I'm so glad you enjoy it! And I don't think anything I've written has ever been the subject of a New Year's resolution. :DCHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
December 13, 1947, 1730 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Spade swallowed hard, no easy task because his throat had gone dry. All around him the mess hall bustled with soldiers getting food, eating food, complaining about the food. He spied the guard he'd been talking to all the way across the room, caught up in a conversation with another group of soldiers. This mess was easily four times the size of the compound's mess, and it was full—full of people who had no idea there was a living, breathing alien among them.
"So you recognize me," the alien said. "Good. I took the form in which you last saw me in hopes that you would."
"You're supposed to be dead!" Spade complained, lowering his voice as another soldier walked by.
"We very nearly were," the alien answered. "Sorry to disappoint."
" 'We?' You mean you both survived?"
"Yes. I don't have time to go over the details," the alien continued. "I'm taking a huge risk by coming to you." He leaned in closer, his eyes sweeping the room as though looking for eavesdroppers. "There are others of my kind here who mean to remove your prisoner from your compound tonight. Not just my friend and I—more people have arrived from my planet. I wish to avoid further bloodshed, and I believe you do too."
"More....." Spade repeated, then stopped, his voice failing him. Was this the alien army Cavitt had feared from the beginning? "How many more?"
"There will be six of us."
Six. Previously they'd only had to deal with two, and that had proven a handful. "Six people who can blow holes in walls and kill with a touch," Spade muttered. "Wonderful."
"We can't do those things," the alien answered. "Our only weapon is our ability to change our shapes."
"If that's all you can do, you won't get inside," Spade said, breathing just a tiny bit easier. "No matter who you look like, you won't be able to get past security."
"Your security procedures are impressive," the alien admitted. "Simple, effective....and highly annoying. They have served you well these past few months because there were only two of us to contend with. Now there are more, and that will be enough to tip the scales."
"I don't think so," Spade countered. "What are you going to do—storm the place with just six of you? And getting in is only part of the problem. I've got seventy men on active duty in there, a hundred in an emergency, all equipped with tranquilizer rifles. You already know what those can do—you fired one. I know you people are more advanced than we are, but it seems to me you've underestimated us....or overestimated yourselves."
The alien smiled indulgently, as though Spade had said something funny. "Don't discount the ability to change one's appearance. It's a powerful weapon, more powerful than all the weapons any race has ever made. That's precisely why my people are so feared where I come from. We are invisible....and invisibility confers a surprising amount of control."
"You're going to knock us all out with that drug your buddy used, aren't you?" Spade asked, his fingers beginning to twitch. He was this close to standing up and fingering this bastard.
"No. Close proximity is required for its use. That would be inefficient."
"And what exactly do you consider 'efficient'?"
"Cutting your power."
"No good. We have a back-up generator as closely guarded as the prisoner."
"It will fail," the alien said. "No offense, but your electrical systems are primitive. Disrupting power to the compound is a simple matter because your power comes from the base; disrupting your generator is also easy, although that does require entering the compound. And when the power fails, you will all be left, quite literally, in the dark; a handicap for you, but not for us. You can fill in the rest yourself."
Spade closed his eyes, seeing in his mind the confusion that would ensue with such a scenario. He and his men had trained for the possibility of a power outage, but those drills had always assumed emergency power would be functioning. They had flashlights, of course, and there would be some light from the windows upstairs, but the basement....the basement would become a rat hole. Infiltrating that would be a piece of cake.
"So," Spade said slowly, "the purpose of this little recital is to make things easier on yourselves by convincing me to give up before you've even started, right? To 'avoid further bloodshed'? I gotta hand it to you—you're very polite when you make threats."
"You misunderstand," the alien objected, his voice dropping lower. "I want my people to fail. I want...." He paused, his hands clasping and unclasping on the table in front of him. "I need your help to stop them."
******************************************************
"Hey man, move," a soldier grumbled as Private Walker reluctantly stepped aside to let him pass, promptly stepping back in front of the swinging mess hall door, staring through the window. He'd been watching for several minutes now despite the fact he'd had to move every minute or so to let someone in or out. Just look at him, Walker thought darkly, peering through the window at Spade, hunched over a table with another soldier. The mighty Lieutenant Spade was holding court; this was the second supplicant to be granted an audience in the past fifteen minutes, a baby-faced Private hunched earnestly over the table, his expression bearing all the earmarks of one asking—no, begging—for something. Something it didn't look like Spade was keen on giving judging from the way he sat stiffly, arms crossed in front of himself, scowling.
