The Fellowship for Alien Detection (5 page)

“You lied?” asked Beckett, sounding shocked, or maybe amazed.

“Well,” said Haley, “kind of . . .” She hadn't thought of it as lying, but more like how Garrett Conrad-Wayne had put it:
Stories are cunning and elusive, and often use people's own fears and insecurities as camouflage. The journalist must not be afraid to do what is necessary to see through this dense foliage, to, if necessary, camouflage themselves and their intentions in order to get the information they need
.

Haley liked that explanation better than
lying
, and like Wayne had said, it had been necessary.

“Anyway, so they sent me the files, and sure enough, right after the reported missing time and Suza Raines's disappearance, the town clock was off. . . .”

“Sixteen minutes?” said Beckett, on the edge of his seat.

Haley nodded with some theatrical flair of her own. “Sixteen minutes.” She flipped through a few more webcam photos. “All this winter and spring, whenever new reports of towns with abductions and missing time appeared online, I would try to find a webcam with a clock tower, either in their downtown or at a mall or whatever.”

“The clock over at the Waterbury mall is always wrong,” said Kaz, her tone now one part confused and one part trying to be helpful. “Is that aliens?”

“Mmm, I don't think so,” said Haley. “I also got a couple other towns to send me files, like I did with Amber. And the sum of all this research is . . .”

Haley clicked again and a final map appeared, this one with just eleven dots.

“Over the past three years, these are the places where I have direct evidence of missing time events, in the form of these photos. There are over twenty others where the evidence is strong, but I don't have webcam images to back it up.

“And so for the next two weeks, I'm taking a road trip to visit these sites and interview the people there about anything they might—or might not—remember. Any questions?”

Silence.

A long, low beep sounded, announcing the end of the school year.

“Have a good summer,” said Haley, and she walked to her desk, picked up her books, and started for the door.

Haley and Abby walked home through steamy afternoon air that smelled like hot tar and lilies. They briefly visited the ammonia cool of the SpeedyMart for diet grape sodas and cucumber-flavored soy chips, then stopped to eat them on a bench outside the town pool, awash in a chlorine-tinged breeze that was fluttery with laughter.

“That was an awesome display of nerd power,” said Abby.

“Ha, thanks,” said Haley.

“Are you still bummed about the
Times
?”

“A little,” said Haley. “But mostly no.” She'd moved fully to hoping that her award-winning FAD story could make it all the way to the tablet of Mr. Conrad-Wayne as he sipped chai in a Nairobi lounge. Likely? No. Possible? Yes.

They both drank and munched quietly. Haley wondered what was on Abby's mind, but she also thought she knew. Now that school was over and she was headed home, it was on her mind, too.

Finally, Abby said, “Did you tell your parents yet?”

Haley took a big bite of chips before responding. “Well . . .” she said around the mouthful.

“Haley . . .”

Haley swallowed and sighed. “Not really,” she said, and by “not really” she meant “not at all.”

“How's that going to work?” Abby asked, sounding worried.

It bothered Haley; she didn't like people worrying about her, but maybe she was more bothered right then because she knew her friend had a right to be. “Well,” said Haley, “I figure they don't really need to know. I mean, as far as they're concerned, we're just driving around for two weeks, with me interviewing people who think they were visited by aliens, seeing what they say. It never has to come up until I'm safe at home writing the article.”

“Sure,” said Abby, “but if any of it is true . . .”

And here was the problem that Haley and Abby had discussed before: If it turned out aliens weren't behind the events, then what happened to those missing people? And if, though probably very unlikely, there really were aliens out there, how were they going to feel about someone trying to uncover their story? Would that person end up missing, too?

That was maybe scary. And it was directly related to the one thing that Haley hadn't bothered to mention to her parents. . . . She hadn't told them about Suza Raines, or any of the other reports of abductions. Clock towers and missing time? Yes. Missing people? No. She'd left that part out of her application until
after
her mom had proofread it.

“They wouldn't have let me go,” Haley said quietly.

“Maybe,” said Abby.

Haley felt like it was a certainty. Missing persons cases were serious, after all, and bound to activate her parents' protective instincts.
Wouldn't they be right to feel that way?
the doubt demon pointed out. Sure, but Haley would tell them if things started to feel dangerous.
Are you sure about that?
She was. Mostly. “And besides,” said Haley, trying to ignore a rustle of nerves inside, “it's like Conrad-Wayne says, sometimes you have to camouflage yourself—”

“Yeah, but Haley, Garrett Conrad-Wayne is an adult. You're thirteen.”

Haley didn't like talking about this. And she hated how the doubt demon was feasting on it.
What if she's right?

Haley also hated having a secret from her parents, hated the cold, damp feeling she was getting down the insides of her arms from thinking about it. She stood up. “Yeah, well, they trust me. They told me this was my thing, and they would just be along for the ride . . . so, I'll just have to be careful.”

She hoped it sounded like she meant being careful in terms of avoiding any aliens wrapping their long green fingers around her, but Haley maybe really meant about her parents finding out. Because she needed this. She had to get out there, to follow this story over the horizon.

Abby stood and looked at her seriously. “You better be careful. Don't do anything too crazy.”

“I won't,” said Haley, but she almost felt like she was lying again. Not like she was the type to do something crazy, but what if that's what it took? “When do you go to Thorny Mountain?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Monday,” said Abby. “Will you be in the Kingdom?” Abby was referring to
Macabre Kingdom
, the online world where they hung out to gossip and do battle with insidious demons.

“Whenever there's Wi-Fi,” Haley replied. “Have fun in music land.”

