Postamble, The Lost Race

By James E. Townshend

It has been five years since an electro-magnetic solar flare desiccated nearly all of the human race. With very few survivors to protect the earth, it has been invaded by multiple species of alien marauders and pirates, here to strip our planet of refined and raw resources. Small groups of humans gather for protection, safety and to defend what they can. Some people have formed alliances with certain extra terrestrials to insure security of their small communities.
Then a feared race of highly intelligent, giant insects arrive. They round up all surviving humans and those alien races that confront them. The insects are not interested in metals or minerals. They require other intelligent life to supply their breeding nests with hosts for their young. A group of rebels does what it can to disrupt and destroy the insectile aliens while trying to saves human lives. They discover a weakness that can be exploited. The rebel leader, The Survivor from Postamble, hatches an unlikely plan to defeat and liberate all the prisoners before the human race is lost to this savage race of bugs that have claimed the earth as their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James E. Townshend
• Release date: Apr 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463039663

James E. Townshend

James E. Townshend (Jim or JET) Calls the greater Grand Rapids, Michigan area home. He has spent his career in manufacturing management and engineering, writing as a hobby. He released his first novel Postamble in 2001, then re-released it in 2017. The second novel in the trilogy- possibly an ongoing series. Postamble The Lost Race was written in 2005, but only being released now. Jim enjoys the vintage car hobby and the great outdoors besides writing. He enjoys spending time with his children and grandchildren.

Book preview

Postamble

The Lost Race

James E. Townshend

Copyright © 2019 James E. Townshend

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author or publisher.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incedents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons , living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Lyrics used or referenced are credited to the artists and copyright release dates in the bibliography I refer to as The Sound Track. Please don’t sue me; Music inspires my prose.

Cover and formatting by ebooklaunch.com

For Alicia

My Dedicated Fan

CONTENTS

1. Bad Lands

2. Michigan

3. The Cabin

4. Camp Grand Rapids

5. The Plan

6. Harvest

7. Salvation

8. The Lost Race

Author’s Note

Sound Track

BAD LANDS

1

For the ones who had the notion

The notion deep inside

That it ain’t no sin

To be glad you’re alive

Bruce Springsteen - Badlands

BONG

CLANG

CLANG

CLANG

BANG

BANG

THUD

THUD

THUD

The man straightened up as the last thud echoed away across the valley. A shovel made a crummy hammer, but it was all he had with him. At least as far as tools were concerned. He wasn’t going to pound with the butt of his .44 magnum or his 7mm rifle, or his phased pulse gun.

He wiped sweat from his brow in the late April twilight. He looked over the small graveyard of wooden crosses; nine in all. Only five had bodies under them. Four markers were the only reference to the lives they represented. The bodies were gone, turned to vapor, leaving nothing to plant in the cold earth. He sunk the shovel blade in the rocky dirt. If he hung around much longer there would be one more body, his, with no one to bury it.

He looked at his dog that was looking off in the distance toward the shadows being cast by the mountains as the sun sank behind them. The man picked up the dog and placed him in the bike trailer that was latched to a twelve speed Trek Mountain bike. The dog was missing most of his left rear leg, the result of an encounter with a Sentinel. Consequently the animal had picked up an almost supernatural awareness of the little killer robots that had decimated the man’s small settlement over the last year. Though the dog could keep up to the man’s long stride, it couldn’t keep up with the bicycle, so the man had taken to putting the dog in the trailer that was once meant to haul human toddlers behind their parents’ bikes.

God rest your soul, Dale, the man said to the freshly dug grave and planted cross. God grant you are in a better place. The man wiped a tear away as he finished his small prayer he had recited nine times before. He straddled the bike, beginning the ride home.

Twilight was fading to dark, when he crossed the orange line on the road. The man pressed a button on a remote control device mounted on his handlebars. The green light flashed on a traffic signal ahead. As he crossed the intersection he hit the button again. The light went out. He was safe. Beyond the intersection a driveway lead into a manufactured home development called Mountain View Estates. The drive was gated. So the man stopped the bike and pushed a different button making the eight-foot tall gate roll aside. He pedaled through hitting the button again, closing the gate. The streetlights were just coming on.

