Peter Cawdron - Xenophobia

“I know,” she said. “Oh, how I know, but we have to be brave. For now, it’s a red light. Elvis will come back for us, I know he will, and then we will have a green light.”

The alien never responded.

Sitting there, she could feel a pulse running through the limp frond resting on her leg. Unlike a human heart, the alien creature pulsated like the chatter and stutter of a water pipe with air in the line.

Bower sat there by the door, peering down the road, hoping, almost willing for Elvis to appear, while dreading the awful implications of a violent gunshot breaking the still of night.

What would the alien do if it heard a gunshot close by? Bower had already picked out her escape route, a dark alley leading away from the factory on the other side of the back road. She wasn’t sure if it was heading west, but if they were sprung she figured she needed to get some distance between her and the soldiers around the factory. Anywhere that led away from the guardhouse on the main street seemed like a good idea. What would this interstellar creature do if it saw her running from the factory? Would it follow?

Minutes seemed like hours.

After an age, Bower noticed the sky lightening ever so slightly. What had been a deep Prussian blue, a skyline as dark as coal, slowly warmed. Stars began to fade. The sky on the horizon revealed a growing sense of color pushing back the black of night. There was still an hour or so before dawn broke, but Bower’s heart sank. She was alone. It was time to go.

Turning to the creature, Bower’s heart broke as she said, “Green light.”

To her surprise, the alien seemed lethargic. The creature registered her words, but it took time for it to respond and stiffen its spiky tentacle-like legs. Could Stella have been asleep? Thinking about it, she realized every animal on Earth slept at some point, some of them had a shallow sleep, but they still had a distinct, cyclical metabolic change regardless. Some, like dolphins, had the ability to shut down one hemisphere of their brains at a time in a bizarre form of half-sleep, but every animal slept, recharging its neural batteries. And yet, Bower reasoned, she could be reading her own exhaustion into the creature’s behavior. Perhaps the alien was lost in thought. As for her, she’d have loved nothing more than to curl up in a soft bed. The thought of running madly for her life was daunting, but it had to be done.

She got to her feet, leaving the gun on the floor, and began heaving the door to one side. When she turned to grab the revolver it was gone. She looked up and saw the creature holding the gun by the barrel, a tentacle wrapped around the shiny steel. Bower reached out and took the gun cautiously from the alien.

“Green light,” she repeated softly. She knew this was the command the creature had been waiting for, but even it seemed reluctant, as though it too were longing for Elvis to return.

What would happen to them on the run? How far would she get through this gun-ravaged city? Once people started moving around, how far could she go with an alien following her? Should she hide? Elvis said not to hide, but her instinct told her she should crawl into some dark hole. Who should she trust? Her judgment or his?

And Stella, the alien had trusted her, but what did Bower have to repay that trust? They would have been better off being on the move several hours ago, putting more distance between them and the rebels. Would the creature realize that and feel betrayed? Elvis hadn’t returned. She had to strike out on her own with Stella, with just one bullet to protect them, with just one bullet to attract hordes of rebel soldiers. Bower wanted to say she was sorry, to apologize to the alien in advance, but the creature would have had no idea what she was talking about.

As Bower moved out of the doorway and into the shadow of a large wooden crate, she saw a covered truck pull up at the end of the road with its lights off. Her heart leaped. Elvis climbed out of the cab and opened the back of the truck.

“Green light,” she said softly to Stella, beckoning the creature outside.

Multiple alien fronds picked up the door, manipulating it as the creature passed through the doorway, leaving the door leaning in place behind it. At a glance, it would look like the door was still closed. Clever girl, thought Bower.

Bower peered around the side of the crate, looking to see if anyone was further along the back road. Once she was sure no one was watching, she darted down the rough gravel road. Stella kept pace beside her, rolling forward on her spindle-like legs. The alien creature moved swiftly and silently beside her. Bower got the impression Stella could have easily outpaced her, but the alien remained at her side over the hundred yards or so it took to reach the truck.

Elvis was standing in the open back of the truck, waving with his hands, urging them on. The alien sprang up, landing in the cargo deck. Elvis began pulling down a canvas cover to hide her from view when Bower climbed up as well.

“You don’t want to ride up front?”

“No,” she replied, struggling to catch her breath. “I need to be with her. To let her know everything’s going to be OK. As scared as we are of her, I suspect she’s more terrified of us. She needs someone with her.”

Elvis nodded. “Hey, I got through to a Government checkpoint on the shortwave radio in the truck. They said the Americans are holed up at the US embassy. I think they mean the Rangers, so that’s where we’ll head.”

Bower reached out, touching at the thick blood seeping through his shirt, running from his shoulder down his front.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” Elvis replied with a grin.

How he could respond like that, she didn’t know. For her, there was nothing laudable in the violence of war, and yet she was glad he could disconnect himself in this way. His casual disregard had to be some kind of psychological defense mechanism, insulating his mind from the horrors he had to inflict to survive. One day it would catch up with him. One day these memories would haunt him, and she knew it. Although his acts were justifiable, they were odious nonetheless. Post-traumatic stress wasn’t cowardice. There was only so long a sane man could maintain the illusion of detachment necessary to survive a war-zone. When his fall came, she hoped it wasn’t from a great height. She hoped there was someone there to catch him.

The alien creature wrapped its tentacles around the wooden slats in the back corner of the truck, holding on as Elvis sped through the darkened streets. Bower sat to one side, bracing herself as the vehicle careened one way and then another. Elvis had a lead foot, both when accelerating and braking.

The canvas cover at the back of the truck flapped in the breeze, allowing the growing dawn to seep through. The sky was a dark shade of blue. Streaks of scarlet lit up clouds high in the sky, slowly transforming the night into a ruddy pink morning. With just a few clouds in the stratosphere, it was going to be another scorching hot day.

Bower sat there across from Stella wondering what she was thinking. As for herself, Bower was regretting not sitting in the cab with Elvis. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were times when the truck felt like it was out of control, careening around corners, bouncing out of potholes. Her life was out of control. In that moment, the truck became symbolic of all she’d been through over the past week, a roller-coaster ride without any brakes. She wanted to stop. She wanted to yell out to Elvis and tell him to stop the truck and let her out, but she knew her feelings were misplaced. Getting out of the truck wouldn’t solve anything. She had to be strong and endure. Looking at Stella, she knew she shouldn’t read her own emotions into the alien’s character, but she couldn’t help but think Stella felt the same way. The pulsating mass of tiny creatures at the heart of the alien appeared to grimace the same way she did with each erratic turn.