The Road to Roswell, page 6
His phone rang. And rang. He’s already in the air, Francie thought. And even if he answered, this was pointless. It wasn’t as if this was The X-Files. The FBI wouldn’t believe her any more than the police had. And Serena had said he didn’t believe in aliens.
It doesn’t matter, she thought. When he gets here and finds out from Serena that I’m missing, he’ll realize something happened and that he needs to call the authorities. And his being with the FBI means he’s in a perfect position to institute a search.
If Serena knew she was missing. What if she was still out at the so-called landing site with Russell?
But surely by the time he arrived, Serena would’ve come back. And she didn’t have anyone else to call. If he didn’t answer…
“Hello,” a businesslike male voice said.
Oh, thank goodness, Francie thought. “Hello! This is—”
“You have reached the phone of Henry Hastings. Please leave a message.”
Leave a message, she thought bitterly. By the time you get this it’ll be too late. I’ll have been probed and mutilated or dragged off to another planet.
But she had to try. And please don’t let his mailbox be full, she thought and, as soon as the beep came, launched into her story.
“This is Francie Driscoll. I’m a friend of Serena’s. I came out to Roswell for her wedding, and I’ve been kidnapped by a space alien. I know it sounds completely insane, but he grabbed me when I went to get something from Serena’s car and forced me into the car and made me drive him out to the middle of the desert,” she whispered, speaking quickly to get it all in before the message cut off.
“The car’s a black Navigator, license plate”—she crept around to the back of the car to peer at it—“New Mexico CJE-500. We’re north of—”
A tentacle came flashing out of nowhere with blinding speed to encircle her wrist, another to wrap itself around her waist, and a third to grasp the phone.
“Don’t—” she said, but the alien had already sent it spinning far out into the darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Well, it looks like you’ve got another passenger.”
—The Ringo Kid, Stagecoach
And this is the part where the kidnapper kills you in a rage, Francie thought, watching her phone—and her last hope of rescue—spiraling out into the darkness where she would never be able to find it. She braced herself for what was coming.
But all that happened was that the alien grabbed her and bundled her into the car, just like last time. Only this time he tied her to the driver’s seat, not the steering wheel, and his tentacles flattened out into bandages, wrapping her up like a prisoner bound to a chair.
The passenger-side door was still ajar, with the part of the tentacle that wasn’t wrapped around her body trailing out of the car, onto the ground, and over to the alien, who was sitting serenely in the same place he’d been before, as if he hadn’t moved at all.
She tried to see if she could wriggle out of the bandages, but they immediately tightened. She wasn’t going anywhere.
And nobody was coming to rescue her. I should have started by telling the FBI guy where I am, she thought ruefully. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t have believed her any more than the dispatcher or Graham. And Serena didn’t even know she was missing, and even if she did get back from trying to find the UFO crash site and found Francie gone and called the police, it took at least twenty-four hours for a person to be considered missing. By then, the alien would have…
Would have what? If he intended to kill her, he’d had plenty of opportunities already. Unless he was waiting till his superiors got here. Was that what he was doing sitting out there? Waiting for his boss to arrive with the mother ship?
The night wore on. She thought for a while about what she should have done and then about how she’d failed Serena. Not only was she not there to help Serena talk herself out of marrying Russell but if she did manage to get away, how could she tell Serena that his belief in aliens was crazy? I don’t exactly have a leg to stand on in that department. And the wedding’s in three days.
But Serena’d said she wouldn’t consider getting married without Francie there. Let’s hope she meant that, and that she’ll insist on the police coming and rescuing me.
And what if that’s what we’re doing here? she thought suddenly. What if he crashed his flying saucer and now he’s waiting for rescue?
She looked up at the sky, scanning it for moving lights, but there was nothing, and the alien was still sitting there motionless. Maybe he’s fallen asleep, she thought and moved her hand.
The tentacle tightened instantly. So, no, still awake. Or maybe the tentacles tightened automatically, in which case she’d really better not try to free herself or she’d end up squeezed to death, like by a boa constrictor.
Or freezing to death. Desert nights, even in July, got really chilly, and the air from the partly open passenger door was cold. But the bandages wrapped around her were just like a blanket. She felt warm and drowsy.
That’s just what he wants, she thought. He’s waiting for you to go to sleep so he can probe you or impregnate you or whatever it is they do.
But that was plainly ridiculous. He could have done anything to her at any time, yet all he’d done was make her drive him here—and take away her phone. And so long as she didn’t try to free herself from her bonds, it looked like he wasn’t going to do anything in the near future, so she might as well try to sleep, at least till the mother ship arrived.
She must have succeeded because when she opened her eyes, it was morning. The desert was a pale brownish-purple in the early light and flat as far as the eye could see, with no ranch or fence in sight. And no signs of life anywhere.
Except for the alien, who still sat in the exact same place. Whoever he’s waiting for hasn’t come, she thought. But then again, neither had the police. Or the FBI.
