The Others

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Not yet,” I say.

  He frowns. “That’s your grand plan? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  “We need an army. Aeron has one. We just need to convince them that attacking Dulce is their best option. You know them. Could they be motivated to move on the Others?”

  “First, I don’t know them in the way you’re implying. We’re not friends. At best, they’re competition. That’s how they see Chimera. Remember, I’m just part of a rival company to them. To me, they’re closer to the enemy. Their motivations are far from pure and have more to do with personal gain than saving people. They’re after alien tech, including that which can be derived from people like Jacob. I want to—”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, only half convinced. “Hop down off your soap box and hear your own words. If they’re after tech, I’m sure they’ve been eyeing Dulce. Probably even have plans worked up on how to do it.”

  “Without a doubt.” Lindo says. “From the beginning. But they also know it’s suicide.”

  “You of all people understand the concept of deception,” I say.

  “You have an idea?”

  “I do,” I say with a smile. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  A car horn outside the brothel blasts twice. I get to my feet. “Time to go.”

  When Lindo stands I put my hand on his shoulder, the tightness of my grip letting him know that what I’m about to say is not a joke. “One more thing.”

  He waits patiently as I think of the best way to say this. “I want an upgrade.”

  He looks at the room around us, smiling at the context. “I’m not sure what the going rate is.”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “I want what you have.” And when he still looks unsure about what I’m asking, I tap his forehead. “All of it.”

  35

  “You can demand all you want, but I’m telling you it’s not possible.” Lindo shakes his head, vehement in his denial.

  His position hasn’t changed since I requested my upgrade. Part of me is relieved. Altering my mind and body so severely isn’t something I want to do, but under the circumstances...

  “Never mind the fact that we don’t know what it would do to your fully human brain, I don’t have vats of nanites just lying around, ready to implant in people’s heads.” He’s still shaking his head.

  Despite his warnings, I still feel that having Lindo’s abilities would give us a tactical advantage.

  “Look, everything you believed and I told you about Chimera is a lie. There isn’t really a corporation. I’m not doing experiments. There isn’t a secret laboratory. It’s a smokescreen.”

  “Like the Others,” Wini points out.

  “But less nefarious,” he says.

  Lindo watches the steering wheel in front of him turn as the self-driving Model X Tesla—one of a fleet Lindo has around the country, capable of picking up people in trouble and ferrying them to safety—pulls off route 389 into Fredonia, Arizona, the town where Wini, Lindo, and Young previously bought weapons during our stay in nearby Colorado City. None of us were pleased by the Google-mapped route, but the fastest route from Vegas to Dulce is straight through the cult-run city and the entrance to the New Zion Ranch. The ranch’s entrance was blocked by a single Colorado City police cruiser, keeping the investigation—if there is one—under local authority’s control. We all ducked a little lower as we passed, but we made it through town without incident.

  “I have resources,” Lindo says, “but not the kind I let the world—and the Others—believe I have.”

  “You’re just one guy,” I say. “You’ve said that.”

  “But you put those things in his head already, right?” Wini says from the back seat. She’s seated beside Godin, while Young is in the third row. We’re three hours into our nine-hour drive to Dulce, staring down the rising sun, and are about to make a pit stop for supplies.

  “Not enough,” Lindo says. “And only as much as I could spare.”

  “They can’t self-replicate?” she asks.

  Lindo shrugs. “Look, I know what science fiction says they should be able to do, but I don’t know how they work, or how to make more. They can repair themselves, and me, but I only know that because of experience.”

  “Why not set up a lab to study them?” Young asks. “You have the money, right? If you can send some into Delgado, why not into a petri dish.”

  “You don’t study nanotech in a petri dish,” Wini points out.

  “Well, whatever,” Young says. “You know what I mean.”

  “Because making more nanites, and implanting them in people, which would require experimentation on the very people I’m setting free, would make me no different than the Others.” Lindo’s explanation kills the line of inquiry.