Walker fingered the flask in his pocket, casting a careful glance around. Not here—a base mess was about as private as Grand Central Station. He headed out of the building, wondering idly if the begging Private would have such a high opinion of Spade if he knew what had happened after his famed capture of the two aliens. Spade was still on a pedestal for that feat, but what good was capturing aliens if you just prattled on about how they had surrendered when one them threatened to kill one of your men? Ramey hadn't been any better, ordering everyone to hold their fire as Walker had dangled from the alien's smelly arm, drawing less air with every breath. Only Cavitt had gotten it right. As far as Walker was concerned, they should've pumped the damned thing so full of drugs that it would never move again.
The air outside was brisk as Walker left the building and rounded the corner, heading for an alcove which housed a dumpster. Technically speaking, men were only allowed to drink at the official base watering hole so the stingy bartender could regulate the flow of alcohol. This was a new regulation instituted after the crash, most likely to keep everyone sober in case of another alien attack. Predictably, it had worked about as well as Prohibition; it had taken approximately ten minutes after he'd arrived to locate and purchase the flask in his pocket. Spade might spend his first precious free hours in the base mess, but Walker knew how to live it up. Now he pulled the flask out, pouring the whiskey down his throat, not having realized how much he'd missed its peculiar combination of fire and mellowness. The compound was dead boring, but what Walker had missed most was the booze. God knows they all needed some.
Five minutes later, the flask was almost empty, and Walker was downright cheerful. He pocketed the flask with a few mouthfuls still left and was all ready to go back inside when nature called. A moment later he had his fly unzipped, whizzing happily against the side of the building. Ahhhhh. God, that felt good! A bottle of whiskey and pissing outdoors—it was hard to say which he'd missed more. And the dames, he thought as he zipped his fly. A good lay would make this outing complete. Unfortunately, the only women available were nurses, and their barracks were guarded by a nurse of ball-busting proportions. Of course, there was always that sweet little alien-loving skirt back at the compound. He'd give a good deal to get her underneath him, show her what a real man could do. She'd never look at that monster again.
A noise behind the dumpster made him pause. Was there somebody else out here? No big deal if there was. Dark little nooks like this were common places to avail oneself of the pleasures of fire water and the company of those of similar persuasion. "Who's there?" he called jovially, the alcohol just starting to affect his speech. "Come on out. I don't bite. 'Less you're a dame," he added, chuckling. "I'm in that kind of mood."
A moment later, Walker was instantly sober as a dog, his dog, crept from behind the dumpster. It was very thin, its fur bedraggled, and it was limping on its right front paw.
"Jesus," Walker breathed as the dog limped up to him, wagging its tail pathetically. "What the hell happened to you?" He knelt down and ran a shaking hand over the thin coat, felt the bones jutting through the skin as the pup looked at him with sad eyes. "You're starving!" he exclaimed. "Damn that Treyborn! If he hadn't let you out, none of this would have happened!" And if Saint Spade had managed to keep his mouth shut, he added silently to himself as the pup began to whine. Honestly, what was up with the Army when they took meticulous care of a monster while throwing a puppy out into the cold, cruel world?
Walker threw a quick glance at the building. The base was huge—finding someone to stash the dog should be a piece of cake. Easier too, as there were far more places to hide it here, and far less security. And then he'd be able to come visit it, make certain it was being properly looked after. "Poor baby," he crooned, scratching behind the pup's ears. "You stay here, and I'll go get you some food. I'll be right back." The dog promptly settled down on the ground, obedient as ever, and Walker gave it one last pat before standing up.
A moment later he was face down on the ground, unconscious, and what was standing over him was definitely not a dog.
"Poor baby," Amar echoed softly, staring down at Walker's prone form. "I rather doubted you'd believe anything unsavory anyone might have told you about your beloved 'pet'. This wasn't what we had in mind, but I think this is so much better, don't you? And so much more fitting." He leaned in closer. "Dumb brute. I always figured you'd come in handy someday."
******************************************************
" 'Stop them'?" Spade repeated blankly. "Why would you want to stop them?"
"I would prefer your prisoner be free," the alien answered, "but if he must be captive, your people make the safer jailers."
Spade stared at him a moment in consternation. "This is all part of the game, isn't it? You're trying to make me believe you want to stop them so I'll do something that will actually help them. Just exactly what kind of an idiot do you take me for?"
The alien sighed, resting his head on his hands in a gesture so human that Spade was momentarily taken aback. "I told you I was taking a risk by coming to you, both the risk that my people would discover my interference....and the risk that you wouldn't believe me. Not that I blame you," he added ruefully. "Were I in your shoes, I would feel the same."
