Pheromone, page 5
part #1 of For the Love of Aliens Series
What did I say I needed? Water, food and sleep, right? I had some of the former during the wagon ride with Tusk Guy. As for food, I’m shit out of luck unless I learn to identify alien flora and fauna in the next few hours. But the latter? I can do that. I can sleep right here, as close to Dragon Dude as possible. He’s scary enough—clearly he’s dangerous enough, too—but he doesn’t seem to want to eat me.
“Unless he’s saving me for later …” I mumble under my breath, looking up at the sound of rustling from inside the ship. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was looking for something. I scrub both hands over my face. Right. I’ll sleep here and hope this guy’s protection enough against other predators. When the sun rises—or suns? I never looked—I’ll try to get back to the road, to the market, to Jane. I’m concerned about the others, too (not Tabbi though, only Madonna), but Jane comes first.
If I can find her, maybe we really can figure out a way to get home? Tusk Guy implied that it wasn’t so difficult to come and go from Earth, right? He’d been there enough times to speak fluent English. Somebody in that market knows how to get back, so all hope isn’t lost.
I just need to avoid giant slugs when I get there. Oh, and Trevor. Fucking Trevor.
An item comes tumbling over the side of the ship, crashing into the grass just in front of my feet. I look up to see the dragon guy standing there on his hind legs, arms crossed over his chest, tail thrashing angrily behind him.
My gaze moves from him to the item on the ground.
It appears to be a headset of some sort, this neon pink pair of noise-canceling headphones with a mic attached. It honestly looks like something my youngest brother, Nate, might wear during a raid on his favorite MMO game.
Cautiously, I slide off my makeshift seat and make my way over to it.
The item is far heavier than it appears, and such a bright and cheerful Barbie pink that it seems out of place in the creepy woods. Looking back up at the dragon guy, I see that he’s waiting for something. For me to put this on?
With a gulp and a prayer, I do, dragging it over my head and positioning the mic in front of my lips.
“Testing, one, two,” I murmur out of nervousness. Nothing happens. I feel around on the headset for a button of some kind, an on-switch that I might’ve missed. There doesn’t seem to be anything. “What is this?” I call out, but the dragon guy just crouches, curling his fingers around the edge of the ship. I hadn’t even realized he had fingers at all. When he was walking earlier, he appeared to have paws.
He stares at me, tail swaying lazily, and then growls something out in what’s obviously another language. These aren’t the meaningless sounds of an animal; the guy is trying to talk to me. I hear what he’s saying, but it means nothing to me. It’s as alien a language as I’ve ever heard, like trying to understand the snarls and growls of a wolf.
Then something happens. The headset lights up, glowing pink around my head like a halo, and I hear words delivered in a stilted, staccato voice.
“You … want …”
I blink in surprise and then point at myself with a single finger.
“Are you asking me what I want?” I query, but the creature doesn’t respond. He tilts his head slightly to one side as I tap a finger on the end of the mic. This stupid ugly headset seems to be a primitive translator of some sort. It’s nowhere near as nice as the one Jane bought me as a gift before my trip to Portugal; I was able to enjoy a two-week vacation with few mistranslations. “I thought aliens were supposed to be technologically advanced,” I accuse in annoyance.
The mic—which I guess might’ve been able to translate my words—doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe it’s just as busted as all these downed ships?
The dude growls something else out, his mouth splitting the endless black on the lower half of his face. I shudder at the sight of his tongue, sweat beading on my skin as I shift from one foot to the other in obvious discomfort. Just don’t think about it, Eve. Don’t go there.
“Understand … doesn’t.”
Alright.
He can’t understand me, but he knows the word little as well as the word no in English? Fine.
“Fuck,” I curse again, and the guy lets out this horrific snarl that doesn’t require translation for me to comprehend. I take a stumbling step back, slamming into the base of a tree. Nuts fall from the limbs, scattering to the ground at my feet.
“No.” There it is again, the dragon speaking my language. I look up at him, blinking in surprise. He adds something in his own language, and I wait for the 1995 AOL dial-up internet sounds in the translator to gurgle their way through the words.
