“The City waited for twenty thousand years.”
Ray Bradbury, The City
The boy was already awake when the lights appeared in the sky.
For a moment, they tore through the night’s darkness. With a roar, they swept over the sleeping city. They flashed like fireworks on the Fourth of July and disappeared over the sandy hills. A minute of silence followed – as if nothing had happened. And by morning, the father returned.
“Dad!” The boy ran to embrace him.
The man slumped weakly into a chair, leaning against the wooden backrest. His face had sagged. His gray skin looked like it was sliding off, like wax on a fresh candle. His sunken chest rose and fell slowly. His gaze was fixed on the wall. He wore a checkered red shirt and faded jeans. He smelled of burnt metal, and his hoarse breath carried the scent of scorched rubber. Then, for the first time, the boy heard those strange sounds:
Click-click-click-click.
“Did you come back last night? You? Really?”
The man didn’t answer. He didn’t look away. It seemed as though he was studying the wall in front of him — as if zodiac constellations had appeared upon it, not just the empty concrete. Then, slowly, he turned his head to the boy and said:
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Reu!” came the mother’s voice from the kitchen. “Are you awake”. She froze, her eyes widening. She stared at her son, then at her husband.
“Reu, come to the kitchen. Now.” When he approached, she crouched down. She stared at him for a moment before speaking.
“Raymond, you’re a good boy, right?”
“Yes, Mom,” he replied.
“So if I ask you… You promise me not to tell anyone, okay? Do you understand?” She grabbed his wrist, her fingers tightening. “Don’t tell anyone that Dad came back.”
“Not even Uncle Einar?” the boy asked.
“Not even him. Swear it,” she said, her fingers tightening around his wrist, her voice trembling. “Do you hear me? Do you hear?!”
“Yes, Mom,” he said, on the verge of tears. “I swear.”
By afternoon, the military arrived.
They came in three armored vehicles. The roar of engines made the neighbors pull back their curtains. The doors creaked open, and brown boots hit the asphalt. Grim faces. No trace of emotion. Behind their black sunglasses, their eyes were unreadable.
They knocked gently at the door and entered without waiting for an answer.
“Good day,” said a tall, gray-haired man as he stepped into the living room. He wore civilian clothes, not a uniform. Two younger officers stood behind him.
“They’ve come for him. They know…” The woman’s heart pounded. She tried to compose herself. Her nails dug into her palms.
“Of course, come in, please,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Would you like some coffee? It’s fresh. I just brewed it.” The older officer raised his hand, stopping her.
“Mrs. Smith,” he began.
“Nora,” she corrected.
“Nora,” he repeated with a dry smile. “You probably know who we are and why we’ve come.”
“Yes, I suspect,” she barely managed to say. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it quickly and gasped for breath. “Is something wrong with my husband?”
“We don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet but authoritative. “Your husband’s expedition was successful. They were on their way home.”
“Did they find something?”
“Maybe. I can’t tell you that. It’s classified, Mrs. Smith-Nora. On the way back, the ship was likely caught in a meteor shower.”
“Likely?” she asked.
“Unless it was the Russians. We lost contact with the crew when the ship entered Earth’s atmosphere.”
“So, the lights we saw in the sky last night, they were…”
“Yes,” the man interrupted, his eyes scanning the room, searching for something. “They were debris from the ship. As you know, the crew consisted of nine people. Seven were found.”
“Dead?” she asked bluntly.
“The fate of two is unknown,” he continued, ignoring the question. “The captain and your husband, Mr. Smith. We suspect that he…”
“You don’t think…” she sobbed again. Tears streamed down her face. “That after the crash, my husband could just walk through the door and say, ‘Hi, Nora!’?”
“Mom! Mom!” came a voice from the kitchen. In a moment, the boy was there, hugging her tightly.
“But Dad will come back, right?” the boy asked, looking up at the man.
“Yes,” the mother whispered, kissing the top of his head. Perhaps it was then the boy heard the quiet sound again:
Click-click-click-click.
“My dad’s a hero, right?”
“You should be proud of him, boy,” the man said. “Goodbye, Mrs. Smith. Nora… Goodbye, Reu…”
“But how do you know my name, sir?” The man didn’t answer as he closed the door behind him. The engines roared and faded in the distance.
“He knows everything,” the woman whispered, trembling. “Everything!”
When they left, the boy ran to the basement. The woman slid down the wall, helpless.
“Dad! Dad, they came! But I didn’t…”
The father stood with his back turned, head tilted upward. In his hands was a dull metal can, glinting faintly. It was pressed to his face. Spasms ran through his shirt. The basement echoed with a wet, bubbling sound. The smell of automotive grease stung the boy’s nose.
Click-click-click-click.
The man twitched and slowly pulled the can away from his face. Several black drops splattered to the floor. With his other hand, he wiped his face and turned around.
In the dim light, the boy saw black, greasy liquid oozing from the corner of his father’s mouth. It dripped down his neck and soaked into his shirt.
“Dad, they… but I…”
“I know,” the voice buzzed like an electric current. “Run upstairs. I. WILL. BE. SOON.” He didn’t need to say it twice.
The boy ran up, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Suddenly, his father’s head twisted backward and hung down over his chest. His mouth opened convulsively, his eyes rolled back. With a metallic screech, like a ship’s airlock opening, his chest split apart. Instead of blood, black oil gushed out. A golden needle shot forth – and IT, what had once been his father, caught it with precision.
“REU. DAD. IS. COMING!” said the mother behind him, holding the same needle in her hands.
A hot stream rushed through the child’s foot, flooding the stairs. The boy could not scream.
