The sun was barely evaporating the regular pre-dawn fog as Barry followed Gracie Donner across the cleared zone northwest of The Rock, then through a series of alien meadows, zig-zagging their way through waist-high stalks of flat, yellow-orange fronds. His stomach grumbled, unsatisfied with the meager bowl of breakfast gruel they’d been given before the morning meeting, but at least he knew they carried extra rations for their trek: a precious pair of fruit and protein bars for each expedition member. He just didn’t know how soon they’d get to eat one.
That was Gracie’s call, as commander of an expedition whose purpose this time was grim. Military. Punitive.
Any fighting, plus hauling of supplies, was supposed to be done by four big footballers, following close behind. Barry was along for the muscle between his ears.
Although, he now thought, while stumbling through thick foliage under the weight of his backpack, bigger arm and leg muscles wouldn’t hurt right now. The tracking device—hanging from a lanyard around his neck—hadn’t seemed so heavy, back at base. But lifting it for frequent position checks was starting to wear.
Especially since Gracie only followed his directions very roughly. They were just a kilometer out from The Rock, but their hike had already taken over two hours, along a route that was anything but direct. Gracie guided them carefully, probing the ground with a stick and making wide arcs around clumps of reddish, pineapple-shaped fruit she had encountered on the first expedition.
“Firesap,” she warned. “We tried cutting a few from their vines to bring back to Ms. Takka and the bio team for analysis. But some kind of toxic goop leaked out, burning through sleeves and pantlegs in seconds. Some of these look like they could burst if you bump ’em hard enough. So don’t.”
She also pointed out tall stands of the stuff that Dave McCarty had imaginatively called boo. It really did look a lot like the bamboo Barry knew on Earth, only these plants came in a wide range of sizes, ranging up to monster cylinders of green and crimson, fringed with rings of waving branchlets.
Behind them, Colin Gornet led his crew—Bret Kline, Carlo Segré and Fred Huff. Each of them carried a fire extinguisher slung over one shoulder, to stun batoids if necessary. All four had football helmets and mean-looking machetes slung from the waist, in case of need. But top priority went to a large plastic cooler that Bret and Fred lugged between them.
Napalm isn’t technically an explosive, Barry knew. But despite that, and the weight of his own pack, he made sure to keep a few yards ahead of the grunting, cursing football players. Anyway, just being near Gracie’s air of sublime confidence made him feel better.
The bag hanging from her waist gradually filled, as she plucked samples that no one had seen in previous expeditions. Now and then, Gracie used a two-way radio to contact Penny Hill back on The Rock, by now the colony’s expert at monitoring expeditions from the bell tower. After the first hour, Barry stopped waving at that distant perch of civilization. His arms were too tired.
Still, he glanced backward now and then, taking reassurance from the man taking up the rear of the party. Where Colin and his crew thrashed like overloaded oxen through waist-high meadows, Chuck Hewman moved as quiet as a cat, despite his own heavy pack and the bulge of his gut. There were muscles under that extra weight, and he had a certain discipline about him, the kind you saw in men and women around Twenty-Nine Palms Marine Corps base. Of course, there was also the dark, wicked-looking assault rifle that lay along one forearm like a beloved infant.
Yeah. Ex-military for sure. The night before, when Jeffers asked Chuck to join the expedition, Zach Serpa had snarled, clearly preferring that one of his carnies provide security. But Barry saw Mark Bamford nod approvingly.
So, Mark still has some pull. Too bad he and Alex couldn’t come.
But they were now neck deep in preparation for their own second expedition—one arguably more important even than this one, helping get the aqueduct built.
After all, we can avoid batoids by not going out at night. But humans die without water.
No, his real anxiety was more abstract … wanting this murderous mission to be over as soon as possible. To hurry back and maybe be in time to help Kristina, Dave and Jane talk to an alien.
Come on, Gracie. Stop zigzagging and let’s get on with—
Distracted by such thoughts, he bumped right into Gracie’s back.
