STRANGER THING (The Ever-Expanding Universe, Band 2) - Softcover

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Martin Leicht decided at the age of three that he wanted to spend his life spinning stories, and he went on to receive his MA from the Goldberg Department of Dramatic Writing at NYU. He lives in New York City, though his heart will always be in Philadelphia. Martin Leicht and Isla Neal are the authors of The Ever Expanding Universe trilogy, which includes Mothership, A Stranger Thing, and The World Forgot.

Isla Neal grew up in a small mountain town in Southern California and earned her MFA in Creative Writing for Children and Teens at the New School in in New York City, where she currently lives and works. Isla Neal and Martin Leicht are the authors of The Ever Expanding Universe trilogy, which includes Mothership, A Stranger Thing, and The World Forgot.

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A Stranger Thing

Chapter One

In Which Our Heroine Is Licked by a Bear

“Everything’s okay, Elvs. Seriously, like, no worries.”

Easy enough for Cole to say—he didn’t just push a person the size of a watermelon out of his private parts. Nor does he currently find himself under the piercing gaze of several suddenly constipated-looking Alien McHotHotts.

Now, I know I was preoccupied and everything, but I am certain that there were only five people in the room as I grunted, strained, and (let’s be perfectly frank here) farted the Goober out of my womb and into the world. Besides me, there was Cole (my baby daddy), Dad (my dad), Ducky (world’s best bestie), and one smokin’ Almiri doctor. And baby makes six. Or so I thought. Now I realize that several others were either waiting in the wings the entire time, or standing elsewhere out of sight. And now that my little bundle of joy is lying in my arms, they have all stepped forward, each one looking grimmer than the last.

“It’s female?” one of the dudes asks the doc gravely.

The doctor nods, stunned. And everybody in the room—even my own father—is staring at me and my newborn like we just snuck a jumbo-size combo meal past the ticket guy into the movie theater.

“I’m confused,” Ducky says, scratching his head. “I thought Almiri were always male.”

“I was under a similar impression, Donald,” my father says beside him. “Fascinating.”

Maybe “fascinating” isn’t the word I would use, but yeah, I’m a little perplexed myself. From everything Cole’s told me about his race (or species, or whatever you want to call an extraterrestrial group that traveled to Earth thousands of years ago to use human women as hosts for their offspring), I took it as fact that the Almiri only have one gender—a gender that requires a dongle. And yet . . . looking down at the gooey infant in my arms, it’s hard to argue that she most definitely has a full array of girl parts.

“Take it,” one of the Almiri snaps. “And secure the host and the father for questioning.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than all of the Almiri burst into a flurry of panicky action. One of the fellows standing in my peripheral vision rushes forward and snatches the Baby-Formerly-Known-as-Goober away from me before I can even react.

“Hey!” I shout, reaching clumsily to grab my baby back, but the thief is already moving toward the exit. Another Almiri falls into step behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hear Cole demand.

“Ibrida,” the baby-napper says . . . to which Cole (who, I should mention, can barely speak English most days, let alone whatever language that was) responds with a completely blank stare. “It’s a mule,” the guy says—as though that clarifies anything. His voice is even but strained. “Did you know about this?”

“Know about what?” Cole asks. “What are you talking about?”

“What’s going—ahhh!” I turn at the sudden sharp pain and see the doctor remove the syringe from my arm. “No, please, I . . . ,” I begin, but words are failing me. They have my baby. They took my baby.

I turn my head—which, holy crap, just got forty pounds heavier on my neck—to see if I can catch another glimpse of my daughter. Instead, I see only the second Almiri, who turns to Cole with a disgusted look on his face. “You just can’t help finding shit to step in, can you, Archer?”

“I don’t even . . . Hey, come back here with my kid!”

That’s when whatever night-night cocktail the doc has fed me begins to set in, so the Almiri at the door blocking Cole’s path and clasping him by the arms, trying to immobilize him, goes kinda fuzzy. Little swirlies dance in my field of vision, mixing in with the sight of Cole head-butting his restrainer—but that can’t be right, I think. The guy was his friend just moments ago, when they arrested the Jin’Kai heavies who chased us here in the first place. I’m pretty sure the head-buttee crashes to the floor, but there’s three more of him who take his place. And then I know the happy mommy juice is really starting to get to me, because I see two more Almiri move in beside Dad and Ducky, and calmly but forcibly escort them out of the room. And that shit just doesn’t make any sense.

“It’s all right, Elvie!” I hear Cole call, his voice growing fainter. “Don’t worry about anything! I’m here!”

The rest is all purple unicorns and gold stars singing show tunes, until everything goes black.

• • •

The first thing I wonder, as I come to, is whether or not the handcuffs shackling me to the hospital bed will be covered by my health insurance. My second thought, obviously, is what the flip am I doing handcuffed to a hospital bed? And where in the hell am I? This certainly doesn’t look like a recovery room at Lankenau Medical Center.

The haze quickly lifts, and I shuffle through a few blurry memories, mostly overheard snippets of conversation.

“. . . did we have any indication . . . ?”

“. . . Archer doesn’t seem to have a clue . . .”

“. . . never met a bigger numbskull . . .”

“. . . wreck was not salvageable . . .”

“. . . decrypted full records from the ship . . .”

“. . . last time this happened . . .”

“. . . what Byron has to say when we get there . . .”

“. . . have you seen my lip balm . . . ?”

None of which is helping me solve Elvie Nara and the Case of the Mystery Room. There are no monitors, nursebots, or any other medical gear keeping track of vitals or anything like that. As far as I can tell, the room consists of four white walls, a door, and a bed.

And me, of course.

“Hello?” I call out. There is no response for, like, a while, and I start to worry that I’m in some sort of soundproof room, or that maybe I’m just hallucinating the whole weird scene. Creepy dead silence, that’s all I get. But right when I’m really about to panic, the door slides open and in walks the same doctor from the delivery room, carrying a slender lap-pad and a scowl.

“Hey, are you my OB/GYN?” He scrolls through something on his lap-pad and does not respond. “What’s with the cuffs?” I try again. “You guys afraid that I’ll Hulk out on you?” I’m trying to play it light, hoping my gay spirits will take the edge off the fact that they’re treating me like a Jin’Kai POW, instead of, you know, their old pal Elvie. But the doc doesn’t seem to want to play along. “How long have I been here?” By the way my stomach’s growling I’m guessing it’s been at least a day, if not longer.

At last the doc looks up. “You’re feeling normal? No discomfort or odd sensations?”

“I’m hungry.” Understatement of the millennium. “Where is every—”

“I’ll see about getting you some food. In the meantime, Alan here is going to take you upstairs for a little while.”

Before I can ask if Alan is the doc’s...