The Cartographer (29 page)

I stepped inside and the clerk had his feet propped up on the counter reading a magazine—
Weekly World News
. When I headed toward the water fountain he grunted, leaned back in his chair and eyeballed me from the top of the magazine.

On my way down the aisle, I glanced at the newspapers stacked against the wall and my heart stopped. My picture was on the front page next to a headline: MISSING CHILD PRESUMED DEAD. I glanced around to make sure no one stood nearby then moved in to get a closer view.

Authorities have arrested a local, 27-year-old in the case of a missing Carlsbad teenager who vanished three months ago from nearby Carlsbad Caverns. According to an eyewitness, the suspect, Mark Roberts, was seen hiking in the area close to where the teenager was last seen. Mr. Roberts was convicted of assault and kidnapping in 2007 of 14-year-old Tommy Roberts, his younger brother. At the time it had been considered a domestic incident—

A case of vertigo hit me and I had to steady myself against a stack of Doritos. I shook my head and tried to regain my composure. An innocent man was about to take the rap for my disappearance. It was even more imperative that I get home and tell my story. I rushed past the clerk—who cast a suspicious glance toward me—before hitting the road again.

I reached my house twenty minutes later. It wasn't much of a house, more like a double-wide trailer—pretty standard for families of park rangers. They weren't exactly paid like Wall Street bankers. A frown formed when I saw the exterior of the home. The grass (what was left of it from the desert heat) was a brownish-green carpet that resembled a case of mange. The home's exterior (once a bright lime-green color that my mother hated) was nothing more than old pea soup, peeling from several corners. My parents' vehicles were not in the driveway and I wondered if they moved after my disappearance. I trudged up the dusty driveway, stepped on the front porch and checked under the mat. My parents used to leave a key for me when I came home from school because they were never home when I arrived. The key was there in its usual spot. Even though three months had passed they still held hope that I would return one day. I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?”

The house was silent. It was also a wreck. Fast food wrappers were strewn all over the kitchen table. The microwave looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a decade. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and about 2 inches of dust settled on every item in the place. In the living room I spied a photo frame lying face down on the table. When I flipped it over, my emotions got the better of me. It was the same picture I had aboard the ship—the picture of my parents and I in Corpus Christi. The photo was the only thing in the house that didn't have dust on it which meant it had been handled recently.

I wiped the tears aside and put the picture down. “Mom? Dad?” Only silence responded.

A clock above the entertainment center read 3:35 pm. My mother would be due home in less than an hour. Even though we were pressed for time, I decided to plop down on the couch and wait.

At 4:15 pm a car pulled into the driveway. I ran to the living room window and peered outside. My mother stepped out, carrying a bag of groceries. She seemed like she had aged ten years over the past three months. I wiped some more tears aside and turned toward the door. Luckily for me, she didn't realize the door had already been unlocked as she juggled her keys and the bag of groceries. After unlocking the already unlocked door she walked through it and closed it behind her. She tossed her keys on the counter but froze. She slowly turned and her gaze fell on me. We stared at each other in a parody of an Old West standoff. Neither of us seemed to comprehend the other, like we were both phantoms doomed to haunt each other for eternity.

I cracked first. “Hi Mom.”

For a minute she stood, frozen with uncertainty. Before I moved toward her, she ran across the room and wrapped me in a bear hug. I dropped my backpack and returned the squeeze.

“Oh my God, you're alive,” she bawled.

My parents and I have not really seen eye-to-eye on most things, but at that moment I wanted to remain in her embrace forever. I remembered why I had come back, however, and released my grip. She stared at me, wide-eyed and rapid fired questions at me:
Where have I been? Am I OK? What happened?

“Wait a minute, Mom, I have something very important to tell you.”

“Are you hungry, Nathan? Let me make you something to eat, my God you look like you lost fifty pounds.” She picked up the groceries scattered along the floor and hurried into the kitchen.

“No, wait—”

“Were you kidnapped? Oh what am I saying, of course you were, look at you. Your clothes are a mess, you look two steps away from a skeleton.” She yanked a pot from the cabinet, slammed it on the stove and dumped a can of soup in.

I almost chuckled because she looked worse than I did. She must have lost at least twenty pounds and gained ten of it back in gray hair. She used to dress nice (business casual) for work, but judging by her wrinkled, disheveled look a long time had passed since she last cared about her appearance.

“Mom, I need to tell you—”

“Oh God, I almost forgot. You must be thirsty, let me get you some juice.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a juice box.

When she placed it on the counter, I noticed it came from a package of juice boxes they bought before I vanished. My parents never threw them out, supporting my theory that they hoped I would return someday.

I grabbed the drink and took a huge swallow. “Mom, stop for a minute I have to tell you something important.”

The frenzied tone in my voice caused her to pause in the middle of stirring the soup. She stopped and blinked. “What is it, Nathan?”

“I was abducted,” I admitted. “But it's not what you think.”

I picked up my backpack and placed it on the counter. I started to open it when she stopped me.

“Was it that bastard Roberts?”

I flinched. Three months of uncertainty had allowed for a lot of anger to well up inside her and she was prepared to release it.

I shook my head. “No, Mom it wasn't him. You aren't going to believe me when I tell you, so I brought this.”

I dropped the Sustanant on the counter and her anger switched to confusion.

“You brought me a microwave?”

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. “It's not a microwave and I wasn't abducted by a person. I was taken by…” I paused, knowing how ridiculous the words would sound before they even left my lips. “I was taken by aliens.”

