This one is scary…you have been warned. Do all of you know what a wind-sailer is? If you don't, it's what I call the little karts that have a sail attached, the kind that people ride out on salt-flats. Anyway, there is a flat plain north of Roswell (don't know if there is one in real life) and it is perfect for it. There are some cliffs on the edge of this plain, but they are about ten miles away from the city. There, a little more info before you start.
Despite what happens in this chapter…I have nothing against Latinos. Somehow that statement would be funny, but there you go. No harm no foul, eh? Sorry if this is seen as being a little offending…
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Chapter 7
The Flats
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Mikah panted, his hands on his knees, his breath freezing in the cold desert air. The flats were a terrible place to be at night, and worse during the day, if you didn't have transportation. He could have reached Roswell within a half-hour had he been on his wind-sailer, but it was lying in a heap back at the cliffs, nearly three miles behind him.
The moon was full above him, casting so much light on the flats that it seemed to be day on some alien planet, but even so Mikah couldn't see…because of his tears. They say that you can't cry after you reach ten, but here he was, at fifteen and weeping like a newborn. And for good reason.
He had seen his brother die, his best friend get attacked. He had lived to tell the tale, and what a tale it was. No one would believe him, he knew, but he had to do something. A lump formed in his throat, his chest aching.
Mikah felt dizzy suddenly, his head throbbing. He swooned, and hit the ground with a thump and a puff of dust. He laid there, eyes blurred, for what seemed to be an eternity, and then figures filled his vision. He heard yelling in Spanish, and then he was picked up.
Mikah fell unconscious.
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Mikah opened his eyes to the glare of the desert sun, and heard the sound of an old engine under him. He saw a shadow in front of his face, which resolved into the face of a Latino man with thick brown hair that was in his eyes.
"Hola, you alright, amigo?" The man called over the sound of the engine. Mikah sat up, seeing he was in the bed of a gray pick-up truck, several other men around him in the bed. They were all dressed in work clothes, and Mikah recognized a few of them. These were the men that drove around the flats looking for things that had been abandoned, and they sold it for a fair profit. They were often talked about in Roswell, because many owed their lives to them and their ceaselessly working pickup when their own vehicles failed.
"Where are we?" Mikah muttered.
"We are on the flats, my friend; we are going north to an old river bed to help a poor guy who got stranded." The man said. "Are you alright? Found you half-dead on the flats a mile back, had to make camp for the night to figure out what to do with you. I'm Carlos…"
"Mikah…can we go south?"
"After we get the poor man out of this ditch a mile up we will head south to Roswell anyway. I assume that is where you come from, yes?"
"Yes." Mikah groaned, his head aching horribly.
"Here." Mikah was handed a canteen of water by one of the other men, and he drank gratefully from it, not caring who had drank from it first. A man opened the little window from the cab.
"Hey, Carlos, we're low on gas. We're gonna stop so you can fill 'er up with that can in back!"
"Ci! Hurry up, we don't have time!" He yelled back. The truck began to slow, and Mikah noticed that they were near a large rocky section of the flats, where…the cliffs were.
"Carlos, we should leave…"
"What's wrong?"
"This is where…nevermind; I thought I recognized this place." Mikah sat down in the corner of the bed while the others got out and stretched their legs. The wind was blowing strong across the flats, a perfect day for sailing. Mikah held in his tears for now…he wouldn't be seen crying in front of these men for any reason.
"Miguel?" A man called. "Anyone see Miguel?" A few others looked around. "Miguel!" Everyone turned around quickly as they heard a scream, and then a man vanished from sight, right into the ground. A hole was left behind. "Shit, get in the truck!" The man that had yelled vanished as well, and then a spurt of dark blood came from the hole he left.
Mikah ducked as the men began screaming, running in all directions. One drew a pistol and fired it at the ground, and suddenly a great something leapt from the ground. It was the size of a German shepherd, skeletal and appearing to be the color of sand. It hissed in anger, its bloody claws tearing into the man. Mikah saw none of this, curled up as he was. This creature turned to another man, sinking into the ground again.
When the others focused their attention on this creature, another came from behind a large rock, but it was pitch black and very large. With it came another like it, but with longer claws and teeth, and it was smaller and appeared younger. The large one tore a man in two, the smaller one watching. As the large one began to tear the men apart the small one leapt into the open window of the truck, and blood splattered on the back window.
"Mikah, run!" Carlos yelled, and Mikah got up to see him. He suddenly stopped in his tracks, his bottom half gone where the sand-creature had torn him apart. The tiny, black creature leapt into the bed of the truck, turning to the large one, who gave a slight nod. This small creature turned to Mikah, its black carapace gleaming in the sunlight like obsidian.
"Please…no…don't kill me." Mikah pleaded. The creature raised its tail. "No…please God…don't let it kill me." The creature was about to strike when it stopped, stepping back slightly. It shook its head, its tail dropping to the metal bed, limp. It stared at him with its eyeless sight, still for a moment. It moved closer, its razor-sharp teeth inches from Mikah's face. A voice spoke then, as if from all directions.
Mi…Mikah?
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Wow, that is the most intelligent human I have ever seen. Spine muttered, watching the credits scroll by. It had been his eighth time watching the movie, and he still wasn't tied of it. Besides you of course, Sara. He corrected, backflipping off the couch and running into the kitchen on all fours. What's that smell?
"I don't smell anything." Sara said over her morning cup of coffee, rubbing her eyes. Due to several references in the movie, she had ended up having to explain how human reproduction worked, and that had taken a lot out of her. She didn't really see the need, since Spine was an alien, but that was what happened.
It's gone now…I thought I smelled something familiar. Spine stood, looking at the scratches in the ceiling. Sorry about your ceiling…and your walls, your floor, you table, the rug…
"You're an alien. That's how you get around. I think I can forgive an extra-terrestrial for walking on my ceiling every once in a while." Sara downed the last of her coffee, standing up. "I have to go to work, alien roommate or not."
Work? Spine queried, tilting his head. Where?
"I work at this place on the southern side of Roswell; it's a sort of restaurant. I guess you would call me a waitress."
Sucks to be you.
"I know." She headed upstairs. "I hope you won't do anything loud or bloody while I'm gone."
I'll be in here, don't worry. I can defend this home easily if the others attack, which I doubt; we are too close to the city. The most I will do is throw a party…
"No eating any more homeless people, don't burn the neighbor's cat with acid, that sort of thing."
Nothing of the sort.
Sara came down the stairs, dressed in a white button-down shirt and black pants. "Take care, Spine…I don't want anything to happen to you."
Why get all emotional all of a sudden? Spine asked.
"Nothing…I'm just worrying about leaving an alien home alone in my house for four hours."
If you say so. I'll be alright…what are you, my mother?
Sara left then, and Spine waited for her to get in her car before dropping to the floor, sniffing the air.
What is that smell?! He tried following it, but it seemed to be all over the house. I think I've smelled it before…whenever I was around the Queen. Could she have been here?! No…that's absurd. She couldn't have. Spine walked up the stairs, trying to find the source of the scent he smelled, but he could not. He couldn't identify the smell when there was so much else going around, and it wasn't strong enough that his brain would translate it…but it was there.
This will have to wait. Time to watch the movie again. It never gets old.