The Third Craft Page 9

  “Dad, my bike is up ahead. I can’t leave it.”

  “Forget about the bike!”

  “I can’t. I want my bike. You take the car.”

  “Joe, there’s no time to stop.”

  “Dad, we’re going to need the bike!”

  Grayer thought for a moment. “OK, you may be right. Which way to the bike?”

  As Joe was directing his father, Hawk was starting to come around. His eyes flickered open, and he squinted as he looked all about the car. He tried to moisten his lips with his tongue.

  “Joe, what are you doing here?” he croaked.

  Joe held him by his shoulders, but Hawk’s head lolled around lazily. He couldn’t keep his chin up. His eyes started to close again.

  “Hawk! Hawk! Don’t fall asleep on me,” Joe said. “Wake up!”

  Hawk responded after Joe’s not-so-gentle shaking. He groaned and opened his eyes groggily. “The Major gave me a needle. It happened so quickly. I feel so tired.” Then he lost track of what he was saying. He sat quietly, his head nodding along with the bouncing motion of the car as it struck pothole after pothole.

  As they approached the abandoned house where Joe had left the bike, Grayer said, “Joe, listen. We’re never going to lose them. You take Hawk and get back to the ship. Jump from the car.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to divert them in the opposite direction.”

  A tail car was fishtailing down the road behind them, its headlights blazing in their rear-view mirror. “Joe, help Hawk. You’re going to have to run for it. Run for cover.”

  Joe dragged Hawk awkwardly from the vehicle. He kicked the door shut and his father sped off.

  Joe yanked Hawk into some brush a few feet from his bike.

  Seconds later the chase station wagon sped by. As the wagon rounded the corner, Joe saw a second vehicle appear from nowhere and join the pursuit. Joe wondered who it was.

  A half an hour passed and he contemplated starting the bike and going back to the arena. But Hawk didn’t seem quite up to the trip yet. “How do you feel, Hawk? Ready to travel?”

  “The spirit’s willing but the body sucks.”

  “We’ll wait a while longer.”

  A car without lights rounded the corner and drove slowly by. There was an occasional burst of a powerful searchlight from its passenger window. The light traveled over the derelict homes and overgrown lawns.

  The boys lay flat on the ground as the light swept over their hiding place. The light momentarily blinded Joe. He thought for sure they had been discovered. He was ready to make a run for it. Then he thought about the bike and wondered if it was hidden from view. He strained his neck as he watched the light wash over the bike. The car drove away.

  “Hawk, we have to leave now.”

  Hawk nodded, “I think I can do it. Just help me a bit, Joe.”

  Joe helped Hawk over to the bike and mounted the machine. With a swing of his arm, he pulled Hawk up behind him on the bike. “Whatever you do, hold on!” he said.

  Hawk’s head was resting on Joe’s shoulder. His floppy arms were wrapped around Joe’s midriff. He was as weak as a kitten.

  Joe started the machine, held the clutch, and engaged first gear. They edged out of the driveway and began to cruise cautiously down the deserted suburban road. Joe turned onto the road that led toward the arena. He could see the arena in the distance.

  “How ya doing, Hawk?”

  “Better. I guess. Just don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “You just hold on so I don’t have to pick your sorry ass off the road.”

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a pair of headlights snapped on thirty feet away. A vehicle screeched its tires and raced toward them from behind.

  “It’s a trap! Hawk, hold tight!” Joe screamed and goosed the throttle. The motorbike leapt up, the front wheel flying two feet off the ground. Hawk was practically standing up in back because of the severe angle. His hands slid away from Joe’s body. He tried to hold tight and managed to ride the rear pegs. Adrenalin pumped through his body, countering the drug. He grabbed Joe around the waist with renewed strength.

  They roared down the road, accelerating just faster than the car that was following them. They raced along the streets. Joe leaned his head down, burying his chin in the handlebar. Hawk followed suit, the back of Joe’s shirt snapping at his ears.