"You can bet your ass you're taking a risk," Spade said flatly. "What makes you think I won't rat you out right here?"
"You were sympathetic before," the alien said, watching him steadily. "You destroyed the device used to incapacitate the prisoner you now hold, and you tried to hide him so he would not be captured."
And failed, Spade thought. I always fail. Perhaps the alien wouldn't be asking for Spade's "help" were he to realize that the vast majority of Spade's attempts to influence the outcome of this lovely situation had gone to hell in a hand basket. Assuming, that is, that this wasn't all some elaborate scheme to make it easier to get inside the compound.
"Fine," Spade said tightly. "Let's assume for the moment that you're telling the truth. Your story still doesn't make sense. It's just nuts to think John's 'safer' with us when there are too many people who want him killed and carved up pronto. And if you wanted him free, why the hell did you leave him to be captured last summer?"
"I did not 'leave him to be captured'," the alien corrected. "I meant to remove both your prisoner and my friend and keep them separated, but by the time I returned, you were trying to hide him. As for the other question...." The alien paused, sitting back on the bench and studying his hands. "I don't know how much you know about the political situation on our world, but—"
"The free one is called 'Brivari'; he guarded a king. The other is 'Jaddo'; he guarded the king's top military man. The king and his family were killed, their Secret Service agents came here because whoever deposed the king supposedly can't survive on this planet, and now they're trying to......." Spade paused, trying to remember the fantastic story Yvonne had tried—over and over—to explain to him a month ago. "Now they're trying to grow them again, or make another one, or something like that."
The alien's eyebrows rose. "You're a quick study."
"Yeah, well I've had to be," Spade said darkly. "And your buddy was mighty talkative when he was here last time."
"He should never have come here," the alien said. "Your security precautions were worrisome enough that we were both under strict orders from home not to come near this place; they were afraid we'd be captured too. We were told to wait for back-up. Back-up which has now arrived."
Spade's stomach lurched as he tried to digest the fact that people on another world were actually discussing Earth....and not just Earth, but his little piece of Earth. Discussing this base, the compound, and all the security procedures they'd been weighed down with for months. Security procedures that had worked well enough that they were confounding the heads of state on other planets, had confounded at least two aliens like the one seated across from him, dead ringers for any human, yet foiled by a list of questions on a clipboard. Suddenly Cavitt didn't look so evil any more. Suddenly, Cavitt looked like a genius.
"Look, I'm sorry for what my friend did," the alien was saying. "It was unauthorized and just plain stupid. But my point is that, to your people, Jaddo is an oddity. He's the only one of my people they have, so they'll be careful with him, for awhile at least. But to my people, Jaddo would be a political prisoner who represents the old regime. Crazy as it seems, he's in much more danger from us than he is from you—and ultimately, it will be easier for him to escape from you than from us. It's essential that he and Brivari be free if anything is ever going to be settled on my planet."
"And this is my problem?" Spade asked, his patience with this entire situation sinking dangerously low. "Let me tell you how this looks from my perspective," he continued, shoving his tray aside and leaning his forearms on the table. "As long as our military holds Jaddo captive, I'm a captive, along with over a hundred other people. None of us wants to be here, and if he goes, we can go. I didn't want him captured because I didn't like the way my people were behaving, but if his own people can get him out, then who am I to interfere? So on second thought, I really don't care if this is all just a ruse to make it easier for you to get inside. Go ahead—get him out, go off in your own little corner, and duke it out over whatever. Leave us out of it."
"You've 'interfered' in the past," the alien pointed out. "Several times."
"I interfered with my people because I didn't like the way they were behaving," Spade countered. "I interfered with your buddy because I didn't know what he'd done to Yvonne. Risking my life because my superiors are acting like assholes or a friend is in trouble is one thing; risking my life because someone staged a coup a zillion miles away is a different story."
"Believe me, I'd love to leave you out of it," the alien said urgently, "but I can't. And I shouldn't. My people will not be actively trying to kill yours when they come, but they won't hesitate to do so if they get in our way—and they will, of course. Humans have already died because of problems on my planet; are you willing to let more die if you have a way to stop it?"
"What if we didn't resist?" Spade asked.
"You have to!" the alien exclaimed, his voice rising. "You must resist! If you don't, you will have condemned both Warders to an even worse fate!"
Several heads nearby turned, hesitating as they took in the alien's raised voice and Spade's stony expression. The alien dropped his eyes, kneading his hands on the table in front of him until the onlookers decided it was just another argument and went back to their food. "My people plan to do more than capture Jaddo," he continued, still staring at his hands. "They intend to steal the serum you're using to keep Jaddo incapacitated. That can be used against either Warder indefinitely."
