Volition: An Extra-Terrestrial Incident

Volition:

An Extra-Terrestrial Incident

By

J.D. Lowes

Copyright © 2015 J. D. Lowes

All rights reserved.

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While you’re there, check out my first Horror book, The Seraph’s Son

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the limitless support of my wife, Denita. In a million years, I could not thank you enough. For me, the sun rises and sets with you. I owe you everything.

Many thanks to my editor, Christopher Cervelloni at Blue Square Writers.

I would also like to express my gratitude for the fine work provided by Adrian and Dane at Ebooklauch.com. They both took the headache out of Electronic Publishing and I highly recommend their formatting and Cover Art services to anyone that plans on getting their story told.

Last but not least, I would like to thank, Dora Gonzalez for her creative and artistic vision. You did a great job, Dora.

Author’s Note

Picture this: Alone. Exhausted after a full day of hiking in a National Forest. Just off the trail. On the Darkest of nights, under the comforting glow of a campfire. This is where I had a very strange encounter that inspired this book.

From out of the shadows he appeared and politely asked if he could share my campfire while he waited for his ride. I was wary of this person who seemingly out of nowhere appeared as I was firing up my Jetboil for that evening’s Ramen supper. The first thing I noticed was his attire. He wore a silver flight suit strait out of wardrobe of a silly 1950’s sci-fi movie production.

Stranger yet, he looked very familiar, sort of like a young Clint Eastwood, and he was waiting for a, ride some thirty miles as the crow flies from the nearest interstate. Visions of an ax wielding psychopath flashed through my mind. Yet, at the same time, I was curious to know more about who this guy was. So with pocket knife at the ready, I offered him a cup of coffee which he readily accepted and then he began to share fantastical tales filled with UFO’s and alien encounters, many of the points are included in the story you’re about to read. Being agnostic by nature, I asked for some kind of proof to the validity of such outrageous tales. So there by the flicker of campfire light, he showed me something that even today I have a tough time wrapping my head around. This inspired the scene in the Sheriff’s Bronco and Jordo’s handcuff trick. After that, I admit I was more willing to believe. He shared details about his rather nefarious past life, before. Some of these facts I was able to later verify and others I was not. Bottom line being, he was once a living American person that had disappeared under mysterious circumstances from a National Forest. He spent the rest of the evening telling me the unbelievable history of his life. Needless to say, this person or facsimile of a person managed to hold my rapt attention for the rest of the night.

Just before sunrise he concluded by saying, My ride’s here. I looked around and didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. But nevertheless, I thanked him for a most interesting night.

Before he left, he said, Maybe one day you’ll write a story based on this little chat. With those final parting words he shook my hand and bid me farewell. As I looked on, he hopped up on a tree stump and gave me a peace sign just before a bright flash of bluish-white light and then it was as if he had never been there at all.

Of course, I’ve questioned what I experienced that night deep in the woods too many times to count, but in the years since, I have never forgot this mysterious visitor. I’d like to think he told me his story to inspire me. So, I hope, somehow, some way, he will one day read, Volition: An Extra-Terrestrial Incident and be pleased with the results. I’ll let you be the final judge. I hope it makes you wonder if we are really alone…

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

Prelude

Chapter ONE

Chapter TWO

Chapter THREE

Chapter FOUR

Chapter FIVE

Chapter SIX

Chapter SEVEN

Chapter EIGHT

Chapter NINE

Chapter TEN

Chapter ELEVEN

Chapter TWELVE

Chapter THIRTEEN

Chapter FOURTEEN

Chapter FIFTEEN

Chapter SIXTEEN

Chapter SEVENTEEN

Chapter EIGHTEEN

Chapter NINETEEN

Chapter TWENTY

Chapter TWENTY-ONE

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Chapter TWENTY-THREE

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

Denouement

Prelude

Twenty-Four years ago.

CREET! CREET! Calling all CREET! A little boy yelled through a rolled up Pee Chee he had fashioned into a makeshift megaphone. This is Jordo, King of the Rockies, and I command you to show yourselves!

Jordan Cooper, the paraplegic younger brother of Jacob, a senior in high school and star wide-receiver for the Grizzlies, was filled with unrestrained exuberance. Jordan began to rock from side to side while screaming into his megaphone, CREET! CREET! CREET!

Easy, Jordo, stop rockin’ the boat, buddy. Just try to settle the fuck down and for Chrissake, keep quiet! The last thing we want is to get caught in the middle of the lake in this tippy piece of shit canoe. So just keep your powder dry ‘til we get to the island, okay? Dresden Vanover said, also a senior and All-American quarterback for the White Pine Grizzlies.

The four boys continued to paddle toward the tiny island, spanning fifty yards from end to end.

