The Convoy

By Drew Bell

A young boy named Miles had a regular life until inexplicably he is the only living thing on Earth.
Meanwhile an alien race called "Callos" near the completion of their pilgrimage toward their diety, an enormous planet known as Phlasia, only to have their course diverted by the incident on Earth.
Curious, Dr.Lalia Tarrus, a Callos scientist allows sneaks away from the vessel to investigate the explosion on Earth because she believe there may be the key to the answer of her bizzare dreams.
Dr.Tarrus finds Miles, alone, and brings the strange new discovery back to the Convoy. Soon she and Miles soon get caught up in a vast conspiracy where not only thier lives are at stake, but the fate of the entire Convoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Bell
• Release date: May 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458171658

Drew Bell

Business Administration Major (Marketing Emphasis), Bible and Theology Minor, Public Policy Minor at William Jessup University.Hobbies include creative writing, critiquing television and movies, and enjoying quality time with friends, family, and pets.Would definitely spend time revising and editing a future book...

Book preview

Prologue

"Dear Journal,

I had the most bizarre dream again; this time it was different from the rest. I woke up a few times to shake the image out of my head, but each time I closed my eyes I found that sleep overtook my consciousness. Again I was floating weightlessly over some sort of vista; below me rolled endless hills and structures. I had feathers, all over my arms, like I was a bird. I took a perch on a tree and looked through a window; in front of me was something strange, something alien. I try as hard as I can to see clearly what this monster is, but then suddenly my dream shifted. This is where it was different; there was a white flash and I could see nothing. I don’t know what it all means, but these nightmares have been getting more and more severe, I can only pray that the clarity of the dreams mean that I am gaining control over them. I pray that I won’t lose myself to these dreams. I feel a tugging at my heart, as though I am being magnetized towards something, I only hope that this time my heart isn’t being prepared for disappointment again."

I need a rekindling of excitement in my life,

Lalia Tarrus

Chapter 1

Miles felt cold; he stood in an enormous empty room. The floor beneath his was tiled green and red. The walls were made of large grey bricks, but what caught Miles’ eyes was the tapestry before him. The tapestry hung against the brick, the weave seemed to ripple and move, as though it were liquid. Miles reached out to touch it. His alarm sounded and he woke.

The day began like any other for Miles Hearst, he first heard the alarm go off at 7:10, a good 20 minutes before the time he actually needed to be awake, allowing him plenty of opportunity to stretch and scrape the crust rimming his eyes. Ordinarily he would wallow deeper into his comic-book based comforter, then eventually (always before 7:30) force himself out of his captain’s bed into the time-worn slippers waiting at the bed side. Miles typically gave himself approximately five minutes to make his bed, the pillows do not touch the ground, and to go pee (this is occasionally first, depending on how thirsty he was at 9:30 before he went to sleep the night before). Miles usually splashed water on his face, change into the shirt and associated shorts (always the ones on top) and because it was a Tuesday he still had a red shirt (his favorite color) to wear. He would take to the stairs, running the first several steps and jumping the last three steps to the bottom, (last time he jumped four steps he nearly twisted his ankle and stepped on his dog’s tail). He would pour approximately five cups of cereal (usually a raisin-bran or healthy alternative) into a bowl that usually can hold four cups of cereal (but hey, he is a growing boy). He ordinarily would run up the stairs (after he have sipped the milk at the bottom of his bowl) then brush my teeth, failing to spit out the toothpaste at the end; simply because he felt that if he were to die by toothpaste then that was simply fate he could resign to. He had sort of resigned himself to an obituary reading He had a little bit too much fluoride in his system. The mirror showed a mostly average-in-appearance seventeen-year-old; he had just begun to grow out of his awkward lankiness. To his satisfaction his fair-skinned complexion was clear of the acne that had plagued it for the past two years, one of his teeth hung crookedly from the top at an angle. Miles’ mother had insisted he get a haircut, his bangs hung loosely against his forehead, he probably would give in to her demands after school. Regardless, he would run a few wet fingers through his thick brown hair, twist the few hairs he had on his chin (he prided himself on growing a beard, in high school this is a really big deal). Miles was by no means handsome; once or twice he had been called cute, but not lately. Miles blew himself a kiss in the mirror and headed back downstairs. He grabbed his backpack, and yes, he did forget to grab his Biology textbook, and no, he did not finish his Spanish homework.

Miles lived in Pyschque, California which was conveniently located close enough to Los Angeles to get horrific smog but not close enough to make Christmas shopping any easier for his parents. Miles sat in his afternoon Spanish class, slowly dying of boredom (which was really little more than a veil for his lack of understanding and the frustration beneath that), his best friend Seymour is picking at particularly gross pimple on his shoulder. He was in the back corner; it was safe for him to look out the windows wishing that somehow he could better appreciate the cool autumn weather, to be more precise; he wanted to enjoy the weather outside of the classroom. Actually, he just wanted class to be over. As he sat next to the window, slowly banging his greasy head against the perfectly clean window, he noted a small glimmer of light. A black bird, probably a crow, and perches it’s self on the branch right outside the window. The bird turns its head towards Miles, its eyes unmoving from their target. Miles pressed his face against the glass, in the light it looked as though the bird had blue eyes. He tapped his friend Seymour to get his attention; certainly a blue-eyed crow was more important than the armpit stain he was checking out.

