Plot Line

by Alton Gansky

  “I . . . I can’t. I don’t have one of those electronic . . . thingies.”

  “You can’t get down here without an electronic key,” Rehnquist shouted. “Now open the elevator.”

  “I came down with someone else. He used his key. Don’t you have one?”

  “No. Of course not. They only they give them to people cleared to leave.” The gun dug into the flesh of his neck. “Okay, okay,” Rehnquist, babbled. “Think, think, think.”

  “Maybe we could move the gun—”

  “Shut up!” Rehnquist lowered his head for just a second then said, “Let’s go.” He seized the front of Ray’s shirt and spun him around. The muzzle of the gun was now pressed into the back of Ray’s skull. Ray struggled not to imagine what would happen if the crazed scientist pulled the trigger.

  “Go where?”

  “To the lab. I’ll get away from them one way or another.”

  “I don’t know where the lab is. I’ve never been here before.”

  “I know precisely where it is.

  Nine

  Ray jogged down the wide hall, Rehnquist pushing from behind. They had made three turns, each time the scientist shouted out a direction. “Right. Now left.”

  If there had been any doubt as to the man’s sanity, Ray dismissed them when a guard appeared around one corner. The man drew his weapon but hesitated when he realized Ray was a hostage. The hesitation was brief, but long enough for Rehnquist to shift the aim of the 9mm’s barrel from Ray’s head to the soldier’s chest. The sound of the shot bounced down the hall. The gun was close to Ray’s right ear and he screamed from the pain of the loud report. A sharp ringing stung his ear and tears poured from his eyes. The guard dropped dead, a widening red stain spread across the fallen man’s chest.

  Ray thought of his wife and daughter.

  “Move,” Rehnquist demanded. “I only have seconds. The rest will be here.”

  They rounded another corner and had taken less than ten steps when they heard excited and urgent voices behind them. “Man down. Medic! We need a medic.”

  The corridor came to an abrupt end. To Ray’s right was a pair of four-foot wide, steel doors. An electronic keypad was attached to the wall near the doors.

  Rehnquist had Ray’s collar bunched in his hand so tightly the shirt choked him. He tried to cough, but couldn’t. The gun’s muzzle, still hot from the shot, was pressed deeper into the base of his skull.

  The corridor was a dead end. No way out. The steel doors looked solid, immovable. Behind them came the sound of booted footfalls. Rehnquist spun Ray around and backed up the last few feet of the corridor. Moving the gun from the back of Ray’s head, he placed it just behind his right ear. “I’ll kill him,” Rehnquist shouted.

  The words rolled down the hall like a surge of water through a culvert. Ray was terror-stricken. As a novelist, he had written many scenes of tension, fear and violence, but this was not a chapter from one of his books. This was flesh-and-blood real. His flesh and blood.

  “Listen, buddy—”

  “Shut up!” Rehnquist twisted the gun deeper into the tender flesh of Ray’s ear.

  Two guards rounded the corner that Ray and his abductor had passed only moments before. The pain behind his ear cease. There was half-a-second of relief before Ray realized why the pain was gone.

  Rehnquist squeezed the trigger.

  One guard dropped. The other dove back behind the corner.

  A sound came from Ray’s left. The doors to the lab parted smoothly, driven by some unseen mechanism. Rehnquist didn’t hesitate. Charging through the doors, he pushed Ray in front of him.

  Ray felt something large and soft. A body. He saw the form of a woman stagger backward, fall and land hard on her back. He could hear the wind leave her lungs.

  The room was dim, lit in twilight making it difficult to see. Ray was vaguely aware of equipment, computer monitors and several people who had backpedaled when he and Rehnquist burst through the opening.

  “Close the door!” Rehnquist demanded. “Now, now, now. Close the door!”

  Ray heard a shot and cringed, pulling his head down like a turtle. He was relieved he had a head to pull down. The sound of the automatic doors closing behind him heightened his despair.

  “Against the wall,” Rehnquist ordered. Ray tried to move but the scientist held tightly to his collar. He felt the gun again. “Not you,” Rehnquist snapped. The collar tightened around Ray’s neck. “I said, everyone against the wall.”

