Page 15 of Exiles on Earth
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. “Aliens. Crash landed into the barn. It’s a mess, and I need help deciding what to do.”
Floss wags her tail into the silence. Laura’s perfectly manicured eyebrows twitch together, and she glances at Nicole and Arabella.
Nicole just stares, but Arabella comes forward, arms wide. “Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “It’s been really hard recently, hasn’t it?”
“No, you don’t get it–”
“I knew you were under stress, but I was hoping our Friday nights were helping you manage it,” Nicole says, chewing her lip.
“I’ve got the number of the best therapist, he’s amazing.” Laura pulls out her phone. “Look, I’ll even pay for your first ten sessions.”
“No!” I lunge for Laura’s phone, but she dances out of reach. Despite her heels, she’s nimble.
I clench my fists. “Just come and see. This is real, I’m not bonkers.”
Something in my tone makes them all look at me slightly differently, the way they do when I describe my business dreams for the farm. That thing, the way I have of outlining my vision that inspires them.
Nicole nods. “Alright,” she says. “But why’d you call us?”
“Who else would I call when I need help deciding what to do? Besides, you can be some kind of medical assurance that they aren’t human.” I smile weakly at her.
Nicole frowns. She’s hard to ruffle as well, no-nonsense and gruff-spoken. “I do animals. I’m not trained for humans, or aliens.”
“Close enough.” I point to Laura and Arabella . “You two can be witnesses.”
Laura taps a finger to her full red lips. “Alright. Lead on, then.”
My shoulders loosen just a fraction. They’re not fully convinced yet, but they can tell I believe it. If this is some elaborate prank, my friends will see through it; and if I’ve been fooled, they’ll help me pick up the pieces, although they might never let me live it down.
As we crest the brow of the track, the barn comes into view, and their sharp gasps cut through the quiet. My lips stay pressed shut, the numbness spreading. It’s like I’m staring at someone else’s tragedy, not mine. But no, there’s the outline of the lintel, the shattered oak beams, and the piles of crushed tiles scattered in an unsolvable, madman’s jigsaw.
Their horror gives me a strange kind of relief. It means they can see it too. But that also means it’s real. This is actually happening.
From the wreckage, an orange fuselage juts out at an odd angle, intact from this view. There’s no pointy tip, no visible engines, nothing like the rockets I imagined. A strange, alien machine embedded in the ruins of my family’s legacy.
“What the fuck,” Arabella breathes softly. She raises her camera, surprisingly steadily, and clicks a few snaps. “What the fuuuuck.”
“Quite,” Laura says, white-faced. “Okay. Aliens.”
Nicole chips in with a hoarse voice, “Or at least a horrible accident with some kind of… space or military tech. Were there any animals in there?”
“Fortunately not, I put all the pregnant ewes in the field.” In this moment, feeling snaps back. This isn’t a dream, or rather a nightmare. My barn has indeed been reduced to rubble. Seeingthe scattered pieces again stokes up anger like a poker pressed to a fresh wound, searing pain shooting through me.
Floss whines, wagging her tail once.
Keep going.
Arabella takes my arm. “Oh my God.”
At least my friends are right beside me. “That’s not even half of it.” I point to a flicker of movement.
The big guy has come around the front. His scales flash blue-green to purple, burnished in the early evening light. Streaks of red pulse from his chest, branching like lightning down his arms. Without hesitation, he grips the side of the spacecraft thing, muscles coiling as he plants his feet.
“Dram, flag, ben!” His shout cuts through the air, deep and commanding, before he leans in, his entire body taut with strain.
The rocket groans, vibrating as it begins to move upward. Red sparks ripple across the alien’s back and shoulders, intensifying with each labored breath. His grunt carries up the track as he presses harder, legs braced, power surging through every sinew. The wreckage starts to rise, stones tumbling free in a cascade of dust and rubble.
On the other side of the spacecraft, two others struggle to lift the other end of the ship alongside him. One is stocky and purple, the other a wiry figure with light blue skin and a glinting silver arm. Their faces are masks of pain, their limbs shaking as they pour every ounce of strength into the effort.
