Feeling the wear of the last night in every muscle, I decide to whip up something to eat. Some food for me, Mango, and an alien. I have no idea what he could possibly eat – maybe he’s on a plankton-only diet or something equally strange, although those teeth tell me he’s probably an omnivore. A healing alien probably requires fuel, no different from a recovering hospital patient. I look through the pantry and find a bag of egg noodles and broth. I think I remember seeing a rotisserie chicken in the fridge. Perfect.
“Mango,” I muse aloud, not breaking my stride as I head for the tiny kitchen. “Chicken noodle soup will be good for him, don’t you think?” The soft purr from the living room hums agreement.
Searching the cupboards yields a large pot, a chopping board, and ingredients from the pantry and fridge. Carrots, celery, garlic, chicken, and a variety of vegetables find their way into the pot. The knife taps rhythmically against the board, the familiar chore of chopping oddly soothing in the eerie silence. Tossing the veggies into a pot, I sauté them in some butter. Once they’re softened, I add the chicken stock.
While that simmers on the stove, I shred some of the rotisserie chicken. The aroma of chicken soup slowly starts building, making my mouth water. If aliens are anything like humans, he’ll find the soup easy to digest and soothing when not feeling well – I hope, anyway. Although he’s injured, not sick. Eh, whatever. I’m not even sure if he’ll be able to eat it.
Mango saunters into the kitchen, rubbing against my legs. He must be drawn by the aroma of the cooking food that he anticipates he might be allowed a sample of. I pour his dry food into a bowl, hoping he won’t start loudly complaining andwake our guest before the soup is done. I peek into the living room, suddenly feeling paranoid that the strange alien is awake and observing me. However, when I stare at him, he appears completely passed out. I don’t see any movement, so I assume the alien is still out cold.
After checking the soup, I add the noodles. Then, I grab a kitchen stool, plopping down with a resigned sigh, weariness creeping into my bones. As the noodles cook and the rich aroma permeates the cabin, I allow my eyes to flutter shut, my rhythmic breathing in time with the gentle simmering of the pot.
As the scent of chicken soup begins to waft through the quaint cabin, I add salt and pepper and taste it. It’s exactly like my mom used to make it, filling me with a pang. Like her sister, Aunt Zizi, mom was adventurous. She loved sci-fi novels and movies and would’ve been so excited to be here and get ‘first contact’.
Pushing away the memories, I grab two bowls. I ladle up some soup for myself – it’s weird to have soup for breakfast, but I’m not cooking up a second meal just for me. I eat it quickly, burning my tongue in the process. Once I finish my meal, I fill the second bowl for the alien.
I kneel at the alien’s side and set the bowl on the coffee table at my elbow. Careful to grab the shoulder that isn’t injured, I gently shake my alien.
“Sir? Sir? Are you hungry?” Shit. He’s not budging. I stare at his placid, still face for a moment, trying to figure out what to do now. I grab his shoulder again and give it a harder shake this time. “Sir? I need you to wake up. You need to eat. I don’t know if anyone is looking for you, like your people or my government. Your ship is still in the forest, just waiting to be discovered by a hunter or fisherman or something. You really need to wake up. Please?”
Well, shit. At least he seems stable. That’s something, I guess. Letting out a sigh of defeat, I tug on a curl of my unruly hair, twirling around a finger in contemplation. I stand up and stare at the alien, trying to figure out what to do next.
Walking back to the kitchen, I scoop Mango up, feeling his purring vibrating my chest, a comforting balm to the unrest churning within me.
Giving him an affectionate kiss between his alert, golden eyes, I whisper, “What’re we gonna do now, bud? Our guest isn’t very talkative, is he?” Mango dips his head, rubbing against my cheek in a feline show of empathy, his quiet meow filled with what I choose to interpret as wisdom.
Once I return to the kitchen, I quickly clean up my mess. Then I turn the burner off under the soup and stand there feeling lost. What the hell should I do now? “The spaceship,” I breathe. A glimmer of hope ignites in my heart. Maybe something in there could help me communicate with him or even wake him up. Plus, it’s sitting in the woods, just waiting for a hunter, hiker, or someone to stumble across it and call the authorities. Then I remember the drag marks from pulling him away from the crash site. They lead straight to my door.
