Page 8 of The Night We Became Strangers

Matías

T he Crónicas building was only a block and a half from the plaza, and yet, it had never seemed so far.

I helped the pregnant woman take short steps toward Hotel Majestic. Someone in there ought to know what to do with a woman in labor—certainly better than me. I knew nothing about such bloody affairs, having neither siblings nor smaller cousins, as I was the youngest in the Montero line.

My only concern was that no one would care enough to help us.

In the massive panic we were all immersed in, people were only looking out for themselves.

It was strange what I had seen already. Either people were fleeing—in no particular direction and with no specific plan—or they had resigned themselves to their imminent death.

And the way they were dealing with their ominous fate was either by drinking their sorrows away (because, let’s face it, there was no better way to confront the end) or confessing their sins and getting a last-minute absolution from God through His representative on earth, the priest. However, if a priest was not readily available, then the affected party had to grant the needed pardon.

Why, just a few minutes ago outside the hotel, I had witnessed a husband admitting to his wife an affair with a co-worker.

“I can’t take it anymore!” my companion said, taking tiny steps and holding on to the bottom of her belly. Now that the light from the hotel illuminated her face, I could see that she was not much older than me, probably still under twenty. She was pretty, too, even with that grimace on her face.

Outside the hotel’s entrance, the radio was still on, announcing its doomsday news. Each report more dramatic and terrifying than the last. I had been gone for about three minutes. What had I missed?

“Other stations are covering the news,” a man stepping out of the hotel lobby was telling another.

Were the Martians in town already?

I glanced at the sky. Maybe I could identify some UFOs, but the only view in sight was that of the full moon above our heads.

“Look!” someone else said, pointing at bluish clouds amassing in front of the moon’s face.

“I don’t see anything!” a woman answered.

“There! It’s the Martians!”

“Is there a doctor around here?” I said, desperately. “This woman is about to have a baby!”

“I am a doctor,” another man with spectacles and a wavy comb over said. “Let’s bring her into the lobby.”

The announcer on the radio made us pause.

“Attention, please: It is now nine twenty in our nation’s capital.

The informative bulletins you’re hearing, ladies and gentlemen, are brought to you by our exclusive sponsor Naranjada, the orange beverage that can’t be beat.

We have now established a connection with our reporters in Cotocollao. Go on, fellows, we’re listening.”

“Thank you, Reinaldo. Indeed, we’re reporting from the north side of the old plaza in Cotocollao, nearby the church’s front entrance. Attention, main studio, are we on the air?”

This voice was extremely familiar.

“On the air, fellows, on the air!”

“This is Leopoldo Anzures reporting.”

Valeria’s dad.

“I’m going to try my best to describe the incredible scene I’m witnessing.

The night is clear, except for dots of stars in the sky.

At scarcely one hundred meters from where I stand lies a cylindrical vessel, half buried in a vast pit where just a few minutes ago was a park.

It has a diameter of—I don’t know—fifty meters, and the vegetation around it is scorched.

Unfortunately, it’s hard for me to make out what’s happening there as curious spectators have gathered around the cylinder. ”

“Stand back, stand back!” an authoritarian voice demanded.

“From what I can see,” Don Leopoldo continued excitedly, “the metal on the sheath looks smooth, with a dazzling sheen, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Now, ladies and gentlemen, there’s something else I haven’t mentioned, but it’s hard to ignore. Please, listen!”

“Get back! Move! Someone keep those idiots back!” the other voice said.

“Do you hear it?” Valeria’s dad continued his detailed account. “A humming sound is coming from inside the cylinder and, Virgen Santa , the hatch is opening! The Thing is unscrewing! And now something’s wriggling out like a gray snake.”

Shrieks and screams muffled Anzures’s voice.

“ ?Dios mío! The things I’m witnessing. It’s hard to describe what I’m seeing, but it’s quite a spectacle.

A huge, elongated creature is coming out of the cylinder.

It unfolds an arm—not an arm—a tentacle!

Several of them! It is, without a doubt, a Martian!

The face—I can barely look at it—it’s indescribable.

Black, gleaming eyes. A mouth in a V shape, dripping saliva.

Olive skin glistening like wet leather. It’s now emerged heavily from the cylinder, as if fighting gravity, and there’s another creature behind it—as big as a bear. ”

Another shout of terror came from the crowd.

“These creatures—these Martians—they can barely hold their own weight. They seem to have fallen back inside the pit. Meanwhile, the contour of the cylinder is glowing, expelling a luminous, greenish smoke.”

Someone near him was shouting, “ Run, run! ”

“It’s truly something out of a modern Arabian Nights , dear listeners!

A humped shape is now emerging from the pit, and oh, my Lord in Heaven, there’s some sort of a mirror or a disc spanning from it and shooting a scorching yellow beam.

Oh, no, it’s hit some kind of dwelling and as far as I can tell, the house is now gone! ”

There was a loud detonation, gun shots, and howls.

“An Army’s tank has been destroyed!” Leopoldo said. “And my legs! My legs have become paralyzed! I can’t move, but maybe it’s just my own panic. The metallic arm has turned toward me and it’s about to shoot at me. Ahhhh! What’s happening to me?”

There was silence. And then, the announcer again.

“Leopoldo, Leopoldo, can you hear me?”

The listeners around me were just as quiet as the radio signal. Even the pregnant lady and the doctor had remained still.

“Can anyone hear me?” the announcer, Reinaldo, was saying. “My God, what’s happened? Kind listeners, did you hear that? It was a cry of agony! Leonardo Anzures, our beloved colleague, appears to have perished.”

I couldn’t fathom what was happening. I knew Leonardo Anzures well.

He was the owner of the radio station, the artistic director, and a reporter in his own right.

But above all, he was a good friend of my father’s, and Valeria’s dad.

For the first time in the evening, I thought about little Valeria and what she might be going through.

Both of her parents worked at the radio station, and I had just heard her father disintegrate under some sort of lethal yellow beam. God only knew where her mother was.

How would she ever recover from this?

That is, if there’s life after tonight.

A heart-wrenching scream came from the top of the hotel and echoed all around the plaza. The shout was followed by a human body and then a thump on the curb.

I shut my eyes.

Had someone just jumped off the building?

This last action seemed to throw people over the edge. The yelling, the running, the negotiations with God returned.

“ ?Dios Santo, ayúdanos! ” someone beside me shouted.

“Hey, boy, help me bring her inside,” the doctor, snapping from his shock, told me.

The pregnant woman rested one arm on my shoulder and the other one on the doctor’s. Slowly, we guided her toward the glass double doors.

“Dear listeners,” the voice on the radio returned, more subdued than earlier, “we have been informed of serious disturbances in the streets of Quito due to this radio broadcast. We would like to announce to our citizens that there is no Martian invasion. What you’re hearing is a completely fictional radio drama by Radio La Voz.

Remain calm. This is only a radio drama. ”