She had no time to chat, but paused by a cluster of people visiting in a small common area. She found her childhood best friend, her law school study partner, and her kindergarten teacher.
“Can’t stay,” she mumbled. “I’m late for my final exam.”
This was a final she had not studied for. In fact, she hadn’t even attended class. She had forgotten to go to class all semester. She wasn’t sure what the class was about, but she had to pass this final to graduate from law school. She hoped she could fake her way through.
Her friends ignored her, jabbering away. Glancing at her wrist for the time, Linda noticed two things. She wasn’t wearing her watch, and she wasn’t wearing her pants. Standing there, bare legged with friends, late for a test she wasn’t prepared for, her only thought was that maybe nobody would notice her if she didn’t move.
* * *
With a start, Agent Allen sat up in bed, soaked in cold sweat. How she hated that dream. She always had it when she couldn’t handle the stress. Lately, she had been drowning in stress.
She plopped her head back down on the scrawny, smelly pillow. Even with the air conditioning going full blast, it was insufferably hot. It didn’t help that the air conditioner made a loud rattling noise when it clicked on. She didn’t know which was worse: the noise or the heat.
The NSA had allowed her to move out of the mansion in Trona and take a room at the Motel 6 in Ridgecrest. It was a decision she was beginning to regret. As creepy as the mansion was, the beds at least were comfortable. Though, it was just as hot there. For comfort, she slept in an extra, extra large yellow and purple Lakers tee shirt. If her friends back in Connecticut knew she had switched allegiance from the Celtics to the Lakers, they would have a fit. But, when in Rome . . .
The move to Ridgecrest had been necessary. She needed to hide Camm away from all the action at the mansion and around Trona. Glancing over at the other bed, she watched Camm groaning and mumbling in her sleep. Suddenly, Camm’s arms flailed and her legs kicked as she screamed, “Stop! No! No!” Agent Allen knew from experience that Camm dreamed about the rat. There was nothing the agent could do, except stay clear so she didn’t get a fist in the face.
At first, she had tried waking Camm from the nightmare, only to be punched for her efforts. Camm could throw a powerful punch, even in her sleep. Agent Allen quickly realized it was better to stay out of the way and let the nightmare pass on its own, usually after a minute or so. It was certainly safer that way—safer for Agent Allen.
Camm wouldn’t talk much about her nightmare. But one night after she awoke from a particularly long-running dream, Camm had curled up on top of the bed, her back pressed to the headboard, clutching a pillow to her chest. Eyes filled with horror, she said in her dream she was being eaten alive by the rat while everyone else around her was mutilated and dead.
Agent Allen shuddered, thinking her own stress dream didn’t seem so bad when compared with Camm’s nightmare. There were worse things than flunking a final in your underwear. Also, Camm’s nightmare came regularly on its own, whether Camm was under stress or not.
Tonight it only took a minute until Camm fell silent and resumed her heavy breathing. She didn’t snore, but in deep sleep each breath seemed to resonate in her lungs, especially when she was lying on her back. Eventually, she turned onto her side, and her breathing became more rhythmic, more peaceful. Once again, Camm was fast asleep.
Awake or asleep, the heat didn’t bother Camm. After growing up in Trona, she was clearly accustomed to it. Grabbing her phone, Agent Allen checked the local temperature on her weather app. Almost one hundred degrees in Ridgecrest. At 2:00 a.m.!
Getting up, Agent Allen walked to the window and pulled back the blinds, careful not to wake Camm. Her second-story room looked east across China Lake Boulevard toward the hills that sheltered Trona in the distance. The night sky in that direction shimmered wildly. A weird light emanated from high in the atmosphere above Trona’s location.
Agent Allen had been to Northern Alaska and seen the aurora borealis. This was similar, but not exactly the same. Bright clouds and strange lights came in and out of focus. With her phone already in hand, she switched it into video mode and made a recording of what she saw.
