Alien Gifts: Five Short Stories by Sherry D. Ramsey

Author:Sherry D. Ramsey [Ramsey, Sherry D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction - Short Stories - Speculative Fiction - Science Fiction
Publisher: Sherry D. Ramsey
Published: 2018-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Cache

The GPS beeped. A few feet in front of me, Ricky whooped, startling something small in the underbrush. It skittered away, unseen, through the carpet of dead leaves. The dog immediately shoved his nose under some brush, straining at the leash. I tugged him back.

“Don’t drop it!” I yelped, because as usual, the kid seemed unable to keep himself still like a normal human being. I already regretted letting him carry my GPS. He looked ready to dash into the underbrush himself in search of the cache.

“I’m not going to drop it, Danny,” he reproached me, holding it out so I could see how tightly he held it, and that the strap was still looped around his wrist. I took his hand and turned it so I could see the screen.

Arriving at Gully’s River West. Below that, it displayed the coordinates.

I eased the gadget away from the kid. He relinquished it reluctantly. “Okay, we’re here. Now, you’re not going to find the cache by jumping up and down like a maniac. This is the part of geocaching where you really have to pay attention and concentrate.”

I expected my words to fall on deaf ears, but surprisingly, Ricky stood still.

“So once the GPS says we’re here, it’s gotta be somewhere close, right?” he asked, peering into the forest around us.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy to find. It could be up in a tree, or hidden inside a rotted log, or tucked under some bushes in a container covered with camo—”

“How big is it?” Ricky interrupted me.

I sighed. “One second.” I punched commands on the GPS and details of the cache came up on the screen. “Hmmm. This might be a tricky one. All it says is, ‘Low to the ground, it will be found, you won’t need a shovel, but dig around.’ It’s a container about four inches by five inches.”

“How big is that?”

I demonstrated, cupping my hands.

Ricky frowned. “But it’s not actually buried.”

Duffy, the big lab, must have understood the word “buried” because he started pawing at a spot on the ground. Geez, his paws were muddy enough already from this sorry excuse for a trail—not much more than a path—without having him start an excavation project. My truck would be a mess. I yanked him back. I’d done that so many times already today that my shoulder throbbed. “No, you’re not allowed to actually bury geocaches,” I said, “because they’re usually not on your own land. The idea is not to disturb anything—”

“Okay, Danny, I’ve got it.” He bent down, staring at the ground, taking small slow steps.

I have to admit I was kind of amazed. When Celia suggested I take her dog and her kid geocaching with me, I’d expected a total nightmare. I loved Celia, but I wasn’t exactly in love with her dependents. The house always seemed to be full of kids and dogs, even when it was just Ricky and Duffy. I haven’t been around a lot of nine-year-olds,

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