Chapter Eleven
She doubted the alien told the truth about only desiring to find his brother and that he’d let her go at the end of a month.
He acted sincere, but she’d learned the hard way people weren’t what they seemed, and he was the enemy.
But while he could force her to accompany him, he couldn’t force her to betray her people.
Anybody they encountered would run like hell—she’d see to that!
She might end up dead, but she owed it to Annabelle, Mike, Bill, and Duncan.
She grieved for them even though they’d just met.
Survivor’s guilt weighed heavily on her conscience.
Because the Progg had gone after them, she’d been able to escape.
Worse, she felt responsible for their deaths.
Most likely the foursome would have died whether she was there or not, but she felt like her presence had caused them to let their guard down.
If she hadn’t been there, maybe they wouldn’t have let Caleb into the store.
Maybe Bill would have been better positioned to take the shot and would have killed the Progg. So many maybes.
Going with the alien scared her, but she didn’t have a choice, and maybe she could atone for her role in the foursome’s death.
She’d steer him away from likely hiding places and make lots of noise.
Engage him in conversation so any human in the vicinity would hear his Progg voice.
And at the first opportunity, she’d run like hell.
Surreptitiously she studied him. Like the others, he was silver all over and bald, except for a bristly, stiff mohawk.
If he hadn’t been an alien invader, she might have thought his smile was engaging, if subtly odd because of the lack of canine teeth.
He hadn’t lied about being vegan. As a veterinary assistant, she’d seen enough animal choppers to recognize herbivore teeth.
It wasn’t the alien features that disconcerted her, but the human ones—his beguiling, baby-blue eyes.
The most amusing aspect was his appetite. He ate with gusto and a grin. He sure seems to be enjoying the oatmeal.
Fresh, hot oatmeal beat stale processed potato chips, but it was still just oatmeal. He swallowed the last spoonful and eyed the empty bowl as if he might lick it but then pushed it away with a satisfied sigh. “I enjoyed that. Thank you.”
Thank you? Her jaw dropped.
“You are surprised?”
“You thanked me.”
“You provided me with a delicious meal. Isn’t it customary to express gratitude for a favor?”
“It’s customary to respond to a favor with a favor.”
“I’m not letting you go.” He caught her drift right away.
She gathered up the dirty dishes and carried them inside. After washing them, she made the bed. Probably, no one would ever sleep here again, but cleaning up seemed like the respectful, honorable thing to do. This had been someone’s home.
She secured the bedroom window then moved into the living room where the window was wide open, the screen propped against the wall. That’s how he got in. I pretty much rolled out the welcome mat.
“Why did you pick this house?” she asked.
He leaned against the doorjamb between the living room and the kitchen. “I was tired, and it was here.”
Same reasons she did. Lesson learned. Avoid the obvious.
She eyed the bicycle. Bring it or leave it? If she got a chance to flee, she could better outrun him on the bike. However, it wasn’t likely she would ride while he walked, so she’d be stuck pushing it. Leave it. If someone did happen by, they might appreciate having a bike.
They exited through the kitchen door. She locked up the house and returned the key under the flower pot. He motioned for her to go, and they tromped around the side, through the weeds toward the road.
“Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” A dog bounded out of the brush—the first and only one she’d seen since the invasion. Her entire body lit up with joy. A dog!
“Stand back!” Rok shouted and grabbed his weapon.
“No!” She knocked his arm away and jumped between him and the animal. “Don’t you dare shoot that dog.”
“It’s vicious! It’s a threat.”
“It’s starving. It’s scared.” The animal’s ribs were visible through the matted brown fur. She glowered at Rok. “Put that away!” she snapped.
Lowering her voice, she inched toward the dog with an extended hand. “It’s okay, puppy. It’s okay. I won’t let the mean alien hurt you. Come on, puppy, it’s okay.”
The dog stopped barking.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured.
He crept closer, his tail wagging a little.
“That’s a good boy. Aren’t you a good boy? Yes, you are!”
He sniffed her outstretched hand and then let her pet him. His entire rear end wiggled with his wagging tail, and tears stung her eyes. The poor dog. He’d lost his people, his family. She wondered if he’d lived in the trailer but recalled no signs of a pet. No food, no bed, no toys. No doghouse.
She knelt to cuddle him. He licked her face. A medium-sized dog, he should have weighed maybe twenty-five to thirty pounds, but she guessed he was eighteen at most. He was skin and bones and matted fur. He wore a frayed, dirty collar. She read the tag. KEVIN and a phone number.
“Is your name Kevin?”
His bark sounded like a yes.
“Are you hungry, Kevin? Let’s get you something to eat.” She stood up and walked back to the house. “Come on!”
The dog glanced at Rok then trotted after her.
She retrieved the key, and she and Kevin entered. He sat on the kitchen floor and looked up expectantly. She filled a dish with water and set it down. The dog drank thirstily, drinking half a bowlful.
“Let me see what we’ve got.” She sorted through the canned goods in the cupboard. “Beef stew! You’ll like this.”
The alien entered.
As she cut through the can and pulled off the top, Rok retched. “Pikur zok vinik okum!” He dashed outside, and she spotted him through the window puking over the patio rail.
She sniffed the stew as she emptied it into the bowl. “Smells like stew.” Actually, it smelled like dog food. “You’re going to love it.” She set the bowl on the floor, and Kevin wolfed it down in seconds. After he licked the bowl clean, she washed the dishes, and they rejoined Rok.
He slumped in a patio chair, his silvery skin having taken on a gray pallor. She felt an unexpected and unwelcome stab of concern. “Are you all right?”
“The meat you fed the animal made me sick.”
Could we have kept them out by hanging a steak over the doorway? If smelling meat made them ill, what would happen if they ingested some? Like if someone slipped them a few bacon bits. Would they die an agonizing death like a rat ingesting strychnine?
Did she have it in her to deliberately poison him?
No. No, she didn’t. I guess I lack the killer instinct.
Rok pushed himself to his feet, but he hadn’t fully regained his luminescence. “Can we leave now?”
“Kevin comes, too.” She jutted her chin out, preparing for a challenge.
“I figured as much.”