Chapter 3

There’s a canopy overhead, shading me from the intense rays of a manic sun. As I adjust myself, my arm slips out of the shade, and the golden light seems to burn. With a hiss that reminds me of Madonna the Opossum, I jerk my arm back into the shadows and sit up.

The wagon is jostling down a dirt road bordered by wildflowers. Up ahead, there’s a forest with trees so tall that the wagon’s canopy cuts them off at the trunks; I can’t see how far up they actually go. Glancing over my shoulder and out the back of the wagon, I see shabby metal walls bolted and hobbled together. Suffice it to say, this isn’t exactly the high-tech sci-fi environment I’d expect of an alien race. Err, races? Because I’ve already been introduced to four different species in such a short span of time.

I check my wrists and ankles, but I’m not bound to the wagon or tied up in any way. In fact, I feel a million times better than I did earlier. A quick check of the wound on my thigh reveals that the bandage Avril applied for me is still in place. Maybe Tusk Guy gave me some special alien booster shot or something?

Whatever happened, I’m awake, and I’m still here—wherever the hell here is anyway.

“Excuse me,” I start, clearing my throat before I attempt to crawl across the fabric bundles beneath me and in the direction of the wagon’s driver. I can already see that it’s the gray-skinned man with the tusks. He glances briefly back at me, and then pats the seat beside him.

I’m immediately suspicious.

I’m not sure how others would interpret that phrase—the pets, meat, or mates thing—but this is what I got out of it: humans are disposable here. Chattel. Livestock. Basically, we’re not worth much. And the guy who bought me is being nice?

Maybe he picked me up at the market like I picked up Annabelle (that’s my cat, remember) at the local shelter? Could I be somebody’s cat here? A faithful companion? A lovable goof who earns money for her master on the alien equivalent of social media?

“Have a seat,” the man growls out, his voice guttural and accented, but easy to understand.

Not only is he speaking human, but out of all seven-thousand-plus languages in the world, he’s speaking my sort of human (aka English). I haven’t had the time or leisure to freak out yet, so I stay with the numb whiteness of shock edging my reality and do as the man asks. That’s one positive to note, how humanoid he seems. He’s got a flat chest (no nipples though), a glorious set of abs, and bulging biceps.

He doesn’t look at me as I take the spot on his left, staring down at the horse in front of me for several minutes as I try to force my addled brain to understand that … that thing is most definitely not a horse. It has huge hoof-like feet, four legs, and a vaguely horse-like body. Otherwise, that’s where the resemblance ends.

The creature I’m staring at has rough, brown skin, like a tree’s bark. It also has wings that appear to be webs of branches and leaves. That same material sprouts from its neck and along the sinuous curve of its long tail. It makes a low baying sound and twitches leaf-like ears as it clops down the road.

“This is a kiyo,” Tusk Guy explains, his voice like boulders rolling down a hill. He pronounces the foreign word like key-yo, and I take it to mean that’s the alien’s species and not its name. “First question every human asks.” He looks askance at me, gold eyes unblinking. “Though you’re by far the calmest I’ve ever met. Most try to jump the wagon and take off running into the woods or else they scream—”

“How the fuck do you speak English?” I ask, and the alien man finally blinks. Not regular eyelids like you or I might blink, but a translucent set that gives me the chills. Um. I curl my fingers tight around the wooden bench seat and try not to freak out. What good will that do me? Either this is all a bullshit hallucination brought on by some really good hospital painkillers or else … it’s happening.

And whether it’s real or not, reacting to it as if it is makes the most sense. Either way, I’m okay.

“I spend a lot of time on Earth,” the man explains, smiling in a way that says he very much enjoys his time there. The expression on his face makes me even more suspicious, but he hasn’t given me any reason to distrust him yet. That, and I’m better off here than with a giant slug or other comparable nightmare creature. “I’ve been visiting for over twenty years.”

I nod, as if that makes sense.

Aliens regularly visit Earth? I wonder, but that’s not an important question at the moment.

