by Zara Zenia
Pulling out onto the highway, I took a hard right and made my way back to the edge of the facility. I had to know how far the agents had followed my footsteps. Chances are they already noticed that I'd misled them and were on the lookout for me.
"Shit... Why didn't I kill them when I had the chance?" I asked myself.
Once again, the blinking red lights of the satellite control center appeared, then I noticed the familiar patch of shrubbery at the side of the road. I pulled up behind it once again and saw the footsteps that signaled the agents had scurried around looking for me. They walked around the bush in circles, following my scent and analyzing the tire tracks.
"Suckers," I laughed.
"Suckers?" a voice came from behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the black suits and the Orban eyes, the sense of superiority that puffed out their chests and the arrogant swagger.
"Yeah, suckers," I repeated. "I knew you'd be waiting for me."
"Are you sure?" One of them laughed and reached a hand inside his coat.
"I'm positive," I replied. "Palzu's boys are always so predictable. You're all trained the same, never capable of thinking for yourselves."
A flush of fire fell across his eyes and he strode forward.
"Who the fuck are you calling a boy?"
Tangling his fingers in the front of my shirt, he tried to lift me but failed. I shook him off and pushed him away.
"Give up," I said. "You're going to die tonight. You may as well die with some dignity."
Behind him, the click of a car door opening sounded across the desert. A third agent climbed out of a gray sedan and wasted no time reaching for the gun in his holster.
"Human guns?" I chuckled. "Really?"
"You may be big and fierce, you might be able to crush a man with your bare hands, but we're smart, trained to use our brains not our muscles. We can shoot an ant from a mile away and kill a bird on the furthest horizon. We can kill you too, and there's nothing your muscles will be able to do for you."
He raised his gun and I took a step back.
"Guns are for cowards," I said.
"No, they're for the prepared."
A shot rang out. It echoed across the dunes then silenced itself with a crack as the bullet hit me square in the shoulder.
"Fuck!"
I gripped my bleeding wound and fell to my knees as the pain shot through me.
"Bastards. I'll kill you."
Looking up, the three men were standing over me, looking down with satisfied grins on their faces. The agent with the smoking gun licked his lips as though he was hungry for my death.
"You'll regret the moment you pulled that trigger," I said.
"I doubt it," he smiled and moved to squeeze his finger again.
I lunged at his legs as another shot rang out. It hit the ground near me, pulverizing a rock as a spattering of dust covered us. Pushing him to the floor, I slammed his back down hard until the breath was shaken out of him and reached for his gun. Turning it on him, I pulled the trigger with his hand still clutched around the grip and watched as he died by his own hand.
"Get him!" another agent shouted.
Then there were hands around my neck, the feeling of arms around my waist. A foot caught me in the ribs and the three of us fell onto our sides in a tangle of limbs, a conjoining of insects with our legs in the air as we struggled for survival.
I felt the cold steel of a gun push against my temple and the heat of the agents' breaths on either side of my face.
"Do you have any last words?" one of them asked.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
"I just want to say that..."
They waited with baited breath to hear the last thing I'd ever utter. I let them wait, listening to the sound of their breath growing faster and hotter until the moment was perfect. Then I elbowed them both in the gut. There was the crack of breaking ribs, the agonized gasps of the men as they fell away from my body. The gun at my head clattered onto the nearby rocks and I scrambled for it, ripping my jacket on the stones as I crawled.
"You'll pay for this!" one of the agents shouted.
I rolled over onto my back and shot him. The sparkling blast of the gunpowder illuminated the night sky as a look of horror swept across his face. Then the front of his forehead split open and a torrent of blood ran down his face, peppering me as his body fell backward. It slapped against the sand, his arm flopping onto the remaining agent who looked up at me like a frightened child. I cocked my head to the side and laughed.
"Any last words?" I mimicked.
