《Prowlers》


 Part 1

    The gun in the nightstand calls to me, like a beacon, or as if it is some part of my being that has been separated from myself. What it would do to the people that I care about is the only thing keeping me from ending it all.


    No matter what I do, no matter what I tell myself, the terrible question always comes back: why are you alive and intact, while better men were killed or crippled?


    The phone goes off and I nearly jump out of my skin. Annoyed, I walk over to it, eager to silence the irritating sound. It is from my younger brother.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Hey, I should call more. I hate to ask, but I could really use your help.¡±


    Horrified, I try to think of how I can tell him that I can barely afford to survive, let alone lend anyone money. I finally settle on the truth, ¡°Listen, man, I would help, I would. It is just that I am between jobs right now and short on cash.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. Can you come over?¡± there is a noticeable pause, ¡°And can you bring your guns?¡±


    Prowlers


    The drive feels longer than it actually is. A straight shot up one of the area¡¯s major highways gets me most of the way there. Then it is onto a farm to market, before turning off onto a side road; and another side road, and yet another. Backroads of backroads, a maze of them that runs so deep you start to wonder how folks got to and from their houses before GPS became normal. The gnarled blacktop of the FM turns into white dust and rock. Some of these roads look like they were cut into the earth, with tall bluffs on either side. Others feel like powder and fat stones were haphazardly piled onto the ground, and then given a once over with a bulldozer, so that the top is somewhat flat.


    I start to see pieces of old furniture that have been dumped. The shiny silver, majestic gold, and metallic blue of empty beer cans litter the ditches.


    Out here people tend to keep their property in good shape. You won¡¯t find the lines of derelict cars or piles of sun-bleached plastic toys that you would in a trailer park or cheap development. Grass is more likely to be kept mowed; houses are far more likely to be made of brick or rock. But if you head down such roads you will still see your fair share of racecars and rebel flags; as well as hear the occasional gunshot, either from hunting or target practice.


    Gallons of purple paint slathered on tree trunks and fence posts. Signs warn against trespassing, some are more threatening than others. Most homes sport heavy gates and high fences. Large dogs chase my truck from one end of their yards to the other. Out here the police can be a good forty-five minutes away; people have to fend for themselves.


    People always act like Texas is a dead desert. Some parts are, but we have a bit of everything here. This particular part of the state is more of a forest than anything. Maybe not that thick or tall of a forest. Nothing like the Black Forest in Germany, or something like that. But it can get pretty hairy, almost like a hedgerow in some places. Although winter has taken a bit of a toll on it. In the summer there are places where the trees hang over the road so that they create an almost sunless tunnel. Now the bare branches hang over the pavement, twisting out like some Hollywood prop maker built them for an old horror flick.


    I find the right road, and after something like twenty minutes I fly past his driveway, have to hit the brakes and backup. Then I see the gate and forget for a second that I did in fact remember to bring the key to the padlock that he had given me when he had first bought the property.


    His driveway is a trillion miles long. It is basically two lines of dirt with grass growing up in the middle. The thing winds its way through patches of grass and tall brush, has high dirt berms in places. At one of the curves a big brown boulder sits, placed there who knows how long ago by glaciers, now being slowly devoured by the green and white patches of lichen that dot its surface.


    I reach the final corner, cruise up the straightaway to the house. It is a nice place, built out of pink and red brick.


    The old barn peaks out on the left side. A dilapidated ruin of faded red paint. I drive past a small white metal storage shed. The door is open, I can see that it contains a riding lawn mower, along with a bunch of random junk and tools piled up around it. On the other side of the house, a rusted-out tractor, looks like it is from the Dust Bowl. The tires are completely deflated. Tall grass and even a small tree have grown up around where the mower can¡¯t get to it.


    They are packing up the car, have it filled with bags and suitcases. His big red pickup sits beside it under the carport, along with a white, windowless van that I don¡¯t recognize. His wife lugs an ancient off-tan suitcase into the trunk, spots me and starts walking to the spot where I am parking my truck next to his.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Howdy,¡± she says, clearly struggling to smile, ¡°Long time no see.¡±


    I get out of the cab, ¡°Ya, I should come by more. But, well, I¡¯m still looking for a job and all.¡±


    She adopts a reassuring tone, ¡°We understand. What did he tell you?¡±


    ¡°Said you guys have been having trouble with prowlers. I asked him why you don¡¯t get the police on it, but he just said that they wouldn¡¯t do anything. I guess that the sheriff¡¯s office is kind of spread thin out here in the sticks. Besides, what could they even do? Camp out in the woods and wait?¡±


    She frowns, looks away, staring off into the trees, ¡°It aint that.¡±


    ¡°What, you do something to piss off the local Gestapo?¡±


    ¡°No, not that. The local police, the sheriff¡¯s deputies, and the guys over in Irebog are good people,¡± Irebog is a little town located about twenty minutes away, ¡°They would help. It¡¯s just that, well, I will let Jerry explain it.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I reply, unsure of what to make of things, ¡°You and the kids leavin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Ya, staying with my sister until you boys can put a stop to this. I¡¯m not gonna lie, I¡¯m scared. You guys need to be careful.¡±


    ¡°You know me, I will.¡±


    She gives me another smile before turning to head back into the house. My brother exits the front door with a big ass duffle bag in his hands. He smiles at me, ¡°I see that you managed to find your way out here.¡±


    ¡°Ya, had to kill a minotaur, but I made it. How much crap do they need to spend a night at their aunt¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully just a night.¡±


    The family¡¯s little Jack Russel bolts out of the door. She runs over to me and I pet her head and scratch her ears, then the kids come out of the house and give me a long report on how school is going.


    A few goodbyes. The kids pile into the back of the car, making a racket. The dog gets into the passenger¡¯s seat and is belted in, which makes me laugh. With a last wave goodbye the car starts the billion year journey down the driveway. We wait till it disappears around the bend before heading inside.


    The living room is simple and cozy. A big flatscreen sits against the inner wall, on one side of the hallway, with a large sofa in front of it. On the other side of the hall, a massive bookshelf, which sports everything from pulp sci-fi garbage, to cheap airport thrillers, to technical manuals.


    ¡°You still talking to that VA rep,¡± he askes.


    ¡°Yep, she is talking about getting me a security job. It won¡¯t be great. But it should at least pay the rent.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good, that¡¯s good.¡±


    I study the signed NASCAR poster that sits in a glass frame, ¡°This is more than just a couple of bored teenagers cutting across your land or creepos peering into your windows,¡± I state.


    ¡°I first noticed that something was wrong about a week ago. The day before we had finally gotten around to clearing out the old barn. I did some cleaning up in the yard and I saw that a few things had been moved. Figured it was just the kids,¡± he chuckles nervously, ¡°Or that I was just startin¡¯ to get old and forgettin¡¯ things. Then we had some heavy rain one night, a little thunder. I was in the living room watching TV, Mikayla comes running in screaming, says that something was staring in her bedroom window.¡±


    I shudder. Visions of perverts and the things that should be done to them fill my mind. Then I realize that he said something, as opposed to someone.


    ¡°I thought that it was funny, she was just scared by the storm,¡± he smiles softly, ¡°Hell, I was kind of scared by the storm. But she looked really upset, so I went into her room and made a big show out of checking out the window and under the bed and all of that. When I got back from work the next day and decided to give the house a once over because the winds got pretty strong that night,¡± he pulls out his cellphone and after a few seconds of messing with it he hands it me, ¡°Found those outside of her window.¡±


    He has brought up the device¡¯s picture gallery. A line of tracks goes up to the side of the house. I¡¯m no hunter, yet it becomes quickly apparent that they don¡¯t belong to any animal from around here.


    ¡°It is someone screwing with you. Wore fake feet to make those prints. Nothing real would have claws that big.¡±


    ¡°A prank? Out here in the boonies where everyone and their mother has a dozen guns?¡±


    ¡°Some people are dumb enough to do it. Remember when Jamie said that he saw that bigfoot?¡±


    ¡°You still think that it was a prank? Who in the hell would dress up in a bigfoot costume in over a hundred-degree weather and walk in front of a semi-truck?¡±


    ¡°I just told you, people can be stupid as hell.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. But that don¡¯t explain it.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Just let me finish. So, I get worried about it, show Lacy. I was afraid that she would freak out, but she suggests that we have the kids spend the night in the living room. Told them it was indoor camping, they loved it,¡± I feel myself smile, despite the circumstances, ¡°Meanwhile, I stay in her room, waiting, sittin¡¯ on the bed and staring out the window. I was just about to pass out when I spotted it.


    ¡°Under that big tree out back. Its eyes, the eyes were massive, jet black, sorta wrapped around its head a bit. The claws on that thing, I don¡¯t think that anything on this planet has claws that big.¡±


    My brain struggles to process what he is saying, ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°We stared at each other for what felt like forever. I guess that it was staring at me, sure as hell felt like it. Then it just took off up the tree.¡±


    ¡°Up the tree?¡±


    ¡°Ya, climbed up it like it was nothing. I lost sight of it in the branches, spent a good hour, I think, trying to find it again.¡±


    ¡°Jesus,¡± I exclaim, not sure what else to say.


