September 2009

More aliens bounded from the river holding high their salmon offerings, and their quivering songs merged. They brought the fish to the fire, clustering around like giddy Boy Scouts, arms dangling at the high juncture of their legs. One fell to its knees, beating elongated fingers against its chest, then holding hands outstretched towards the sky. The gesture looked unmistakably religious, and Jessie felt her stomach twitch and turn.

She let the binoculars drop against her thigh. Aaron squirmed against her, his lips smacking together. “Can you eat some?” Jessie whispered. She gave the aliens below another wary glance, then scooted to the other side of the tree and away from the river. But when she lifted her shirt, Aaron again refused to eat. His face seemed dyed red, his scant hair matted against his skull despite the coolness of the day. She replaced him in the sling, and reached for the giraffe teething ring. Maybe that would coax a smile from his face.

But when she pulled up the rainbow links of chain, it dead-ended on green. The lower links were gone, as was the silly giraffe.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron.” Her shoulders sagged. It was a silly loss to mourn, she knew. Food and other necessities were far more important, but it was the only animal toy Aaron had. It must have snagged on a bush as they were climbing up the ridge. At least most of the toy chains remained. She forced a knobbed link between his fingers, and bent to plant a kiss against his head.

“Let’s try and go around,” she said. “Far around.”

The river was wide enough that it would be a problem to cross. It didn’t seem that getting to the river would be the issue — on this side, the downward slope was gradual. She didn’t want to travel further east, deeper into the mountains. Instead, Jessie plotted to follow the crest to the west, going towards the interstate again. Hopefully, that would take them in a circuitous route around the Singers, and maybe enough of a bridge would remain so that they could cross the river.

As the day aged, Jessie felt the strain in her shoulders. Aaron seemed unchanged and almost unresponsive as she talked to him as she hiked. No other aliens lingered along the riverbank, but she worried. They needed to cross the river by nightfall. The farther she could walk, the safer they would be.

Her heels half-skidded in pine needles as she worked her way downward. Aaron grunted. The suitcase bumped against her buttocks. Finally, she stood on the rocky shore, panting. The wind met the heavy glaze of sweat on her face, and she shivered. Jessie studied the thin band of sand along the shore. There weren’t any alien tracks. Either the Singers camped where they were, or were coming back down from the mountains, back from the vicinity of Mount St. Helens. Jessie sat down on a boulder and bent to dip her hands in the water.

That’s when she saw the first body.

The Singer floated face-down in the fast water, whirling and bouncing as it flowed downstream towards the Pacific. Jessie stared. Then another came by, face up. Half its bared head was blasted away. A third, a fourth. One snagged on a log out in the water, just ten feet away from where Jessie sat. A bold black dot was planted directly between its eyes. A bullet wound. Jessie stood. She hadn’t heard anything, no sounds of battle, but she had been walking for an hour, maybe two. These Singers had definitely been killed by humans, and skilled shots at that.

“There must be militia out here,” she murmured, studying the trees. Her fingers lightly drummed on Aaron’s head. The rogue bands in Seattle had been selfish, dangerous. The human militiamen didn’t have any qualms about confiscating food and clothing from a mother and infant, or attempting rape or outright murder. The Singers may use toxic darts and flying saucers, but they weren’t human. That made all the difference. At least the Singers had a valid excuse.

Jessie trudged through the hard dirt along the high bank of the river, then headed back into the brush of the embankment. She squinted at the timepiece in the sky. There wasn’t much time, and it felt like the whole day had been wasted because of one accursedly-steep ridge.

“Please let there be a bridge,” Jessie said. She spared a glance down at Aaron. “Please.”

Keeping the river in view, they continued along the crest. More bodies sped downstream, and Jessie forced her aching legs to walk a bit faster. If there were other Singers nearby, they would come to reclaim their fallen comrades. They always did. It would have been nice to camp near a source of water, but now that seemed impossible. The river was an obstacle, a trap. Where ever they stopped for the night, it would be too close.