He rolled past the community center with its swimming pool, tennis court, playground equipment and community house. The pool was drained and winterized for the winter just past. It would remain so forever now. Snow melt and rainwater had accumulated in the deep end. It looked swampy with fall’s leaves floating in it. He wheeled into the lot of a nice double wide just beyond the community house. It had gray siding and faux field stone fascia around the main door and bay window. He eased the bike into the open shed and stopped. He propped the bike on its kickstand. The dog was already hopping out as best he could with his handicap. The man picked up the weapons from the trailer and went into the house. The dog stopped short of the first step looking to the east where dark was approaching.

The perimeter system came on. First flood lights then laser trackers began scanning in crisscrossing patterns. One of the lasers locked onto something. One 20mm machine gun as well as one pulse emitter aimed on the lock. The other trackers stayed on task.

The man stood and watched, though he couldn’t see over the brick wall that surrounded the development. He watched the guns perform their program. They went back to their ready position when the motion detector began its sweeps. A few minutes later the floodlights went out. Whatever it had been hadn’t advanced any closer than the 125-foot envelope that was the perimeter. The system was designed to come on at 125 feet and blow away anything closer than 75 feet. Fifty feet was plenty of room for anything with intelligence, artificial or real, to make up its mind as to whether to advance further.

Occasionally a prairie dog would pop up within the kill zone and get wasted, sometimes a bird would stray but for the most part any animal that still lived nearby had learned of the zone and kept safely away. The flood lights were the first tactic to scare away something, then the sweeping lasers would be either terrifying enough or warning enough to deter more intelligent beings. The gun locks were the last warning. Those were the three strikes.

After that, you’re out!

The system had three trip mechanisms; infrared caught just about anything alive or producing heat, EM radar picked up anything electro/mechanical lastly motion sensors picked up everything that moved with in the zone. Nothing larger than a filed mouse or insects could penetrate the zone. It had been tested rigorously and successfully by system tests including actual combat situations.

The man reached down and patted the dog on the head. Good boy Pogo, he said. The dog knew something was out there before any of the systems did. They went into the house.

The man went to the wood stove in the middle of the house to rekindled the fire with some of the logs stacked in a rack next to it. The wood burner had been added after the fact of the house being manufactured and placed here. There hadn’t been any propane for almost two and a half years. Everything was electric powered now, except heat sources. Electric furnaces were too much load for the power plant. A few space heaters were allowed but major appliances had to be strictly regulated.

Mountain View Estates had been a typical planned community. It had sites for three hundred manufactured homes. Only eighty sites were occupied when civilization came to a screeching halt almost five years ago. The community was self-contained. It had two ten inch wells for water, a gigantic septic system and drain field took care of water and sewage. There were four huge propane tanks for gas appliances. The development was on the edge of the Blackfoot Indian Reservation, it was essentially in the middle of Western nowhere Montana. The developer had worked with the tribe to put in the community in hopes that casino money and mineral rights would create enough affluence to live there. It seemed to be on schedule when the end came.

Being far from anything, an enterprising Native American had opened a gas station/convenience store across the street from the entrance to the Estates. The store did a respectable business selling fuel and groceries and Subway sub sandwiches that had franchised a small restaurant inside the store. Business was good enough to start construction of a car wash at the back of the store’s property. Humanity came to an end before the equipment could be installed in the brick building. The car wash now housed the power plant.

Allen Townse stood straight up, arched and cracked his back. He looked out the bay window at the night pressing in. Pogo settled near the fire on his cedar filled pillow. Allen headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner and plan his future. There was a salami link made from elk meat in the refrigerator and some fixings for sandwiches. He didn’t have a whole lot in there. He would have to go to the community house and get some more food. There was a Tupperware container of buffalo goulash on the bottom shelf. He opened it and looked in. It was only three days old, but he couldn’t see himself eating it any time soon. He set it on the floor and called the dog. He reached in and grabbed the salami and a loaf of bread, a block of cheese and a squeeze bottle of mustard. He began making a sandwich as the dog hopped his way into the kitchen.