“You bet.” Abby smiled. “My goal is a new boyfriend, preferably a cello player with a name like Nico or Alvin.”

Haley smiled as big as she could. “Good luck.”

“You, too. Be careful,” Abby said seriously. She hugged Haley, and then gave her a mocking wink and a pretend boy-punch on the shoulder. “Have fun, bro.” They shared a small laugh and parted ways at the next intersection.

Haley walked the last quarter mile home lost in thought. In two days, she was actually heading out to hunt a story. For real. And what would she find? What was possible? Were there really aliens out there? Maybe the missing people were just runaways or people looking for an excuse to get away. Maybe this was all a hoax. But maybe it was real.

A hot summer wind rushed over her, making her jeans stick to her shins, pushing her damp bangs into her eyes. Haley looked up at the sky, the blue washed to a pale haze. She smelled the sweet aroma of flowers bursting in yards, felt summer's whisper of possibility.

What would her summer be? Two days until the road. Two days till she would finally find out.

And only two more days during which she had to hide the truth from her parents.

Greenhaven, CT, July 2, 8:45 a.m.

Forty-two hours later, Haley was fuming over three more missing people.

She stood beside the open car door, gazing at her canary yellow house. Her parents and brother were in there, somewhere, doing . . . what? What could they possibly still be doing?

“Jill!” she shouted. “Allan! Liam!”

No reply.

Haley checked the time on her phone and cursed to herself. They were supposed to have been on the road at 8:00 a.m. For weeks, Haley had been picturing it. It was supposed to be: air still cool, shadows still long, that tangy smell of sprinkler water and wet grass. Sugary donuts at Dunkin' Donuts that you didn't have to feel bad about eating because it was too early to feel anything other than red eyed and too tired. They would glide through town, the businesses still closed, only the crowd of regulars at Paul's Restaurant, and then to the highway, a blazing start west to New York, through the mysteriously named Delaware Water Gap, and then beyond. No more New England, no more places you'd seen so many times. Moving, moving moving . . .

Only here she was, not moving at all. They were supposed to be in Amber by next morning, an all-day drive. Haley had made plans to meet up with Stephanie Raines at 11:00 a.m. Stop one of her field study. They had to make it.

And yet, standing there in the driveway, Haley was faced once again with the big, fat difference between getting out there in the world like she always imagined and being out on this field study, which was this: When you're thirteen, you do not get to go on a two-week road trip field study alone. You need someone to drive you around, not to mention get your hotel rooms and your food and everything else and, since Haley had no wacky jobless uncle looking for something to do, no older stepbrother home from college, nor a supercool cousin with a fresh driver's license and time on her hands, her companions in adventure had to be her mom, dad, and Liam, who didn't seem to understand that right now, they were on the clock. How could they not understand this? Each hour, each precious moment . . . There was no getting it back!

Haley marched up the flower-lined path, vaulted up the front steps, and went inside, the screen door banging behind her.

She found her father working furiously at the kitchen sink. He was wearing a baseball hat backward, a plaid short-sleeve shirt, and army green shorts. His skinny calves were pale, and he wore sport sandals, the kind that looked dorky but that Allan thought were cool because you could wear them to mow a lawn, hike a hill, and then jump in a lake, even though mostly he worked all day in an air-conditioned office in Glastonbury designing education curriculum.

“Dad,” said Haley.

Allan turned. He was up to his wrists in foamy soap. Beside him was a pile of dishes. “Almost done,” he said.

“Why are you cleaning the entire house if we're not even going to be in it?” said Haley.

“So it's clean when we get back.”

Haley hated this logic, except she had done the very same thing with her room. Spotless, everything on her desk positioned at right angles. “But we need to
go
,” she said.

“I know. So close!” Allan turned and continued scrubbing.

Haley headed upstairs. She saw a suitcase on her parents' bed, clothes splayed across its wide-open mouth. A pair of jeans fluttered through the air, landing on the pile.

“Mom,” said Haley.

“Almost ready.” Jill appeared, striding from the closet toward the bathroom. Her brown hair was tied back in a bandanna. She was in a tank top and shorts. “Just toiletries. That's it.”

“We need to go,” Haley repeated. She couldn't believe her mom wasn't ready. She'd gotten home late from the clinic where she worked, trying to get all her patient notes done, and as it was she was going to be doing more in the car. Again, hadn't Haley been up late perfecting her field study supplies and getting her notes all organized in her notebook? Yes, but still . . .

“Can you go make sure your brother is packed?” Jill called from the bathroom. There was a clinking of tumbling bottles. “I got him started but . . .”

Haley tromped down the hall. Why did she always have to help Liam? He hadn't been her idea, all those years ago. What would have been so wrong with a cat? A cat, which could have easily stayed behind for this trip.

Liam's door was shut. She popped it open, which caused an immediate squeal and a series of thumps. Haley looked around the room, a wasteland of half-finished drawings, action figure appendages, balled-up clothes. Both windows were open, but it still smelled like burned toast and kid feet, which were like adult feet but with less cheese and more citrus.

Haley spied Liam's suitcase underneath his desk. The desk chair was overturned and leaning on an open dresser drawer. A squadron of figures held their position on the bottom of the chair against all invaders. The suitcase was the cleanest thing in the room. Empty.

“Liam,” Haley groaned.

Soft footsteps. She whirled and caught Liam's arm as he attempted to smite her with a plastic pirate's sword.

“Yar!” said Liam, then, “Ow!” as Haley twisted his arm around his back.

“Pack,” she whispered in his ear, adopting a pirate's snarl, “or you'll rue the day ye crossed yer elder sister.”