by E. R. Torre
“That enough proof for you, Lombardo?” Samantha said.
Laughter filled her headphones.
“You should respect your elders,” Lombardo replied.
“I will, as soon as they grow up,” Samantha said. “By the way, according to my watch we’re running a mere seventeen minutes late. Most airlines consider that on time.”
“Did you say seventeen minutes?” Lombardo asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because it means I owe Frank a beer.”
Samantha faced her co-pilot.
“Beer?” she said.
“A beer?” Frank retorted. “You mean a case of beer.”
“Case? I thought the bet was for a single beer. Over.”
“You have trouble hearing, Lombardo?”
“Only when I lose bets.”
“Just what the hell are you two children talking about?” Samantha interjected.
Frank shrugged. “We had a little bet going as to how late you'd be.”
“And you bet the under, right?” Samantha said. “At least someone around here has faith in me.”
“Not quite,” Lombardo said. “Frank thought you’d be twenty five minutes late. He came closest to the actual delay.”
Samantha shook her head.
“It’s good to see the extent of faith my fellow brothers in arms have in me,” she said. “Good thing Uncle Sam doesn’t account for every minute of your time.”
Frank let out a laugh and hit the microphone button. “So what do you say, Lombardo? Can we get out of here or what?”
“What the hell,” Lombardo replied. “See you after your vacation. Skiing, right? Break a leg.”
“Ha, ha.”
Frank gave Samantha the thumbs up sign and powered the helicopter’s engine.
The helicopter's blades became a whirlpool that sent clouds of sand into the air. The chopper slowly lifted, soaring over and above the palm trees and the island. In minutes it was a tiny dot in the sky.
CHAPTER TEN
Michael removed the larger pieces of shattered glass while ignoring the furious blare coming from the facilities’ alarm systems. The wailing began immediately after he shattered one of the cryogenic unit’s glass covers and was followed by the flickering of emergency lights. Those lights flooded the laboratory like an angry red sun.
It occurred to him, only after shooting out the glass, that his actions may well have killed whoever lay inside the casket. Not from the bullet, as he angled his shot to hit glass only, but rather from the fact that the environment contained within the casket was lost.
I’ll go to hell for sure if Walt Disney’s tucked away in here.
Despite the attempt at levity, Michael swore. His actions, for better or worse, could not be taken back. The realization that he might well have killed someone during this mission ate at him, but he could ill-afford second guessing his moves. At this point he needed to get a good look at the casket’s occupant and make his escape. Hopefully, the technicians of the base could save the frozen individual should he need –or deserve– saving.
Michael removed the last of the glass and stared inside the casket. A cold mist rose from within and he desperately waved it away.
“Dammit,” he muttered. What he didn’t need was more delay. Security forces were already outside the lab door, pushing at it and edging his barricade back. It was only a matter of seconds before they were inside.
“Come on, come on.”
The mist cleared just a little, and Michael brought his camera up. He aimed it at the cryogenic unit’s occupant as the last of the heavy mist faded.
He gasped.
Inside the unit was what appeared to be a smooth faced mannequin.
What the hell?
The mannequin’s face was devoid of any human features. The thing had the shape of a naked human, but its face had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, and no ears. Wire sensors were attached to the figures’ head like a halo. Other sensors were placed on the figure’s chest and arms.
What the hell is this?
There was no more time to think about it. There was no more time at all. Michael snapped his last picture and ran to the air duct, to his escape. Abruptly, he stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a slight movement coming from the casket. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and a chill passed through the agent’s body.
Had the mannequin just…moved?
Impossible.
The thing was nothing more than a featureless crash test dummy. Its purpose was probably to test the effectiveness of the cryogenic system and that was it. Everything. There was no way it could move on its own. No way.
Yet Michael couldn’t shake a growing unease. Though he was seconds away from capture, his eyes remained on the mannequin. The featureless skin was so smooth and so perfect. Too perfect. What was it made of? Plastic? Porcelain? There was something about it that gave the impression it was…alive.
Another chill ran down the British agent’s spine. There was far more to the thing in the casket than he could possibly guess. What had he stumbled into? What was this…thing?
No more time.
Michael hurriedly climbed into the duct and closed the grill behind him. He finished screwing in the first fastener when five guards burst into the laboratory. They carried high powered automatic machine guns and held them up, ready for use. Michael expected them to run into the room and conduct a fast search for the laboratory’s intruder, but when they saw the ruptured cryogenic crypt, they abruptly stopped.
Michael watched with mounting horror as they aimed their guns at the shattered unit and the occupant within. One of the guards yelled into his walkie-talkie.
“This is a Code Red! Unit two has a breach! Repeat, unit two has a breach!”
The alarms grew silent but the flashing lights continued throbbing. The thick metal doors leading into the laboratory closed, their loud groans reverberating throughout the duct. Michael fell back as a metal panel slid over the air vent he used to gain entry into the laboratory. The panel’s movement was sudden and violent. It completely flattened the detached fan unit Michael removed to enter the lab. Had any of Michael’s limbs been in the way, they would surely have been cut off with this dull guillotine.