Good old Pogo, so named because of the way he walked by bouncing on his one rear leg. Allen admired the dog, he was a beautiful animal. His long shiny black coat gleamed with good health. He waved his flag of a tail as he looked inquiringly into the dish and then to Allen.

That’s for you, Allen said to the Flat Coat Retriever. The dog wagged his thank you and went to his dinner.

Allen pulled a can of tomato soup from the cupboard. He opened it, plopped it in a pan then warmed it up on the stove. With everyone dead but him there was no need to worry about conserving energy. Usually dinner was held in the community house, the entire settlement would pitch in to cook, eat and clean up. Although every occupied house had been retro fitted with electric appliances it was easier to cook and clean with the community house’s facilities. Even showering was done in the community house. There were two locker rooms for the pool and tennis court and the small fitness gym. The developer had probably never envisioned his community center being used so extensively. But the settlers who recently occupied the Estates in five homes decided it would be better to use the common facilities in the center than try to ration every home’s power needs.

If a person wanted a quick and private shower, they could take a short one in their home. But they had ten gallons of hot water and that was it. Each home had a ten gallon electric hot water heater, mainly for doing dishes or other lesser cleaning chores. None had clothes washers or dryers or automatic dishwashers, all of those appliances were in the community house and could be used as often as desired. There was plenty of capacity since the developer had envisioned this central location to provide service for up to 300 families.

It was actually a good arrangement. The satellite homes were nice refuges for individuals, but when the nine of them came together in the center it always seemed like a family reunion even though it was actually communal living. The center even had a sixty-two inch large screen television with a DVD home theater system set up. Each settler got to put his name on the list of available DVDs or movies on VHS. The list was posted on whose pick would play that night and if people wanted to watch it they could settle in and watch or go home to their own entertainment.

Tonight Allen entertained himself at home. He had located a full collection of The Simpsons episodes on VHS tape that had been recorded off of Fox network’s regular broadcasts. He settled down with his soup and sandwich on the couch and popped a Coors. He put tape eight in the VCR and watched the animated dysfunctional but highly cohesive family run through their adventures. Because the show had been taped from a regular broadcast, it contained all the commercials too. Allen could have fast-forwarded past them, but he found it more enjoyable to watch with the commercials. It was almost like the Old World was still out there.

Pogo hobbled in with the Tupperware bowl clenched in his teeth. He flopped back onto his bed and began licking the bowl more thoroughly. Allen finished his dinner and placed the dishes in the sink. He took another beer from the fridge and settled on the couch. The perimeter system was on again judging by the level of light. He swore softly to himself. Those damned things knew there was one human left. They seemed determined to get in and get him.

2

The damned things were alien sentinels. The sentinels were robotic patrol machines left behind by a race that had staked a claim in Northwestern Montana. The aliens were miners of some kind. They had taken to extracting gold and copper and maybe uranium from the mountains. They had pretty much left the human inhabitants alone even though people occupied a small segment of whatever land area they claimed.

It wasn’t bad at first, it was a live and let live situation. There was very little contact between the two races. Until one winter when a howling blizzard had driven the miners out of the mountains right into the settlement. Their ore ship had left a few days before to transport the material that had been mined to where ever they took it. It left a small contingent of ten miners to keep things going while the ship was gone. This was fairly standard operating procedure.

Then the weather had come in. This was the first winter after humanity had been wiped out. The aliens didn’t realize the brutality of a mountain winter. There were seven people calling Mountain View Estates home at that time. They had heat; two of the four propane tanks were full and flowing fuel to the furnaces. A large electric generator had been installed in the car wash building which was getting direct feed from the gasoline storage tanks of the gas station. Life was warm and cozy in the development.

It was movie night and ironically the video happened to be Aliens. Sigourney Weaver and company were getting their asses kicked by nasty insectile creatures. The whole human population of The Estates was watching and eating popcorn when a knock came at the community house’s sliding glass doors.

The guardian perimeter had yet to be dreamed up so the aliens could walk right in, which they did. The little troll-like creatures with the feathery hair were nearly frozen. Two were hypothermic and several had frost bite on their extremities. Their clothing was nowhere near adequate for the climate.

