by Alex Bratton
Lincoln drifted over to a news site and browsed the latest updates. “It’s not public yet that they are actually aliens, but people are getting out of the cities anyway. Interstates and highways are clogged. People are driving across medians to go the wrong way. They’ve already declared martial law in the affected cities. The military is surrounding all the towers.”
“Why haven’t they evacuated those cities already?” asked Nelson.
“Probably don’t want to start a panic,” Carter said, his wry laugh prompting Schmidt out of his silence.
“They will evacuate,” Schmidt said. “I heard the colonel say something about it.”
“Is the president going to tell people they’re aliens?” asked Lincoln.
Schmidt shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Lincoln thought of Mina landing in Atlanta. Wasn’t a tower there? He clicked through several more sites to double-check. Yes, a tower had landed not far from the Atlanta airport. He sent Mina another email, this one telling her to get out of the city as quickly as possible.
Lincoln looked at Alvarez, who often spoke of her mother in California, and Nelson, who rarely visited the father who lived down the street from him in Boston.
Carter coughed, his hand automatically going for a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. When he wasn’t positing theories about robot communication, Carter whiled away his time at a favorite fishing hole, which he kept secret. Thrice divorced, he didn’t have any family to contact that Lincoln knew of.
Mina’s godparents, Karen and Tom, were probably worried about Mina. Lincoln didn’t have their numbers, so he sent them a brief message on social media telling them she was on her way home.
His newsfeed updated constantly with rumors and footage of the towers. He spent a few minutes there, sucked into the hole of clicking on one story after another, each one more outlandish than the next. Lincoln’s favorite theory was that the towers contained demons from Hell sent to punish the Earth for its wickedness. The news article was accompanied by some very talented artwork. Aware of the time he was wasting, Lincoln logged out and returned to work.
Hours later, when Halston eventually came to retrieve them, Lincoln had never been more excited to leave a room. Finally, they were going somewhere. Hopefully, somewhere ended in a warm bed in a dark room.
The team quickly packed up and followed the lieutenant to the elevators.
“Are Cummings’ people here yet?” Lincoln asked.
“No.”
“How will they get to West Virginia?”
“Cummings will have to arrange that.”
Lincoln glanced at Alvarez, who hefted a large backpack onto her shoulders. She shot him a look that clearly said she was too tired to question what the team would do in West Virginia without experts there to guide them.
Outside the office building, Halston directed them to a white SUV. The setting sun reflected off its sides. Lincoln squinted at the glare while Alvarez pulled her jacket close about her in the cool spring air. Carter lit a cigarette on the short walk to the SUV and then put it out and stuck the unused portion back in his shirt pocket. The team stuffed their belongings in the back and piled in, with Schmidt driving and Halston riding up front.
They rode along miles of darkening roads, past offices, warehouses, and barracks. After fifteen minutes, they stopped in front of a long line of military vehicles—Humvees, flatbed trucks loaded down, and others Lincoln didn’t recognize.
Nash stood at the open door of a Humvee, signing something on a tablet. He handed it to an aide standing next to him. “Ready?” he asked as the team approached.
“Where is Cummings?” Carter asked.
“His people will meet us there. My orders are to get you and this unit in place before they get there. I’d like to get a team into the facility and have it operational when they arrive, so we can get right to work.”
“We don’t even know what this place is,” said Lincoln, his lack of sleep finally overtaking his judgment. “What are we making operational?”
Nash looked at Lincoln coolly. “Don’t worry, Surrey. I’m sure we’ll find something there for you to do.”
“Hope so,” said Lincoln. He wasn’t fond of waiting or being kept in the dark, and he liked to work. The last few hours had been torture.
The team was assigned to ride together in a Humvee with Schmidt. Nelson climbed in first. Before Carter and Alvarez had buckled their seatbelts, he was typing again, his mousy hair falling down over his forehead as he worked. Lincoln settled himself into the uncomfortable seat and lay his head back, using his jacket as a pillow.
