The Tiniest Invaders, Book One Coexistence

by William Bebb

  Guardsmen looked on in sympathy, a few in horror, as their countrymen turned like a wave and ran blindly away trampling a great many people.

  Thirty minutes later the tally count was estimated to be two hundred minor injuries, thirty-four serious, and twelve deaths. The dead included eight children under the age of ten and four adults who had died of asphyxiation and or internal injuries caused by the stampede of humanity.

  General Heller sat behind his desk holding a phone to his ear as he watched a large flat screen TV on the wall of his office.

  There was a mother kneeling in the road holding her dead daughter's body. Tears rolled down unchecked as she stroked the girl's hair. Around them, scattered across the road near the barricades, there were dropped banners and signs with the words WE WANT TO GO HOME! There were flags, both American and Confederate, lying scattered on the ground and countless other personal items abandoned when the tear gas was released.

  Heller had muted the TV as he watched the footage on one of the cable news channels while continuing to hold the phone tightly against his ear.

  His superiors had called within minutes of the 'Pinson Massacre', as some in the news media were already calling it.

  Colonel Abrahms was visible on the TV along with dozens of national guard and civilian medical personnel as they tried to help the injured.

  “Yes sir. I understand.” These were the only words General Heller had managed to say over the last fifteen minutes as he was being chewed out for allowing a public relations nightmare to unfold under his command. He set the phone down gently and switched off the TV.

  His face was flushed almost crimson as he drummed his fingers on his desk before looking up at Colonel Aswan Hussein. The helicopter carrying him in had landed at the same time the tear gas had been released on the people.

  Earlier, Heller had a few minutes look over Aswan's military record and was impressed. In his mid forties Aswan was a graduate from West Point, had served numerous tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, spoke nine languages, and was the recipient of a dozen medals and citations. Heller looked at him for several seconds before speaking. “Colonel, you are now officially responsible for taking over the duties of Colonel Wilcox. I've signed the orders,” Heller said, cleared his throat and continued. “In addition to everything else, you will be temporarily in command of this operation.

  I have been ordered back to the Washington to explain our findings regarding the explosion and also how this colossal fuck up out there could have happened.” He sighed, and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully.

  “I'll be taking your helicopter to the airport, but first I have to address the news media to offer my apologies for the deaths. You may use my office while I'm gone,” he said, looking slightly annoyed at the prospect.

  “There is one thing I want you to do before anything else, colonel. Here are the orders for Colonel Wilcox's arrest,” Heller said, handing Aswan a folder of papers. “Get together with Abrahms. He's head of the Military Police. Give him the orders when he's done helping clear up the mess at the perimeter. He'll find Wilcox and have him placed under arrest.

  He's either gone insane or...” Heller let the rest of the sentence peter out as he stood and shook hands with Hussein. “Do you have any questions?”

  “No sir. I understand completely,” Aswan said softly.

  After the general picked up his briefcase and left, Aswan sat behind his desk and turned on the TV. He watched the news footage of the injured being taken to hospitals and the dead covered in blankets lined up in neat rows and smiled as he leaned back in the general's very comfortable leather chair.

  His legs felt like needles and pins were stabbing him one moment and then numb from being in one position for too long, but Colonel Wilcox smiled grimly despite this. Looking through the tightly spaced wooden slats of General Heller's closet door, he had his hand lightly resting on his Colt pistol. With a secretive slightly insane grin on his face, he watched Aswan making himself comfortable behind Heller's desk.

  After Anniston's departure, he'd overheard rumors that he would be arrested and tried to think of the best course of action. He'd decided he needed to do some reconnaissance and had a plan.

  When Heller went to meet Aswan's helicopter he sneaked in to his office and had managed to plant a few electronic eavesdropping bugs but then been trapped when they returned sooner than he'd expected.

