by Adam Benson
I don’t know. Perhaps he’s just examining the flock. Dayk answered her.
The man made it up to the hill with his weapon in hand and began inspecting the sheep that stood vacantly staring back behind him. He momentarily appeared to stoop down to examine a dead animal and then continued into the rest of the herd, quickly looking over them as he went along. Then the man turned his head and followed the sheep’s eye line back toward him.
He’s looking this way. Dayk said, pointing out the obvious. They watched their holograms as the man turned toward them and slowly started making his way directly across the way in their direction. And now he’s coming this way. He’s seen the rest of the ship.
What about Amikes? Thalia thought. Are we…?
We’ll come back for him. I don’t want us getting caught with the ship, or worse, getting trapped in the ship. Dayk closed his palm and started moving for the door. Let’s go! He said. Thalia quickly squeezed through the door and made her way out of the ship. Dayk followed closely behind until the bright light of day blinded him as he came out into the open.
There’s a tight cluster of trees in a dry ravine about thirty meters from here. Thalia said.
That will make good camouflage. Let’s go! Dayk agreed.
If he makes it to the ship and doesn’t leave, then we could be stuck here without any rations! Thalia thought. I put emergency packs together last night with most of our gear, but they’re still in the crew quarters! Thalia took off without another thought and started running toward the crew quarters.
Wait! Thalia! Dayk yelled.
I’ll meet you in the trees! She yelled back.
Get Nocta’s gun! He watched her run off, and then with a heavy sigh he took off running for the trees.
Thalia skidded to a halt in front of the torn opening to the crew quarters. She leapt inside and grabbed one of the backpacks from the corner of the room. It was heavier than she anticipated, and she felt the weight of the thing for a moment before she set it back down. She looked over at the second backpack and added up the weight in her head while her eyes then wandered off, looking for the gun. It sat at the end of Dayk’s bunk right on a shelf. She reached over and grabbed the gun and stuffed it into a pocket in her flight suit. With another eye on the backpack, she opened her palm again and let the hologram hover above while she scanned out to see how long she had left before the man would be on the ship.
I can make it. She thought, mostly to herself. She pulled the archiver off her suit and then pushed the two backpacks together on the floor. She pointed the archiver at the backpacks and then activated it with a thought. A bright blue beam emanated out from the tip of the archiver and a holographic representation of what was in its beam appeared above the controls. Thalia narrowed the beam until the only thing in its target was the two backpacks and then she started the archive. The blue beam suddenly glowed brighter than before, and the hologram above the device showed false color representations of the objects dematerializing into its memory.
Thalia! Dayk thought to her from across the crash site. How long? He’s made it to the first debris field!
I'm almost finished. She thought back. I just need a few more chrons!
Hurry! We don't have much time! Dayk said frantically.
I’ll be there! I’m almost done! The blue beam continued to disintegrate the two back packs and then in a flash, both packs were gone. The display changed again and read, "Objects archived!" Alright Dayk, I'm heading back now! She said as she left the crew quarters.
Dayk watched Thalia from behind the scrub brush deep in the patch of mesquite trees. His hologram was opened in his palm, but he could see her clearly across the desert between them. He glanced down at his hologram and saw the man on the other side of the rock outcropping slowly making his way to the top of the hill. He was only chrons away from getting a clear shot of Thalia as she ran toward him. Come on! Come on! He yelled out. He’s almost over the top!
I’m almost there! She called back.
Dayk looked up and at her as she got nearer and nearer. With a light snap of some branches Thalia jumped under the bramble just as the dark brim of the man’s hat crested the rocky outcropping.
Cutting it a little close there? He asked her.
Hey, I got everything! She said. Thalia crept through the trees until she came up alongside Dayk, who was crouched down behind a boulder topped with scrub brush. She got down beside him and opened her own hologram to see for herself what was going on.
He’s just standing there. Dayk said.
I wonder if he’s afraid to come down.
