“What’s that gizmo thang say, Mr. G.?” Earl asked. “Was them space critters for real?”
“To confirm that would be pure speculation at this point,” Grayson said. “But according to the detector, there’s definitely been some sort of EMF anomaly.”
“No, shit,” I said.
Earl laughed. “He didn’t mean what you done in your pants, Bobbie.”
“Hmm,” Grayson grunted. “We need to regroup and work out a better plan.”
“I repeat,” I said. “No shit.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Aliens?” Garth said, his nose as burgundy red as the stripes on his flannel housecoat. Perched on the edge of the broken couch in the RV, he waved his damp hanky in the air like a NASCAR pro. “I knew it! What’d they look like?”
“Well ... uh,” I stammered, still woozy from my extraterrestrial encounter. I was hunched over the banquette booth. My wobbly head rested in my hands, propped up by my elbows on the table.
“They kinda looked like them Coneheads to me,” Earl said, taking a sip of Pepsi. “You know. What used to be on Saturday Night Live.” He opened a kitchen cabinet. “Hey, Garth, you got any more a them Twinkies up in that trailer a yore’s?”
Garth’s face went limp. He glanced over at me. “Is he serious? About the aliens, not the Twinkies.”
I winced and hiked my shoulders up to my ears. “Uh ... from what I saw, one of them did have a pointy head. But it was dark. And the other one sure as hell didn’t. It looked like it had snakes coming out of its—”
“Hold still, Drex!” Grayson barked.
I froze. “Come on, Grayson! Do we have to do this now?”
I reached up to scratch one of the pasty electrodes stuck to my forehead. On top of just getting the living crap scared out of me by a pair of ET goblins, Grayson had insisted on hooking me up to his stupid EEG machine as soon as we got back.
“Absolutely,” Grayson said. “This is a rare chance to collect actual field data for comparison.” He rubbed his chin and stared at the monitor. “Hmm. This thing must be broken.”
I frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Historically, your results have trended toward marked improvement in your alpha-wave levels. This is the lowest reading I’ve seen since we began testing.”
“Well excuuuse me,” I said, yanking an electrode off my forehead. “Can I help it if I’m allergic to alien life forms? Good grief. Are we done here?”
Grayson sighed. “I suppose.”
“Lemme try it, Chief!” Earl said.
“Knock yourself out,” I said, yanking off the remaining electrodes. “Sit over there.”
Earl plopped down opposite me at the banquette and wiggled like a puppy waiting for a treat as I pasted my used electrodes to his Neanderthal brow ridge.
Grayson frowned at me. “If this machine is functioning properly, you’re results are truly disappointing, Drex.”
I shot him a sour face. “Then why don’t you give your new protégé a shot at it? He’s all hooked up.”
Grayson glanced at Earl, blew out a sigh, then began resetting the dials on his EEG machine. “Fine.”
“I mean, really, Grayson,” I grumbled. “What kind of results did you expect? Who in their right mind could keep their shit together with aliens on their asses?”
Grayson’s eyebrow shot up. “Earl, apparently.”
I glared at Grayson. “I said in their right mind.”
“Intriguing,” Grayson said, staring at the monitor. “Earl, your alpha waves are impressively high.”
I scowled at my cousin. “Seriously? Those aliens didn’t scare you outta your stupid gourd?”
Earl shook his head. “Naw.”
My jaw flexed. “Why the hell not?”
“I don’t think they was after us,” Earl said nonchalantly. “And that white one looked kinda friendly, if you ask me.”
I shook my head. “That could only mean one thing.”
“That Earl’s a natural at this?” Grayson asked.
“No!” I hissed. “That Earl’s a big buffoon!”
“Uh...I hate to interrupt,” Garth said, raising a hand like a kid in class. “But these aliens. Do you think they might have my brother Jimmy trapped inside their spaceship?”
The three of us stopped our petty bickering and stared at poor Garth. Clad in a ratty flannel robe and coiffed in a bed-head mullet, the sad little dude looked like the star of a Nyquil ad—for new, Jack Daniels flavor.
“Uh ...,” I fumbled.
“Inconclusive,” Grayson said. “Our mission was cut short by unforeseen circumstances, Operative Garth. Due to the hasty retreat of one investigative member, we were unable to gather conclusive evidence one way or the other.”
“So this is my fault?” I hissed. “Excuse me for wanting to survive. How thoughtless of me!”
Grayson’s eyes darted to the ceiling, then returned to studying Earl’s results on the monitor. “Uncanny,” he said, then glanced up at Garth. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have an oscilloscope, would you?”
Garth perked up. “You need to measure the speed of light?”
“Yes.”
Garth nodded. “You a Cathode or digital man?”
I blanched.
Seriously?
“Digital, if you’ve got it,” Grayson said.
Garth shook his head. “I don’t. But my buddy Sherman’s got a couple of sweet o-scopes back at his place.”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled beside his bushy moustache. “Excellent. Is your colleague nearby?”
“Just a mile or so down the street.”
“Let’s go, then.” Grayson got up from the monitor and took a step toward the front of the RV. “I’ll drive.”
“Hold on a minute!” I said. “Shouldn’t we be calling that Warren Engles guy at the FBI or something? I mean, we’re talking about space aliens here!”
“And have them come and lock down the site?” Grayson said, his face aghast.
“And remove all the evidence, then say it never happened?” Garth added, equally horrified.
The two conspiracy nutters locked eyes for a moment, then turned and stared at me, a determined look hardening on their faces.
“Not on my watch,” Grayson said.
“You got that right, Mr. Gray,” Garth said, then had a coughing fit.
Earl yanked off the electrodes. “I’m with you fellers!”
Outnumbered by idiots, I glanced at the clock above the banquette. It was nearly midnight. I was exhausted, sweaty, sticky with electrode paste, and totally not in the mood to be probed by extraterrestrials.
Not tonight, anyway.
“What’s the rush?” I asked, following Grayson to the