"You know, we might be able to settle this a lot faster if you'd practice just a small bit of honesty," Spade said severely. "I know you're working for whoever overthrew the king, but now you want me to believe you care about that king's guardians? Exactly whose side am I supposed to think you're on?"
The alien was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table, a troubled look on his face. "I am on neither side," he said finally, "....and both. I am on the side of reason, of negotiation, of compromise. I am....." –he paused, as if searching for just the right phrase—"I am on the side of my race, not the side of either man who would rule it."
"A third side?" Spade said dryly. "How very convenient. But no matter how many 'sides' you invent, my people gain nothing no matter which side we take. I still don't see how this is my problem."
The alien fell silent again, staring into space as though struggling for an answer. "It's true that your people won't benefit from taking sides in this conflict," he said finally, sounding disappointed that he was unable to come up with a counterargument. "But you're wrong about it not being your problem. The fact remains that my people plan to infiltrate your compound tonight, the compound you are responsible for defending. That is your problem, and you will have to decide how—or if—you're going to respond to that. As I said, it will begin when the power dies. Your emergency generator will not work. Expect them to reach the basement in no more than five minutes."
"And then what?" Spade demanded in exasperation. "You just gave me this lecture about being 'invisible' and what a powerful weapon that is. What the hell do you expect me to do that's going to make one damned bit of difference?"
"Be prepared," the alien answered. "Post extra guards, for both Jaddo and wherever the serum is stored. Shoot enough of my people with your tranquilizer darts, and they will withdraw."
"For the moment," Spade said. "They'll be back."
"Eventually," the alien agreed. "But not right away. Your sedative will take a day or so to wear off, and that might give me enough leeway to contact Brivari. Once he realizes the danger, perhaps he'll be willing to talk to me." He paused. "If you see him, would you warn him for me? Tell him Orlon is here, with a bioscientist and four hunters. I would attempt to reach him myself, but I'd be missed, and....well...you know what almost happened the last time I saw Brivari."
"You're just a walking contradiction," Spade said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why would you want to warn someone who tried to kill you?"
"Because the only way out of the mess on my world is if the king is a free agent at the bargaining table," the alien said gravely. "And since the king will not be available for many years to come, it's his guardians who will have to make his case in his absence." He paused. "You said this isn't about you....and you're right. But it isn't about me either. It's a lot bigger than either one of us. I don't like what's happening tonight, but I had to decide how I was going to respond. So will you. Hopefully, you will consider the ramifications of your decision carefully." He rose from the table. "I will see you later, Lieutenant Spade....one way or another."
The alien walked away, blending in perfectly with the other soldiers milling around, even nodding to several, who nodded back, no doubt thinking they must have seen him before. Spade watched him leave, panic creeping over him, his largely uneaten food cold on the tray beside him. What was he going to do? How were they going to fend off six shapeshifting aliens, or at least make certain no one died because of them? And that wasn't even touching the subject of whether or not he should actively participate in thwarting them. His conversation with Thompson from a few weeks ago seemed prophetic now, ringing in his ears, mocking him.
"It's just that....well, sir......when the times comes.....I want to know which side I should be on."
"When the time comes, I hope you'll be on my side."
"But which side is that?" Spade muttered to himself as he hurried out of the mess hall. "Which side is my side?"
******************************************************
"Thirty more minutes," LaBella said, checking his watch. "No, wait—twenty-nine."
"Would you knock it off," grumbled Lomonaco. "The more you do that, the longer it takes."
LaBella sighed and shrugged his sleeve back over his wristwatch. "Don't you think it rots that Walker got out before almost anyone else? Sometimes I think it pays to be a shithead."
"He may have let the dog in, but he only kept it because the rest of us let him," Lomonaco pointed out. "Besides, Treyborn got out earlier too, and he's the one who screwed up."
"Aw, he's just a kid," LaBella said. "And Walker's still a shithead."
"No argument there," Lomonaco agreed. "I—wait. Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Sounds like......singing."
"Singing?"
Both were silent for a moment. Someone was indeed singing, a single, loud, raucous voice that grew steadily louder. A moment later, they could just make out the words:
"Eighty-two alien balls on the wall!
Eighty-two alien balls!
Take one down, pass it around,
Eighty-one alien balls on the wall!"
Lomonaco and LaBella stared at each other in shock for a split second before vaulting for the door and peering through the window. Two soldiers were carrying a third, his feet dragging on the ground as he belted out yet another verse to the song.
