an elk, or even a bear. Again, Cameron throttled the truck forward. Might as well follow the road to the far end of the compound, he thought. Maybe there’s a better place to turn around, anyway. He’d never driven this far in before. Turning left at the bend, he discovered that part of the compound consisted of wide-open space. He imagined summertime, when former Jericho employees sat on the sprawling grassy lawn, eating lunch. Maybe playing Frisbee, or tossing a ball around.

  Better able now to follow the tracks where they originated, he suddenly slammed on the breaks. “Holy shit!”

  He’d heard of that strange phenomenon. What was it called? Oh yeah … the invisible ships. It was just one more obscure encyclopedia reference he recalled. When old sea captains—like Columbus or Captain Cook, maybe even Magellan—showed up along the coast of some distant land, the natives were not able to see them though the ships were right there! Why? Because the big ships were so alien to their primitive perceptions that what they saw didn’t register mentally. They literally failed to ‘see’ what was moored offshore right before their eyes. And now, as Cameron took in the magnificent spectacle before him, he more than understood that weird phenomenon first hand.

  The spaceship was big. Hundreds of feet long. Blanketed nose to tail with several inches of new snow, the ship appeared to blend almost mysteriously in with its equally snowy surroundings. The ship was a combination of soft curves and sharp angles. Cameron took in every inch of it—feeling he needed to etch each detail into his memory—in the event he someday doubted the reality of what he was now viewing.

  Long minutes passed. Cameron wasn’t keeping track of time when he saw him: A dark figure, trudging along a snow bank off to his right. Whoever he was, he was following along the same tracks in the snow left earlier. Something was on his back, like a backpack, but it wasn’t that—the wrong shape. The figure was close enough now that Cameron could make out his outfit—the faded-green army jacket and the same woolen skullcap the alien last wore atop his head. Only then did Ra
men stop and turn toward him. Cameron raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, recognizing the fact that aliens might not do that—wave hello. Maybe their form of greeting was to raise a foot or teeter-totter their heads back and forth. Ramen didn’t wave back but was signaling, humanlike, for him to pull up closer.

  Cameron, applying a bit too much pedal to the metal, caused the rear of his pickup to fishtail before straightening back out. All forward progress was slow, the unplowed snow so much deeper here. Once alongside him, the alien unburdened what was on his back, tossing it atop the tarp covering the truck bed. Ramen then opened the passenger door and climbed in. Shivering, he began to blow heated breath into his cupped hands.

  “You were telling me the truth,” Cameron said, gesturing toward the spaceship some fifty yards away.

  “Beginning to wonder if I could make it back here. Your Earth is a cold planet.”

  “It can be. Better in the spring and summer. So how did you get away from the deputy?” Cameron asked.

  But Ramen, no longer listening, was staring at the ship in apprehension. Something was very wrong. “No … Oh no.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “The last of the power reserves … must have depleted.”

  Cameron didn’t know how the alien figured that out, sitting here inside his truck. His eyes, focusing now in the same direction as Ramen’s, could see a big hatch at the ship’s stern was open. A ramp, of sorts, extended outward—like a protruding tongue from a wide-gaping mouth.

  “Go!”

  Cameron stared at Ramen blank-faced. “Go where?”

  Looking either excited or scared, Ramen said, “Into the ship! Go up ramp! Now!”

  Cameron glanced from Ramen to the spaceship and back. “Into that spaceship?”

  “Hurry! Go!”

  Cameron, doing as told, applied pressure to the gas pedal. The old F150 slid, first one way then the other, its front bumper plowing through the ever-accumulating snow. He figured they were probably off the road as the straining engine’s pitch rose higher and louder.

  “I’m not sure the old truck has it in her.”

  “Keep going! Faster … faster!”

  Still twenty-five yards out, Cameron asked, “What’s the rush? It’s not like the ship’s going anywhere.”

  “It is not the ship. What is in the ship I am concerned with.”

  Cameron let up on the accelerator. “Inside the ship?”

  Ramen reached over, putting his full weight onto Cameron’s right knee. As the truck picked up speed, Cameron said, “Hey! Not cool!” and balked, at realizing Ramen had taken control of the steering wheel too. Hell, the alien was practically sitting in his lap. The stern of the spaceship loomed large as they approached. Suddenly, the front of the truck angled steeply upward as they ascended the gangway. No sooner had they crossed into the ship’s hold when Ramen—after quickly exiting through the passenger-side door—ran forward into the cavernous darkness. Cameron, fumbling in the dark, found the knob for the headlights, turned them on. For the second time that day, he saw something that defied his concept of reality. Easily forty-feet-tall—all legs and a gargantuan-sized head—stood a monster. Dripping streams of saliva glistened in the headlights’ bright beams. Ramen stood twenty feet away from the thing—unmoving—looking petrified and standing still as a statue.

  Chapter 8

  Cameron watched as the creature looked away from Ramen toward his truck. Or was it at the scared-shitless human, sitting within the cab of the truck? Highly illuminated now, he felt like a fucking stage performer under a spotlight. Seconds earlier, when Ramen hurried from the truck, he’d left the door ajar—leaving the interior dome light on. Cameron frantically fumbled for the switch and managed to turn it off.