  Just then, a pair of headlights jumped into view. Another car was headed straight for them. It slid sideways, blocking the road. Joe hit the brakes and geared down simultaneously. Forgetting about Hawk, he leaned the bike down hard into a left turn. Joe’s knee scraped the pavement as he buried the bike. Hawk tumbled down onto the black pavement, remnants of Joe’s shirt still in his hands.

  “You OK?” Joe screamed.

  Hawk staggered to his feet and limped over to the fallen bike. Joe picked it up, and the two jumped aboard. Joe headed away from the car that blocked their path, popping a wheelie as he took off. Suddenly the first car came careering around the corner from the opposite direction, just one block away. It was heading straight for them.

  Joe slammed on the brakes again and slid sideways to a stop. “They have us boxed in!”

  “Joe, go there. The cars can’t follow,” Hawk said, pointing at a space between two houses. There was a flimsy homemade fence joining the two properties. It was made of handcrafted branches nailed together. The fence touched the walls of the adjoining homes.

  Joe looked in every direction. There was no choice. He gave the bike full throttle and aimed toward the wooden fence. They bounced up the curb and skidded wildly across the lawn toward the fence. It disintegrated on impact.

  Directly behind them, one of the cars screeched to a halt. Two men jumped out and began to pursue them on foot. As fast as the men were, the boys were a fraction faster, bouncing across the back lawn toward the neighboring property behind. Then their luck ran out. There was another fence. This time it was a chain link fence. A quick glance told Joe that the fence was in good shape.

  Joe began to circle the back yard, looking for a way out. The bike was kicking up waves of grass and dirt with each turn. One of the men, his gun drawn, was blocking any escape back through the broken fence. The other man pulled out his pistol and yelled at them to stop the bike and get off.

  Joe began to slow the bike, then, without warning, he gunned the engine and the bike leaped away. There was a kid’s swing set in the corner of the property. It had a small stainless steel slide about five feet high. Joe aimed for the slide. Just before they hit it, he jerked the front wheel up off the ground as if attempting a wheelie. The bike raced up the slide and flew over the fence. Behind them the slide collapsed.

  As luck would have it, their landing was softened by a sizable compost pile in the corner of the lot directly behind the house. Both boys went flying head over heels.

  Without missing a beat, they jumped back on the bike and raced through the back yard. Joe gave his pursuers a backward glance.

  “Hawk. Duck!” As if on cue, two shots rang out. In the next moment the boys were safely out of range.

  Not trusting the roads anymore, they cut a zigzag pattern cross-country, through various abandoned yards. Joe managed to navigate back to the road that led to the arena. No sign of pursuit. They drove slowly back to the arena and the spaceship.

  It could be that the ship was their new home, Joe thought. All else was lost.

  EAST OF ELLIOT LAKE

  Hours earlier, Grayer had watched as his two sons exited his car and ran, crouched down, into a clump of thick bushes, hidden from the road. He accelerated as fast as the automobile allowed.

  He was pleased to see that the station wagon had passed by his sons’ hiding spot without slowing down. They were safe for now. He focused on redirecting the pursuit away from Elliot Lake. He was a decoy. He buried the accelerator into the floorboards. He was gradually pulling away from the chase vehicle, but his car was shuddering violently.
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  Just as he was leaving the subdivision, he sensed a tremendous psychic push. He felt several Signatures heading his way. They roared past his car. The occupants of both cars stared as they passed one other. Grayer had seen the other clearly – it was Stell, in Corey Wixon’s body.

  Stell’s car took five hundred feet to stop, turn around, and give chase. With him were James Cringen and Steve O’Sullivan, both DIA. Within minutes, Stell and his men overtook the initial chase vehicle occupied by Connelly, Preston, and Hunter.

  The conclusion was inevitable. Stell was driving a supercharged Chrysler, while Grayer had a standard-issue Chevy sedan. The Chrysler would overtake the Chevrolet. It was just a matter of time.