“Small … are … you.”
“Alright then,” I reply with a murmur, rubbing at my face again. I point at the nuts and mime eating one. “Are these poisonous? Can I eat these? I’m starving.”
The dragon cocks his head to one side, claws sliding from his knuckles as he curls his fingers under to make a fist. When he does that, I see why I mistook his hands for paws. That’s what they look like right now. He turns away and disappears into the ship as I curse under my breath, slumping to the ground to sit in the scraggly grass. If I look too closely at it, I might realize that it isn’t grass at all, but what appears to be millions of tiny green antennae sticking up from the dirt …
Gritting my teeth, I watch as a cricket-like creature with dozens of legs digs itself out of the ground and hops off. With a shriek, I shove up to my feet and take refuge on the makeshift tree-seat, watching as the ‘grass’ comes to life in the rapidly falling darkness. The pink glow of the headset becomes the only light, offering me an unwanted view of the bugs as they bounce off in search of food. Or mates. Or whatever else.
I hug the smooth surface of the tree trunk and lean my cheek against it, closing my eyes and forcing my mind away from what-ifs and endless possibilities. Okay, so the guy gave me a translator. That’s a good sign, right? He probably isn’t going to eat me. Is that why he keeps calling me small? I’m not even big enough for a snack?
Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to acknowledge them. I’m not going to cry. I’m going to do the only intelligent, rational thing I can do right now: sleep.
It’s a task that, at first, seems impossible, but as soon as I give my body permission to conk out, I’m gone.
Oddly enough, my dreams are invaded by the image of that moth guy, his endless dark eyes digging a tunnel straight into the depths of my very soul.
Morning dew kisses my lips as I crack my heavy lids open. Somehow, I ended up lying on my side on the ground. The air on my back is cold, but in front of me, there’s a crack in the earth where hot air seems to be escaping, like a natural vent of some sort. I must’ve migrated toward the heat in my sleep.
My body creaks and protests as I sit up, still not fully recovered from everything that happened yesterday. One, quick look around shows me that the ‘grass’ has been restored, the throng of creepy bugs tucked beneath the earth for the day. I do my best not to think about it as I try to find my feet.
It’s much brighter now than it ever was last night, offering me a better view of the woods.
The trees appear endless, their trunks so varied in size that the smallest is about as thick around as my arm while the largest could be a skyscraper in its own right. I brush my hands down my bare legs to clear away the dirt, and then finally tear off the last scraps of my pants with a huff.
Now, it’s just me and a cute matching bra and panty set that I originally bought to surprise my ex, Mack, with. Stupid fucking Mack. He never did get to see it. Seems fitting that some random alien creature would be the first to view the nicest lingerie set I’ve ever owned.
Barefoot. Wearing a dirty white lace bra and underwear. A glowing pink headset hanging around my neck. Right. I don’t feel vulnerable at all.
“Are you awake?” I call out, cupping my hands over my mouth.
There’s no response.
I pace back and forth for a moment before I try again.
“Hello? Are you in there?” Nothing. Not a peep. Either the dragon is sleeping or else he left to … hunt or something. The thought of him slinking by in the dark while I slept creeps me out; the thought of him leaving me alone in the dark creeps me out even more. I try his trigger words. “No? Little? Fuck?”
Nothing.
Shit.
Now what?
I look down at the grass and notice that the path we walked yesterday is somewhat clear, as if the little bugs didn’t appreciate being trampled on. If I follow that, could I find my way out of here? Part of me wants to stay here until the dragon comes back, but every minute is precious. Jane … something could be happening to Jane.
That, and it’s clear that while Dragon Dude isn’t going to eat me, he also has no intention of helping me out anymore than this. After all, he didn’t answer my question about the nuts scattered all over the ground. That, and he left me alone to sleep in the dirt in the middle of the woods. Would it really have taken him all that much effort to carry me into the ship with him? I’m obviously no threat.
He healed your wound, didn’t he? I ask myself, but I don’t want to think too much on that. Or do I?
