Page 27 of Rok's Captive
His lips pull back slightly, revealing teeth that are all pointed at the tips. Does this dude tear raw meat from the bone?
“Shit.”I’mraw meat, currently on trembling bones.
The alien snarls again and the message is clear enough: back off.
I swallow hard. “Okay, so you’re not the friendly welcoming committee. Got it.” That’s fine. This is fine.
Be brave, I tell myself. He’s here, so there must be others. And after walking so long and seeing only sand, he’s more than I hoped for. Much more. And I know this.
So I lift my chin a little higher and force down the lump rising in my throat.
Be brave.
“I need your help.”
Despite the alien’s obvious wariness, I can’t help noticing details about him. The way his hair, a rich tan color like the sand around us, looks like it has metallic highlights and moves like liquid across his shoulders when he shifts. The strange markings on his chest that seem to have some purpose beyond decoration. The way he holds himself, coiled and ready, like something barely tethered and untamed.
I try a different approach, mimicking drinking water, then pointing to myself and making a walking motion with my fingers. “Water? Shelter? Do you know where I can find either of those things?”
His head tilts slightly. Is that curiosity or confusion?
But I’m encouraged by any reaction that isn’t overtly hostile. I continue with my makeshift sign language. I point to the horizon, then make a crude house shape with my hands, followed by lifting my shoulders and arms in the “who/what/where/when” gesture.
“People? Settlement? Dare I say a city?” Yeah, that might be pushing it. “Anything that isn’t endless desert?”
His eyes track my movements with laser focus. I’m desperate. As long as his people aren’t cannibals, rapists, or both, I’ll take anything. When I finish, he tenses even further, if that’s possible. His gaze darts from my hands to my face, then to the dying light of the sun on the horizon.
Nothing in his posture suggests he’s about to help. If anything, he seems more suspicious, like my simple question has confirmed something negative about me.
“Okay. Maybe appearing in your backyard and asking you to take me to your house doesn’t really inspire trust.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I barely get my fingers through. It’s filled with sand. Great. “Look, I’m not a threat. I’m just lost, thirsty, and in need of your assistance.”
The alien’s nostrils flare again, and he makes a strange clicking sound in his throat. Is that communication? Annoyance? Gas? I have no way of knowing.
I decide to try one more time, using the most basic approach I can think of. I point to myself.
“Justine,” I say clearly, tapping my chest. “Jus-tine.”
Something shifts in his expression—a subtle change that suggests I might have finally broken through. He straightens slightly, rising to his full height in one fluid motion that reminds me of a wave rolling up a beach. It’s unnervingly graceful.
My heart leaps. “Yes? You understand? I’m Justine.”
Another wince at my voice, though less pronounced this time.
I reach up and touch my ear. The alien tracks the movement. The moment I feel the earbud the Xyma gave me still there, my heart leaps again. If he speaks, maybe I’ll be able to understand him. I have no clue if this thing needs the Internet or some kind of connection to work. Don’t even know if it translates all languages. I just have to hope.
But the alien before me has not said one word.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture shifts. He’s still wary, but there’s calculation there now.
It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I try again with the settlement question, pointing to him first, then making the house gesture, then a gathering motion with my hands to indicate multiple people.
“Your people? Your home? Can you take me there?”
The effect is immediate and alarming. The alien’s entire demeanor changes, his eyes literally darkening and those sharp teeth becoming fully visible as his lips pull back in a full-mouthed snarl. The raised markings on his chest seem to darken, too, and he takes a step toward me that is definitely not friendly.
“Whoa!” I raise my hands. “Sorry! Bad question! I take it back!”
Somehow, I’ve hit a nerve. Asking about his people was clearly the wrong move. Maybe they’re territorial. Maybe they eat humans for breakfast. Maybe they just hate tourists.
