The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  Mitch searched for the source of the flash with his binoculars. “There's a metal fence up ahead. Slow down G, we’re kicking up too much dust.”

  Gunter slowed, reducing the plume of dust behind them as they approached the chain link fence that stretched away for miles, running parallel to the road. The fence’s nearest corner cut back toward the peak, disappearing over the line of hills rising to the east. Just before they drew level with the fence, a sign supported by two metal poles came into view beside the track. Gunter halted the four wheel drive in front of the sign, that read:

  WARNING!

  ATOMIC ENERGY COMMISSION

  NUCLEAR MATERIALS WASTE DUMP

  RADIATION HAZARD

  KEEP OUT!

  “Not exactly a multi-billion dollar secret military base,” Mitch noted dryly.

  “It’s a good cover though,” Christa said.

  “Most people would stay away from a radiation hazard area,” Gunter said. “And it is a plausible excuse to fence off the area.”

  Mouse leaned forward, peering through the windows. “Can’t see any buildings. Maybe it’s all underground.”

  Mitch used his binoculars to study the area inside the fence. “If there is something in there, it’s hidden behind those hills. Keep going, G, we might see something further on.”

  They moved slowly along the fence, passing radiation hazard signs every few hundred yards as they searched for any sign of surveillance.

  “Someone sure is keen to let us know about the radiation hazard,” Mouse said. “I wonder if the people in Phoenix know how dangerous this is?”

  “We’ll bring a Geiger counter next time,” Mitch said, “Just in case this place is for real.”

  They drove on for half a mile, finding the road becoming increasingly degraded. When they hit a particularly deep pothole, jarring the vehicle, Mouse said, “They are sure trying hard to make it look like no one has been out for years.”

  “Trying too hard,” Mitch said, scanning beyond the fence with his binoculars.

  Over a shallow rise, they came upon the full skeleton of a long horn bull, bleached white in the blistering heat.

  “Think it died of radiation sickness?” Mouse asked apprehensively.

  Mitch eyed the skeleton suspiciously. “Or maybe it was put here to scare people away.”

  They left the white bones behind and drove on until they were halted by a rotting wooden road block. An aged and grimy sign hung from it by two rusting chains.

  STOP!

  RADIOACTIVE AREA

  SUSTAINED EXPOSURE IS FATAL

  GO BACK!

  “Go around it,” Mitch ordered.

  Gunter drove up onto the shoulder of the road and around the road block, then continued along the road. A few hundred feet further on, they came to a white cross with a long dead bouquet of flowers crumbling at its base.

  Mouse eyed the cross uncomfortably. “Now they're really creeping me out.”

  Gunter and Mitch exchanged skeptical looks, both determined to press on.

  Less than a minute past the sign Christa winced and rubbed her temple. “There's something out there . . .”

  “What is it?” Mitch asked, turning to her.

  “I’m not sure.” She said feebly, as her face turned pale. “It’s getting stronger.”

  “Holy crap,” Mouse exclaimed, “There really is radiation out here!”

  The four wheel drive shuddered as the engine coughed several times and died. The crunching of tires on dirt was the only sound they heard, as the vehicle rolled to a halt. Gunter tried restarting the engine, but each attempt was greeted with silence. There wasn't even the half hearted whir of a flat battery.

  “Completely dead,” Gunter said.

  “As if the entire electrical system shorted out,” Mitch said suspiciously.

  Mouse warily watched heat shimmers roll off the desert. “I’m not walking in this oven!” He held his hand over the air vent, searching vainly for the reassuring blast of cool air. “Oh man, no air con!”

  Mitch studied the terrain inside the fence with his binoculars, seeing nothing but sun bleached rocks and cactus plants. “Mouse, is your notebook working?”

  Mouse tried turning his computer on. “It’s dead as a dodo!”

  Gunter checked his watch, only to discover the liquid crystal display was blank. “The chip in my watch is gone.”

  Mitch checked his watch, listening for any ticking. “Mine too.”

  “Mine also,” Christa said.

  Mitch stared at his dead watch thoughtfully. “That’s funny. My watch didn’t stop when they disabled the car in Washington.”

