The Call of the Others

Chapter 21

“So what do we have to do?” Charles asked nonchalantly.

“May I just point out that I’ve become so accustomed to these events that I’m not even puking anymore?” Martin said, proudly pointing to his esophagus.

The Mr. Woodward impersonator, somewhat surprised that he didn’t quite get the reaction he was looking for, lowered his gun. Still, he made a point to talk authoritatively.

“Who wants to wrangle up some aliens?”

“Well, considering both my legs are broken,” Cary hissed.

The impersonator sighed. It was going to be a long day.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Preston said, coming back with an armful of pill containers. “How do I know you’re the real Mr. Woodward? Er, Mr. Woodward’s brother? Um…”

Mr. Woodward (if that was his real name) cleared his throat and imitated his brother’s warning: “Never speak of this, to anyone, or else you—and your parents—will die.”

Preston clapped. “Excellent! It’s like you’re the same person! Okay, here are your pills.”

Mr. Woodward’s brother sorted through the pills, found a container, and opened it.

“What’s that?” Preston asked.

Mr. Woodward didn’t answer. He simply poured the container’s contents in his mouth and chewed them like candy.

“I—I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” Preston said.

Mr. Woodward swallowed loudly and got up from the operating table. He stretched for a little bit, then walked towards the exit, motioning for Preston to follow.

“What did you just eat?!” asked Preston, astounded, as followed him to the door.

“Antidote,” Mr. Woodward’s brother—still technically Mr. Woodward—said tersely.

“To what?”

“Sh!” He waved his hand downward to tell Preston to shut his trap.

“I don’t enjoy these secrets!” Preston whispered. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, but they passed. Mr. Woodward opened the door, dragging Preston along with him.

“Where are we going?” Preston asked, still whispering.

“Excellent question,” Mr. Woodward answered.

“I just realized that we’re all alone,” Joe said.

“Yes,” Frog replied. “Quite.”

His leg was now all wrapped up in bandages, so it looked kind of like a big marshmallow.

 “What are your goals in this endeavor?” Frog asked.

“Eh?” Joe said, wishing “endeavor” was in his flashcards.

“What are you trying to do, freeing me and the others?” Frog asked.

“I…” Joe had to think about it. “I guess I was really just following Cassandra.”

“Are women the dominant race on this planet?”

“What? No! Well, kinda… I mean… We’re equal. We’re equal,” Joe said.

“Well, that woman back there—who I believe has just abandoned us—seems to control you.”

Joe was silent. Frog continued anyway. “So you have no idea what you’re doing?”

“I guess not.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I wish you had planned more.”

“Yeah…” Joe did too.

“So… Mr. Impersonator, sir?” Cary asked as he hobbled alongside “Mr. Woodward” as he led the group—the hostages, Cary supposed—through an alley.

“What?” sighed the weary impersonator.

“What’s your real name? Because my morals are conflicted calling you Mr. Woodward.”

“Your morals are conflicted?” The impersonator couldn’t believe what he’d gotten himself into. “Why are your morals—I don’t want to know. Just call me Scott.”

“Scott the Alien Hunter!” Martin shouted.

“Shh!” Scott couldn’t believe a kid could be so stupid that he would shout something like that in a public area near somebody who had just pointed a gun at his friend.

 “That would make an awesome movie! I can see it now—” Charles started, but he was interrupted by a gunshot. It was immediately followed by the unmistakable cry of someone—or something—dying. Charles saw something collapse at the end of the alley.

Scott the Alien Hunter shoved his gun back in the holder.