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  “Hello, Roy!” came a deadpan woman’s voice from behind. Lisa stood at the door of the station. “You shouldn’t be drinking here, Roy.”

  Roy glanced back at Lisa. He drank more of his beer, finishing the can. Squashed it in his hand and tossed it to the ground.

  “You can’t litter either,” Lisa chastised.

  His eyes moved back to Chris, not fazed by Lisa’s warning. “I wouldn’t wanna see anything happen to ya fancy ride; or ya fancy face!”

  “You drunk, Roy?” Lisa said.

  “I ain’t drunk!”

  “I don’t want to have to call Mackenzie again.”

  Roy clenched his teeth; fingers readjusted on his screwdriver. He knew her threat wasn’t empty. Glancing back at Chris, he warned, “You stay away from Frank Corbin.” He raised his finger, pointing at Chris. “Ya hear me? Or next time you and me will be havin’ more than just words.” He grabbed his balls, giving them a good scratch. Maybe it was a sign of manhood, or of just an uncouth man. Chris wasn’t sure. “Ya hear me?” he continued, kicking dirt at Chris as he reluctantly moved off towards his truck.

  Chris felt his body ease and relax as Roy climbed up into his old, beat-up shit wagon. Black smoke from the exhaust and the smell of oil and diesel drifted over Chris as Roy drove off. His back wheels spun in the loose dirt as he peeled off into the distance.

  “Sorry about that. That was Roy Lambert, village idiot and town drunk.”

  “What’s his problem?” Chris said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “People ’round here don’t like strangers comin’ around asking questions and stirring the pot. Especially when it comes to Frank Corbin. He’s had a lot of media attention in recent years, with his wife and all. It’s a ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ kinda community. Everyone looks out for everyone else.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “I don’t think he’s too dangerous. But he did serve some time a couple of years back for assault or something like that.”

  Chris nodded his head. He opened his door, ready to leave. “What do you think happened to Frank’s wife?”

  “Now that’s a mystery.” Lisa looked down to the ground, kind of embarrassed. “He says that a … arrr ...” She scratched her head. “A UFO took her.”

  “Yeah, I read that. What do you think?”

  “Frank’s not a man that would make up something like that. But who knows, maybe he did something to her. You never truly know people, do ya?” Lisa frowned slightly. “Why all the interest in Frank Corbin and his story?”

  “I’m trying hard to believe him.”

  “You might be the only one. Besides Roy Lambert.” She gave a sympathetic smile. “You sure you’re not a reporter?” Lisa turned to walk back into the station. She stopped and turned back. “Speaking of UFOs, a couple of campers were telling a crazy story just last night about strange lights in the sky.”

  Chapter Five

  First Kind

  The sun finally dipped below the horizon. Night air turned cold. Stars pricked through the deep, navy-blue night sky. Little campfires flickered warm, orange light throughout the camp site. The smell of wood-fire smoke and cooking lingered in the air. Lisa and Chris shared time with an older couple they met an hour before sundown: Pete and Betty Davis. They were both in their sixties, retired. Traveling the countryside was their only passion, apart from their grandchildren.

  A chilly breeze blew through the camp. They had seen colder nights out here, but it still felt good to sit by the fire. The flickering light, the crackle of the burning wood, helped calm a troubled mind. Betty poured everyone a cup of hot chocolate. Wrapped with both hands, the rich, silky drink was a welcome accompaniment to the fire.

  Pete stared into Chris’ eyes with intensity. He was very animated as he spoke. “We had been driving all day. We were pushing on. It was just near Devil’s Marbles when we first saw it.”

  Chris shot a look at Lisa for clarification—Devil’s Marbles? She whispered, not wanting to interrupt Pete, “A valley of large, round boulders. It’s a sacred site.”

  Pete continued, “When I first saw it, I just thought it was a star. It was moving slowly …”

  An old, beat-up 1961 Kombi sped along an abandoned highway. It had seen better days. It was well worn, faded and peeling paint; two tone, white on top, a greenish brown on bottom. Its engine sounded like a two-stroke lawn mower as it made its journey.

  A sea of desert stretched for what seemed like forever. Not that you’d know it. No street lights out here, only darkness. Out here the moon and stars are your street lights. Pete’s eyes darted around in front of him, keeping a close eye on the road as he drove the Kombi twenty klicks below the speed limit. One headlight was out and the other struggled to do the job of two. The warm road frequently attracted kangaroos and other wildlife. Pete had mowed down (by accident) his fair share of wildlife. Betty tinkered with a small, portable television in her lap, as she stretched out on the passenger seat. The TV wasn’t working.

  A small, reddish-orange star broke away from the other stars and drew closer to the Kombi, matching its speed. The star tracked alongside. It wasn’t long before Pete noticed the strange occurrence. He wasn’t sure what he was even looking at. The star got closer and closer. Red and orange light surrounded the vehicle ...

  Pete paused relaying his story. He broke his stare with Chris, looking down into his cup. A lump formed in his throat. He gently swirled the chocolate liquid, stirring up sediment off the bottom. “It just came right up next to us. Almost toying with us. Watching us. It was like the sun.”