“Careful, Barry!”
“Sorry. What’s wrong?”
Gracie looked around, as if getting her bearings. There was a tall stand of boo ahead. “How’s the signal? Are we close?”
Barry realized he had become lost in thought. Come on, man, do your job!
He lifted the makeshift tracker with its loop antenna duct-taped in place. Wires led over his shoulder to batteries in his backpack. He slid on a pair of headphones and moved the loop in a slow arc.
The background static on this new world was fierce, mostly random, though an occasional pattern seemed, well … less natural. But right now, his mission was clearly defined—the trackers they’d attached to half a dozen batoids.
“Okay … That way!” He pointed to a small valley between two gentle hills, roughly half a klick west and just left of the boo. That path would lead them through clumps of puffy-looking orange trees, the small, tenacious plant Gracie had named pompoms. Their strong, narrow stalks and bushy tops really did look like something a cheerleader might use, although much bigger.
“Mark it please,” Gracie said.
Barry lowered the tracker gently, then pulled the paper map from his pocket, jotting notes.
“Come on, Gracie!” Colin stomped over. “The nerd knows where we’re going, so let’s just get there, okay?”
“He has a name, Colin,” the leader chided.
“Sorry,” Gornet shrugged, clearly not caring, either way. “Barry knows the way, so let’s get on with it. Coach Hensen wants us back before dark. Even if we do kill the bats, who knows what else might be out here?”
Gracie’s response was even more severe.
“We’re not just hunting batoids. We’re exploring, okay? We all need good maps for future use and more samples for Ms. Takka’s crew. It’s why they made me leader, okay? Now back off. You’ll have your fun soon enough.”
Colin retreated, grumbling. Even so, Barry couldn’t help wondering about Gracie’s strategy. Not because she was slow and cautious—that he appreciated, especially after a few over-eager mistakes had proved costly, that first time out. No, it was something else. She often seemed to be looking for something … maybe a specific something she didn’t want to discuss. As one scientist observing another, Barry recognized a questing look in her eyes as she surveyed the terrain.
He finished marking his map. They were very close to the spot where he’d triangulated the batoids’ final destination. But radio-based trigonometry didn’t make it simple finding the same spot from the ground, hacking through alien foliage, taking all these twists and turns. This may be how Lewis and Clark felt, making maps as they sketched their route to the Pacific.
Gracie led them on, weaving past the pompoms, avoiding clumps of firesap, and finally to a low and narrow canyon. Back home it might be called an arroyo—a gully formed by rainwater runoff. Good news, he noted. It means there really is a rainy season here. Despite the predictions of the Physics Club kids, Ms. Takka had speculated all these plants might simply suck moisture from the humid air. Not an option for humans and their crops.
Barry flourished the antenna again before Gracie asked. Steady, loud beeps confirmed. “Dead ahead. Wherever this little valley leads, the batoids are less than a hundred meters thataway.”
“Less than I ran when I picked up that fumble for a touchdown at Poly High.” Colin’s recollection of past glory won admiring nods from his teammates.
As the canyon started to narrow, vines with odd-shaped flowers flowed down steepening walls, while broad-leafed, purplish plants overhead made a canopy that blocked much of the sky.
“Try not to touch those,” Gracie warned, while gingerly snipping a sample. “Just in case.”
The ravine closed in quickly. It was hard not to brush against encroaching plants that draped down the cliffs like curtains. The ground became a carpet of moss-like growth, red, yellow and soft underfoot.
“I’m on point now,” Chuck said, swinging the rifle to ready as he stepped ahead. He didn’t seem to need a stick to know firm ground. “Gracie and Barry, behind me. The cooler comes next. Colin, you bring up the rear. Keep your eyes open—especially backward—and report any changes.”
Give Colin Gornet credit. He clearly knew when to take, as well as give, orders. He nodded and kept back as the party stepped ahead, following Chuck into the tapered valley.