  Grayer raced down the deserted highway that led away from the town. He could see the lights of his adversaries in his rear-view mirror. He was a scant few minutes ahead. He fishtailed onto Highway 17 and headed east toward Sudbury. Traffic was light. He watched the two cars behind him weave in and out of traffic. He worked the Chevy hard, never letting up on the throttle.

  A warning light on the dash began to flicker red, then came on bright and steady. The light was indicating an overheated engine, due to either lack of coolant or a leak. No sooner had the light come on than Grayer could smell the sweet aroma of antifreeze.

  Wisps of steam escaped from under the hood. Suddenly the hose flew off the radiator and squirted coolant all over the inside of the hood. The engine block became soaked and the coolant vaporized in a huge cloud of steam.

  A thick cloud gushed from under the hood and coated the windshield, obscuring his vision of the road ahead. The wet spark plug harness began to short against the engine block. The motor misfired and the vehicle began to lose velocity.

  Grayer knew that the pistons would seize up inside the hot engine cylinders at any time. When that happened, the car would stop, and he would be in mortal danger.

  A quick check in the rear-view mirror showed the Chrysler bearing down on him. He doused the lights, wrenched the steering wheel around and aimed the disabled car straight at the grille of the oncoming vehicle.

  For Stell, who was driving the big Chrysler, it all happened so fast. One instant he saw the brake lights up ahead, and the next moment he was bursting through the remnants of a cloud of steam. Directly aimed at him was the Chevy. Coming fast. No lights. No time to react. Just brace!

  “Use it! Use it now!” Stell screamed to his passengers.

  His body became enveloped in a transparent green orb that would protect him from injury. The next instant, the two vehicles collided head-on. Both front ends rose as if in a minuet and exploded in a ball of flame. The impact fused the two engine blocks together. Their grilles disintegrated into shards of plastic, glass, and metal which flew fifty feet into the air and rained down on the wrecks and the road. The rear seats joined the front seats and compressed under the dash together. The roof of the Chrysler opened like the top of a convertible. Both of the cars’ rear axles folded and their differentials went flying down the highway.

  The impact was so severe that it drove the Chevy back thirty feet. There was a rending, screeching sound as the sparking metal tore along the pavement. Both cars were joined at the nose, forming a flattened A. The fused wreck came to a grinding halt in the middle of the highway.

  Then there was only silence.

  Stell, Cringen, and O’Sullivan had been thrown clear of the crash upon impact. Grayer, meanwhile, had activated his orb and had rolled out of the Chevy just prior to impact.

  Grayer watched from a safe distance, as three green orbs erupted from the car like popcorn popping off a pan. The orbs fell to the ground and rolled a short distance. Afterwards, a shimmering green shield slowly dissolved from around the three men. They each got up and brushed themselves off. It was hardly necessary; their bodies never came into contact with the crash or the ground. They turned uniformly and looked in his direction.

  Grayer began to jog east in order to continue to act as a decoy away from Elliot Lake. He went about thirty yards before turning around. They were not taking the bait. The trio had headed back down the highway toward Elliot Lake. Grayer hesitated, then reluctantly followed.

  Twenty minutes later, a Bell telephone repair truck whizzed past him. He watched from a distance as one of the three stepped out in front of the truck with his arm in the air. He was holding a badge of some kind in his outstretched hand. The truck screeched to a halt, and the three went to the driver’s door.

  The driver exclaimed, “Lord tunderin Jesus, Officer! I seen a big smashup back there a ways. You guys OK?”

  Cringen’s eyes locked onto the driver’s eyes. He pushed the human with a slight nod of his head. Smiling, he mesmerized the poor soul. “All is well,” he said. “You feel the need to help us. You kindly offer your truck for us to use.”

  The driver’s eyes immediately dulled over. “Take my truck.”

  “You are very kind,” Cringen replied as he opened the door and helped the man from the vehicle. He signaled to the others, and they climbed into the truck. Stell was last in and grinned as he looked back at Kor, known as Grayer on this planet.

  CHAPTER13

  Joe skidded the bike to a stop about three hundred yards from the arena and switched it off. “Hawk, what if someone has found the ship? What if this is a trap?”

