Just Plain Weird (33 page)

    
    
I wanted to tell her-- I really did-- but the words were stuck in my throat.

    
    
“We’re not alone, are we?” she asked.

    
    
“Well…”

    
    
“Good God, Travis! How could you not tell me that? How could you not warn me?”

    
    
I told her the truth, then, that I hadn’t wanted her to freak out. I had thought we could pop in, grab everything we needed, and pop out before there was a possible of running into one of the creatures-- if there happened to be any around.

    
    
“You’re demented, you know that?” she told me, and her tone was oddly mild. “What if we would have run into one, and I never expected it. You think that wouldn’t freak me out? Oh, Travis, it is very sweet that you tried to protect me and all, but don’t ever do that again. Now, tell me what these things look like, so I know what to expect.”

    
    
I gave her a description of the aliens.

    
    
There was a long silence.

    
    
“Cockroaches? Cockroaches that are… how long?”

    
    
“About five feet.”

    
    
“Five foot cockroaches,” she mused, and then added, “Damn, there’s not enough Raid in the world…. When we get back, you better show me how to shoot that thing. By the way, you did load it, didn’t you?”

    
    
I assured her I did. I felt the barrel of the shotgun pressed up against my leg.

    
    
“Travis, if you knew these things may still be around, didn’t you think that our driving into this building might not be quite strategically sound.”

    
    
“Yeah.”

    
    
“You mean all this junk is really that important?”

    
    
“I think so,” I said.

    
    
“Do you know what it’s all for?”

    
    
“Some kind of interface, I think.”

    
    
“Interface?”

    
    
“Yeah, the telepathic communication between the artifact and me wasn’t working well enough. I wasn’t always understanding what it meant, and, I guess, it wasn’t understanding me too well either. I think it wants me to build this thing to improve communication. It wants to learn more about us-- humans-- how we think.”

    
    
“Do you know why it chose to contact you?”

    
    
“Well, the only other choices he ever had were Doc and you, but it concluded that you both were not viable.”

    
    
“Not viable? What does that mean?”

    
    
“It thinks in terms of being qualified to be a pilot. Apparently Doc had some of the traits that fall within its guidelines, but he is too old really, and little narrow-minded.”

    
    
“Oh, and why didn’t it pick me?”

    
    
“Uh…”

    
    
“Well?”

    
    
“Can’t I just say that you were disqualified?” I wondered.

    
    
“No, no, you can’t. Tell me why-- exactly.”

    
    
“I’d rather not.”

    
    
“You’d rather not? What?-- you think I’ll bite your head off if it’s something unflattering? I understand it’s not you saying it; you’re just passing on an opinion. So tell me.”

    
    
I struggled to come up with the right wording. “It seems as though the females of the species with which he is familiar are very rational.”

    
    
“Oh, that’s all? I’m not rational enough? That’s not so bad. Why would I be offended by that?”

    
    
“Well, you shouldn’t be.”

    
    
“Unless you’re sugar-coating it? Are you?”

    
    
“A little,” I admitted.

    
    
“Why? You think I can’t handle the truth? Just tell me, Travis. I’m not, like, three years old.”

    
    
“It really doesn’t matter.”

    
    
“Yeah, it does. It does now. It’s been all built up and everything.”

    
    
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

    
    
“Of course not.”

    
    
“All right,” I sighed. “The artifact believes you’re-- insane.”

    
    
“Insane?”

    
    
“Insane,” I confirmed.

    
    
“You think, maybe, that’s one of those misunderstandings you were talking about?”

    
    
“I doubt it.”

    
    
“Insane?” she said, mulling the word over, and then asked me, “Do you think I’m insane?”

    
    
“We were talking about the artifact.”

    
    
“Yeah, but I’m asking you,” she insisted.

    
    
“Me? No, I don’t think you’re insane.”

    
    
“So you think I’m normal?”

    
    
“Why do you have to do this?” I asked. “We’re sitting here, in the dark, in the cold, and you’re going on about what people think of you-- not even people, but what a machine thinks of you-- a machine that was built by aliens.”

