Pit Bulls vs Aliens (4 page)

“This is your boat, sir?”

Erique nodded. “Yes, sir. I am Erique Sarpong. This is my son, Emmanuel.”

The man looked at his son then back to him. “I am Jakande. I need you to come with me to the police station so you can tell me what happened.” Then he noticed the blood running down Erique’s heel. “Or do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, I’m fine.” Erique threw a quick bandage on his foot and put his shoe over it. Then he looked at Emmanuel. “Take the boat back and make sure you put everything away. Tell your mama I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Erique grabbed his clipboard by the radio and followed the officer up the ladder, and they walked side by side to where the pier met the beach. When they reached the officer’s car, Erique opened the back door.

“No, no. Sit up here,” the officer said.

Erique felt a little better not riding in the back. Once they arrived at the police station, he followed the officer inside past several desks until they came to a small office.

Officer Jakande sat behind the desk and motioned for Erique to take the seat across from the desk, the only other seat there.

Erique sat and looked around the office. The blinds were so dirty that sunlight barely penetrated. A small ceiling fan churned overhead, the crud so caked up on the blades that it appeared as part of the unit. The light dangling from the fan had no cover and gyrated with the rotation of the blades. It looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since . . . well, since it was installed. Papers adorned every wall and were piled at least a foot high on the floor. There was one old file cabinet that appeared to be rusted closed. The top of this was also covered in stacks of papers.

The officer took out a blank form. “Who were the divers?”

Erique handed him the clipboard with the charter agreement. The officer copied down the names and contact information for the couple.

“When did they reserve your boat, Mr. Sarpong?”

“About two months ago,” Erique said.

“Have they hired you before?” the officer asked.

“No, this was the first time.”

“Okay, Mr. Sarpong, tell me what happened.”

Erique took a deep breath and told the officer the entire story. The officer sat there expressionless, leaning back in his chair with his hands cupped behind his head as he took it all in.

“You expect me to believe that?” the officer asked after Erique finished.

“I don’t know, sir. I’m not even sure I believe it. But I’m telling you what I saw.”

The officer studied him for several seconds until the phone on his desk rang. He let it ring three times before picking it up. “Jakande. Yes, go ahead please.” He listened carefully for a few moments before thanking the caller and hanging up. “That was the hospital. The man is dead. Cause of death was a result of being hit many times to the abdomen.”

Erique swallowed hard.

“The woman is in stable condition and they’ve treated the bite wound on her arm. The doctor said you probably saved her life with the first-aid treatment.”

Erique bowed his head and exhaled deeply. At least that was good news.

“Why do you think they did this?” the officer asked.

“Who? Did what?”

“The dolphins,” the officer said. “Do you think maybe they had a baby in the pod and the divers got too close?”

Erique breathed a sigh of relief. That was the first indication that the officer believed his story. “It could have been. I didn’t see one, but it might be the answer.”

“I say it’s the heat.”

“What do you mean?” Erique asked.

The officer picked up an inch-thick manila folder on his desk. “Every year it gets hotter and every year the amount of violent crime increases. This godforsaken heat drives people mad. If it has that effect on humans, why not creatures like dolphins and whales? I read once that they have almost the same intelligence as we do.”

“You really think it’s possible?”

The officer nodded. “Why do you think the helicopter wasn’t available? It was rescuing a family in a sailboat about ten miles south of you being attacked by two killer whales.”

“Advance!” Colonel Benjamin Jamison waved his arm slowly as he gave the order. He stood watching his soldiers make their way forward. Colonel Jamison stood firm, his broad shoulders making him look taller than he was. Beads of sweat ran slowly down his shaved head. He looked back at his radioman, an African American like himself, and nodded.

His troops started walking slowly through the thick undergrowth of the jungle, their rifles at the ready. The air was dense and hard to inhale. The leaves were damp from the earlier rain. The humidity seemed to be an entity of its own and on the enemy’s side.