  “Seems quiet enough. Where’s the ship? I can’t believe you actually flew the thing all the way here by yourself!”

  Joe grinned proudly. “It’s hidden inside. Let’s hide the bike and walk the rest of the way so we don’t get spotted if there is anyone hanging around.”

  All was quiet, except for the steady ticking of the bike’s aluminum engine block as it cooled down. The dark outline of the deserted arena looked ominous as it reflected the bluish-white moonlight. The twins’ sneakers ground the fine gravel with a steady crunch. There was a distinctly musky early-night odor that began to join with light wisps of fog creeping through the lower marshy forest.

  Hawk shivered despite the warm temperature. He looked from side to side. “Doesn’t it feel too quiet?”

  “Yeah, it does,” Joe said, with a shiver of his own.

  In the darkness, Hawk saw that unnerving glint of green hue in his brother’s eyes. He wondered how much he had changed in his brief time alone on the spacecraft.

  They edged up to a small clump of bramble bushes about five yards from the arena’s entrance.

  “I was going to suggest splitting up,” Hawk whispered. “You go around back and I’ll go to the front.”

  “We don’t know if there even is a back way in. If there is, we don’t know if it’s locked or not.”

  “So why bother?”

  “Exactly,” Joe said, confused by Hawk’s roundabout logic. “OK. We go in together.”

  Hawk rolled his eyes. “It’s your party, bro. Lead the way.”

  As they got closer to the gaping doors, Hawk saw the damage that the ship had done earlier to the arena’s entrance. He whistled softly as he inspected the broken wood splintered all over the ground and the jagged hole halfway up the wall where the doors met. The remains of the giant doors hung lazily from one hinge on each side. They were fixed at impossible angles, as if they were bowing toward the boys, bidding them to enter.

  “What the hell happened here?” Hawk asked.

  “Doors weren’t big enough.”

  They passed through the doorway, careful not to disturb the wooden doors or make a noise.

  “God. Joe, will ya look at that!”

  Even in the weak moonlight, the magnificence of the vessel, regally seated in the middle of the floor, was unmistakable. It was practically luminescent on its own. The ship’s perfectly curved lines looked like richly polished sterling silver against the darkness.

  Joe walked straight to the hull. With Hawk at his side, he raised his hand as if taking an oath in court and continued his pace. At the last second, a door winked silently open. The entranceway was pitch black against the silvery hull.
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  Joe led the way to the bridge. “Hawk, we have to get you back into the Learning Stall as soon as possible. I don’t think I can fly and navigate by myself, especially at low altitude. I’m going to need some assistance.” He motioned above the control panel with a sweep of his hand.

  “You have control, Joe,” the soft female voice said.

  Hawk cocked his head to one side. “Did you program the computer to talk like this?”

  “No. It just learned to respond to me in a manner that pleased me.”

  “Hmm, quick learner. I could have told it what pleased you, too,” Hawk said.

  Joe ignored the taunt and studied the screen. “Everything seems in order. Except …”

  “Except what?”

  “A funny reading from inside the ship. A life form has been detected. Its color tells me it’s under some kind of stress.”

  Hawk rushed to the panel. “What the hell are you talking about? This is creeping me out, bro.”

  “How could he or she get in?” Joe said, mostly to himself.

  “Maybe he was here all the time. Maybe he is trying to get out.”

  “You could be right. Could be one of our missing crew.”

  “What do you mean, our crew? Where is it?”

  “Right where we want to go. Just outside the Learning Stall.”

  “Not exactly hiding.”

  “Not conscious either, from what I can see on the monitor.”

  “Unconscious? Oh great! That’s all we need. An unconscious alien. Are you sure?”

  “Yup, pretty sure,” Joe said, examining the monitor.

  The twins proceeded cautiously down the passageway toward the Learning Stall. The vessel was utterly silent. The passageway was adequately lit by an indirect luminescence. They rounded the corner and gasped at what they saw. There was the body of a man lying crumpled on the floor. His head was face down, resting on his right arm. He appeared to be dead.