Peter Cawdron - Alien Space Tentacle Porn

I like it.

Sharon would be proud.

I pull the mattress off the bed and stand it beside the door. The mattress material tears easily, allowing me to reach inside and hold onto the inner springs, using them as both carry holds and as insulated gloves. This is going to look insane, like something out of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, but it just might work.

In the silence, I hear a soft crack from the door.

I peer through the peephole. The guard is still outside, but he hasn’t heard the crack within the lock.

I pull gently on the door, testing my condom-lock-destroying idea.

Still locked.

Damn.

Wait a minute.

Locked or stuck?

There’s a difference.

With a little pressure, I can feel the door moving slightly.

There’s a silver-plated ashtray with a thin, beveled edge on a ledge over by the toilet. I tip out a bunch of cigarette butts and use the ashtray to pry softly at the lock, slipping it between the door and the jamb. My fingers are so damn cold I can barely feel them, but I can just make out the bolt jiggling in response to my touch. It’s loose, it just needs to be pushed back inside the lock. But the lock is full of ice.

Grrrrrrr.

Okay. Think. Think. Think.

I need to melt the ice. I need warm water. Where can I get warm water from in the middle of winter? To be effective, I need water that’s at least a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, if not more.

Oh, no.

No.

Really?

Come on, Joe. Any shred of dignity you had departed when you started dating an alien. Actually, I haven’t been on a date with Sharon. I wonder what she likes to do in her spare time? Pool in the asteroid belt? Ice skating on Enceladus?

I know what needs to be done. I unzip my fly and let nature take its course, urinating into the lock. Oh, cold hands. Cold hands. Freezing cold hands.

Gross.

So gross.

But steam rises. It’s working.

A quick peek through the peephole in the door, and I catch a shadow moving as the guard walks back to the other hut to get warm and swap duty.

It’s now or never.

With the edge of the ashtray, I dig into the doorjamb, flicking the bolt to one side, pushing it into the slush and mush inside the lock. There’s a soft click and the door eases toward me.

Yes.

There’s time for a quick fist pump to celebrate, and then I grab the mattress, holding it awkwardly under one arm as I clamber out the door. I rest the mattress against the outside wall and pull the door shut. Snow swirls around me like embers from a dying fire. The door won’t close all the way, but the gap is tiny. This is going to work.

Crap. There he is.

The replacement guard walks toward me through the blizzard. I can just make out his black uniform through the heavy snow.

Damn it. No.

I’m busted before I made it ten feet.

No, no, no.

I can’t run.

There’s no time.

Any sudden movement and he’ll see me.

As silly as it sounds, I grab the mattress, holding it vertically and turning the side with the white fitted sheet so it faces the oncoming guard—it’s all I can do.

Standing behind the mattress, I cringe, waiting for the soldier to come barreling into me and crash tackle me to the snow. I half expect to see bullets tearing through the flimsy material on either side of me.

After roughly thirty seconds, I realize he can’t see me.

This is crazy. I’m no more than five feet from him on the far side of the door, and I’m wearing a goddamn mattress.

Slowly, I creep away. I have my hands low, grabbing at the exposed inner springs and allowing the mattress to lean on my back as I inch across the pristine white snow. I want to run. I feel stupid. I feel as though the soldier is about to stick his head around the side of the mattress and ask me just what the hell I’m doing? I already have a big cheesy grin on my face in preparation for my mea culpa . My shoulders hunch in anticipation of being caught, but somehow I sneak further and further along the side of the hut without him noticing.

The wind picks up. The mattress is like a sail and flexes with the wind, threatening to topple backwards with me on top of it. Well, that will look just dandy. Alien drops out of nowhere onto a mattress in the snow. Film at eleven.

I hunch forward, fighting against the snow flurries swirling around me, desperate to escape.

Once I clear the corner of the hut, I shuffle sideways, hopefully disappearing from his line of sight. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s simply humoring me, walking along quietly behind me and watching with stunned curiosity, just waiting to say, “Boo!”

Peering out from behind the mattress, I’m genuinely surprised there’s no one there. Damn, that actually worked.

Okay, time to put some serious distance between me and DARPA.

I hunch over with the mattress leaning against my back and start jogging through the knee deep powdery snow, moving off between the trees.

I’m not lost. I know precisely where I am and where I’m going. I’m between two trees over here, and I’m heading over there, between another two trees. I’m horribly lost. I could be wandering toward the edge of a cliff and not know it in the dark.

A gentle lope has me covering a hundred yards in roughly ten minutes. Still, no one’s raised the alarm. I don’t think the boys from DARPA have cottoned on just yet, which is good. Could anything prepare them for the wiles of an alien on the run, hiding behind a mattress? I can’t help but laugh at myself. Spielberg’s ET never had it so good.

I’m tempted to junk the mattress so I can move quicker, but I don’t for a couple of reasons. First, it’s a dead easy clue to stumble across, giving away my direction of travel. At night, with the blizzard in full swing and snow drifts forming against the trees, my trail won’t last long, so I don’t want to leave any obvious clues. Already, a dusting of snow is covering my tracks.

The other reason to keep the mattress is it should shield me from anyone that gets too close with night vision goggles, and to hide me from helicopters using FLIR. I’ve seen the TV show Cops . I know how this shit works. And besides, the mattress could come in handy as a shelter if I find some rocks and can get out of the wind. I must look silly as hell hiking through the snow with a mattress leaning across my back. The Sherpas of Nepal have nothing on me. For now, it’s all about distance.

At the top of a rise, roughly a mile away from the huts, I pause, catching my breath and peering back from behind my supposed cloak of invisibility. Vehicle lights illuminate a series of huts. I can’t see anyone walking around at this distance, but they know I’m on the run.

I head down into a gully, getting out of the wind and following the terrain away from camp. I’m hoping there’s a road or some houses further down the valley. Although I have no idea where I am, this must be upstate New York. I can’t imagine I’m more than ten miles from some form of civilization. Just keep those legs moving, keep those thighs pumping.

The sound of rotor blades drifts by on the wind, and I huddle under my mattress beside a rocky outcrop. Search lights flicker across the forest, but without coming close to me, and as quickly as they came, the helicopters are gone. They’re moving in tandem, flying methodically over the forest, which is good as they’re circling away from me.

I push on through almost waist-deep snow, trying to find high ground above the drifts to make my trek easier.

I’m stupidly cold. Over time, my forced march deteriorates into a drunken walk, which further degrades into a frantic stumble. After collapsing a couple of times, I realize I need to get out of the storm and try to get warm. Good idea. Not very practical, but good. I’m in the middle of a forest with few options. I’m utterly exhausted—physically and mentally. I pull the mattress against the base of a pine tree with low hanging branches, and huddle there shivering, waiting for a dawn that may never come.