The Stranded Ones

by Jay B. Gaskill

  “Which big fellah did you have in mind?” Hugh asked sleepily. The cat changed his position, trying to stretch in the confined space. “Ouch,” Hugh growled, as an unsheathed claw brushed his bare leg. The cat responded by licking Hugh’s unshaven cheek; then Schröd leapt heavily into the back seat.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Sure,” Hugh lied, struggling to put on his stiff, smelly pants. “Where are we?”

  “We…” Sam continued without taking her eyes from the rain-blurred landscape ahead, “…are now on the ranch. For the early part of my life, this was my home.” Hugh sat still for a moment, staring out the windshield, collecting his thoughts.

  “I take it your parents were close to Jim and Nadine.”

  “Mom and Dad traveled a lot. Nadine was Dad’s kid sister. I came here every summer from my earliest childhood…still do really.” As Sam spoke, the hover, wheels down, pulled to a stop next to a conventional pickup truck, parked in a gravel driveway outside a modest single story wood frame cottage.

  “We’ve arrived?” Hugh asked.

  “In a manner of speaking…This is Schröd’s house.” The big cat was sitting impatiently in the back seat, his nose pressed against the glass of the side window. “It’s okay, fellah,” Sam said, “you can get out now.” She keyed open the rear door from the console and Schrödinger bounded down the driveway to the front door of the cottage. As the cheetah approached the porch, the wooden door opened and another cat appeared. Almost as large as Schröd, his mate was banded in distinctive dark gold markings. She immediately ran to meet him. After brief mutual muzzling in the downpour, the two cats disappeared through the cottage door, which closed behind them. “That’s Lady Macbeth,” Sam noted. Hugh thought he could hear a faint sigh.

  “Well, let’s get to the showers,” Sam said brightly. She pulled the hover-car onto a rutted dirt road that tracked alongside a swollen creek through a field of tangled, leafless bushes. Minutes later, they arrived at the LeFevre house. It was an early twentieth-century two story Cape Cod, a neat, blue-and-white clapboard, set in the middle of a well-groomed lawn that was as large as a small park and bisected by a white gravel drive. Another hover, an older model Mercedes, was parked under an awning next to the side of the house, and there was room for another. “Good,” Sam said with anticipation, “They’re home.” She killed the last of the fans and the vehicle sank a few inches to its running wheels.

  Nadine opened the front door. She was a small, slender woman with soft features, jet-black hair and luminous brown eyes. She projected intelligence and poise.

  “Hi guys,” Sam said.

  “Back so soon?” Nadine asked, stepping aside.

  “Had to cut it short,” Sam said as she swept in pulling Hugh behind her. “Nadine, this is Hugh. The four of us should talk right away.”

  “Honey?” It was Jim’s husky baritone from the kitchen. He emerged into the covered porch area and stood next to Nadine, smiling. He was a broad, bluff man with light brown hair and the weathered complexion of a farmer or rancher, wearing jeans and a tan flannel shirt. He looked at Hugh, then at Nadine, then at Samantha.

  “Hi Jim, this is Hugh McCahan, a friend of mine…and of Finnegan Gael’s.” Jim’s face immediately darkened.

  “We heard explosions. Is that where you were?” he asked gravely. “Come into the kitchen, please…Hugh, nice to meet-cha…”

  “Sounds like you’ve heard some rumors already,” Samantha replied.

  “This community knows and admires Finnegan Gael,” Jim said.

  “Uncle Jim, we’re both going to need some sanctuary for a while.”

  Jim nodded thoughtfully and Nadine smiled warmly, as Sam and her guest walked through the enclosed porch into the kitchen. “No sanctuary would be complete without some coffee and a shower. No offense, dear, but you both look dreadful!”

  Hugh showered and shaved and dressed in a borrowed robe while his clothes were being washed, then he joined Sam and Jim at the kitchen table.

  “We’ve heard that there was an attack. Is Finnegan Gael dead?” Jim asked.