After a few more minutes of walking the sky completely disappeared, the foliage canopy replaced by a rock ceiling as the hanging vines petered out. Before them lay a broad cave with bare walls that seemed to widen as it receded into darkness.
“Leave the napalm here for now,” Chuck said. “First let’s recon. See if anyone’s home.”
Carlo started to protest, but Colin stopped his friend with a glance.
“Helmets, guys, but leave the machetes slung. Fire extinguishers at the ready.” He glanced at Chuck, who nodded approval and dropped his own pack at the cave entrance, leaning the rifle against it, then hefting his own fire extinguisher. Barry wondered about the wisdom of leaving the gun, but said nothing.
As they stepped into the cave, Barry noticed the floor grew sticky … and smelly. The moss was gone. He was walking on something else—gooey.
“Lights,” Chuck said. One by one, small illuminators still bearing Drannen stickers flicked to life, revealing that the cave’s back wall was only ten meters or so away, although the ceiling height increased. But the floor …
“Yuck.” Barry’s light revealed a thick, grayish ooze, mixed with decaying plant matter and sticks.
No … not sticks. Bones. They lay everywhere. Surely remains of the batoids’ victims, mostly small creatures. Skulls and spines, limbs and tails. Many were translucent. Alien biology, for sure.
“Look at all this!” he said. “I think it’s—”
“It’s disgusting, is what it is.” Colin said, backing into him and causing him to slip in the muck. “And it stinks! What is this stuff.”
“Droppings,” Gracie said succinctly, while filling one of her little sample jars.
“You mean bat crap?”
“I guess. But I’m guano find out.”
Barry choked a laugh at her pun, winning from Gracie a smile that lasted about a tenth of a second.
“Shh!” Chuck hissed. He aimed his light upward.
At first Barry only saw shadows, dark patches mottling the craggy vault overhead. Then those shadows shifted.
“Batoids!” Gracie’s voice was an urgent whisper. “Umbrellas out, people!”
“Forget umbrellas,” Colin shouted. “Fred! Bret! Go get the napalm!”
“Wait!” Chuck’s voice was louder than it should have been, but Barry didn’t blame him. “Gracie’s right. Umbrellas first. Remember, they attack from above. And be quiet.”
Just then something flitted past Barry’s face. “What was that?”
Gracie jumped. “I saw it, too!”
“They’re moving,” Chuck growled. “We’ve already disturbed them.”
“Then hurry!” Colin yelled, even as Chuck tried to stop him. Barry could tell things were spinning out of control. More and more tiny shadows flew around, though Barry could feel more than see them. Now and then one zipped through a beam. The unmistakable flurry of wings confirmed—the batoids were active. And angry.
“Barry and Gracie, back to the entrance with Bret,” Chuck commanded, snapping open a collapsible umbrella. “Lift the cooler lid. The rest of you, stay with me.”
Barry didn’t need to be told twice. He squelched back toward the entrance of the cave, trying to imitate Gracie’s actions, pulling out his umbrella as he went, but he lacked her athletic agility. Barry slipped, then went down hard, hands sliding through the slick muck.
“Ow!” He howled as something jabbed his palm. Lifting it, he expected to see one of the critter bones had stabbed him, but it looked like a goop-covered spike. Or was it a nail? As Barry pulled it from his palm, he saw it was unnaturally straight and made of wood.
What the heck?
A smear of his blood covered the honed tip of … What? No way!
It … it looks like a teensy spear.
“Barry!” Gracie whispered urgently from the cave mouth. “Get out of there!”
Clutching the sharp little thing, he scrambled up from the muck and hurried after her toward the supposed safety of daylight, even as the bigger males rushed about, giving and following—or ignoring—contradictory orders.
He knew he should be trying harder to follow those sounds. But for a moment the object that he held had him transfixed. About as long as his hand, it was long and straight … and at one end the shaft was wrapped tightly with some kind of twine … binding into place a very sharp piece of chipped stone no bigger than his fingernail. And yes, it was very sharp. A tiny, perfect, painful little spear.
