It is barely sunset when we arrive at Cox’s old compound. A smile creeps onto my face and eventually goes from ear to ear. Finally, something is going our way.

A small group of men and women are combing through the remaining belongings. A woman wearing a parka, emblazoned with the letters F.B.I, stands beneath a canopy— motioning at a map spread out on a wooden table. A tall man beside her bows his head and looks at where she is pointing. He wears an almost identical parka. Feds. Better them than nobody at all.

I exit the tree line and raise my hands into the air. The man and woman in parkas immediately catch sight of me and draw their side arms. Anthony raises his good arm, to show compliance, and follows me out of the trees.

“Please,” I say loudly. “We need help. We’ve been wandering through these woods for almost three weeks. There’s a group of fanatics stalking us and we just need some help.”

The two feds keep their weapons trained on us, but a couple of men hurry to the trees and usher me and Anthony towards the compound. The parka-wearing woman stares daggers into me. She keeps her weapon on me as she speaks.

“Identify yourselves!”

“I’m James Ringgold and this is Anthony Tanner. Please. You don’t have to worry about us. We escaped from the Reverend’s people and he’s been tracking us ever since. He’s killed every other member of our group, a family that lived back in the woods, and possibly some people riding bikes we came across. I want him stopped. That’s the only reason we’re here. We doubled back, thinking he’d never find us here, and came upon you people. We’re just looking for some help. We’re not here to be any trouble. Please, put the gun down. Please.”

The man in the parka lowers his weapon, but does not put it away. A moment later, the woman does the same. Some of the fierceness in her expression leaves as well. She motions toward a petite woman who is sorting ammo near the shed where Tiffany once lay.

“Liz, get these men something to eat and drink,” the parka woman hollers. “See that they’re taken care of. Find Dr. Patel….He can help you. Make sure they’re not suffering from exposure or shock.”

“Right,” the petite woman responds. She nods for Anthony and me to follow her. We do just that. As I come alongside her, Liz turns to me with a conspiratorial look. Her voice is almost a whisper. “Have you seen them too?”

“Who? The fanatics?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know what she is alluding to, but want—no need—to hear her say it. I need to know that I am not crazy. That what happened to Anthony wasn’t some trick of the light or my overactive imagination.

“The beings…The aliens….Have you seen them?” She gasps breathlessly.

I look briefly at Anthony—who stiffens. I lower my voice to match the volume of Liz’s voice.

“Yes. I have. We both have. That’s what broke Anthony’s arm.”

Liz shudders visibly. Her voice going almost impossibly lower.

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“Agent Morris says they came in a big ship. Landed about fifteen miles from here. Just past the county line to the east. Says they flipped her car. She and Agent Davies were lucky to survive. They were investigating the telecommunications blackout. Thought it was some sort of EMP attack. Got ambushed on the way up here. I haven’t seen ‘em, myself, but about half of the people in our group have. Including Dr. Patel. And if the Feds and Big Pharma are finally ‘fessing up that E.T.s exist…I’m gonna believe ‘em.”

Anthony joins the conversation, pointing to his right arm. “Oh, yeah. They exist alright. I was staring right into the face of one of them. All I could see was a vague outline, but it was there. I could feel every spindly finger wrapped around my throat. Wasn’t nothing fake about that!”

Liz gives Anthony a sympathetic look and takes his left hand.

“Well, we’ll get this arm of yours properly cleaned and set. In the meantime, we’ll get you something to eat. The Feds will want to debrief you both. So, let’s get you both at least a little comfortable.”

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Four fresh cups of coffee and some soup later, I am resting comfortably on an army-style cot. Anthony is still in the makeshift medical tent having his arm looked at by Dr. Patel.

Agent Davies enters my tent eating the remnants of what looks like a roast beef sandwich. I eye his sandwich with only slightly exaggerated envy and sit up on my cot. Draping my legs over the side, I glare in his direction.

“No fair," I joke. “They put me on an all-liquid diet. The bedside manner in this place sucks!”

Agent Davies’ face remains solemn, but he at least recognizes the joke for what it was.

“Yeah, sorry. Doing a lot of rationing. And a lot of soup-slurping these days. You won’t believe what I had to do to pry this out of Dr. Patel’s hands. Literally. I had to arm wrestle him for it. And that was no small feat. That man’s built like a tank.”

Agent Davies, all jokes aside, pulls a chair around and straddles it. He once again looks me in the eye.

“I want you to tell me everything that has happened to you since this event occurred. And don’t leave anything out. No matter how trivial it may seem. You never know what kernel of information might be helpful to us. Go ahead. I’ll let you speak.”

So speak is what I do. Regurgitating every piece of information; starting with the day of the meteor shower.

************************************************************************************************************************************

It takes a full four hours to recount every detail of the last few weeks. Allowing, of course, for the occasional question here and there from Agent Davies. Anthony does not make an appearance, during that time. My only guess is that he is having a similar debriefing session with Agent Morris.

When I have completed my account of the events, Agent Davies rubs the thin stubble on his chin and stays silent for what seems like a brief eternity.

“Is there anything you would like to add,” he asks finally breaking the silence.

“No…Nope. That’s everything I can remember. Everything that happened. There’s nothing more to tell.”

Agent Davies reaches into the pocket of his parka and removes a small recording device. He nods and stands to leave. He moves the chair back to its original place as he does so.

“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. Have a good rest of your night.”

With that, Agent Davies leaves the tent. I have no doubt, he is seeking to compare notes with his partner. I lie back down on the cot and stare up at the tent’s ceiling. I eventually fall asleep. When I awaken three hours later, Anthony is snoring on the cot beside me—a new cast on his right arm.

Even though I have no real reason to feel safe; I do. I close my eyes for the first time in weeks, with a small feeling of peacefulness. Maybe there is hope.