    ¡°I thought about getting a flashlight and shining it up in the tree. Never did work up the nerve. The kids were long asleep by then, Lacy too. I spent the rest of the night walking around the house silently, holding my shotgun. I would go from window to window, looking at them, but too scared to actually look out of them.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t get a picture of the thing?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think to. It all happened so fast, ya know?¡±


    ¡°Ya. I can¡¯t blame you.¡±


    ¡°I did get pics of the tree,¡± I slide forward in the gallery, finding a series of photos of marks in the trunk.


    ¡°Damn, man. Now I see why you didn¡¯t bother with the cops.¡±


    ¡°Can you help?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, man. I mean, this aint exactly my wheelhouse.¡±


    ¡°Come on, you¡¯re a security expert.


    ¡°Guarding FOBs down range isn¡¯t the same as guarding against,¡± I struggle to find the right words, ¡°whatever you are dealing with here.¡±


    Fire in his eyes now, ¡°So, you are just going to leave me?¡±


    ¡°I never said that. I¡¯m just not quite sure what you want me to do.¡±


    ¡°Shoot it. Or at least scare it off.¡±


    His eyes soften, turn desperate.


    ¡°Listen. I can stay a night or two. See what is up. If that will make you feel better.¡±


    Now his eyes light up, ¡°It would. Thanks, I knew that I could count on you.¡±


    I turn away, looking out the window again, ¡°Ya, ya, it¡¯s no problem. Who¡¯s van, by the way?¡±


    ¡°Someone that I brought in to help, found him on the internet. He¡¯s outside doing something, should be coming back anytime now.¡±

 Part 2

    We talk some more, mostly about dad. Then the someone that he brought in to help walks in. The fact that he had been found on the internet is less than reassuring.


    ¡°Hello, my name is Daniel,¡± he shakes my hand, ¡°I¡¯m going to guess that you are the brother that Jerry mentioned would be coming over to help.¡±


    ¡°Yes, unless he has any extra siblings that he has failed to mention.¡±


    They both laugh, Daniel maybe a bit too hard, then he asks, ¡°Has he told you why I am here?¡±


    ¡°He only said that you was here to help, and that he found you on the net.¡±


    ¡°I am, believe it or not, a paranormal investigator.¡±


    ¡°Like on those shows?¡± I say, thoroughly amused, picturing a guy running around screaming about getting his ass pinched by a ghost.


    ¡°Something like that, only I try to take things a lot more seriously. I was just walking around the area, getting some readings.¡±


    ¡°Readings?¡±


    ¡°Background radiation, magnetic anomalies, those kinds of things. I also set up a few motion activated cameras.¡±


    ¡°Like trail cams?¡± Jerry askes, sometimes he is louder than he realizes. His voice slams into my ear drums.


    ¡°The very same.¡±


    I try not to chuckle too hard, ¡°Well, you certainly came prepared.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a whole van full of stuff. Every kind of camera you can think of, IR, thermal. I¡¯ve got EVP readers. I brought equipment for hiking and camping, rope, paracord, flares, the works.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least you are prepared. Sounds like you really know what you are doing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done investigations for ghosts at over a dozen sites. I¡¯ve hunted Sasquatch three times, Jersey Devil once, even searched for the Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp.¡±


    ¡°And let me guess, you didn¡¯t find any of those things?¡± I say before thinking.


    To his credit, he doesn¡¯t get annoyed at my little jab, ¡°If it was that easy, they wouldn¡¯t be the stuff of legends, they would be just another group of animals in a zoo or things that you learn about in science class.¡±


    ¡°Okay, fine. I get that you are into this stuff and are a believer. And I get that my brother saw something that he can¡¯t explain,¡± I turn to face him, ¡°I do believe that you saw something, or at least think that you did. But for me it just aint that easy.¡±


    He grins like the devil, ¡°Well, if there is something going on, we will see tonight. I will set up a camera in the girl¡¯s room, aim it at the spot where the creature was sighted. Then, we play the waiting game, as I highly doubt that it will appear in the daytime.


    ***


    We head out to unload the cars. I get my suitcase with changes of clothes and such. More importantly, we bring in the cases that hold my guns and other gear. The paranormal guy goes out to his van to grab a few pieces of equipment.


    ¡°You got a gun?¡± I ask Daniel as he sits a big plastic case on the kitchen table.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he lifts his shirt to reveal a little handgun meant for concealed carry, ¡°I also have a pump action that I will bring in.¡±


    ¡°Damn, you are ready to kill bigfoot!¡± Jerry cries.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    He smiles evilly, ¡°Not quite, you would need one of the big .50 cal sniper rifles that they use to hunt feral hogs to do that. But I figure that if I am going to go into a situation acting like it is real, I might as well be prepared. And besides, the dark isn¡¯t anywhere near as scary when you¡¯re packing heat.¡±


    We get everything in, sating most of it in the kitchen. A put the camouflage vest that holds my spare magazines across the back of one of the chairs.


    Daniel suggests that we take a look around the property before it gets dark. My brother hesitates, before agreeing. I go to take a piss first, then I go for the door and he says that I¡¯ve forgotten my rifle and vest. I leave the vest, just grab the AR. I also have a big fat brick of a pistol that I wear on my hip. Daniel slings his pump-action over his back; Jerry has a hunting rifle and his own vest. If anything decides to screw with us, we will be ready.


    We head outside, going around back to the big tree where the creature was supposedly spotted. I look at the trunk, there they are, the deep puncture marks. Daniel gives the trail cam that he has mounted on one of the branches a quick once over. We head toward the wood line.


    My brother owns about a hundred square acres. The house, old barn, and surrounding things sit on about one, which is kept about as well mowed as one can manage, has a few trees here and there. The rest is wild forest, not even any trails.


    We reach the thick woods, which are mostly short cedar. Daniel scans the edge of the vegetation, ¡°Lots of places to hide out here.¡±


    ¡°Ya, we have to keep the dog inside at night, because coyotes sneak in under them. I was plannin¡¯ to put up a fence, when I found the time and money,¡± then he looks over at me, ¡°You didn¡¯t take your extra ammo.¡±


    ¡°Ya, I figure that nothing will mess with us in the daytime,¡± I lie, knowing full well that this is all a bunch of BS. I am just here to ease his mind, hangout for a few days, that is all.


    ¡°Ya, but I don¡¯t think we should underestimate it. We don¡¯t know what it is like; we are only assuming that it is nocturnal because that is when I saw it.¡±


    ¡°How much firepower do you have?¡± I ask, trying to change the subject.


    ¡°This rifle, an old double barrel, and a revolver that we keep in the nightstand.¡±


    ¡°You a cowboy or somethin¡¯?¡± I say jokingly.


    He smiles, shakes his head, ¡°Screw you, not everyone is a soldier.¡±


    ¡°Ex-soldier. Besides, that don¡¯t really mean nothing.¡±


    ¡°Ya right.¡±


    The ground is mostly chalky white rock broken up by patches of short grass. It is often uneven. We negotiate steep rises and drops. A dead creek bed winds its way through the property, no more than a deep scar carved into the landscape. I spot another one of the trail cams, picture deer and coyotes walking past, eyes glowing.


    A horrific odor hits us. The stench is pure death. As if we had walked into an invisible wall, we instantly stop.


    ¡°What is that smell?¡± Jerry exclaims.


    Daniel¡¯s expression shows worry, ¡°Bigfoot are known to have a terrible smell.¡±


    You have got to be kidding me.


    I try to look past the masses of leaves and needles, try to pick out the shape of a face among the blur of green and brown. I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t see a damn thing. My mind flashes back to those stupid training exercises we used to do. Running around the forest when you are heading to a desert, whiling wearing grey camo, and the people that are pretending to be the enemy are always invincible.


    We push deeper, following our noses, find what we are looking for.


    It feels wrong to call it a corpse. It is more like a heap of organic matter. A thin layer of brown and white fur. On top of that, strippes of skin, pieces of muscle; maybe a few organs, or at least parts of them. And on top of that, a collection of bones.


    Jerry bends down, inspecting the pile of gore, ¡°This was a deer.¡±


    I stare at it in amazement, ¡°I¡¯m glad that you can tell. I can tell that it was some sort of an animal, at least I¡¯m pretty sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Definitely a dear. You can tell by the fur.¡±


    Daniel starts taking pictures of the thing, ¡°What do you think happened to it?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea. I don¡¯t see any blood. Bones look like they were cleanly cut.¡±


    ¡°Reminds me of cattle mutilations.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± me and Jerry say in unison.


    ¡°Is that a Death Metal band?¡± I ask, getting a nervous laugh.


    ¡°No, it is where ranchers find dead cows. The thing is, the corpses are all messed up.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°For decades now, ranchers have been finding dead cattle. They look to have been subjected to scientific research, partially dissected. They are completely drained of blood, not even a drop left. Pieces and parts are removed, cleanly cut off, like a laser was used. It is like they are harvesting organs and stuff.¡±


    ¡°Who would do that?¡±


    ¡°A secret government program is one theory. Most people in the paranormal community think that it is ETs.¡±


    ¡°Dang, that is pretty creepy,¡± Jerry proclaims. He looks back the way that we came, ¡°This body doesn¡¯t have any bugs on it.¡±


    ¡°How can that be?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Maybe it got into some chemicals?¡± Jerry suggests.


    ¡°Enough that it would keep bugs completely clear, I would think that we would smell it,¡± Daniel says as he picks up a stick. Then he starts carefully poking at it, me and my brother automatically moving back. He spends a few minutes screwing with it, while Jerry glances around nervously. The stink continues to burn in my nose.


