Chapter 5

2:53 a.m.; Whitman Household

A clang of connecting glass caused by the fridge door being slammed shut traveled through the empty house. Alex gripped the neck of the vodka bottle tightly in his hand. He pressed his forehead against the cool, bumpy surface of the refrigerator hoping all this was a nightmare. Oh logically he knew it was real and he knew there was no one to keep him safe…no one but himself.

Roughly he pushed away from the door and took a swig of vodka. If his mother were still here she'd yell at him for drinking, he was barely sixteen he shouldn't be chugging straight anything let alone vodka. But she left him to deal with the problems at hand same as his father.

They've been training him to deal with this possibility since he was nine. Possibility? Bullshit, he knew this would happen it was only a matter of 'when' not 'if'. There were more people who were told about this…all over the world only that four resided in Roswell. Well, three now, one of them was off on vacation.

The other two, a forty-seven year old man who took up baking, opened his own bakery and everything. He made a mean double fudge brownie; his Mom got those for him to put in his lunches since he started school. The other was a thirty-two year old woman with two kids, single mother, and worked at a bank. He doubted she'd be doing anything expect protecting her children from the threat.

Alex could hear them shuffling around on his porch. Sounded like only three, but if he didn't book soon there'd be more waiting for him. Thankfully they weren't fast, slower if they'd been dead longer, something that had to do with their bodies rotting made it harder to control their movements. Already he could feel the vodka kicking in, he's warm all over, the liquid courage covering his fears effectively.

He stared at the half empty bottle in his hand, he hadn't drunk that much, it was a little more than half full when he started gulping it down. If he had drunk half the bottle he wouldn't be able to do much except fall down and let the creatures chomp away at his flesh. That wasn't an option-well, it was, but not a very good one.

Sounded fairly calm didn't he, well he's not, it's the seven years of training that's been drilled into him. To be honest he's scared shitless but if he showed weakness-no, he wouldn't let them see his fright. Quietly he put the bottle down, turned toward the stairs and raced up to his room.

He'd head for the Crashdown; Liz had more weapons in the apartment. Besides the others would more than likely be headed in that direction. With the restaurant being their constant meeting place it's the best place to go. Now whether or not they made it there was another matter. He hoped the others made it, if not he'd be on his own and he would rather have some kind of company, alien, human or both didn't make much difference.

As he dressed he thought back to last few months. Liz finally told him the big secret she was keeping for the Pod Squad. It hurt that she hadn't told him before they were arrested. Arrested, yeah right, Sheriff Valenti was given an order to arrest them so government guys could pick up him and Liz up. A meeting had been called but the signals couldn't penetrate through the soap factory building.

Jim was later given a memory-altering drug to make him forget what happened with them. When they were "let go" he took notice of Max's jeep down the street. He spoke to Liz briefly before they split up going to their parent's who were waiting for them outside.

For the next couple months he became integrated into the inner workings of the Alien Abyss. It was difficult to find his place in the group; even now he wasn't sure if he had. Although there was an up side to not being a major player in the dynamic of their group, he was able to leave for a little while on training assignments and not be missed.

What was odd was that nobody noticed how many times his absence coincided with that of Liz's departures? She'd be on a training mission, normal practice by the time they hit thirteen, and so would he, his parents called in sick for him. The standard excuse for Liz absence was vacation, restaurant related run, or sick.

As he finished dressing and arming himself he thought back to his family. Being an only child of only children parents mad family reunions remarkably boring. Charles Whitman, his father, was a scientist, he's a part of the reason why those things were roaming around out there making meals of the populace.

Alex didn't know what specific component he was responsible for but he was to blame for a part. Information, even for his son, was classified information; no one told anybody anything. His mother, Erica Whitman, was one of his trainers, gave him expert knowledge on explosives. Told him it'd come in handy one day. That day was coming soon, not that the monsters were shuffling around it was only a matter of time.

Moaning from below distracted him for a moment. God, that damn moaning, not pleasurable moans from a lover, oh no. These moans were sounds of a rotted esophagus; he could almost hear the dead skin flapping against the vibrations.

Angry he lifted up his bedroom window, stared down at the growing mass of creatures, now there were five, and yelled. "Shut up!" They rose their heads to the sound of his voice their moaning increased seeing food so close but so far.

Alex shook his head, oh yeah, that'll show his parents he's in control. Yelling at them, getting them agitated. Ah well, he'd explain it away of course say he just wanted a challenge before facing the multitude of bodies down there.

Just like he'd explain away why he had four handguns strapped to his body, a knife hooked to his waist and a shotgun over his shoulder. Not to mention why he was calm enough to pack a bag with a ammo, clothes, food, and a radio. He sighed, he'd jump off that bridge when he came to it, no one might even make it to the Crashdown, there's no sense in worrying about excuses now.

He did a mental check, making sure he had everything, then it was time to go. Alex hoped he'd have to give explanations for everything that would mean other people made it. More specifically he wouldn't be alone, like he was now.

Back on the first floor he pulled out his 9mm, a constant favorite of his took a deep breath and peaked through the peephole. There were at least six creatures milling around on his front porch. Quietly as possible he hurried to the back door, only two from what he could see, this would be his way out.

One more deep calming breath and he's out the door blasting the two dead right in between the eyes. The Crashdown was only five minutes away on foot he'd be able to make it. He hoped.

TBC