Paul Theroux - O-Zone

"Those shadows are sinkholes," Fisher said. "Collapsed caverns. Some people think they could have squashed the containers of waste."

"I think it was the Russians."

"It was aliens," Murdick said. "There's documentary proof."

"Anyway, we're here."

"It's not desolate," Hooper said hopefully, and finished the thought in his head: it was only empty.

In this long slow panning shot the land gleamed with radiant darkness, the lines of forest making long troughs of shadow. A moment later the land was flat and fragmented, with patterns of deserted settlements and dead towns like the sprawling symmetry of lifeless flowers and sun-faded colors on the surface design of an old trampled carpet.

An hour had passed. Now their New Year's party seemed more like a mission into the unknown, the sort of expedition that people made into deep space. They were glad to have this unusual tape to show their friends, so they could boast about having been to this wilderness. After letting the people marvel at it they could spring the surprise: This is American O-Zone!

"It's scary," Moura said. "We're so far away."

Barry said, "I can't believe we took that trip."

"It's lovely," Hooper said. He was smiling sadly, deaf to the other comments. He liked the way it went on rising and deepening; he liked the shadowy belts of foliage and the creases at the edges of the fine furrows below, and on the surface the suggestion of caves below.

The camera's eye swept into it and onward, probing it without disturbing it.

"Heads up… Look!"

It was Fisner, sitting forward — but the tape was still rolling.

"Rewind!" he said, and set their heads ringing.

His young untuned voice had no note of authority in it. Moura always thought of it as the sort of carping voice she wanted to disobey — the sort of voice that made you want to do the opposite of what it demanded.

"Didn't you see them?"

He was excited and sounded insolent. Now he was standing. He snatched the control pistol from Hardy, and while the others complained, he shattered the picture on the screen into splinters. All this had taken seconds, yet the panic had begun.

"Fizzy, what are you doing? You'll break that thing!"

He ran the film clumsily back and forth, using his thumbs, then said, "That cluster of pale specks. See them?"

Weren't they tiny withered blossoms, or perhaps dead patches on the ground?

He screwed them closer, holding the pistol at the screen. He was squawking with pleasure, and then complaining. "Fuck-wits! We didn't get a sound bite!"

They had heard the aircraft — they were running, half-hidden, he said.

"I don't see anything."

"Neither do I," Hooper said. "Where are these people?"

"I don't even think of them as people," Holly said.

Fisher was crying, "Aliens!"

Someone — was it Barry? — whispered, "But you said we were alone."

They froze. The lights sputtered. Time did not matter, because they felt trapped. They looked up at their black windows in fear, expecting to see half-human creatures come shouldering their way out of the woods.

What made it worse for them was that only the boy had seen them — and they were dependent on him; they needed him and they disliked him.

"What did we just see?" Rinka asked.

"Aliens," he said, with a clam in his mouth.

No one asked whether those people were dangerous. Everyone was dangerous.

It was as if they had just confronted the symptoms of a fatal cancer — not goblins or demons, but the plain bony face of certain death: pickety teeth, a splintered nose hole, and the unwavering gaze of empty eye sockets.

Just as the travelers had begun to take hold of a shaky sense of well-being, the fragile feeling vanished. They felt unsafe and were desperate to do something. It was now late, almost midnight. They had planned to watch another tape and then pop enough pellets to give them a long sleep — there wasn't time for a coma. They had felt more than safe — they had felt privileged and powerful. Now this.

"I couldn't see anything," Hardy said, and looked around. He was watched by masks but there seemed to be no faces behind them.

Why had they all gone so quiet? Why was Fizzy the only one moving in the room, fussing with the cartridge?

Throughout a long fearful stammer of silence Fisher replayed that particular strip of the tape three more times, and they studied it in order to find reasons to calm themselves. It upset them that nothing was clear and that this boy was squawking and hitting the screen with his glove and saying, "Right there!"

Everything they heard from Fisher frightened them, because it seemed they were in his hands. Afterward there was nervous talk and more hesitation. They did not at first ask the obvious. They did not want to terrify themselves with questions to which they had no answers.

They were tentative but kept talking, in the belief that their fear wouldn't show. Yet it made their fear apparent.

"There probably weren't enough for a swarm," Barry said. "But they sure must have been doing something criminal."

Fisher said, "You can't prove that."

"I think I saw them," Holly said. "They looked real ugly. Did you see their dirty rags? They're like germs, these people."

Fisher said, "They weren't wearing rags."

All these remarks were addressed to Hardy. Hardy was somehow responsible for this. Hardy had got the Access Pass from his company, and he had hinted that he had plans for this place. Also, Hardy was sitting among them, looking ineffectual. And everyone remembered Hardy's remark. Some of the others were whispering it. Hardy had said there was no one here.

His weakness showed in his wet eyes.

"I couldn't see anyone," he said.

Moura said, "I wonder what they were doing?"

"I don't care," Hooper said. "But why were they doing it here in O-Zone?"

He was the only truly angry one and because of the force of his feeling he seemed the least afraid. His anger preoccupied him. He was nervous — not frightened, but agitated and spiritless. He looked undermined.

"They have no right to be here," he said. "This is ours!"

Fisher was staring, his mask twitching at the absurdity of that. Hooper glanced up and nodded and swallowed the rest of his protest.

"They were running," Fisher said. "They heard our rotors. They were trying to hide."

"Could have been poachers," Murdick said. "Like those Skells that poach dogs and cats in New York. I know a lady lost her collie dog that way. I didn't tell her they torture them to death and eat them — but it's true. Torture softens up their flesh, sort of tenderizes it, see."

"Apparently they're always on the move," Hardy said. "That's why they're always looking for food."

He was receiving the glances again, for saying that. Did that mean he accepted what Fizzy had said? He seemed to be acknowledging that fact.

Hooper began saying something more about the aliens' habits, and the rest looked up at the screen. Although it was empty and not even lighted, it seemed now like a window— the creatures had been seen there. That was part of the unreality of it all: they had flown over them, making plans and congratulating themselves on their boldness, and they had not seen them until now — and even so, they had had to be told by wonder boy that the aliens were there. The travelers felt foolish and exposed. The aliens had been there the whole time!

"Maybe the kid's wrong!" Hooper said.

Barry Eubank replied to this by saying, "Rinka and I are going home first thing in the morning."

He was holding his breath, as if he expected to be challenged and was going to say much more. But no one asked him to justify himself.

Hooper said in a disgusted voice, "Who else is bolting?"