He jumped to his feet and ran. I gave chase, matching each of his steps with two of my own. He glanced over his shoulder and saw me approach just in time for me to grab the collar of his coat and yank him backward. He yelped as he fell to my feet and for a long while, I watched him lie on the ground as both of us struggled to catch our breath.
"You're not a trained sprinter," I said.
"Neither are you," he replied. "It sounds like your lungs are about to give out."
He lay his head on the sand and closed his eyes, his chest moving up and down quickly as the fear began to set in.
"This is it, isn't it?" he asked as he raised his hands to his head and rubbed at his temples.
"This is it," I answered. "How do you want it to end?"
The gun was in my hand, with the blood pumping to my fingers. I wanted to get it done, wanted to dispose of these parasites as quickly as possible, but something about the look on his face made me hang around a moment longer than I normally do.
"You got a family?" I asked.
"Back on Orba," he gasped. "A wife and a newborn."
"Does your wife know what you do?"
He passed a dehydrated tongue over his parched, papery lips as he shook his head.
"She doesn't know a thing. Thinks I work in an office somewhere in the Liba Galaxy."
"Usually it's better that way," I said and squeezed the trigger.
For a split second, I was certain I saw his eyes flicker open as he realized his life was about to end. But then I knew it was just my imagination. He was deader than dead, just like the other two. It wouldn't be long until Palzu discovered what happened here or worse, the humans would discover these bodies and see there was something not normal about them. I'd heard about aliens being injured or dying on Earth. They were often taken to secret facilities where they were experimented on. Some were tortured, some were used for their great intellect while other, more supreme beings, were often recruited for military jobs on Earth. I wondered what would happen to the three bodies out here in the desert. Maybe an animal would eat them, or maybe they would lie here forever with the sand-filled wind lashing at their flesh until there was nothing left but bones.
I walked away and made my way back over to the SUV, knowing that my job was done. My shoulder ached but it would heal eventually. Stepping on the gas, I accelerated back out onto the road and headed back to the city that had most recently become my home. As the darkness began to fade and the sun rose in the distance, a dark shade of pink tinted the sky, a sign that it was going to rain soon.
Eventually, the desert also began to fade away and the tumbleweed and sand were replaced by sidewalks and children riding their bicycles. Braking at a stop light, I saw a young girl beside me, her hand firmly tucked into her mother's as she gossiped with a friend. The young girl looked over at me and narrowed her eyes. Human children were peculiar. They have the uncanny ability to be more perceptive and psychic than their parents. They seem to know everything and read minds as though it was perfectly natural, but then something happens as they grow older. Fun gives way to problems and the mental clarity that lets them see the invisible is replaced by troublesome thoughts and a fear of the unknown.
For a long while, the girl just stared as though she was trying to burn a hole through me with her eyes. Then, when the stop light turned green, she raised a tiny hand and waved. I waved back and pulled away, wondering wha
t was going through her mind.
With her black pigtails and candy-colored clothing, she reminded me of someone. Victorinth, I thought. She looked just like little Victorinth. It had been so long since I'd seen her brother, but it had been so long since I'd seen any of them. I often lay awake at night thinking about where they were. I always hoped that wherever they were, they were ok, always wondered if they went back to Orba or made a life for themselves here.
I couldn't help but think about Benzen. He was always the sensitive one, the one that was most likely to fall in love. When he stayed with Alison I wasn't surprised. She'd make a nice human wife for him and keep him safe in this hostile world. But I could never settle down like that. I couldn't do it back on Orba and I wouldn't be able to do it on Earth. Life is too short to get tethered to another being for all eternity, even if they are as beautiful and sweet as Anya.
Just thinking about her, gave me a raging erection and as I slowed down in the traffic, I moved to adjust myself. That girl was very sweet and pretty and had a body to die for. I could have fucked her forever if I wasn't in the middle of a job. But there would be other times. I had to keep her close to me, make her think that I really liked her. It was the only way to get access to the facility and the satellite.
