Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat
Maybe I don’t care.
Diesel and ozone float across the yard, rain whispered through the dampening breeze.
“Better trick-or-treat while they can,” I say, nodding toward the kids gobbling candy. “Gonna rain tonight.”
The zombie lifts his head, surveys the dark, swirling atmosphere. “Sure looks like it.”
“Even the sky’s getting in on the holiday,” I say. He shrugs, eyes me like he doesn’t know what to say.
Typical.
Don’t know how the inhabitants of this place can’t read its moods, hear the whispers sizzling deep through the mineral veins of this planet. The hum. Drove me crazy when we first arrived. Like the worst case of tinnitus a body could get. Never got better. I got used to it.
“What the?” the guy says, fingers brushing over metal so thin it resembles fabric.
I snatch it, throw it into the pit below. “Memento from Roswell,” I say with a wink.
He chuckles. “Good one. Name’s Steve, by the way.”
“Everett,” I say, gripping his hand firmly. Learned a long time ago the key to blending in with the Terrestrials is knowing how to shake. Firm enough to garner respect, not so hard their hands turn to rubber.
“Seen you here before.”
I nod, wipe my hand over my forehead as I throw in the last pile of robot pieces. “Yep, live up near the Starborn Range.”
“Oh,” his eyebrows lift. “Is it as spooky as they say?”
I shrug. “Worse.” And if he knew how true that was, he’d stop smiling.
“Say, did you hear about those strange lights last night? Some folks got photos, videos, even. Weird pulses, humming, movement across the north pasture above Thunderhawk Ranch.”
I square my hips toward him, pretend I’m interested in what he’s saying. Should’ve decommissioned those bots a long time ago. Even though it goes against our commander’s orders. More trouble than they’re worth.
And all to keep a few hybrid aliens from fucking human gals. Got far better things to do with my time.
“Dunno,” I lie. “Slept like a baby last night.”
Steve looks disappointed, zombie makeup creasing. “What do you think, Ev? Do aliens exist?“
I whistle low and long. “Everett. Don’t do nicknames.”
He blinks for a moment, face suspended.
I rub the back of my neck. “And as for extraterrestrials? Wouldn’t believe it even if you saw one. How all … humans are.”I catch myself in the last sentence, remove the “you,” so I don’t come across as too disparaging.
To prove my point, I let the frequency slip. Light ripples under my skin, refracting through rain-damp air, a confession I can’t unsay fast enough. His breath stalls. Then, I shutter the shimmer closed again.
“That’s some costume,” he parrots the clown.
I nod, hand him a wad of green, and climb back into my truck. I park along the outskirts of the yard, pouring steaming black from a thermos. Coffee. Best invention in this solar system.
I take a swig of the hot liquid, almost too hot to drink. My mind festers with what I’ve done. How I’ve buried the tracks by erasing the last witnesses to my disobedience.
But it’s about more than that. Breaking chains that have bound us for centuries. The same way of thinking that caused the Great Rift between Sentinels and Wildbloods. Never thought I’d feel this, but honestly, I wish I’d chosen a different side all those years ago.
Free but hollow. That’s the crux.
The Starborn Range has been eerily quiet all morning. Like the disturbance from last night didn’t bother them at all.