Much like the back half, the front half is dominated by a glassy, futuristic cockpit. It is sleek and sharp, the edges and angles hinting at a technological sophistication far beyond anything on Earth. There is a single wide seat in the area, which reassures me that there probably wasn’t anyone else in thecrash. The light from the open door barely reaches the cockpit and I feel like I’m a world away from the rustic cabin.
I stare at the dark, giant command center, filled with an array of buttons and switches, currently off and silent. The dappled sunlight that reaches this far into the ship shows an alien script carved with odd hieroglyphs into the buttons that I can’t even begin to comprehend. I clasp my hands together tightly, my mind suddenly riddled with paranoid thoughts. What if I accidentally initiate a launch sequence or trigger a hidden defense mechanism by messing with technology far beyond my comprehension? It would be just like me to launch my dumb ass into orbit accidentally.
A chill gnaws at me. I’m in over my head – I’m starkly aware of that. But as I look around at the environment so completely different from my own, surrounded by the cold hum of alien technology, I also feel somewhat sad. Is this it? There is nothing in here as far as I can tell – no clutter, no mementos, not a single personal item, not even clothes. Spartan doesn’t even begin to describe it.
I check the ship’s walls, looking for drawers or cubbies or something. Despite my search, I find nothing. There are thin seams in the otherwise perfectly smooth wall, but I cannot pry them open. It’s just an empty shell of a ship, sterile and impersonal. I had hoped to at least get some clothes for my patient but there is nothing here as far as I can tell.
With a shrug of defeat, I finally slink out. I stand in the entrance to the ship and watch my surroundings for a moment to make sure I’m still alone. I waver for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do now. I can’t imagine that anyone is out here, wandering the area, but I would feel better if I could hide the ship.
I decide to use all the branches the ship broke when it crashed through the forest to my advantage. As quickly aspossible, I start grabbing the broken boughs and piling them around and over the ship. It’s completely haphazard and wouldn’t pass even a cursory inspection, but it’s the best I can do. I just hope no one will come within a hundred feet of the site. Sweat trickles down my back as I lug leaf-covered branches and pile them around the crash site. It takes more than an hour – closer to two – to finish camouflaging the ship.
Despite wanting to keep working to hide the ship better, dread starts to pool in my belly. I’m worried that Stormy will wake up while I’m gone.
The camouflage job is not that great. I just hope it’s enough to buy me some time to figure all of this out. I sigh, brushing a stray curl away from my face.
Hauling my borrowed equipment, I head back towards the cabin, my thoughts pulling me into a haze.
My boots crunch against the gravel as I walk. I tried to hide the signs of our supernatural visitor’s rough landing and trek to the cabin. The half-hearted sweep of leaves and soil to cover the indents now seems pitiful. Here’s hoping that no one is actively searching for my alien.
The cabin’s sharp-angled roof peeks through the forest’s canopy, its dark wood greeting like an old friend promising a refuge.
My heart pounds in my chest and not entirely from the physical strain of the manual labor I’d just experienced. My thoughts are all over the place.
When I get back to the cabin, I slowly open the door, making sure to stay silent. I tiptoe inside and check on my charge. Stormy is right where I left him. I stare at him for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically. Assured that he is safe and alive, I decide that I need to call my aunt and then take a shower.
Mango twines about my ankles and I scoop him up before he starts whining for attention. Cradled in my arms, I check the time on my phone. New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of me, so I do some quick math in my head. That means it’s just after 4 a.m. there. I decide that I can wait a few hours to call Aunt Zizi. Hopefully, that’ll give me enough time to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell her.
I guess I’ll take a shower first.
CHAPTER 16
Lily
Exiting the steamy bathroom, I feel a million times better. I’m reinvigorated after taking a scorching hot shower, replacing the stress of the past 24 hours with muscle-melting heat. The heated pink of my skin fades as the crisp, cool air kisses my flesh. Slipping into a set of fresh clothes, the feel of clean fabric against my skin transforms me into a whole new person, stitching together pieces of me that had been frazzled apart.
I keep my footfalls soft as I pad toward the living room where the alien still slumbers. I feel bad that he’s stuck sleeping on the floor. I wish I’d been able to get him into a bed, but I couldn’t have hefted his deadweight from the floor and onto a mattress in a million years of trying. As I check him over, I debate switching out his blanket for a fresh one, but I think it can wait. I kneel at his side to check his injuries. My breath hitches. His wounds seem even less prominent than only a few hours earlier. The angry red scrapes and bruises that covered most of his skin have already started to fade.
“How’s that even—” My wonder, stark in the silent room, is cut short by the shrill ring of my phone from the kitchen. My heart leaps into my throat, the sudden noise disrupting the quiet about as subtly as a gunshot. Adrenaline kick-starts my body forward and I leap toward the kitchen table where I’d left my phone.
I check the screen, hoping it’s Aunt Zizi, but it’s an unfamiliar number. Perhaps it’s the mechanic. I skip out the front door as I answer the phone, hoping not to disturb my sleeping guest.
“Hello? This is Lily Blackwell,” I whisper.
“Lily? This is Koko… Wait. Why are we whispering?” A familiar voice asks me.
“Oh. Uh, I don’t know… Um, why are you calling? Sorry, I mean, what can I do for you?”
“Oh! Right! Sorry, I got distracted. I was calling because I stopped by Rog’s place. There is a delay in shipping, so I told him I’d call you and give you the bad news.”
“Oh no! What kind of delay?” I ask.
“At least a week. I’m really sorry about this. I’m sure we can bring a rental car to you so you can get on the road soon. We can figure out how to get your car back to you once it’s fixed.”
“NO!” I bark. Chagrinned, I clear my throat and try again. “Um, sorry. I’m just really enjoying this break. You have a lovely cabin, and I didn’t realize how much of a break I needed until I settled in last night. Is it possible for me to stay here until my car is fixed? It would be so much more convenient than figuring out how to get my car back.”
I cross my fingers and hold my breath.
“Actually, you are in luck. I kept the cabin free for the next month. My intuition told me not to book any renters. I have a bit of a gift of premonition, you know? So, obviously, you can stay as long as you need. Rog said he’d let me know when he had an exact delivery date, so I’ll let you know when that happens. Youcouldn’t have picked a better time to visit. The festival lasts the whole week – we have events and parties almost daily. It’s so much fun, you’ll see!”