It’s possible, Dayk replied. If he’s not yet, he will be when he sees those…
“Oh, ma’ GAAahhh!!!!” Echoed the agonized scream of the man on the rock outcropping. Dayk and Thalia both nearly jumped out of their skins as the man-made terrible sounds while he ran away back down the hill.
…bodies. Dayk finished his thought.
This is not good, Thalia thought.
No, it is not. They will definitely be coming now.
Mack Goes to Roswell
Mack burst through the door of his tiny house and came to a halt leaning over his table, panting and groaning in terror. “What the hell is that out on ma’ land?!” He grumbled as his eyes caught sight of the small piece of material that he had collected yesterday evening. It was there on the table staring him in the face, like some grim reminder of what he had just run away from. “Flyin’ saucers? Little bodies…” His breathing got heavier and heavier as he reeled. “This can’t be!”
His mind was racing as he tried to calm himself down. Mack reached out for the strange square of material, but then, as though he was burned by some invisible force, his hand snapped back to his chest, trembling. “It’s from the devil!” he said with his eyes locked on whatever it was that lay on his table. His picture of the world had been hardened by labor and old age, suddenly his mind was being forced opened with a crowbar.
He started pacing, feeling tense and viciously alone there in his cabin, and the walls felt closer than they ever had before. He stepped outside into the morning light and looked out across the land. Mack took a few steps off the porch and then walked around to the side of the house, where he could see the distant tree-patched desert where the terrible crash lay only eight miles away from him.
“George’ll know somebody down there at the army base,” Mack mumbled to himself, as he nervously scoured the horizon. He bit his lip in thought and then turned to his pickup truck. “He’ll know what to do.”
Mack flew down the road as fast as his truck could move. The ominous piece of Martian technology lay in the floorboard on the passenger side. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it as he sped toward Roswell, and every time he saw it his feelings of dread and confusion resurfaced, driving him harder to get to Sheriff George Wilcox.
He had met Sheriff Wilcox years before at Wade's Bar and Pool Hall in Roswell. It was a dive bar that many of the ranchers would frequent when they were in town selling their wares. The ranchers would catch up on the local gossip, or the news of the area and share stories about what was going on in various parts of New Mexico and abroad over some cold beers and some friendly games of pool. Sheriff Wilcox was friends with most of the ranchers, and so Mack always made it a point to see him when he was in town, but today’s visit was going to be anything but a friendly hello.
Sheriff Wilcox wasn't at the police station. It was Friday and he was undoubtedly out about town. Roswell was already bustling with activity when Mack rolled into town. Driving around, looking for the Sheriff, he became painfully aware that his was the only truck being driven through town without anything to sell in it. In fact, the reality of everyday life started to sink in as he drove from street to street looking for George. The more he soaked up the normal atmosphere, the more he began to question exactly what it was he was doing there. Ranchers and merchants that he knew waved at him as he passed, smiling curious smiles that seemed to suggest to him that he looked slight
ly out of place with an empty truck.
There in the real world he realized how difficult it was going to be to convince anyone else that he wasn't crazy. He knew what he saw but would anyone else believe him. In fact, it had only been a few short weeks before that Mack, himself, had ever heard of the flying disks or the little green men. He had met some folks at Wade's that were on their way to Meteor Crater, Arizona, who had told him tall tales of being run off the road by some flying saucers up in Washington, and how they were traveling around the country looking for proof of the aliens that were zipping through the skies. Mack had dismissed them as loonies at the time. He had never even heard of such a thing, and from his perspective, it had all seemed like a bunch of science fiction nonsense. How could anyone believe in beings from another world? And now here he was, driving around looking for the Sheriff to make the exact same claims. His only solace in his sanity was the proof that was setting on the seat next to him, and the gruesome remains that littered his ranch.