  Hugh looked at Sam before answering. “I really don’t know. I need to be frank. I’m uncomfortable about abusing your hospitality given the danger we might cause you to be in.” Hugh felt Sam brush his sleeve. She smiled encouragingly and he nodded. “Someone tried to kill Finnegan Gael and ended up destroying a lot of property and killing at least two people. I think they hoped to wipe out everyone who happened to be at Mr. Gael’s secret residence here.” He picked up a cup of coffee offered by Nadine. “Thanks,” he said. “Black is perfect.” Hugh permitted himself a sip during which he appraised Samantha’s Uncle Jim and Aunt Nadine’s reactions. As he remembered Sam’s earlier act of trust, he added: “Finnegan is probably alive…assuming that he got competent medical help in time.” Hugh paused again to sip his coffee. “I’m not sure I should tell you who died.”

  “Don’t tell us, then,” Jim said. “Sam tells me you’re in the information gathering business,” he offered. Hugh smiled ruefully.

  “In polite circles I can still get away with that job description.”

  Jim laughed. “But not, I imagine, in other circles. Hugh, Nadine and I understand the value of what you are doing better than most…not to mention the risks.”

  “Hugh,” Sam interjected, “sometime after your clothes are dry and you have eaten, would you like to take a little walk around?”

  He smiled across the table at Samantha. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.” Sam’s hair was still damp from the shower; she was dressed in a loose fitting silk blouse and fresh jeans. Even without makeup she was compellingly attractive; the long, harrowing ride seemed to have left her fresh. Hugh, on the other hand, was running on empty. He steadied his hand as he brought the mug of coffee to his lips for a sip. “Where would you like to walk?” Hugh said, yawning.

  Sam smiled. “…Maybe after you’ve gotten a nap.”

  “Maybe,” he yawned again. “I guess I do need a little sleep.”

  “Please, Hugh,” Nadine said, “…spend some time here. We have a wonderful guest bedroom. You are welcome to crash here as long as you need to.”

  “I think that would be wise,” Jim added. “You are safe with us.”

  “Thank you. I may spend the night, at that. But I really do need to get going first thing.” Hugh got up. “Okay, Sam.” He shook his head, smiling. “Maybe a walk will wake me up.”

  Outside, the rain had stopped and the sun had broken through the clouds. They walked through soft grass and over small stones and moss. The sun streamed through the trees. Sam walked close to Hugh as the warm light struck her shoulder. Hugh took her hand. He could smell her hair. They walked without words for almost an hour, losing sight of the ranch house in the first ten minutes. As they approached the LeFevre house, Sam spoke softly.

  “Look. Jim’s car is gone. They’ve probably gone to town for groceries.” As Hugh squeezed her hand, Sam smiled. “They won’t be back for a couple of hours.” Then she pulled him toward the house. “Come on in, big guy,” she said gaily, stepping lightly ahead of him onto the old wooden the porch. When Hugh reached the door, she held out her hand again. “Nap time,” she said.

  Inside, Sam led Hugh to a small, tidy bedroom, with yellow curtains and a four-poster double bed. “The guest room?” he asked, as Sam impulsively pulled him to her. Hugh responded with enthusiasm, and after a tiny hesitation, Sam matched him fully, her mouth against his. The two of them pressed against the partly open door to the bedroom, Sam’s back against the sharp handle. Then the door gave way. Sam instinctively slid to one side to avoid the handle and Hugh, his normal animal grace having deserted him on this occasion, stumbled over himself and fell.

  Training has an unfortunate way of overriding even common sense. Hugh executed a perfect paratrooper’s roll to his side, striking his head against the dresser. The pain was excruciating. He lay on the hardwood floor between the end of the bed and an old dresser f
or a full thirty seconds, swallowing a whole series of vivid expletives. He looked up. Sam had covered her mouth, but her eyes were merry, and her body was convulsing with suppressed laughter. “Sorry,” she managed to choke out. “Do you…” she barely suppressed a giggle “…need any help?”

  “I’ll be just fine down here,” Hugh said darkly. He held out his hand and when Sam took it, he drew her gently to him. She slid neatly on top of the large man, kissing him. Hugh’s pain instantly disappeared.

  The front door slammed. It was one of those moments in which life’s promise is overtaken by events. “Hi!” It was Nadine’s voice, followed by the rattle of shopping bags. “We’re home!”

  “Stay,” Sam said softly. Then she kissed Hugh gently on the forehead, avoiding his fresh bruise, and got to her feet. Hugh stood. “Hi!” Sam called out, hugging Hugh briefly; then she left the room. Hugh sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. The sun was streaming through the curtains. The voices of Sam, Jim and Nadine were a pleasant drone in the background. After a minute or two, he kicked off his shoes and slid to the head of the bed.