  The remaining five minutes until we reach our first stop are silent.

  When we pull up to a large, light blue warehouse with ‘Guns, Guns, Guns’ hand-painted on the side, I’m the only one who seems surprised. “Are you serious?”

  “Looks sketchy,” Godin says, “but they’re legit dealers.”

  “And they sold me a shit ton of guns, no questions asked,” Wini says, which furrows Godin’s brow.

  “They did what, now?” he asks.

  “Not the time to be a cop,” I say. “If we’re lucky, they’ll do the same again.” I turn to Wini. “How we doing on cash?”

  She pats her purse. “Still enough for a small arsenal.”

  I open my door and then pause, looking at Lindo and then Young. “Keep your eyes open for trouble.”

  “Pretty much what I do 24/7, man.” Lindo has the air of a professional baseball player who’s just been given advice by a little league kid.

  The Arizona heat distorts the air above the vast, mostly empty parking lot. I squint against the sun blazing in a cloudless sky.

  “How do you live here?” Wini grumbles.

  Godin, whose face is raised to the sky, eyes closed, smiles. “If you don’t enjoy the sun, this isn’t the place for you.”

  “I’d take the wettest, foggiest day in San Fran over this dry, chafing heat any day.” Wini adjusts her stride, separating her inner thighs.

  “No one wants to hear about your chafing bits.” I push the door open with a chuckle and am met by blessed air conditioning and the odor of metal, oil, and gunpowder.

  “Pretty sure there’s someone out there who’d be all over my chafing bits.” She pats my chest as she struts past the door I’m holding open. “It’s a weird world.”

  “Hello,” a young man says, from behind a glass counter where a collection of handguns is on display.

  “Like this guy,” Wini says, pointing to the kid. “Think you could handle me?”

  “H-handle you?”

  She leans on the counter, heaving her bosom atop her folded arms. “I’ve got a few minutes. Just give me a wet nap and a—”

  “Win,” I say.

  She pouts. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “You can flirt with teenagers when we’re done.”

  The kid raises a hand. “I-I’m twenty-two.”

  “You see?” Wini says. “Not even illegal this time.”

  I nearly lose my composure. All of this is for my benefit. Wini once told me she’d die happy if I was happy, too. She’s always gone out of her way to cheer me up, even when the stress of life affects us both.

  Godin leans in. “She being serious?”

  “Give her a wet-nap and find out,” I tell him and then approach the counter, slapping down a list of weapons, ammo, and other gear that Lindo researched via his nanites while the self-driving vehicle brought us here. I read the kid’s nametag and say, “That’s for you, Randy.”

  While we don’t have a military sized budget, we probably couldn’t buy much more without raising some serious red-flags, especially if they remember Wini from her less dramatic visit a few days ago. Randy scans the list, his eyes widening. “Holy shit.” He looks at me. “Sorry, but I gotta ask what all
this is for.”

  “Family bunker,” Godin says. “Never can be too prepared.”

  Randy gives a nod like it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever heard. I’m not sure who or what in the middle-of-nowhere, Arizona would need a bunker loaded with heavy-hitting guns, but everyone’s afraid of something these days.

  How much more afraid will they be when they learn the truth?

  Every adult and child might stroll around with a gun on the off chance an actual alien might abduct them. Granted, it seems like half the country already lives in that permanent state of fear, but things can always get worse.

  Lindo’s apprehension about revealing the Others’ presence makes a new kind of sense. Not only does he need to make sure there’s irrefutable evidence, but that the climate on Earth isn’t already volatile. Probably wouldn’t take long for people to realize the government has known the truth and maintained the status quo, allowing people to be kidnapped and subjected to experimentation. There could be anarchy and it might result in far more damage than the Others could inflict. Cryptos might be good at subterfuge, stealth, and tech, but when it comes to mass destruction and death, I think humanity still wears the tiara and sash.

  “Gonna need a few minutes,” Randy says, heading for the back room.