Look! Over there in the trees, I think I see lights! Larry Beckman, a wiry, fare haired teen said from the middle seat of the canoe, pointing into the cluster of pine trees that topped the rocky island outcropping now just seventy-five yards away.

Jake Cooper stopped paddling as he stared intently at the flickering multi-colored lights emanating amidst the trees. Wide-eyed, his voice filled with excitement he said, Oh shit, here we go. I can’t believe it’s really happening!

CREET! CREET! CREET! The little boy yelled at the top of his lungs.

Shit, Jake, take that frickin’ folder way from your brother! Dresden said in his usual commanding tone.

Jake Cooper snatched the rolled up Pee Chee away from his little brother. Jordo, stop rockin’ the boat and shut the fuck up, or I’ll never let you go with us again! Curious, Jake unfurled the folder and opened it. What’s so important in here anyway? What have you been writing in this thing?

Hey, give that back! It’s mine.

Jordon’s older brother unraveled the Pee Chee and by the light of a Bic lighter flame, read in big block letters, CHristmas tREE lighTs = CHRREEGHT = CREET!! Jake Cooper rolled the Pee Chee folder back up and smacked his little brother on the top of the head. You’re such a little spaz, Jordo. Just sit still and keep quiet or I won’t give this back. If you don’t cool your jets, we’ll leave you in the canoe once we get to the island."

Hey! That’s my Pee Chee! Give it back now or I’ll tell mom!

Jacob announced to his friends, Creet is just a made-up word. It stands for Christmas Tree Lights.

The partially obscured lights located in the center of the rocky mound of pines, without warning, began to move between the trees and came into full view.

Holy crap!

Well fuck me runnin’, would ya look at that… Honest ta Gawd U fucking O’s… Larry Beckman said before six mesmerizing lighted orbs stacked upon themselves forming a multi-colored train and corkscrewed into the sky. In the next instant, a sudden rush of warm air began to blow down on the boat, changing the waters into a treacherous basin of waves that began to spill into the canoe. The sky darkened as ominous churning black clouds filled with arching bolts of electricity blocked out the moon.

Mesmerized by the electrical clouds above, Larry Beckman said, Hey guys, look at those clouds, have you ever seen anything like it before? Maybe we should go back now.

Fuck that! Beck, are you crazy? This is what we came for. So just keep paddling and enjoy the show. If it’s the last thing we do, we’re gonna find out what’s on that island. Jake Cooper said.

"Yeah, Beck, I didn’t hike all day through the woods lugging this damned canoe on my back not to find out what’s on the island. So just keep paddling and shut the fuck up."

CREET! CREET! CREET! Look, Jacob, look at all the Christmas tree lights in the sky!

Yeah, Jordo, I see’em. Now try to calm the fuck down and stop rocking the boat. Jake said, patting his little brother on his back.

The colored orbs dipped ten feet off the water and began to circle the canoe.

Oh shit, I think they see us! Beckman said, stating the obvious. Jacob Cooper turned and caught the determined eyes of his buddy and team mate, Dresden Vanover and said, Dres, maybe we should pick up the pace and ride out this storm on the island. Whaddaya think?

Dresden nodded, Pick up the pace guys, stroke! Stroke! Stroke!

Dudes, if you ask me, I really think we should reconsider. Let’s just turn around now while we still can. Those lights are getting a little too close for comfort. Larry Beckman added, fear creeping into his voice.

No! Don’t listen to him, Dresden, we’re almost there. Let’s go see where the Creet live! Jake said.

From out of the churning black clouds above, a dark metallic disk shaped craft began to form. All four boys froze and looked up in slack jawed amazement. An enormous saucer, spanning the length of three football fields, began to descend.

Oh fuck! Maybe Larry’s right. I think it’s time to head back. Dresden said.

As the four boys looked on, the enormous black disk continued to drop to thirty yards above, close enough to make out details on the skin of the craft.

Dresden slapped his paddle in the water, Turn around! Turn around! Hurry, hurry, hurry! Let’s get the fuck out of here!

Panic stricken, the boys fought each other’s efforts in turning the canoe around, doing little more than splashing each other with water.

Stop! Goddammit, listen to me! Everybody take your paddle out of the water. Do it! Dresden commanded. They all did as they were told. Jake, dip you paddle on the left side and paddle backwards. Beck, you just keep your paddle out of the water until I say, you hear me?

Yeah, yeah, I hear you. But who died and left you in charge?

Waves continued to break over the sides of the small boat, filling the bottom with several inches of water. Once on the same page, the boys managed to point the canoe in the direction they came.

Okay guys, paddle like hell! Dresden ordered, looking up as an intense beam of ultra-white light flooded the boat.