    The shadows are starting to get long, the sun gets to a point where it is past the top of the trees. We decide to head back and settle in for the night.

 Part 3

    The golden hour stretches on, lasting a lifetime. The sun bathes the landscape in lovely light and paints the clouds with pink and orange colors as it sinks. It also gets in my eyes, blinding me while I scan for threats.


    The load bearing vest sits there on the chair, mocking me, telling me that this is stupid. The vest contains a combat load of ammo for the battle-ready rifle that sits propped up against the chair.


    The other two aren¡¯t as skeptical, having spent the whole walk back talking about our grisly find in the woods. What could it mean? Hell if I know. Probably just an inexperienced hunter that wondered onto the wrong land, didn¡¯t know how to properly field dress his kill.


    Daniel is killing time by looking over the DVD cabinet that is sitting in the gap between the outer wall and the entertainment center. Jerry is in his office, messing around on the internet, which I¡¯m surprised that they have out here. He got off the phone with his wife a few minutes ago; she reported that they had made it safely to her sister¡¯s place. The way that he said goodbye had a weight to it that reminded me of just how scared he is.


    I am randomly pacing around the house. Ya, I¡¯m a pacer. I know that people hate that shit, but I can¡¯t help it, makes me feel better.


    I can still see his face, or what was left of it. The nose and ears gone, hair too. Deformed lids over half-dead eyes. And the rough, twisted skin.


    The crooked mouth tried to smile at the platoon as he greeted us.


    Why him? Why him, and not me?


    Coyotes yip somewhere on the property, probably not more than an acre away.


    I wonder out of the kitchen, turn right down the hall and end up back in the living room, to find the paranormal guy reading the back of a DVD. The way the house is set up is that the living room protrudes out of the front, with a front door and a side door to the carport. The coffee table, couch, and entertainment center are over on the side opposite this door. There is a big ass window here.


    I check the front door, looking out the peephole and seeing little, as the glass seems to be a bit warped. Then I walk over to the one that leads to the carport, glancing outside and checking the lock. Still restless, I wonder back down the hall, going all the way to the end so that I can check the backdoor. There is a bathroom on the left, which the kids normally use.


    At about the halfway point the hall branches off to the right. I head that way. On the right and left there are two doors sitting opposite each other. The one on the right is covered in stickers of modern-day cartoons, all of it anime inspired. The other bares a metallic pink nameplate with the word Mikayla on it, pink and purple construction paper hearts surround it. I open the door, walk over to the window, examine the big tree out back.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The investigator has set up a little webcam looking thing on the window seal. So much effort for something so silly. But hey, if he really does get something, he will be rich and famous. So maybe it is worth it after all.


    I go back out into the hall. The master bedroom is at the end. before that, there is the door to the other bathroom. One the right you got a short hallway that leads out to the tiny utility room. I head in, checking the door to the carport. As I leave, I step into the door that is on my right side. Jerry is still on the computer.


    He looks up at me, ¡°Do you think that it will come back tonight?¡± he asks, before glancing out across the room. A pile of boxes and crap sits in front of a window, out of which I can make little out from this distance.


    ¡°To be honest, I¡¯m still not sure that what you saw was anything other than some kind of hallucination. Maybe you just fell asleep.¡±


    ¡°You still think that? Even after finding that thing in the woods?¡±


    ¡°Ya. I guess that I am too much of a skeptic,¡± I nod toward the pile of junk, ¡°That the stuff from the barn?¡±


    ¡°Some of it. That wooden box there was grandpa¡¯s.¡±


    I instantly recognize the OD green crate as a soldier¡¯s footlocker. I glance at the window again as I stroll over to the box. Opening it, I see all of the stuff that one would expect in a Vietnam vet¡¯s footlocker. Those stupid elbow flashlights with the different colored lenses. An old set of dog tags. Some kind of metal ashtray of local manufacture. Photographs of young men clad in green and smiling past the pain and fear.


    Daniel wonders in, asks if we should keep a watch in shifts, or just sort of randomly check outside.


    On the inside I picture us all passed out by about two in the morning, if not sooner. I tell them that we should all keep a vigil all around the house, switch windows so that we don¡¯t get too board.


    The three of us wonder into the living room. A few birds chirp. I glance out the front door, seeing only long shadows.


    ¡°What¡¯s the scariest thing that you ever seen?¡± Jerry asks Daniel.


    ¡°Seen, nothing, I haven¡¯t seen a damn thing. Well, I did see ball lightening once, when I was a kid.¡±


    I start to ask him what ball lightening is, but before I can, Jerry blurts out, ¡°Not even a UFO?¡±


    ¡°Sadly, no,¡± he thinks for a second, ¡°Whispers in the dark, in this abandoned insane asylum, one of the old places that they shut down back in the seventies.¡±


    ¡°Sounds spooky,¡± I say, ¡°I would have probably ran for it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna lie, I wanted to. I stayed, didn¡¯t pick it up on any recording devices. I was pretty disappointed. But then I didn¡¯t feel like such an idiot anymore.¡±


    ¡°Well then, what is the scariest thing that you have heard of?¡± Jerry askes.


    Somewhere between amused and excited, he begins, ¡°That deer we found. I told you about the mutilation of cows. That is only the beginning. You see, it isn¡¯t just limited to cattle. They¡¯ve done it to people, too. There was this one guy. He was alive and aware during whatever happened to him. Parts cut away. Anus cored out, if you believe that, kidneys cored out too. Skin stripped away; lips and eyes removed. Genitals cut off. Holes punched into him so that they could suck out the intestines and stuff, suck out, some muscle tissue too, sucked out of his body.


    ¡°They said that he died of pain. Not of organ failure or blood loss. The guy died because the pain was that bad.¡±


    It is then that there is a loud crash outside.

 Part 4

    In unison our heads turn to the source of the sound.


    At some point it had finally gotten dark. No light seeps in through the windows.


    It¡¯s just a racoon, I tell myself as we head to the front door.


    I step outside, stand on the steps. Pitch black nothing. I can¡¯t even see the tree line. The moon is absent. The metroplex is too distant for its glow to light up the horizon. The only sources of light are what spills out from the living room, a small security light that sits on a pole near the far edge of the car port, and the impossibly bright stars that fill the sky.


    Sound is mostly absent. There are no cars, no engines, no tires on asphalt. There are no shouts of children at play. No loud music. Only the obnoxious chirping of crickets.


    It is then that Jerry points to the door that leads from the carport to the living room, or more specifically, the area beside it. The wheeled garbage can that had been sitting next to it is now over on its side. A racoon, I knew it.


    I jog back into the kitchen, grabbing my rifle. I¡¯m less interested in the weapon itself, and more so the powerful flashlight attached to it. The two of them are still standing there peering into the darkness when I return.


    I stand in the doorway, sweeping the beam across the yard, wondering what critter it will illuminate. Nothing. I go down the steps, walking out toward the edge of the carport. My only fear is that it is a skunk.


    ¡°Be careful!¡± Jerry says in one of those hushed shouts.


    ¡°Ya, ya,¡± I say, reaching the edge and turning so that I can get a look at the front of the house.


    There is nothing, just the thin tree that sits inside a circle of stones, positioned between the two windows. In the distance, the little shed sits there, a perfect hiding place for pesky critters.


    I turn, start walking behind the vehicles. I get around to the other side of Jerry¡¯s truck, slowly move the beam between it and Daniel¡¯s van. Then I move the beam to his back bumper; I notice for the first time that it sports a sticker with a neon green alien head on it.


    Movement. Something in the corner of my eye. A blur against the side of the house. The animal had been against the wall, so that a tool bench was concealing it from the others.


    Pushing forward, I clear his van, check between it and my vehicle. Halting, I listen. The only thing I can hear is the almost deafening sound of crickets.


    I come around the side of my truck and find myself face to face with the source of the noise.


    It is just as he described it. A bulbus head, massive jet-black eyes. A slit mouth. And impossibly long claws. Strangest of all, a pair of antennas sit on the top of its dome-like head.


    It stands there under the spotlight, like it is putting on a show.


    I start to raise my gun, lining up the front sight post.


    An eye blink and it has crouched down and sprung into the air. There is a loud bang as it lands on the carport. I look up, realize that the sights of my weapon have failed to follow my head. I track it has it runs across the top, the thin metal sheets making a racket as it makes its way onto the roof.


    I stand there, dumbfounded, eyes glued upward.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± it¡¯s the voice of my brother. The exclamation knocks me out of it. I sweep the yard again, nothing. Then I step out from under the carport and around the side of my truck so that I can check that side of the house, nothing. The whole time I keep frantically checking the roof, and again, nothing.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± the investigator has come down the steps, walking in front of the vehicles, his eyes switching between me and the metal roof. His hand is near his gun. My brother is behind him, rifle in hand.


    Reality slams its way past the fog of fear and confusion, ¡°Get back inside!¡± I yell.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    To their credit, they don¡¯t stop to ask questions. The two of them turn and jog back to the door. We clamber up the steps; I slam the door behind me.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Daniel askes.


    ¡°I saw it.¡±


    ¡°It?¡± Jerry says, eyes wide.


    ¡°Ya, it.¡±


    ¡°My god.¡± Daniel whispers, staring at the ceiling. We follow his gaze, then I realize how dumb that is and glance out the shitty peephole. There is a dull thump somewhere overhead.