  Forty minutes later Sam opened the door to the guest bedroom. Hugh was sprawled on the bed on his back, his head to one side. He was snoring. She closed the door.

  Hugh awoke at dusk, momentarily disoriented. Then he picked out Samantha’s voice among the rattle of dishes and the voices of his hosts. After a trip to the bathroom, he found his way to the kitchen. “Hey Hugh,” Jim LeFevre said over his shoulder from the stove where he stood stirring a large pot of chili. “You’re just in time for our traditional travelers’ dinner. We were afraid to wake you.”

  “Thanks,” Hugh said, “I was more tired than I realized.” He saw Sam in the dining room doorway, looking at him. Her eyes glinted with private amusement. “Hi,” he said. Sam walked quickly over to him and stood looking up at his face.

  “How did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Like a bear in the winter,” he said.

  “Good,” she replied, guiding Hugh out of the kitchen into the hallway. “You looked so tired.” Standing on her toes, she kissed Hugh firmly on the mouth. Hugh returned the kiss, gently pressing her against the wall.

  “Now I’m really hungry,” he said.

  “Well come on then.” The two entered the dining room where Nadine was pouring red wine into oversized wooden goblets. “Can I help?” Sam asked.

  “No, dear. Why don’t you two start with the wine? Jim insisted on serving the secret family chili tonight.” She smiled adding, “It’s Schröd’s favorite.” It was at that point that Hugh noticed the two large cats patiently waiting, primly seated on their narrow haunches, on a blue carpet at the corner of the rustic dining room.

  They talked through dinner, more wine, tea and dessert and into the later evening while the two large cats lolled next to the fireplace in the adjacent den. Eventually Hugh helped Nadine with the dishes while Jim and Sam talked in the dining room. At 11:00 PM, Jim and Nadine retired to bed.

  “Let’s join the cats in the den,” Samantha offered. Hugh smiled.

  “Amazing animals…Yes let’s.”

  The flames had dwindled to bright crackling coals and there was the soft patter of rain on the window in the hall. Schröd and Lady Macbeth were asleep against the cool stone wall that lined the wall next to the fireplace. Sam knelt smoothly, sitting lotus style on the immense rug of thick lamb’s wool that spread before the hearth. Hugh dropped less gracefully beside her.

  “Sam,” he said, “I’m worried about you traveling until things settle down.”

  “I’m a big girl, Hugh,” she said. “And I’m worried about you. But let’s agree not to worry tonight.” Hugh nodded smiling. Sam smiled, reaching over and pulled him toward her. She kissed him. “My room or yours,” she said.

  “Or here,” Hugh said, unbuttoning her blouse.

  Sometime later, as Sam lay cradled against his bare chest in front of the fireplace, Hugh looked up. The two large cats looked down on at them. They were purring…

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE PATAGONIAN EXODUS

  The Little Ones had waited patiently for days, in complete trust until one evening Winsome reached the bottom of the small glacier at sunset to find three humans waiting for her. Of course she knew Carlos. There also was Carlos’ friend, the kind man called Ramón, and an honorable soldier named Jay. Her spirits lightened when she was able to sense Carlos’ trust in the other two, confirming her first intuitive assessment.

  “I had brought a life-support unit, similar to your original escape pods, but smaller, in case we needed to evacuate you through the low altitude areas or in an unpressurized aircraft.” Jay paused, and Winsome waited, sensing an approaching qualifier. “But I was attacked from the air and while I was saving your new pod, it submerged in a small lake, under ice.”

  “How far from here?” Winsome asked.

  “It took me couple of hours on foot.”

  “Will we need it?”

  “I don’t know yet…actually, I have a question,” Jay said. He’d been bending down, and suddenly squatted into a modified lotus position. Winsome, then, was slightly taller.

  “Pleasssse assssk,” she said, squatting gracefully to Robertson’s level.

  “I was attacked by a top-shaped, silver craft of some type I’ve never seen before. It moved very fast leaving no visible contrail…about 20 to 30 meters in diameter. Do you understand the description?”

  “You are going to asssk me if the craft is one of oursss?”

  “Well?”