  “Maybe this is some kind of wide area field,” Mouse said. “The device in Washington might have been a focused beam.”

  Gunter said, indicating the open spaces all around them. “This effect is more advanced, or more powerful. After all, it does not need to be mobile, so it can be larger and heavier, and camouflaged out there somewhere.”

  Mitch studied the barren terrain beyond the fence, convinced. “This must be the place. It doesn’t matter that we can’t see Mouse’s secret base, it’s out there, somewhere.”

  “This technology is like. . .,” Mouse searched for the right words, “. . . the opposite of the neutron bomb. You know that nuke that kills people, but doesn’t hurt buildings or machines, so the cockroaches have a place to live after the top of the food chain has been wiped out. This thing wipes out electronics, but doesn’t kill people.”

  Mitch lowered his binoculars. “Christa, what are you sensing?”

  “A constant . . . low intensity pain. It's like a buzzing, but there’s no sound.”

  Gunter pointed ahead as a cloud of dust drifted above the line of hills ahead of them, marking an approaching vehicle. “Company.”

  “I see it,” Mitch said, ensuring he could quickly access his gun. Gunter did the same. “Keep the guns out of sight until we hear what they have to say.”

  “That’s if they want to talk,” Mouse said anxiously.

  “They have no way of knowing who we are,” Mitch reassured him. “Or that we know the location of this place.”

  A battered old pickup truck appeared on the hill ahead. As it rumbled down the road toward them, it became apparent that it was equipped with a small crane.

  “A tow truck,” Mitch said. “How convenient.”

  Mouse laughed nervously. “They’re going to kill us, and tow away the car, so there’s no evidence.”

  Gunter shook his head. “That pickup is thirty years old.”

  “So?”

  “An operation like this wouldn’t be using a thirty year old truck,” Mitch said, “As part of a kill and clean operation. They’d have something modern.”

  The pickup truck rattled up beside them and stopped in a cloud of swirling dust when the driver’s window was alongside Gunter’s. Stenciled in faded letters across the door were the words, Z. E. Ackerman Towing. A grizzled old man wearing a faded baseball cap and a week's stubble rested his arm on the truck’s window frame and called out to them, “You folks need help?”

  “How did you know,” Mitch replied.

  The old timer grinned. “Shoot! Happens all the time. Damn radiation stuff in there.” He stuck a finger toward the wire fence. “Always shorting out cars. Some say it’s them UFOs, sucking up the power. Never seen one myself, sounds like baloney to me.”

  Gunter eyed Ackerman’s old pickup curiously. “Why is your truck not affected?”

  “Too old I reckon. None of them fancy computer thing-a-mes in it. Plus I got me some lead and used it like insulation.”

  “You ever get sick?” Mitch asked, “From the radiation?”

  “Naw, you got to stay here a long time to get sick. Know plenty of folks who think they been sick from it. Not me, but I don’t stay out here long. Just in and out.”

  “Why come out here at all?” Mitch asked.

  “Cause I make a pretty penny towing greenhorns like you back to town. No
offence.” The old timer grinned slyly. “You need a tow, partner? I ain’t cheap.”

  “How much,” Gunter asked.

  “A thousand bucks gets you to Gila Bend.”

  “A thousand!” Mouse exploded.

  “You could walk, but I wouldn’t recommend it, not in this here heat.”

  “How far is it?” Mitch asked.

  “About fifty miles.”

  “Tonopah is closer,” Gunter said, checking the map, estimating it couldn't be more than thirty miles away.

  “Yeah, that's true, But I ain't going to Tonopah. I'm going to Gila Bend.”

  “You take credit cards?” Mitch asked.

  “Any card, any time,” Ackerman replied, content he had another sucker over a barrel. He put his pickup in reverse, then backed around until his crane was lined up with the front of their four wheel drive. They climbed out to watch him secure the front wheels for towing.

  “So you were just cruising around . . .” Mitch asked, trying to sound conversational, “Looking for a customer?”

