The Guardians

He felt old. He remembered far too much. There used to be a saying that it wasn't the years but the miles. No thanks for the memories. Memories stretched time; memories were the miles. It was like looking at the car he had bought new and seeing the rust and dings and the broken pieces, the faded paint and the balding tires. Still, he levered himself off the bed and made his way to the coffee pot. He was down to a cup a day, hoarding and stretching the miraculous black elixir as far as he possibly could. Once his apples were ready, he'd be able to trade for coffee beans or packaged grounds, enough to get him through the fall and winter, but the harvest was a month out yet and uncertain, as always. Not that he was worried. The future never worried him, only the past.

Sipping his coffee, he read a verse or two from his Bible, looked at the picture on his desk, and prayed. Sighing, he rose, put on his hat, shoved a revolver into his belt, and stepped out into the morning sun, already hot. His black dog lay in the deep double shade of the barn and a gangly adolescent ash. His wife had planted that tree — all the trees except for the ones already there and ones in the orchard. Ash, oak, maple, redbud, the damned ornamental pears, crabapples, those were all her work. The black dog got to her feet and, stretching, fell in silently behind the man as he walked on to check the garden, the orchard, and the henhouse.

Noon found him in the back of the barn hulling dried black beans. There was corn to be ground for meal with his little hand mill. Hens were chasing bugs around the melon patch. The dog slept in the dust just outside the barn door. His mind wandered lost in a swamp of words like quicksand, images like tangled vines amid drowned trees, his fingers moved swiftly and expertly. A low growl from the door brought his mind to his hands and his hands to the butt of the revolver. He looked up.

For a moment he saw nothing except the dog, now standing, and the wobbling of rising heat on the little knoll where the road ran between ten hundred-year-old black walnut trees. Figures materialized from the dancing air. Two people were coming down his road.

Colton got up slowly. He could make them out now: a man and a woman, walking slowly, wearily. To his eyes it was a boy and a girl. He thought he should know the girl. He let his shirttail fall back over the gun, and he moved up to the doorway. The dog stood beside him, slightly intimidated, wary. The travelers did not see him; they were heading toward the front porch of the house.

"Hello," Colton called. "Can I do something for you?"

The boy, tall and healthy-looking, with an even tan and close-clipped dark hair, jumped a little. The girl simply turned her head. "Oh, there you are," she said with an almost familiar sweetness. "You probably don't remember me." She changed her direction as she spoke and the boy followed. "I'm Lauren Beaumont. Your sister-in-law, Evelyn, is my mother. I was here once with her, but I was very small."

She did look like Evelyn and a little, just a little, like the picture on his desk. "Is Aunt Jan in there, too?"

He had expected it and still he was choking. "Jan is, uh, isn't here." It was the best he could do. The black dog whined softly.

"Oh. Will she be back soon? Our bike — motorcycle ran out of gas. We pushed it along, and I realized where we were. We left it up at the gate."

Colton was shaking his head as she spoke. The boy was now directly behind the girl and some distance back, almost hidden. "I-I called your mother. It's been over a year."

"I'm sorry? You called my mother? Oh. Oh, no. I'm so sorry," she said and took a step closer. Colton could not see anything except the boy's head. It bothered him for some reason. The girl was talking again, moving her hands, drawing his attention. "Well, the truth is, you see, I haven't talked to my mother for the last couple of years. We had a falling out, over —" She turned her head a little as if looking back at the boy over her left shoulder, getting Colton to look in that direction. Colton saw the boy moving to the girl's right. In that instant, he knew what it all was.

The silver revolver was up and booming. The first shot caught the boy low on the left side of his belly. He hissed. His shot went just wide of Colton's ear. The man smiled as he fired again, more carefully. The boy pitched backward, falling cold on the ground. The limbs twisted for a moment more, but Colton knew the thing was dead. His gun was on Lauren now.

"I'm not one of them," she said very quietly.

He gazed at her. "No, they can't fool most of us. They need humans like you to do that. Let's go in the house."

It was still hot the next day when the old Chevy truck rattled over the knoll and stopped in front of the barn. Colton was busy with his chores, as usual. The driver climbed down. He was older than Colton, grayer, paunchier, though perhaps not as tired.

"Colt, what you got for me today?"

"About three dozen. They don't lay worth a hoot when it's this hot and dry."

"That's the truth. Well, we take what we can get. You want cash or just credit your account?"

"Credit's fine, Gil. I don't want to draw thieves on top of everything else."

"Everything else?"

"I killed a Changer out here yesterday."

"Damn things. I wish they'd stay in the cities," Gil looked back down the road. "Was it dark? He try to sneak up on you?"

"No. He had a decoy. A girl. He kept back behind her. They know we can spot 'em in broad daylight even if they don't talk."

Gil looked around and nodded. "She's just as bad as they are, you know. She ain't still alive, is she?"

"In the house, on a short leash. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. She's some of, of Jan's kinfolk."

"Figures," Gil half muttered. He twisted his head a little to not look directly in Colton's eyes. It was a feline movement, Colton thought. "Anyway," Gil sighed a little, "anyway, why do they do it? Why do they help those ghouls? They ain't even human — not like anything human. I don't understand. I've heard about the sex thing, some, but I don't even want to think about that. Be nice to 'em so they'll eat you last?"

"Something like that." Colton sagged against the frame of one of his bins. "I tried to talk to her. I made her look at the thing after I killed it, see that it couldn't hold a human shape. She said everything changes when it dies. Called me a murderer. She says the government is considerin' givin' the Changers protected status."

"What?"

