Page 45 of Catching Camila

John shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Gods, I have to dumb everything down for you.” He bobbed in the air as he blew out a frustrated sigh. “We're not from Earth. We were sent here to scout out conditions.”

John shook his head. “I…don't know.”

“Of course you don't know, but what I'm telling you is the truth.” Nomad twitched and his vocal tone changed. “You can’t handle the truth,” he shouted with a strange accent. John backed up, arms tensing. Nomad shook his head and wiggled a finger in his ear. “Sorry. Cheese and crackers, they jam a whole lot of crap in here.” He knocked on his head as if dislodging something.

John placed a hand to his forehead. “Jammed what in there?”

Nomad gave his head one more shake and then straightened up. “Before we leave they fill us up with the language, culture and idioms of the life forms we’re checking out. With limited data, loads of it comes from bad movies and TV. I can quote whole Law and Order episodes. It’s messed up.” Nomad caught the questioning look on John’s face. “How do you think you know how to speak their language? Know their customs? Where do you think that sex drive comes from when you get a boner for that hot chick? All stuff they shoved in here the first time we left the ship.”

“How many trips have we made to earth?”

Nomad shrugged. “A dozen over the last year. This is our first time here, but we've been all over. Kansas. Ecuador. Iraq. Didn't like that one. Too dusty. And all the food tasted like dates.”

John’s head was spinning. Everything he was, every feeling had been pumped into him from some information hose? What about him was real? Anything? And he'd been to other places, other cities just like this one? He staggered back, clutching for the water tower. The concrete was cool beneath his palms. He leaned in and pressed his head to it.

“Hold on there, man. I know this is a lot to handle.” Nomad's voice came closer. “We have protocol for an addled agent, but not a total tabula rasa. Never happened before. I’d call for backup, but there’s no time.”

John peeled back from the tower. “What’s the rush?”

Nomad raised his eyebrows as if he’d revealed too much. He covered it with a false smile. “Nothing, buddy. Let’s not worry about that now. Now we gotta jog that memory of yours, and quick-like.”

John nodded. “I want to know.”

“Of course you do. But not here. It’s so…” Nomad waved his hand with a flourish, “uninspiring. Let’s go.”

Nomad paused for a moment, coiled and then sprung into the air. He hovered effortlessly above the ground. Bathed in moonlight, he was a scene straight out of a comic book.

“How do I do it?” John asked, looking up.

Nomad flashed a toothy smile. “Just push off. It’ll be just like learning to ride a bike, if we’d ever had to do that. Hmm, a bike. Maybe I'll get me one to take back. Anyway, come on,” he said, waving John up. Then he soared up into the night sky.

Sweat broke out across his back as John crouched down. This is stupid, he thought, coiling to spring. It’ll never wor—

Somehow his muscles knew what to do. His legs coiled and sprang. His toes scraped the dirt as he rose. A strange sensation circled his torso, a tugging in his body, as if all his cells were surging upward. His arms and legs thrashed like he was struggling not to drown. The air swished through his fingers. Somewhere a truck trundled by and he prayed it was dark enough to keep him hidden.

A hand clasped his forearm. John snapped his head up.

“Let’s go,” Nomad said, tugging. “Quit jacking around.”

Nomad dragged him skyward and John willed his body along. Somehow he rose until he was soaring up, up into the night sky.

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