Last Contact Read online

  Last Contact

  (Out of Time Book 2)

  Geoff North

  Copyright © 2019 Geoff North

  www.geoffnorth.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Books by Geoff North

  Live Again - Out of Time Book 1

  Ambition – The Long Haul Book 1

  Retribution – The Long Haul Book 2

  Twisted Tales

  www.geoffnorth.com

  Chapter 1

  A letter written by Allan Bagara

  May 17, 2020

  I wasn’t born a monster. That came later, when the thing got inside my head and started to twist. I used to be normal. I cared for people and I had friends. The more it took over, the more twisted I became. What you’re about to read will sicken you. You will say I was a monster and that I deserved to die. But read on before you judge too quickly. Try and understand that I was as much a victim as anyone else. I didn’t ask for this.

  I should’ve written earlier, before things got really messed up. Maybe then I could’ve read the words back and seen what I was becoming. Better yet, I could’ve blown my brains out before things got too out of hand. But I was too much of a coward. It would’ve found someone else. Besides, once you got a smell of the thing, it was in your head for good. And nobody could get it out. You wouldn’t want it to. At least not in the beginning.

  That smell was awful. The only way to describe it was like cat piss and black pepper. Have you ever stuck your face into a bag of extra-salty, extra-vinegary potato chips and inhaled deeply? You know that feeling when your chest forces your throat to lock up from the sharp fumes? You try it, you cough and laugh, then you finish your chips and forget about it. But this smell stayed with me—it stayed with all four of us, I’m sure—for seven years, three months, and a handful of days. It was like a big old bag of extra-pissy, extra-peppery chips that just kept on giving.

  Abraham Feerce found it first.

  Abe was my best friend back in 2009. We were hanging out at his parents’ farm one afternoon that summer, two seventeen-year old kids listening to Eminem and the Black Eyed Peas in the backyard, drinking beers from the fridge in his dad’s workshop. We were kicking a rubber soccer ball back and forth between sips.

  Abe’s twin sister Sheila heard it first.

  She paused the music halfway through I Gotta Feelin’ and told us to listen. There were a lot of pretty girls in Birdtail High but none of them came close to Sheila. I hung out with Abe a lot those days. He wasn’t the brightest kid, but you didn’t’ have to be a rocket scientist to figure out why I was there all the time. He didn’t accuse me of anything or treat me any differently. They weren’t identical twins—that would’ve been a bit weird, I guess. All they had in common was the black hair and fair skin.

  Sheila’s friend, Rebecca Turnbull was with us that day. Sheila called her Becky but me and Abe called her Tubby Turnbull behind her back because she was kind of on the chunky side. He would never admit it, but I think Abe had a thing for her. Tubby may have been bigger than Sheila but she was just as pretty.

  Becky said it sounded like something buzzing.

  Abe went up the steps of the porch where the girls were to unpause the music and told them it was probably a hornets’ nest.

  Sheila insisted we find it.

  I followed her into the woods south of the farmhouse. And why wouldn’t I? She was all jiggle and wiggle. Abe trailed after Becky, bouncing his cheap rubber soccer ball where he could.

  The buzzing got louder—like a hum—and it became a lot more intense. It hurt our teeth and gave us all gut aches. We should’ve stopped right then and there. We should’ve turned around, went back to the yard, finished that case of beer and got good and drunk instead. Maybe things would’ve turned out normal for me and Sheila. Maybe our relationship wouldn’t have got so sick. But we kept going, deeper into the brush, further and forever away from carefree summer afternoons, sipping beers and staring at your best friend’s sister’s tits.

  Abe made a choking sound when we came across it.

  I tore my eyes from Sheila and got my first look.

  It was the size and shape of a kitchen stove. That’s where all similarities with anything made on Earth ended. It was grey and streaked with dull swirls of purple. The color moved, like smoke trapped on the surface, clinging and creeping. It was disorienting to look at for too long and I wanted to shut my eyes—like you want to when looking down from high up. That square cube thing just sat there, one corner stuck in the ground on a weird angle, an opposite upper corner snagged on the branch of a poplar tree.