“You’re right, Mango,” I say, setting him onto a stool. “Stay here, keep an eye on Stormy while I’m gone,” I instruct the cat, pointing a stern finger at his pink little nose. I can’t keep referring to him as ‘the alien’, so Stormy it is until he can tell me his actual name. Mango’s twirling tail seems to convey his ambiguous feelings toward the assignment.
I roll my shoulders back and set a determined smile on my face, which probably looks more like a grimace. “Alright, let’s do this.” I stride out the cabin door towards the garage to find a rake and anything else I can locate that might help me hide a spaceship crash site.
CHAPTER 15
Lily
Taking a deep breath, I hoist the toolbox onto my shoulder and pick up the rake and shears before heading outside.
The breeze sways the foliage lining the path that leads back into the woods, whispering secrets between the pines. Each crunch of the gravel underfoot feels piercingly loud in the pervasive silence. As I walk, I notice a few drag marks tattooing the path, an aftermath of my trek dragging an alien home. Thankfully, it’s not that bad, so as I walk, I carefully rake over the marks, kicking fallen leaves and twigs over the area, camouflaging my passage.
As the path widens, I spot the gazebo framed by the lake. The morning light paints the lake in a brilliant palette of dawn hues – golds, pinks, and purples – like something out of a fairy tale. The water’s surface mirrors the watercolor sky, serenely undulating with the gentle push and pull of the murmuring wind. It’s pristine, untouched like a photo straight from National Geographic, and my heart aches at the sheer beauty of it. I yearnto bring a chair by the water. To spend a lazy morning basking under the sun’s soothing warmth, with Mango purring lazily by my side. But alas, such luxury is a far cry from my current predicament.
As I retrace my steps from the night before, I skirt along the lake’s shore before turning back into the untamed forest. I am relieved that the crash site and my path from it are not easily discernible from the lake’s edge.
Retracing my steps through the forest, I finally spot the spaceship after a short walk. Its destructive path through the forest is marked with broken branches and a deeply gouged forest floor. Swallowing hard, I tighten my grip on the garden shears, which now seem woefully inadequate for hiding evidence of a crash site.
I look around the forest, my ears perked for any sounds of discovery, but all I hear is the rustle of leaves in the breeze and early morning birdsong.
With the echo of the forest humming in my ears, I resolve to stop wasting time. Casting one last glance at the sky peeking through the canopy above, I walk cautiously towards the spaceship. The ship is somewhat triangular. It reminds me of a bomber plane but sleeker and more organic in shape. Its surface gleams like a dark mirror under the dappled morning light. It resembles nothing of the sharp, boxy-shaped ships bristling with weaponry like I’ve come to expect from sci-fi movies. I’m a little surprised that the hull seems to be wholly intact. I expected to see harsh, jagged edges of torn hull jutting out in violent angles – its once sleek design ripped and warped by destruction, but the surface of the ship is smooth and unbroken.
The door where the alien emerged from is still open, and the darkness inside the ship seems to swallow the light. Something is terrifying about that gaping maw, lined with unknown technology, leading into the darkness.
Slowly approaching the ship, I realize it is not much bigger than a mini-van. Last night, I was so overwhelmed that it didn’t occur to me to pay attention to the ship’s size, even though it had seemed much bigger in my mind’s eye.
After taking a fortifying inhale, I hesitate for a long moment before stepping into the heart of the vessel, utterly unprepared for what I might encounter. Or who. Oh god, I never thought to check if anyone else was with him inside the ship last night. What if there were other aliens with him and I left them behind? Oh man, I really don’t want to find a dead alien or something even worse inside that darkness.
Pausing at the entrance of the strange spacecraft, I brace myself. Inhaling deeply, I try to determine if it smells like death inside the ship. My senses are assaulted by the sharp tang of charred metal and the sulfuric scent of burnt rubber. But more importantly, there’s no smell of death – a scent I know all too well. Releasing the breath I’d been unwittingly holding, I steel myself and step further into the metallic beast.
Blinking away the darkness, the ship has an interior that resembles nothing I’ve ever seen. Most of the back half of the ship is dominated by a strange egg-shaped enclosure that looks a bit like a dentist’s chair under a glass dome. Its translucent surface has a slight blue tinge to it. I approach cautiously, hands outstretched towards the pod, on guard for any signs of danger. I touch the glass softly. It is cold and still under my fingertips. I walk around the pod, looking for a way to open it. The uninterrupted, sleek surface doesn’t give me any clue, so I move on toward the front of the ship.