  The general's closet was cramped yet it had worked out all for the best because now he knew they were all crazy. Call me insane. Try to arrest me? For running off some old fart and worthless bitch that I caught red handed wasting time dancing while the world's caving in around us? Doesn't anyone get it except me? We've got aliens or terrorists; Or who knows, maybe alien terrorists planning to destroy America. And now we've got thousands of idiot rednecks marching around, Wilcox thought angrily.

  Several minutes later he heard the helicopter revving louder as General Heller left. Watching Aswan walk across the office Wilcox almost pulled the gun and shot him right then, but waited as his would be replacement locked the door to the hallway. Aswan closed the blinds and pulled the curtains shut on the windows as Wilcox watched and wondered what was going on.

  Setting his metallic briefcase on the desk, Aswan placed his fingertips along the top edge and there was a loud click. He pulled out a small milky white cube and placed it on the desk. Placing his finger tips on it, the cube glowed a brilliant purple and began to emit a high pitched sound that made Wilcox cover his ears and close his eyes almost completely to keep the bright light from blinding him.

  The high pitched noise gradually faded as did the cube's brightness.

  Wearing a pair of oddly shaped sunglasses, Aswan smiled as he walked to the lamp and pulled out one of the nearly invisible bug devices Wilcox had hidden there earlier. Crossing to the bookshelf, he reached up on top and removed another one. Going back to the desk, he pulled the last one out of the coffee cup filled with pens and pencils.

  What the...How the Hell? Wilcox wondered, as he watched Aswan place the devices in his briefcase.

  Colonel Hussein sat back behind the desk and pulled the softly glowing purple cube close to his face. Lowering his voice he spoke into it. “I am on site and in command.”

  A guttural voice came from the cube in a language Wilcox couldn't identify. As the sounds continued the cube pulsed in rhythm. It continued for several seconds before Aswan spoke again.

  “I'll install the transceiver if I can't get it taken care of today. I believe with what happened here earlier, with the deaths, I can convince them to shut down or at least reduce the scope of their military operations.

  There has been one other interesting development here. It seems my predecessor already took care of Anniston's work group.”

  The cube emitted another long series of guttural sounds.

  Aswan laughed and said, “No such luck. Wilcox didn't kill him but neither of them should be a concern any longer. The idiot managed to piss off Heller so much that he left orders that he be placed under arrest.

  I need to go out and inspect the explosion site soon and examine what they've discovered. If it was just human terrorists it's all good, if it's something else I'll eliminate the evidence and let you know what we are up against.”

  The cube flashed brightly then went dark. Aswan placed it back in his briefcase locked it, and stood up. He smiled as the footage on the TV showed the line of covered dead bodies and laughed as the reporter spoke of the grieving families.

  Under the cover of Aswan's laughter, Wilcox opened the door and crept across the room behind him. Holding his gun ready to fire, he stopped and reached for the Revolutionary War souvenir that served as a paperweight that General Heller had on the corner of his desk. It was a heavy rusty metal cannon ball that his wife had given him for Christmas several years earlier. Wilcox lifted it up and crept closer to Aswan.

  In the reflection of the TV screen, Aswan caught a glimpse of movement behind him. He started to turn as Wilcox broug
ht down the paperweight. There was a solid thunk sound and Aswan collapsed on the carpet.

  Wilcox stared in horror and fascination as Hussein's face began to morph into a visage that could in no way be mistaken as human.

  *****

  Typical Saturday afternoon traffic around the urban campus of the University of Alabama at Birmingham is notably less than during the week and Trevor hated it. The RV would still stick out in heavier traffic, but with no traffic at all he felt decidedly conspicuous.

  Ahead on the left, a large indoor arena came into view as Black Beauty rumbled down the nearly deserted city streets.

  Alice asked him to wait while she went to see if a former student of hers was in.

  Feeling like he was driving a giant flashing neon sign, he reluctantly agreed and watched as she ran toward the office area of the large brick arena.