With a sigh of frustration, I start off along the bare dirt path in the grass, winding my way past the same ships I saw yesterday. That’s a good sign: I’m going in the right direction. I continue on, alert for any movement in the bushes or the trees, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Either everything here is nocturnal or else they’re all scared of the dragon.
I’m betting on the latter.
I walk until my body’s slick with sweat, until my bare feet ache, and then I keep going. There are no other options. I can’t sit around in the woods and wait to be eaten, wait to starve, wait to die of thirst. And I cannot fucking leave Jane. Or hell, even Avril the Medic. She saved my life, and Moth Guy took her … What if she’s still somewhere in the market? And what about poor Connor? Madonna? What if we could all find some way to get home?
Well, except for the lawyer. RIP. You won’t be missed by me.
Crack. Snap. Shfft.
I stop suddenly, looking around the shadows for the sounds I just heard. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there were footsteps. Obvious ones, too.
My breath escapes in a rush when I see two men in gas masks emerge from the brush. They don’t seem particularly surprised to see me, murmuring something to one another before the one on the right takes off his mask.
It’s Tusk Guy. Or … well, not the same Tusk Guy but another male of the same species.
“Don’t be afraid,” he grumbles out, looking me over. The way his eyes scan my body, I’ll admit—I’m more than a little freaked-out. At the same time … the guy offers me a thermos, and I realize then just how thick my tongue feels, how dry my mouth is. It’s hot here, humid as fuck, and I swear that the gravity on this planet is like, ten times heavier than Earth. My body feels like it weighs a million pounds.
I lift the pink headset up onto my head and take a cautious step forward. These guys appear to have no problem speaking English, but it never hurts to be prepared. I accept the thermos and unscrew the top, scenting some sort of gamey broth inside of it. My stomach rumbles, and I take an educated gamble. These Tusk Guys are looking for brides, right? Why poison me? Also, this isn’t their first time at the rodeo; they must know what humans can and cannot eat here.
The broth doesn’t taste so bad, like venison stew or something. It wouldn’t be half bad with some proper spices, the right vegetables, maybe a hunk of buttered bread on the side. I drink it all as the first Tusk Guy replaces his mask. He growls something out to his companion who responds in turn.
“Here … get … lost. Finds … we …. eat.” The first man shakes his head, lifting his goggle-covered eyes up to the canopy. I’m taking a guess here, but did he just suggest we get lost before we get eaten? Because that’s what it sounds like. He reaches out to take the thermos back, and I hand it over, waiting as he secures it to his belt. When he removes what appears to be a leash of some sort, I start to get nervous.
“What is that?” I ask as he hands a looped end over to me.
“This will ensure we don’t get separated in here,” he explains, which seems logical enough.
Only … I’m not sure how comfortable I am right now.
“Slip over wrist,” the second guy grinds out in broken English. “We need go.” He gestures with a large hand and takes off. The first guy—the one who gave me the thermos—slips the loop over my wrist, and it tightens automatically, cranking up that nervous feeling in my belly.
“Come. We’ll get you out of here safely.” The first guy takes off, dragging me along behind him like a pet. That’s what the sign read, didn’t it? Humans. Pets. Meat. Mates. What a combination. With few other options left, I follow along, finding myself beyond relieved when we emerge from the trees and into the same clearing where the wagon was attacked.
It’s still there, turned on its side, a pool of dried blood cracking beneath the too-bright rays of the sun. As soon as we step into it, I feel it searing my skin and force myself to look up. Holy shit. There really are two suns in the sky. One is much smaller than the other, but their combined heat is equivalent to that one time I took a hiking tour into the outback of Australia.
It’s sweltering.
I don’t like that. I don’t like the leash. I don’t understand why these guys are wearing gas masks.
They drag me toward a group of others, all of whom are wearing masks, all of whom are looking me over like so much meat. Shit, shit, shit. My instincts with these guys were dead-on. My initial captor was too nice; I was better off with the dragon.