When the knock came, Marta, a young lady of thirteen screamed at the site of the extraterrestrial visitors. She had been pretty keyed up from the movie. Allen leapt up from his recliner without even bothering to fold in the footrest. No one was armed and for a minute the humans were unsure what to make of this sudden appearance until Dale said they looked cold.

Allen, the only real adult at the time, Dale was seventeen, made for the doors. He slid them open letting in a blast of arctic air and a swirl of snow as well as the little band of miners who practically blew in with the wind gust. Allen had been well-trained in rescue paramedics by the Forest Service, having been a Conservation Officer since graduating college.

He immediately recognized hypothermia, even in alien physiology. He picked up one of the little men and rushed him into the locker room yelling for Dale to get the other one who had collapsed upon entry. The other four-foot tall miners trouped along behind unsure what to make of the sudden turn of events. Allen removed his pocketknife and slit the jumpsuit. It was tougher than it looked but the razor sharp knife did the trick. Allen turned on the shower as he peeled the little guy out of his outfit. He set the water on warm, not wanting to shock the alien. He tossed the knife to Dale who likewise slit open the other alien’s suit and slid him under the shower. Both Dale and Allen got soaked in the process.

Shivers racked the little forms. Their naked little eunuch like bodies’ skin puckered severely, but as the water warmed them, it smoothed back out. Allen added more hot to the mix and their condition seemed to improve. The other aliens watched intently, wide eyed with wonder. It was hard to tell how much wonder since their eyes were wide to begin with. The few with frostbite on their hands reached out and put their hands under the water stream. Though it obviously hurt initially, they kept their hands there until the color came back to an even greenish gray. A couple of them began coughing then hacking severely.

Allen shouted to Marta to bring glasses of warm water for all of them. She slipped away from the crowd, going to the kitchen, returning with a pitcher of water and ten glasses on a tray. The other humans pitched in and poured the water into the glasses then handed them out. The aliens knew right away what to do with fresh water. They drank greedily and since filling all of the glasses had depleted the pitcher, they took their empty tumblers and filled them right from the shower head then drank some more.

The two on the floor seemed to be coming around under the warm water. Allen stood them up and looked into their eyes. They seemed to be recovering well enough. He motioned for them to stand there. He looked to Daemon who was about the height and build of the little guys in the shower. He told Daemon and Virginia to run home and find some clothes for the visitors. They hustled out. Dale brought a couple of towels from the laundry area. Allen shut off the water and wrapped the little beings in plush terry cloth. He motioned everyone back out to the main room.

The video was displaying Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) negotiating safe passage with the Queen Alien via flame-thrower. The real life aliens who weren’t in as much distress as the others watched the screen intently. They gestured at the screen and though no sound was exchanged something seemed to pass between them. They appeared telepathic amongst themselves. They crowded around the screen to watch the happenings.

Allen was tempted to turn off the movie but he recognized it as worthy crowd control while he tended the weather wounded others. He wasn’t too worried about being politically correct and offending the visitors. He bundled the two hypothermia victims tightly in a pair of sleeping bags from a closet then sat them on the sofa closest to the fire place. The three with frost bite held their white patched hands to him. He grasped them gently and examined them. It was too late to help now. He shook his head indicating he could do nothing for them. They looked at him curiously, then at their own physical damage. The sensation of dead flesh seemed most fascinating to them. They kept touching the dead patches with their healthy digits seeming to marvel to each other the lack of feeling in those dead patches.

Allen let them go with their wonder. When the nerves around those dead patches fully woke up they would have something new to be fascinated about. Marta returned with a tray of ten steaming mugs of hot cocoa. Allen wasn’t sure what kind of effect cocoa would have on them, but he figured he would soon find out. Daemon and Virginia returned with clothes. They brought matching sweat suits and wool socks. The little aliens shed the sleeping bags and dressed themselves. The whole group of visitors then gathered around the hot cocoa tray, each took a mug and settled in front of the television to watch Sigourney Weaver equipped with a mechanical body loader wrestle the Queen into a hatch and into space. The aliens sipped the hot drinks, apparently enjoying the flavor while being mindful of the temperature. The movie concluded. The snowbound aliens looked very much like any group of intelligent beings having a discussion or debate about what they had just seen. Only no words or sound could be heard. At least none the humans could hear.