  In the dusky light, Ray saw several people move to the wall that abutted the partition with the door. A few he recognized. Devlin was there as was the young man Devlin had introduced as Larry Quinn. There were also two men in uniforms: a general and a colonel. He was guessing at the rank of the latter, but he knew a general’s star when he saw one.

  “You too,” barked Rehnquist.

  At Ray’s feet was a corpulent woman. She had been sprawled on her back. Rising slowly, she rubbed the back of her head and cast a threatening look at Rehnquist. She showed no fear, just barely controlled fury.

  “Have you gone mad, Rehnquist?” the general asked. “There’s no way out of here. You’ve just cornered yourself in an impossible situation.”

  “I no longer care. I thought I could get away, but they won’t let me. They’re here, in my head. If I can’t get away alive, neither will they, and neither will you. This has to stop. Someone has to end it.”

  “It’s not as bad as it seems,” the general said. “You’re just looking at it from the wrong perspective.”

  “Do not patronize me, General. I’m a smart man. I am not delusional.”

  “You’re not acting very smart,” Quinn said.

  “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “I’m here to help.” Quinn took a step forward.

  “Quinn,” Devlin said. “You had better stay put.”

  “It’s all right,” Quinn answered. “Dr. Rehnquist is a smart man, just like he said. He knows this is a hopeless situation.” He took another tentative step forward.

  “Don’t press your luck, son.” Rehnquist words were cold and measured.

  “I don’t believe in luck.” Quinn took another step. “We were just headed out. You couldn’t have gotten in otherwise. Maybe it’s fate’s way of saying it’s time to stop this.”

  He’s going to rush us. How stupid can this guy be? He may get Rehnquist down, but not before he fires a shot—maybe several shots.

  “I’m not playing,” Rehnquist said.

  “We know that—” Quinn’s last word was obliterated by the sound of Rehnquist’s handgun. The force of the impact knocked Quinn off his feet. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  It sickened Ray. Sick with fear and shock. Sick with the sight of another man dying. Sick with the knowledge this would be his last day alive.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” the general shouted.

  “I didn’t lose it, General. They took it.”

  The pressure behind Ray’s head evaporated—Rehnquist pointed with the gun. Cutting his eyes to the right, Ray saw a room, except it wasn’t a room, not one with walls. A curtain of water ran from the ceiling to the floor, but did so in near silence. It looked like a circular waterfall forming a vertical tube. Something was moving inside the enclosure, but the churning water kept Ray from seeing clearly. Whatever was behind the fluid screen was the source of Rehnquist’s agitation.

  The concussive blast of another shot being fired echoed in the cavernous space. Another shot. Rehnquist was firing into the cascading wall of water.

  There was a scream and Ray’s collar loosen. Rehnquist had let go.

  “DOWN!” someone shouted.

  Ray lurched and dove to the ground, crawling away from the insane scientist as fast as he could.

  Pop. Pop.

  More shots were fired. Ray covered his head.

  Silence.

  The only sound was the waterfall now less than a meter away.

  Still o
n his belly, Ray turned and looked behind him, to the place where he stood a moment before with the burning barrel of a gun in his neck. Rehnquist lay on the ground, his arms and legs at an awkward angle. Even in the dim light of the lab, he could see a widening pool of blood.

  Another man lay next to Rehnquist, a uniformed man. It was the colonel. Three were dead on the ground, and for what?

  Devlin stood to the side, two meters from where he had been standing when Rehnquist was in control. He held a small gun in his hand. It was pointed at the unmoving body of the scientist. There was a dark spot on the left shoulder of Devlin’s suit coat. He had been hit, yet he stood rock still, seemingly oblivious to any pain.

  Things moved slowly for Ray. He watched as the general stepped to the door and entered a code on the adjoining keypad. The doors opened and six heavily armed security men rushed in.

  The large woman joined Devlin; they walked to Quinn. Neither spoke but Ray could see sorrow on their faces.

  A new thought occurred to Ray. He was alive; alive and unwounded. The terror he felt previously melted away and was replaced by an inrush of relief. He would live; he would see his family again. At that moment, nothing was more important.