  The buzzing got worse. I wanted to pull my teeth out and drive something sharp into my ears to make the itch stop. That’s how bad it was. A dark opening appeared and a little figure started to slip out.

  What’s first contact really like?

  Sheila puked on my runners. I felt urine run down my leg. Becky started crying, and I think Abe shit himself. Or maybe that was me. I can’t remember that part so well.

  Its head reminded me of the welder’s helmet my Dad used to wear. I hadn’t seen it in years—not since he became a loser drunk and quit working—but that’s what this thing’s head was like. All grey, no mouth, no nose. There was a four-inch horizontal slit where its eyes should’ve been. We knew it could see us through that black line. It could see us. It could smell us. It could hear us. I wanted to giggle because I suddenly pictured one of those parking passes sliding out of the narrow space—or a bank card going in. Funny what your brain sees when you’re too terrified to move.

  Its head vibrated, a fast shaking—like it was cold, or scared. Or like it wasn’t quite all there, if that makes any sense. Picture a guitar string settling after being plucked too hard. That’s what it was like. The sound it made too. That low hum. That buzzzzzz. Its arms came out next. One three-fingered hand clung to the opening, the other stuck to an oozing wound on its narrow chest. But they weren’t fingers, not really. They looked more like swollen worms without joints or knuckles. They were greasy wet and slithering, with little black receptor-things growing out of the tips. It made me think of those big rubber mats you see in store doorways, the ones with thousands of tiny grip catchers formed to the surface. These ones moved though. They crept along the thing’s wounded flesh and stuck to the surface of its strange craft like insect legs caught to fly paper. Its body continued to vibrate and hum the entire time. It made it hard to focus in on the thing. I know that’s what caused the buzzing sound in our heads and the aches in our guts.

  This yellow stuff started to leak out between the fingers on its chest and that’s when we smelled the cat piss-black pepper stink. It dripped down and beaded off the surface of the cube. Me and Abe puked next. Sheila and Becky were smart—they held their breath after that first sniff and pinched their nostrils shut. The thing’s blood—gut juice, puss, whatever the hell it was—hit the ground and started to spit and smolder. Sounded like bacon sizzling in a pan, popping and smoking. The grass all around started to turn white.

  Abe wasn’t the brightest kid—I think I mentioned that earlier. He acted on dumb, ignorant instinct. But that ignorance may have saved our lives that day. It may have saved everyone. He threw the soccer ball at the thing’s head. Its arms flailed defensively in the air. The ball struck the chest wound and stayed. There was a sucking sound as torn grey skin melded to the ball’s rubber surface. It was one of the grossest things I ever saw.

  With the ball held against its chest, the thing waved us away with its free hand… and then it spoke.

  Seriously, children… you
don’t want this ball back.

  It had no mouth to speak with but that’s what we heard the thing say in our heads, I swear. And judging from the ten-foot wide circle of white dead ground caused from a drop or two of its insides, we didn’t argue.

  Becky’s hand reached for the cube, as if her fingers were drawn to the streak of alien goo. What the hell was she thinking? She touched it and moaned. Abe grabbed her arm and pulled. It looked as if he’d touched an electrified fence. He stepped away from her and the two just stared at each other for a few seconds. I’ll never forget that look between them—like they’d been let in on a little secret.

  Abe started running. He ran right out of the forest and into a crop of wheat. Smart move for a kid that may or may not have shit his pants and couldn’t hit an alien in the head with a soccer ball from a dozen feet away. Becky took after him a few moments later.

  We should’ve done the same. I felt for Sheila’s hand instead without looking. Her fingers were cold and sweaty. The little creature talked in our heads again.

  It’s hopeless kids. Once the seal breaks, you’re all… fucked.