    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot, the layers of wood and crap will slow the bullet down too much. Daniel, watch the back door. Jerry, you watch the living room. I will go between the sides.¡±


    Daniel runs into the kitchen, comes out with his shotgun in hand.


    I reach the office. I can barely see out the window, the reflection just shows me myself, which makes me realize that I am not fully prepared. Unsure if I should feel dumb for believing what is going on or for not immediately grabbing the extra ammo, I dart into the kitchen.


    I get up close to one of the windows, find that I am having the same problem. Despite the fact that it is almost useless, I face the window that is across from the table as I put the LBV on. The weight of the mags is comforting, as the weight of any weapon is. That is until it crosses the line into being a burden. The image of that thing comes back, and I realize that the vest won¡¯t feel heavy for a while yet.


    Debating if it is the right idea, I switch the lights off and go back to the window. The above ground pool is about the only thing that I can see. I can just make out the surface of the water, which is still.


    I walk over to the sink, find that this window is less than adequate, notice that the paranormal investigator has put a little camera up so that it faces outward. I close the thin yellow curtains, hoping it will deny the thing a way of seeing in.


    I head out into the hall, seeing Daniel posted up by the backdoor. I ask him how much he can see.


    ¡°Not much,¡± he reports.


    ¡°Go into the girl¡¯s room or the parent¡¯s, if you need to.¡±


    I start to head toward the living room to check up on Jerry. Then I wonder if the utility room door is locked. First things first. A jog to the entrance to the hallway, ¡°How¡¯s it doing?¡±


    ¡°I have too many windows to watch,¡± he complains.


    ¡°Sorry, nothing that I can do about it. Shut off the lights so that you can see outside better.¡±


    I leave before he can object that he will trip or something. I enter the utility room, find that the door is locked, let out a sigh of relief. Before heading to the office, I try to lock the inner door, but it has none. I guess that it is meant to be more for muffling the sound of the washer and dryer.


    I step into the office, eyes drawn to the window. The horror of having to see that thing again, only kept at bay by the absolute need to keep it from getting in the house. I kill the light, quickly realize that the boxes are still in the way. I flip the switch back, my rifle hangs from the D-ring on my vest as I move the pile of crap out of the way. Then I realize how heavy the old footlocker is and I get an idea.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Daniel calls out as he moves from the parent¡¯s room to the girl¡¯s room.


    The chest makes an agonizing sound as I drag it out of the office, ¡°Setting up a barrier,¡± I declare as I move it into position in front of the laundry room. The only problem is that it is kind of in the way when someone needs to enter or exit the office, but this is a minor concern.


    I kill the lights again, cautiously move toward the window. The light on the pole provides some illumination on this side. I can just make out the old tractor.


    The shock is starting to fade; I find myself questioning if I had even really seen it. Then what had run across the top of the carport? That had definitely happened, as the others had reacted to it. And it had certainly weighed more than a racoon or possum as it stomped its way over the thin metal sheets.


    I head back into the hall, almost running straight into Daniel. We awkwardly do that thing where two people try to pass each other but keep stepping to the same side. In any other situation it would be funny, maybe a bit annoying. Now it is downright terrifying.


    I poke my head into the living room, ¡°Anything?¡±


    He is looking out the front window, turns to me for a second, ¡°I thought that I saw something hiding behind the shed.¡±


    I carefully step around the coffee table, peer out the big side window. The shed reflects a bit of light, is little more than a pale shape in the darkness. I move to the other edge of the glass, trying to see if I can get a good view of that side of the house from here. Nothing. I can¡¯t even see the pool.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get tunnel vision,¡± I order, before heading down the hall again.


    I hit the office again, suspiciously studying the old tractor, or more like what could be hiding behind its rusted frame. Then, I head back into the kitchen, seeing Daniel look out the backdoor on the way. He follows me.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s gone?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t heard it in a while. Didn¡¯t hear it jump down, either.¡±


    ¡°Is that a maybe?¡±


    ¡°It is a maybe,¡± he confirms, ¡°I don¡¯t like the way that those claws were described. But my main concern is paralyzation.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The thing that makes the abduction phenomenon scary isn¡¯t really the aliens. Sure, the greys are creepy. But you could just beat the shit out of the skinny little guys if you really needed to. The thing that makes it scary is the fact that they can paralyze you. Nothing is worse than being helpless and at the mercy of something sinister.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you think that they have used it on us?¡±


    ¡°Could be that they have to do something to us first. Maybe they have to sneak in while we are asleep and implant something. Maybe that is why they are so interested in us; maybe we are in some way resistant. Who knows?¡±


    In the window behind him, the face of that thing.

 Part 5

    ¡°Look out!¡± I yell, raising my weapon.


    He instinctively turns on his heels, raising his own gun. Zero hesitation, the blast is deafening, the glass explodes outward in a shower of jagged glints against the absolute black of the country night. The buckshot hits the left side of the thing¡¯s face, I can just make out a metallic plink over the ear shattering pain the blast.


    The creature tumbles backward. Daniel moves forward, I follow, posting up beside him, next to what is left of the kitchen window. It pops back up, stands there in front of the pool, claws hanging low. One of the bulbus eyes is gone. No, that¡¯s not right, the lens is shattered, and what is under it has been revealed. It is not an eye under that lens, but in fact an array of eyes; some organic, others mechanical things grafted to, or perhaps growing out of the flesh.


    It lunges forward; we open up.


    Rounds and pellets ping off of the creature, throwing bright sparks. Staggered, it reels under the onslaught. Shot after shot, we work our way through our magazines till we are both empty. The damage is apparent. Cracks and dents scar the armor.


    I drop the mag, pull another out of the vest, slam it home and release the bolt. Daniel holds the pump-action in his off hand, draws his pistol.


    It leaps backward, flipping in the air, clearing the pool. We hear it land on the other side and run off. Then we just kind of stand there, staring out the shattered window, and glancing at each other as if to confirm that what just happened was real. Water drains from the pool through the holes that were caused by our strays.


    ¡°Are you guys okay!¡± Jerry yells from the living room. As if this was a sharp slap, bringing us back to the real world and its immediate concerns, we start reloading.


    Daniel holsters his handgun, starts loading fresh shells, ¡°We¡¯re fine. But you¡¯re going to need a new pool.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    There is a pause, Daniel puts the last shell in, answers him, ¡°We drove it away.¡±


    ¡°Drove it away? Why didn¡¯t you kill it?¡±


    Now I answer him, ¡°It wasn¡¯t for lack of trying.


    He tries to say something else, stops to let out a yelp. Explosions in the living room, bullets rip down the length of the hall, striking the backdoor. He works the bolt like a madman, emptying the hunting rifle far faster than I would have thought that he could.


    ¡°Hold your fire!¡± I shout, stepping into the hall and cutting the pie to the left. Daniel stays put, watching the window. Jerry is crouched down, metal clicking as he frantically reloads. This combines with the sound of running water from the pool and my own breathing. The door¡¯s little window is almost completely gone, a few rounds have punched holes in the wood. I glance back at him, ask what it was.


    ¡°That thing,¡± he asserts.


    Daniel steps into the kitchen door, ¡°How did it get back there without us seeing it. It would have had to have gone far out and came around the back. Is it really that fast?¡±


    I glance back at my brother, ¡°Did you get a good look at it? Was its eye messed up?¡±


    ¡°No, it looked fine.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ve got two of them,¡± I proclaim as I make my way to the back door.


    Approaching slowly, weapon ready, but out of reach of anything that might be lying in wait, I peak outside. Nothing close, although my view of the house¡¯s sides are limited. The old barn sits there menacingly. To its right, the big tree where the first one was spotted. My eyes run up and down it. Then I see it, up in the high branches. It is sitting there on one of the thicker limbs, watching silently.


    I take aim, squeeze off a shot. The 5.56 round hits high, cutting some leaves and a small branch. The thing scoots backwards, intentionally dropping down and out of sight.


    I turn on the flashlight that is mounted on my rifle. The beam sweeps the backyard, I don¡¯t want it to find anything, am immensely relieved when it doesn¡¯t.


    A shout from the living room, ¡°They just took out the security light!¡±


    There is the sound of breaking glass and a crash, sounds like it came from the parent¡¯s room. Daniel takes off running. A series of rapid blasts fill the hall. I check the back again, see nothing, then head into the hall to help. He is standing in the doorway, shotgun at the ready.


    ¡°I¡¯m behind you,¡± I announce.


    Daniel moves back and off to one side. Now there is shooting coming from the living room. I consider turning around, but I know that we need to deal with whatever happened in here.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± I ask, before my brother fires another round.


    ¡°I think that it is still in there, somewhere off to the left.¡±


    ¡°Do you know how to clear a room?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he says flatly, sounds a little bit embarrassed.


    Thinking that he is more likely to shoot me in the back by accident than help, I send him to help Jerry, making sure to warn him about the dangers of friendly fire.


    The door is positioned so that I can see straight down the inner wall. Taking a deep breath, I enter the room. The bed and the nightstands that flank it occupy most of the back wall. The window faces toward the rear of the house. Random crap sits up against the walls: an old sewing kit, a tote bag full of paperbacks, carboard boxes full of who knows what.


    The light plays across broken glass, both on the edges of the window and the floor in front of it. I clear the back wall, find myself looking at the closet¡¯s open doors and the pure darkness beyond.