  “Take your time,” I say, betraying my own sense of let’s get the hell out of here. Being this close to Colorado City, not to mention still smack dab on the 37th parallel, feels like hanging out in enemy territory.

  Randy returns with an older man who could be his boss, his father, or both. The gray-haired, NRA-ball-cap-wearing man looks over the list, and then over at us. He hands the list back to Randy and sends him off.

  “Name’s Reg,” the old timer says, when he approaches, hands relaxed at his sides, but only a few inches from the handgun holstered on his hip. “Randy says you all are outfitting a bunker? Been thinking about doing that myself. Mind me asking what model you went with?”

  “Twenty by eighty Rising Admiral,” Godin says. “Room for the whole family.”

  Reg gives a nod. “That it is. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

  “Four hundred thousand,” Godin says, sounding a bit wounded by the price. “Not counting supplies. And not what we’re spending here, today.”

  Another nod from Reg. “‘Preciate the business. And I think I can make a few more recommendations for your home defense needs. And hunting, as the case may be, when things go south.”

  Reg doesn’t strike me as the talkative type, or a salesman. Most days, he probably doesn’t come out of that office, and doesn’t bother upselling customers. I glance around for Randy and find him pulling a pump action shotgun off the wall and depositing it in a cart filled with some of our other requests. He’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing, but Reg…he’s off. And I don’t think he’s trying to catch us in a lie either, just keep us engaged.

  I look back to Randy, loading shells into the cart, moving a little slow. The kid looks up, makes eye contact for a moment before looking away.

  Shit.

  In a fair draw, I’m pretty sure a gun enthusiast like Reg, even at his age, might be able to drop me at a hundred paces before I clear leather. But by the time he sees the revolver pointed at his face, it’s too late for him to react.

  “Don’t move,” I tell him, keeping my voice down and moving out of Randy’s line of sight. “Don’t even twitch.”

  “The hell are you doing?” Godin asks.

  I ignore him, slipping around the counter. Reg watches me with a killer’s eyes, waiting for me to slip up and give him a chance to prove how quick he can fire from the hip. But I don’t give him the opening, and the fight goes out of his eyes when I pull his weapon from its holster and hand it to Godin.

  “Delgado,” Godin whisper grumbles.

  To resolve Godin’s confusion, I ask Reg, “Who did you call?”

  When Reg responds with a gravelly, “Fuck you,” I press the revolver against the back of his head and give him a quick pat down. After locating the cell phone in his right pocket, I retrieve it and power it on. When it asks for a thumb print, I put it on the counter and force Reg’s hand on the sensor. Phone unlocked, I swipe down to reveal recent alerts and see my driver’s license photo, along with Wini’s, Godin’s, Lindo’s, and Young’s. The photos are plastered below an Amber Alert, featuring the names of six children and a phone number to call. Upon checking the recent calls, I confirm that Reg did indeed report us.

  “Look,” I tell him. “I want to treat you fairly here. You did the right thing. Problem is, we’re not the bad guys.”

  “Fuck you’re not.”

  “Those kids came from the New Zion Ranch,” Godin says. “You know it, yeah?”

  Reg purses his lips, fighting the urge to cuss us out again, and then says, “Yeah.”

  Godin digs out his wallet, opens it, and slaps it down, revealing his sheriff’s badge and ID. Reg looks it over, his posture going slack.

  “Those kids were rescued,” Godin says. “Not abducted. This alert...” he taps the phone. “...is from the Colorado City Marshal’s office. Now, who do you think controls them?”

  Reg deflates. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, you do now,” Godin says. “And unless you’re fixing for trouble, I suggest—”

  The door thumps open, allowing a stream of blinding sunlight into the shop, along with Young and then Lindo. I’m about to chew them out for leaving their position, and getting Reg riled up again, when I note the fear in their eyes.

  “We have incoming!” Lindo says. And the way he’s eyeing the guns tells me whoever is coming is nearly here.