  The words buzzed and itched in our brains like mosquito bites you couldn’t scratch. It was real bad when that thing spoke to us, and it said a whole lot more over the years. Horrible things that change the way a kid thinks and grows. Abe and Becky were lucky to run when they did. Well, at least we thought so back then. We haven’t seen them since, but have a pretty good idea where they ended up. And I thought we had it bad.

  Seems like such a long time ago. Sheila and I are living in the Feerce farmhouse now. Her family is gone. Mine’s all dead. The thing is still out in the woods holding that cheap soccer ball against its chest. I’ve done things I should be ashamed of. But I’m not. I don’t know what shame is anymore. I don’t have a shred of decency in me.

  It’s raining hard outside. Lots of thunder and lightning. That used to scare me when I was a little kid. I always thought the Boogey Man was waiting out there when it rained this hard. He would make the lightning flash and the thunder boom just to frighten me. I like the rain these days. The noise too. Where’s the Bogey Man now? Where is he in all this grey? Maybe he’s planning some bad shit. Just like I’m doing.

  I’ve talked to a lot of people. I’ve made them do things they didn’t want to do. Now I’m heading out to talk to one more.

  And when I do, things will change. Something bad will happen.

  Something really bad.

  Here’s what it is.

  Chapter 2

  August 22, 2009 — in the woods a quarter mile south of the Feerce farmhouse

  Allan found Sheila’s hand without looking. Her fingers were cold and sweaty.

  It’s hopeless, kids. Once the seal breaks, you’re all… fucked.

  Something pulled on Allan’s arm. He looked to his side and saw Sheila tugging at his hand. “Don’t just stand there—we have to get out of here.”

  She seemed to be yelling but Allan’s brain was too foggy and buzzed. His legs and feet were numb and the rest of his body was catching up fast. He turned back to the grey being and waited for it to talk inside their heads again.

  She wants to leave but we want you both to stay. There’s so much you need to learn. You have much to absorb.

  Allan had no idea what the thing was going on about. The grey cube the alien was hanging out of was too small to accommodate a second astronaut. Sheila was still tugging at his hand. He looked to her and saw she was no longer trying to flee. She was frozen to the spot—as Allan was—but her entire body seemed to be convulsing, jerking involuntarily.

  “Are you okay?” He asked. His voice sounded strange to him, as if he hadn’t used it for weeks. The thing didn’t appreciate Allan’s wandering attention. There was a stab in the center of his brain, that smell of piss and pepper assailed his senses like a punch at the base of his throat.

  Listen to us!

  Allan was listening again. Sheila was still twitching slightly but her eyes were drawn back to the grey thing and that slit in the center of its featureless face.

  The two of you will remain near at all times to ensure our safety.

  Allan forced himself to speak again. “How long?”

  Until help arrives. Later today. Tomorrow. A year from now, or a lifetime.

  Sheila had begun to sob. “Please let us go. We won’t tell anybody.”

  We never said you couldn’t leave.

  Allan’s toes began to tingle. He could feel it spread through his feet and up into his legs. He took a step back—like moving through molasses up to his knees—and Sheila followed. Her shoe caught in a tree root sticking up out of the dead white grass. She stumbled and Allan caught her before her knees could make contact with the dead earth. They ran without looking back. The thing spoke in their heads when they were halfway back to the house.

  Not a word to anyone, children… Not a single word.

  Allan didn’t speak until they were back on the front porch. “How long can it go on like that?” Sheila was still in shock, Allan asked again. “How long can that thing live out in the woods with a fricking hole in its chest like that?”

  “Where’s my brother? Where’s… Becky?”

  Allan was puzzled. All he could think about was a can of food he’d seen at the grocery store in town missing its label. It had been sitting there, tucked between the canned vegetables and fruits for weeks. Someone had written $1.00 on the top in felt marker. A dollar for what? A tin of beans? A can of sliced peaches? And how long before the contents spoiled inside—would the price be reduced even more?

