Becoming Alien Read Online Free Page B

stepped up onto the porch.
    The cats had left, too, but around dinnertime, I saw the big gray tabby slink back, then her favorite black tom, followed by others, all ears back, tails low. After dinner, I went to feed them and saw a little yellow cat limping. When I saw it worry its hind leg with teeth and tongue, I realized it’d been shot.
    Alpha’d been shot, too—I knew it. Warren said, I’ll go to town and see if anyone’s seen anything.”
     
    Warren heard plenty. “Folks thought one of the hippies got the jump on Halloween, going off like a monster and carrying cats around. Your star-buddy got all the way to Pannell Knitting before old man Hendricks used bird shot on him.” Warren took his jacket off while I got a fire going.
    “He’ll freeze tonight,” I said, setting the kindling on fire, “this late in October.”
    “Better he be dead, and not linked to us. I keep thinking how he can’t talk, but the bastard sure can draw faces and maps.”
    Warren was right for Warren, but I slipped out about midnight, leaves crunching like little bones under my feet. When I was good and away from the house, I turned on the flashlight, kept it low, looking for tracks, broken twigs; but the night was so cold and dark. About two miles out, I realized how hopeless searching was and went back to the house. Coming up to it, I saw lights.
    “Damn, Tom,” Warren said, putting his Uzi machine gun aside. I gaped at the Uzi—I didn’t realize he had such weapons around.
    “If I had an ultrasonic dog whistle,” I said.
    “Get to bed.” He stood over me, skin tight around his eyes.
    I didn’t sleep and heard Warren fussing around until dawn. Sunrise, he stepped out on the porch, and said, “Damn you, stupid.”
    I got up, threw on a robe, and went out there. The alien, legs-bloody, sat on the steps.
    Warren peeled his day pack off Alpha’s back. Alpha opened his arms and moaned, then curled down, scrabbling at his legs as though the bird shot itched. “Tom, take care of him,” Warren said, heading out for the car.
    I spread papers to catch blood around a kitchen chair, then helped Alpha. He’d walked at least fifteen miles since he’d snuck away—socks worn off, heels bruised bloody. I wiped up where he’d put his feet and then gave him water.
    Better get all that bird shot out, I decided, going to the bathroom for tweezers. When I worked the tweezers around in a shot hole, Alpha jumped, so I held the first pellet up for him to see. He rolled the shot around on his palm; then touched my shoulder gently. I moved the tweezers back down to his legs. He said, “Dus,” for yes, but kept his hand on my shoulder and squeezed when the tweezers got particularly painful. Finally, I thought to ice the holes to numb them.
    After I helped him to bed, the alien grabbed me and just held on, alien heart going faster than a bird’s, hot body up sideways against me, ribs rolling against my ribs. I could have pulled away, but realized how utterly alone Alpha was, so I sat, stroking the alien’s shoulder, saying quiet dumb things like, we’ll both escape, find an alien biologist, speculative guys like Carl Sagan.
    Me just babbling—the alien really stuck here.
    His heart finally slowed down, but not so much that he chilled off again. When he yawned, I saw that dark red tongue curl, tiny nipping teeth gleaming. So human, so Earth-like, to yawn; but such an alien mouth. He arranged the bedclothes in lumps again and called the cats, who hopped up on the bed to check him out.
    The alien slept, the cats curled against him, their finer fur blending in with his leg and arm hair. He moaned after a while, kicked a leg free, unsettling the gray tabby, and shifted the pillow against his belly.
    I realized I’d missed the school bus.
     
    I said, “Why don’t we just drive it up to D.C. and drop it off with the Smithsonian?”
    Warren was cleaning his hands and clothes after working in his bunker. He looked up from the sink and said, “I