The lighted orbs circled faster and faster around the boys, creating a blur of alternating blue and green light.

CREET! CREET! CREET! Clapped Jordon, overcome with excitement.

Paddle guys! Fuckin’ paddle like you’ve never paddled before! Dresden yelled, before a flash of light and a violent jostle began to spin the boat in circles.

Wee! Look Jake, I’m floating!

Grab his legs!

No you don’t! Dresden screamed, dropping his oar in the water as he lunged for Jordan Cooper’s Converse All-Stars.

Grasping hold, Dresden felt his body being pulled into the air. Jake grabbed his friend’s legs in a frantic attempt to keep him from leaving the canoe.

Don’t let go! Larry Beckman yelled as he stood up, losing his balance and tipping the boat over. He felt helpless. All he could do was tread water and watch as the brilliant silver-blue beam of light lifted all three of his friends through the air towards the center of the giant disk.

Jordon Cooper’s lifeless legs were stretched taught as the quarterback’s fingers began to slip.

Dresden screamed, I’m losing my grip, Jordo! Oh shit! Both he and Jake Cooper plummeted towards the churning caldron of water. The last thing both of the boys recalled was seeing little Jordon Cooper’s silhouette floating skyward towards the light. Then, before they hit the water, their world turned to black.

When they woke, Dresden Vanover, Jacob Cooper and Larry Beckman were being Life Flighted to the area hospital. They had been found by a search party, lying unconscious on the beach, after being declared missing for two days.

For weeks after the incident, the bottomless lake was dragged and the surrounding woods were searched. No sign of Jordan Cooper was ever found.

Chapter ONE

Lights…

Yesterday.

Hey, Jimi, how was the flight?

Good, good, mon. You be ready?

Yeah, this time see if you can get the rope to me.

A painfully thin, scruffy whiskered Rastafarian heaved a mooring line into the moonlit sky. The hooded silhouette of a man standing on the bank at the ready, feet planted on two algae slickened boulders, tracked the end of the rope as it sailed through the chilled night air. The rope fell short of his outstretched hand, causing him to slip on the rock, and falling to a knee before he caught his balance. The line landed in the water near his head, splashing him in the face. He spat a mouthful of lake and snorted his disapproval as he snatched the line from the frigid waters and guided the floatplane between two enormous boulders, effectively concealing the aircraft to anyone not looking.

Why is it that I’m always the one getting wet? You’d think after seventy some odd years on earth, you’d have learned how to throw a damn rope!

The wiry old black man grinned, his gold-capped front tooth gleaming, Wah gwaan, mon? It be good ta seeya again.

The two men bumped fists, Hey Jimi. What’s with all the lights in the sky tonight? Did you happen to get a look at them as you flew in?

The hooded man, concealed in his customary dark Wayfarer shades, San Francisco Giants ball cap and bulky down-filled coat with a hood that drooped in the front giving him an eerie faceless appearance, pointed to a bright burst of light above the shadowed outline of a jagged mountain range far off on the Northeastern horizon.

Look! There it goes again. It’s like frickin’ World War three’s happenin’ over there!

Yah mon, it do look like big booms to me too. For a while me tought dey be aimin for me plane, but it turn out dey be fireworks burnin up in da sky.

Fireworks? Oh yeah, I know what it is.

Tis it sometin me need be worryin bout, mon?

Naw, not at all, it’s just a bunch of rich folks doing what rich folks do. It’s a pre-season celebration. It’s sort of a week-long festival for the residents of White Pine before the village is inundated with the skiing crowd. The hooded man pursed his lips and wagged his finger, deep in thought. I’m pretty sure I know the guy that’s shooting that shit off. He holds a celebrity laden party every year around this time. Have you ever heard of Donnie Lee Westbrooks?

The rock sta?

The one and only.

He live out dis way, mon?

Yeah, he lives in a huge castle he built about ten years back in the Klikitat valley. I’ve done some business with him before. A while back I traded him some product for a few mules and horses. He’s a really cool guy, but you’re gonna want to stay away from that whole area, Jimi. I’m pretty sure there’s a private airfield over that way. So, if I were you, I’d avoid the area when you fly out of here tonight.

The hooded man picked up a flat pebble, skipping it across the water and turned his head to the Rasta man. "As I’m sure you are aware, rich folk attract cops and those people over there are crazy rich."

Cool, mon, long as de beast stay off me six, me be bashy.

Naw, nothing to worry about, bro. In fact it’s rather apropos to what I wanted to discuss with you this evening.

The Rastafarian stood on the bank next to the hooded man staring out at the reflection of the moon glimmering on the still waters. He stretched his spine and grimaced as he massaged his lower back muscles.