“Get her in the palanquin,” one of them demands, gesturing over at a wheelless vehicle with four poles protruding horizontally from its base. Those four poles are meant to be lifted up by people and carried. The palanquin itself is closed-in and claustrophobic-looking.
There’s no way in hell that I’m getting inside of it.
My suspicions are confirmed as the masked men start to converse in their own language. I guess they’re just as confused as I am as to what this glowing pink oversized headset is.
“Woman … damaged … decreased value.” That’s what crackles in through my headset, and I look askance at one of the tusk men. Did he just say what I think he said? Or is this translator just beyond bogus?
The other tusk man scoffs and shakes his masked head.
“Who cares? Holes … to mate … only.” He looks me over as he passes by, readying himself on one knee beside a massive weapon. The end of it is perched on a stand, but it appears to be a cannon of some sort. My stomach churns, wasps instead of butterflies.
I feel sick.
Holes to mate only.
There’s no misinterpreting that.
I think about Jane then, and poor Avril. Connor. Madonna. Even … Tabbi. What’s happening to them? What might’ve already happened? What the fuck is going to happen to me?
I give the leash on my wrist a tug, but it’s an endless loop with no discernible seam. The Tusk Guy that’s on the other end of it has attached it to his belt. He’s not looking at me, his attention focused on the man with the large metal cannon. From all appearances, it seems like they’re waiting for something.
Dragon Dude.
A knot forms in my throat, choking me up. I understand that the dragon ate their friend yesterday, but I also feel this strange sense of guilt. If Dragon Dude comes this way looking for me, they’ll ambush him.
Why would he ever come looking for you? I think. More than likely, if he does come this way, he’s in search of food. I have nothing to do with any of this. Yet, the guilt remains, and I can’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t try my best to intervene somehow.
A roar echoes through the woods, sending up winged creatures in droves. There are massive bat-like animals in vibrant hues, dragonflies the size of cars, and swarms of birds that dive and soar in colorful flocks, like schools of fish.
The dragon comes tearing out of the trees on foot, surprising several of the Tusk Men—guess they’d assumed that he’d come at them from the sky. He digs up huge clumps of dirt as he runs, claws tearing the ground to pieces and scattering the alien grasshoppers that I saw last night. They skitter as fast as they can away from the overwhelming heat of the suns, but most of them die before ever reaching the shade of the woods.
Dragon Guy knocks one Tusk Man out of the way and then snatches up two others with the massive, clawed hands at the tips of his wings. He tosses them to either side like playthings, all while maintaining his forward charge.
The Tusk Man with the cannon fires off a shot, sending out a blast that knocks me to my knees. Heat and sound ripple through the air, and a silver beam cuts into the dragon’s side. With a violent roar, he slams his massive winged claw-hand down on another man, crushing him into the dirt and spilling blood.
The guy who called me a hole prepares to take another shot, and without thinking too hard about it, I grab a piece of the ruined wagon from yesterday and chuck a sharp bit of wood at the back of his head. It hits him hard enough that his shot goes wide, cutting into the bark of a tree and setting it on fire.
Meanwhile, Dragon Guy is bleeding purple blood everywhere; it oozes from the wound in his scaled side as he turns those glowing eyes of his to Hole Guy. The tusked man sets up another shot, but it’s too late. Dragon Dude is on him before I can even finish my current blink. His mouth splits his face in half, teeth sharp and blindingly white in the horrid heat of those double suns.
I’m not sorry to see Hole Guy’s head disappear into that mouth although the sight is a bit gruesome.
“Fire net!” The translator gurgles those words into my mind in a garbled, mechanical voice. No mistaking the meaning though. There must be a second gunner nearby. I look around as Dragon Dude uses his tail to knock the first cannon aside.
The leash on my wrist jerks suddenly and I fall, my bare skin screaming in pain as I’m dragged like so much cargo across the hot ground. I’m trying to get to my feet, but these tusk men are inhumanly fast. I end up with several patches of bloody, torn skin by the time my Tusk Guy comes to a stop next to a man with a piece of wood embedded in his eye.