A large portion of the eastern sky was bending and twisting. Stars sprang into view and then disappeared for no apparent reason. Even stranger, a broad full moon would suddenly materialize in the sky above Trona and hang there as if it were a twin to the full moon hanging in the sky above Ridgecrest.
The moon above Ridgecrest was doing what it always did, shining clear and steady as it had done for eons. That moon was connected with this world. But the moon above Trona was an interloper. After shining brightly for several minutes, it would fade from view, apparently leaving this world to return to its own. In a few moments, it would again materialize, so the night sky was filled with the light from two large full moons. Outside, the streets of Ridgecrest were awash in bright moonlight.
Agent Allen pinched herself hard, making sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Behind her, Camm groaned and mumbled incoherently. No, Agent Allen was not sleeping. She was wide-awake and witnessing a waking, real-world nightmare.
Agent Allen heard the deep roar of military aircraft high in the sky. Craning her neck, she watched three Navy jets streak across the sky towards Trona, apparently investigating the same phenomena she was observing. Someone must be awake on the base at this late hour, probably at all hours. Two moons in the sky would be worth scrambling a few pilots for a closer look.
As she watched, the three jets screamed east and disappeared into the darkness. In their wake, they left ghostly white, high-altitude contrails that reflected the dazzling light of the two full moons and seemed to connect one moon with the other. Agent Allen couldn’t help but wonder if someone watching the sky from under the alien full moon could see the three contrails as well.
Eventually, the other full moon stopped appearing, and the contrails faded into the darkness. The stars stabilized as the glimmer effect faded. She turned off the video as the effect dissipated, and then disappeared. The shimmering was gone. The night sky looked normal again, as solid and unmovable as it had always been.
In spite of the heat, a chill crawled down her spine. She doubted the military knew any more than she did about the twisting night sky—they probably knew less, a lot less. Agent Allen didn’t believe in premonitions. She believed in cold, hard logic, but she could not deny that she had a bad, bad feeling about what had happened in the sky above Searles Valley.
Something big was happening there, or, she amended, something big was preparing to happen. Natural forces were flowing like the tide, toward some gigantic end. Things were starting to escalate beyond human understanding, out of human control.
Agent Allen didn’t know if she wanted to be around for that culmination—whatever it was.
VI
Lenny paced, circling round and round. Dude! This wasn’t here yesterday.
Lenny stared at half a car, the rear half. Markings on the trunk said it was a Nova. Cut cleanly in half, it had been thrown violently across the desert floor, leaving tracks where it had rolled across bushes and boulders before coming to a stop in the middle of nowhere. The car had landed upright on its two rear wheels. The trunk was dented, but hadn’t opened.
Lenny wanted to kick it open, but he was barefoot. In fact, he was almost naked. Instead, he grabbed a big rock and banged it against the trunk’s lock. The trunk popped open. Inside he found a backpack, containing a file of legal papers, a bottle of SoBe Lifewater, and three candy bars. He started to toss the candy bars back when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Dude!” he said, startled, and turned to see Cheqipa, one of the indigenous people he had been living with. Cheqipa smiled broadly and answered, “Dude!”
These little guys could sneak up on you before you realized it. Cheqipa always pop
ped up at the strangest times. He seemed to like Lenny, and Lenny liked him. Whenever Lenny had a question, Cheqipa was suddenly there to help. Lenny handed Cheqipa the candy bars.
“Is it time to go to the mansion?” Lenny asked. He talked to them even though he knew they didn’t understand what he was saying. Sometimes they talked to him too, with the same result.
Lenny pursed his lips, pointing his face in the direction of the mansion with a questioning look on his face. Cheqipa understood and stopped sniffing the candy bars to point in the same direction, adding, “Dude,” with a grumpy face to indicate the elders were waiting for Lenny.
The two took off at a casual trot, Cheqipa matching Lenny’s slower speed.