“I need to find my friend,” I explain, hoping to appeal to this guy’s sense of empathy. That is, if he has any. Most humans don’t either, so it’s really a stretch to pray for this alien man to have some heart. “Her name is Jane Baker, and she was the first one of us that was purchased—”

“Ah.” That’s what he says, nodding his thick head at the question. The man has gorgeous coal-black hair, I’ll give him that. It’s picked up and tousled by the wind as the wagon rolls onward, creeping closer to the deep shadows of the forest. From here, it gives off that Pacific Northwest vibe. Towering redwood trees, dewy ferns, mushrooms. Some of them are glowing, I’ll give you that, but bioluminescence isn’t totally absent on Earth either. “From what I hear, she was sold to a World Station dealer.”

A World Station dealer? Um. Come again?

“Please tell me that’s not the slug thing.” My words are low and strangled, but while I can handle a lot of things, losing my bestie would just … It’d mess me up. I won’t stay calm if I find out that Jane is in danger.

Tusk Guy laughs at me, and the sound is most definitely not human. It raises the hairs on my arms, some basic instinct deep inside of me warning that I should run. But where would I go? Back into the market with the slug and Trevor and worst of all, Tabbi Kat? Or should I run blindly across the field of what I thought were wildflowers, but appear to be Venus flytraps? As I watch, one of the purple plants eats an overly large insect out of midair.

If none of those options suffice, and I still wanted to run, I could dive into the woods and take my chances there. No, I think it’s better to stay on the wagon with the English-speaking alien for now. Besides, his pet thing—the kiyo—seems cool.

“Most definitely not.” He pauses then to scratch at the side of his jaw, offering me up another strange look. “He’ll probably resell her to a male looking for a wife.”

“A wife?!” I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is imagine Jane being … by some alien … “I have to get back to the market and look for her.” I turn as if to jump off the wagon, but Tusk Guy puts a huge hand on my leg, holding me in place.

“Your friend is no longer on this planet,” he tells me, but whether that’s true or not, I have no way of knowing. He could be saying that just to keep me here on the wagon with him. If the … whatever it was that bought Jane is looking for a wife, what’s this guy’s plan? “If she were, I would’ve tried to buy her, too.”

“You said you wanted me and Tabbi …” I start, puzzling out possibilities in my mind. “What for? Why only the females and not the male?”

“My tribe has plenty of males,” Tusk Guy replies, exhaling heavily and then digging around in the bag on his right until he’s extracted a large black canteen. He hands it over to me. “Water? It’s the same chemical compound as found on Earth.”

I want to say no, but my throat is dry, and I know I can’t survive long if I stop drinking water.

So, down the hatch it goes.

Thankfully, it’s exactly what the alien says it is: cool, clean water.

“Thanks.” I swipe an arm across my mouth, offering up a grudging nod of thanks. “If you have plenty of males then … you’re looking for wives?”

“You’ll be given a choice,” Tusk Guy explains, as if he’s made this speech a thousand times. “If you don’t like any of the available males, you can go home.”

“Seriously?” I ask, the word bursting out of me like an expletive. Tusk Guy smiles—I probably should’ve started this conversation by asking his name—and I realize I’m reacting the way he wants me to. He’s telling me exactly what I want to hear, and I’m gobbling it up out of a sense of relief.

What I should really be asking myself is this: why the fuck would these guys buy humans trafficked across so much time and space just to ask them nicely if they’re interested in an arranged marriage? That sounds like total bullshit to me. “Even if that’s true, I can’t go with you now. I’m not walking away from my best friend.”

“The buyer who purchased her is long-gone from here.” Tusk Guy grunts and gives the creature’s reins a bit of a yank, speeding up the rhythmic clomping sound of hooves. “He’s what you might call eccentric.”

I rub my fingers painfully against the rough wood, collecting splinters. The pain helps keep me sane.

Jane is … in space somewhere? I look up, but all I can see is the gray canopy above my head. With a tentative hand, I reach out and feel the overwhelming heat of the sun.