    You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.


    After contemplating just spraying into the closet, I start inching forward.


    Out of the corner of my eye I see it reach in through the broken window.


    I step backwards, letting a round fly. The impact is loud, metallic, sends the freak tumbling out the window. That is when another one bolts out of the closet.


    White hot agony. My left arm is slashed open.


    I move further back, squeeze off a few rounds. The thing jumps out of the window and I post up in the doorway. I call out to the others, telling them that I have driven the creature off.


    Warm wetness as the blood runs down my arm. Lacerations, three deep cuts, clean past the skin and into the muscle.


    I had always hated my platoon sergeant, always seen him as a spaz. But now I am thanking God that he made us practice self-aid. The process of applying the pressure dressing is still long and awkward.


    Daniel comes into the hall, taking a hint from before; he announces the fact, then he states that there is a problem, before seeing the blood and asking if I am okay.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep a watch back here,¡± he says as he steps into the girl¡¯s room, ¡°You need to go take a look for yourself.¡±


    The walk to the living room takes about a dozen times longer than it normally does. I find Jerry standing in the doorway that leads to the carport. I tell him that I am behind him, and he moves out of my way, heading to the front door. I go out the side door and stand on the steps.


    Total horror crawls across my mind as I look down the row of vehicles. The hoods are strips of jagged metal, curled up like flower peddles. The engines have been ripped out in broken pieces. Astonishment turns to despair. I step back inside and close the door.


    Our ability to escape is gone. Walking out of here isn¡¯t an option, not when we are this far away from anything, not with those things out there.


    I pull out my cellphone, surprised that I haven¡¯t already done so. Zero bars.


    ¡°Does your cellphone work out here?¡± I ask my brother.


    ¡°Yes, most of the time,¡± he replies, pulling it out of his pocket, ¡°Damn, no signal.¡±


    I jog up the hall, ask Daniel to check his as he steps out of the kitchen. He looks at it, looks at me and shakes his head no, then proceeds to the office.


    I head back to the living room, ¡°Will your neighbor investigate the gunfire? Call the police?¡±


    ¡°Neighbor? I doubt that anyone is close enough to hear it. Not with all the hills and trees.¡±


    It is then that the power dies.

 Part 6

    I have watched the sun come up more times than I can count. Whether it was heading back from a night mission or a long boring guard shift, it was always a welcome sight. Now the dim blue feels even more like a blessing.


    I¡¯ve had to reload my mags, after going around the house recovering them. Most of the windows have been blasted out. For our efforts, the enemy has been left battered, their armor cracked and dented. With enough time, we may be able to break through and kill the things that are encased in those metal suits.


    ¡°Is it over?¡± Jerry wonders.


    ¡°I think so, but we can¡¯t let our guard down,¡± Daniel says.


    ¡°I agree, we should still keep ready. But what makes you think that it is over?¡±


    ¡°We talked about how they are probably nocturnal. I think that we can be pretty sure of that now. Their eyes and all. And besides, paranormal things tend to happen at night.¡±


    ¡°That is less than reassuring.¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t exactly in known territory, here.¡±


    ¡°Has anything like this happened before? People actually fighting aliens?¡± he pauses briefly, ¡°Or whatever those things are.¡±


    ¡°There was one incident. The Kelly¨CHopkinsville goblin encounter¡±


    ¡°Goblins?¡± Jerry says.


    ¡°Well, that is what they were called. But most people think that they were aliens, that is, unless they believe that it is a hoax.¡±


    ¡°Well, what happened?¡±


    ¡°They laid siege to a farmhouse. The residents fought with them but couldn¡¯t seem to kill them. It was as if they were armored. The attackers eventually left. The cops came, found little evidence. The academics mocked them, called them stupid rednecks. You know, the usual.


    In the absence of adrenaline and with the burden of a long night aiding it, the weight of the vest has appeared. The blood loss can¡¯t be helping, either.


    ¡°How many of them do you think that there are?¡± Daniel asks.


    I ponder it for a second, ¡°At least four.¡±


    Jerry thinks it over, ¡°By the end, I never saw one that wasn¡¯t hurt, or its suit damaged. I think that it is four or so.¡±


    I find myself looking at the floor, ¡°We can¡¯t escape. Can¡¯t call for help. We are on our own.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Jerry shouts, ¡°it¡¯s not like we are on the surface of the moon out here!¡±


    ¡°We are at least twenty miles from a city. Anyone that is closer will just as soon shoot us for jumping their gate if we try to get help from them. Even if it is daytime, if you think that those things aren¡¯t watching us, aren¡¯t ready to pounce when we start down the road, then you are crazy.¡±


    This statement causes his face to sour. He rests his hands on the back of the sofa, stares downward. Daniel goes to the backdoor, stares out the window.


    ¡°Do you think that she will get worried when I don¡¯t call her, come back here?¡±


    ¡°She will definitely get worried, but I doubt that she will come back here. Do you ever lose cell coverage?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°She may chalk it up to that. Who would she call to help?¡±


    ¡°Maybe send the cops to do a welfare check. Tell them the truth, with the important parts left out.¡±


    ¡°The best kind of lie.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°If that happens, what do we tell them?¡±


    ¡°The truth backed up by evidence. Remember, our new friend set up those cameras.¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± he gets up, ¡°I¡¯m going to our bedroom, try to find my old cellphone, just in case it still works.¡±


    All at once, the lack of sleep catches up with me. I plop down on the sofa, my head rests on the back. Cold rushes up my body. I sit there in some kind of strange state. My eye lids weigh an unreasonable amount. The lenses burn steady and strong. All I can do is stare at the ceiling and listen.


    No birds. Not one chirp or caw.


    It¡¯s just dead quiet. Yet, I know that I will hear one of them on the roof or its footsteps as it sneaks into the house to slit our throats. I wonder where the pack of coyotes from last night went. Have they fled the area, picking up the peculiar scents of the ETs? Is that why the birds are silent? Can they sense the presence of the enemy, the same as they can sense a coming earthquake?


    For the millionth time I question the reality of the situation. Am I asleep? Am I hallucinating? Did I even make it back from Iraq? Did I take something for the pain, go too far? A new prospect rears its ugly head, this one worse than alien attacks. Did I finally do it, put the gun to my head? Am I in some kind of purgatory or Hell?


    The silence is broken by a rattling in the kitchen. I jump, start to bolt up off the couch, but stop myself when I realize that it is just my brother digging around in the cabinets. This draws us into the room. We down sodas, eat PB&J sandwiches. My eyes keep going to the window. Then to Jerry¡¯s face as he watches the door behind me.


    I feel better, more awake.


    ¡°We should go check the trail cams,¡± Daniel suggests in a matter of fact tone.


    My blood goes cold again, mind reels. This is unthinkable.


    ¡°Are you serious? This isn¡¯t a game; this isn¡¯t a paranormal TV show. This is a dangerous situation!¡±


    ¡°We need intel, information on what we are dealing with. I checked the cameras that I put in the windows,¡± he looks away, ¡°They peeked in a few times, but I didn¡¯t see anything new, anything that could help us.¡±


    I¡¯m torn on whether or not I want to see the footage. The curious need to see such a bizarre creature struggles against the fear of those damn eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying that we head deep into the forest, just get the closer ones,¡± the investigator clarifies.


    He¡¯s right. Every glimpse that we have gotten of them was over quick, shrouded in darkness, while under the influence of fear and adrenaline. If we can get a better look at them, maybe we can find some sort of weakness. Or at least get a heads up on some aspect of them that we missed.


    ¡°Alright, fine, let me go wash up first.¡±


    I head down the hall, enter the bathroom. The cold water doesn¡¯t hit as hard as I had thought.


    I look away from the mirror, notice the little blurry window.


    I imagine one of those faces, those massive void black eyes staring at me. Shaking the picture away, I go to meet with the others.


    The second that I step out from under the carport the feeling invades my mind, that sickening sensation that I am being watched. I scan the area, looking for pale forms, dead black eyes.


    Daniel starts toward the shed. I hadn¡¯t noticed the surveillance camera resting on the rusted pail that sits beside the door. It is pointed so that it covers the front of the house.


    I walk ahead of the others, lean in to make sure that nothing is hiding in the little metal building. It is organized clutter. Random junk, rusted tools, and old containers are stacked haphazardly on shelfs and in racks. Daniel grabs the camera, stuffs it into the backpack that he brought along.


    Now we head to the backyard. The old barn sits there, oddly sinister. My eyes move from the dusty darkness of the door to that of the hay loft. The only light in there is from the holes and missing boards. Beams of sunlight slice the discarded black. The question of what might be hiding in that darkness keeps my eyes turning back toward the dilapidated structure, as we finish the journey to the tree and retrieve the cam.


    Daniel takes the cam down, places it in the backpack. Then he goes around to the other side of the trunk and lets out a gasp. We follow him, giving the distant trees a quick once over. He is staring at the ground, at a scattering of OD green plastic hunks. I quickly realize that it was one of the cameras, this one placed on the opposite side of the big tree.


    Knocked off the tree by one of them? Broke apart when it hit the ground? No, it would have stayed intact.


    Daniel bends down, sifts through the pieces. After a long couple of minutes, he finds what he is looking for, the SD card. He pockets it, says that we should go. I eye the barn again, then the tree line, before turning to follow him.