"Is that who I think it is?" LaBella whispered.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Lomonaco muttered. "He gets out first, then goes and gets plastered!"
The trio had reached the compound; one of the carriers flung open the door without bothering to knock. LaBella and Lomonaco hastily backed up as a grinning and extremely inebriated Walker was flung unceremoniously on the ground, reeking of whisky.
"This your trash?" one of the soldiers who'd been carrying Walker asked in disgust.
"Yep, he's ours," LaBella sighed. "Walker, what the hell are you doing? We just got sprung from this place, and now you go and screw it up!"
"Screw!" Walker repeated enthusiastically. "I'd love to screw! Any broads around here?" Lomonaco shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"If he's where he belongs, then we'll be going," the second soldier said.
"Wait! We can't let him in," LaBella protested to Lomonaco. "He has to answer the security questions first."
"Security questions?" the first soldier echoed.
"Nobody comes in here without answering security questions," LaBella explained, fishing in his pocket for his list. "Walker? Walker? Look at me," LaBella commanded. "What year did you graduate from high school?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" the second soldier demanded in exasperation as Walker lolled at his feet, humming. "This moron can't piss straight, let alone remember when he graduated!"
"You know what they say about this place," the first soldier said, eyeing the faces of the two inner guards staring through the window. "This is where they lock up the ones who went crazy about the aliens."
"Why don't you just shut up," Lomonaco said darkly.
"Why?" the first soldier challenged. "Looking at this, seems the rumor mill was right."
"We can't let him in here," LaBella insisted. "If he can't answer the questions, he can't come in."
"No way in hell we're hauling him back," the second soldier said flatly. "Consider yourself lucky we hauled him over here in the first place."
"Let's call the base commander," Lomonaco suggested, eyeing the two angry soldiers. "He'll know about Major Cavitt's orders, and we can always mention these two oh-so-helpful gentlemen."
At the mention of Cavitt's name, the soldiers paled. "All right, all right, don't get your stripes in a knot," the second soldier muttered as the two of them bent to lift Walker off the floor. "We'll dump him in the infirmary. Let's hope no more of you nutcases get out anytime soon."
"Did you know there are aliens here?" Walker said suddenly, grinning stupidly at the two men who held him.
LaBella and Lomonaco froze. Fortunately the base soldiers ignored him.
"No, really, there are!" Walker continued jovially, pointing at the inner doors. "They don't want anyone to know," he added, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So don't tell anybody, okay?"
"The aliens died," the first soldier said shortly, wrinkling his nose at the smell of whiskey wafting from Walker.
"Guy's completely plastered," the second one muttered.
"Listen to me!" Walker yelled. "There are aliens here! They're here, right here in this building! They're monsters! They're—"
"We'll take it from here," Lomonaco said hastily, peeling Walker away and pushing him toward an astonished LaBella. "Thanks, guys. You can go back now."
"What are you doing?" LaBella demanded as the two soldiers lost no time heading back to the base. "We can't let him in! What the hell are we supposed to do with him?"
"Well, we couldn't just let them carry him back spouting off like that!" Lomonaco said hotly, looking down at Walker, who had slipped to the floor singing his "alien balls" song again.
"Do you want Cavitt to know we let him in without passing security protocols?" LaBella demanded. "We just got done getting our asses kicked for ignoring those! Here we go again!"
"Do you want Cavitt to find out we let him go back to the base shouting our business for everyone to hear?" Lomonaco argued. "You know how nuts he was about those nondisclosure agreements we had to sign. If he finds out about this, we'll all be locked up again, this time for good!"
The two were silent for a minute, glaring at each other. A soft knock sounded; Oster and Vallone, the indoor guards, poked their heads through the door. Lomonaco and LaBella both started talking at once.
"We heard," Vallone interrupted, cutting both of them off. "Look, there isn't any protocol for this. And there's no one to ask because Lieutenant Spade is at the base, and all the brass have left."
"What d'ya mean there's no 'protocol'?" LaBella protested. "He can't answer the questions, he doesn't get in! That's the protocol. Otherwise he's a security risk."
As if on cue, Walker launched into yet another verse of his song. "He's a security risk if he goes anywhere else too," Lomonaco pointed out. "He's a security risk either way.
"Right," Vallone agreed. "And given the choice, I think we're better off having him be a security risk here."
LaBella sighed. "All right. Leave him here. Hope to God he doesn't throw up," he added darkly.