He shouldn’t have snapped at Nash. Probably the convoy was taking them to some top-secret underground bunker with state of the art labs and equipment. In a few hours, everything about ARCHIE would become clear.
Chapter Five
THE INSIDE OF THE CONDARRI warship was as black as Condar itself and as long as two football fields. The only light filtered through the narrow window in the hull, one of a line of windows down a narrow outer corridor that led to rooms and halls aboard the ship. Calla peered through the thick stone onto the Earth below. The rest of the ships were placed in the cities, towering over their new dominions like spikes thrust up through the Earth’s crust.
Spikes that would rise out of the ash to overtake the lush planet.
Somewhere below, Dar Ceylin was putting the last pieces into place, sending out last-minute orders. He hadn’t slept in a month. In the back of her mind, Calla wondered if the commander had forgiven her. Not that she needed his forgiveness. She had done away with the traitor he had called friend, and Dar Ceylin had yet to thank her for her loyalty.
Instead, he had bested her in combat. Again. She still burned with her public humiliation. Her mission above the Earth felt like a consolation prize instead of a right she had earned, but it was important, and she would complete it with honor.
The air stirred, blowing her hair. Once short-cropped for convenience, it now grew long over her shoulders, hiding her strong, beautiful face. Calla turned. Nothing was there. The ship had little ventilation, only enough oxygen to keep her alive. Her gaze fell on the circular glyphs—the adarria—etched into the stone bulkhead. One of them glimmered golden before going dark again. Did it sense her anger toward her commander?
The adarria’s presence surrounded her at all times, even when she was on Earth. Linked telepathically through the identical symbols etched into Calla’s skin, the alien hieroglyphs comforted her rather than scared her.
She turned back to the Earth, the blue orb against the void of space. With each passing minute, her excitement grew. Soon, Dar Ceylin would give the signal. The last three days of waiting had been torture, but it was a delicious type of anguish, the kind that fueled Calla’s sleep-starved body during her constant vigil. Ever since the day had arrived, she had paced anxiously up and down the corridors, checking windows. She couldn’t have slept now if she wanted to.
Dar Ceylin had waited until the militaries of the world were in place before the Condarri struck. He wanted to wipe out the human defenses in one fell swoop.
After hours of silence, the go-ahead came as a thought. The signal she had been waiting for wasn’t heralded with a war cry. Hybrids didn’t need elaborate speeches, either. A simple command. Although a whisper in Calla’s mind, it was swift and strong, leaving no room for doubt.
Calla slapped the window in excitement and grinned triumphantly on her way to tell her masters.
Earth’s civilizations would fall.
Mina woke to the sound of the intercom and the cabin lights flickering on.
“…about two hours out from Atlanta,” the captain was saying. “Unfortunately, we are diverting the flight to Charlotte, North Carolina instead. I realize this will inconvenience many of you, but we’ll do everything we can to secure your transportation to Atlanta once we land. Please remain seated for the remainder of the flight.”
A fl
eeting silence fell over the cabin as the passengers considered the change and the possibly unpleasant reasons for it. Then, everyone began to talk at once. A few hollered for an explanation. A child cried from the front of the plane, possibly upset by the increasing noise.
Mina pulled out a book. She reread the same line four times before giving up and closing it. To distract herself from the knot tightening in her stomach, she watched the other passengers, but their growing unease only added to her anxiety.
Instead, she spent the last minutes of the flight watching the lights below. To the east, faint yellow rays lit the sky. On the edge of the city, white searchlights glared on an obsidian wall of stone. Passengers and crew craned their necks for a glimpse of the strange tower, pointing out the windows and nudging their neighbors. In the predawn gray, the searchlights cast a ghostly aura over the structure, creating the illusion of a rock wall connecting the ground to the heavens above. The plane turned before beginning its final descent, and the tower dropped out of sight.