    A nervous walk back. Daniel turns on his laptop, each of us keenly aware that it can only stay on for so long with the power out. Excited, he plugs the SD card from the broken camera in.


    The abyss of those eyes. No antennas on this one. It seems to be wearing a black bodysuit. Spindly, unnaturally long fingers wrap around the plastic case that holds the camera system.


    ¡°This thing is different, another type of creature,¡± Daniel observes.


    The camera shakes violently, turns in random directions.


    The realization seems to hit the three of us at once. The trail cam wasn¡¯t broken by accident. Not smashed to bits, disassembled, as the pieces look uniform. It was intentionally taken apart. The thing was trying to figure out what it was, how it functioned.


    My eyes keep turning toward the window. The water from the damaged pool has soaked into the ground.


    Then I notice pink reflected on a cloud. Two questions force their way past the sudden flash of horror. How is it that such a thing now fills me with so much dread? How had the safety of daylight faded so quick?

 Part 7

    The three of us start our vigil well before nightfall. All weapons are locked and loaded. All gear has been checked and double checked. Now we can only sit and wait. We decided that a rotating guard would be best. We will move from spot to spot as the night progresses.


    Several hours in, Daniel is sitting at the table, facing the window, ¡°I just need a little break,¡± he explains.


    ¡°Ya, me too,¡± I say, taking a seat beside him.


    He focuses on the darkness outside, eyes bloodshot and hollow, ¡°To think, I¡¯ve got proof of extraterrestrial life on my laptop. I¡¯ve got that, and I can¡¯t do anything with it. No internet or cell. I can¡¯t get it out there. And I might die before I can.¡±


    ¡°The dictionary definition of so close yet so far.¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t matter anyway.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°A bunch of frowning atheists with neckbeards would just say that it¡¯s bad CGI. Say that it¡¯s nonsense and call it an obvious fake.¡±


    His face lights up with a grin, ¡°Ya, and call anyone that believes it every mean name in the book.¡±


    I chuckle, look out the window again, ¡°Probably find a way to call them a racist, too.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t they always?¡±


    ¡°True.¡±


    His eyes stay fixed on the window, ¡°I never thought that I would even find anything. Sure, I believed in a lot of paranormal stuff. But I really just wanted to travel around making money and having fun. I treated it seriously, but deep down inside I always knew that it was just entertainment. I was selling my viewers a fun ghost story or cryptid hunt. Any evidence outside of a garbled EVP or a mangled track in the mud didn¡¯t even seem like a possibility.¡±


    I don¡¯t know how to respond to that, so I just say, ¡°We had better start again.¡±


    He agrees, gets up and heads into another room. I do the same. How crazy must it be to be him right now? Like a religious man finding himself standing before the thrown of God.


    I enter the living room, which is empty. Where is Jerry? The question hits me like a speeding semi.


    He should be in here. I dart into the hall, glance into the other rooms. Daniel is in the office, looking out of the window. I check the bathrooms, nothing. I even check his son Caleb¡¯s room, which we had never had need to enter before.


    Out of desperation I look outside. There he is, standing outside, under the carport.


    I open the door, start down the steps, ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±


    He holds up the cig in answer.


    ¡°You can¡¯t do that inside?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he says flatly.


    A short pause as my brain processes things, ¡°Are you more afraid of your wife than aliens?¡± I ask, incredulous.


    He chuckles sheepishly, ¡°Ya.¡±


    The smell of the smoke brings back a flood of memories.


    Robinson, O¡¯Keefe, and Miller always seemed to be smoking. A lot of people always seemed to be smoking.


    They told me that I would end up being a smoker by the end of the tour, insisted on it. The stress would break my resolve, and I would turn to the cancer sticks. But they were wrong. I take a weird pride in that fact.


    Miller lost both legs to an IED. Robinson didn¡¯t make it back at all.


    He suddenly cranes his neck upward, points at the sky, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    It¡¯s not that high above the trees, or at least it seems that way. A deep red light, pulsing steadily. As we watch the light it fades out, switches to rich amber, and from there to a brilliant yellow.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I force myself to look down, scanning the area for threats. Jerry raises his rifle, examines it through the scope.


    ¡°Anything?¡±


    ¡°No, still just looks like a point of light.¡±


    ¡°Go get Daniel,¡± I command, before adding a quick, ¡°please.¡±


    ¡°Ya,¡± he says, turning around and heading back inside.


    It goes purple, dark blue, back to purple again. The light is clear and crisp, like those new Christmas lights that they have. Cold abruptly washes over me.


    Daniel makes his way out of the house and gets up beside me. Inquisitive eyes are quickly drawn to the object. He watches it in wonder for well over a minute.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Not a plane. Looks similar to other sightings.¡±


    ¡°You think it is a spaceship?¡±


    ¡°Could be. Such things are poorly understood, but often assumed to be spacecraft. Some theorize that they are really interdimensional in nature. Hell, some people even think that they come from the deep ocean.¡±


    I mill it over for a few seconds, decide that we should just go inside. We turn, our mistake earns us immediate punishment.


    Blinding light rushes between us. A flash of flame on the door, and now a burning hole. The two of us turn, automatically taking aim at the strange light.


    I let two quick rounds fly. Then I start actually trying to aim. It is a difficult task, as I have no clue how far away or even how high the object is. Before I can squeeze off an additional shot, another pulse of light races past me.


    It did not come from the UFO. It came from a tree where the road curves out of sight. Daniel has drawn his sidearm; he sends a few rounds in the direction of the attack. Another burst of light, my iron sights find the location, hot lead screams into the night.


    Gunfire from inside of the house. I tell him to head inside, he clambers up the steps while I lay down suppression fire, pats out the fire as he heads in. Then I duck inside, as another pulse of energy hits the dirt.


    The shots are coming from the girl¡¯s room


    ¡°I¡¯ve got this!¡± Daniel yells. Taking the hint, I head to the back. Jerry steps out of the room before I get there. He bolts into the bathroom and turns the sink on.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    He takes a towel off of the rack and wets it, ¡°One of the things from the camera. It shoots lasers out of its arm. Or at least something on its arm. I hit it, I know that I did.¡±


    ¡°Did you kill it?¡± I ask as he dashes back into the girl¡¯s room.


    ¡°No, but I made it think twice,¡± he says, before he uses the towel to put out a fire that is starting to spread across the back wall.


    My mind works its way toward a conclusion, as I move to the window and cover him while he deals with the fire. If their objective is to kill us, they can easily do it. It would be as simple as setting the house on fire and shooting us down as we flee the blaze. No, they want us alive. For what reason, I can only wonder. And if what the paranormal investigator has told us is true, I can only fear it.


    Hours pass. We keep our vigil. Caffeine hits and fades, its magic fleeting.


    Three in the morning. Jerry is in the office. A panicked scream is followed by a burst of gunfire. I am in the kitchen. I turn to go help him, catch a hint of pale skin and black fabric near the edge of the pool.


    I dive, the pulse of energy passing overhead. I pop up, intending to take a shot at the creature, only to see my sights filled with grey. One of the clawed beings is climbing in the window. I fire rapidly. Deafening explosions, metallic impacts are followed by a high-pitched screech. The thing falls over, a hideous gargling sound escapes its impossibly thin mouth.


    My blood freezes solid. The sights move to the figure next to the pool. I squeeze off a round; the creatures shoots a bolt from the device on his wrist. My bullet finds its mark, the thing tumbles onto its back. There is a loud hiss on my right side, a burning sensation on that side of my head.


    Before I can fire again the burning gets worse. My hand leaves the trigger guard, goes to the side of my head. I can hear something sizzling. I jump up, run to the sink. After wetting the dish towel, I put it to my wound. I stand there in agony, pressing the towel hard in the vain hope that it will ease the pain.


    I hear gunshots, along with the sound of those strange energy weapons.


    ¡°The ones with guns are covering the ones with claws! Don¡¯t let them get close!¡± I shout.


    Flickering light draws my eyes to a spot near the kitchen door. Now I am running across the room again, this time using the dish towel to put out a fire. The shot must have only grazed me, impacting the wall. I put it out, stomp on the smoldering splinters that litter the tile.


    I check the window again; the creature is still lying there. No sign of the clawed one, but there is a trail of green liquid leading away from the house. I poke my head into the hall, ¡°Everyone okay?¡±


    Two yas, one from the living room, the other from the office, follow. I glance out the back window, only darkness. Another shot from the office. Jerry yells out a threat.


    ¡°Watch out for fires,¡± I call out, as I enter the nearest bathroom. Fear pushes past the pain as I check my face in the mirror. Reddened skin, nasty blisters, the freak really did a number on me. I could be worse, but it is still pretty bad.


    I step back into the hall. What is that sound? It is coming from the kitchen, or more like the yard outside of it. Distorted moaning.


    The thing in the black bodysuit that I shot is still alive.


    A pale form moves from out behind the pool. A long-fingered hand reaches down, grabs ahold of the limp body. This one is different, taller, less lean, the mouth wider. Those eyes are still the massive black almonds, but I can see life in them, unlike the lenses of the other creatures. It is a kind of life that is completely unknown to me, but it is still life. Its wrist lacks the device, and strangely, I can see a high collared cape bellowing.


