Red Centre (13 page)

The Cherokee was parked at the front of the
house. Its yellow, four-way lights lit up as he approached. The
doors unlocked. Chris quickly searched the interior for the phone.
After a moment he found it amongst the trash. Damn it! Battery
dead. He laid the gun onto the driver’s seat and searched for the
car charger, standing at the open driver’s door.

He quickly plugged the phone in and turned
the ignition to get the cell charging. The slow phone took a moment
to turn on. While waiting he twisted his neck side to side,
loosening up. The screen flashed alive. Two missed calls and three
text messages. I’m in trouble, he thought.

A small breeze blew on his back. A nice
relief from the hot, humid night. Wind chimes on Frank’s veranda
bounced around in the wind, making their annoying musical sounds.
It drew Chris’ attention.

A streak of light past overhead in the night
sky. Maybe a shooting star or maybe lightning. He hoped that’s all
it was. Chris didn’t see it well enough. A chill traveled up his
back, over his head and down his arms to his fingertips. He wasn’t
sure why; maybe just gut instinct. Something didn’t seem right.

Kate would have to wait. He tossed the phone
back into the truck, grabbing hold of the shotgun. He started to
walk towards the house and stopped stone cold, head tilted to
listen.

Frozen for a second, goose bumps crawled his
entire body. Adrenaline pumped. He heard the distinctive noise of
one of the shed doors opening.

With military precision, Chris moved close
to the house. Gun ready, cautious. Security at this place was a
joke, especially with Roy at the helm.

Staying close to the wall he made it to the
rear of the house and surveyed the area. He quickly shot a look
around the corner. Shed one, where Pav lived: its door wide open.
Shed two’s door still locked. Chris moved swiftly across the yard,
gun trained on the door.

He popped his head around the corner. The
shed was dark. No lights on. He quickly turned on the little
tactical light mounted on the barrel. His light shone around the
shed space.

Empty.

Chris glanced behind him, noticing the
busted back door to Frank’s house was wide open. Maybe the wind had
just blown it open. After all, it didn’t latch properly after Chris
smashed through it.

The interior dark. Chris carefully made his
way to the broken back door and slipped inside, past the old
laundry, not making a sound.

At the end of the dark corridor the living
room light spilt out with a soft, yellow glow. Two men stood
silhouetted in the small room, close to each other, in quiet
conversation.

The wooden floorboards creaked as Chris
stepped slowly. Grip shifting on the shotgun, he edged forward
carefully, quietly.

Pav and Frank engaged in tense conversation.
Their words muffled. Chris strained to listen as he approached.

Noticing the intruder, Pav abruptly ended
the discussion. It was obvious they didn’t want Chris overhearing
anything.

Pav held the small, black, oval object in
front of him. Through the middle of the object a strip of red light
glowed; little symbols around the outside lit up with the same,
deep-red glow.

Chris looked at the two men, concerned.
“What’d you do?”

Frank looked up at Chris, blue eyes piercing
under thick, dark-gray eyebrows. “They’re comin’ ... They want it
back.” Frank snatched the item from Pav’s hand. “Pav thinks they
may be tracking this, or maybe trying to communicate. We need to
get it outta here.”

“
Wasn’t that the plan?”
Chris fired at Frank. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Frank pushed past, butting shoulders into
Pav. “We’re not ready for them.” He grabbed his trusted
double-barrel shotgun off the wall. “I’ve gotta get this far from
here.”

“
Why would you send out
declarations of war if you weren’t ready?”

“
We thought we were,” Pav
said sheepishly, in his thick, Russian accent.

Frank briskly walked toward the back door,
then stopped. Stone cold.

A large, bright-red glow crept along the
floor, flooding through the wide-open backdoor. It washed across
Frank’s rugged boots, lighting up his weather-beaten body. The
light had almost a life of its own, like an invading creature. One
that couldn’t be stopped.

Red light burst through the window frames.
So bright it pierced the black-painted windows, almost as though
the house was engulfed in fire.

A deep hum, barely audible, vibrated softly
through the light.

