Salera's Storm

  ***

  Each step creaked as they walked upstairs to the attic. It was hard to believe an alien from another world was behind him carrying a gun. The last thing he recalled was being in the police car when a bright light flashed and he was in his Colorado home, standing in his living room, facing this angry man who was threatening his life. Although the man looked pale and weak, Justin knew he meant every word he said. The laser blast that had set the couch on fire had done the trick.

  “Walk faster,” the man said.

  “You could at least tell me your name,” said Justin. “I’d like to know who’s going to kill me.”

  “Vorkis,” he answered. “Now move it!”

  He poked the gun in his back.

  “What did you say the rock was called?” asked Justin.

  “Pril.”

  The solid redwood door at the top of the stairs hadn’t been opened in three years. After Mary died, Shiro had brought her clothes and all her packed boxes to the attic and shut the door. Neither he, nor Rina and Shiro had the strength to go up there.

  Justin turned the handle and shoved the door open; the hinges squeaked from age. On the opposite ends of the long room, dusty rays of sunlight beaconed through the windows. Racks of clothes and unmarked boxes lined the walls. The smell of mothballs reminded Justin that Mary had been a packrat; she never threw anything out. Vorkis pushed him into the room and he fell to the floor. When he flipped around, he was peering into the barrel of the strange gun.

  “Find it or die.”