Allen and the group of humans drew back toward the kitchen. Are any of you picking up what’s going on out there? He asked the young adults and children that made up the Estates settlement.

Everyone shook his or her head. They seem to like it. Marta offered.

Maybe they can identify with it, Dale suggested.

Daemon eased up to Allen and slyly put something in his hand. Here, he said. I stopped by your place on the way back. The boy was also holding a stack of clothes for Allen and Dale.

Thanks, Allen remarked as he eased the .44 magnum Ruger Super Redhawk into his belt. Good idea, but I don’t think we will need it. Hopefully we won’t. They came down for help. Must be something happened at the mine.

What do we do with them? Virginia asked. She watched them as they licked the bottoms of their cocoa mugs. The kids had all turned away while Allen and Dale slipped behind the kitchen wall to change out of their shower drenched clothes.

They look hungry, Diana, the youngest of the humans at nine years old, observed.

What do they eat? Dale wondered for all of them as he stepped back out and tossed his wet bundle toward the laundry room.

Everyone likes hotdogs, Diana generalized her opinion of her favorite food. She trotted to the refrigerator and pulled out a thawed pack of Ballpark Franks.

Allen shrugged as he took the pack from her. He set up a pan on the stove and began boiling the hotdogs. Then all of the kids got involved. They rummaged through the cupboards and fridge. Two more packs of hotdogs were added to the pot. A large can of baked beans went on the stove. A loaf of bread began a three-stage peanut butter and jelly assembly line. By the time everything was heated and assembled there was quite a mountain of food. This was one reason meals had become a community gathering. Left to their own methods, the kids would make a huge waste of food from the shear joy of creative meal preparation.

The little band of aliens had been drawn to the kitchen door by the scent of cooking. They were unabashedly drooling, their jaws hanging open and saliva was running freely off of their cat like teeth. The kids all looked at each other, unsure what to make of this slobbering display.

Allen took the trays of food through the mob to the dining table and set them down. The little troll like creatures sat around the table and as one, reached out and grabbed the chow. The settlement of humans watched with disgusted amusement. For all this race’s advancements in technology to master space travel, they obviously didn’t devote much evolution to manners. It didn’t take long for the eclectic feast to be devoured. Dale brought out another tray with drinks on it; juice boxes.

The otherworldly diners looked at the boxes with the straws poking out. It was comical to watch them tying to figure out the purpose of the straws. They couldn’t close their lips sufficiently to generate enough suction to draw out the liquid. Finally in frustration one of them squeezed the box making a jet of cherry drink shoot over his shoulder to hit the wall behind him.

The humans giggled, the aliens smiled as they all picked up their boxes in unison, aiming the straws into their mouths they squeezed the boxes empty into their mouths. They never spilled a drop either. The human hosts applauded.

Two of the visitors stood up and made their way to the bathroom. Allen was wondering about that. He was glad to know they were house broken. The rest of them picked up the empty plates and juice boxes and set them in the kitchen. One of the kids put in a new DVD, Independence Day. And the whole crowd gathered in the great room to watch. The younger kids formed a semi circle around the clustered aliens. The older humans sat on couches or chairs. Allen reclined on the La-Z-boy with Diana on his lap. She was asleep before the movie was half over. Several of the other children were piling up on the floor as well. Allen motioned for Dale and Marta to get blankets for the young ‘uns.

The aliens watched the children get covered up. Then they turned back to the movie. Allen had surmised that the creatures communicated telepathically. They seemed to do everything in unison. They did some things independently, but it seemed when they were observing they moved and acted as one. Their telepathy was obviously only good when used between themselves, they either couldn’t or didn’t want to relate anything to their human hosts. Allen believed they couldn’t communicate across species. They had arrived in trouble, cold, hungry, thirsty and obviously desperate, yet he and the children had to figure out what they needed. He wondered idly what they were making of the action they were seeing on the large television screen.