  He looked warily around for signs of the army or police and tensed momentarily as a campus squad car cruised by. Sliding open the driver side window, he listened to the breeze and almost a dozen college kids talking and laughing while tossing a football around in a small park across the street. Everything seemed peaceful enough as he pulled his machine gun off the console between the seats and reloaded it.

  Alice stopped a security officer and asked if her friend Rebecca Amos was at work today. Lying, she explained that she was supposed to meet her but had run late.

  He was sympathetic and let her use his phone to call her.

  Minutes later, a woman in her late twenties wearing a sweatshirt with a dragon on the front came out of the arena.

  The officer excused himself as the women hugged and started chatting.

  They went to Rebecca's office. It was small and every wall was covered in posters promoting various UAB athletic departments. After a few minutes of chit chat Alice got down to why she was there. “Rebecca, I need a favor. Remember when you told me in an email a few months ago you helped coordinate the artwork for the university's athletic department? You said something about having ordered too many decals or something because the school ended up selling one of their buses.”

  “One? They sold three of them. It was because of budget cuts and pro-ration. And they didn't let us know that until after we'd ordered the decals. So, now I'm stuck with a storage closet full of enough stuff to decorate three buses. And my supervisor blames me even though he signed off on the order. I've managed to sell some of the smaller stuff, but who'd want to buy a bunch of giant decals?”

  “I might,” Alice said, slipping her wallet out of her purse.

  Ten minutes later, Trevor saw a large metal garage door on the side of the arena building rumble open. Alice and a woman he didn't know walked out. They waved at him and gestured for him to drive the RV inside.

  Once inside the enormous underground garage, he saw a nearly a dozen buses parked against the walls. The giant florescent lights flickered on as he drove into an empty parking space.

  After Trevor was introduced they looked at the storage closet full of decals and quickly realized they had a problem.

  “Sure, they're big enough but how do we put them on the RV? The little ones wouldn't be a problem but the big ones would take hours and probably give me a heart attack,” Trevor said.

  Rebecca smiled and pulled out her cell phone. “If you have a few dollars I know some college kids who are always looking to make a few bucks. Say the word and they'll have you decorated and ready to roll in about an hour.”

  Thinking of the safe aboard the RV they had for emergencies, Trevor nodded. “How much do you think it would cost?”

  “About two hundred if you want it done fast.”

  “Okay, make your calls. And if they ask about what they're doing just say it's for an alumnae or something,” Trevor said, staring at the unrolled giant green dragon decal with large lettering under it spelling out UAB Blazers.

  *****

  Sally clicked her tongue at her cat, Tom Sawyer, as she climbed down the porch steps. The cat turned his head a bit and yawned hugely.

  The old lady walked across the lawn heading for the storage shed where she thought there might be a few boxes of winter clothes that should fit Betty. Leaves crackled under her fuzzy green slippers and she couldn't resist kicking them a bit as she went.

  The cat stretched before meandering after her.

  If she'd remembered the possibility of there being some clothes in the shed, before he drove into town, she would have had Thomas come along to kill off any nasty spiders that might be lurking in the darkness. She wasn't really afraid of spiders as much as hated them. Clutching a can of bug spray in one hand and a key to the shed's padlock in the other, Sally felt more than ready to deal with any dangerous arachnids.

  Tom meowed up at her as she worked the key into the rusty padlock. It was difficult to get it to slide in and even harder to turn. She tucked the can of spray under her armpit and swore quietly as she wrestled with the lock until it finally snapped open.

  She shook the can for several seconds before opening the old wooden door. It creaked loudly when she pushed and only moved a few inches. The hinges were in desperate need of oil and she made a mental note to get Thomas to do it when he came home. Not wanting to take any chances with bugs, she sprayed inside through the partly opened doorway for a few seconds before leaning against the stubborn door.

  The cat sneezed and backed away as the old woman grunted and pushed. The door swung open easily after grudgingly moving along another inch or so. It slammed back against the wall and something clattered to the floor behind it.