Seymour, look at this. Seriously, this bird has really sweet eyes. They’re blue. Miles said in amazement, he pressed his fingers harder into Seymour’s back.

He turned back towards the bird; it looked back at him, and then fluttered its wings.

The crow took flight, and it chose to kamikaze into the window next to Miles. The bird’s impact broke the monotonous voice of Miles’ teacher. Miles jumped in his seat, his teacher turned from the blackboard to eye Miles;

Miles! Is there a problem? She asked with an eyebrow arched.

Miles nodded "No." He turned to look out at the window.

The bird continued to attack the window. It began to shed feathers and scraped its bird feet against the thick glass, the scratches were deep and frightening. Miles cried out loud;

Mrs. Hoffman, there is this crow and he keeps hitting the window.

Miles Hearst, stop distracting the class. I have had enough. She replied sharply.

Miles looked to Seymour for support, he gave him a look, this look frightened him the most; he didn’t understand what Miles was talking about. The crow was squawking loudly, it’s scraping echoing throughout the room, but not a single one of Miles’ classmates turned to face the attacking bird. Miles was alone; he anxiously began to shuffle in his seat.

He blurted out loud; Doesn’t anybody see the crazy bird attacking the window?

A few of his classmates whispered; Anybody see a crazy kid?

He had enough and threw his textbook, Spanish: A Simple Language for Simple People, at the student who mocked him, and because he spent more time (a lot more time) playing Risk than Football, Basketball, and Baseball combined it hit the girl sitting behind the intended target. Unfortunately the girl it hit was the really hot blonde girl who moved to Psychque from Australia, she had a sweet German accent.

Wait, its Australia isn’t it? Miles had once foolishly asked her, trying to impress him with his broad expanse of linguistic skill.

Either way, he managed to completely make a fool of himself, so he ran for the door and out of the classroom. Mrs. Hoffman huffed loudly; she clacked her heels as she quickly picked up the phone and dialed for the school’s disciplinarian.

Shit! he said out loud, figuring that if he was going to be in trouble he might as well say his first swear word.

Miles ran towards the street, thinking perhaps he could hide in the mall.

"The community college just got out for lunch, and I am gaining some muscle by playing Wii Fit, I could easily be mistaken for a college student." Miles thought.

The Crow intercepted him. It began.

Leave me alone! He shouted at the blue-eyed crow.

The crow flew at him, its feathers scattered, and Miles flailed his arms to swat it away. His whole vision went black; feathers covered all that he could see. He didn’t feel any pain, but the fear when it unleashed its claws and dug deep into his arms brought him to hysterics. He continued to scream and move all around, flailing his arms. The bird was constantly squawking in a noise that most closely resembled a child screaming. Miles’ tears streamed and his mouth gaped open. He swatted at the bird to no avail; the bird moved quickly enough to be everywhere at once. Then the attack stopped. The feathers settled, Miles could finally see something other than the black. He gingerly felt his face, which had been attacked, yet felt nothing, he was fine. He looked down at his hands expecting blood and feather fragments.

Miles was made of translucent crystal.

"I’ve completely lost it." He thought.

He turned to face the direction from which he had run. Mrs. Hoffman and the Disciplinarian were standing in the school’s courtyard looking for me; their eyes wandered over past the direction where he was standing. They saw nothing, he was invisible to them.

Miles shouted to them: Mrs. Hoffman, Mr. Droidt! I am over here. I’m sorry.

They didn’t hear him. He tried to move towards them, he looked at his feet, looking for an explanation for why he couldn’t move; there was a pile of black feathers weighing him down. He tried to lift his foot, but the feathers began to solidify into crystal as well, he couldn’t move.

"Move, move." He tried to will his foot into motion.

What is going on? He asked the air, between sobs, his eyes rimmed-red from the fount of water streaming from them.

His whole invisible body began to crystallize; he was going to die a human chandelier. The school bell rang, signaling students to be let out for lunch.

"This is my last chance." Miles realized.

Someone help me! He cried to the students who passed him.

Miles tried to turn my head, but his neck wouldn’t give. He tried to wiggle his fingers, and then he realized that neither his fingers nor his eyes would move.

He prayed out loud; God, I’m sorry for swearing. I’m sorry for looking at that blonde girl’s butt-crack. Don’t let me die like this.

Miles focused all of his being into that next five minutes; he strained every part of his body that could move, he willed that somehow my crystalline form would give way back to his freckled and oily skin.

The other students looked through him, he was envious of one guy’s blank stare, his bulging eyes were a perfect round representation of something Miles was certain he would never have again. One girl ran past him, a red homecoming balloon succumbing to its master’s will, her elbow made contact with Miles’ and caused a shockwave of pain. If he had tears left they would have streamed, if he still had a voice it would scream. They taunted him with their freedom.

"It will end this way. At least I tried, I was so close." He resigned, wishing with all his being that he could escape this crystal tomb.