  “When there ain’t much work on. I do a run along the fence. I was heading back when I saw your dust about twenty minutes ago.” He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d head toward the Mountain. Most of you city types in your fancy four by fours head this way. Something about that big rock attracts you like hogs to mud. Probably ‘cause there ain’t any shade out here.”

  “What’s up ahead? Can we get out that way?”

  “Nope, not that a way. Just a dead end. The old gate into the dump up there's been locked up for more ‘an twenty years. This here road’s the only way in or out.”

  “Is our car permanently damaged?” Gunter asked.

  “Nothing you can’t get repaired in the auto shop in Gila Bend.” Ackerman grinned. “My cousin Floyd's a real good mechanic, but he ain’t cheap.”

  “Of course,” Mitch nodded knowingly. “I don’t suppose there’s another auto shop for miles around.”

  “Not for what you need, young fella. You could take the bus to Phoenix, of course, but it ain’t due for three days. You’d have to leave the four by four at Floyd’s while you’re gone.” Ackerman looked at him meaningfully. “Because that’s where I’ll be dropping you off. And Floyd don’t like storing cars for folks, so he’ll be charging you a pretty penny, for parking and such. You know how it is.”

  “I’m learning fast,” Mitch replied dryly.

  “There ain’t enough room in the truck for you folks, so you’ll have to ride in the four by four.”

  They climbed back into the car, then Ackerman towed them slowly back the way they'd come, away from the nuclear waste dump.

  Mitch turned to Christa. “Was he conditioned?”

  “No, he wasn't.”

  “Do you believe him?” Gunter asked.

  Mitch settled back in his seat thoughtfully. “If he’s trying to keep us out of there, he’s making a hell of a profit doing it, but I’ve known more elaborate cover stories.”

  Through the rising dust cloud billowing up from behind the tow truck, Mitch watched the silhouette of Ackerman through the pickup’s rear window. Once he thought he caught a glimpse of the old timer holding something close to his ear, possibly a two way radio. Mitch wondered if he was reporting to the people inside the fence, or just letting cousin Floyd know he was bringing in more fish to be skinned. When they reached the sealed road, the dust clouds ended, although the tow truck continued on at the same leisurely pace.

  “G, do you think what Ackerman said makes sense,” Mitch asked. “Could lead be a shielding to whatever knocked out our electrical system?”

  Gunter shrugged. “I suppose it is possible. Lead is an effective shielding against radiation.”

  “Only one way to find out.” He turned to Christa. “When we reach Cousin Floyd’s auto shop, you and Mouse go with Ackerman to pay him, keep him distracted as long as possible. G and I will stay with the car.”

  “I should be able to keep the old boy’s attention for a few minutes,” Christa replied with a scheming twinkle in her eye.

  Mitch looked surprised. “Don’t get him too excited, he may have a weak heart.”

  Over the next hour, as the peak of Eagletail Mountain fell behind them, they searched unsuccessfully for any sign of the base. When they eventually reached the I-8, Ackerman finally picked up speed for the run into the small desert community of Gila Bend. He took them straight to Cousin Floyd’s auto shop at the edge of town. It was a small greasy gas station with a workshop and a concrete apron where a dozen cars in various stages of decay awaited Floyd’s mechanical attention. Ackerman guided their four wheel drive into a vacant spot, then after he'd removed the towing tackle, Christa held up her credit card.

  “Where do we do it?” she asked with a provocative smile.

  Ackerman grinned. “Behind closed doors missy, at least if I were thirty years younger, that’s what I’d say. Follow me.”

  He turned and led them into Cousin Floyd’s office. As soon as they were out of sight, Mitch and Gunter released the mechanical latch, and lifted the old pickup's hood. Mitch whistled softly when he saw the engine. It was a shiny new, turbo charged, eight cylinder beast. The electrical systems were encased in thick metallic insulation, that disappeared into the pickup’s cab.

  “This is no thirty year old pickup truck,” Gunter declared.

  “Ackerman is no pirate out for a fast buck, that's for sure. This pickup might look like it’s about to fall apart, but I bet it's faster than most cars. I don’t suppose you know what that stuff is?” Mitch asked, motioning toward the metallic insulation.