"You can't just leave him on the floor. Lock him in his room," Lomonaco suggested. "He'll be soused for a good long while yet. We can tell Spade when he gets back. Let him deal with it."
"We should leave him here," LaBella insisted. "We're not supposed to let anybody through that door without clearance, and he can sleep it off on the floor here just as easily as in his bunk."
Suddenly Walker started shivering violently, wrapping his arms around himself as he pulled his knees into a huddle. "My old man's an alcoholic," Lomonaco said, watching him. "Used to shake just like that. C'mon, LaBella, you can't just leave him here. I know the guy's an asshole, but he's wasted."
"I'll get'im a blanket," LaBella said stubbornly. "I'm tellin' you, he shouldn't go through that door!"
"All right, let's vote," Vallone suggested. "We'll all hang if the powers that be don't like what we decide, so the majority should rule. Who wants Walker locked in his quarters?"
Three hands went up. LaBella shook his head angrily. "Fine. You take care of him. I want it on the record that I did my job the way I was supposed to. I don't wanna be locked up here the rest of my whole God damned life!"
"I'll get'im," Lomonaco mumbled. "It was my idea."
Five minutes later, Lomonaco heaved the shivering and now silent Walker on his bunk and threw a blanket over him. "You can thank me later," Lomonaco said sourly. "You just got a hell of a lot more than you deserved."
******************************************************
Caruso residence, 7 p.m.
Corona, New Mexico
"Wow, Rachel, that tree is tall!" Dee exclaimed, staring up at the towering Scotch pine in her friend's living room. "It's almost as big as Peter's."
"But not as big as yours," Rachel answered.
"Yeah, your dad went out and got the biggest tree in the lot," Peter complained, sounding faintly put out at having lost the title of "kid with the biggest Christmas tree" just as soon as David Proctor had been spotted hauling the Proctor's massive Douglas fir into their house.
"Everyone has big trees this year," Mary Laura commented. "I don't mind. We didn't even have a tree for a couple of years."
Several heads gathered around the Caruso family Christmas tree nodded knowingly, including Dee's. During the war, it had been common for families to forgo a tree. Some didn't feel like decorating with their men overseas. Some couldn't afford it. Dee remembered the tiny trees her mother had put up when her father was gone, smiling all the while even through Dee knew she didn't feel like celebrating. Their supply of Christmas tree lights had been dwindling, and they hadn't the money for more, so the trees grew smaller to accommodate the smaller pile of stuff they had to put on them. This year they'd purchased four extra sets of lights for their big tree, including two sets of bubble lights, which were more expensive. Everyone was making up for lost time.
"Everyone ready to light it?" Mrs. Caruso asked. The assembled neighborhood children of various ages squirmed in excitement as the plug neared the outlet. Most of them had already attended a "tree lighting" at several other houses, but there was little evidence of that as they strained forward, the better to catch the very first flicker of a newly lit bulb. Everyone clapped as the tree blazed to life, only to have a string midway up the tree suddenly pop off.
"Me and Dee'll fix it," Anthony announced confidently. "We found all the burned out light bulbs on her tree, didn't we?"
Well....not all of them, Dee thought privately. That last string had been a real bear. Dee had promised Anthony she'd keep working on it, only to chicken out and ask Brivari the next time she saw him if he'd tell her which bulbs were out. Turned out there were four bulbs out on that string. That would've taken her forever to find on her own.
"Don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Caruso said to Anthony, appearing with a plate of cookies. "Mr. Caruso will fix it."
"Do you want to be an electrician when you grow up?" Mary Laura asked Anthony.
"Nope. An astronomer," Anthony answered over a mouthful of cookie.
Mary Laura's eyebrows rose. "Do astronomers always talk with their mouths full?"
"Aw, clear off," Peter objected, busy chewing his own cookie.
"Such a role model," Mary Laura said disapprovingly.
"So what does everyone want for Christmas this year?" Rachel said brightly, just as Dee was about to bite off Mary Laura's head instead of a cookie. There was always one in every bunch who had to constantly remind everyone of the rules, and they were usually party poopers.
"I want a BB gun," Peter announced, still chewing and ignoring Mary Laura's icy stare.
"Stay away from my cat," Dee warned him.
"I want a Magic 8 Ball that tells the future," Rachel said.
"I want one of those new television sets," Anthony ventured.
"I heard they're awfully expensive," Mary Laura remarked. "Besides, who would want to sit and watch that tiny little screen when you can go to the movies and watch a great big one?"
And so it went, with wishes that varied from dolls and various accessories to Matchbox cars and slot car racing sets. "Do you think Santa will come this year?" asked a worried small fry. "I wrote him a letter, but one Christmas he never got it."