“But I don’t see the harm in heading back and asking around.” My alien savior looks over at me and blinks his strange lids again. He puts his hand back on my leg when, really, I wish he wouldn’t touch me at all. His fingers drift up the inside of my thigh, making my stomach roil. “Maybe your friend’s buyer hasn’t left the dock—”

A horrible crashing sound—like someone banging two metal trash can lids together—cracks my brain right in half. The sound precedes this nauseating feeling of spinning, and then I’m blinking once and finding myself on the ground a dozen feet or so from the wagon.

It’s now lying on its side, the kiyo rearing and dragging the overturned vehicle along for several feet until the ropes snap. The alien horse takes off into the woods, disappearing into the shadows before I can even register what’s going on.

First off, those tiny purple flytrap plants are biting at me, and it hurts. Second, I think I tore open my leg again. My head feels like an overinflated balloon as I struggle to sit up and assess the damage. There’s blood. Too much of it. So much that my entire bandage is soaked in red.

My attention is drawn up at the sound of a scream, this high-pitched roar of terror that echoes across the open plains between the market and the woods. My first thought is wow, did a thunderstorm just roll in? because all I can see is this swirl of darkness in the sky. It’s hovering behind the overturned wagon, and it’s also the thing that Tusk Guy is screaming about.

He crawls past the edge of the wagon only to be dragged back behind it, and then the darkness descends further and the screaming cuts off in a wet, gurgling sort of way. Holy shit. I scramble backwards, my gaze somehow fixated on the gruesome scene. I can’t see exactly what’s happening to Tusk Guy, but a puddle of blood—it’s as red as mine is—drains across the dirt road in front of the wagon.

Now that the screaming’s stopped, it’s been replaced with the sound of something else eating. I turn onto my hands and knees and then use the sudden surge of adrenaline to shove myself up to my feet. I’m fully aware that I’m bleeding as I run, but I can’t stop. At this point, my choices might be bleed to death or get eaten by that dark cloud.

I drag myself along as far as I can before the dizziness sets in, and I collapse to my knees. I don’t even remember falling. I was standing and then … I was down here. Not only am I bleeding from the wound in my thigh, but also from a good two-dozen bites inflicted by the purple plants. Even now, some of them are snapping at me and drawing tiny pinpricks of red from my hands and fingers.

I turn to look over my shoulder and find myself off-balance, swooning from the loss of so much blood. I end up falling backwards onto my ass, gaze lifted toward the sky. The darkness that consumed Tusk Guy … it’s heading straight toward me. My eyes widen, but even as I try to push myself back, I feel that horrible heaviness in my limbs. My vision blurs, but not enough to protect me from seeing what’s coming.

That black cloud descends on me, two massive clawed hands slamming into the ground on either side of my comatose body. And then there’s this face right up against mine, two huge purple eyes staring at me from a vaguely humanoid face. Vaguely.

In that single, still space between breaths, I find myself mesmerized by the creature. If I had the strength to lift my hand, I might. Even if it were the last thing I ever did, I’d touch its face if I could. At first glance, its solid black form doesn’t appear to have a mouth. But then it opens up nice and wide, a Cheshire cat’s grin with rows of dagger-like teeth.

Its massive black wings spread open above me, casting a shadow that causes even the carnivorous flowers to retreat, snapping their purple pod mouths shut and shrinking toward the soil. Not that I can blame them: there’s a lot of blood in and around that wide mouth.

I squeeze my eyes shut, certain that this alien is the last thing I’ll ever get to see. Not such a bad sight, all things considered. He’s still better than the slug.

“Please, please, please,” I whisper, certain that he’s not able to understand me. I can’t seem to help myself though. “Please, please, please … fuck.” With a shuddering exhale, I just let go and scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The alien creature exhales, his breath warm but surprisingly pleasant considering he just ate some random guy. I crack one lid open, vision splintering into white static.

“No,” he snarls back at me—in English!—curling up the edge of his lip. “Little.”

One of his massive wings curves forward, and I realize it has a hand on the end of it, like a bat. He grabs my hair in a tight fist, and then my eyes roll back, and it’s lights out. Again. Bleeding to death fucking sucks.