    I take aim, think better of it. Best to let them deal with their wounded, as they may afford us the same courtesy. I quickly question the logic of this. These beings aren¡¯t human. Who¡¯s to say that they have any values or even emotions that are comparable to our own.


    The rest of the night is long. I run between windows, powering past the pain. The enemy keeps silent. The sun is as welcome a sight as ever.


    I head into the living room, find Jerry staring out the side window. His eyes stick to the ravaged side of my face, ¡°Jesus, are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. We need to get some rest. I will keep watch first.¡±

 Part 8

    My shift is long; by the end I feel like I am going to die. I find myself wondering from window to window in a daze. The pain from my wound becomes throbbing torment, before turning into a dull annoyance. The only painkillers in the house are a bottle of stuff that you would use for a headache. Daniel awakens after many hours, groggily tells me to go to bed. I offer no objections.


    I bolt awake. Half remembered nightmares, visions of pale skin and almond shaped void eyes send me scrambling for my weapon. My mind is slow to catch up with reality. Full awareness is much more sluggish. The pain returns with a vengeance.


    Jerry and Daniel are in the living room, talking about something or other. Other than that, things are quiet.


    I sit there staring out the kitchen window. A toaster pastry and cold brew coffee helps to bring me back to the closest I can currently get to a hundred percent. I finish, wonder into the living room.


    ¡°Did you sleep well?¡± Jerry askes.


    ¡°Yes and no. I can function again, if that is what you mean.¡±


    Daniel manages a quick grin, ¡°We¡¯ve been planning. We figure that we can gather up sacks and things and make sandbags. Maybe set up some barriers.¡±


    ¡°Good idea. We should have done it yesterday, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°We were in shock, worn out.¡±


    ¡°Ya. Well, let¡¯s get to it.¡±


    A hunt ensues. Plastic bags, cardboard boxes, anything that can hold dirt is rounded up. We carry out the task together, covering each other. We visit the shed for tools. Things get awkward when Daniel wants to do what he calls a ¡°High Shovel¡± where we knock them together like a high five.


    We proceed around the house, putting up our makeshift sandbags in front of the blasted-out windows. Lungs battle against the sting of the cold air. The smell of freshly uncovered dirt brings back memories of doing the same crap in the army. At the time it was punishment, a soft hazing, now it is a life or death thing. The wind blows in, crisp and clean, bringing with it the newly fallen leaves. I hear one crunch underfoot, gifting me an idea.


    Back inside. Daniel is assigned the task of stringing empty Coke cans together. Me and Jerry start dragging furniture around, blocking doors and making it more difficult to clamber through windows.


    We head outside again. This time we move around the perimeter, setting up our ad hoc alarm system. Then we head back in. Daniel wonders if one of them was keeping watch on us, the same way that we did during the day. He wonders if they have some way of marking the alarms and giving the info to the other beings. I tell him that we can only do so much, and that it will at least make it more difficult for them to move around.


    Then Jerry lets out an exclamation, says he has an idea and heads into his son¡¯s room. He comes back a few minutes later, several Halloween themed toys in hand.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°We got them at a fast-food place last year. They are motion activated, let out a loud noise when someone walks in front of them.


    It doesn¡¯t take too long for the two of us to pick up what he is putting down, ¡°That¡¯s brilliant!¡± I declare, ¡°Put them things up by the windows and they won¡¯t be able to sneak in.¡±


    We change out the batteries. Then start setting them up in key places. There is a finality to the act, as the sun is starting to fall. The wind begins to pick up. The branches sway, the colorful leaves rustling. Distant thunder heralds the night.


    ***


    Rapid flashes light up the horizon. Wind tears at the trees. Thunderclaps pound away.


    We patrol the house, moving from one window to the next.


    Daniel yells, ¡°That light is back!¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Right over the house!¡±


    This sends me running back into the living room. I carefully make my way out the side door and down the steps, keeping an eye out in all directions. Beyond the carport, green light bathes the ground. This switches to cold blue and then vibrant purple. My barrel is pointed skyward as I leave the overhang. Daniel follows me.


    The light is so bright that I can¡¯t look directly at it. It goes red and then orange, before going out completely. My eyes are slow to return to normal. A silver glint slowly grows. I can just make out some hints of color behind it.


    Lines shoot down, weird fingers grip me, wrapping around my limbs. I become disoriented as I am rapidly lifted up into the air.


    There is a metallic bang below me. The lines are holding me in place in the middle of some sort of chamber. My flashlight moves across the walls, which are covered in strange apertures and robotic arms. Some components seem organic.


    Sharp instruments begin to move into position. I hear the sound of a buzzsaw behind me. A horrendous pain in my lower back. A needle tipped arm moves into position, stabs me in the abdomen.


    My finger moves into the trigger well. I start squeezing off shots, moving the weapon around randomly. Rounds punch through the walls, flesh is ripped open, metal is torn.


    The needle pops out of me; moving in a way that suggests panic. A loud rushing sound under me. The pressure around my arms and legs stops. I am falling.


    The next thing that I know I am on the ground, lying there in pain, disorientated. Above me a screeching sound, which moves away. A few seconds later, Jerry and Daniel are there, hauling me to my feet and walking me back into the house.


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding pretty bad,¡± Jerry says, looking scared.


    ¡°The office, a stapler,¡± I stammer.


    Daniel moves to one of the windows, ¡°Go, I¡¯ll keep watch.¡±


    By the time that we have made it back to the office door I have regained some of my bearings. Jerry enters the room, moving to the side so that he can open the desk drawer. He stops in his tracks.


    It stands there, blackout eyes burning deep pits into our souls. The thing that dragged the wounded alien away is still holding the cardboard box that it was in the process of dumping out when we unintentionally interrupted it.


    It rushes forward. A blast from both barrels of Jerry¡¯s shotgun stops it dead in its tracks. I aim, realize too late that I haven¡¯t reloaded yet. It stammers forward, spindly fingers wrap around my neck. I try to pry them off, struggling as those eyes stare into mine. It is then that I see it, feel it, a hate that boarders on madness. I know this illness; I had felt it on the battlefield. I have harmed its people and now it is out for blood.


    A metallic thud, followed by many for in rapid succession. It lets go, retreats several feet away, where the buttstock of Jerry¡¯s shotgun can¡¯t strike it again. I pull my sidearm, empty it into the thing. Jerry has put a shell in both chambers. He moves in close, shoves the weapon into the being¡¯s face and ends it.


    The pain of the staples are just little pin pricks next to that of the gash itself.

 Part 9

    Uneasy sleep taken in turns. The day is long, this time. We are anxious, question if we have enough ammo to survive another night.


    Just five shotgun shells. Two in Jerry¡¯s double barrel, the rest in Daniel¡¯s pump action. One mag for each handgun. A half a mag for my AR. And just three rounds for the hunting rifle.


    ¡°Hello? Hellllo?¡± it is a woman¡¯s voice, soft, without accent.


    The sound knocks us out of our daze. A voice? A voice! We grab our weapons, slowly and cautiously make our way to the door. Jerry posts up on the front window. I gesture for Daniel to keep a watch out back. He nods his head and jogs to the backdoor.


    Looking out the window I see that it is in fact a woman.


    Her skin is totally pale. Long black hair flows down low. Lacking curve, her body is thin and tight. A simple sundress moves slightly in the breeze.


    Something is off. I can¡¯t put my finger on it. Something about the proportions of her face. The eyes, the eyes are just a bit too big, just a bit too black. The lips are bright red, but I get the impression that it is natural, and not makeup.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask with naked suspicion.


    Her mouth is just a bit too small; it smiles slightly as she speaks, ¡°I am what you might all a prototype ambassador.¡±


    ¡°An ambassador? You are here to make peace?¡±


    ¡°The people that you have been fighting are members of a scientific expedition. The ones with the big claws are the scouts. The ones that shot at you were researchers using portable scanners which were Jerry-rigged into primitive energy weapons. The floating ones are used to dissect specimens.¡±


    That explains why we were able to survive against such an advanced species. They aren¡¯t warriors. It was like we were jungle people fending off loggers using stone weapons. We held our own, but if it had been a group of soldiers, we wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance.


    She continues, ¡°The one that you killed last night was their commander. He is the closest to what our species naturally looks like. Most of us are so heavily genetically modified and cybernetically enhanced that we barely resemble the original thing. And as for me, well, as you can tell, I have been made to be more agreeable to your people.¡±


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Jerry askes.


    ¡°I was created in case it was felt that we could benefit from diplomacy.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean why are your people attacking us?¡±


    ¡°It started as an effort to retrieve a device. A scanning system that had been dormant for many decades. It was recently reactivated. It was hoped that its logs could be downloaded and studied.¡±


    ¡°Why would it be here?¡± I ask.


    ¡°The research team has no clue. They picked up its signal while in the area on a mission to study native wildlife. They thought that it was very odd, because it was originally deployed in a warzone on the other side of the planet.¡±


    By the time it hits me Jerry has already left the window. A minute later he opens the laundry room door, lugging the heavy chest, which he dumps down the steps. Intrigued, the strange woman moves to the pile of junk, sifting through it. She grabs the strange ashtray, holds it up in front of her face.


    I find myself outraged, ¡°So, this is what all of this was about! That little piece of junk! Some piece of crap that grandpa found in the jungle in Nam!¡±


    ¡°The commander thought that he could retrieve it. He thought wrong.