The older children glanced at each other. As fourth graders, they were much too old to believe in Santa Claus and plenty old enough to remember some of the excuses used during the war years when money for gifts was short. "It wasn't safe for Santa to come with all the fighting," was one of them....which didn't, of course, explain why Santa had made it to your next door neighbor's house. "Santa never got some of his mail because of the war," was another, an all-around better excuse even if the neighbor's mail seemed to have been delivered.
"There's no war now," Rachel said kindly to the little boy, "so I'm sure Santa is getting all of his mail."
"Does Santa come to the Indians too?" piped up another.
Every head turned to Dee, long considered the "Indian expert". "I don't know," she admitted. "Bright Sun never said, and she's gone now, so we can't ask her." Bright Sun and her brother, River Dog, had left in early December after their father's job in town ended.
"Did she ever actually talk?" Peter asked, reaching for his third cookie in as many minutes. "I never heard her say anything."
"That brother of hers was weird," Mary Laura added. "He didn't talk either."
"He talked to me," Dee objected. "They both did."
"Well, I never heard him say anything," Mary Laura said coolly. "He was always just staring at everyone, like he was trying to make you burst into flames, or something."
"Maybe you'd do that too if a whole bunch of bigger kids had beaten you up," Anthony said.
"No she wouldn't," Dee said tartly. "Mary Laura would never be able to keep her mouth shut that long."
<Which dwelling is it?>
<The blue dwelling on the right side. That was his last known location.>
Peals of laughter rang through the living room as Mary Laura spit back a retort, but Dee wasn't listening. What had she just heard? She could have sworn she'd just heard telepathic speech from two different people. But there were only two other people on the planet besides herself who could speak telepathically, and one of them was, unfortunately, locked up. Had she imagined it?
"Well?" Mary Laura demanded.
Dee turned her attention back to the business at hand. She hadn't heard what Mary Laura said, but, as usual, it wasn't necessary to actually hear her in order to respond. "See? Like I said, she'd never be able to keep her mouth shut that long."
<I will go in. Wait outside in case he escapes.>
<What if you require assistance? Their abilities are vast.>
More laughter. Mary Laura was beet red. Dee would have enjoyed her discomfiture had not a cold dread been growing inside her. The unfamiliar voices she had unfortunately not imagined were cold, flat....inhuman. They felt like ice down in her soul.
"Are you even listening to me?" Mary Laura was saying as Dee realized she was staring off into space. The one thing Mary Laura hated more than being contradicted was being ignored. "Why don't you say something?"
" 'Cos she can't get a word in edgewise?" Peter suggested, drawing more titters from the crowd.
<He cannot see us, and is not expecting us. We have surprise on our side.>
Dee shifted to her knees, her eyes glassy. She was dimly aware of Mary Laura sputtering, the other children laughing, and Anthony watching her closely, but the lion's share of her attention was focused on the implications of what she'd just heard: More aliens had come, and they did not sound friendly. And they had come for Brivari, returning to the last place he'd been seen—her own house.
Abruptly, Dee stood up. "I have to go."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Where is she going?" Mary Laura demanded as Dee literally bolted out of the living room.
"Dee!" Rachel called, running after her. "Dee, wait! You forgot your coat!"
Anthony stared after Dee, flabbergasted. What was going on? He knew Mary Laura's gibbering wouldn't be enough to make Dee run like that, and anyway, Dee didn't run when she got mad. What had happened just before she'd left? She'd had that faraway look in her eyes again, that look she got sometimes when she seemed to be listening to something else, something no one else could hear. He'd seen that before at her birthday party, and again in the gymnasium the day River Dog was attacked and all the windows broke, and again when that alien had shown up on Halloween.....
Suddenly Anthony's heart began to pound. He rose to his feet just as Rachel reappeared in the doorway. "She wouldn't even come back for her coat," Rachel complained. "What would—hey!"
"I'll bring it to her," Anthony said hurriedly, shrugging on his own coat as he snatched Dee's out of Rachel's hands and barrelled out the front door.
"Now where is he going?" Mary Laura exclaimed. Further back in the group, someone was making kissy noises.
Ignoring all of it, Anthony tore up Baldwin Street. It was dark outside, and the streetlights made little pools of light every few feet. Dee wasn't running, but she was moving fast—she'd made it all the way up the street to his house when he finally caught up with her, breathless and panting.
"Dee, wait up!" he exclaimed, catching her by the shoulder.
"Go home, Anthony," Dee said sternly, pulling her shoulder away.
