Zoey was close to losing her mind, but the old fashioned television went a long way to deadening the pain. The beacon was still broadcasting; she could see it from the window of her low-rent apartment. The skyscraper the tower sat on was pristine but empty, hallowed out during one of many waves of economic turmoil.
Zoey could just barely keep out the eternal buzzing of the signal, like a migraine that wouldn’t end. All of her training was able to do was keep her conscious. The pain and nausea had killed her appetite and made sleeping impossible. The two days she had been there seemed endless.
She lay sprawled out on the dilapidated couch. Seemingly random images flickered across the small television. Zoey couldn’t concentrate anymore; she could only watch the sea of pixels dancing around, unaware of the larger picture or storyline.
Her own personal storyline had become a jumbled mess in her head. Delirious, on the second night, she tossed and turned on the couch. Sleep had again slipped through her fingers, and now, with bleary eyes, she turned and looked at the television to see Sean’s pixelated face staring at her.
“Hi,” the television said.
“You’re dead,” said Zoey. “I threw up at your funeral.”
“Don’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”
“Go away.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Leave me alone,” said Zoey. “Everyone else has left me.”
“That’s why I came back. So you wouldn’t be alone.”
“You’re dead. You’re dead.” She shut her eyes tight.
“If I’m dead, why can I hold your hand?”
Zoey felt something warm envelope her hand.
“If I’m dead, why can I listen to your heart?”
Zoey felt something press against her chest.
“If I’m dead, why can I…?”
Zoey awoke with a start. The small room was dark. The television was either off or burnt out. She stumbled off the couch, trying to find a clock. It was two thirty in the morning, but which day? How long had she been suffering under her delirium?
Had everything been a dream?
The first thing she noticed was that the beacon was off. Her head was clear, like when a head cold finally broke. She walked over to the window. In the dead silence of the early morning, a silver halo hung over the building in question. The upper section of the building itself split into four parts, spreading out from the center. The machinery creaked like the inside of a clock tower but was surprisingly quiet despite the massive transformation.
Zoey looked at the streets below and saw not one soul who could have witnessed this strange sight. The silver object silently started to descend into the building. When it disappeared from sight, Zoey could feel it in her mind as it continued downwards. The building started to close up, creaking back into place.
Zoey grabbed her backpack and quickly changed into a pair of dark clothing that she had brought with her. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she left the apartment and never looked back. She slipped an envelope of money under the door of the landlord and walked out onto the quiet streets.
She was reminded of the twilight hours that she spent on alien planets, wandering around and getting her bearings. Saving the world with Sara had allowed more free time than one would think, and Zoey would take in the sights whenever she could, despite the odd hours. Now, the abandoned streets of Downtown, America were now even more alien to her, and it was not lost on her.
She walked the street cautiously at first. She turned as a lone car drove by. She watched it until it disappeared around the bend. She continued on to the building in question. Not surprisingly, the doors were locked. It was a sturdy bolt lock and not an electric lock. She stepped back from the door and took a look around.
Around the side of the building, she noticed an opening between the side of the building and the cement sidewalk. She crouched down and tried to peer into the darkness. Failing that, she pulled a flashlight from her bag. She flashed a light through the slit and found an underground garage amid the shadows. The lot formed around a central column, probably housing the building’s elevator system. Or maybe the extraterrestrial craft.
Zoey got on her stomach and squeezed through the small slit. She grabbed her bag as she finally pushed her way into the garage and found herself on top of the hood of a car. As she got off of it, she lit the inside of the car: pristine except for a layer of dust. Were the cars just window dressing?
Then, Zoey came across a much, more sobering sight. Lying flat on its back was a dead body. Judging from his clothes, Zoey assumed he was a homeless vagrant just looking for somewhere to sleep. There was a small hole in his chest that went clean through his body. He had probably no idea what attacked him and was dead within seconds of the searing laser that pierced his vitals.
Zoey turned away in silence and headed toward the central column bathed in the scant lighting afforded by the garage. As she came closer, she felt a sudden impulse and ducked behind one of the cars. She glanced ahead and saw what she had felt. There was a small motion detector on the wall, hiding in plain sight.
Zoey could feel the signal dart out of the detector. The wall before her unfolded like a Chinese box being opened by invisible hands. Out of the opening came an armless and legless robot, hovering in the air. Zoey, hiding behind one of the car, glanced at it. Its long head came to a point, and its cyclopean eye scanned its surroundings.
Zoey stayed where she was, too scared to move. There was no question in her mind what caused the unfortunate death of the vagrant. After a tense ten seconds more, the drone went back into the hidden tunnel, and the wall closed up behind it. Zoey waited even longer before getting up from her hiding spot.
She kept low, edging her way farther and farther from the motion detector. She made her way around in a semi-circle until her back was against the column wall adjacent to the secret doorway. She pulled out the gun and pointed it at a trash bin conveniently within the motion detector’s range.
She took aim and fire. The recoil made her hand jump, and her shot went wide. Somewhere, a car alarm quietly beeped to itself. Placing both hands on the gun, she widened her stance and aimed at the bin again. The second time she fired and the trash bin jumped like someone had kicked it.
Zoey watched from the corner as the wall opened again, and the drone drifted out, searching for movement. Slowly, Zoey edged herself along the wall. Every second she slid by, Zoey’s eyes were glued on the drone. If it turned around too soon, she would have to make a break for it. Not that she thought she was quicker than the drone’s laser.
But she made it to the opening and slipped into the depths below.
Click here to read Chapter 8
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
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