The gloves are black leather. They look like archery gloves but reversed to where the fingers are fully covered, and there's a hole exposing the palms. I have no idea what their original intended purpose was, but they work great for me. I examine them on my hands as I drive south down I-15 towards the crash site.

The highway is a long, long stretch of flat land. The further south we go the more the scenery sheds the urban landscape of Utah Valley, replaced by expanses of rural countryside marked by occasional clusters of farms and ranches. As the cityscape recedes, the horizon broadens, revealing the rugged beauty of central Utah's desert terrain. Here, red rock formations and wide-open spaces dominate the view.

The highway is nearly empty, save for a few military vehicles passing by going north, the opposite way.

“There’s almost no cars,” I say.

“You noticed that too, huh?”

It doesn’t take long for the tippy-top of Xeno’s vessel to come into view along the horizon.

“There it is,” I say, pointing.

Xeno takes a moment to respond. I can almost feel him contemplating. “You know, my siblings did get one thing right. You humans certainly are capable of great destruction.”

The thing spans forever: east, west, south—it’s all encompassing. It completely consumes the horizon as we near. It almost reminds me of a massive, green and black iceberg the way the pieces are all broken, jutting up everywhere like that. There is a sort of green haze above it that occasionally emits a bolt of lightning.

“What’s that up ahead?” I say, squinting. But just as I finish asking I realize what it is. “Oh great. They’ve got the whole highway blocked off. Because of course they do.”

“We can’t turn around,” says Xeno. “We have to get to my vessel.”

“Okay, I’ll drive through the fields and find another way—”

“No, they’ve surely seen us by now, if we do that they’ll send a plethora of vehicles after us. Ooh, that’s a fun word.”

“I should have known,” I say. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

“Well, why didn’t you think of it, Mr. I-have-a-contingency-for-everything.”

"Why is it suddenly my responsibility to do all the thinking? Just because I’m vastly more intelligent and in many ways superior, doesn't mean the success of this mission should hinge solely on my intellect. I’m new to this human experience—you’re not. And by the way, your gloves look stupid."

“You know,” I say, “I wonder what would happen if I just started clapping, like, really hard.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Lights start flashing in the distance around the upcoming blockade and it catches my attention.

“I’m turning around,” I say.

“No, just say you’re trying to get home. You live in Arizona or something.”

“And then what happens when I can’t produce a license?”

“Oh … right. Well, then we send them all to Paradise.”

I let out a hard, one syllable laugh. “There’s got to be at least a dozen or so soldiers down there. There’s no way! This isn’t the library.”

“We don’t have any other options, Jack.”

I grit my teeth and clench my new cool looking gloves as I run through different scenarios in my head. None of them with happy endings, and all of them with us ending up at that check point.

“This reminds me of that scene in Star Wars: A New Hope,” I say, “where the Millennium Falcon gets caught in the Death Star’s tracker beam on their way to Alderaan.”

“This is no time for a pop culture reference.”

“It’s always a good time for a pop culture reference.”

We drive in silence for a little while, both of us thinking frantically to concoct a plan. Finally Xeno breaks it.

“I’m sorry I called your gloves stupid,” he says.

“Oh, wow. Remorse. That’s a new one for you.”

“Human feelings in general are still new to me, Jack. It’s like a cluster of chaos in here, I don’t know if I like it.”

“And now you know why we’re so violent. Okay, here we go,” I say, pulling under the makeshift checkpoint sun shade. “I’ve got a idea,” I say.

“What is it?”

“We wing it.”

“That’s not a plan,” says Xeno. “In fact, that’s the exact opposite of a plan.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

There are two main structures. A plus-sized construction trailer big enough to house a couple of offices and supplies. And next to that, a large steel A-frame structure that shades the road.

I come to a stop under the A-frame and roll down my window. I count two people at the post in full army fatigues. The first, a tough looking brute is manning the driver side. The other, an even tougher looking woman with a bloodhound. The dog begins performing an inspection and the woman soldier follows it around holding its leash.

The man steps forward and puts his head in my window. “Road is closed, you’re going to have to turn around.”

“I, uh … but I live in Arizona. I need to get back home—”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a downed alien spacecraft behind us. All roads are closed to Arizona this way. You’ll have to travel through Colorado and around.”

“Um, one second,” I say, as I roll up my window. “I’ve got to make a quick call.”

I make sure my palm is face down as Xeno speaks. “Not going to work,” he says.

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, it would take way, way too long and two, because one of the most important crystalline structures I need—

knock, knock

—is located on the northernmost point of the vessel. It just wouldn’t work logistically to go around.”

The soldier is about to knock again when I roll my window back down.

“Sir, you’re obstructing the roadway. I’m going to need you to follow this loop and turn around.”