  “More like a yellow fireball!” Betty interrupted, giving a small, chastising slap on Pete’s knee.

  Chris edged forward, enthralled by their story.

  “It just stayed there—floating,” Pete continued. “It could have done anything it wanted with us.” He took a drink of his hot chocolate. “Well, it’s getting late. I better let you good people be on your way.”

  Chris looked over at Lisa. He scratched his head, wanting to know more. His eyes were wide, taking everything in. “Please, continue.”

  “There isn’t much more to say. It just taunted us for about ten minutes. Betty and I didn’t know what to do. We just kept driving.”

  “Then it just took off”—Betty flung her arm—“like a flash.”

  Pete nodded, agreeing with Betty. “Just disappeared. Gone like a flash. Back to the stars. As though it was never there.”

  “I think it got bored of his slow driving.”

  “I’ve seen things like that before over the years in these parts.” Pete nodded, looking at Betty for support.

  Betty slapped him on the leg again. “Behave yourself! You have not. We haven’t seen anything like that before.”

  “Quiet you! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pete leaned forward, with a serious look, no longer his usual, animated self. The flickering flames reflected in his eyes and colored his face shades of orange. He paused for a moment. “The Aborigines call them ‘Sky Beings’—‘The Spirit in the Cloud.’”

  “We’ve seen all the paintings,” Betty said flippantly. “They’re throughout the Kimberley. All the wonderful rock paintings. Just amazing. We’ve seen a lot of amazing things in our travels. Haven’t we, doll?” She nudged Pete with her arm. “We just love to travel.”

  Pete was undeterred by Betty’s interruption. He kept his intense look. “Some refer to a supreme being—‘Djamar.’ They say you can hear him coming. It’s the sound of roaring wind. The Aborigines call it ‘The Bullroarer.’” Pete broke his intense stare, sipping more of his drink.

  He continued, “We need to know more about what’s out there.” He motioned with his head to the star-filled night sky above.

  “What do you think is out there?” Chris asked.

  “Aliens!” Pete said confidently.

  “Aliens?” Chris questioned.

  Pete nodded at Chris. “Yep. I think we don�
�t know anything about these supreme beings because of the government cover ups. It’s all a government cover up.”

  “Yes definitely,” Betty interjected.

  Chris looked at Lisa with one eyebrow raised. Is this guy for real?

  Lisa raised her eyebrows back at Chris, took a sip of her hot chocolate. This story wasn’t easy to buy, especially from an old, quirky couple—possibly on the edge of dementia.

  Chris turned his attention back to Pete. “Do you think it was a—” he cleared his throat “—a UFO?”

  “I couldn’t identify it.”

  Betty poked a stick at the fire. “Pete would know. He was in the army for two years, back when we was first married. I would definitely say it was a UFO.”

  “How big was it?” Chris pressed for more details.

  Pete scratched his head, trying to think. “I would say it was about the size of a large plane.”

  “It was hard to tell,” Betty said. “It was spinning.”

  Chris looked back and forth between the odd couple. “Could it have been a plane or a helicopter, anything like that?”

  “Definitely not!” Betty said, defending their story. “It was too big to be a plane.”

  “I suppose it could have been.” Pete paused, thinking about the object. “The strange thing about it: you couldn’t hear the damn thing. It was just silent.”

  “Did you notice anything else?” Lisa asked.

  “I couldn’t get my portable TV to work.” Betty nodded her head up and down. “I thought the UFO might have caused it. But the batteries were just flat. I like to watch all my programs, even when we’re on the road. But I didn’t get to watch them.”

  “What time was it when you first saw it?” Chris asked, trying to stay on topic.

  “Roughly eight o’clock at night.”

  Betty slapped Pete again. He jerked away, frustrated with the constant slapping. “Remember? It was twelve past eight. We had just finished dinner. We ate late that night because we had a late breakfast. Which caused a late lunch.”

  Lisa had had enough of the crazy couple and stood to leave. She looked down at Chris. “You a believer now?”

  Chapter Six

  Fourth Kind

  The sun beat down on the red Cherokee. It was parked on a small hill overlooking the Corbin house. Chris lay balled-up on the back seat. Not the most comfortable sleeping conditions. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the car heated up under the already intensifying morning sun. He stirred slightly.

  Chris’ eyes slowly opened as the sound of running water invaded his ears. Bright sunlight stabbed his eyes as it burst through the windshield, the light broken momentarily by movement outside the car.

  Chris shaded his eyes to see, struggling to focus. Not enough sleep.

  Soon his eyes focused on a man, silhouetted by the sun, standing on the hood pissing over his windshield—like a dog marking his territory. What the hell! was his only thought.

  The Cherokee’s back door ripped open. Chris’ leg grabbed by a stranger. He gave a kick, which struck air. His body was quickly dragged from the four-by-four. He dropped hard onto the desert floor. Red dust flew in the air.