The British agent was plunged into total darkness. Michael heard the sound of other security doors closing throughout the air duct. He wondered whether he was trapped in this darkness. Memories of the rat’s decaying corpse brought a shiver.
The thought evaporated the moment gunfire erupted. The guards in the laboratory fired off a furious wave of bullets that ricocheted against the walls.
What the hell are you firing at? Michael thought. There was, of course, only one answer.
They were firing at the mannequin.
Michael leaned in close to the security panel. Sweat dripped from his forehead.
Why are you firing at them?
There came an eerie groan, the sound of thick metal ripping apart, followed by a loud crash.
Michael let out a gasp.
Had he just heard the sound of the heavy metal door leading out of the lab fall to the ground?
The intensity of the gunshots increased. The security guards within the room were yelling. Some screamed desperately for backup.
“It’s not stopping,” someone said.
The gunshots continued.
Something heavy smacked against the wall and just below the air duct. When it hit, it did so with a crunch and bloody splatter. There came another scream, louder still. The sound of gunfire died down.
After one last scream, the gunfire stopped all together. All grew deathly silent. Michael leaned closer to the metal panel separating him from the laboratory until his ear was pressed against it. Michael concentrated hard, trying to hear something, anything, coming from the laboratory. After a few seconds, he did. A man was crying. Between sobs, he begged for mercy. Another one, farther away, said he was out of ammo. Then came the very last words Michael would hear:
After that, no one spoke.
Several long seconds passed. Michael crawled away from the metal panel. His body was shaking. Five guards entered the laboratory. They were heavily armed and opened fire on…on whatever the thing in the casket was. They fired at it with a barrage of bullets that would have taken out a small village.
Yet the guards were massacred.
Every last one of them.
Michael curled up.
What the hell did I do?
After a few more seconds of silence, he heard the sound of breaking glass. That sound was followed by the groan of more ripping metal. Though Michael couldn’t be certain, it sounded like the thing he freed was destroying the other two cryogenic units. It was releasing the other two mannequins.
My God, Michael thought. Those security guards were killed by one of those things. There are three of them now.
Another crash.
Michael gasped as the air duct shook. The metal panel separating him from the laboratory groaned and bent backwards.
They’re coming for me!
Michael furiously crawled back to his rope.
He had to get the fuck out of there.
Now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The trip from Bad Penny to the Alexandria Air Base by Seahawk and at their current speed normally took a little under two hours. After a few minutes of flight, the helicopter’s passengers settled down and relaxed. The newbie Alicia Cunningham and Howard Bartlett, who managed to keep as far away from her as possible, drifted off to sleep. Becky, at the far end of the compartment and crowded in by Bartlett, was quietly reading a paperback novel.
On the other side of the aisle, Dan Thompson continued to eye Jennie Light. With each passing second, he grew more and more fascinated and attracted to this quiet beauty. She, on the other hand, hadn’t acknowledged his, or anyone else’s, presence. She stared out the window closest to her seat and watched the beautiful early evening sky.
“Nice view,” Thompson said.
Jennie nodded without turning.
Thompson was about to say something else but his eyes drifted to Howard Bartlett across from him. The soldier let out a snore.
Hope he’s not listening, Thompson thought. Then again, it’s not like you were hitting it off with the ladies, either.
Just like that, Thompson realized he was tongue tied.
What do I say to her now? How do I say it? And what…
When his eyes left Bartlett, he found Jennie Light staring directly at him.
“How about you offer me some gum?” she said.
Thompson’s face turned a deep red. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
Samantha took full control of the helicopter while Frank released his controls and stretched. They were just over an hour into their flight and rapidly coming up to the mainland of the United States.
Samantha stifled a yawn and scrutinized the weather report streaming on the monitor just above her controls. A strong cold front whipped by Alexandria and was barreling down the east coast. By sometime very early in the morning, it would pass through the heart of Bad Penny.
Samantha leaned back and made herself comfortable. Frank had already done so. He rubbed his face and sighed.
“When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to be a pilot,” Frank said. “It was an adventure. You went all over the world, exploring exotic lands and meeting fine young ladies. Fast forward to now. I’m a pilot just like I dreamed and I’ve met my share of fine young ladies.” He eyed Samantha. “Don’t laugh.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“So how come I feel like an over-glorified taxi driver?”
“Because that’s what we are,” Samantha replied. “Our job is to take people here and there and back again. Don’t feel so bad. At least we get to enjoy that awesome army cafeteria food.”
“You know the worst thing about all this?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Even if I weren’t in service and rich as hell and could afford my own wings, I don’t think I’d fly anywhere. The older I get, the more I want to settle down. To not move.”
“Jeeze, Frank. You’re a real barrel of laughs. Someone spike your coffee?”
“It did taste a little funny.”
“Sounds like you want to settle down,” Samantha said. “There isn’t anywhere, anywhere at all, you want to go visit?”
Frank shot his co-pilot a sidelong gaze.
“I always was curious about Sugar Tit, South Carolina.”
“Sugar Tit?”
“Yeah. Small town down in the bible belt.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Look it up if you don’t believe me.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Samantha said. “I’m afraid to ask. Why in the world would you want to visit that place?”
“Morbid curiosity. Be honest: Now that you know there’s a town named ‘Sugar Tit’ somewhere out there, you aren’t the least bit interested in seeing what it looks like?”
“Ah! A reason to live!”
“Even in my darkest hours, I somehow find ‘em,” Frank said.
Static filled the pilots’ headphones.
“This is Delphi calling MT-1034,” came a voice through the static. “You copy, over?”
“This is MT-1034,” Frank said. “We are receiving you, Delphi. We are on course with an E.T.A. of forty minutes. Looking forward to seeing you. Over.”
“Be advised you have new orders, MT-1034.”
“New orders?”
“You are to change course,” Delphi continued. The air traffic controller’s voice was all business. “New destination is Tortuga Military Base. Repeat, Tortuga Military Base. Once there, you are to land at Helo Pad 3. I repeat, Helo Pad 3. You will be briefed as to your next action following arrival. Over.”
Frank covered his microphone and grimaced. He leaned against Samantha and spoke into her ear.
“Sounds like we just got fucked,” he said. Frank removed his hand from the microphone. “Acknowledged, Delphi. We will proceed to Tortuga Military Base. Since we're going out of our way, can I get some info on the place? Any good bars? We got some thirsty passengers. And pilots. Over.”
There was a brief pause.
“You are not, I repeat, not to advise your passengers of the detour,” the Delphi operator said. “Once landed, you are to instruct all passengers to remain on board your craft. I repeat: All passengers are to remain on board the helicopter until further notice.”
“Copy, Delphi,” Frank said. “But it might get uncomfort—”
“Observe red alpha protocol,” the Delphi operator added. “Over.”
A deep frown appeared on Frank’s face.
“Red Alpha?” Samantha asked. “What the hell is that?”
Frank motioning her to quiet down.
“Acknowledged,” he said. He entered information into the central computer to his right. “E.T.A. for arrival at Tortuga Base is fifty four minutes. We will maintain radio silence until our arrival. Over and out.”
Frank switched the radio off. His eyes were unfocused and distant.
“Radio silence?” Samantha asked. “What was that all about? Why don’t they want us to tell the passengers about our detour? For that matter, why do they want them to stay on the chopper?”
If Frank heard the question, he ignored it. His mind appeared a million miles away.
“Frank?”
Frank faced his co-pilot.
“We're about to get a VIP.”
“Oh,” Samantha said. “Well, that makes all the difference in the world. Why the hell can’t we tell our passengers about that?”
“Because those are our orders.”
Samantha knew it was pointless to ask any more questions. She noted the first stars appear in the twilight. In the extreme distance she spotted the edge of the cold front heading their way. There were flashe
s of lightning and the last of the sun’s rays faded.
Soon it would be completely dark.
The lighting danced high above, illuminating the thick clouds racing toward the Tortuga Military Base. Otherwise, night arrived silently and with it came a complete, all-enveloping darkness.
Samantha eyed her instruments and frowned. According to her GPS, they were within twenty miles of the Tortuga base. As with Bad Penny, Tortuga was also located on an island. It was stationed just off the coast of North Carolina. Unlike Bad Penny, this facility stretched over seventy five acres and featured a state of the art field and barracks as well as a sophisticated dock and berth. It housed battleships, submarines, and coast guard cutters as well as two full divisions of soldiers.
Tortuga was considered one of the biggest non-cities in the southeast. Certainly it was one of the largest military bases on the east coast of the United States. This made the inky darkness that stretched before Samantha all the more eerie. She knew the Little Charlie was quickly approaching the base, yet all she saw was the all-consuming darkness.
“Why can’t we see them?” Samantha asked. “For that matter, why can’t we see anything? I know the economy sucks, but I figured the U.S. Government could afford to pay their electric bill.”
Frank ignored her question and pressed a series of buttons.
“This is MT-1034,” Frank said. “Calling Delphi. Over”
“Acknowledged, MT-1034,” Delphi tower replied. “We have you on radar. Please proceed to Helo Pad 3 as instructed.”
“How about showing us the way,” Samantha intruded. “Or do you expect us to feel our way there?”
“Helo Pad 3 is now illuminated.”
Off in the distance to the north a small circle of lights came on. As promised, a concrete helicopter landing pad was visible. In its center were the numbers “O3” written in bold white paint against the black tarmac.
“I guess they wanted to keep us in suspense,” Samantha muttered. “We’re just about on top of it.”
“We have a visual of the landing pad, Delphi,” Frank said. “Our ETA for touch down is ten minutes.”
As the words left his mouth, a loud buzz filled the pilots’ headphones. The helicopter’s computer monitors streamed lines of flashing data. One monitor displayed a blood red warning.