“Illegal?”

At first I didn't understand but then I remembered our proximity to the Mexican border. I almost let out a chuckle at her naivety, but bit it back.

“No, not those aliens.” I pointed toward the ceiling. “Those aliens.”

Her confusion changed to disbelief. “Nathan, this is no time to joke. We need to call the police.”

“It's no joke, that is why I brought this.” I gestured toward the Sustanant. “Watch this.”

She came around the counter and stood next to me while I ordered a cheeseburger from the machine. I held it out to her and she shrugged.

“So it's a microwave. I don't understand how that is supposed to prove anything.”

“Watch this.” I ordered a glass of milk and pulled it out. “Do microwaves come with milk?”

She eyeballed it suspiciously.

“Go ahead and taste it.”

She took the glass and lifted it to her lips. Her eyes widened and the suspicion faded.

“Good God, it tastes like milk.”

“It is milk, Mom. This machine can make just about anything I want. The Consortium call it a Sustanant.”

“The who?”

I rubbed my hand through my hair and leaned against the counter.

“You may want to sit down for this.”

Gut Check

“O
h my God.”

I finished explaining everything from the cave to the battle above Earth. My mother looked at me like I had three heads during the entire rehashing of the tale. She tried to rebut it by using the words `hallucinogenic drugs' and `post-traumatic stress disorder', but no matter how many fancy medical terms she applied to my situation, there was one thing she couldn't refute—the food producing box that resembled a microwave perched on the counter.

“Mom, I understand this is a lot to absorb but I need you to trust me. This is very important, I need you to book me a flight to New York.”

“New York? What the hell for?” She looked angry.

I took a step back. “What's wrong?”

She stood up and moved toward the Sustanant. “You were gone for three months, we thought you were dead. Now you come back to tell me you were abducted by aliens and brought me a fancy microwave as proof? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“It is
ridiculous
.”

We turned in surprise toward the sound of the voice. Kedge stepped through the doorway. His ability to sneak up on people was uncanny, like a space ninja.

“Who the hell are you?” My mother stepped away from the counter—and one step closer to the phone.

Kedge's monocled eye fixed on her and for a fleeting second I thought she would flee in terror.

“My name is Kedge Mal'Dineen and I'm here to provide additional proof of Nathan's claim.” He pointed to himself.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Kedge smiled. “Sorry, I got bored.”

His smile faded when my mother grabbed the phone. She clutched it in front of her, like the mere sight of the phone would cause Kedge to dodge-roll out the door.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Kedge's scowl froze her in place. “That's not a good idea.”

“Wait, Kedge.” I turned to him and lowered my voice. “Maybe she's right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I would be able to convince my parents what happened to me, but I miscalculated,” I admitted. “I figured the shock of seeing me alive would make them believe me.”

“So, what do you think we should do?” he whispered.

My mother hung up the phone and plopped on the couch and switched on the TV. She slumped her shoulders in resignation. “I guess I'm just happy you're home, Nathan.”

A headache started forming and I reached up to massage my temples gently. I slumped into the chair next to my mother. “I'm happy to be home, Mom—”

A news report interrupted my homecoming speech. When I saw the image flash across the screen I quickly understood that our time had run out.

“
Yesterday we confirmed that the earlier newscast from the person calling himself Calypso was not a hoax. What you are seeing here is an unconfirmed report of the actual craft Calypso is traveling in
,” the reporter announced. “
We confirmed that federal, state and local authorities have been dispatched to the scene
.
For the first time since its inception, the NTAS alert system has been activated. An `elevated threat level' alert has been forwarded from the official Twitter and Facebook accounts of the National Terrorism Alert System. This is not a drill and the United States government is urging citizens to stay away from the area between Central Park south to the United Nations building. The Department of Homeland Security has also requested that citizens avoid the area east including Four Freedoms Park as well as the area around the East River. The President has requested only essential personnel travel in an effort to keep the roads and highway clear
.”

Frantic, I turned to Kedge. “We need to go.”

Kedge nodded his agreement which caused my mother to burst out in another tirade.

“What? You can't go!” she exclaimed. “This is ridiculous!”

I turned to her and winced at the pain in her eyes. It was as if the thought of losing me again so soon after my return would be too much for her to endure. I squatted beside her and placed my hand on her knee. It had been long time since either of us had expressed a loving gesture toward each other. It was unfortunate that it required a planetary crisis to express it.

“Mom, I need to go.” I motioned toward the TV. “The events in New York are going to go south quickly if we aren't there to stop it.”

“I don't understand,” she sobbed. “Why do you have to go?”

“I can't explain, we don't have the time. I just need you to trust me,” I urged.

“What will I tell your father?”

Her eyes begged me for answers I had no time to give. I could no longer look at her eyes and glanced at my shoes instead. I stood up and followed Kedge to the door.

“Tell him I'm alive and I will be back,” I replied. “Eventually.”

I grabbed the Sustanant, strapped the pack to my back and followed Kedge out the door. We stepped on the porch and a dry gust of air swept past us, taking a tumbleweed with it across the lawn carcass.

“Back to the beginning. I suppose,” Kedge muttered.

I kicked at a loose chunk of gravel. “Come on let's go.”

When we returned to the shuttle, Wraith met our sour demeanor with a grim expression of his own.

“Didn't go well, huh?”

I shook my head and handed him the backpack. “Nope.” I glanced away and moved past him.