  Gunter bent close, tapped the material, testing both flexibility and sound. “It is an exotic material. It sounds dense like lead, but has a degree of flexibility. It has metallic and polymer qualities.”

  “Grab a piece. From some place Ackerman won’t see without a close look.”

  Gunter used his car keys to scrape under the housing that insulated the spark plugs, obtaining a tiny sliver of the material no bigger than an iron filing. “It is not as strong as steel, but it is harder than a polymer composite,” Gunter said as he placed the filing in a one dollar note, which he carefully folded and slid into his wallet to ensure it could not be lost.

  Mitch locked the hood shut, then opened the pickup’s driver side door and looked inside. Hidden behind the driver’s seat was a well oiled assault rifle and a powerful hand held radio encased in the same exotic substance that insulated the engine.

  “Looks like old Ackerman isn’t as friendly as he makes out,” Mitch said as he shut the pickup’s door.

  He checked they hadn't been seen as he moved around the side of the workshop to where he could catch Christa's eye. He nodded to her, then she ceased chatting and signed the credit card voucher. When Christa and Mouse strolled out of the office, Ackerman and cousin Floyd, a rangy grease monkey in his forties, came with them.

  “I’ll have it over to you in a few hours,” Cousin Floyd drawled amiably. “Good as new.”

  “I don’t suppose you folks will be going back out to the dump again?” Ackerman asked with a sly piratical grin. “I could sure use the money, towing you folks back in.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Once is enough, thanks. We can’t afford your prices. We might just look around town for a day or two.”

  “There’s the painted rock reserve, that ain't far,” Cousin Floyd suggested. “No nuclear dumps over there.”

  “Painted rocks, huh?” Mouse said, clearly uninterested.

  They shook hands, then started walking the few blocks to the local accommodation. Ackerman and Cousin Floyd watched them go with friendly smiles on their faces.

  “They’re not what they seem,” Christa said after they'd passed out of earshot. “I sensed deception, well hidden, but unmistakable.”

  “He’s got a M16 in his pickup,” Mitch said. “And high tech shielding around the engine and electrical systems. This whole tow truck scam is a cover. If he catches us snooping around the fen
ce again, the only place he’ll be towing us to is the cemetery.”

  * * * *

  They had dinner at a local Mexican place. The food was laden with chili and oil, which Mouse devoured in inhuman quantities and Mitch found barely edible. While Christa watched Mouse swallow the last taco, almost whole, Gunter drained his beer.

  “So how do we get close to the radiation dump?” Mitch asked.

  “Steal his truck.” Mouse mumbled through a taco filled mouth.

  “Ackerman would warn them we were coming as soon as it was gone,” Mitch said.

  Gunter placed his empty beer glass on the table. “Eliminate Ackerman.”

  “They would miss him,” Mitch said. “He probably checks in regularly.”

  Gunter wiped his lips with a napkin and sat back. “We can forget using anything with an electrical system. Which leaves . . .” He threw a casual look toward the western decor.

  Mouse, attempting to stuff an enchilada into his mouth in one movement looked around uncertainly, not seeing anything meaningful. “What?”

  “Right,” Mitch said, looking at the leather work, bull whips, saddles. “Cowboy country. We ride in on horseback.”

  “No way!” Mouse spluttered as he raced to swallow. “No one's getting me on any kind of animal.”

  “Don’t worry Mouse, we’ll get you one that’s old, lame and docile,” Christa said with a smile.

  Mouse shook his head emphatically. “I only ride in things that have air conditioning, power steering and a stereo.”

  “We'll go in at night, when it’s cooler and there’s less chance of being seen,” Mitch said.

  “Hey guys,” Mouse said, finally clearing his mouth of food. “You’re not listening. I don’t go near anything that eats more than I do.”

  Christa patted his hand comfortingly. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “We’re going to need equipment,” Mitch said. “And something with more hitting power than these hand guns, judging by Ackerman’s M16.”

  “Don’t forget the lasso, spurs and a ten gallon hat!” Mouse said. “Guys! We can’t just ride up like John Wayne with a six gun in the middle of the night. We don’t even know the layout of the place. How many guards? What security system? How far from the fence the buildings are?”