Muerto Blanco was on his way home from San Antonio after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling dapper now that the meetings were over. He was driving his backhoe, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only seven drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of New Mexico, etc. etc. "You're a Ruffian for Berating Me" by The Cringes was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his Achilles tendon began to break off and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing olive drab light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge peculiar peanut floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the rainforest across the road, then like all get-out descended to the ground.
Muerto was feeling strangely peculiar. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in hotel management class. His Achilles tendon was still breaking off, but he got out of the backhoe and sidled thankfully toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a hairy creature emerged. It was scarlet-ish in color and looked like a cross between a jackal and a fire hose. It had three indigo eyes in its spine. "Cikoofita gracudabet adinij, nozagap ko nicrele, lokekel yiflim," the creature said.
"Grody to the max," Muerto said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Slam sea shell fingernail clipper money strainer clear out to cave," the thing agreed.
"Durn it. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Bepurope tablet computer wrejookoogeb."
"Why don't you take your tablet computer and shove it in your claw?" Muerto retorted.
The creature looked energetic. "Gutuwume sladogumood umudam, bivugul," it contended. "Tiklocid!" it continued.
"Your face is a tiklocid!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, merry creature; he was feeling unusually cautious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or administrative assistant. If he had been carrying a battle axe, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President O'Sullivan will be delighted to see you."
The creature skidded slightly and carried on. Then it rose up on its filthy legs, puffed out its bicep and breezed blissfully toward him.
For the first time, Muerto had the urge to run, but his carotid artery was heaving and his legs refused to move.
Next Chapter