As the traffic reached a gridlock, I turned off the engine and relaxed back in my seat. Up ahead, I could see the flashing lights of emergency services and hear sirens approach. Must have been an accident, I thought. But that's fine by me. I'm in no hurry.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the piece of paper that had been folded so carefully and tucked away somewhere safe. Then I looked at the digits that had been scrawled out girlishly in lip liner. Anya's phone number, it wouldn't be long until I needed it.
Chapter 4
Anya
Fog covered the base of a lighthouse that stood parallel to the blunt cliffs. Around the top, a beacon of light shone bright, swirling around the perimeter, repeatedly as the red light cast shapes on the frothy waves. A noise accompanied the beacon, a great horn that bellowed through my ears and rattled through my brain. I reached out and tried to smack the top of the lighthouse thinking that if only I could reach it, the noise would stop. But it never did. No matter how many times I leaned out to touch the light, it always remained an inch too far. At last, a large wave began to batter the lighthouse and the foundations shook. The bricks began to move, shuffle and break as the water battered the red and white striped granite. Finally, the structure tumbled toward me with wave upon wave falling on top of me along with a thousand bricks that left no mark on my pale skin. With one final smack, I hit the light and the noise stopped. There was silence punctuated by the gushing of waves, the rise and fall of water like white noise rushing through a breeze.
Then I opened my eyes. Looking over at the bedside cabinet, I saw I'd knocked the alarm clock off onto the carpet where the time showed it was almost seven thirty.
"Shit..." I grumbled and rolled over to pick it up.
A slight hangover thumped inside my head, a heavy, lumbering pain that reminded me of the night before. I should not drink champagne again, I thought. It felt like my brain was in a vise grip. Shuffling to the edge of the bed, I pulled open the nearest drawer and popped two aspirin in my mouth and washed them down with a mouthful of water.
"Ugh..."
Shifting over to the window, I pulled back the curtains and saw the rain washing down the window in miniature waves. Again, the headache bumped in the background of my mind. Running my tongue over my teeth, I tasted the night all over again; the pink champagne, the mysterious man and the whiskey on his breath, the one cigarette that was given to me before I climbed into the taxi for the ride home.
The mysterious man, the tall figure that smelled of leather and something unfamiliar, the man that held me tightly as I came, then kissed me goodnight before slinking away into the shadows. Of course, I had insisted he take my phone number, had thrust it into his hand as he walked away. Then I blushed, as I remembered the desperation of wanting to see him again. As I watched him walk away, I panicked and thought he’d disappear forever. I felt petrified at the thought of giving my body to someone who'd simply vanish. In a moment of madness, I had chased after him and gripped hold of his sleeve.
"I live on Mojave Boulevard!" I'd blurted out and instantly regretted it. "You know if you're ever in the area and want to say hi."
He'd smiled and ran a hand through his hair before saying:
"Wow, I might just have to take you up on that offer."
"Well, it's the pink house at the bottom," I'd replied. "If you're ever passing by."
Now, as I watched the rain settle into puddles on the sidewalk, I cursed myself for being so naive. What if he was some kind of serial killer? What if he thought I was crazy, a girl who told people where she lived as soon as she met them.
"Idiot, Anya," I muttered under my breath as I ventured into the bathroom to brush my teeth. "Total idiot."
With a mouth full of foam, I begrudgingly washed the taste of last night out of my mouth. I wanted to save it forever, remember the best night I had in years, for as long as I could. Somewhere in the bedroom, my phone buzzed. Probably, Susan, I thought. She'll want to know all the juicy details.
Racing back into the bedroom, I pulled my phone out from beneath my pillow and saw the long stream of smiley faces and hearts from Susan.
"Hey! Where you? Are you coming into work today? Where did you two disappear off to last night?"
I wanted to text her back and tell her everything, explain how I had the strongest orgasm of my life while being in the same room as her and Miranda, but I couldn't. What would she think of me? I'd never had sex in public before. She'd no doubt think I was insane!