So now what? she wondered. Are we going to sit here all day? She hoped not. She was hungry and cramped and had to go to the bathroom—and she couldn’t even stretch, tied up like this.
Moments later, the tentacles loosened from around her and retracted, and the alien began rolling back toward the car. Francie leaned forward to look up at the sky, afraid she’d see a ship hovering above them, but she couldn’t see anything but a line of feathery golden clouds off to the northwest.
The alien must have spotted something, though, or else gotten his bearings now that it was light, because he heaved himself into the passenger seat, used a tentacle to slam the door shut, and pointed peremptorily through the windshield.
“And good morning to you, too,” Francie said.
He jabbed at the windshield again.
“I can’t go anywhere without the keys,” she said, pointing at the ignition, and in one of those quicker-than-the-eye-can-see movements, he produced them from somewhere, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it. The engine started.
“Where to?” she asked.
He pointed out her window and then out the back.
“You want me to turn around?” she said, and when he repeated the pointings, she managed—in spite of some sagebrush and a couple of yucca plants—to get the SUV pointed back the way they’d come.
“Now where?” she said, hoping he’d take her back to the road they’d come on, and he did, directing her to where the ruts had ended and from there to the dirt road and back along it, past the windmill and the water tank, now surrounded with cattle, to the highway.
Francie started to turn south and was instantly stopped by a tentacle around her hand and the steering wheel and determined motions from a second tentacle pointing north.
“If you’re looking for your spaceship, it’s not that way,” Francie said. “It’s the other way.” She pointed south. “My friends saw where it landed west of Roswell. I can show you.”
The alien continued to point north and to tug at the steering wheel.
“I can’t go north,” she said, trying again. “I have to go back to Roswell. My friends will be worried about me,” and when that had no effect, “You don’t understand. I have to go to a wedding. Serena’s counting on me. It’s my duty.”
That didn’t work, either. His grip continued to tighten until she turned north, and he kept her tethered as she drove, in case she suddenly tried to make a U-turn.
“Where are you taking me now?” she said, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, and she didn’t. “Wherever we’re going, it had better not be very far. We’re going to run out of gas soon.”
That was a lie. The gas gauge said they still had three-eighths of a tank, but hopefully he wouldn’t know that. “And I’m going to need a bathroom. And food. If I don’t have food, I won’t be able to drive you.”
No response, but hopefully she would be rescued soon, now that they were back on an actual road. Even if the FBI guy hadn’t gotten her message, Serena would have reported her disappearance to the Roswell police, and they’d have put out an APB. Unless the aliens had launched a full-scale invasion last night, and there wasn’t anyone left to rescue her.
But if that were the case, there’d have been Air Force jets racing overhead, plumes of smoke on the horizon, and the distant sound of explosions, wouldn’t there?
Instead, the morning was soundless and clear, the sky a bright, non-smoky blue except for the puffy golden clouds she’d seen at dawn, now white on the northwestern horizon.
There weren’t any signs of a town, either, though they had to come to one eventually, or to a roadside gas station or something. And when we do, she thought, I’ll plow into the building, and while he’s trying to get free of the airbag, I’ll run inside and tell them to call 911.
But there was no town, no gas station, not even a dirt road leading off into the desert. They passed a sign with a picture of an airplane on it and the words This Area Patrolled by Aircraft, but there was no sign of a plane, either, though once she thought she heard a helicopter. She leaned forward, peering out the windshield, but she couldn’t see anything.
Where was everybody? This part of the country was deserted, but there should be some cars on it. Or at least a flagman and a crew working on the highway. There was always road construction this time of year. You couldn’t go ten miles without running into construction. She should have come across some by now. Unless every single person in New Mexico had been grabbed getting into their cars, forced to drive to the aliens’ flying saucer, and been spirited off to their home planet—and for some reason her alien had forgotten where they’d parked.
No, that couldn’t be it, because he clearly knew where he was going. They’d passed several possible roads to turn off onto, but he’d ignored them all and pointed steadily at the empty road ahead.
No, not quite empty. There was a guy up ahead by the side of the road. He was wearing jeans and a blue denim shirt and had a khaki duffel bag on the ground beside him. Oh, thank God, she thought. There’s someone left who hasn’t been abducted.
But he would be if she stopped. The alien would grab him just like he’d grabbed her, and then they’d both be hostages. And it wasn’t like he’d be able to rescue her. He was all alone out here, in the middle of nowhere, with no vehicle in sight. A hitchhiker. He’d scrambled to his feet as soon as he saw her car, grabbed up the duffel bag, and put his hand out in the traditional gesture of thumbing a ride.
You don’t want this ride. You really, really don’t, she thought, glancing at the alien to see if he’d spotted the hitchhiker yet.
And how exactly would she know? It wasn’t as if the alien had facial expressions. Or a face, for that matter. But his tentacle on the dashboard had given no indication he knew the guy was there. It was still pointing straight ahead.
Good, then she had a chance of driving right past the guy. She put her foot down hard on the gas pedal.