“I thought the batoids were nocturnal!” Bret said, helping Gracie pull jars from the cooler, unwrapping them from the football jerseys they’d been packed in for protection and laying them just inside the cave mouth.
“We’ve invaded their home,” Gracie replied.
Barry swallowed hard. “Guys, maybe we should think again about this. These creatures … there may be more to them than we realize—”
A scream interrupted from the interior of the cave. It was Carlo.
“Hey! One bit me—ow!”
“Where? I don’t see …”
“Under the back of my helmet. Get it off!”
Barry saw Carlo’s flashlight fall to the ground as the fellow spun frantically, slapping the back of his neck and yelling. In an instant, Chuck was there. He snatched something off Carlo and flung it across the cave.
“Umbrellas I said!” Chuck roared, and this time the jocks listened. Their parasols were up in a flash. “Gracie’s getting the napalm ready. Barry, shine your light on us. We need our hands for other things.”
Barry did as Chuck commanded, while Gracie and Bret kept shifting jars. The batoids gathered like storm clouds under the roof of the cave, swirling above Chuck and the three jocks, who at last made a protective shell with their umbrellas. They looked like some sort of deformed turtle, but their shield did seem to confuse the creatures, who whirled madly over them, but did not dive.
There must be thousands. Mostly the smaller darters. Now and then, one of the larger lifters could be glimpsed. And Barry knew why Chuck left his rifle behind. It was useless in a situation like this.
“Ready those fire extinguishers, boys,” Chuck called out. “How’s our napalm coming, Gracie?”
“Ready!” Gracie shouted back. The jars were just outside the shadowy cave mouth.
“Then Colin, Carlo and Fred, ready your extinguishers. We’ll back toward the entrance slowly, blasting away. The powder stuns them, so use every last bit. Once they’re down, we start with the jars, clear?”
“Clear!” The jocks replied.
Barry blinked at a surreal scene as four figures backed toward the entrance, twirling umbrellas on one shoulder while spraying the air with gouts of white powder, filling the cave with a hiss … a sound soon overpowered by the frantic keening of thousands of batoids in distress, sending shivers down his spine.
But … what if they’re intelligent? Sliding the tiny spear into his pocket, Barry cringed from the thought, even as another one took over. I don’t care! I hate them!
The athletes reached the entrance as the cave filled with chemical fog. As quickly as it rose, the batoids’s screeching faded as they fell, stupefied, to the floor by the hundreds. Soon it was hard to see anything through clouds of thick powder. One by one, the canisters emptied and a boy turned to hurry out of the cave.
“Watch where you’re stepping,” Gracie warned, protecting the napalm jars. Now only Chuck was still spraying, in shorter, precise bursts, filling gaps left by the undisciplined recruits.
Then they were all together again at the entrance.
“Boys, grab the jars.”
Barry reached for one. But Chuck held up a hand. “Except you, Barry.”
This stung. “What? Why not?”
Chuck gave a quick wink. “You’ve got a more important job.” Then he joined the others lobbing jars of napalm into the cave. “Try to hit the roof!” Colin yelled. “Even if you miss, it’ll smash on the ground better.”
The sound of so much shattering was strangely satisfying, like an aerial bombardment. In the beam of Barry’s flashlight, the glint of broken glass reflected back, along with more translucent gobs of napalm that spattered in wide arcs wherever the jars landed. Chuck called out targets—“Three at the back of the cave … okay, two on the left side, ten feet apart … good!”—until much of the cave floor, along with the stunned and squirming batoids, was covered in thick, flammable mixture.
Chuck unscrewed lids off the last few jars and emptied their contents in front of them—a thick line from one side of the cave’s entrance to the other. “When this line ignites, no way anything inside can escape.”
“Watch out for our jerseys!” Bret said, as he and Fred scrambled to gather team uniforms and stuff them back into the cooler. “Show respect, will you?”
“Whatever,” Gracie said, gathering up umbrellas. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?”