  Sheila reappeared on the porch after a search through the house. “They aren’t anywhere inside.” Allan hadn’t notice her leave. How long before a tin of food goes bad? How long before a cheap rubber soccer ball loses its seal and an alien’s toxic blood leaks into the ground?

  What’s the shelf-life on shit like that?

  Sheila swatted his shoulder. “Are you listening to me? I can’t find Abe or Becky anywhere!”

  Allan sunk into a chair. “Why…Why are you looking for them?”

  Sheila stared out over the yard. Her brows furrowed together. “We were getting ready to go into town…buy a pizza…maybe go see a movie.”

  “The new Terminator?”

  “No, that was last weekend. The Hangover’s playing. Supposed to be really funny.”

  Allan watched as she sat across from him. He liked the way her breasts pushed against the tight-fitting tee-shirt. She caught him staring and the two remained quiet for the next minute. Allan was an average-looking kid, more than a little shy and awkward in his approach with girls. Whatever inhibitions that usually held him back started to loosen. “You going with anyone?”

  She was about to answer but the puzzled look spread across her face again. Whatever she was planning to say had left.

  Allan cleared his throat and asked again. “Are you going alone?”

  “I was thinking of giving Becky a call.” She smiled at him. “Unless you have something else in mind.”

  His chest started to hammer, his ears and cheeks felt hot. He was relieved to be sitting down. “I have a lot of things on my mind.”

  The two teens lost their virginity half an hour later. Sheila wept in her bed as Allan dressed. Her parents were away but Allan didn’t want Abe to catch them. “Where’s your brother?”

  “Is that all you care about?” She slipped out of bed, clutching the sheets to her body, and reached for the clothes lying on the floor. “We have sex and all you want to do now is hang out with my brother.” Why had she done it? What had gotten into her?

  “I… I don’t think he would be happy with the idea of us being like this.”

  “Go then.”

  Allan left. Sheila watched from her second floor bedroom window as he trotted dejectedly down the wooded lane, his hands shoved deep into his jeans. Perhaps not all that dejected, she thought, wiping a final wet spot from her cheek. Sheila ran a hand through her messed up h
air and smiled as he disappeared around the bend. It wasn’t as special as she hoped it would be, but it was okay. Not the greatest way to begin a relationship, but a start. Pizza and a movie later on would make things better.

  She finished dressing and made the bed. Before leaving her bedroom, Sheila took one last look out the window, towards the south end of the farm, into the forest of poplars. It seemed creepy for some reason—like a half-remembered dream. Just one of those things, she supposed.

  Her teeth hurt.

  Chapter 3

  Rebecca shouted after him and Abraham kept running. She screamed at the top of her lungs but the boy kept on going without looking back. He was pulling farther away. Rebecca fell to her knees and the cries were cut short as dust filled her throat. They had burst from the forest into a field of wheat. There shouldn’t be this much dust in a wheat field, she thought. Rebecca coughed but she couldn’t hear the noise it made. No wonder Abraham hadn’t stopped for her—she had either gone deaf or the world had stopped producing sound. Her finger burned where it had made contact with the alien blood. The rest of her body itched as if a million insects were biting into every pore of her skin at once. A billion more had made it inside, feasting on her interior organs, buzzing through arteries and stinging along veins. Something touched her shoulder and she flinched. Rebecca looked up and saw Abraham. He was speaking but she couldn’t hear the words. There was a pop deep in the center of her brain and sound returned like a television being unmuted.

  “—ou alright? Rebecca! Are you okay?”

  The itching pain was gone. Rebecca stood on legs that felt like rubber and looked back the way they’d come, back towards the poplar trees. They hadn’t run through wheat as she believed. They were in a clearing of grey dirt ringed in a rolling field of grass almost four feet high. There were trees beyond that, but they weren’t poplars. Rebecca had never seen trees like that before, at least not in person.