He wondered how much human culture the aliens had experienced or been taught before coming to Earth. How much of their culture was similar to human? They knew about bathrooms when they needed to go, that was maybe a sign of any evolved species. They obviously saw the movies as entertainment and didn’t seem offended that extraterrestrials were villainized. Obviously they had evolved beyond political correctness. An advanced race indeed.

3

The movie ended. One of the aliens approached Allen. He seemed to be the leader. His uniform was slightly darker than the others wore. He also seemed to be the one the others looked to and gravitate around.

He looked at Allen.

He dropped his eyes and then looked into Allen’s eyes again. The alien’s shoulders drooped. Allen figured the little guy was trying to think at him but wasn’t getting through. Allen asked the kids who were still awake if they were picking up anything, like thoughts in their head or words or anything.

No one was.

The alien stopped his telepathic efforts. then pointed at the screen. He pointed to himself then the screen, then himself, then at Allen, then to himself again. The visitor smiled. Despite the mouth full of needle teeth it was obviously a friendly gesture.

Do you understand me? Allen asked thinking that maybe half way communication was better than none. He also wondered how the creatures could sit through over two hours of video as just a visual medium. Did the script make sense to them? Did the musical sound track convey the mood of the scenes to their senses as it did with humans?

The little guy just stood there, his smile faltered. He turned to the screen again. Allen picked up the remote and back tracked the video. The alien leader waved his arms at the scene where Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum were waving to the movie alien dock master. Allen paused the video.

The leader ran through his pantomime again. Then he seemed inspired and put his finger on the face of the dock master. Then he pointed to himself, and then the video alien and he looked at Allen and shook his head.

Allen figured that the little being in front of the TV was trying to tell him that the video alien and he, the leader were nothing alike. Allen doubted that, considering he had seen this alien species before, stripping the planet of everything that wasn’t nailed down, and now were mining the mountains for who knew what? But in the interest of diplomacy, Allen smiled, nodded that he understood.

Then the leader pointed to the humans on the screen then at the alien dock master. He pointed to the actors, he made a clenched fist with both his hands then swiftly apart like an explosion then he pointed at the alien in the video.

Those humans had blown up the aliens.

The leader shook his head.

He pointed to Allen then the kids and then the actors and lastly to the alien, making the explosion again. He shook his head and reversed it; Hollywood alien to the humans and the explosion.

If real humans tried to blow up real aliens, it wouldn’t happen that way. They would get us.

Was that a threat? Allen wondered. He didn’t think so. There were several aliens currently engaged in various activities on Earth. This species seemed determined to let Allen know that they were not associated with aliens similar to those on the screen. This meant there was an alien race somewhere on or around the planet that wouldn’t be averse to eliminating humans.

Allen held his hand out from the chair. Diana was still sleeping in his lap. The alien leader understood a handshake. Allen grasped the strangely shaped hand of the visitor. The handshake seemed to cement the live and let live agreement the two colonies had so far enjoyed.

The storm was really howling outside. Allen instructed the older kids to get out the sleeping bags for everyone. They were going to have a slumber party. No sense leaving the warmth of the community house to trudge through blowing and drifting snow and cold to their homes. Soon the floor of the community house was lined up with sleeping bags, Afghans and blankets. Allen shut off the television with the remote and everyone, human and alien settled in for the night.

4

The next morning Allen heard rustling in the kitchen and the clang of pans trying not to be clanged. Noises only a child who was trying to be quiet would make. He slid out from under Diana letting her slump into the seat of the chair. Allen’s leg and left arm were practically dead from lack of circulation, or so it felt. His left side limbs were attacked by millions of pinpricks as full circulation came back.

He staggered into the bathroom. An alien was stinking the place up, while moving its bowels. Allen had to piss too strongly to care. He figured it would be best to pee and clear out before his nose woke up further. He didn’t know if that was normal shit smell for this species or a result of franks and beans and PB&J. Allen finished, making a show of flushing the toilet, hoping the guest would get the hint and not leave an air polluting floater in the bowl.

No! No! No! Allen heard Marta scolding from the kitchen. He stopped at the door.