The guy was stepping out into the road. She glanced at the alien again, and when she glanced back at the scene ahead, saw that the guy was waving his arms wildly, flagging her down.
“Get out of the way!” she shouted. “Move!” But he was standing his ground.
There was no time to swerve. She jammed on the brakes, tumbling the alien onto the floor, and the car lurched to a stop so close to the guy she thought she’d hit him after all.
But he was grinning. He bent down to pick up his duffel bag, and Francie glanced anxiously down at the alien on the floor of the passenger seat. He wasn’t moving. Had she knocked him out? Or accidentally killed him?
The guy was walking toward the car. She fumbled for the button to roll up the windows, but she wasn’t fast enough. He was already leaning in at the open passenger-side window.
“Thanks,” he said. “I thought for a minute you weren’t going to stop. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t. I was starting to attract buzzards.” He grinned again, and she saw that he wasn’t any older than she was. He had a thatch of straw-colored hair and a sunburned nose.
“I really appreciate this,” he said. “My name’s Wade, by the way. Wade Pierce.” He reached for the door handle. “I was on my way to—”
“No! Don’t—” She lunged across to lock the door, dropping her voice to a whisper to keep the alien from hearing. “I can’t give you a ride. I’m sorry, you’ll have to hitch a ride with somebody else.”
“Somebody else? What do you mean, somebody else? There hasn’t been a car past here all morning!”
She reached to put the car in gear.
“Do you know how hot it is out here?” he said, gripping the window frame. “I’ll be dead from thirst before anybody else comes along! I wasn’t kidding about those buzzards—”
The car wouldn’t start. She must have killed the engine when she jammed on the brake.
“Look,” he said, leaning in the car window, “if you’re afraid I’m an escaped criminal or a serial killer or something, I’m not.”
She turned the key, but the motor just turned over uselessly. Come on, start, she thought desperately, and tried again.
“And if you’re worried about me making a pass at you, I won’t, I promise.” He let go of the window frame and held his hands up in a “hands off” gesture. “Just give me a ride to the next town.”
“I can’t,” she said helplessly, and tried to start the car again.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t know why you don’t want to give me a ride, but if you’re engaged in something nefarious, like bringing in illegal immigrants from Mexico or something, I promise I won’t tell.”
Illegal immigrants, she thought wryly and glanced down at the still-motionless alien.
Mistake. In the split second of her looking down, Wade had reached in, unlocked the door, and started to open it.
“No!” she said, diving over to hold it shut against him. “Get away from the car! There’s an alien in here. He’ll—”
But he wasn’t listening. He’d gotten the door open and was leaning in to put his duffel bag on the floor. On top of the alien.
“Stop! Don’t! Run!” she cried, and several things happened at once. His duffel went flying into the back seat; Wade said, “What the—?” as he was yanked into the passenger seat; the door slammed shut; her foot involuntarily slammed down hard on the gas pedal; and the Navigator shot forward at eighty miles an hour.
For a couple of minutes it was all she could do to keep the car from going off the road, and when she was finally able to spare a glance for Wade, he was bound to the passenger seat like a spider’s prey and shouting ineffectually because of the flattened-out tentacle across his mouth.
“I’m sorry, I tried to warn you,” she said. “Don’t try to get free. Or to run away. He’s too fast.”
He certainly was. This time she’d had a front-row seat (literally) to just how blindingly fast the alien could move. His tentacles had flashed out with the speed and snap of a whip, not only stuffing Wade into the car and tying him to the seat but rolling up the windows, starting the car, and pressing down on her gas pedal foot.
The seatbelt warning was beeping loudly, though the alien seemed to have adjusted somewhat to the sound; otherwise he’d probably have wrecked the car. But he was still disturbed by it, and as soon as Francie’d gotten the car slowed down to a reasonable speed and back in its own lane (though there still wasn’t another car in sight), she glanced over at Wade to see if she could reach across him and fasten his seatbelt so the noise would stop, but the alien had bound him firmly to the back of the seat, using so many flattened tentacles that she couldn’t even see the seatbelt slot. She’d just have to hope it was the kind of warning that shut itself off on its own eventually.
It wasn’t. “That’s the seatbelt warning,” she said to the alien, even though there was no way he’d understand. “It’s making that sound because Wade doesn’t have his seatbelt on. You need to untie him so he can fasten it. And, Wade, stop trying to talk. He’ll take your gag off if you shut up. Or at least that’s what he did with me.”
Wade nodded and went silent.
“Let him go,” she said to the alien. “He won’t try to get away,” and after a minute the alien withdrew his tentacle.
“Like hell I won’t try to get away,” Wade muttered the moment the gag was off, and he turned on Francie. “Why didn’t you warn me you had an alien in the car?”
“I did. You wouldn’t listen!”
“You said you had an alien in the car, not an alien! Why didn’t you shout ‘Alien abduction!’ or ‘Martians!’ or better yet, just drive on past?”
“Because you stepped in front of the car!” she said hotly. “What did you want me to do, run over you?”
