Invaded

by Jennifer M. Eaton

  Pictures of protesters shouting and holding signs filled the screen. Some people seriously needed to get a life. Being kidnapped, tortured, and chained to a hospital bed without even a phone call was something to protest.

  Grabbing the remote control, she turned up the volume on the TV. “…the municipal building since the decision was made public last night.”

  A female reporter shoved a microphone at a uniformed police officer. “What is your response to this landmark decision in South Jersey?”

  South Jersey news. At least they hadn’t taken her far from home.

  The officer shook his head. “All I know is thousands of good cops got laid off this morning. And whoever decided it was a good idea to consolidate four counties into one precinct with a quarter of the manpower has got to be out of their minds. How is any cop supposed to protect and serve if the people they need to help are over an hour away?”

  The camera cut back to the news anchor. “That was former patrol officer Peter Goning, repeating the sentiments of many in reaction to New Jersey’s decision to combine Burlington, Camden, Gloucester, and Atlantic counties into a single police district.”

  Tracy snorted. Yup, definitely local. At least there’d be fewer speed traps to deal with on her way to work.

  The gorilla at the door nodded as Agents Clark and Green entered.

  Finally. Now maybe she’d get some answers so she could go home. She lowered the volume on the television.

  “Feeling better today, Ms. Seavers?” Agent Green smiled, taking the hard-backed chair next to her.

  “I guess.”

  “Dr. Morris says your recovery rate is phenomenal, all things considered.”

  Tracy shifted her weight. His enthusiasm unnerved her. “Yesterday the doctor said I might never completely heal.”

  “Inconsequential. Today’s data shows otherwise.” He inched even closer. “Have you felt it move, yet?”

  A shiver riddled her spine. “It can move?”

  “Let’s not worry about that right now.” Clark tapped on his phone before shoving it back into his inner jacket pocket. “I’m sure by now you have an interesting list of questions.”

  Of course, she did. But where to start? Did you take Torture 101 in college? Where did you get your personality from, an Alfred Hitchcock movie? And, of course, what have you guys been smoking to come up with something crazy like coming back from the dead?

  Clark’s eyes narrowed. She shrank back, just like she had in the dark between rounds of electricity.

  Damnit, she needed answers. Real answers, not all this vague shit they’d been feeding her.

  Steeling herself, she readied for the worst. “Can you explain what this thing is that you think is inside me?”

  “Your scans are conclusive, Ms. Seavers,” Clark said. “We don’t think. We know.”

  She gulped. “Then what is it?”

  “We already explained. It’s an Ambient.”

  She rubbed her temples. “You say that like I’m supposed to know what that means. Is it some kind of leech? Am I still going to die?”

  “Not today, Ms. Seavers, and not likely anytime in the near future—at least from any injury or illness that can be healed by an intelligent, non-corporeal being.”

  She shuddered. “Non-corporeal?”

  Green shifted his seat closer, his eyes beaming. “These creatures are beyond anything we’ve encountered before. They exist in a nearly gaseous state and are barely visible to the naked eye. Modern science still says their existence is impossible, yet here they are.” He held out his hands, like she was a prime example of the find of the century.

  But she didn’t want to be anyone’s prize specimen. She just wanted all this to be over with.

  Tracy dropped her hands to her lap. “I still don’t understand what this thing wants from me.”

  “Your lungs, quite simply.” Green reclined in his chair. “They can’t breathe our air. It’s the perfect symbiotic relationship. You needed healing beyond human medicine. The Ambient provided that—is still providing that. And in exchange, it uses part of your lung capacity.” A smile burst across his face. “It’s all pretty amazing, if you think about it. I mean—”

  “Green.” Clark held up a hand, his gaze squashing the younger agent’s excitement. “I’m sure Ms. Seavers has more constructive questions.”

  Her gaze shifted back to Green. “Last night you said that most of them are benign. What does that mean?”

  Clark shot the younger agent a chilly stare before turning to Tracy. “In other countries, Ambients are hunted like animals and put down. The ones that are here understand what a privilege it is to live unencumbered in the United States. There are a few, though, who take advantage of our hospitality.”

  This just got better and better. “What do you mean by take advantage?”

  “Benign entities sink into the psyche and play nice. Malignant Ambients manifest the second their host wakes up. Their presence overwhelms and destroys the brain cells that hold memories. They can walk and talk and carry out normal human functions, but they can’t even remember their names.”

  “I remembered my name. So that’s good, right?”

  “Yes, that’s good. We ran every test we had to tempt your Ambient to react. We were ninety-eight percent certain you were clear at that point. After testing, if the patient remembers who they are, statistically, they are safe.”

  “Statistically? Either I am, or I’m not.”

  “We can make no guarantees, Miss Seavers.” His phone rang. He brought the case to his ear. “Agent Clark.” His expression hardened as he listened. He glanced at Tracy. “I need to take this. I’ll be right back.” He stood and walked past the guard at the door.

  The news report on the television showed a scene of people milling about the Art Museum steps in Philadelphia. A regular day for anyone else, but the start of unending hell for her.

