Chapter 220: The Man Who Escaped the Alien Lair
The midnight highway stretched out like a ribbon of dead asphalt, completely desolate save for a handful of brave or desperate drivers who had no choice but to travel under the cover of darkness.
At this ungodly hour, even the most seasoned night-crawlers kept their speedometers in check, wary of the suffocating blackness pressing in from the surrounding wilderness.
But there was one glaring exception tearing through the quiet night.
A massive, heavy-duty transport truck swerved violently onto this stretch of the highway. Its engine roared like a wounded beast as it continuously accelerated, the heavy chassis swaying dangerously from left to right. It aggressively rode the bumpers of the few vehicles ahead, desperate to overtake them, driving with the frantic, reckless abandon of a man fleeing from the gates of hell itself.
The truck locked its high beams onto the back of a white sedan, the massive grill surging forward as it attempted a sharp right-side overtake.
Inside the white sedan, a young man gripped his steering wheel. The blinding glare of the truck's headlights flooded his rearview mirror, washing the interior of his car in harsh white light. Realizing the behemoth behind him wasn't slowing down, panic spiked in his chest. He yanked his steering wheel to the left, desperate to put some distance between his sedan and the careening metal monster.
Taking advantage of the sudden clearance, the heavy truck roared up alongside the sedan's right flank.
The young man in the sedan instinctively glanced over. He wanted to see what kind of suicidal maniac was behind the wheel—who would dare drive a rig like that, at these speeds, in the dead of night? He fully expected to see a slouched, intoxicated driver.
Instead, a chill ran down his spine.
The driver of the truck was also a young man, but he didn't look drunk in the slightest. He sat rigidly upright, his posture stiff as a board. His knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, and his eyes were blown wide open, pupils dilated to the point where his irises were barely visible.
There was no grogginess in his expression. Only pure, unadulterated terror. He stared straight ahead, driving as if some unspeakable monster was breathing down his neck.
Before the man in the sedan could process the bizarre sight, the truck's engine screamed, and the massive vehicle accelerated, leaving the sedan eating its exhaust.
Half an hour earlier, this very same driver had been trapped in a living nightmare.
He remembered the lair. The grotesque, mutated forms of the DNAliens shambling through the shadows. The eerie, skittering Xenocites waiting in the damp corners to latch onto unsuspecting hosts. He remembered the towering, arrogant figures of the Highbreed, barking orders in a harsh, guttural language, surrounded by towering technological structures that clearly didn't belong on Earth. He had seen their invasion plans. He had seen it all.
He didn't know how long he had been down there, or even how he had managed to slip away. All he knew was that a desperate opportunity had presented itself. He had hijacked one of their transport trucks. The DNAliens had apparently gone through the trouble of insuring the vehicle for their front company.
Let them take it up with their claims adjuster.
Slamming the pedal to the metal, the driver had plowed the heavy grill of the truck straight through a barricade of shrieking DNAliens, shattering their blockade and tearing out into the night.
Back in the present, the adrenaline was finally beginning to wear off.
The driver let out a ragged breath, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders as the distance between him and the alien lair grew. The dark, empty road ahead felt like salvation.
But the relief was short-lived.
Without warning, a blinding, white-hot spike of agony pierced his skull. He let out a strangled cry. The pain was so absolute, so overwhelming, that he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and ripped both hands off the steering wheel to clutch at his temples, trying to crush the migraine away.
It was a bold, suicidal move. A heavy-duty truck might be able to crush a barricade of monsters, but it stood no chance against gravity.
He had hit a sharp mountain curve. With no hands on the wheel and his foot still pinned to the accelerator, the massive vehicle tore straight off the asphalt. There were no guardrails here—only a steep, rocky drop-off into the desolate wilderness below.
The truck plummeted off the cliff, swallowed by the darkness of the ravine.
Miraculously, the drop wasn't a sheer vertical plunge. The truck tumbled down a steep, jagged embankment, metal shrieking and glass shattering, before finally slamming into the dirt on its side with an earth-shaking crunch.
Thick, acrid black smoke immediately began to billow from the crumpled hood. The shattered windows and crushed cabin proved that the vehicle was a total loss.
But against all odds, the driver was alive.
A heavy boot kicked out the remaining shards of the shattered windshield. He dragged himself out of the overturned cabin, coughing violently as the toxic smoke filled his lungs.
Stumbling to his feet, he patted himself down. Aside from a few bruises and scrapes, he hadn't sustained any broken bones. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Surviving that drop was nothing short of a miracle.
But his smile quickly faded. Without the truck, he was stranded in the middle of nowhere.
If he stayed here, those monsters would inevitably track the wreckage. They would catch up.
Gritting his teeth, the driver turned his back on the burning truck and began to march through the brush, forcing his aching legs to carry him toward the nearest road.
After trudging along the shoulder of the highway for what felt like hours, a pair of headlights finally cut through the gloom. A beat-up red pickup truck rattled down the road, slowing to a halt as it approached him.
The driver rolled down the window. He was an older man in a plaid shirt, likely a local farmer.