Sliding the phone back under the pillow, I was on the cusp of returning to the bathroom when the doorbell rang. With my toothbrush still pushed into the inside of my cheek, I slid on my dressing gown and rushed down the stairs. Maybe it was Mrs. Morgan. She was always coming over at kooky times needing help with something or other. The weekend before she had doddered down my drive wanting me to help her work her DVD player, and when I went over to her house I could only laugh when she showed me through to the kitchen and pointed at the toaster. In her Alzheimer's ridden mind, she thought that toast could play movies. The poor lady.
"Mrs. Morgan? Is that you?" I mumbled with a mouth full of toothpaste as I opened the door.
Flinging it open, I was confronted with nothing but the falling rain.
"Mrs. Morgan?"
I looked left then right then down. On my doorstep lay a little basket covered in a cute tea towel.
"What the?"
Was this some sort of practical joke? I half expected to peel back the towel and find a teenager had planted a flaming turd on my doorstep. Luckily, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted up before I bent down. Taking it through to the kitchen, I was pleased to find a selection of miniature pastries and a loaf of artisanal baked bread. Tucked into the side of the basket lay a postcard.
Thanks for a wonderful night, said the rugged script.
"Oh, my God!"
The toothbrush fell from my mouth and clattered onto the counter, but I didn't move to retrieve it. My eyes wouldn't move away from the note and the five words that sent my heart beating into overdrive. He remembered where I lived! Now, in the cold light of the morning, it seemed almost threatening, maybe even a little aggressive. He was here at my house and ran away before I could see him. Was he here now? Could he see me? In a panic, I glanced up to the window with toothpaste still smeared across my lips. He wasn't there, thankfully.
But despite the palpitations in my chest and the worry that he'd tracked me down, I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. It was, after all, the first time I'd truly felt desired in years. It felt nice, genuinely warming, yet surreal after all the years I'd plunged headlong into my work without so much as a thought aimed at a romantic life. But now it was possible, maybe.
> "What a rogue," I laughed as I made my way back up to the bathroom.
After showering and dressing, I looked back into the basket. It was almost as if he'd read my mind for all my favorite treats. There were pink macarons and pains au chocolat, little croissants and cheese-covered buns and of course, the piece de resistance sat plump and covered in pine nuts, the bread that smelled so wonderful and made my stomach rumble. I carved it up and smothered it in butter before sitting at the breakfast bar in front of the kitchen window.
With every bite I took, I looked out onto the street and wondered where he was. Was he still in the neighborhood? Or was he long gone? Heading back into the city where he belonged? With his looks and charisma, he probably had a glamorous life. I imagined him riding a motorcycle, something big and strong like him. I wondered what he did as a job. Maybe he was a male model, a martial arts expert, or an actor. He definitely worked out, was built like an athlete and he was so handsome too. There was no one like him in a boring office job and I couldn't imagine him doing something mundane like stocking shelves in a supermarket. No, he was something exciting and wild. He could be a boxer or a spy, a stuntman or a biker. A biker that's also a baker!
My mind began to run away with itself as I thought about every aspect of his life. Where did he live? Did he live alone? What was his relationship like with his parents? Did he sleep naked? What was his favorite color? Did he have a lot of money?
"Calm down," I said to myself as I gulped down a mouthful of pastry. "It was just one night, just a one night stand. If you see him again it'll be a bonus."
All the while I twiddle the note around my fingers and gazed at his handwriting. It's been said that you can tell a lot about a person from their handwriting, can guess what kind of a mood they're in and what they're personality is like. I tried my best to figure him out from the loops and flourishes in the letters. He had a light touch, that was for sure, but his writing was also angular and dramatic, sharp and messy in places while strong and sturdy in others. His handwriting was as mysterious and indiscernible as he was and told me nothing and everything all at once.