  She rubbed her face. “I don’t get it,” she said. “If these things are intelligent, why would they want to live in our bodies if they’re forced to the background? I mean, that’s not even living, it’s just surviving.”

  Green nodded. “You’re right. From what we can gather, they are extremely long-lived. Earth is a transitory holding ground for what’s left of their species until they can find a suitable home.”

  Oh, God. So now they were talking about alien life forms? “I don’t want to be something’s temporary housing.”

  Apparently done with his call, Clark returned to his chair. “Understand, Ms. Seavers, that you owe this being your life. And as long as they play by the rules, they are protected by the Ambient Accord.”

  The set of his eyes, the turn of his lip, told her something about those protections disgusted him. But his stance promised he would abide by them, Tracy be damned.

  “Screw your goddamn accord,” she said. “I never asked for this.”

  He handed her a card, as if not even listening. “You will need to stay in the hospital for routine monitoring before we sign off on your release, but after you leave, if you ever get uncomfortable, or feel like you’ve lost time, contact me and you will be evaluated for an extraction.”

  Tracy leaned forward in her chair. “Extraction? You can take them out?” She stood. “Then do it now. I don’t want this thing inside me.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, the accord gives the Ambients rights. Like I said, as long as they abide by the rules set for them, they are American citizens.”

  “What about my rights? This is my body!”

  He stood, pointing at her. “Your rights terminated when your brain fired off the chemicals that ended your life and let the Ambient in. Without that entity, you’d be in a coffin right now and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “So, what, I’m supposed to be thankful? Happy that there is some kind of, of thing inside me?”

  Clark’s eyes narrowed. “There is an option, but it’s not ideal.”

  She tensed at his lowered tone. “I’
m listening.”

  “Extraction is painful to both the Ambient and the host. The accord is clear: we cannot harm an Ambient living within the agreement’s parameters. But—”

  Tracy gulped. “I’m still listening.”

  “We could kill you again. A bullet to the temple should suffice and give you the least amount of discomfort.” His expression didn’t change, as if he suggested they share a cup of coffee or eat a piece of pie. “That would be too much damage for even an Ambient to heal. It will leave, find another host, and let you die like you wanted.”

  A cool breeze from down the hall chilled her open mouth. “How is that an option?”

  “Until you heal enough that your body can survive on its own, it’s your only option.” He held up his hands. “As we said, you should be dead. If you’d rather follow fate’s plan, we can accommodate you.”

  The younger agent fidgeted in his seat. “Let’s not be hasty. Most people don’t even know the Ambient is inside them. They just feel odd movement from time to time.” His gaze darted between her and Clark. “Being nervous is understandable, but statistically speaking, there’s really nothing to fear.”

  Nothing to fear. Tracy hugged her shoulders. Easy for him to say.

  Green appeared at her side. “What you need to do now is rest and get your strength back so we can re-assimilate you into your old life. What’s happened is a miracle. You’ll realize that eventually.”

  Eventually. That was a pretty big word.

  They left after a speech about national security and keeping her situation to herself.

  Even if she did tell anyone, who would believe her?

  She was dead, or she was supposed to be dead. And by some ungodly twist of fate, this creature had snatched her body.

  Dozens of science fiction scenarios flooded her mind. She sat, covering her face with her hands. These things couldn’t all be bad, right? The president wouldn’t have signed an accord if they were some kind of nasties out to destroy the world.

  Unless the president was one of them. She puffed a heartless laugh.

  Damn all those science fiction movies!

  She rubbed Clark’s card between her fingertips. She could call him if there was a problem—he could make this thing go away. Maybe that was the answer. Wait a few days until she was completely healed, then call the number on the card, say something happened to break this stupid accord, and they would get rid of this thing for her. She didn’t care if it hurt. She just wanted this all to be over.

  Tracy’s fingers froze. Her hands grew cold as something within her trembled.

  Clark hadn’t seemed all that concerned about killing Tracy if she’d rather die. What kind of person could suggest such a thing with a straight face?

  The kind of man who could stand there and watch while an innocent woman was tortured, all to stimulate the creature who had taken refuge inside her.

  Yes, that was the kind of man Clark was.

  A deep chill crept across her skin and drifted away as quickly as it had come. For some reason, extraction scared her more than knowing her body wasn’t her own anymore.

  9

  John stared into his cold cup of coffee and tapped a pencil on his desk. Headlights lit up the wall to his left as someone pulled out of the municipal parking lot.

  A light flicked off past the reception area and a lone set of footsteps echoed through the hall.

  Soon, he’d be the last one there and he could finally be alone to think. Well, as alone as possible, all things considered.

  John fingered the evidence bags scattered across his desk. His theory about the Worth murder had nothing to do with this meaningless shit he kept examining. The body wasn’t dumped. Diana Worth was placed in front of that pizza shop. Respectfully. There was more to this story to piece together.

  He leafed through the crime scene photos, stopping on a picture of Diana’s final pose. “He was careful when he dropped her. Like he cared.”