Mack finally spotted George's police cruiser parked out in front of the worst place he could possibly be. The market. He was going to have to explain himself in front of a bunch of other ranchers that he didn't want to lose face in front of. Embarrassment welled up in his chest while he tried to decide if he really wanted to go through with confronting Sheriff Wilcox in front of anyone else. Anxiety finally pushed his embarrassment out of the way and Mack parked his truck. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Feeling clear, he quickly picked up the thing in his forefinger and thumb and tossed it under the seat of his truck. He felt his pulse shoot up instantly when he touched it. With a quick shiver Mack jumped out of his truck and headed for the market.
It didn't take long for Mack to spot George across the way talking to someone. Mack walked up toward him, taking his time, waiting for George to end his conversation and start meandering around again. However, George spotted Mack before he was done talking and waved him over excitedly. "Hey Mack!" George said jovially. "How you doin'? Come on over here!"
George was chatting with Hank, a local busy body that loved to talk and would go on all day if you gave him the chance. Hank ran a small booth at the public market that sold all manner of materials. He had wool blankets of all colors and sizes, bolts of linens and felts, large rolls of various leathers and a range of leather tanning supplies. Most of his products were made from the wool and leather that the local ranchers, like Mack Brazel, would sell there in the market each week.
The trouble with Hank was that, unlike many of the ranchers that came into town to sell their wares from the back of their trucks, he had a bonafide store front, and he was notorious for enticing folks in and then talking at them for hours on end. His shop was basically a collection of empty crates on which bolt after bolt of fabrics and leathers lay out on display. What little actual store space he had was a shallow room that lay along one of the back walls of the market square. This meant that Hank would always be out and about at the front of the store, with his saggy old overalls and the tape measure draped around his neck, starting long conversations with anyone and everyone that passed him. It was the worst place that Mack could find George.
"Howdy George. Hank." Mack said as he came up. He never felt nervous around these men, but he did now. The thought of Hank catching a word of this was almost enough to send Mack right back to his truck. Hank was an incorrigible gossip. He was also a loud mouth who enjoyed poking fun, even when it wasn't funny.
"You down here t' sell some wool?" George asked him politely.
"Nope. Not t'day." Mack replied. It was obvious from the look on his face that Mack wanted to say more but wouldn't. Immediately, he was fidgety, and his body language was desperately impatient. He was looking around himself as though he was searching for an elusive assailant. All the while trying hard to maintain an air of calm, cool collectedness. He wanted to speak to George, now, but he didn't want to look rude either.
"Howdy Mack." Hank greeted him. "What's eatin' you? Coyote swaller all yer sheep?" Hank said with a chuckle. Hank always seemed to amuse himself more than he did anyone else.
"Naw." Mack said dryly. "My sheep are doin' jus' fine, Hank. Ain't you got somethin' you oughta be doin'?"
"You look kin'a skeered! You seen a ghost?" Hank went on with his harassment.
"Somethin' botherin' you, Mack?" George said, picking up on Mack's obvious trepidation.
"Well..." Mack started. "Ya' know. When you get a second, I do got somethin' I need to discuss with ya. Private like.'" He looked over at Hank, who was now very curious. "Nothin' fer you Hank. Just somethin' I need to talk with George 'bout."
"Well, see now. Now I gotta know!" Hank said excitedly. "Ya can't come over here lookin' like th' missus been sleepin' with the milk man, an' expect me t' jus' leave things at that! Spill them beans, ol' man!"
"Hank!" George said solidly. "Not everythin' that goes on 'round here concerns you. Now, git back to it. I'll talk to you later." George stepped aside leading Mack off out of earshot.
Mack didn't say a single word the entire time that the two walked to a corner of the market with very little foot traffic. Mack had a look of worried dread on his face, his brow crinkling with anticipation and his lips tightening nervously around his teeth. George could see that Mack was more than just bothered by something. "So, what's on your mind?" He asked him kindly.
"Well..." Mack started, but he quickly looked away toward the crowded market.
"It ain't too bad, I hope?" George tried to console him, without knowing what was going on.
"I don't know." Mack said, still unable to get it out. "I... I found somethin' on m'land." As soon as the words left his lips his breathing got heavier.