The three men looked around them,
encompassed in the glow.

This was what Frank had asked for—the war he
wanted. Revenge for his wife. Ready or not.

Chris, on the other hand, was there for his
son, for answers, trying not to die in the process. Pav ... well,
he was there for the ride. Adventure. For science.

Last time this happened they took Emma.
Whose turn was it this time? Was their fate now the same as Chris’
son and Frank’s wife?

Panic filled their eyes.

***

The V8 engine of Frank’s F-250 roared as it
exploded out the gate. The pickup truck fishtailed as it turned
onto the dirt road. Dust flew everywhere.

Pedal to the metal. The old truck had
probably never gone this fast before. Frank was in the driver’s
seat. Chris bounced around in the passenger seat.

Chris cradled the oval object in one hand
and the shotgun in the other. His eyes locked on the side mirror.
Just the blackness of night. A small, red glow illuminated some of
the hills behind, about where the house sat. Nothing was following,
just yet.

He didn’t really get a chance to see what
was casting the light. They ran so quickly to the truck he dared
not look up. Part of him didn’t really want to believe, so he
didn’t look. Maybe that and maybe fear. The red glow was enough to
scare the shit out of him.

He looked down at the glowing object in his
hand. What was this alien item? Was it really a tracking beacon?
Maybe it was a weapon? Who the hell really knew, except for the
friggin’ aliens? He had to get his mind straight. He was on this
crazy adventure with this old man, and right now he had to make it
work. “Do you think they’re tracking this, or did we just leave the
house unsecured?”

Frank was intense. He just grunted. It was a
grunt that said “you might be right.”

Without really thinking he ripped the truck
around, almost losing control as the old truck did a one-eighty.
More like a one-ninety, but no one was measuring. Dust and dirt
sprayed upwards. The old pickup stalled out. Bits of gravel pinged
the roof and hood, covering it like thick, red rain.

The truck, frozen on an elevated ridge of a
man-made dirt trail, the most common kind of road out here. Frank
thumped the steering wheel with an open hand. “Bitch of a
thing!”

He tried to get it started again, one foot
pinning down the clutch, the other pumping the squeaking gas pedal;
headlights dimmed as power sucked life from the battery in an
effort to turn over the heavy engine.

The engine spluttered—as if fuel and spark
couldn’t connect.

Frank killed the lights, pumped the pedal.
Tried again.

No go.

They weren’t going anywhere. Alone on the
dirt track.

Reaching past Chris, Frank retrieved a
dirty, old, yellow flashlight from the glove compartment. He was
out of the truck first and popped the hood to take a look.

Chris opened the door, standing behind it
for cover. His eyes drifted around. The night, eerily still. Not
even the crickets were chirping. The air had turned cold; either
that, or fear made it feel cold. No nearby cities; no street lights
out here. The moon and stars lit up the sky like a paid light show.
He had never seen the stars or moon so bright. You probably didn’t
need streetlights out here. The moonlight bathed everything a deep
blue.

Chris laid the shotgun between the door
frame and the truck body. Eyes ever watchful.

“
Turn it over, dickhead.”
Frank’s gruff voice broke the silence.

Climbing back into the truck, Chris slid
over to the torn driver’s seat. The sun-faded steering wheel well
worn from many years of Frank gripping it. It was old, just like
Frank and the rest of this truck. Chris twisted the key. The truck
sputtered, almost caught the spark and died just as fast.

Banging noises erupted from the engine. All
Chris could see was the faded paint on the lifted hood, blocking
his view.

“
Go means go, ya bastard!”
he heard Frank yell out.

Broken beams from a shifting flashlight
caught Chris’ eye as Frank worked in frustration. He would offer to
help, but doubted Frank would want it. Anyway, he didn’t know much
about fixing cars. Frank seemed to know what he was doing.

Turn the key on command, that was his job.
Best stay out of the old man’s way, or piss him off even more.

Chris’ eyes moved around the cabin. In all
the excitement, he hadn’t realized the black oval object was no
longer glowing with red lights. It lay still on the dashboard.
Chris slowly reached out to grab it. He didn’t want to set it off
again, but this was his chance to take a closer look.