    ¡°Thank you for giving the device back. Now, listen very carefully. This isn¡¯t over yet. I was activated when the commander was killed, I wasn¡¯t the only one. He stays in stasis on the dark side of the moon, in case a research team gets into trouble. You would call him a commando. He is heading here. He doesn¡¯t care that the scanner has been retrieved. His warrior pride won¡¯t permit you to live.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Jerry askes, eyes wide.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, there is nothing I can do. He won¡¯t stop till you are all dead. He will hunt you to the ends of your world. And I fear that you lack the weapons to defeat him. He is a purpose-built killer and will be here about an hour after the sun goes down. I wish you luck,¡± with that she turns and walks into the darkness.


    We call Daniel, explain what just happened as we toss the stuff back into the trunk and move it back into place.


    Now it is time to start brainstorming. I decide to start things off, ¡°Well, we have three vehicles, none of which work, all of which have gas in the tank.¡±


    An evil look crosses Daniel¡¯s face. For Jerry it is hope, ¡°I have a gas can in the shed.¡±


    ¡°Okay, we have a weapon. Now, how do we apply it?¡±


    ¡°We have beer bottles. We can make Molotov cocktails,¡± Daniel suggests.


    ¡°Hold on, I don¡¯t want to burn down my house!¡± Jerry objects.


    ¡°That is one of the reasons why we won¡¯t be facing him in the house.¡±


    ¡°We will get cut to pieces in the open.¡±


    ¡°We will take him on in the forest.¡±


    ¡°And start a wildfire?¡±


    ¡°Well, that will sure as hell bring help here, now won¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe the Molotovs could be a last resort.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°What else do we have?¡± I ask.


    Jerry thinks it over, ¡°A few tools, shovels and rakes and such. I got a chainsaw, but it is a small one that needs to plug into a socket. There is an axe. It is old and rusted, probably dull as hell. But it is something.¡±


    ¡°Could we use the gas to make bombs?¡± Daniel asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think that we would still need a smaller bomb to set it off. At that point, we could just cut out the middleman and make a fragmentation device. The real question is this: how do we get past its armor? We burned up the majority of our ammo getting through the protective gear of the scouts. Imagine how hard the stuff that a soldier wears will be.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got leftover fireworks from the fourth,¡± Jerry states.


    ¡°Well, that is something. Let¡¯s see ¡®em.¡±


    They are in a cardboard box that they had, of all places, kept under their bed. It is a random collection of loose firecrackers and a few of those metal disk things that fly around spinning. If we carefully cut them open, we might have enough powder for one makeshift frag grenade. And that would be a grenade in the loosest sense of the term.


    A thorough search of the house only turns up an aluminum baseball bat from the boy¡¯s room.


    ¡°Let me see what is in your van,¡± I say to Daniel.


    The back of the van is a royal mess. As I scan the piles of camping gear and electronic equipment I start to see that it is somewhere closer to organize chaos. I spot a spool of paracord, an idea starts to take shape.


    A Coke can serves as the body of our makeshift grenade. A jar of random nails and screws that had been in the shed provides the shrapnel.


    We siphon the gas out of the tanks, getting more than enough to fill up the five-gallon gas can that Jerry has. Daniel remembered that he had a little one-gallon Jerry-can in his van in case he found himself deep out into the sticks on a case and needed extra fuel to get him to a station. We don¡¯t have time to make proper Molotovs by jellifying the gasoline, too bad.


    My eyes focus on the flashlight that is attached to my rifle. My mind goes back to those massive eyes. And then the nature of those things, that they love the darkness. And that is when it comes to me. The thing that has kept us alive this whole time, it wasn¡¯t just the hail of gunfire, it was the light.


    ***


    The crickets go from overwhelming to absent. Breathless, I lie there in the darkness.


    The lack of sound is what defines the next minute. The commando makes no noise as it crosses the lawn. It soundlessly slips through one of the broken windows, avoiding the ones that have alarms. The alien soldier is hardly perceivable as it slips out of the hall and into the living room.


    Soft armor on whipcord muscles. Pale grey. It has those same eyes, that same slit mouth. This one frowns with its tiny mouth; its massive eyes burn with malevolent drive.


    The hostile being doesn¡¯t hesitate. I can¡¯t tell what gives us away. Maybe it is our body heat. Regardless, it raises its arms, each hand holds a weapon. We do the same, sending a barrage of buckshot and bullets its way.


    Its shots go wild as high velocity metal pings off of alien armor. Before opening fire, I switched my flashlight on, shining the beam on its eyes and keeping it there. Daniel empties his shotgun, pulls out the super powerful light I had given him, does the same as me, focusing it on the alien trooper¡¯s almond eyes.


    Who knows what that thing¡¯s eyes have seen. Has it gazed upon distant stars? Has it witnessed the beauty of strange worlds? Regardless, it is blinded; keeps firing wildly. The blasts of pure energy punch clean through the walls, leaving flaming holes.


    It sprints toward the door. Jerry is quick with the paracord line, wrapping it around its legs as it runs past. It stumbles, takes a shot at Jerry as it falls. The blast is a near miss, sends him rolling away. I dive, all of my weight focused onto the tip of my combat knife.


    I¡¯m more shocked than anything when it goes through the armor and sinks deep into the alien¡¯s back. It lets out a cry, which I interpret as an expression of pain and shock. I sit up and pull on the handle, fail to extract the blade. The alien swings an arm back, smashing it into my leg. It buckles, my knee dislocates. I stumble away, consumed by pain. The commando gets to its feet, takes a potshot at Daniel as it bolts out the front door.


    All I can hear is Daniel screaming. I push past the pain, get back on my feet. The shot took out the TV, which the investigator was standing in front of. He has managed to put out the fire on his back. Jerry moves around putting out the other fires.


    I limp over toward the door; my leg is stiff, can¡¯t be lifted very high at all. I fish the homemade grenade out of a pouch, light it and hurl it out of the window, yelling at the other two to duck.


    The explosion shakes the house. Shrapnel tears holes in the wall. Daniel jumps up, jogs out the door, lighting a Molotov. I follow him as best as I can, pistol in hand.


    No sign of it. We were too slow. It has escaped, sprinting into the darkness. We sweep our lights across the yard, seeing only the wood line.


    A sound above and behind, like something on the shingles. I start to turn, get knocked off my feet before I can make it half-way. It had been on the roof, jumped off, hitting me with a flying tackle. Even if both of my legs still worked properly, I doubt that I would be able to stay on my feet.


    Now I¡¯m on the ground, the misery of my knee eats away at my sanity, as I try to get a bead on him. The sights on my pistol glow in the total black of the night. Before I can squeeze off a shot, the fiend grabs me; hauling me up and wrapping his arm around my neck, so that I become a human shield. It rips the gun out of my hand, it lands in the grass somewhere. Then it turns us so that we face Daniel, Molotov still at the ready.


    The thing speaks, its voice somewhere between electronic and organic, ¡°Do it and he burns.¡±


    A boom and a metallic thud. I can feel its head move from an impact. Jerry is standing in the doorway, hunting rifle at the high ready. He fires again, it lets me go as it staggers. I collapse, start rolling even before Daniel tells me to do so.


    Breaking glass followed by orange light. Jerry fires the last shot. The flaming creature raises its guns. Jerry dives back into the house. Daniel stands there as the other weapon¡¯s barrel moves in his direction. My hand finds my gun; I aim it and empty the last of my ammo.


    The heat must be starting to get through its suit, the light isn¡¯t helping it either. It misses Daniel as he scrambles away. Then it turns toward me. I can¡¯t move, my leg is too messed up.


    Another Molotov hits, the bottle shatters and the fire ignites the gas. Another cocktail, and then another. It starts to flail around. Daniel runs past me, the aluminum bat held high. Jerry joins in with the axe.


    They never expected it to actually engage an opponent in melee combat. The suit is meant for bullets and beams, not knives and clubs. I have managed to get back onto my feet by the time that my brother takes a garden hose to the smoldering pieces of the alien commando.


    ***


    A hint of pale light brings absolute joy, the sun is rising. We each check our phones, find that we can communicate with the outside world again.


    Jerry calls his wife. It is tearful, hard to listen to. He follows this up with a call to the power company.


    I make a few calls. Nothing burns away at my mind. Then I join Daniel, who is staring at the screen of his laptop.


    ¡°Will you do it?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Ya, I don¡¯t really have a choice.¡±


    ¡°You always have a choice. But I get you, you need to do it, need to get that info out there. Owe it to them.¡±


    ¡°That is true. I am terrified of what will happen when I do. There will be consequences, that much is certain.¡±


    ¡°From the government?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m much more worried about how the public at large will react.¡±


    ¡°People can be crazy,¡± I chuckle, ¡°Even more scary than aliens.¡±


    He returns the laugh, ¡°Like we said before, many will dismiss the footage out of hand. Others may go crazy. There will be ones that will be out for my blood,¡± he looks out the window, ¡°I wonder what kind of information that device recorded.¡±


    ¡°It was deployed in the middle of a warzone. They were studying how we wage war.¡±


    He picks up what I am putting down, ¡°Could be out of general interest. Could be gathering data for possible future military operations against us.¡±


    ¡°Could be for both,¡± Jerry suggests, ¡°Could be in case we get out into space and get into a conflict with them.¡±


    I manage a slight smile, ¡°Either way, we showed them that we aint pushovers.¡±