  “Who?” Godin asks.

  “Locals,” Lindo says. “I think. But it won’t take long for Aeron to notice.”

  I release Reg, and tell him, “Those kids are safe. They’re not even in the state. But if we get caught, and they torture the information out of us…”

  Reg gives us each a solid stare, his eyes finishing their tour on Godin’s badge. “Any of you are lying, I’ll kill you myself.”

  The sound of approaching sirens sends a wave of tension through the group.

  “Not sure any of us will be alive for you to kill,” I say, as Godin returns Reg’s gun and I lower mine.

  “Horseshit,” Reg says, before cupping his hands to his mouth. “Randy! Code Red!”

  36

  Randy barrels to the front of the store, propelling the gun-laden cart like a battering ram-wielding Viking. But instead of wearing the face of a warrior, he looks mortified. “Code red? Are you serious?”

  “Have you ever known me to not be serious?”

  “Shit,” Randy says, backing away. “Damn it.” His wild eyes glance to me. “They’re not...”

  “They’re with us,” Reg says.

  “But the alert—”

  “Gonna have to trust me, boy,” Reg says, brimming with confidence that fades when Randy scurries off. He turns to me. “You make a liar outta me…”

  “I know, you’ll kill me.” I scan the large warehouse. “Now, how many entrances?”

  “Two,” he says, motioning to the back of the store with his head. “Back door is an emergency exit. Opens from the inside, not the outside.”

  “If it’s on hinges,” Godin says. “It’ll open with enough force.”

  I pluck two shotguns out of the cart and hand one to Wini and one to Young. The pair start loading shells into the weapons. “I want you two at the back. Anything opens that door, plug it and we’ll come running.”

  They strike out for the back, each carrying a shotgun and enough spare shells to ward off a battalion. It’s possible that some of the law enforcement gunning for us is legit, but I suspect the local Colorado City P.D. will only bring officers who have been compromised. After all, I don’t expect to be read my Miranda rights before being killed. And I doubt that a single page of paperwork will be filed. The only way to keep this under wraps and off the radar is to make sure everyone on
their way here, is already under control. As I prepare to defend our group, my conscience is clear.

  When they’re gone, I note Reg’s squinty-eyed stare.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You said ‘anything’ and ‘it’ when talking about who might be storming through my doors.” He leans into my comfort zone. “You leave anything out of your story?”

  “Depends on how open-minded you are,” I tell him.

  “Been living here my whole life. I’ve seen my fair share of shit. Lights in the sky. Them Trancers over in Colorado City. Black helos. Why do you think I’m surrounded by all this?” Reg motions to the vast array of heavy hitting armaments. “I prefer hot lead to tin foil, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’ve got the gist,” I tell him. I’m not about to get into the nuances of the alien-crypto agenda. I think he’s got the general idea, and whether or not some of it’s misinformation spewed by the Others, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as he’s pointing a gun in the right direction, he can believe the Others are sex-crazed goblins from another dimension.

  “Trancers?” Lindo asks, curiosity pulling him back from the front door where he’s been keeping watch. ‘Trancer’ must be a new term to him.

  “It’s when people get this real squirrelly look in their eyes and talk kind of monotone, like someone else is talking through them.” Reg gets a distant look in his eyes and does a spot-on impersonation of Harry and his family. “This is not your land. Hunting is not permitted here. Leave now.” He snaps out of it. “Happened to me and the boys when we were shooting hares over that way.”

  “Well, good news and bad news,” I say. “That’s who we’re up against. And maybe worse.”

  Reg’s eyebrows rise up, tugging his eyes toward the ceiling. He points at the roof, indicating the sky above. He asks the question when one eyebrow rises higher than the other.

  “Let’s hope not,” I say, feeling exhausted by the very idea of it.

  Reg seems motivated by the possibility of duking it out with otherworldly forces. “Randy!”

  “Coming!” Randy shouts from the back room.