A New Mission

By Arlan Gerig

Frantic banging on her door shattered Shantel’s much-needed rest.

“Pastor! I know you’re here! Please come out!”

The banging continued.

“Coming!” she called. Dragging herself from the bunk, she opened the cabin door. Shantel shielded her eyes from the hot Bahamian sun, trying to remember her interrupted dream.

Charlie, Nassau’s lead immigration official, gaped, wide-eyed. “The Americans are taking the aliens! Tell me where their children are.”

Her yawn turned into a grimace at the memory of the previous night’s events. “You took the aliens I tried to save and nearly arrested me. Get out now!”

She tried to close the door, but he blocked it with his foot. “I had a vision from one of the aliens. It said you have their children, but they’re in danger.”

Shantel’s dream returned in a flash: a blue-skinned alien lay on a Bahamian hospital table, ashy and sunken from starvation. It lifted a three-fingered hand and stared at her with obsidian eyes. Shantel, protect our children.

Shantel pushed against the door. “I don’t trust you, so why should the aliens?”

Charlie wedged his hand in the doorway. “I’m not your enemy. I didn’t tell the Americans anything. They must’ve gotten information from someone else.” He spoke into the opening. “They took the spaceships.”

A familiar voice spoke into her mind­­––Tsulee, the leader of the alien children. He’s being honest. Mother and the others have been moved.

Shantel huffed and let go of the door. “Fine. Come in, but I haven’t forgotten that you handcuffed and bussed them away.”

Charlie stepped into the small cabin room, peeking around the double bunks. “Where are they?”

She smirked. “You think I can keep thirty alien children in one room?”

“Thirty?”

Oops.

She sat on the lower bunk while he paced the room, speaking quickly. “Four aliens died in the hospital, probably from starvation and horrid ship conditions. The FBI agents were making plans to move them to Nevada. Then I was ordered out.”

“Where? Area 51?” She tried to quell her panic.

Charlie glanced at her, nodded, and continued pacing. “Most likely where they’re going. That puts you and the children in danger. I couldn’t call you. I knew they’d trace my phone signal.”

Shantel scowled. “And you don’t think they’d follow you?”

He chuckled. “I know Nassau’s streets well. I lost them in the roundabouts. It will take them time to find me.”

Tsulee’s voice was urgent. Angry and scared strangers are coming. We need to hide or leave.

Shantel clenched her jaw. “They know you’re here.”

Charlie reddened.

The Bahamian campground had always been a safe place for Shantel, where campers and missionaries came during the summer months to support and feed poor Haitian refugees. This was her life and calling. Her mission.

Yet she couldn’t leave these helpless aliens, either. They had no one else. “I’ll figure out where we can go,” she whispered to Tsulee.

The child’s response came quickly. Can you fly your ship to this Nevada? We want to rescue our parents.

Shantel frowned. “My ship? You mean my car? It doesn’t fly, and it’ll be impossible to save your parents from the Americans. We can’t do that.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are they talking to you?” He plopped onto a wooden chair, tapping his foot on the floor. “We don’t have much time, Pastor.”

She nodded, listening to Tsulee.

The Americans have our ship, but Mother is directing it to retrieve us. The automated system won’t listen to children.

Shantel froze, and Charlie scowled. “Now what?”

“Their ship’s coming here, but the children can’t fly it. This isn’t going to work.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder. Charlie jumped up. “They’ve found us. I’ll lead them around the island while you take the children.”

He dashed from the cabin.

Shantel inhaled deeply and released it with a prayer for help, reminded of all the times she had witnessed miraculous answers to help refugees in tight situations.

She glanced out the window. A silver oblong spaceship landed between the plantain trees. Thirty blue-skinned children filed from the cabins to line up at the spaceship. Shantel followed, uncertain whether this was their best option. It would be a tight fit. If they rescued the adults, where would they put them?

Tsulee ran to her, smiling and holding a bag of conch fritters. We couldn’t forget these. I wish you could’ve gotten more.

Shantel grinned. Although she had worried about finding food for them, they had downed conch fritters and lionfish, two Bahamian delicacies.

She hurried up the short ramp, ducking to enter the cramped ship. Buttons blinked on a console. Wall screens displayed their surroundings and a visual of the island. The children sat clustered in groups. On the screens, police cars with flashing lights approached the campground.

Shantel stared at the control table. “No one can fly your ship.”

Tsulee took her elbow and led her to a cushioned seat. Don’t worry. Mother programmed it to listen to you. Tell our automated pilot, Net, to take us to Nevada.

Although it meant leaving her husband, twins, church, and all she’d known, Shantel knew she could return. Her husband would support her decision, since they’d devoted their lives to helping those in need.

She took a deep breath and sat. Impossible or not, she was ready. “Net, take us to Nevada.”

“Proceeding, Shantel,” a calm voice said.

The ship shuddered and rose slowly into the afternoon sky amidst a cloud of exhaust and dust. Several police cars followed Charlie while three others zoomed up the campground’s stony drive and skidded to a stop.

The full moon briefly flashed on the screen before refocusing on the shrinking island.

Maybe we can live there after we rescue Mother.

Shantel touched Tsulee’s soft, cool hand. “There’s no oxygen or life on the moon, but many islands around here are uninhabited. We’ll find something.”

Nassau grew smaller on the screen and disappeared behind the clouds.

This was her new mission.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arlan Gerig has stories published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and the Animal Kingdom anthology. Arlan recently fulfilled a goal: a Bahamas mission trip to help Haitian refugees. When he’s not reading a great book, writing flash fiction, or bringing wizard apprentice Gwynfar to life in a YA fantasy novel, Arlan enjoys walking his two pit mixes around his Ohio neighborhood.

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