“
Turn it over!” Frank
shattered his concentration, yelling out the command.

The engine tried to turn over. No use. Chris
let his hands drop off the wheel and the key. This was
hopeless.

Wind blew through the open passenger door.
The trees rustled.

Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw a small, red beam of light cut through
the cabin. The oval object sparked alive again. One by one the
strange symbols lit up in order. Chris scurried out of the truck,
shielding himself behind the door. He gazed into the night sky. He
squinted as a bright star appeared to fall out of the sky and morph
into a fireball as it approached the stranded pair. Red light
overpowered the darkness.

Awe struck at the sight, Chris froze for a
moment—which felt longer—and then pounded the top of the roof with
an open hand. “YOU BETTER MOVE YOUR ASS!”

Frank yelled back at him in a panic. “TURN
IT OVER! AND DON’T STOP!”

Chris jumped back into the truck, twisting
the key again, holding it on.

Frank cupped his hand over the air filter,
popping it up and down to create suction. With the other hand he
grabbed the throttle line, the engine turned over with a roar. He
revved the guts out of the old truck, rattling its bones.

A puff of smoke fired out the exhaust.

The engine alive again,
idling as usual. The hood slammed shut. Chris pushed the clutch in
and jammed the stick in reverse. He hadn’t driven a stick since his
days in the Guard.
It’s like riding a
bike. You never forget
.

Frank ran to the passenger side, quickly
jumping in. “Drive! Drive!”

The old truck ripped in reverse, spinning a
backward one-eighty. Chris popping the clutch to avoid stalling out
again. First gear. The truck’s back tires spun on the loose-gravel
road. Second gear, then third. The truck was revving high, almost
redlining. Chris was pushing it hard. It was up to speed pretty
damn quickly for an old piece of shit.

The truck flew along the dirt road, bouncing
over small mounds and potholes. The terrain rigorous. Chris and
Frank tossed around in the cab. There were too many potholes to
avoid—the truck getting thrashed.

Chris was getting used to this kind of abuse
every time he was out in the middle of the night.

No matter how hard he pushed the truck, the
men couldn’t escape the fireball. It stayed alongside them as they
weaved around large rocks, holes and other obstacles. If Chris sped
up, the ball of light would speed up; if he slowed, likewise. The
craft made no noise. You wouldn’t even know it was there if it
didn’t have its high beam lights on.

“
We got to lose that
thing!” Chris said.

“
No shit!”

“
No, not that.” He pointed
at the oval object on the dash. “That! Toss it out.”

Frank grabbed it off the dash. He stared
down at the glowing red lights. Thoughts raced through his mind.
This could be a device to help get back Emma. Throwing it out could
lose that chance. They didn’t even know what it was.

“
Stop the truck!” Frank
said.

“
Are you crazy?” Chris
shot a look at him. “You going to outrun them on foot?”

“
Just stop the bloody
truck!”

Chris jammed on the brakes. The truck slid
in the dirt, partially twisting sideways. Frank grabbed his double
barrel and jumped out of the truck. His old flashlight guided the
way as he dashed straight into the surrounding scrub.

“
Shit!” Chris jumped out
behind him, gun in hand.

He ran hard to catch the old man. The red,
glowing light followed them into the bushes. Chris got close enough
to call to Frank. “Wait.”

Frank spun back to see what Chris’ problem
was. The wind blew against his back. The craft started to descend
onto the two men. Light engulfing them. Chris pointed to the
glowing light above. “Do you really think you can hide among the
trees from these things?”

“
Better this than my balls
out there blowing in the wind.”

Frank looked up into the blinding light.
Images of the last time he looked into this thing flashed into his
mind. It was just moments after Emma was taken. How did he get to
this point? His eyes were drawn to the glowing object in the palm
of his hand. After all the years of trying to call these things
back with no luck, and now he possessed the power to call them. He
wasn’t sure how it worked, but he wasn’t going to it give it up
that easily.