Alien Terrain (2 page)

Jane’s car was just another resurrected beater like the rest
of them, small temptation for whatever thieves were left after the exodus. If
she went to all the trouble of navigating it into the yard behind the house, it
was to keep it out of sight of anyone who might know Rick. Once she’d managed
that, she killed the engine, pulled the brake, and sat.

She’d done the right thing rescuing that man. It was the
only thing she could do. But now what? What was she going to do all alone here
with a big, slightly broken, alien prostitute?

She made herself get out and pop the trunk. The man was
curled up on his side, breathing but not conscious. That might be what was best
for him, but it was bad for her. Jane tugged at his deadweight and couldn’t
even budge him.
Shit
. She’d never
been a weakling, but this man was not only a head taller than she was, he was
heavy, dense with muscle, or maybe alien molecules were just thicker. She
yanked at the back of his torn shirt with one foot braced against the bumper
until she had his torso upright, seated with his back against the place where
the trunk latched shut. From there she somehow managed to hoist him up until
his butt cleared the ledge. At which point Jane let gravity take over.

They landed in a heap on the dead grass. He seemed to come
back to his senses slightly. Jane scooted out from underneath him, cradling his
head to keep it from connecting too hard with the ground. When she’d worked
herself clear, she stood up, brushing at her jeans and trying to decide the
quickest way to get him in the tiny house.

She should hurry. As deserted as this little patch of
nowhere was, a woman pulling an unconscious man across the lawn was the kind of
thing that drew attention. She sat back down beside him, leaning close enough
to whisper in his ear.

“I need you to get up and get into the house yourself. Can
you do that?”

He didn’t answer her.

She cast a weary glance at the three steps that led up to the
porch. “I’ll get the door,” she said. “Try to pull yourself together. I’ll be
back.”

A sudden creep of paranoia made her pause to look around.
Like most of the small towns still standing in the Outlands, everyone left on
this street was a retiree—too old and stubborn to move elsewhere. The farmhands
working in the onion fields had modern trailers and an actual community with
families and kids to keep them where they were. Her cover as another teacher
sent by Opting In would work just fine.
If she were alone.
But anyone who saw her with a Bod would have too many questions not to ask
around. And that would be disaster for them both.

The houses on either side of hers were boarded up, but did
that mean there wasn’t anyone inside? It would only take one drugged-out kid,
one drifter picking through abandoned houses, and she and her new friend were
done for. Jane felt watched, hounded, as she made her way to her front door.

She pulled the screen door back and worked the key into its
hole, pulling on the knob a little so the sticky latch released. The door
pushed open. She clicked the lights on, tossed her purse on the counter, and
turned sharply around.

Her own cry cracked like gunshot into the thin desert air.
She slapped a hand against her heart and tried to breathe.

The man was standing right behind her.
Tall
and straight despite his wounds.
How strong must he be?

“Come in.” She took his hand and pulled him past her,
kicking at the door. Momentum got them both into her bedroom. She was relieved
at how agreeably he let himself be guided to the bed.

“You’re all right,” she said, although it wasn’t true. Half
his face was badly swollen and raw skin was visible beneath the tatters in his
clothes. He seemed at peace and unconcerned, but that could just be shock.
Could he die from that? She didn’t know. “Let’s take some of this off and get
you into bed.”

She knelt and fumbled with the catches of his half boots,
slipping the soft leather over one heel, then the other, before setting them
aside. Mechanically, he worked the buttons of his tunic open. The torn black
fabric slid over his shoulders, and she took it from him, wondering idly if it
could be salvaged. They both glanced at his trousers. He lay back without
making any move to take them off. Jane was glad of that.
Enough
jarring reality for now.