The sky above, barely visible through the tree canopy, was overcast in a brilliant array of colors and seemed to be swirling in a counterclockwise motion. Large flying insects high above the jungle floor mimicked the motion as they flew in swirls as well.

The trees themselves were huge, with some trunks eight feet in diameter. All of the trees seemed to have the same structured limb formation with huge branches coming out both sides and then turning ninety degrees upward, as if signaling the soldiers to stop.

Every soldier moved slowly with eyes darting back and forth, trying to peer into the limited distance the heavy foliage provided. They all knew the enemy was out there—waiting.

Colonel Jamison could see the fear in the eyes of the combat men and women on either side of him. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the fact was that his heart was beating abnormally fast. He had a very bad feeling.

“Sir,” his radioman said, “I can’t hear anything.”

Colonel Jamison grabbed the radio and held it to his ear. At first he couldn’t hear anything either, then a very low sound began to emerge, then louder. It was the voices of their enemy. He tried hard to understand it but couldn’t understand one word. He handed the radio back to the soldier.

An explosion went off somewhere, then another and another. Gunfire erupted.

“Hit the ground!” the colonel yelled.

Bullets and tracers ripped the air above his head as he crawled on his belly toward the source of the insurgency. The weeds were so high he could no longer see his men, but he could hear their return fire. He squinted and stared through the plant life but could see nothing to shoot at. Water dripped from large leaves onto his face. Bugs buzzed by his ears.

He jumped up and unloaded his entire clip toward the direction they had been walking and quickly fell back to the ground. Gunfire and explosions grew louder and louder, until . . . it all stopped. No guns, no explosions, nothing.

The colonel stood up and looked around. There were no sounds. No sounds of war and no sounds of animals. He looked upward and saw no flying insects, and the sun pierced through the treetops. He shielded his eyes and looked around. Everything seemed different. He listened for any sounds. Silence. Even his radioman was gone.

“Where did everyone go, Daddy?”

Colonel Jamison looked down beside him and couldn’t believe what he saw. “Victoria? What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here, honey.”

His four-year-old daughter was there wearing her Sunday dress. Her hair was up in pigtails and she was smiling. “I wanted to be with you, Daddy.”

He knelt beside his daughter and returned the smile. “I want that too, sweetheart. I want that more than anything. But it’s not safe here.”

At that moment an explosion lifted them both off the ground and threw them in different directions.

“Victoria!” he screamed. “Where are you?”

“I’m over here.”

The colonel looked toward the sound of the tiny voice and panicked. “No! No! Get away from there.”

Victoria looked at her dad as if she didn’t understand and began to walk down the steps into the swimming pool. The water began to get deeper and deeper. Then only her head remained visible; the rest of her body was submerged in the dark water.

Colonel Jamison tried to rush to her, but couldn’t move. Vines were wrapped tightly around his ankles preventing him from going to his daughter.

Her head slowly began to disappear under the surface.

“No!” he screamed.

Missiles started hitting the jungle all around him. No, not missiles, but red laser beams, it seemed. They were coming from the sky. “What’s going on?” the colonel asked aloud to himself. “Is it drones? Run, Victoria, run!”

Suddenly the enemy advanced. They ran through the jungle with ease, carrying their massive weapons with them. But they weren’t human; they were monsters. They looked like ogres or trolls the colonel had seen in horror movies.

The colonel managed to get to his feet as one of the monsters approached. He looked all around but couldn’t see his daughter or the swimming pool anymore. He tried to fire his rifle but it wouldn’t fire. He searched for grenades, something with which to defend himself, but couldn’t find anything.

As the creature lunged for him, Angel came to the rescue. She leaped into the air and started biting the monster in the face. The monster swung wildly but could not get away from his attacker. A laser beam hit exactly where they were standing, creating a sonic boom, and everything went black.

The colonel sat up quickly as he regained consciousness, his breathing rushing in and out of his lungs, cold sweat tickling his face. He looked around but it was dark. Finally things started to come into focus. He could see a red light with numbers beside him. He could see a faint light coming underneath the door. He could see the form of his wife sleeping beside him.

