Alien Caller by Greg Curtis Read Free Book Online Page B

she did
no such thing. Instead she let her arm lie there pretty much as it
was, just opening and closing her fist as she returned the
circulation to it. Encouraged he released her other arm and was
rewarded again. No strikes at his face, no bites, no violence. It
was like a slow motion car chase in a movie where the audience
waits for the inevitable crash, but for once it just didn’t come.
Finally he rolled off her, allowing her to move and breathe, while
he headed directly for his gun.
     
    Reaching it and
turning he found she was just in the process of sitting up,
something she stopped the instant she realized he had his gun back.
Her eyes opened wide presumably wondering whether he was going to
shoot her, and he quickly slung it behind his back and held his
arms out towards her, fingers wide in what he hoped was a clear
sign of his peaceful intent. The gun’s weight was a comfort to him,
but clearly the sight of it made her nervous and inflamed the
situation.
     
    His alien
patient too gathered her belt and tied it back around her waist,
putting the various bits of equipment back in their slots. He
watched her put each piece away as carefully as she had watched him
handle the gun, looking desperately for the first sign that she was
going to use one on him, but she did no such thing, rewarding his
trust. He could probably have stopped her but not peacefully.
     
    By mutual
unspoken agreement they each moved to opposite ends of the room,
keeping as much distance between them as possible. Still neither
had said a word.
     
    David noticed
that she walked relatively easily and realized he had been right
about her gait. She normally walked like a human being but the
wound had caused her to hobble strangely. It must have been damned
painful. He wondered how she could have recovered so quickly, but
he didn’t know how to ask.
     
    Instead he just
mimed her walking and tried to ask her by signs how her leg felt.
Either he was particularly good at mime or she was exceptionally
perceptive, but either way she showed him that it didn’t hurt her
so much as it had. She might not be jumping for joy but she could
walk relatively freely. His first aid might have been what had
gotten him into this mess but he was still pleased to see the
success of his handiwork. And it reminded her that she owed him her
surgery.
     
    In turn he
understood by her own hand motions that she wanted to know about
the operation and he pointed to the piece of metal he’d removed. It
was still sitting on the side table by the couch where he’d laid
her down. Then using his own leg as a model, he tried to describe
the operation in general, making sure she understood the chemicals
he’d used, and perhaps more importantly, the ones he hadn’t. If she
had antibiotics of her own, this he figured would be the time for
her to use them.
     
    Some time later
he had a brainwave and grabbed a pad and a pen out of his desk
draw. If she didn’t speak English then the chances were she
couldn’t read it, but they could still draw. Cautiously he
approached her, pad and pen in his hands, gun still slung loosely
behind his back. He showed her the items and then guided her,
extremely carefully to the kitchen bench where they could both sit
and draw. Much to his surprise and relief she accepted his
guidance.
     
    Slowly a degree
of trust was building. They didn’t really know anything about each
other, but at least they understood that neither really wanted to
kill the other.
     
    From there it
was an almost straight forward procedure as he attempted to get
some answers to his questions. His many questions. He began by
drawing the stars and a space ship, and pointing to her, asking her
he hoped, whether she had come from another world. For an answer
she smiled, and crossed out the rocket he’d drawn, and replaced it
with something that looked more like a van with wings, but he
guessed it was the same principle. Rockets he realized couldn’t
travel between stars. It took