  “There’s no sign of a boyfriend and we’ve already grilled the shit out of the ex-husband.” Art walked into the room and replaced John’s coffee with a steaming cup. “That’s decaf.”

  “I hate decaf.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not brewing a fresh pot and Starbucks is closed.” Art looked down at the photos. “You really think our guy knew her?”

  John rubbed his eyes. “I’m not really sure what I think anymore.”

  “You two still here?” Sergeant Biggs leaned into the room.

  John glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven p.m.

  Biggs’s face remained hardened. “I appreciate the dedication, but you’re no good to me if you fall asleep behind the wheel on the way home. Call it a night, gentlemen. Now.” He headed for the exit.

  Art shrugged. “You heard the man. Let’s get some shut-eye.”

  John rubbed his eyes again. Maybe sleep wasn’t all that bad an idea.

  He stood. “I want to look at the crime scene again in the morning. Meet me there at six.”

  Art groaned. “You know, the Surgeon General recommends eight hours of sleep a night.”

  John grunted in response, gathering the evidence.

  Art shook his head. “Fine. I’ll bring the caffeine.”

  Leaving the coffee on his desk, John headed down to the hallway toward the case-file lockers and deposited the evidence.

  A single light shone through the hall from the doorway marked Data Accumulation. There was only one other person in the office even more sleep-deprived than the detectives. John leaned his head through the door. “Hey, Emmerson.”

  The data analyst looked up from her computer screen. Several strands of graying blonde hair had escaped from her haphazard bun.

  “Rough day?” John asked.

  “Every day is a rough day lately.” She smiled. “At this hour, I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

  “Guilty as charged. Can you run Tracy Seavers’s name again?”

  Emmerson nodded. Her fingers blurred as she typed on her keyboard.

  She leaned toward the screen. “Same as the last fourteen times I ran her name for you. No credit card usage, no cell phone, nothing.”

  At least no one had filed a death certificate, which meant the Feds still had her. Bastards.

  John had only been their guest for three days after he woke up, and that was three days he’d rather forget. A faint tremor rolled just beneath his navel. John rubbed his stomach in soothing circles. He wasn’t the only one who’d rather forget.

  John thanked Emmerson and turned to leave, running right into his partner.

  “You gotta stop obsessing over that girl,” Art said. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “I know, I know.” John held up his hands. “She’s not our problem anymore.”

  Art was right, of course. He should be preoccupied with Diana Worth.

  He was preoccupied with Diana Worth, but until he knew for certain whether or not there was another Ambient in the area, he couldn’t let this go.

  But he had to. With the kind of injuries the EMT attested to, Seavers would have been considered a Class Five host: a body beyond repair. Her entity was probably struggling to heal such extensive injuries. That was the only reason he could think of for the Feds to keep Seavers for so long. For all he knew, they could have taken her to their main custodial facility in Washington. If they had, she wouldn’t be needing those welcome-home signs.

  Shit. He gritted his teeth against his own stray thoughts.

  Diana Worth’s family needed closure—the kind of closure that only a focused detective could deliver to them. He wasn’t giving up on Tracy, but he had a job to do.

  Art gave him a shove toward the door. “Biggs will have our asses if he finds out we’re still here.”

  “No worries,” John said. “We’re leaving.”

  10

  Tracy sighed as her mother opened the car door for her. “I’m not an invalid. I told you, I feel fine.”

  Her mother’s nose flare
d. “You were missing for a week. I thought you were dead.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “When they called and said you were alive, I almost didn’t believe them. I thought it was a joke because they wouldn’t let me come see you.” She wiped her nose. “You needed experimental treatment. Top-secret government kind of experimental treatment!” A sob broke free and she looked away. “They told me you almost passed away three times from some kind of crazy flu virus. Did you know that?”

  No, but dying had crossed her mind more than once. Could those tests possibly have been as painful as she remembered?

  Tracy shivered. Shit, she wished she could block the insanity of those days out of her mind.

  Her mother turned back to her. “I keep expecting to wake up and find out this was all a dream and you’re still gone.” She shoved her hand forward. “So, get over yourself and let me help you.”

  This must have been a nightmare for her. Her mom had always prided herself on taking care of her girl. She probably thought she’d never get another chance to be a mother. And maybe, after everything, a mother was exactly what Tracy needed.

  Tracy took her mom’s hand and hoisted herself from the car. She wouldn’t admit it, but the ache in her legs did make it hard to walk after sitting for a while. The doctors said some discomfort was to be expected after such a remarkable healing; nothing jogging a few miles in the park couldn’t work out.

  She winced as a pain shot up her shin. Maybe she’d start out on the treadmill, just in case.

  They walked past a sparkling silver Toyota in the driveway. A single crystal shard hung from a long, clear string attached to the rearview mirror: the same type of charm that had hung from her roommate’s windshield before the accident. Laini had wasted no time in getting a new car.

  Then again, Tracy had been gone for almost a month. A girl had to get around somehow.

  She took in the yellowing leaves on the tree in the next yard. Last time she’d been here the kids were still on summer vacation. Had she really been gone so long?