  Ramen looked right then left—was looking for a place to run to—to hide. Cameron now could make out some distinct details in their surroundings, see blinking on-and-off tiny multi-colored lights in the distance, where another small winged vehicle was strapped down into place. A series of catwalks spanned both port and starboard bulkheads. The hold’s space was large enough to park five city busses side-by-side; also tall enough for the drooling thing to stand completely upright, some forty to fifty feet high.

  “What should I do?” Cameron asked, loud enough to be heard over the truck’s still idling engine and the heavy sounds of breathing coming from the nearby monstrosity.

  Ramen slowly raised a hand—making a hold on gesture—then took a cautionary step backward. The creature slurped and growled, prompting Ramen to again, hold in place.

  Suddenly, the creature was on the move—six legs thudding onto the deck in a wild blur. Trudging forward, its heavy-footed vibrations caused the F150 to rock on its suspension.

  Ramen turned to run, but it was too late. The creature was upon him—its massive jaws opening and scooping him up like some kind of oversized backhoe. The creature rose even taller, and Cameron could see Ramen flailing about within its mouth. One of his arms seemed to be trapped between crushing molars. Ramen’s screams of agony were filtered through a virtual waterfall of dripping mucus.

  Cameron’s mind froze. What should I do? Oh God, what should I do? He slammed a hand down onto the truck’s horn and kept it there. The loud hooooonk reverberated within the confines of the spaceship compartment.

  The creature violently shook its head from side to side—the loud honking noise seemed to cause it pain. To Cameron’s surprise, Ramen was thrown from its mouth—disappearing into the darkness somewhere below.

  With its six legs pounding the deck in a horrendous drum roll, the creature rushed toward the front of the truck. Cameron squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact. Waiting to endure the sensation of having strong, Detroit-formed steel crushed and decimated—his truck ripped apart with him inside. But it didn’t happen. With his hand still pressing firmly on the horn, Cameron squinted, first opening one eye then the other. The monster was gone. Taking his hand off the horn, Cameron looked into the rear view mirror but saw no sign of the creature. He then spun around in his seat to better stare out the rear window. Nothing was back there.

  Without making any sudden movements, he leaned into the driver-side door, opened it, then stepped out. Glancing back toward the descending gangway—open to the outside world—he realized, Oh no … it’s out there. THE DAMN THING IS OUT THERE!

  Cameron ducked down—suddenly startled by an unexpected whirling sound. The rear of the ship was closing—the gangway was being withdrawn back inside. He ran for the quickly narrowing space, sensing he could make it if he hurried. He kept going—prepared to dive through the closing gap—then stopped short. Ramen. The guy was injured, perhaps dying somewhere back there in the dark. He had to help him, or at least try.

  The big hatch sealed closed, making a sucking thunk sound. As dark as it was before, it was a whole lot darker now. If it weren’t for the truck’s headlights, it would be pitch-black in there.

  “Ramen? You there? Um … you okay, man?” Cameron knew it was a stupid question. He hurried forward until his legs were illuminated in the headlight beams. Two more strides, and he slipped, falling hard onto his ass. Raising his hands, he found them coated, dripping with saliva. Using care, doing his best to keep his footing in the muck, he stood then shuffled forward in the direction he remembered Ramen’s body being flung to. He heard a moan and then saw him, lying prone on the deck. Lowering to one knee, he took in Ramen’s injuries. Blood, a lot of it, mostly escaping from what little remained of his right arm. His eyes open, he was trying to speak.

  “I don’t understand. Ramen, you’re not speaking English. I don’t know what you’re saying to me …” Cameron said and suddenly jumped backwards. Throwing his hands up to protect himself, he landed on his ass again, trying to reconcile exactly what he was looking at. Whatever it was, he now understood that Ramen hadn’t been speaking to him, instead he was talking to … it. Obscured in the partial darkness, it was a hovering black thing, perhaps some sort of robot.
Cameron looked at the bot hovering in the air, but didn’t see any rotors or feel any air drafts. Every drone he had ever seen needed rotors. Maybe this thing had some sort of anti-gravity device, but that was the stuff of science fiction not reality. Could the ship be outfitted with electromagnets throughout the walls that it used those to keep the droid aloft? A series of pushing and pulling magnetic fields could theoretically keep something in the air and move it around, but it would take powerful magnets and a very complex computer to perform all the moment-to-moment calculations to keep it up. He had a feeling it was more complex that that; the aliens had clearly figured out the whole anti-gravity thing.

  He watched as the two conversed in low tones. Ramen was obviously angry and in terrible pain—his desperately uttered words expelled in short, teeth-clenched, bursts. He raised his head and looked over at Cameron, using his uninjured arm to point directly at him.

  “Cameron … I am sorry. You did not ask for this.”

  “Ask for what? I don’t understand.”

  “Come … come closer.”

  Keeping an eye on the hovering, menacing-looking bot, Cameron did as asked. “This Artificial Intelligence, this droid, will take command of the vessel as soon as I … expire. Remember, droids never put the fate of people … first. They cannot be taught to care or empathize.”

  His voice was no more than a whisper now. His eyes losing focus. He was in shock. He was bleeding out. Cameron tried to concentrate.

  “Something my people only came to realize after many years. Droids promoted to the rank of captain … given that kind of responsibility … was a bad idea. Sometimes necessary, but only as a last resort.” Ramen gasped, looking like he was about to die right then and there. He swallowed hard then continued, “There is enough accumulated atmospheric Xenon to now ascend into space. Find a way to … work with the droid. Do whatever is called for.”