He reached over and turned on the light. The sheets and pillowcase on his side were soaking wet. He was glad his dream had not awoken his wife. He slid his legs off the bed and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Angel, his pit bull, sat at the side of the bed staring up at him. She was solid white with a pink nose with matching ears.

“Thanks for waking me,” the colonel whispered. He noticed the time was six thirty and decided to go ahead and get up for the day. It was a Saturday and he didn’t have to work, but having been a military man most of his life, he was accustomed to not sleeping late.

After a shower, he went to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker and put two bagels in the toaster. Retrieving the newspaper from his front steps, he sat at the table and began to read. It was always the same: politicians pointing fingers, record heat waves, and peace still holding in the Middle East. The colonel nodded at that news. He had been involved in the last war, which ranged all over the Middle East, and ended with peace talks ten years ago in 2040. As a soldier, he loved to read about peace in the world.

“All right, girl,” he said to Angel, “come on.” He walked to the back door and opened it, and Angel slowly walked out. He watched as she circled the perimeter along the privacy fence, sniffing as she went. The grass in the backyard was brown with patches of dirt beginning to dot the landscape. He so wished he could turn on the sprinklers, but there was a statewide ban on that right now.

He walked over and looked at the patio thermometer. It was already ninety degrees and not even seven thirty yet. He looked at the two shriveled vines in the rectangular planter. His two tomato plants never had a chance and burned up before they could mature. He looked up at the bright sky and wondered if he would ever be able to produce a garden again. He missed the fresh vegetables he used to be able to grow.

The colonel had been stationed here in Georgia for the last two years, and even though he was raised in the South, he didn’t remember it being this unbearably hot and humid. “Come on, girl; let’s not stay out here too long.” Angel trotted to the door and entered with the colonel close behind. He took his seat again at the table.

“Good morning. Why didn’t you wake me?’

He looked up to see his wife, Belinda, enter the dining room wearing her bathrobe and drying her hair. She sat at the table beside him and grabbed a bagel. She was nearing sixty years old but still looked amazingly young. Her complexion was soft and smooth, and her smile was as brilliant as it had been when they got married.

“You were sleeping so peacefully. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She smiled. “Anything in the news?”

“Same old, same old,” he said and slid the paper to her. “You want some eggs this morning?”

“Eggs would be nice.”

The colonel walked to the refrigerator and took out the eggs. He almost dropped them before getting them to the counter. He took a deep breath and tried to get his fingers to stop shaking. He set the eggs down and turned on the eye of the stove. As he fumbled for the right pan, his wife walked up behind him.

“Let me do this. You sit and rest.”

He obeyed the orders and returned to the table. He stared at his hands as if they were the culprit. “I’m getting old,” he said. “Old and useless.”

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?” Belinda asked with sad eyes. “I noticed the sheets.”

He nodded. “Yes, I did. Why can’t I have a recurring dream about being stranded on a tropical island surrounded by a hundred beautiful young women?”

His wife chuckled. “Because then I’d be waking you.”

The colonel smiled but it faded quickly.

“Exactly the same as always?” she asked.

The colonel thought about the monsters in the dream and chuckled. “No, not the same this time. It had a weird twist.” Remembering the other odd thing about the dream, he looked down at Angel and patted her on the head. “Several weird things.”

Angel loved the attention and licked his hand to show it. She was getting up there in years for a dog, thirteen years to be exact. The colonel had gotten her as a puppy and took her to war with him ten years ago, a decision that would always haunt him as he endlessly wondered if Angel had been home, maybe his daughter wouldn’t have fallen into the swimming pool and drowned.

Belinda set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him and retook her seat with a plate of her own. “So it was really different this time? Your dream? What do you think that means?”

The colonel laughed. He knew where his wife was going. She loved everything to do with the supernatural. “It doesn’t mean anything, except maybe I’m going crazy. But you already know that.”