Lenny, a tanned surfer, had taken to wearing a breach cloth, like Cheqipa and the other men in the village. And like the others, he ran or jogged wherever he went. He had already had a long, blond ponytail, which he now wore in a braid down the middle of his back, similar to the long braids of black hair worn by the local natives. On top of everything else, he had started eating the same foods his hosts ate, including highly prized, oversized insects and reptiles.
Lenny had soon realized that many unusual creatures could be made into appetizing meals if properly prepared and cooked. Fortunately, these local people liked to eat and knew what they were doing when it came to cooking up all kinds of strange and elaborate feasts.
The young men of the village were skilled hunters and often ran to ground the gigantic animals that lived in this dimension. Lenny had watched them run in tag teams continuously day and night until their prey collapsed from exhaustion. Then, with only stone blades on wooden handles, the team killed and butchered their catch. Giant animals provided a lot of meat. With the largest animals, the villagers feasted for weeks, preserving the meat with salts from the dry lakebed.
Lenny smiled, thinking of his hosts trying to figure out what to do with candy bars. Many fruits and seeds had inedible shells or husks, so he figured they would easily get past the plastic wrappings. But what would they do with the chocolate, caramel concoction inside? Having witnessed their culinary skills, he was excited to see what new, creative dish they would invent.
After switching to an all-natural diet, candy bars no longer held any appeal for Lenny. The water bottle was another matter. Water, of any sort, was too valuable to waste, and a refillable container was a one-of-a-kind treasure.
With some guilt, he realized the bottle was one possession he wasn’t willing to share.
VII
It was so hungry its eyes watered, green viscous tears streaming down its dirty, matted fur. Desperate for food, it did not know where to look for prey.
All the helpless humans were gone. It had searched through the valley for signs of them. The wild animals were scrawny and scarce and no longer satisfying.
The strange humans banded together with weapons of power. They came out only in bright daylight, when it could not hunt. Only in the safety of darkness did it dare venture out of hiding.
But, at last, tonight, it smelled something new. The sun was down. A fresh human scent filled the night air. This human was close and alone. The scent was strong and getting stronger.
Its eyes no longer watered. Its mouth watered instead. No more waiting! A feast was coming!
* * *
Agent J. R wandered among deserted houses, glad to be away from the other agents. He felt they unfairly blamed him for shooting Agent Kline full of LSD.
It wasn’t my fault. He fumed. Mr. C did not plan the assault properly and Agent Kline was crowding me. They’re all a bunch of idiots. Subconsciously, he rubbed the fresh scar where Agent Allen had split his lip. Someone really needs to put that witch in her place!
He was not supposed to be out at night by himself, but why not? He was a grown man and didn’t appreciate being treated like a child by that antique NSA scientist. The old man could tell the other agents how to live their lives, but not J. R
It was very late. Actually, it was now in the early hours of the morning, and everyone else was asleep. J. R was on guard duty, but nothing was happening. Lately, nothing ever happened. He struggled to stay awake and was taking a short walk to sharpen his wits.
A wind had whipped up as usual, starting about the time the sun went down. The blustering wind was no help with the heat though. Even at night, the coolest temperature hovered just below a hundred degrees. The wind, instead of providing relief, felt like a blast furnace.
Still, it was a relief to be out of the mansion, beneath the stars. The dry air provided a clear view of the heavens. J. R had never seen as many stars as he did now in the moonless desert sky.
He knew the beast, the giant rat, or whatever, was still on the prowl around town, or so the others said. Granny claimed he had seen the rat up in the mountains, but no one had spotted it in the deserted town for many weeks. After fending off the train-sized snake in the mansion, the one that almost killed Mr. C, they had told J. R the whole story, or at least as much as anyone knew.