Was a long, long flight dis time, mon. Now me know why me stop making dis run too much anymore. Dis be a youthman’s game, you know what I be say’in, mon? He took a deep breath and exhaled, turning his head to the hooded man. So tell me Don Man, what is it dat be so importent you be callin Jimi, and askin him to do dis pickup all by me self? It be what? Ova a whole year since you and me meet face to face.

The hooded man patted Jimi’s shoulder and smiled. I tell ya what, why don’t we load you up first, then we’ll talk, does that sound like a plan?

Within half an hour, the Cessna 185F was stuffed to the gills with cellophane wrapped bales. The Rasta man leaned against a rotting log and wiped his brow. He removed one glove and produced a conical shaped cigar from under a red, green and gold knit cap that tamed a massive crop of white dreadlocks. Placing the green leafed smoke between his lips, he motioned for the hooded man beside him, Sidung, mon and take a load off.

Jimi lit the spliff and held it out.

No thanks, you go ahead, Jimi. I just can’t handle weed smoke anymore. My lungs are fried and it hurts when I hold in the smoke.

Okay, mon. So let’s be gettin down to it, cuz I hear on da radio da weather reporter say dat der be a very angry storm gonna be blowin down dis way, and me don’t want to be anywhere round it when it come. Weathermon says it gonna git snowy cold. Maybe even da blizzard goin to come dis way.

I hear ya, Jimi. This won’t take long. I just wanted to speak with you in person about this.

Sure sure, mon, you can always tak wit me. He displayed a wry golden toothed grin. With a gentle tap to the hooded man’s arm, Jimi leaned in and whispered, bad man ta bad man.

Yeah well, we’ve got a bit of a problem. It seems like the Rocky Mountains are getting a bit too crowded these days and that’s bad for business. Can you believe some asshole’s built a cabin all the way out here?

Jimi lowered his spliff, the whites of his eyes shifting from left to right. He exhaled a plume of smoke, and coughed. Where dat be mon?

Don’t worry, we’re okay. It’s not on this lake, but the one over the ridge to the West. I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s got that little island in the center. You know where I’m talking?

I tink so, mon. So wat you want me do now? Maybe me come back wit me bredren and bust some caps all up in here? Maybe have fire party and burn dat cabin down to da ground?

The hooded man grinned and pushed his dark sunglasses back on his nose. "No man, you can’t do that. This cabin is frickin’ huge. That means somebody with serious coin owns it and it would sure as hell be missed. That would of course mean cops traipsing about in areas we don’t want them to be traipsing in, you know what I mean?"

Me get wat you be sayin, mon. So what we gonna do now?

Well, Jimi, I’ve been givin’ serious thought about getting out of the life and - Oh Shit! What the fuck is that?

The Rastafarian turned his head in time to see six green lights appear from out of the tree line across the lake. Their controlled methodic movement over the water left little doubt the lights were an intelligent life form. They fanned out to form a line stretching the width of the entire high-mountain basin. Solid beams of bluish-white light touched the surface of the water, reminiscent of a blind man tapping a cane.

Without saying a word, Jimi reached into his East German Army coat, pulled out a Mac-ten machine pistol and waved it in the face of the hooded man who did a double take from the barrel, back to the UFOs. Shit, Jimi you think I’ve got something to do with that?

Ah wah di bumboclot! Wah kind of fuckery dis be mon? You on inside wit Five-O? You tink you can play card pon me? I say NO!

What? You think those are DEA choppers or something? For fuck’s sake, Jimi, you’re crazy as a shithouse rat! Do those look like any kind of helicopter you’ve seen before? The two men stared out at the lake and the hooded man continued, Naw, Jimi, those look more like frickin’ balls of light to me. Some kind of UFOs maybe, I dunno. But whatever they are, I don’t plan on stickin’ around to find out! I suggest you and me duck into a cave and we’ll hide out ‘til those fuckin’ things split.

No way, mon. Tis a trap you be settin for Jimi. Me plane is fasta dan any DEA helicopta in da sky. I make run for it. Dis not finish, brodda. Jimi snarled and gritted his teeth. Hands trembling with anger, he contemplated his next move. I should shoot you down to da ground right now. You tink you play card pon Jimi! Afta all dis time…

Still pointing the barrel of his automatic weapon, Jimi’s eyes shifted from the hooded man to the silent green lights in the middle of the lake.

"I don’t think this is the time to argue about what kind of cards I’m playin’. So if you’re gonna shoot you better pull that fuckin’ trigger right now, ‘cause I’m about to split this scene. And before I go, let me just say I’m finished with all this shit! It’s the end of the road for me. You’re