Colton nodded. "Human rights. Claim human rights for some kind of invader that doesn't have the humanity of a copperhead. Can't kill them on sight, only in self-defense. They haven't done it yet, but they may. She may be right. They may be running the government for all we know."

"Why do they come out here? We gave 'em the cities. They have the fools like that girl that go along and help 'em, protect 'em."

"They don't like us out here on our own. We worry them. The girl says the Changers treat the humans that cooperate decently."

Gil laughed but it was harsh and abrupt. He pointed across the fields. "And Willis over there generally takes good care of his cattle. Some of 'em are practically pets. He wouldn't sell some of those old cows for anything. Nor butcher 'em. That doesn't stop him from selling off the increase or eatin' steaks."

"I told her just that. She says we're just bigots. Says it's no different than when we used to have black people as slaves or segregation." Colton smiled.

Gil laughed again, genuinely this time. He rubbed a dark hand across his close, kinky beard. "At least we were all humans. Maybe some Africans were cannibals, but it wasn't any of my folks — I don't think. And I don't recall white people cookin' up black people for dinner — as a general rule. Everything is not the same thing."

"I don't know. Humans like the girl understand that the Changers are alien. They seem to think that they have a right to be here, same as us. It's just a matter of gettin' along. The Changers may not be exactly human in the sense that we are, but they are 'as good as' humans. Might even be superior. So the girl thinks. And so thought others."

"But they ain't like us. They have no right to come and make cattle out of us. They ain't overbright, whatever they are. They can do one thing we don't understand, and that is change their shapes to look like us. They live a long time if we don't kill 'em. I guess, in the cold out in space, they can live just about forever, hibernatin' like snakes. They can look pretty alive. Dead, they just look nasty. How could anybody be fooled? We could wipe 'em out if people like her would let us. And we should."

The two men talked on in the same vein until Gil at last departed with his eggs stowed carefully. Colton returned to the house. He didn't feel like talking to Lauren. He untied her without any apology and curtly instructed her to clean up and eat as she liked. Instead of watching her, he watched the door. He wondered how many humans she had betrayed for the benefit of that vile thing. She deserved to die as a murderer — and worse. He sat at his desk and ran his finger around the picture frame.

Three days passed. Colton made the girl help him with his work on the grounds that she was eating his food. The girl made no objection and caused no trouble. She caught on to things quickly and seemed intelligent enough. He avoided conversation. He did not want to become sympathetic toward her for his own sake. There were things he did not want to know for her sake. That evening both had eaten, although not together. Colton sat by his desk where his revolver lay within easy reach. His eyes were on the front door.

The girl walked past him and sat down on a straight wooden chair away from the door. He swiveled around a little so that he could see any movement from her.

"So," she said after a few moments, "how long are you going to keep me here? I'm not a lawyer, but isn't this something like kidnapping?"

"Maybe you're a prisoner of war. I wouldn't push it, if I were you."

"Is that what happened to my aunt? Did she push it?"

He turned fully and looked at her, not threatening but steadily. She dropped her gaze. "They are not human. We are at war with them. They eat human flesh. They are able to take on a human form which is only an illusion. You saw that thing you were with after it was dead — after it tried to kill me. With your help, I might add. They are closer to being a reptile of some sort than human. They are nothing but beasts. Hungry, nasty, deceiving beasts. They have no culture, no morals, no technology to speak of. They create nothing."

"That's not true. They come from another world. They're like refugees. They have spaceships."

"They have some kind of hive with an organic ionic propulsion system. They can feed enough energy into it to climb out of the gravity well then they drift between systems. I'd call them animals, but they are alien — completely alien."

"I don't see how you can say that. Look how hard you and the other people out here have to work try to tear a living from the earth. The Strangers take nothing from the earth. They don't work. They live by love and selfless sacrifice. They only want us to be happy. They want to teach us to be happy."

"They kill humans and eat them."

"Only the ones like you who would destroy them completely. Do you expect them not to fight back? And everything has to eat."

"Yes, I want to destroy them completely before they destroy humanity completely. Before we become as cattle ourselves. That's why they are leaving the cities we abandoned to them. They are coming after the resisters, the aggressive ones. They aren't worried about the sheep-people like you they can herd around and control. They have sense enough to understand breeding the aggression out of their food supply."

"Aggression is bad. It needs to be bred out of us. We are far too violent. The Strangers are helping us."

"Dear God."

Lauren continued. "They are superior to us. They are teaching us to live in harmony and love and sacrifice as they live. You don't understand how beautiful it is to sacrifice everything for good."

"I don't know. I suppose we could ask a pig."

Lauren shook her head, her eyes gleaming under the lantern. "Don't resist them. They are going to win. They have to."

Colton's face reddened with passion. "No. They can't win. They are using you and people like you to win. We would have destroyed them in a day if you people had stayed out of it. Now, now it will take a year or two, or ten, but we will destroy them. Unless you betray humanity. The Changers can't make anything, can't create. They will enslave us with deceptions and the tools we give them. They will have us build our own cages and chains and the very whips that subdue us.

"No!" he said again, "They can't win if you don't help them win. If you fight them —"

The black dog howled. Lauren's eyes glistened. Colton groaned. He grabbed for the revolver and his hand fell on the barrel, and he grasped it in desperation. He heard the popping of the gun behind him and felt the stinging impact driving into his vitals. He looked at Lauren. Extending his arm, he passed the revolver to her. She took it. Colton clutched the picture, pressed it to his chest, and pitched forward onto the floor.

The black dog was still howling.

Lauren looked up at the Changer advancing. The revolver bellowed, and the Changer retreated trying to raise its gun. She fired again and the beast fell back through the door, into the dust, revealed, dead and cold.