As a precaution, J. R now carried a powerful flashlight. His service revolver was tucked securely in its shoulder holster. He was an experienced, highly-trained government agent and prided himself on being deadly accurate with his .9 mm pistol. Always prepared for the worst, he carried extra clips of ammo on his belt. J. R could eject a spent clip and upload a full clip in less than a second. He knew what he was doing. He was ready for whatever might come his way.
* * *
Humans could not smell as it could, but humans could smell the odors wafting from its body and were repulsed. Tonight, the wind was its friend. Tracking this prey from downwind, it followed the scent easily and kept the human from catching its own scent.
It needed little light. Starlight was enough. With no moon, the night was right for hunting. Its eyes hunted best in the dark.
There! It spied its prey, a lone human, an adult male, as the scent had foretold. One of the strange ones had foolishly left the mansion alone at night. This one was ripe for picking.
It had not eaten human for so long. It would feed well tonight.
* * *
Agent J. R stretched his arms and yawned. How long was this assignment going to last? He was so done with it, done with this stinky, mining town, done with those bossy old men. He was done with crazy, giant creatures that appeared out of nowhere and disappeared the same way. And, especially, he was done with that snobby FBI agent who walked around as if she owned the place.
He had had his fill of her. It really griped him that the old men had authorized her to stay in a Ridgecrest motel. Why should she get air conditioning, but not the NSA agents?
Stopping to study the night sky, he found Orion, his favorite constellation. Next, he located the Big Dipper. Following the direction of the line along the front edge of the dipper, he traced a path out to the Little Dipper and North Star. Yep, there’s the North Star, in the north, where it belongs.
He yawned again. Well, I should be heading back, before anyone wakes up and misses me.
Whirling about-face in the middle of the street, he started back towards the mansion.
* * *
It preferred the younger, more tender prey. But, this one would do. Any human would do.
No! Its prey had turned, heading back to the mansion. It would not let this one get away.
Slinking low to the ground, it stretched its stride, then hurried its pace. Soon, it broke into a lope, and finally into a silent run. It would not lose this prey. It ran faster!
Two soundless bounds and it hit its prey from behind, landing a forepaw on each shoulder, knocking the prey face down on the ground. Air exploded from the human’s lungs.
For a moment, its prey was incapacitated. It would be helpless for a few seconds only, but that would be enough.
Standing on the human’s back, it bent over and placed its long, nasty green incisors on eith
er side of the human’s spine. It knew just where and how hard to bite. There was a snap and a crunch. The prey trembled, paralyzed now.
It smelled fear, the acrid scent of desperation being released by human sweat pores. The prey was alive, gasping for air, trying to regain its breath, but could not move, could not resist.
It preferred to eat live prey. The meat was fresh; the blood was hot.
It liked to eat the thigh meat first. The meat was good. A feast at last!
* * *
Doors banged. Lights glared. Mr. S stomped around the mansion, talking loudly to himself, arguing with himself. It was still dark outside, in the wee hours of the morning. But with the heat too intense for sleeping, he was up and moving, clearly upset about something.
Usually he stayed in Ridgecrest, close to Mr. C, but the old men had argued over a new plan, so Mr. S had stayed the night in the mansion, avoiding Mr. C. Soon, Mr. S had the other agents awake and wondering what had happened. They all guessed the old men were making a major shift in the basic strategy of the Swift Creek operation, but no one knew what.
One by one, agents gathered in the mansion’s poolroom, watching Mr. S march back and forth, hoping he would finally explain the new plans to everyone. A few days earlier, Mr. S had spoken privately with Granny about his plans. Granny had taken issue with something, but nothing he said would change the old man’s mind. Now, Granny was even more tight-lipped than Mr. S.
“How ‘bout a game of eight-ball?” Granny stared around the room at the bleary-eyed agents. There were no takers. They knew Granny only played for money. The two old men were good at pool, but Granny was better. He never lost.
“Where’s J. R? Is he still on guard duty?” Granny asked out loud, to no one, or to everyone. “He’s always good for a game or two.”
Fatal Green Page 5