  “No. Isss it one of yoursss?”

  “No.”

  “Then we musssst hurry. Let me get the otherssss.”

  “What’s going on, Winsome?”

  “We have enemiessss. Bad enemiesss…”

  “Enemies?”

  “They were ssssstranded with ussss.”

  As Winsome scampered up the side of the glacier, her kilt swayed in the breeze. Robertson stood and lit up his portable SatCom. “Mommy, this is your son.”

  After a beat: “Hi Junior.” It was his pilot’s voice.

  “I want to go home now. May I bring my friends?”

  “Sure. How many kids?”

  “Four.”

  Carlos tapped Jay on the shoulder. “They’re going to want me along, I think,” he whispered.

  “And one more…Daddy.”

  There was a pause. “That’s a pretty big party.”

  “It’s a big birthday and the playpen is all wet.”

  “You need to find new one, a big, nice playground. Be there tomorrow. Give me a peep. Then give me an hour to find you.”

  “Thank you, Mommy.”

  “What’s going on?” Father Ramón asked.

  “It seems these Little Ones have some powerful enemies whose technology is ‘out of this world.’”

  “What do I need to do?” Carlos asked.

  “Where can we find a secure, private flat spot about the size of a soccer field?”

  Carlos frowned. “I know of a meadow…It’s a bit of a hike.”

  “How far?”

  “Three, maybe four hours.”

  Jay thought for a minute; then he lit up the SatCom. “Mommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you be about ready for a call tomorrow at dawn plus five minutes?”

  “Yes. Grandpa will be listening for your peep.”

  “Thank you Mommy.”

  “Night, night, Junior.”

  “Here they come,” Ramón said.

  Robertson squinted in the dusk. Four brightly colored toys were gracefully climbing down the side of the glacier, about 200 meters up. “Mommy was Harold, the pilot who dropped me. Grandpa is a larger aircraft that will drop a cargo ‘copter down to us.”

  “Why do they need so much open space?”

  “These guys hate to work where they can’t see everything. They prefer a large, open perimeter, so they can spot any threat, neutralize it, swoop in and scoop us up, whatever. I’ll ‘peep’ them th
e exact location while we’re still at the edge of the clearing, hopefully out of sight, then we’ll run like hell to the center just before they approach.” Jay turned to Ramón. “It worked once, didn’t it?”

  Ramón smiled. “Just barely, Colonel.”

  “There’s going to be plenty of cargo room. Why don’t you come along?” former colonel Jay Robertson looked closely at his old colleague in arms.

  “I’ll take my chances back at the parish, Jay, thanks just the same.”

  “Then you can take the truck back to Alicia,” Carlos said.

  Ramón clasped each man by the shoulders in turn. “God be with you,” he said. There was the crunch of stones underfoot and he was gone.

  Moments later, they could hear the chatter of chitinous limbs negotiating the ice, and the pleasant, but incomprehensible sounds of approaching alien conversation. The four Little Ones had arrived.

  GFE’s Facility, Lake Disappointment, Australia - The next day

  It was early afternoon. Wu had flown in by jet to join the bosses for a special meeting, joining his colleagues immediately on arrival. The meeting was in the large conference room next to Falstaff’s offices in the GFE operations center in the barren Lake Disappointment area of Australia. A large window captured a sweeping view of desert and an immense sky. Robertson’s personal pilot, Joe Dixon, walked in unannounced. Donald Wu, Finnegan Gael, Lew Springer, and Jack Falstaff each looked up with undisguised annoyance.

  Joe Dixon was a faded man, slight, compact, and balding. His piloting skills were excellent and he projected an almost obsequious loyalty. But Dixon’s fealty was just a mask. Inside, he harbored complex resentments, many of them unexamined. In particular, he hated Jack Falstaff because the crafty Australian seemed to see right through him as if he were a mere functionary. To Jack, Dixon was just a pilot, nothing more…not a mover and shaker like these guys. Dixon cloaked his resentments and jealousies like a suicide bomber holds his explosives: close to the chest.

  “Any word about Jay?” Dixon projected authentic worry. Whatever hidden animus Joe Dixon harbored toward his two immensely wealthy employers, his concern for Jay Robertson was sincere enough. In Dixon’s mind, Jay was always getting the short end of the stick, just like Joe Dixon was.