He looked a little like a corpse on a mortician’s slab the
way his arms lay stiffly at his sides. The lack of movement worried her, but it
was better than to see him doubled up in pain. She felt his forehead, which was
cool and dry. Maybe he would be okay. Only the swelling in his eye looked truly
painful. Jane cupped it with her hand. “I’m sorry.” And she was. But he’d get
better. Once she cleaned him up and tended to his wounds, he’d be okay.

Jane started off the bed. His arm shot out and neatly
grabbed her wrist.

“Who are you?”

“Jane.” She said the name like he should know it. As if
they’d been together all their lives. But of course he wouldn’t know. Couldn’t
know who she was or where they were or why.

“Jane,” he said in a low voice, “have I put you in danger?”

“No.” A gentle pull against her wrist told her he wanted
better than that quick dismissal.

“We’re okay as long as we stay out of sight.” The second
time she said
it,
he accepted it and let go of her
wrist. “Let me get something to dress those wounds.” Jane stroked his hand
against the nubby cotton bedspread before getting up and moving back into the
kitchen.

Midafternoon sun poured through the window. While she filled
a pot with warm tap water, she let her gaze roam over the small yard. Beyond
the drying patch of grass, a bougainvillea spread over the back fence, and its
deep red flowers fanned out beautifully against the rocks and sky. She was free
now. That was worth remembering.

Jane turned the tap off, went into the pantry, and rummaged
till she found the bag that held her medicine. The small cosmetics case was
full of remedies for minor ailments—head and stomach, cold and flu. There
wasn’t much for someone who’d been beaten bloody by a bunch of morons from
Earth First, but it would have to do for now. She fished out her ACE bandage,
medicated ointment, and some ibuprofen, setting them down on a small, round
platter. She went to the freezer and dumped the contents of her plastic ice
trays into two different dish towels, pulling out a third just for good
measure.

When she got back to the doorway, Jane hesitated. Maybe he
was sleeping. She crept closer, lowered herself gently beside him on the bed.
He drew a long, deep breath and turned his face toward her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.” he replied. Jane rolled her eyes at her
own stupid question.

There was a wooden chair in the far corner of the room. She
pulled it to the bed and sat. The washcloth floated in the pan of water, so she
picked it up and wrung it out. “I’m going to clean away some of the blood and
dirt. If it stings, I’m sorry.” Carefully, she wiped the grit and blood away,
murmuring soft apologies as she went. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Hurt me,” he invited.

Jane stopped. The movement made some water splash out of the
pan onto the floor.

“Backusians don’t mind pain.” He tried to smile.
Failed.
A purplish line of dried blood down the center of
his lower lip made Jane wince indignantly on his behalf. A split lip was so
painful. Why had they beaten him that way? What was the point of it? She
fumbled on the tray for medicated ointment and squeezed a little out onto her
finger. With great care she spread the balm over the contours of his mouth.

It was a good mouth—wide and firm.
A
handsome face beneath the damage.
But then, she’d heard all Bods were
handsome, which was something that would come in handy if your livelihood was
sex.

As she examined his exposed chest for more wounds, Jane
found herself absorbed by all the muscles she could see around his stomach. His
physique was truly beautiful.
And probably useful too.
Those muscles would have kept his vital organs from getting too badly hurt. At
least that’s what she told herself.

“Would you like to touch?”

“What?” Her gaze lifted to his.

“You can touch me if you like.”

“Sorry.” Jane rolled her eyes with mild self-reproach. “I
was staring, right? Don’t take offense. It’s just that I’m a very zoney person.
I have the kind of brain that likes to wander off.”

She grabbed a dish towel full of ice and very gently pressed
it over his swollen eye, watching him for signs of pain. “The cold will ease
the swelling,” she explained. “Use it as often as you can, but only for short
periods.
All right?”

Once in place, the ice pack hid the damaged portion of his
face. The untouched half was shockingly handsome, a perfect frame of cheek and
jaw for sooty eyes and curving mouth. Maybe even she would pay to look at him
for a few hours.