I say, “Okay, I will, but first can I shake your hand. I just want to thank you for your service.” I offer him my hand.

The soldier hesitates, then obliges.

The woman and the hound are on the other side of the truck when his fatigues pile up on the ground. My gloves, I notice, don’t affect my ability at all.

I step out of the truck just as the woman comes around the corner.

“Sir, please remain in your vehicle.”

“Your buddy just ran off,” I say. “He took off his clothes and ran inside over there. He said he had to use the bathroom. Must’ve been urgent.”

The ground rumbles. It’s subtle, but we can both feel it.

“Oh, wow, did you feel that? He must have really had to go,” I say. I can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle.

The soldier gives me a confused look, glances at the door I pointed at, and squints at me. Then she tilts her head towards the walkie talkie strapped to her collar and presses the button.

“Scott, where are you? Why aren’t you at your—”

She stops because we both hear her voice on Scott’s comm lying on the ground.

She presses the button again. “Sam, Ron, Joe, have any of you seen Scott?”

There’s a buzz and a beep from her walkie, then a man’s voice comes through.

“Isn’t he out there with you?”

I take a few steps towards her. “Hey, can I pet your dog?”

“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again. Please get back into—”

I run towards her. Her eyes go wide. She drops the leash and motions for the pistol at her side, but she’s too slow. I tackle her to the ground, grab the exposed skin around her neck, and send her off.

“Well, just go ahead and break her ribs, why don’t ya?” says Xeno.

I grunt, roll off of her fatigues. The dog just stares at me as I pull myself to my feet. He’s obviously not a guard dog, just a pro sniffer. Such a good boy.

“There’s three more inside,” says Xeno. “Also, don’t look up. There's video surveillance in the southeast corner of the—I said don’t look up, Jack. Why do you always do the opposite of everything I say? Just, change into the man’s fatigues and—”

“Already ahead of you,” I say, as I hustle back over to Scott’s stuff and pull the trousers up over my own pants. They’re very loose around the legs, so it’s easy to do. After I have the top on, I crouch down and pet the dog. He huffs happily with his tongue hanging out.

“Hello …” I look at his collar tag. “…Terminator,” I say. “Take care of your friends out there for me, will you?” I scratch behind his ears.

“Very touching,” says Xeno. “Can we pff-pew move on? This dog's hair is disgusting.”

“See you around, Terminator,” I say, then send the dog. I catch his collar before it hits the ground.

A door opens and three soldiers barrel out, all of them male, dressed in the same army fatigues as the others, with guns trained on me.

“Freeze,” says the first through the door. “On your knees. Hands on your head.”

“Okay, yeah, you got it,” I say, following orders.

“Scott? Michelle?” says another one, looking around for his missing comrades. “Where’d they go?”

“I told you,” says the third. “I saw the footage live. They just vanished—look, their uniforms are right there.”

Two soldiers run glance to where the other is pointing, then run around the vehicle in search of Scott and Michelle. I see one of them disappear behind the trailer.

“I can explain,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest.

“You better,” says the tallest one, inching closer. He’s only a few steps away when the earth rumbles again. This time it’s much more noticeable. My truck, with its wheels locked in park, squeals forward, then backwards, then repeats six or seven times. I go prone on my belly, covering the back of my head. The whole trailer building twitches and a crack forms along the center. The outside blinds on the window of the door swing wildly around and detach. The clatter distracts the already wide-eyed soldier, who’s trying to keep his balance. Before the shaking stops I jump up and grab his gun with one hand and touch the back of his hand with my other.

The man vanishes, leaving me with a gun in hand. I’ve never used a gun before, and I don’t want to. But having one makes me feel … well, not better, more terrified actually. Let’s be honest. My hands are shaking as I turn the gun around and grip it correctly.

The shaking stops.

“Behind you, Jack,” shouts Xeno.

I spin around to find a soldier. The look on his face would almost be comical if he didn’t have a gun pointed at me.

He points his gun at me. “What the f—”

Another earthquake hits us. This time, the northern part of the trailer collapses in on itself. The A-frame above us strains and begins to bend. The screeching sound is like nails on sheet metal.

I run for the open door of my truck.

There’s a bang.

My body involuntarily spins. The back of my head hits the inside of the driver side window and cracks the glass.

“Aaarg,” I yell.

“He just grazed your right shoulder,” yells Xeno. “Don’t be a wussy. Get out of here, it’s about to collapse.”

I don’t respond, but make a quick mental note to show Xeno what getting shot feels like. I get in, yank the door shut, which hurts tremendously to do, and slam on the gas. There’s another bang as my left rear mirror explodes.

I’m only a few yards back into the sunlight when the massive A-frame collapses behind me.