By Fern Driscoll
Copyright: While bearing some resemblance, physical and otherwise, to characters of a recent Renaissance Pictures production, the two ingenues of this piece are made up out of my own head. They and the others belong to me.
Sex/Violence/Unsuitable Language: Hardly any (sex), but they're working on it. Some unspeakable acts directed towards insects, minor violence on the roads. Language may be unsuitable for those not facing the challenges of a garden in August.
Gender preferences: Some of the characters have a proclivity for the company of their own sex. If this is offensive to you or illegal where you live, please choose another offering to read.
Accuracy vs. Imagination: Some places are real, some are made up. Some are real places with made up details. Some are made up - well, you get the idea. All of the people are imaginary, however. Pax River Air Station does really exist, although the activities described are a product of my imagination.
And lastly: This is my very first attempt at fanfic. I welcome your comments at email@example.com
Chapter One: Aliens Invade
Shortly after dawn one steamy August morning, a minor commotion could be heard emanating from the second story of a lovely, if rather run down house situated a bit back from the bend in the road designated by an equally run down sign as ''Hellman's Corner". A passerby, upon venturing closer, and having keen hearing, might have heard a sultry female voice holding a one-sided conversation, as follows;
'Oooooh , Fred. . . no Fred. . . no I'm not ready yet. . .stop Fred. . . Goddammit, Fred, stop licking me! I'm getting up already!"
About this time the sound of frantic whines, yelps, and other canine vocalizations were added to the heretofore monologue, as Fred, having accomplished his alarm clock duties, impatiently waited for the morning ritual to progress to the point of the kitchen door being opened and his freedom achieved.
In the second story master bedroom of the lovely (yet rundown) old house, rumpled black hair appeared from under the bedsheet, followed by a murderously arched eyebrow and startlingly cerulean eye. The eye peered menacingly upwards, towards the dog Fred, who was now keeping up an energetic song and dance at the foot of the bed. An indistinct mutter was heard: "Why I took you home in the first place... " A face appeared in its entirety: another eye, also blue; aquiline nose; sharply planed cheekbones; and a luscious mouth, its perfection wasted at the moment on the continued vilification of the single-minded Fred.
Suddenly another, smaller black head squirmed into view from under the sheet, and took up residence on the woman's shoulder.
"Good morning Ethel. Why can't your brother be like you in the morning, hmmm?"
Ethel, a remarkably silent canine, signified her agreement by snuggling closer.
Some minutes later, the two dogs had adjourned to the spacious backyard and were industriously chasing birds from the various feeders. The woman stood gazing out the large mullioned kitchen window overlooking the backyard, listening to the gurgle and chug of the recently activated coffee maker. She was surprisingly tall, just under six feet, and wore her rumpled boxer shorts and tank top with the sensual panache of a Victoria's Secret model.
A scowl began to form on the tall beauty's face, and soon a positively frightening expression encompassed her lovely features. She moved, catlike, to the kitchen door, taking up an implement from the nearby shelf. Once outside on the brick patio, she moved swiftly towards the object of her ire, muttering under her breath.
'I knew I shoulda sprayed that Sevin back in June... now these goddamn white flies are gonna take over. . . I just know it..."
She advanced on a large, free-form flowerbed that began just at the edge of the brick patio and extended to the corner of the house, then meandered towards a small pond and wooded area. The bed contained a profusion of flowers, in every imaginable shape and size, tangled together in a delightful jungle-like array. Singling out an area in which yellow and white calla lilies were planted behind an assortment of caladium, our heroine took aim with her weapon, a large spray bottle containing a frothy mixture of water and dish soap, and let fly.
"Die, you suckers! Eat my callas, will you!"
Thus occupied with the annihilation of her enemies, the gardener spent a happy hour moving through the plantings that dotted the large back yard, spraying, pruning, and plotting. Fred and Ethel, having accomplished their morning tour and rout of all small creatures from the premises, were now ensconced in their favorite hot-weather lairs: Ethel curled up in a small depression she had made in a border of mondo grass, and Fred lurking, panther-like, under a towering fountain grass.