  She coughed as a combination of dust and bug spray filled her old lungs. Backing up a few steps, she coughed for several seconds before managing to catch her breath. “Tom, I must be the most chicken brained old lady in the county,” she said, while looking at the cat that was playing with some leaves a few feet away. “You could argue with me, ya know.”

  She felt the breeze and inhaled deeply before turning back to the open doorway. Feeling along the wall, she found and flicked on the light switch. A dusty bare light bulb hanging from a rafter dispelled some of the darkness. The shed had once been used as a garage but over the decades it had filled up with so many treasures and junk that it was impossible to imagine fitting a car inside without having a huge yard sale first.

  Looking at the dozens of crates and cardboard boxes stacked and lined up beyond the lawnmower she whistled appreciatively. It reminded her of a scene from a movie with an archaeologist and adventurer where something (she couldn't recall exactly what) was stored in a giant warehouse. She hummed a snatch of tune she recalled from the movie and brandished the can of bug spray as she tottered inside. Looking at the old riding lawn mower, she wondered how many years it had been since Thomas had used it rather than pay the neighborhood kids to cut the grass.

  The cat smelled something inside that it didn't like and hissed softly from the open doorway.

  *****

  Police and other emergency personnel turned away from the backwash of wind and dust kicked up by the helicopter when it landed at the Ragland High School parking lot. In moments, Jake was strapped down on a gurney and rushed aboard. Seconds after the door slammed shut the helicopter leaped skyward and was heading toward Birmingham.

  Agent Shannon Mendez felt tired and was sick of answering questions.

  Technically, she didn't have to but out of professional courtesy she played along with the inquisitive members of local law enforcement. The only question she wouldn't answer was why she was in town in the first place. When pressed, she mentioned overhearing Deputy Fulton's radio call about a ghost sighting and upon hearing screams nearby tagged along.

  Deputy Fulton had been in and out of consciousness, but agreed with her version of what happened when he was lucid enough to talk. Investigators checked the deputy's dashboard video camera and saw what had happened as well. Upon review, there was considerable discussion about Kenny when he seemed undeniably dead (complete with intestines strewn out on the pavement) cr
awling after Orlando and grabbing his foot.

  Mendez hadn't commented as they speculated on what had happened. She watched the tape and saw the resolution wasn't very clear. When the moment came where she had seen the roach crawl out of the dead boy's ear she was relieved to note the dashboard camera hadn't picked it up.

  Orlando had been taken away earlier and police began returning to their regular patrols as Mendez leaned against the side of her SUV. She heard a soft whining and spotted the dog from earlier sitting nearby.

  It was staring in the direction the helicopter had gone.

  Reaching through the open passenger side window, she grabbed the bag of beef jerky her partner Hicks had left inside.

  “Hi pooch. Want some?” She asked softly, approaching the dog while holding out the heavily salted beef product.

  Frodo sniffed at the jerky and then looked up at her. His eyes were one of the saddest things she'd ever seen. He licked at it but wouldn't take it from her hand.

  She dropped it in front of the dog.

  Ignoring it, Frodo instead looked up at the sky in the direction the helicopter had taken Jake.

  She felt liked crying as she squatted down and gently stroked the dog's head.

  A deputy walked up and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

  “Excuse me, Agent Mendez, but the captain asked me to check again about Deputy Fulton's digital camera. We've searched the area and it's just not anywhere. Are you certain you haven't seen it?”

  Still stroking the dog's head, she turned and said, “I never saw it. Maybe it got taken with the prisoner or maybe it went with the kid going to the hospital. Hell, who knows? Maybe one of the paramedics or firemen took it.”

  “Um, yes ma'am. Thanks again for all your help. You think that dog belongs to the hurt kid?”

  She nodded but didn't say anything.

  There was an awkward silence before the deputy turned and went back to help finish wrapping up the crime scene.