Smiling slightly at the thought of someone like her in a
brothel, she capped the ointment and snapped the top off the ibuprofen, shaking
three pills into her hand.

“Here.” She held them out,
then
reached beside him for the extra pillow. “Let me help you sit up for a second.”

Jane’s breasts were always bumping into things. His chest
was no exception. But did he arch a little higher, or did she just imagine that
he did? She pulled away.
Held out the water glass and pills.

He cast an unenthusiastic glance into her hand.

“You don’t like pills?”

“Not when I need to stay alert.”

“Alert?”
She swept her eyes around
the empty room. “I wouldn’t bother with alert. Besides a lot of nothing,
there’s just me, and I’m not all that entertaining.”

That made the smile reappear, a fraction broader now that
she’d spread balm over his lips. “Are you a boring girl?”

“Completely,” Jane said with no hesitation.

He studied her with that one sooty eye and did not look even
a little bored. “So that would make you dull and zoney. What else should I know
about you?”

“What else?” Jane thought about what she could say to that.
She was serious, cautious, plodding. Predictable in all the ways bleeding
hearts tended to be. She was also an amazing fuckup, which was embarrassing
considering how much effort she put into doing the right thing. Hopefully he
wouldn’t find that out too soon. She pushed the pills a little closer.

“With due respect to your assurances,” he said, “I’d like to
be awake if any of those men return.”

“Ah.” She handed him the water. “Like I said, there’s no way
they can find us, but these drugs won’t knock you out. They’ll just help bring
the swelling down.” She paused, curling her fingers back around the pills. “At
least I think that’s true. But you’re not human, are you?”

“Humanoid.”

“Right.”
That ugly word held all
the comfort of a loaded gun.

“Our species are remarkably compatible.”

Jane sat back, eyebrows raised. That was a pickup line.
A pretty good one too.
His delivery was so sinful even she
could feel a tingling effect. Lips pressed together in a sort of matronly
discouragement, she watched him take the pills from her and swallow them.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Raj.” He handed back the glass.

“Rodge?”
It couldn’t be.

“No, Raj. The final sound is soft and long like the last
sound of plea
sure
.
Ra
j
.
You see?”

“I see,” she said and looked into the empty glass. “You were
thirsty. I should have thought.”

“You did think. You are thinking.”

“Well, yes,” she allowed. “But not that well. You could have
used some water in the barn.
Or when I slammed you in that
trunk.”

“A time to drink, a time to flee.”
He wriggled back down on the bed. His inky hair had come loose from the tie he
used to hold it off his face. She pulled the band of leather free and set it on
the table by the bed. This time, when she leaned over to remove the extra
pillow, Jane arched her back to keep her big tits to herself.

“Tell me more about your thinking.”

“My what?”
She rose abruptly,
caught him staring at her chest.

“How do you know those men won’t come and find you here?”

“How could they?” That answer didn’t satisfy him, but Jane
really didn’t know what she should say. Five years of Rick’s indifference had
left her a little rusty when it came to justifying her decisions. She forced
herself to take him through it. Their safety was connected now. He had a right.
“If anybody’s even looking, they’ll go north,” she said. “That’s the genius of
my little plan.
Everything worth running to is north.
All the cities.
All the businesses.
Not to mention better weather, better people, better opportunities. Where we
are now was all but deserted after the second civil war. Nothing left but onion
fields and snakes. No one in their right mind would ever come here if they had
a choice. And I’m known to be dull but not particularly stupid.” Jane thought
those reasons over.
Nodded confirmation.
“Not to
mention the small fact that seventeen miles south of where you start is no
one’s idea of a sprint for freedom. They’ll never guess I’m down here in a
million years. ”

“And what about this house?”

“Oh.” She took a look around her. “I got this from the
do-gooders.” She glanced to see what Raj would make of that.
Do-gooder
was Rick’s word. And since the
real name of her volunteer group—Opting In—would have annoyed her husband, Jane
had started using it as well.