  Roy jumped down from the hood and joined Frank, standing over Chris with his double barrel pointed at him.

  “Ya think we’re playing, city boy?” Roy said as he kicked dirt into Chris’ face and chest.

  Chris coughed as dust scratched the back of his throat and stuck in his mouth and nose. Propping himself up on his elbow, he raised his other hand to shield any further attack.

  “Whatta ya doin’ here?” Frank pushed his gun into Chris’ stomach.

  “Trying to sleep.”

  “Smart arse!” Frank pushed the gun harder into his stomach.

  Chris grunted. “I’m looking for my son.”

  Roy grabbed Chris by his ear, twisting it, to get him to stand up. As Chris got to his feet, Roy pushed him back into the side of the four-by-four. “Bullshit! Whatta ya really doing here?”

  “I’m looking for my son!” Chris said between clenched teeth.

  “Get his wallet! See who this Yankee bastard really is.” Frank indicated to Roy.

  Roy reached around, trying to grab for Chris’ wallet.

  Chris seized the opportunity, grabbing the back of Roy’s head, yanking it down, driving his knee up. Roy’s head snapped back. He dropped like a sack of shit. Blood burst from his nose as he fell on his fat ass. Both hands clutched his broken nose.

  Frank quickly stepped in for the attack. With speed Chris wrapped the gun with his left arm and grabbed Frank’s throat with his other hand. He circled and pushed him back toward the Cherokee, pinning the old man against it.

  Both men battled over control of the shotgun.

  Frank let go of the gun and swung both fists, one after the other; both connected, knocking Chris back. Good move, only now Chris had the gun. With one swift move, Chris spun the double barrel by the handle, snapping it to his shoulder and taking aim. A move that showed he was no stranger to guns. Frank dared not even twitch.

  Roy grunted as he stumbled back to his feet, almost losing his balance; covered in dirt and blood. He was dazed and held his nose to stop the bleeding.

  “What do ya want from me?” Frank said in a subdued tone, slowly raising his arms to surrender. He was too old for this.

  Chris waved the gun, indicating for the two men to move toward the front of the four-by-four. They complied, stepping away. Chris opened the front passenger door, snatched a stack of pages, slammed them into Frank’s chest.

  Frank juggled the large stack of papers. He wasn’t sure what they were.

  “Go for a run, fat bastard!” Chris shoved the gun toward Roy.

  Roy hesitated, scratching his ass for a moment, then did as ordered. Nursing his wound, he walked away up the dirt trail.

  The papers were photocopied newspaper articles. Some lines were highlighted with a bright, yellow marker: “LOCAL WOMAN MISSING,” “UFO SEEN MOMENTS BEFORE,” “POLICE FIND NO TRACE OF TEENAGE TOURIST,” “STRANGE LIGHTS SIGHTED OVER DESERT.”

  Frank looked up at Chris, not sure what he was supposed to make off all of this. “I’ve read the headlines many times before.”

  Chris held up the photo of Shawn. “My son.” He cleared his dry, morning throat. “He’s been missing for a number of days.”

  Frank looked down at the stack of papers in his hands again. He placed them on the hood. “What does this all have to do with me and me wife?” The light, morning breeze lifted some of the pages, blowing them across the desert ground.

  Chris continued, “One of his friends was suppose to go with him, but dropped out at the last minute. Shawn decided to go anyway. A two-week backpacking adventure. See the outback of Australia.” Chris looked to the ground. In hindsight, it would have been better if he hadn’t let his son go alone. “He’s barely eighteen.”

  Five days earlier

  The sun had just hidden itself behind the horizon. Night was closing in. An array of colors exploded across the sky. Picture perfect. A naive Shawn Marshall, a gangly eighteen-year-old, walked on the side of the lonely highway. His sneakers worn from a lot of walking. His face was burnt from walking in the sun all day. The heavy load of his backpack pulled on his shoulders like a bag of bricks. A long way to go; his head hung low.

  Headlights coming from behind caught his attention. He turned, holding out his index finger, trying to hitch a ride. A look of hope lit up his face. The car didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. Shawn was soon left in darkness once more. Only the high-pitched sound of crickets to keep him company. Realization set in—he’d be sleeping on the roadside tonight. Maybe he should have listened to his dad and not gone at this alone. He was used to camping, having gone many times with his father, but this was a different country. And he was on his own. Backpacking wasn’t the safest way to get around, but it was the cheapest. He’d have some spare money when he got back to Sydney.

  He stopped to take a sip
from his water bottle and removed his cell phone to check the time. He knew it would be earlier hours of the morning back home, but he also knew there would be no phone coverage further out of town. He dialed his father. Voice mail. Shawn left a message. “Hey, Dad, it’s me. I thought I would just let you know that I’m heading back to Sydney. Then I’m coming home. I’ll call you from the airport in a couple of—”

  ***

  Chris held out his phone for Frank to hear the recorded message. Shawn stopped talking. Something had caught his attention. Frank leaned in to see if he could hear anything. Nothing. Complete silence. Eerie silence.