"What'd you find Mack? Dead body?" George speculated. Mack started to shake his head no, but then turned it into something else that wasn't quite a yes, but it certainly wasn't a no anymore. Mack swallowed hard. George's expression dropped. "What the hell did you find, Mack?" He asked.
"You heard of them...." Mack started nervously. With the images still fresh in his mind he was traumatized, but he also knew that whatever he said next would make him sound crazy, and he didn't want George thinking that of him. "... Flyin' saucers?"
George's face when from intense concern to almost apathetic dismissal. "A flyin' saucer? Jesus Mack. You pullin' my leg?"
Mack shot him an intense glare. "George, I ain't never lied to you. Somethin' done crashed out on my land, an' I think it's one of them.... flyin' saucers!" He said lowering his voice.
"Mack, it's prob'ly just another piece o' some military garbage." George said.
"It ain't military. Fact, I ain't never seen anythin' like it anywhere on God's green Earth!" Mack said. "And.... there were...."
"What Mack?"
"Bodies!" Mack said with a tremor in his voice. "Little.... bodies!"
George's face contorted his disbelief. "What, like... little green men?" He asked, with only a hint of mockery in his voice.
Mack shook his head a definite yes. "'Cept, they weren't green." Mack said with surety in his words. George's face melted into a kind of realization that Mack wasn't kidding. "I got proof." He said. "Out in m' truck. Wasn't gonna bring it in here." George continued staring at him, waiting for the punch line. "I don't know what t' do George." Mack went on. "This stuff is layin' all over m' land. M' sheep won't go near it.... That's why I come down here t' you. Figured you might know what I should do. You might know someone over at that Army base."
"You say you've got proof?" George asked cautiously.
"Out in m' truck." Mack repeated. "It's layin' all over m' land."
"What kinda proof?" George asked.
"Piece of somethin' that flung off it. It’s laying all over the ranch." Mack told him.
"Can I take a look at it?"
"I'd rather not bring it out here." Mack said. "Can I meet you back at the station?"
"I'll go get my cruiser." George said.
"I can’t believe this! I mean, it s
ure don’t look like anything the military’s got, but I mean it could be." George said, sitting behind his desk, fumbling with the strange material. He pulled a magnifying glass out of his desk drawer and started looking closely at the surface of the object. “Hmmm. There’s a strange kind of pattern on this thing. It’s all over the place. Real small.”
“What do you think it is?” Mack asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest.” George said with his eyes glued to the material. “There are little hairs stickin’ out of one of the edges. That’s strange. Tiny little things.”
Mack was far more relaxed at the station than he had been at the market place. He sat across from George, kicked back in a wooden chair, fanning himself off with his hat. "Some of it's diff'rent than that, but it's all kinda the same, too. Ya' know. Kinda made out of the same stuff." Mack told him. "Floyd Proctor tried whackin' it with his axe. Thing turned harder'n steel an' didn't leave so much as a scuff on it."
"Try shootin' it?" George asked him curiously.
"Naw, didn't think t' try." Mack replied. "So, what do you think I should do? Proctors said there might be some reward in it fer anyone that's got proof of flyin' saucers."
"Well, you definitely got somethin' here, Mack." George said, his attention still on the material. "I can't say anythin’ about a reward, but I certainly think we oughta call the Air Field and see if they'd want to come check it out. Can't hurt, ya' know." Mack nodded his understanding. George looked up from his magnifying glass. "Now, how many of them bodies did you see out there?" George asked him.
"I only saw the two." He said. "One of 'em's real messed up, kinda stuck onto the side of one of them big pieces of the saucer."
"Wait. Big pieces?" George asked. "I thought you said it was all like this?" He said holding up the material.
"Well, a lot of it is, but it's spread out over 'bout two hundred yards, George. Some of it's pretty big. Like I said, I got a flyin' saucer crashed on m' land!" Mack said bluntly. "I can't tell for certain, but I'd say that thing's probably close to thirty feet across, if'n it were all back t'gether. It's all piled up in a heap, 'cept the small stuff strewn all over."