The woman, beginning to feel the lack of morning stimulants, and remembering the abandoned coffee, had just begun to make her way back to the kitchen when a resounding racket was heard from the front of the house, the afore-mentioned bend in the road. A screech of tires, followed by various metallic scrapes and crashes, and finally a resonant thud wafted back to the three occupants of the back yard, who headed towards the source of the commotion with varying degrees of alacrity.
The scene that greeted first Fred and Ethel, and soon after their human companion, was not new or even unexpected to the denizens of Hellman's Corner. The two-lane road was narrow and winding, but this did not, unfortunately, deter motorists from using it as a detour from the highway some miles off, which tended towards congestion in the morning and evening. As a result, this particular bend in the road had netted several previous automotive mishaps similar to the smoking wreckage now snuggled against a large oak tree on the edge of the property.
Fred was already enthusiastically protecting the property from this new menace, with Ethel investigating in her own quiet way, when the tall woman rounded the corner from the back of the house. Surveying the scene, she let out a sigh and altered her course towards the sprawling porch wrapped around the front and side of the house, there retrieving her cell phone from between the cushions of one of the wicker settees.
She punched in, from memory, the number of the local fire station.
"Harmon? It's Kate. I got another visitor in my front yard."
A raspy male voice answered, "All right, Katie, we'll be over. Need a rig or just the ambulance?"
"I think just the ambulance, they're smoking a little but I think it's just their radiator. And stop calling me Katie."
The raspy voice chuckled a little, then rang off with a "See you in a few."
As she punched the 'end call' button on the phone, Kate had already leapt down the wide porch stairs and was beginning to lope across the expanse of lawn towards the small copse of trees now containing a small, red, crumpled pickup truck.
"right in the middle of my impatiens. . . wouldn't ya know it. . .It's a good thing my mums aren't out yet, whoever's in there might not survive the accident. . ." These and similar dark mutterings accompanying her progress.
Fred, meanwhile, true to his hysterical nature, had not stopped carrying on since the first sounds of destruction had reached his ears, and had now planted both large, black paws on the driver's side door and was attempting to gain the attention of someone inside. Suddenly, however, he leaped back, yipping and licking at one paw and then the other. Kate, seeing this, accelerated considerably, reaching the vehicle in another few seconds. Grabbing a bandana from around Fred's neck, she wrapped it around her hand before grabbing the door handle and giving it a healthy tug. The door refused to budge, but the commotion had apparently roused the truck's occupant, since a shaggy blond head now hove into view, and groggy green eyes peered up at Kate.
"Hey...wha' ...what're you doing to my truck?" the bedraggled blond demanded, semi-coherently.
"I'm trying to get you out - there must be something burning up under here - the door's hot. C'mon, let's get you out through the window." With that, she reached in, grabbing the smaller woman under the arms and hoisting up and back.
"Ooooow. . . stop! My foot's stuck! Stop pulling on me!" Came the piteous cry from within the cab.
Kate craned her head as far into the crumpled cab as she could, and saw that, indeed, the blond's foot and ankle seemed to be pinned beneath a largish, twisted piece of dashboard. Kate thought for a fraction of a moment, then took off in an impressive sprint towards the front of the house. She could already hear sirens in the distance, but knew that there was a likelihood of flames somewhere near the engine, and, since the driver wasn't going anywhere, the fire would have to be forcibly ejected - soon. Pausing only to grab and turn on a neatly wound garden hose hanging from the porch wall, she reversed her sprint and began spraying water as soon as she was near enough, causing steam to envelope the wreck. Reaching the truck's side once again, Kate threw herself flat on the lawn and directed the stream underneath the tilting cab, causing even more steam to rise heavenward.
The passenger, meanwhile, had become more alert with all the jostling around, and with mounting dread realized her predicament. She frantically began to twist and pull at her foot, but it was held fast. The cab was becoming increasingly hot, and for some reason, her erstwhile rescuer had taken off back towards the large house in the distance. Well, guess I can't blame her for not wanting to be blown up, she thought dejectedly. Suddenly several things happened at once; she was doused with a stream of cold water; hissing steam surrounded her; and a commotion of voices, sirens, and large truck-like sounds filled her ears. Soon, water was invading every inch of the truck's interior, and the now thoroughly soaked blond allowed herself a long exhalation of relief.
Continued in Chapter 2
Return to the Academy