Once the plane landed, Mina texted Lincoln. The networks were busy, and she sent the message three times before her phone marked it as delivered. He didn’t text back. Mina put on her coat, gathered her bag, and leaned forward in anticipation as the plane taxied toward its gate.
The plane stopped again as a smaller one maneuvered itself in front of theirs. Window watchers on that side grumbled. The atmosphere in the cabin, already tense, rose until Mina could almost taste it on her tongue. She sat on the edge of her seat, her muscles coiled as if ready to fly.
At last, the terminal came into view, and the passengers breathed a collective sigh of relief. Everyone shifted around, finding belongings. As the plane moved toward the gate, Mina checked her messages again. No text. She was in the middle of downloading email when something out the window caught her eye.
Another plane rolled between theirs and the terminal, faster than it should have. It zipped past as if it wanted to take off again. A man behind Mina swore.
The plane was going to crash into the terminal.
As more people noticed, shouts rippled up the cabin toward the nose. Passengers scrambled to their feet. Mina lost sight of the plane.
Her seat vibrated as a bright flash of light streaked by the window. The hair on Mina’s arms stood on end, and her skin prickled. She had just registered the word “lightning” when an explosion outside rocked the plane.
The Boeing tilted right, leaving a weightless sensation in Mina’s stomach before it dropped back down and landed so hard Mina bit her tongue. Warm blood filled her mouth. Screams erupted. Metal shrapnel pelted the outside of the plane, sounding like rocks raining from the sky. Large chunks tore through the fuselage, and one hit a man in the head, caving in his skull. Blood and bone splattered across the cabin as more projectiles carved through the soft bodies trapped inside.
Amid the screams, Mina held on tight to her phone as the knot of anxiety turned into a ball of terror in her chest. Her knuckles turned white. Whatever happened, she needed her phone so she could find Lincoln. Whatever happened…
Everyone tried to leave their seats at once. Fighting panic, Mina grabbed for the release to her seatbelt. Before she could free herself, a painful, terrifying screech of rending metal sent throbbing pain through her ears. The plane vibrated then jolted violently. It threw Mina forward, her seatbelt stopping her from bashing her forehead into the seat in front of her. She vomited, spewing bile. As the plane moved again, she let go of the seatbelt to hold her phone with both hands. She hadn’t told Lincoln she loved him. If she could have dialed him then, she would have.
Like a tilting, jerky rollercoaster ride gone out of control, the plane slammed left then right, throwing Mina toward the wall. Her head smacked it, and stars burst into her vision. The plane tossed her around. She hit her head again. The phone slipped out of her grasp, and then, everything went dark.
Chapter Six
LINCOLN STOOD INSIDE A damp, dark concrete tunnel underground. Out of all the things he had imagined ARCHIE to be, this was not among them. Water dripped from cracks in the ceiling into large, deep puddles at his feet. The sharp smell of mold had caused him to pull his jacket over his nose, and a cold, damp chill pervaded the air and clung to his body.
And the walls were narrow, rough, concrete block. Lincoln hated cramped spaces, especially underground. When the convoy had arrived at the middle of nowhere in the forest, Lincoln had grabbed the map and slipped away as everyone else was setting up camp. He felt only slightly guilty at leaving his team behind, but all of them disappearing into the woods would have been noticed. Lincoln wasn’t exactly sure he should be here on his own.
All right, he knew he shouldn’t.
The flashlight beam only drove the darkness to the corners. Exploring a decrepit mine alone wasn’t high on Lincoln’s bucket list, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.
Aliens had landed on Earth. He was going to help talk to them, and he wanted to know what was so important underneath an abandoned coal mine to bring everyone out here.
Lincoln consulted the map again. It hadn’t denoted any stairs, but he had just descended some wide concrete steps. Far ahead, a hole opened up in the concrete block tunnel.
His heart raced at the thought of going farther by himself. Sweat dripped from his face despite the cool air. Now that he was here, he urged himself forward, ducking his head even though he had six inches of clearance above him.