Four of the aliens were awake, ready for breakfast. Marta was trying to wrestle a pound of bacon away from them as they were trying to peel off strips and eat it.

Let them have it, Allen suggested gently.

Marta turned; startled at first, then she gave up her struggle and let them share out the remaining strips. They’ll get sick eating it raw.

Maybe not, Allen shrugged. They might be immune to trichinosis.

One of them ate an egg, She informed Allen. Shell and all, not even cooked. He just swallowed it whole. Down the hatch. Like an aspirin. She seemed both amazed and concerned at the same time.

Don’t worry about it honey, Allen assuaged her fears. Judging by their teeth I would say they have predatory ancestors. They can probably eat and digest anything, like a dog or bear or something.

More like a shark, She observed as they looked at her waiting for more. They eat anything and don’t seem to care.

You go ahead and whip up breakfast, Allen instructed her. You guys c’mere. He pointed to the aliens and motioned for them to follow him. They trouped out of the kitchen leaving Marta to make breakfast for the crowd.

Allen herded the aliens to the dining table. Everyone, human and alien alike were finally waking up and moving about. The aliens grouped around the table. They had surrounded Virginia who was sketching the aliens. She had well-developed artistic talents. The visitors appeared amazed at the process.

Dale motioned for Allen to come to the other side of the room.

What are we going to do with them? Dale asked in a hushed tone.

I don’t know, Allen admitted. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to get in the good graces of an alien race. Last night’s demonstration by the leader that there were alien species around that wouldn’t think twice about killing humans wasn’t lost on Allen. Having allies could help their situation.

The leader alien took a piece of paper and picked up a crayon with his barrel shaped hand and began to draw too. He did a quick, recognizable caricature of Virginia.

Allen had a brain storm. He quickly crossed the room to the table and whispered to Virginia to draw the mine. She responded that she didn’t know what it looked like.

Just make it up, Allen persuaded.

She did just that and drew a mountainside with a small building attached to it. She added a tunnel behind the building. She showed it to Allen.

Draw an alien face next to it. He instructed. Then he added; and their spaceship flying above it.

Virginia bent to it. She sketched a quick alien visage, then the ore ship, which they had all seen, though at a distance. She finished and showed it to Allen again. Allen smiled and patted her head. He showed the picture to the leader.

The leader looked at it then at Allen.

Draw this house, Allen told Virginia.

She did while the aliens and humans gathered around.

Add the snow storm to both pictures Allen requested.

When she finished he laid the pictures side by side in front of the leader.

The leader looked at both pictures. He pointed to the alien face then to each of his crew.

Yes, that’s you, Allen nodded his head in acknowledgment.

The leader pointed to the community house on paper then to all of the humans.

Yes, that’s us, Allen nodded.

Allen took the paper setting them side by side on the table. Why are you here? He pointed to the mine then to the community house while looking at the leader. He pointed to the leader, then held his finger on the alien face drawing. Inspired, Allen made his fingers walk from the mine drawing to the community house drawing. He asked again, Why are you here?

The alien understood.

He took the paper with the mine drawing and drew the mountain higher. He then crayoned in a good facsimile of the snow cap. He next drew a pile of snow on the mine building and tunnel with graphic lines from higher up the mountain.

Allen understood. An avalanche had buried the mine. Allen felt elated that they had found a way to communicate.

Marta interrupted with a stack of steaming waffles, a large salad bowl of scrambled eggs accompanied by a platter of bacon. The other kids knew their roles. Plates and silverware were doled out, glasses for orange juice were placed. Everyone sat down for a grand breakfast with the seating going pretty much alien, human, alien. Some of the children preferred jelly on their waffles, some syrup. The aliens tried it all, even jelly and/or syrup on their eggs and bacon.

Allen ate in amusement at the reaction of the kids to the strange diet of the aliens. The mix of flavors must be overwhelming for the creatures. He had no doubt they tasted what they ate. They showed too much interest in mixing and matching the flavors to think they were just slopping it all together because it all winds up in the same place once chewed.

Dale was holding the picture. How did they get out of there? He asked Allen.