Seeing the exhausted, soot-covered young man walking alone in the dead of night, the farmer kindly popped the passenger door open, offering to give him a lift to the nearest town or police station.
Desperate for shelter, the young man didn't hesitate. He climbed into the passenger seat, sinking into the worn fabric.
"I'm Jeff," the farmer said, offering a friendly, weathered smile.
The young man blinked, startled by the simple introduction. He opened his mouth to reply, but his mind drew a complete blank. Panic flared in his chest. He frantically dug into his back pocket, pulling out a battered leather wallet.
Flipping it open, his eyes locked onto his driver's license.
"Uh... Tyler," he stammered, the name tasting foreign on his own tongue.
Jeff let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "You still need to check your ID to confirm your own name, son?"
He had picked up plenty of stranded motorists in his time, but a guy who couldn't even remember his own name was a first.
Tyler didn't laugh. His expression darkened, his jaw locking tight. His fingers bypassed the cash in his wallet and carefully slid out a strange, red, triangular piece of material tucked behind his cards. It felt cold and unnatural to the touch.
"My mind... my memories have been affected by aliens," Tyler said, his voice trembling but dead serious. "But I still have to find a way to stop them. They're planning something massive."
Jeff's friendly smile vanished instantly. The warm rural hospitality evaporated, replaced by deep unease. He stared at Tyler, convinced he had just picked up a dangerous lunatic.
Without another word, Jeff slammed on the brakes, reached over, and popped Tyler's door open.
A minute later, Tyler found himself standing on the side of the highway again, watching the red pickup speed away into the night, its taillights fading into the dark.
He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. But he couldn't afford to wallow in despair. To stop the Highbreed, he needed authorities. He needed help.
Clutching the red triangular object in his pocket, Tyler set his jaw and resumed his long march down the asphalt.
By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, he finally spotted the glowing neon sign of a highway patrol station.
Inside the sterile, brightly lit interrogation room, Tyler sat across a metal table, frantically recounting everything he had witnessed. He described the underground base, the vats, the alien technology.
The officers surrounding him, however, were looking at him with the distinct, pitying expressions usually reserved for psychiatric escapees.
"An alien lair?" The bald police sergeant sitting opposite Tyler snorted, leaning back in his chair. In all his years on the force, he had dealt with drunks, tweakers, and pathological liars, but this was a new level of delusion.
"You have to believe me!" Tyler slammed his hands on the table, his head throbbing with another spike of pain. "I don't understand how I escaped, or why my memory is full of holes, but they are real! They're hiding right under our noses!"
Seeing that Tyler couldn't produce a shred of tangible evidence—and completely ignoring the strange red object he kept trying to show them—the sergeant sighed, giving him a patronizing nod.
Desperate, Tyler tried to sketch out the grotesque features of the DNAliens and the towering, pale forms of the Highbreed, hoping the sheer detail of his descriptions would lend him some credibility.
But it was useless. The skepticism in the room was suffocating.
They thought he was completely out of his mind. No one in a position of authority was ever going to believe the frantic ramblings of a nameless drifter.
Realizing the futility of his situation, Tyler slowly lowered his hands, his voice dying in his throat.
Seeing that the suspect had finally run out of steam, the bald sergeant waved his hand dismissively. Two young patrol officers stepped forward, grabbing Tyler by the arms and hauling him out of the chair.
"Don't worry, buddy. The shuttle to the alien mothership will be here any minute!" one of the younger cops jeered as they dragged him toward the holding cells.
As the heavy door of the interrogation room swung shut, a chorus of mocking laughter erupted from the officers left inside.
"Hahahahaha..."
The sound pierced Tyler's chest, twisting the knife of his own helplessness.
But amidst the mockery, one officer wasn't smiling. He stood near the back of the room, his eyes locked onto Tyler's retreating figure with a cold, dead seriousness. As soon as the interrogation room door clicked shut, this officer turned on his heel, picked up a wall-mounted telephone, and began to dial a secure number.
Down the hall, the two patrol officers roughly shoved Tyler into a holding cell. The heavy iron gate slammed shut with a deafening metallic clang, the lock echoing through the corridor.
"Sit tight in there, space cadet," one of them sneered.
Leaving that parting shot, the two cops strolled away, chatting and laughing about their breakfast plans.
Tyler stood at the bars, his hands gripping the cold iron as he watched them disappear down the hall. The crushing weight of isolation settled over him. For a terrifying second, he actually began to doubt his own sanity.
He turned away from the bars, walking over to the stiff, uncomfortable iron bunk. He collapsed onto the thin mattress, burying his face in his hands as he tried to piece together the shattered fragments of his mind.
"My name is Tyler," he muttered to the empty cell, his voice cracking. "I... I'm twenty-six years old. My head is a mess, and I don't know who I am anymore... but I know what I saw. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy!"
[Akarin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me!
Want to read ahead on our official home, or unlock 50 advanced chapters to feed your addiction? Help keep this shameless translator alive here:
🌐 Read on our site: Search for Elysian Reads on Google or Check the link in my Webnovel Profile bio!
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters & Ad-Free): Search AkarinTL on Patreon
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]