Chapter 2

The woman was the most beautiful Winston Moss had ever seen in his 37 years. Stunning brown hair tumbled down around smooth shoulders, framing a face that could grace any fashion magazine. Her breasts were full and firm, the nipples pink and erect. They swayed gently as she leaned over him, and he felt the heat building. Her hair tickled his chest as she lowered herself with a shrill ringing.

“Wha?” he mumbled as the vision evaporated. “No! Come back. Wait!”

The ringing again.

Muttering curses, Winston thrashed around in his bed, trying to untangle his covers. Freeing one arm, he smashed it down on his nightstand, fingers scrambling for the alarm button on his clock-radio. Through sleep-caked eyes, he dimly made out the readout. He thought the first number was a 5. The ringing persisted. Goddamn high technology, he groused. So many damn little buttons on these damn little radios, I can't ever find the right one. Punching madly, he was rewarded by the radio suddenly blaring to life. Someone on National Public Radio was telling him that trouble was brewing in the Mideast. This is news? he thought.

The ringing hadn't stopped. Goddamnit all to fucking hell, he thought. The phone. It had to be the phone. He reached past the clock-radio dispensing the early morning news, noting in the far recesses of his brain that now the readout was flashing 9:43, and grabbed the phone off its cradle.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Moss?”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Moss with the Weekly Planet?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The very one.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Uh, no. No. I, uh, was just getting up.”

He looked at his clock-radio. It was still flashing, but now the number read 10:06. He picked it up and shook it. The blinking stopped, but the readout read 17:92. NPR was telling him something about evidence linking the president to wealthy businesspeople.

“Uh, could you tell me what time it is?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Almost 6. You know, I can hardly hear you. What's all that noise?”

“Um, nothing. Could you hold on a moment?” He cradled the phone to his chest and turned the volume knob on the radio. It snapped off in his hand. He looked at it. Carefully, he placed it back on the nightstand. Then he picked up the radio and jerked the plug out of the wall. It was still telling him about shenanigans in the nation's capital, but now 93:17 was blinking at him. He stuffed the thing under his pillow.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Mr. Moss, this is Nell Fleck. I live out Bear Creek Road. I ... I need to talk to you. Or someone.”

Something in her tone caught his attention. He sat up straight in bed, and fumbled by the phone for the pad and pen he always kept there. He knew the woman only vaguely; she had the reputation of being an odd character. Lived out in the woods by herself in some decrepit cabin.

“What about?”

“Er, um, I'd rather not talk about it over the phone.”

“O.K. Look, I haven't had my breakfast yet. How about we meet at J.D.'s in half and hour. Can you make it by then?”

“Yes. I'll be there.”

The line went dead. He put the phone back in its cradle and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed. He looked down at his bed and saw the tail end of an electric cord protruding from his pillow like a snake. Muffled voices emanated from under the pillow. He stood up and threw the covers up over the pillow before heading toward the shower.

***

He had just started on his coffee when she came in. She was older than Winston, with a wild mop of mousy brown hair going gray. She had a broad face broken by a thin mouth and a nose slightly too large. She was wearing no makeup or jewelry, and had wrapped her large frame in some type of old Army jacket. Jeans and muddy boots completed her ensemble.

“You're Moss.” It was not a question. She sat down across from him in the booth and stared at him. He looked back and noticed that her eyes had a hooded look. She continued to stare right at him, and with relief he looked up as Doreen the waitress came up with a pot of coffee.

“You want some?” She asked. It came out “Yawant sum?”

In response, Nell took her gaze off Winston and flipped over her coffee cup.

Doreen poured. “There's cream and sugar on the table.” She turned to go.

“Honey.”

“S'cuse me?” Doreen turned back around, her eyebrows reaching up toward her blonde-out-of-the-bottle hair piled high on her head.

“Honey. I prefer honey with my coffee.”

“Sure thing ... Honey.” Doreen laughed, looking relieved.

“And some hot sauce.”

“Hot sauce?” Doreen looked confused.

“You know, like Tabasco?”

“Tabasco? You want Tabasco sauce in your coffee?”

Nell turned her head to look at the waitress. Doreen reflexively took a step back as the older woman's gaze fixed on her. “Or Texas Pete.”

“Sure thing.” Doreen left, shaking her head.

“Mr. Moss.” Nell swiveled back to face him. “I have a story for you.”

“A story?” It came out sounding lame even to Winston. He couldn't help it, though; something about this woman unnerved him. He reached in his coat pocket and withdrew his pad and pen. “What kind of a story?”

Nell licked her lips and leaned forward conspiratorially. “A big one. The biggest one your little newspaper has ever had.”

Winston began to feel a little better. He was on familiar ground now; he had heard this song and dance about the story of the century a thousand times. He said nothing but sipped his coffee.

“Mr. Moss, what would you say if I told you that we are not alone?”

Before he could stop himself, Winston swiveled his head and surveyed the diner, which was half-filled with the early-bird crowd. “We're not?”

“No.” At that moment, Doreen returned and set down a plastic bear filled with honey and a small bottle of hot sauce.