I don’t know, Allen wondered himself, having seen avalanches. They weren’t something you just stepped out of the way of and let pass.

How long did it take them to walk here? Dale wondered. It’s over sixty miles up the mountain from here to there. Do they have some kind of ground vehicle?

Allen shook his head unsure. They must have had something. Though whatever it was, they didn’t use it all the way, not if two of them ended up hypothermic and several more with frostbite.

After breakfast the kids took to their duties clearing the table and began the clean up. Some of the aliens joined in. Though their version of doing the dishes amounted to licking all the dishes, cups, glasses, pans and utensils clean with long dexterous tongues.

Allen, Dale and Virginia sat with the leader and two of his lieutenants with the paper and crayons. How did you get here? Allen asked. He pointed to the leader then the mine drawing and then to the cub house.

The alien studied both pictures and looked back at Allen. It wasn’t hard to discern that it was confused. Allen had used almost the same motions to ask why they were here.

Dale grabbed the pictures and drew a stick figure alien inside the buried mine shaft then made a dotted line path to the club house. The aliens watched, not giving any sign they understood any more than before. Virginia took the papers and along the line drew a multiple choice of vehicles. She drew a car, a small space ship and lastly a crude snowmobile.

The aliens puzzled over the new additions to the conversation then seemed to confer with each other. The leader took the crayon and drew a vehicle that resembled a flying snowmobile. Seemingly in anticipation of the next question the alien drew the vehicle crashed into a tree and buried under snow.

Dale and Allen looked at each other. If the drawing was accurate or even near scale then the other worlders had walked through a blinding blizzard for almost fifteen miles. The drawing was very accurate. The tree the leader had drawn was a huge old pine, possibly a young redwood, standing alone on a hill top, a land mark the human colonists had been using to get bearings from when coming down the mountain. It seemed to make sense that the aliens had similarly used it as a guiding point. They had crashed into it.

How the heck did they make it so far? Dale marveled. Those suits they wore didn’t seem too insulated?

Maybe they have better tolerance to cold. Allen speculated. But they are obviously not immune to it.

Why didn’t they stay in the mine? Dale asked. Wouldn’t it be warmer and safer to stay in there than to risk coming to us?

I was wondering that myself. Though if the shaft were plugged they could have suffocated

The leader alien was looking over the pictures and appeared to be following the conversation. He started a new drawing taking some time to finish his drawing. His picture showed more detail to the mine. Allen interpreted it to mean that there were more aliens trapped in the mine. It showed the main entrance plugged by snow. Then further down the shaft more alien forms behind a cave in. The aliens hadn’t come to get out of the storm. They needed help to rescue their friends.

Allen instructed Virginia to go to the office to get the desk globe off the manager’s desk, and find a flashlight. She returned shortly with both items. Allen presented it to the aliens. They recognized the little earth, even though it was made of crystal with the continents etched in. He used the flashlight to represent the sun. He pointed to the first drawing of the spaceship, then shining the light on the globe he spun it slowly to indicate one day. He spun it a few more times and tapped the spaceship picture again. The leader understood, how long until the mother ship returned?

The alien took the globe and the light, tapped the picture and spun the globe. It went around nine times. Nine days. No wonder they had come for help. Allen looked out the window. The storm had subsided. The sun was actually breaking through the clouds. There were five snowmobiles in the grounds keeper’s barn of the mobile home park.

Allen looked around the room; the rest of the kids had come back out and were gathering about the television and selecting a movie from the stack of DVDs. Only he and Dale were really old enough to handle the snow machines. Dale was seventeen. Marta thirteen, Daemon and Virginia were twelve and Diana nine. Marta would have to stay behind and tend to the younger kids. He looked at the alien’s hands. They were four fingered and shaped like a stool. They didn’t really have a palm, just the four digits sprouting out of the end of their arm. Allen didn’t think there would be anyway that they could work the controls on the snowmobile, which had been designed for the convenience of a flat palm, four fingers with an opposing thumb.

He instructed Marta to watch the kids, he motioned to Dale and the leader and his next in commands. They all bundled up in warm clothes and boots then went out to the barn. Allen started the snowmobile. He tugged at the leader who was