    
    
“You’re avoiding the question. I’m not talking about the artifact now. I’m asking you,” she said. “Do you think I’m normal?”

    
    
“I don’t think you’re insane.”

    
    
“But do you think I’m normal?”

    
    
“What?-- there can’t be anything between insane and normal?”

    
    
“Is that what you’re saying, that I fall in between?”

    
    
“I’m not saying anything,” I said.

    
    
She was silent for a moment.

    
    
“Should I try turning it over again?” she asked.

    
    
“Maybe wait a bit longer, to make sure.”

    
    
“Did you hear something?”

    
    
“That’s just the wind outside.”

    
    
“You sure?”

    
    
“Yeah.”

    
    
“Oh,” she said vaguely, and then came back with, “Well, would you say I’m closer to normal or closer to insane?”

    
    
“Right now, I’m getting closer to insane by the minute,” I said. “Eliza, will you please leave it alone. It’s like you’re picking on a scab and it’s bleeding all over the place, already.”

    
    
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous, I can’t help talking. I just go on and on and on about whatever happens to be at hand. I really can’t help-- what was that?”

    
    
“What?”

    
    
“That noise. It sounded like a scratching noise-- like rats make.”

    
    
“I didn’t hear a thing,” I said.

    
    
“Well, you’re deaf, then, because I heard it-- it was pretty darned loud, too. I sounded just like a huge rat scrapping its claws-- there it is again.”

    
    
This time I did hear the sound. To me it sounded vaguely like the sound of nails dragged over a chalkboard.

    
    
“Should I start the engine?” she asked.

    
    
“Not yet.”

    
    
“Not yet? You want to wait for one of those things to--to what? What exactly would they do?” she asked, her voice rising along with her anxiety.

    
    
“Shhhhhh. Lower your voice. The artifact didn’t say they were deaf, you know. As far as what they would do to us-- I would imagine it would have something to do with dissolving our bodies in order to extract their chemical components.”

    
    
“Yuck!”

    
    
“Eliza, please--”

    
    
“Should I try the engine now?”

    
    
“Wait,” I told her. “We’ll only have one chance. If it doesn’t start…”

    
    
“You have the shotgun, right?”

    
    
“Yeah, and it’s going to do us a lot of good in the dark. Just shut up and wait.”

    
    
The scratching sound grew louder-- claws being dragged across the cement floor. Inside the four by four, the air was cold enough for me to see Eliza’s breath, tiny puffs coming from her mouth faster and faster. I tried to look out the windows, but the warehouse around us was pitch-dark. I wondered if the aliens were like insects on earth, many of which were nocturnal. I wondered whether they could see in the dark. I wondered did they have enough knowledge of earth to realize that no vehicle ought to be parked inside such a warehouse. Or did they have some kind of sensors that could detect organic life?

    
    
Seconds ticked by, and the scratching became more complex. It sounded as though they were working on something, using their razor-sharp claws to perform some task.

    
    
“Travis?”

    
    
“Not yet.”

    
    
We waited. The scratching stopped, and then resumed, this time louder. Whatever it was doing, it was moving closer to us. Eliza reached over in the dark and grabbed my hand, hard. I could feel the nerves in her hand jumping under her skin. The scratching again stopped, and this time there was a long silence. I wondered for a moment whether it had left. Not being able to tell for sure was nerve-racking. I imagined myself as a hunted animal, which I actually was, with darting eyes, sitting there in the dark with Eliza holding my hand while my other hand slipped down to feel the reassuring hardness of the shotgun barrel. The scratching never resumed, though, but instead was now replaced by a humming noise, which seemed to get louder and then softer, louder and softer. I would have believed the noise to be some kind of tool if it had been steady, but the undulating quality of it threw me off. What exactly was this thing doing? Ohmigod, I finally realized. It’s flying-- they can fly! The artifact didn’t say a thing about them being able to fly. But there it was, the sound of its wings as it flew, closer and farther away, circling overhead, probably searching or maybe already figuring out that it wasn’t alone in the dark.