“Yeah,” Chuck said. “The four of you wait at the end of the gulley. Barry and me—we’re gonna finish this.”
“Can’t we light the napalm?” Colin complained. But Chuck wasn’t having any of it. “Go Colin. Now. That’s an order. And take the empties with you.”
“Fine,” Colin said, grabbing two depleted extinguishers and following the others up the narrow ravine. Chuck led Barry just a few feet outside the cave and pulled what looked like four sticks of dynamite from a pocket of his cargo pants. Barry recognized:
“Highway flares.”
“Yeah. For obvious reasons, I didn’t want Colin and his buddies carrying both flares and napalm. Here, take two.”
Barry accepted the sticks nervously. Scanning the side of one, he noted ingredients: magnesium, sulfur, potassium nitrate. Yeah, these would burn hot.
“I’ve just never used one before.”
“Well, when you ride the roads as much as I do—or did, back on Earth … It’s easy. Watch.” Chuck took the plastic cap off one of his flares, revealing a rough black substance at one end. “This is the ignition surface. The cap has a striker. Scrape one against the other. It’s just like lighting a really big match.”
Barry uncapped a flare. “Got it.”
“Oh, and about you not tossing those jars,” Chuck said. “You know those football guys have good throwing arms. But now I need your smarts.”
“Aww, you’re just saying that.” And sure, throwing napalm was one scenario where the football players’ skills came in handy.
“No, I’m not. Colin’s no fool, but his buddies love showing off. I need someone willing to do the job and then run, instead of howling joy at the flames. Can you do that?”
“Um, count on me, Chuck.”
“Okay. I’ll throw my flares to the back of the cave. Once we see them ignite, you heave one of yours into the middle. But save your last one for the front. When we know the rest of the cave is burning, toss it right here, where I dumped this line of napalm. Understand?”
“Got it.”
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
“Then let’s light em.” Chuck struck first one, then the other, of his flares with a striker cap. Smoke and sparks spewed out, becoming gouts of bright red flame six inches long. Imitating his actions, Barry struck the cap of one flare against its ignition surface. A few sparks and a tendril of smoke appeared, but nothing else happened.
“Again. Harder.”
Barry struck with more determination. He almost dropped the flare when sparks and smoke erupted from it with a hiss.
“Both, you can do it.”
To his surprise, Barry didn’t find the second one hard at all. A torch in each hand, he felt a bit like an X-Man.
Chuck nodded. Then, one at a time, he launched his flares through the white haze toward the back of the cave. Two arcs of ruby light illuminated the darkness, smoke trailing in their wake. The flares dropped to the ground, tiny glows in a vast darkness, and for a second nothing happened. Then those two little points of red light became an orange blaze … that grew and spread.
“Now your first one, into the middle of the pile.”
The back of the cave was already engulfed in flame, and Barry could hear shrill sounds from the batoids. It was chilling. But he thought of Arlene Hsu. Brilliant, beautiful Arlene. There will be many more, if we don’t do this. It’s them or us!
Barry threw. The flare spun end over end, scattering sparks like a pinwheel, and plopped almost exactly where he aimed.
“Not bad,” Chuck said, reclaiming his rifle and backpack. “Now back up and get ready!”
Thick smoke flowed their way, rising to the top of the cave and billowing out the entrance. “Now finish it.”
Barry flicked the last flare a couple of meters in front of them. The line of napalm roared, spreading to both sides of the cave entrance faster than Barry could jump back in surprise. Then flames spread inward, as if eager meet the other fires. In a few short moments the cave would be an inferno.
“It’s … kinda hypnotic,” he observed.
“Yeah, well let’s back up more.”
Ten seconds later, Barry learned the reason for Chuck’s caution as a tongue of hot gas emerged from the roiling cave, licking toward them at least a dozen meters.
“If we had been standing there …”
“And that’s why I didn’t want a jock with me, jumping and yelling and celebrating,” Chuck said, clapping Barry on the shoulder. “You’re okay, kid. Come on.”