"I had always envisioned myself dying with my wife like they do in "The Notebook". Miles thought as he looked outward at all the other students milling around, one of his peers used a Fruit-by-the-Foot as an Indiana Jones whip.

He didn’t close his eyes; he simply stopped seeing as his eyes crystallized over.

Miles was left with one chance, his lungs began to quiver inside; he knew, somehow, what was about to happen. He knew that he would want his eyes to be closed for what was about to happen.

Based off of CLERGY 1’s radiation scans, a planet just went supernova. There was a flash, the radiant light spread from a single point and eradicated all life from the face of the Earth. It was nearly instantaneous (.06 Seconds for the elimination of a planet), and its point of origin was a seventeen-year-old glass boy in what used to be called Psychque, Ca.

Chapter 2

The Convoy finally broke through the Trillion Veil, the sleek vessels resembled a flying icicle, and the Idinium Repulsors utilized the explosive force of mixing the elements Iodine and Aluminum under zero pressure. The resulting flash freeze jettisons each of the individual CLERGY vessels at high speeds, with the side effect of ice coating the exterior hull of the ship, each repulsor moving like a fish’s fin.

Aboard the flagship, Admiral Latarr strides along the bridge, several crew members busily typing at their consoles. The bridge floor was littered with haphazardly placed large box computer consoles, a wide expanse of window faced forward, and a sleek black raised catwalk cut through the bridge floor from the entrance to the window. The walls of CLERGY 1 were reflective panels of metal, the individual angular sheets of metal panel did not meet at the edges, exposed colored cables and wires weaved behind the panels. The members of the Convoy are humanoid in appearance, their light blue skin is slightly different because they have scaly texture, and they refer to themselves as Callos. The Callos range in build as humans do; girth and height varied from one Callos to another. The Admiral stood straighter and taller than most of the Callos, his military upbringing provided that. He, like the other Convoy members, had blue feathers on his head and a beak-like nose. His eyes were a sharp grey, his lips pursed tightly in concentration. He paced with his hands behind his back, his fingers human-like but with sharper thicker nails.

Each of the Callos below him were in brightly colored skin tight suits, the Callos paid no attention to their Admiral striding the platform above them. The Convoy requires precise calculations for trajectory, the slightest mistake in calculation could result in a collision course with a rogue meteor.

Admiral Latarr approached a console jutting from his viewing platform; he pressed the screen as he spoke through to those aboard each of the Convoy vessels:

This is Admiral Latarr, we are adjusting our course. He said as he adjusted his black and white jumpsuit, the thick padding at the shoulders emblematic of his position.

We have reason to believe that something we previously calculated to be a small terrestrial ball just went supernova. Therefore our course is redirected approximately 87 reaches. He explained.

Admiral Latarr’s voice boomed over several thousand loud speakers placed throughout each of the six CLERGY vessels. Admiral Latarr clicked his shiny black boots and left the bridge heel-toe heel-toe.

The Admiral strode off the platform towards an office nearby; he closed the door behind him.

We just saved two days of fuel. He explained, holding back a confident smile.

A grayscale face projected from a thin screen, the image moved as the projected Callos spoke.

Sir, based off of additional analysis. The floating head explained, the face was gaunt and angular; the feathers on his head were thin and wispy. The collar of the doctor’s white lab coat occasionally bobbed up and down; the projected Callos was walking as he spoke.

Analysis of the supernova? The Admiral asked with his brow raised.

Sir. You asked me to oversee the data stream from our scouting probes. The Doctor reminded.

What did the results show? The Admiral asked with concern.

I cannot be certain, but they suggest that the source of the radiation burst stemmed from a planet’s surface. The Doctor explained, wringing his hands in worry.

Interesting. The Admiral thought out loud. Reclining in his chair, he ran his hand through his straight-cut feathers.

What do you suggest? The Admiral asked, straightening in his seat; this situation needed to be dealt with carefully.

It is your command, but I have to admit, The Callos in the lab coat bit his lip;

We need some additional information. He spat out finally.

Thank you, Doctor. I think I might have something for Alvar to do. He has been anxious to do something. The Admiral decided, pulling the thin tablet off of his desk closer to his face. He pressed against the screen, deactivating the hologram, the Doctor’s face disappeared.

Admiral Latarr stood from his desk and returned to the bridge, he leaned to whisper to a crew member. He nodded in understanding and briskly left the bridge.

The Admiral remained stationary, looking out the panoramic window; stars and the black blanket of space filled it. He remained still for a few minutes until the metal doors to the bridge hissed open automatically.

Admiral, sir! A male voice called out.

The Admiral turned with a grin to face the Callos standing on the platform next to him; the Callos wore a sleek red military jacket, large gold flourishes marked the clasps used to attach the jacket to his regular skin-tight suit. The Callos filled it well, well-built like the Admiral with the same strong jaw, the Callos stepped closer for a hug.

Alvar, brother. The Admiral greeted him.

What was it, which my brother the Admiral needs from me? Alvar said loudly, glancing to both directions to see whether the crew around him was paying attention to him.

Alvar, please. The Admiral directed him to