“Fine.” I moved to my work area, threaded past the easy chairs and coffee table, and pulled open a drawer to reveal the alien gadgets and utility belt. “Now, how do we handle this?”

Patrick frowned and scratched his head. “Good question. Taft County is, what? Six hundred square miles? And that’s assuming we only have to search within the county.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Natalie said. “Chewbacca was on foot, right? Why would an alien land at point A, then walk a huge distance to point B? I bet he was pretty close to his ship when you, uh … ”

“Killed him.”

I gave Patrick a tired look. “Thanks for that, Patrick. And you’re probably right, Nat. Unless he was beamed down or dropped off or something.” I paused and tapped my chin. “Look, if there’s no ship, there’s no ship. But for now, let’s assume there is one and plan accordingly. Worst case, we waste a few hours walking around. At least for an initial search, we should center around the accident site.” Again I paused. “We need a map of the area, if only to mark off where we’ve gone.”

“I have a Rand McNally map book in my car,” Patrick replied. “And I’m driving anyway, since Jack busted up his ride. Plus, no one wants to be caught dead in the Buick. Speaking of which, did you talk to your dad?”

“Yeah, and it was every bit as uncomfortable as I expected. He acts like he’s scared I’ll shatter if he raises his voice.”

Both Patrick and Natalie made sympathetic faces, but neither commented.

We all piled into Patrick’s car, an old Plymouth Duster with a column shift and a bench seat, with Nat in the middle. Patrick had owned the vehicle since before he could drive, and still managed to find parts to keep it running. Some of the parts were definitely not original equipment, though; a car buff would notice right away that the rumble under the hood wasn’t a stock slant-six.

The drive out to Poller Road passed in complete silence except for a few directions from me. Otherwise, my mind swirled with out-of-control images and fantasies of ever-more-unbelievable spaceships and wormhole generators. I was pretty sure Patrick and Nat were going through similar internal monologues.

Patrick parked on the side of the road, almost in the ditch. On the right, a slight hill with a dense copse of trees hid a view of the outskirts of Dunnville, the Valley Mall, and the Tate Industrial Park, where Nat worked. On the left, a rickety split rail fence demarked a sparsely treed meadow that had been allowed to go wild.