* * *
The sun was still high as they followed Gracie on their winding way back to the Rock, stopping only for a celebratory protein bar and a well-earned guzzle of water from their canteens.
While he was anxious to get back, maybe in time to help with an alien second contact, Barry knew he had better pace himself. And at least Gracie was choosing a more direct route home.
Now and then, Barry looked back at the column of thick smoke rising behind them, and knew that folks on the Rock would see it, too. While Chuck maintained his usual silence, Colin, Fred, Carlo and even wounded Bret were in high spirits, singing the school fight song with only a hint of the usual cynicism:
Always rising to the fight!
Do or die, day or night!
Twenty-Nine Palms …
It was then that Barry remembered the spear from the cave floor. He started to reach the thigh pocket of his cargo pants, then hesitated.
No, he thought. Not second contact.
Third.
✽✽✽
When they made it to the clearing, where work crews still labored at well-digging and brush-cutting, Barry hurried ahead to deposit his equipment and backpack near the base of the Big Ramp, then caught his breath before rushing toward the rendezvous site at the forest rim …
… only to see one of the Chevy Tahoes approach from that direction, driven by Mr. Castro, the history teacher, with Jane Shevtsov riding shotgun and Kristina Zhirinova in back. The SUV—operating on all-electric mode—paused next to Barry and the passenger side window came down.
“Want a ride, kid?” Jane teased with a disarming grin, clearly happy for a break from her wheelchair. The arrangement made sense, if you wanted her brains and skills contributing down here. But this meant …
“It’s over already?” Barry suppressed disappointment. “How’d it go?”
“Better than yesterday!” Kristina assured, popping open a rear door for him. Barry held up a finger.
“Hold on a sec.” And he hurried to collect his gear, then hefted it into the SUV, before clambering after. He glanced back to see Gornet and his team mates gathering throngs of admirers from the work crews, regaling them with exaggerated versions of the bat-burning adventure. Gracie and Chuck though, were already ascending the Edge Trail, where Doc Hutnicki awaited, up-top.
“Hooee, hombre, you stink of fire n’ brimstone,” Harry Castro commented as he put the Tahoe into first gear, heading very slowly up the ramp. “Bryant Marshall wants to fix this truck, top to bottom, before the next lake expedition. He won’t appreciate it if you blow us up.”
“I’ll leave my window open, sir.”
At the same time, Barry marveled how it felt, riding a vehicle for the first time in … was it eight days? Nine?
Eagerly, he repeated his earlier question of Kristina.
“Woolly showed up right on time,” she answered.
“And this time no one threw any rocks,” Jane added.
“But … I thought he’d stay longer. Was there any communication?”
“Sure. A little sign language with Dave, at first. Then I showed him one of our tablets. A simple program for toddlers. Cartoon pictures to poke at. Swipe left for another one.”
“Wow. And?”
“And he took it with him, when he left.”
“Oh.” Barry tried, but couldn’t think of any harm that would do. Unless the alien … the Mojavian? … was actually high tech, pretending to be a sword-carrying, tree-climbing low-tech native.
“Woolly?” he asked.
“We have to call him something, till he can give us a name in his own speech.”
“Besides,” Kristina added. “He’s kinda cute, with all that curly, soft gray fur. Like a humanoid woolly rhinoceros.”
Barry raised an eyebrow. “He?”
But Kristina answered only with a snort that said Who knows yet? And who cares?
“So … Woolly … will come back …”
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Castro sang, off key. “Same time. Same station!”
Jane turned and winked at Barry. Adults were all-the-time referring to commercial jingles and other lame stuff from caveman days.
Okay, so I didn’t miss anything really important, Barry thought, with some relief. He stroked the tiny spear in his pants pocket. In fact, I may have done more than just add another mystery.
“So, tell us about the bat cave!” Kristina insisted. “We saw smoke in the distance and rumor has it you guys did great! I think what you did was very brave.”
Barry blinked, puzzling over her attitude. Till he realized—the day’s adventures might have only just begun.