David Golemon - Event

The creature stood outlined in the darkness outside. It was leaning to its left side and Gus saw the rusty roofing hatchet swaying in front of it The Gray was almost as tall as Gus; its skin was dark and covered in small blackened and brownish flecks, like freckles, and they moved on the surface of its muscles. The head was large. The eyes were as small as a man's, but that was where the resemblance stopped. The pupils were yellow, ringed in black, and they were looking straight at Gus. It opened its mouth and hissed loudly, giving Gus cold chills as its clear teeth were exposed. It took a tentative step into the light of the kitchen. It was dragging its right leg, and Gus could now see the dark blood as it was spread across the linoleum by its high-heeled, double-jointed foot.

Matchstick ceased trying to dig its way through the wall and turned to face the Gray. Its small legs tried to steady themselves on the spongy mattress. Suddenly Matchstick let out a long stream of loud chattering in a language that was as far from English as Gus had ever heard.

Suddenly the Gray slammed the hatchet into the small wooden table. Gus quickly reached for the leg of the chair. The Gray quickly twisted the weapon free and advanced farther into the kitchen.

Gus slowly tried to sit up, trying in vain to untangle his boots from the legs of the chair.

"You were there in the mountains, weren't ya?" he said as if he were a bug to be stepped upon. "What do you want, you ugly bastard?"

The creature switched the hatchet to its left and suddenly lunged at Gus. He tried to grab at the small countertop but hit the hot plate with the pot of cold soup. The soup went flying across the kitchen, and Gus went back down and looked up to his left in time to see the sharp edge of the hatchet heading for his chest. The weapon buried itself in the wood only inches from Gus's upturned face. The Gray screamed in anger as Gus brought his fist up and connected solidly with the creature's jaw, hitting solid bone beneath the sickly skin, causing the alien's head to jerk back, but still it worked to free the hatchet. Gus heard the sound of cracking wood as it twisted the weapon back and forth.

Before either Gus or the Gray could react, there was a loud scream and then Matchstick had joined the fray. It had sprung from the bed to the table to the Gray's shoulders. It quickly started to attack the Gray's head and neck. The much larger alien momentarily forgot the hatchet and reached up and grabbed Matchstick and easily tossed it across the room, where it landed against the wall. The picture of the poker-playing dogs was dislodged from its nail and fell and hit the alien's large green head, and Matchstick momentarily saw stars. Then as it rubbed its bandaged head, the bow and arrow fell into its lap.

"You son of a bitch!" Gus yelled as he was punching and slapping at the Gray for all he was worth.

The alien used its free hand and slammed Gus's head into the floor, while its other hand started working at freeing the hatchet once again. Gus heard the sickening sound of the rusty tool being pulled from the wood and knew he was in dire straits.

"Gussssss!" Matchstick yelled.

The Gray stopped and looked up. The old man quickly grabbed for the right arm of the creature and tried to wrestle the weapon from it, but the creature's grip was iron. Gus saw Matchstick, but his view was upside down, but what he saw struck almost as much horror in him as the Gray with the hatchet. Matchstick had an arrow in its small hand, ready to throw it at the Gray.

Matchstick didn't hesitate. The maneuver was done to precision as its right hand let go and the arrow was loosed. It flew past the Gray's shoulder and embedded itself in the floor next to Gus's head.

The Gray actually grinned when the arrow missed, and it raised the hatchet to strike Gus. Then suddenly a strange look crossed the Gray's features, and the old man saw why: an arrow had pierced its back. Then Matchstick angrily crashed into the Gray and sent it flying off of Gus. As he quickly sat up to assist Matchstick, he saw the small alien atop the Gray, hitting it again and again with another arrow. The Gray was hissing and spitting angrily, but its actions were slow and growing slower. Gus quickly came to his knees and rushed over and grabbed the hatchet and went to assist Matchstick. He raised the hatchet high and brought it down with all his strength into the chest of the Gray. The large alien let out a scream of pure pain. Matchstick rolled off and scooted to the far wall of the house. Gus sat still for several moments.

"You okay, son?" Gus asked as he tried to gain his feet, but slipped in the blood on the floor.

Matchstick shook its large head. It brought its long fingers up and felt its head, then looked at the blood that stained its fingers.

"You started bleeding again, boy." Gus gained his feet and walked over to the small being. He gently reached down and picked it up and carried it back to the bed.

As Matchstick lay there, it rolled over as Gus went to get some water, stepping wide of the Gray as he did. When he returned, Matchstick was looking up at him.

"Thhh ... thank ... you."

"Yeah, well, it won't go botherin' us no more, not with you bein' as good as you are with that Indian arr'ah."

As Gus tried to wipe some blood away that had soaked through the bandage, Matchstick gently touched his hand and stopped him.

"Th... ank... you."

"A friend doesn't have to thank a friend for doin' what needs doin', son. 'Sides, I seem to recollect it was you who pulled my bacon out of the fire, so thank you," Gus said, smiling. "Now, what could be out there in the desert that's worse than this fella?"

Matchstick held Gus's eyes for a moment, then turned away and stared at the ceiling.

"Tell me now, boy, was that there fella one of your people, or that Destroyer thing?"

"It was ... a Gray, Master of my kind,"

"Well, I guess it found out we don't take kindly to Gray Masters' round here, huh?"

Matchstick closed its eyes. Gus thought it had gone to sleep when it slowly sat up and propped itself on one elbow.

"The Destroyer of Worlds, it is out there. We must find men, find good mens fast to help. Fast, Gus, very fast."

Hendrix," a sleepy voice said on the other end of the phone.

"Johnson here."

"Yes," the voice said, annoyed.

"We have a problem."

"I'm listening."

"I have a verbal report from our Secret Service asset. The president has informed the Security Council that the saucer has been found. The Event Group has found the crash site of our visitors and is already on the ground. And it seems Director Compton is asking for military assets to help secure and control the area. I called our Black Team to make sure our former French friend was no longer in the equation, and there was no answer, They haven't been on the air all night, so I must assume they took his elimination lightly and paid for it. Therefore we must assume he is moving on the saucer."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment and then a light chuckle. "What does that stupid bastard think he could do with whatever he comes across out there, sell it? Add it to his private collection? I'm afraid if what's out there is actually there, he won't want to take it home with him. If we can't get a team in there, I rather doubt he can."

"I hope you are not underestimating him, he's rather resourceful."

"No, my friend, let's just hope he has underestimated the corporation. In doing that he has underestimated America herself, and that has been the mistake of many an enemy." The line went dead.

The senator was at his desk. Compton, who was somewhat rested with a two-hour nap, sat with Dr. Pollock and Alice, who were behind him watching the hastily installed video feed from the crash site.