When the passageway ended in a short drop-off, Lincoln stopped. Below, the floor changed to stone, and the block walls on either side also stopped at stone. Ahead, a tall, narrow hole opened into a new tunnel running perpendicular to the concrete passage.
He turned on his phone’s camera and pointed it through the hole, hoping the video caught at least some of what he was seeing. A rusted plaque hung on the wall inside the new tunnel. When Lincoln stepped down into the passageway to examine it, the moldy smell vanished.
He aimed the camera at the sign and read aloud, “Alien Research Center for Hostile Invasion of Earth. ARCHIE. At least I’ve found the right place. You’ll notice the sign doesn’t explain what’s down either corridor. You know what that is? A bureaucratic lack of imagination.”
The sign contained two arrows pointing down the opposite directions of the tunnel. They were labeled Corridor A and Corridor B. Lincoln turned left, down Corridor A. Dry, black walls of chiseled stone arched twenty feet overhead, gleaming in the beam of Lincoln’s flashlight. It looked like a cathedral. Within a few yards, he reached the top of a steeply descending metal staircase that was swallowed in the darkness. The walls narrowed around the stair. Lincoln licked his dry lips. Why hadn’t he thought to bring water?
“I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered. “You hear me, Cummings, wherever you are?”
Turn around.
Lincoln entertained the thought for a moment. The Army would be down here soon, but he felt compelled to keep going, urged forward by a curiosity so strong it almost moved his feet for him. For the moment, he forgot his hatred of underground spaces and took a step.
Lincoln’s shoes rang softly on the stair. He turned to look behind him, shining the light back down the corridor.
The pitch-black corridor.
Quit stalling.
He returned the light to the darkness below and proceeded down the stairs. For several minutes, he heard nothing but the clanging of rubber soles on metal steps and saw nothing but smooth stone walls closing in on him.
Finally, the stairs ended in a narrow space that would barely accommodate two people side by side. A rusty metal door with no handle loomed directly opposite the last stair, joined to the stone by large bolts. It completely blocked the passage.
“Why did they seal the tunnel?”
Lincoln ran the camera around the doorframe to make sure he could review it later. He banged the door a few times with the butt of his flashlight and then felt around for a latch or release lever. He shone the light around the walls, loo
king for a keypad or some kind of switch, but found nothing.
Dreading the steep climb ahead of him but eager for the larger tunnel above, Lincoln ascended the stairs. By the time he reached the top, his heavy breathing bounced off the close tunnel walls. Corridor B waited, so he trudged along past the sign without resting. Corridor B was short with walls of the same arching dark stone. It opened abruptly into nothing.
“Wow,” he said softly.
The air was cooler and fresher than in the corridors and drier than the concrete passageway.
The flashlight did little to illuminate the vast space, and Lincoln turned carefully on his heel, checking the ground at his feet for a sudden drop-off. When he was satisfied there was no abyss to fall into, he trained his light on the wall of the chamber. Beautifully smooth and curving away, the wall reached straight up into the mountain. He tipped the flashlight and camera up to the ceiling, but it was shrouded in darkness.
Lincoln looked at the stone wall. “We definitely need better equipment than flashlights,” he whispered. “Also, this wall is slightly curved. I don’t think that’s visible on camera. Also don’t know why I’m whispering. This cavern must be enormous. My light doesn’t reach the other side.”
He followed the wall, keeping it at arm’s distance.
“This can’t be a natural cavern. It’s too intentional.” Lincoln ran his fingers along the stone. “The wall is completely dry, too. Is that typical underground? If a breeze can get in, why can’t water?”
He stopped to try an experiment. Keeping the wall to his right, he turned off the flashlight and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Lincoln might as well have been blind. He groped his way along the wall a few more paces, waiting for the breeze on his face again.
A sound echoed to his left, and he froze.
“I just heard something,” he whispered for the benefit of the camera. “There it is again. Scurrying like a rat. Or a bat? Guess I should have thought about the local wildlife. What lives this deep underground?”