“You’uns ready to order?” she asked brightly.

Nell glared at her, and Winston hastily ordered some eggs, hash browns and a side of bacon. Diet be dammed, he thought, this was not starting out to be much of a day.

“And you, ma'am?”

“I want some pancakes with blueberries. No syrup.”

“Yes ma'am, blueberry pancakes. You sure you don't want any syrup? We got maple or ...”

“No, I don't want blueberry pancakes. I want pancakes with blueberries. On the side.”

Doreen bit her lip. “I'm not sure we can do that, ma'am.”

“What do you mean you can't do that? If you can put blueberries in the pancakes before you cook them, you can leave them out until the pancakes are done and then put them on the plate.”

Doreen pondered this. “I'm not sure J.D. can do that. It's not on the menu, you know.” She looked triumphant.

“Look. You tell the cook to make me some blueberry pancakes. But when he gets ready to add the blueberries, tell him to hold the damn things in his hand until the pancakes are done. Then he can add them.”

Doreen looked troubled. “Well, I’ll tell him,” she said, although it came out “Whale, aw'll tale him.” “But he probably ain't goin' to like it none.” She disappeared through a door to the kitchen.

“As I was saying, Mr. Moss, I have learned we are not alone.” Winston watched in fascination as she shook the hot sauce into her coffee. She then squirted some honey from the plastic bear onto her index finger, gulped some coffee, and sucked the honey off her finger.

“Ah, well, doesn't that go without saying, Ms. ah,” he looked down at his note pad, “Fleck?”

“I'm not talking about these kind of nitwit people,” she hissed, throwing out one arm to take in the other diners. “I'm talking about up there.” She waved toward the ceiling.

Winston felt he was on thin ice, but he plunged ahead anyway. “You mean on the roof?”

Nell looked at him like he was a worm who had crawled up on the table. “No, you idiot, I mean from beyond. Out there.” She waved her arm around again.

Winston leaned over and looked up out the plate glass window that fronted J.D.'s. All he saw was a lightening sky framed against the green mountains, a few clouds scuttling away to the east. He looked back at Nell, who was gingerly rubbing a spot on her head.

“You mean...”

She nodded. “From out there.”

Winston sighed. What a lousy fucking day this was going to be. Christ, why hadn't he met this woman at his office? Much easier to kiss her off there. Now he was committed to at least consuming breakfast with this nut case.

“You're talking about creatures from outer space?” he asked, careful to keep his voice down. No sense in everyone in town knowing how nutty this woman was, or letting any of that screwiness rub off on him by association. He watched as she repeated her coffee-and-honey ritual.

“I'm not sure where they're from,” she said, licking honey off her lips. “But I know where they've been.” She leaned forward again. “I've seen them. They landed at my place yesterday evening.” She leaned back as Doreen reappeared with plates clutched in her arms.

“Here you'uns go. Your eggs, and here's your pancakes ma'am. With your blueberries on the side. J.D. says to tell you that next time, you need to order the fruit plate with a side of pancakes.” She stalked off back to the kitchen.

Nell mashed the berries into a paste and spread them on her pancakes. “Mr. Moss, what I'm telling you is that a spaceship landed in front of my cabin last night, and two alien creatures got out. It was one of those close encounter things.”

“What did they do?” Winston asked around a mouthful of eggs.

Nell sat back and ate some pancakes. She looked out the window. “Well, now, I'm not exactly positive.” It was the first time Winston had noticed her looking at all abashed.

“You're not sure what they did, but you say you saw them. I'm not sure I understand.” Winston attacked his hash browns with gusto.

“Well, you see, it was dark. And there were a lot of lights. And I couldn't see too well. And I think they zapped me.”

Winston stopped chewing. “They zapped you? You mean with a ray gun?”

“Something like that. I'm not sure. It's all kind of fuzzy.”

Winston picked at his eggs. “Ms., ah, Fleck, you have to realize that a story like this, well, I'm not sure how this would look in print. I'm not sure people would, well, believe you.”

“But they must. You have to convince them. We have to warn people.”

“Warn them?”

“Yes. Clearly, these are not some young aliens out joyriding and having a little fun with the locals. Don't you see? It's got to be a scouting mission. There's got to be more of them.” She looked at him solemnly. “An invasion.”

Winston stuffed the last piece of bacon in his mouth and washed it down with some coffee. “Look, Ms. Fleck, this is all fine and good, but you know, I can't print a story like that without some proof. You just can't go around alarming people unnecessarily. We in the print media have a responsibility to the public, and that responsibility includes printing only the facts, the unvarnished truth, in an objective manner. Unfounded supposition and sensationalized fiction have no place in serious journalism.” It sounded pretty self-righteous even to Winston, but it was his pat speech in cases like this and was a high-sounding way of blowing people off.

She stared straight at him, and he felt uncomfortable again. “I have proof.”

“Oh?” he stammered.

“Yes.” She swigged the last of her coffee and squirted honey into her mouth directly from the plastic bear. “But you'll have to come out to my place to see it.”

Fuck, thought Winston. This was going to be a really rotten day.