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Abducted by Aliens

by Brooklyn Mayflower

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2018 by Brooklyn Mayflower, Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission, requests write to the publisher at


Characters in this book who engage in sexual acts are consenting adults. Characters are not based on real persons. No intention is being made to encourage any action which is unlawful. This story is a work of fiction. Please have sex responsibly, legally and safely.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – A Female Specimen

Chapter 2 – A Young Survivor

Chapter 3 – Too Hard to Resist

Chapter 1 – A Female Specimen

The night Bill found her, there was a loud explosion. You would think that the military or men in black suits and sunglasses would have showed up, and that’s what he thought for a while, but they never did.

It was about 1am at night when Bill woke up to take a leak. He shuffled back to bed, but before his head hit the pillow his bedroom was illuminated like it was broad daylight. The light was accompanied by a loud whistling sound, like his house was about to get shelled by an enemy mortar, or have missile dropped on his head.

“What in the world?”

Bill would have pissed himself if he hadn’t already used the latrine. He leapt out of bed and instinctively grabbed the rifle that was under his bed. He figured it was the damn government finally coming to get him for speaking out against all their bullshit over the years. He wasn’t about to go down without a fight, but he gripped the AR-15 tight, thinking his house was about to blowup. The explosion, however, erupted almost a mile from his place. The thing is, he was so far out in what he called “No-where-ville” Wyoming, that it was unlikely that anybody heard—or possibly even seen—whatever had just exploded nearby.

Naturally he jumped in his pickup truck and headed out to see what it was. Perhaps it was a plane that flew off course and crashed, or some experimental government project gone wrong. Thankfully, he’d prepared for being able to leave the house at a moment’s notice and deal with damn-near any kind of emergency that nature, God or the government could throw at him. Bill not only had a bug-out bag always by the back door, but also had one stowed in his truck, and he had spent the past four and a half years building an underground shelter designed to survive the unimaginable. It’s a nice thing knowing you’re prepared, because then you can sleep easy, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to discover.

The snow was coming down thick but Bill could still make out the light from the fires of the crash site. He killed the headlights and pulled the truck over, not far from the debris field. The area was lit up by a circle of small brush fires. He couldn’t believe his eyes but he was looking straight at an alien craft—granted, it was in pieces. Long story short, he combed through the debris, foolishly not caring about contamination or radiation. What he saw was a series of crates that were marked with icons depicting various life forms. The icons were nothing more that crude silhouettes embossed into the unblemished surface of each container. There were pictures of plants, fish, a dog, some strange creatures that didn’t look Earthling at all, and there was a container that had an image of what appeared to be a human female.

Somehow the crates appeared like they were in pristine condition—as if they didn’t just fall out of the sky and create a massive impact crater. Clearly the containers were made out of some futuristic space-age material. Bill started to think about government satellites and drones, and government thugs following his tracks back to his house. Thankfully he was in the middle of a Wyoming blizzard, so catching a glimpse of him was slim to none and his tracks would be quickly covered up.

Just like any plane crash that would have people’s luggage strewn all over the place, it was no different here, but these were no suitcases and luggage bags. Although he was curious to find out what was inside some of the crates that had strange alien lifeforms depicted on them, he wasn’t going to let his curiosity get the better of him. He really didn’t know if what he was seeing was the wreckage and cargo of an alien ship or not, but it sure didn’t seem manmade. His loyalties were with his own species, however, and if there was a human in the crate that had the outline of a woman etched into it, he had to find out. He wanted to know what these sick bastards had done to one of his own kind.

In the unbearably cold snow storm he loaded the coffin-sized container into the back of his truck and took off for his cabin. More surprises were still ahead.


Bill figured the best place to examine the crate was down in his underground bomb shelter, which was 33 feet below the surface. Of course, he wasn’t sure how far an alien tracking device could broadcast through dirt and rock, but it was unlikely that the government could track the object. He also figured that if the contents of the crate proved toxic, or a humanoid that wasn’t exactly human, he could at least trap the thing in his underground shelter. The blast door would take a tank to get through.

It took some time figuring out how exactly to open the crate, but finally the lid just came open. There was no handle or lock, he simply turned his hand in a counter-clockwise motion in front of a circular icon and the lid of the container lifted up—just like the hinged lid of a coffin. It was like waving your hands in front of a motion sensor faucet in a public bathroom, he thought.

As the lid rose he saw the precious contents. A beautiful girl with red hair. She was completely naked, suspended in what appeared to be a clear Jell-O like substance. She had various cords and wires stuck to her, and a tube running to a mask that covered her mouth and nose. Bill was now sure that the container had alien origins as the underside of the lid had a display that lit up like a flatscreen monitor. It displayed what appeared to be vital signs and facts about the human girl suspended in the gel, but the script wasn’t simply foreign but otherworldly.

“Damnit, I wish this was in English,” Bill cursed under his breath.

English selected,” came a voice emitted from the coffin-like cargo box.

Bill stumbled backward, startled. “Holy shit, this thing has voice commands?!” He kicked himself, thinking, of course it had voice commands because it’s advanced alien technology, duh!

The menu in front of him displayed everything he could possibly want to know about the girl’s vital signs. “How old is this girl?” Bill asked.

The subject was retrieved in the year 1843…as Earthlings count. The subject is 18 years, 10 days, and 32 minutes old, measured in Earth years.”

“1843!” Bill exclaimed.

The girl was gorgeous—beautiful, naked, a perfect angel that had fallen from the sky, virtually into his arms. He thought about the girl’s parents, and how they were obviously long dead.

“Is the girl okay?”

The subject is in perfect health.”

That was reassuring. Of course, if he woke her up—if that was even a possibility—what was she going to think? Her parents were long dead, no doubt. It isn’t like he could just tell this story to anyone. The government would want the container, and would take him in for questioning, and do who-knows-what to the girl. Perhaps they’d even put a bullet in the back of his head to keep him quiet. Bill really wasn’t the type of guy that trusted Big Brother.

“What are my options?”

Displaying medical options now.”

The screen lit up a wide array of options that he could choose from. He could terminate her, wake her, perform various vital checks, and…erase her memory.

“Holy shit.”

Bill leaned back, biting his thumb—wondering if he should do it. The only thing that was incomplete at the mountain man’s lonely cabin and bomb shelter, was a female. Heck, he could convince the girl that she was his wife or his daughter if he really wanted to. It seemed like he contemplated what to do with her for several hours, but it was only about 20 minutes.

Bill finally made up his mind. The fact was, this girl would either be dead or getting carted off to some alien world—likely to be dissected—if it wasn’t for him. Heck, if he had left her there, she would probably be getting interrogated and then dissected by her own species.

“Erase the subject’s memory,” Bill commanded.

Negative. The subject’s memory has already been erased in accordance with Article 315-B, covering the transport of intelligent—or potentially intelligent—sentient beings to the Xvellian home world. The subject only retains language skills and other basic knowledge learned during its existence.”

“What is the subject called?”

The subject is a human female, of the ethnic group known as…

“No, I mean what is the subject’s name.”

The subject has no name. Would you like to name her?

“Yes,” Bill said, but didn’t have anything particular in mind. Finally it occurred to him. “Call her Sky.”

The subject is now called Sky. Would you like to do anything else with Sky?

Bill almost said “wake her” but then realized that he didn’t have any clothes for her. He also realized that since he had figured out how to open the container, there was a treasure trove of other containers at the crash site.

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