"I have your coat. You left it at Rachel's."
"Thanks," she said shortly, taking the coat without breaking stride.
"Would you at least tell me what's wrong?"
"No. Go home. Or go back to Rachel's. Just don't go near my house."
"Why not? What's......Dee, would you just stop!" Anthony commanded, planting himself in front of her. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on! And if you won't, I'm going to scream and yell and cause a commotion right here in the middle of the block!"
Dee's eyes widened, then flew upward, scanning the sky, the trees, the phone wires for.....what? Then she grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled him up the front lawn onto the Evans' front porch, heading for the darkest back corner, furthest from the road. "What are you looking for?" Anthony asked, mystified. "Is someone chasing you?"
Dee's face was just a silhouette in the darkness, her head swinging from side to side like she was expecting something to jump out at her any minute. "Anthony," she began in a hushed, worried voice, "I know you want to help, but you're just going to get hurt. And I don't want you to get hurt. There's nothing you can do. Just go inside and don't go near my house."
"The war is back, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You said it was over," Anthony whispered, "but it isn't, is it? It's back."
"Anthony, please, just go inside!" Dee begged.
"I'll go home with you," Anthony said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. "They'll be less likely to do something if there are witnesses, right?"
"There were a million witnesses on Halloween, and look what happened," Dee said, shaking her head.
"Well, there must be something I can do!"
"No! Just—"
"Do you really expect me to just go inside and pretend nothing's happening?" Anthony asked incredulously. "I can't do that!"
"Why not?" Dee asked in exasperation. "This isn't your fight!"
"Since when do you tell me what's my fight and what isn't?"
Dee's silhouetted head froze for a moment....and then she started laughing. Anthony just gaped at her, wondering if she'd really lost her marbles this time.
"Listen to me," she chuckled, more to herself than to him. "He always said that to me, and I always got mad at him, just like you did. And now I'm saying it too."
"Who.....what are you talking about?" Anthony demanded.
"Never mind. It's not important. I have to go now, Anthony; I don't have time to sit here arguing. If you want to make this your fight, then do whatever you think you have to, but promise me this—promise me that you'll stay away from my house."
"But—"
"Promise me," Dee said firmly, "or I'll run in there and make up some story that'll make your mom and dad send you to bed."
"Dee!" Anthony protested, only to sag in defeat as she crossed her arms in front of herself and stared him down, unrepentant. "Okay...I promise."
"Good. At least I won't have that to worry about." She started to stand up, but Anthony grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.
"Good luck," Anthony whispered. He let go of her hand, and she hurried off the porch, throwing him one quick grateful glance before scurrying toward her house.
Anthony stayed on the porch, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. It wasn't terribly cold outside, but the wind felt suddenly colder as he struggled to decide what to do. There was no sense following her anyway; there probably wasn't anything he could do against warring aliens. But simply going on as though nothing was happening wasn't an option either.
A few minutes later, he'd made his decision. He went inside, skipping up the stairs two at a time, not bothering to take his coat off.
"Anthony, is that you?" his mother called.
"Yes, Mom. I'm getting my binoculars. It's a great night for stars."
"I don't want you out late," his mother's warning voice came back. "I'm not going to be late for church again tomorrow because you won't get out of bed."
"I'll get up, Mom," Anthony called down, heading for his parents' bedroom. Snapping on the light beside the bed, he pulled the telephone book out from beneath the telephone and flipped through the pages, running his finger down the list of names, praying it would be there. It was; he scribbled the number on the a scrap of paper which he tucked in his pocket. He could hardly believe he was even considering this, but if he needed it—if Dee needed it—then it would be ready.
Running to his room, Anthony grabbed his binoculars and headed down to the front porch, dodging yet another admonition to keep an eye on the clock. The Proctor's house came into focus as he adjusted the binoculars' focus knob, the lights glowing merrily as though nothing bad could ever happen there. He scanned the house, the front porch, the yard, but there was nothing to see at the moment. Much as he hoped it would stay that way, he had the sinking feeling that wouldn't be the case.
No problem, Anthony thought, settling into one of the porch chairs in the gloom of the back corner, wrapping his coat tighter around him as he slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the scrap of paper. If things got out of hand—if he saw anything even remotely scary over at Dee's house—there was always Plan B.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 66 next Sunday.
It's really hard to find a place to stop. I just read chapters 10-12.
I suffer from endless angst that this series won't be interesting because everyone already knows the outcome. Cliffhangers are a cheap trick, I admit, but one that seems to be working. :mrgreen:
