Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle

by Anthony DeCosmo

  "If you listen, you can hear them screaming."

  Then there was nothing but dead, dried foliage. The image of Jean broke apart into decayed pieces. The entire whirling mass moved off the ledge and disappeared.

  Thom fell to his knees in the fake woodlands.

  —

  Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder lay on the floor as the entity filled the chamber en route to points far beyond. Her mind, however, traveled through time, viewing a rapid succession of images torn from her past.

  She saw graduation day and a diploma.

  She wore an assistant’s jacket at an internship in a hospital.

  Her first pair of military fatigues and a counselor’s job at battalion HQ.

  Then a place that could have been mistaken for a hospital but was in reality a torture chamber.

  Clinical trial one-four-seven. Injecting patient 249 with Blue-17, C variant, at oh-eight-thirty hours.

  People writhing and screaming.

  My head! What did you put in my head?

  Relax … relax … it’s just a side effect … it will pass …

  I want out! Open the goddamn door!

  Test subject twelve experiencing mental deterioration after fifty-one hours in isolation chamber. Increased breathing, heart rate, and perspiration all noted. Test subject will remain in isolation chamber for another twelve hours.

  We should let him out.

  No. That will skew the results. He stays.

  A hand … reaching at a small window … a bloody hand …

  Minds torn asunder, the fragments sifted as if they were prospectors panning for gold nuggets of psychological truth. Soldiers as unsuspecting guinea pigs; waivers for secrecy, withheld medical care, arcane drugs to stimulate mysterious parts of the brain—they were tools to be used in pursuit of … of what?

  Not a helping, healing hand but a cold analyst dissecting the human consciousness with no more compassion than a mortician embalming a cadaver.

  One man in particular, in his late-twenties with curly black hair. Different from the rest. As close to success as possible. Lying in a bed with restraints holding his legs and ankles.

  Are these necessary?

  The subject has attempted to harm himself.

  But the compound is working?

  The results are outstanding.

  She leaned in close.

  "Peter, can you hear me?"

  His eyes opened fast and wide, as if jolted by electricity. It was no longer Peter, but a conduit for something else.

  Is this what you are? Is this who you want to be?

  The ghost spoke through the lips of a memory: "Can you hear them screaming?"

  —The tendon of energy was released from the Red Lab at the heart of the Hell Hole, collapsing the rift behind it and disappearing skyward through Red Rock's broken roof. The entity was complete; entirely free and completely in the dimension of the physical.

  It pulled away from the blue marble world and rocketed off into the depths of space, toward the distant reaches of the galaxy; from the infinitely small to the infinitely large.

  38

  Major Thom Gant limped across the smashed-open threshold into the vault room.

  The flow of energy, the glow, it was all gone. Its aftermath, however, lingered.

  The first thing Thom saw after his eyes adjusted to the brilliant white of the room was the vault door, knocked over, and laying atop the broken, dead body of General Harold Borman.

  Across that room he saw movement. He saw Corporal Sanchez find his feet, although he wobbled. Others—soldiers working the vestibule—massaging their heads and craning their necks as if waking from some kind of sleep.

  He pointed back into the gaping black hole and called out, "Medics! I have a man down in there."

  A pair of soldiers stepped forward then stopped, realizing they stared into the mouth of the Hell Hole.

  "It's okay," Gant huffed, "the danger has passed."

  They moved in with sidearms drawn. A moment later two more soldiers followed, one carrying a medical bag.

  Thom saw Liz lying on the floor, holding a hand to her head. He limped over and knelt next to her.

  "You okay?"

  "Thom? Either we're all about to die, or it looks like you saved the day."

  "Me? No, I was just a spectator. I think we can thank Sergeant Franco. He sort of ended the stalemate."

  Corporal Sanchez hurried over.

  "Ma'am, what do you want me to do?"

  Gant answered for her, "I still have men down there. Corporal, send an armed detachment in. You won't find much in the way of resistance. And send medics."

  Of course Sanchez did not take orders from Major Gant. He looked to Thunder, who waved her arm and echoed, "Open this place up, Sammy. Send them in. Medics, too."

  He moved to carry out her instructions.

  "Thom, it was controlling Borman. I think it set this whole thing up from the beginning. What was it?"

  "It?" Gant said. "That's not exactly right, Colonel. There was a monster down there, but it was just a man."

  She sat up, with one hand still held to her head. A group of soldiers hurried by with M16s, flashlights, and rescue gear.

  "What was in my head?" she asked. "That wasn't a man. Some kind of glow. Energy … something."

  "If you ask me, I believe that was a being, Liz, composed of pure thought. Something amazing that Briggs captured and perverted."

  "Pure thought? So it was inside my head."

  "What did you see?"

  Colonel Thunder did not answer right away. Gant figured she had seen something similar to his vision; something personal.

  "I saw … things I would like to change."

  Gant slid over and propped himself against the wall a few feet from the pulverized hand of General Borman.

  "I think … I think it was a trip wire. Set there for us to find."

  "A trip wire?"

  He explained, "Remember what McCaul said. Maybe it was God’s original thought that ignited the Big Bang. What if that creature … what if it was hidden at the molecular level … that original thought. Hidden for us to find the day our science got smart enough to start ripping apart the building blocks of our universe."

  "What do you mean? I’m not sure I—"

  "To make sure that our humanity was not outpaced by our science. It was left hidden there for us to find. Except the man who found it was a monster."

  "So then, why did it leave?"

  He told her, "I think we probably scared the hell out of it."

  Liz joined him against the side wall. A medic handed her a chemical ice pack, which she twisted until the contents mixed to radiate cold. She then held it to her head. It felt as if she had bumped the side on the way to the floor.

  She asked, "So what now?"

  Thom Gant thought about the image of Jean disappearing in a storm of leaves. He saw her tending the garden.

  "I suppose that is up to us."

  39

  Benjamin Franco hated hospitals. As a kid, a stomach flu had put him in one the night before Christmas. That sucked. As a teenager a bout of alcohol poisoning had put him in another. That had sucked even more, particularly given that his father promised that, when he got home, he would beat him so bad they would have to take him right back to the emergency room.

  He did not mind this time. He was alone in a room with the lights on; he insisted the lights remain on. He had spent enough time in the dark.

  The doctors told him he would be here for a while before returning to California. He had already undergone one surgery for his shoulder and expected to undergo another soon, as well as surgery on his leg to help repair the muscle down there.

  With time, his body should make a full recovery.

  The door opened and in limped Major Gant with the aid of a cane, his left arm in a sling. He was dressed in casual civilian clothes, of course. The people of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, had no idea how many military soldiers and scientists swarmed the
state. They probably never would.

  "Sergeant, how are you feeling?"

  Try as he might, Franco could not look Gant in the eye. The last time he had looked at him it had been down the barrel of a gun, with intent to kill.

  "Okay, Chief. I guess. Still really sore."

  "You had a hell of an infection," Gant said as he stood next to the bed. "The doctors say the infection was worse than the gunshot."

  "Yeah, um, that's why they've got all this shit here," Franco referred to the plethora of lines running into his body, delivering antibiotics by the truckload.

  Neither man said anything for several long seconds. Franco still could not bring himself to face the major.

  "It's not your fault, Sergeant," Gant finally said, resting a hand on the man's shoulder.

  "Yeah, well, tell that to Pearson's parents, or Moss's girlfriend."

  "You did not kill them. Ronald Briggs killed them."

  Of course Franco understood that. Briggs had used his power to show each of the men in the unit what they feared or what they hated; whatever would motivate them to turn on one another. Campion saw German soldiers. Wells saw spiders. So what did Biggy Franco see?

  Gant went on. "You saved the day. A bullet in your shoulder, a severely injured leg. Based on what the doctors said, I am surprised you managed to move, let alone crawl all the way back to the vault. You are a determined individual, Sergeant. I will not forget that."

  Neither will I, Major. I won't forget how I planned to murder you. We can talk about infections and mental influences all day, but in the end I drew a bead on your head and if not for something jumping on my back, you would be dead. And why? Because I’m a racist son of a bitch, and don't think that thing down there didn't know it. It's no accident that Pearson and Moss are dead because of me.

  Franco kept his eyes averted as he asked, "What about the other guys?"

  "Everyone else headed back to California. Galati and Wells had a tough time of it, and so did Campion, but they are fine. No one had it as rough as you did, Sergeant."

  Again, silence.

  "I have a few things to take care of before I go back to work. But I want you to know, Ben, that you did good down there. In the end, you saved everyone's ass."

  The sergeant coughed and mumbled, "Thank you, sir."

  "Well, I will see you again in a few weeks. Get better, Sergeant."

  Major Gant turned and hobbled out. The door eased shut behind him.

  Franco put a hand over his eyes, turned on his side, and cried.

  40

  Colonel Liz Thunder walked out from the formerly quarantined levels of the Red Rock Mountain Research Facility. Behind her, portable units augmented the lights of the lower levels, brightening everything down there, chasing away the shadows.

  A man dressed in all the trappings of a two-star general waited for her in the vault room. He even wore his hat tight on his head, nearly covering his eyes. She wondered how he could see from beneath the brim of that hat; she could barely make out any features between his thin mustache and the cap. Did he even have eyes?

  "Colonel Thunder?"

  "General Friez, I presume?"

  "Yes, Colonel. I am taking control of this facility to supervise final cleanup."

  "Not much left. Over the last few days we've scoured the place for any remaining hostiles, what Major Gant indicated were Briggs's children. What we found we bagged and tagged per your orders. I assume they are being shipped to Darwin?"

  "That is classified, Colonel."

  "Of course it is."

  Friez walked around her and peered into the area beyond the threshold. He saw bright lights shining on debris, dust, and the broken remains of the old vestibule.

  "Not sure what all the fuss was about," he said. "Place doesn't look scary to me."

  "Not now that we turned on all the lights. It was easy for the bad things to hide in the dark. To hide behind the closed door."

  Friez turned and faced her with something more important on his mind.

  "Colonel, I've reviewed the after-action reports. Now stop me when I am wrong, but it is assumed this entity was stuck in a portal between our world and another, um, another plane of existence. Is that correct?"

  Something in his tone bothered Liz. This was General Albert Friez, at one time second only to Borman when it came to dealing in unconventional enemies, yet he seemed to struggle with the nature of the entity.

  "That's the theory, yes. The V.A.A.D. expanded that rift and allowed the entity to come into our world fully. Very powerful. Even if Briggs had not been shot dead, it might have overwhelmed his ability to control it, although I think he believed otherwise. From what we can tell, the rift sealed behind it."

  "I understand that, Colonel. Briggs's death released it and what did it do? It hovered here, at this place, for a short time and then disappeared into space."

  "Were you able to track it?"

  "You are not entitled to that information."

  She stared at him and, to her surprise, he relented.

  "No, we did not. It moved off-world. Given its nature, I think we have seen the last of it. But let's walk back to those few seconds that it enveloped Red Rock. Given how powerful it was, and given that it was a creature comprised entirely of mental, or for lack of a better term, psychic energy, it is reasonable to assume that it received thoughts from a greater area than this facility. Possibly the entire planet."

  "I have not read any reports suggesting it influenced people outside this area, General."

  "Influenced, no, but it is reasonable to believe it received information on a global scale."

  She wondered whether General Friez thought the data captured by the entity could be used for intelligence gathering. If so, she wondered, how he intend to gather that data. The entity had fled, leaving this planet as any intelligent creature would.

  It turned out, however, that was not his aim.

  "Colonel, as I said, I've reviewed all of the after-action reports. Every soldier on this base reported experiencing visions during the two seconds the entity encompassed the complex. Those visions ranged from emotional responses to reliving past experiences."

  Liz remembered that the entity had thrown a mirror up to her life and she had not liked the reflection.

  She shifted uncomfortably and prodded, "General?"

  "Every one of those accounts had one thing in common. One element that seemed out of place to the entirety of the experience. Do you know what that was?"

  Liz did. Her eyes glazed over and she answered, "It asked if I could hear the screaming."

  "Yes, Colonel. Every individual was asked a variation of the same question. Can you hear the screaming or if you listen, you can hear them scream."

  "Who is 'them'? What screaming?"

  "I don't believe it was related to what occurred here, at Red Rock. I think this is something else."

  She tilted her head but said nothing.

  "Colonel, an entity that was in touch with the thoughts of every living thing on this planet believes someone, or something, is screaming and it's important that we start listening."

  They stared at one another for a moment. Liz felt an icy vine crawl up her spine.

  Movement, however, turned her attention to a more immediate issue. A newcomer walked into the vault room, a young man maybe in his late twenties, dressed in a business suit with suspenders holding his tailored slacks in place. His perfectly groomed hair seemed frozen, his eyes were big and bright, and his smile was not quite warm but very friendly.

  "Hello! Excuse me, sorry to interrupt."

  "This is a restricted area," General Friez warned.

  "Yes, yes, I know," the man said as he handed Friez an envelope. "This is for you. Oh, and here is my card," he said as he handed it to Liz Thunder.

  Stan Goreman. Account Representative. The Tall Company. Sciences Division.

  "My superiors have transferred the Briggs account to me. Messy business."

  "This is a mil
itary facility," Friez said, but his attention was focused on Goreman's letter.

  "Ah, yes, of course. But there are certain proprietary interests we have in Dr. Briggs's research. The lab was, you recall, leased to our company at the time of the experiment."

  Thunder told him, "If you're looking for his laser contraption, don't bother. It was destroyed."

  "Oh." Goreman's enthusiasm deflated. "What a pity. Still, I understand the good doctor's progeny called the lower levels home?"

  Friez finished reading the letter and told Goreman, "Any specimens recovered from inside this facility are the property of the U.S. government."

  "I suppose that is something my superiors can discuss with yours. In the meantime, as you can see, my company has been granted access to sublevel 8 of this facility."

  "Yes," Friez said as he returned the envelope to the man. "Access granted."

  Goreman turned and looked back the way he had come. A moment later a pair of burly men wearing Tall Security badges and carrying suitcases entered the room and headed into the formerly quarantined zone.

  "Thank you for your cooperation," Goreman smiled. "We’ll do our best to stay out of your way."

  The Tall Company's agent then followed his escort into the underground labyrinth, whistling some nondescript tune as he walked.

  Friez watched him go as he asked Thunder, "Where is Major Gant?"

  "He headed back west. Said there was something he had to do."

  —

  Thom parked his Buick sedan at the curb. It was a beautiful fall weekend in southern California. The type of day for families and picnics and friends. Not the type of day for this.

  He exited the car, carefully swinging out his injured leg and struggled to rise from the car without sending a bolt of pain through his arm. He had discarded the sling against doctor's orders, and he eschewed his cane because he needed to stand tall today, if only for a few minutes.

  The mailbox in front of the duplex listed a name he did not recognize, but he knew the mother of the house; her maiden name was Twiste and she had a young daughter of her own.