  He rose on shaky legs and took several deep breaths. The air was sterile, empty of any odors. Behind him the water continued to fall. Standing closer now, he could hear the soft whooshing sound it made.

  Ray turned to the water curtain. There was movement as if a diver swam inside. Cocking his head, Ray tried to grasp what he was seeing.

  “Step away from there, Ray,” he heard Devlin say. “It would be better if you came with me and—”

  A shadow appeared on the water, small at first then larger. The shadow was ovoid, thicker at the top than at the bottom. It reminded Ray of an inverted pear—a pear twice the size of his own head.

  A face appeared. It poked through the water with alarming speed and Ray jolted back. He looked at its face and recoiled. He took another step back and the face followed. Ray could now see the whole head and it was hideous. His heart hammered and twisted in his chest. His stomach turned.

  He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. Something was in his head, right behind his eyes. It was growing.

  Growing.

  Expanding.

  “No,” Ray said. “NO.”

  Blackness flooded his mind.

  he was in a hospital bed trying to exorcise the images that played in his brain. Devlin had come in.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I wasn’t injured.” Ray spoke softly.

  “No, but you received quite a shock. It’s not everyday a writer is held hostage, witnesses a gun battle, watch men die and . . .”

  “It’s the ‘and’ that bothers me most, Devlin. What did I see? Why am I so terrified?”

  Devlin pulled a fiberglass chair to the side of the bed and sat. “We need to talk about that, Ray. You saw something you weren’t supposed to see.”

  “They were the aliens you told me about on the surface.”

  “Right. I only told you so you would know what Rehnquist might say if he got out and started yammering all over town. We needed a cover story.”

  “So it’s all real. I thought you were putting me on, giving me a cover story for a cover story, a lie around which to wrap another lie. But it’s real. I saw them with my own eyes.”

  “Ugly buggers aren’t they?” Devlin chuckled.

  “Ugly isn’t strong enough.” Ray shook his head. “So there really is life out there?”

  “They’ve been around a lot longer than we have.” Devlin said.

  “But why keep it secret?”

  “That was their idea. I don’t have all the details. It’s not my project. I had a little to do with the initial contact, but mostly I worked on keeping it secret. It appears they’re a little shy.”

  “What are they called? What was the waterfall all about? Do they have to stay in there? Why was Rehnquist so upset? Why did he try to kill them?”

  Devlin raised a hand. “Easy, buddy. That’s a lot of questions.” He paused, looked at his shoes, and then returned his gaze to Ray. “I can’t answer your questions, Ray. I feel bad about it. You handled yourself like a pro. No panic, no emotional breakdown, just professional detachment. I’m impressed.”

  “I was frightened beyond belief,” Ray confessed.

  “So was I. No shame there.”

  “How’s the side?” Ray asked.

  Devlin raised his arm and slowly moved it in a circle. “It’s okay. It’s just a scratch really. Took three stitches to close it up, but I’ll live.”

  “That’s good,” Ray said.

  “I wish I could tell you more about all this. You’d find it all very interesting, I’m sure.”

  “I understand.”

  “There’s something more.” Devlin leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “You have already been sworn to secrecy about the work you do. I must remind you that you can’t talk about any of this. Not the base, not the shooting, and not the aliens.”

  “I figured.”

  “I want you to sign another nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “It is. This is very serious. You now know things that senators, cabinet members, and the vice-president don’t know.”

  “So the president knows?”

  “I can’t talk about that. Just assure me you will never mention this to anyone—ever.”

  “I’ve already made that promise.”

  “You’ll need to make it again, Ray. If you do talk about these things, you could be charged with treason, or worse.”

  “What could be worse?”

  Devlin rose, ignoring the question. “Someone will be in with the document.” He turned to leave.

  “Devlin. The woman in the lab, the one I ran into when Rehnquist shoved me through the door. She looked familiar to me. She was the one at the bookstore, wasn’t she? The obnoxious one.”

  Devlin shrugged, smiled, then exited the room.

  Part 3

  Do you not know that we will judge angels? How much more matters of this life?

  —1 Corinthians 6:3

  Ten

  The moon was a sliver crescent in a cloudless sky. Stars hung in the black velvet night. Ray watched as a high-flying commercial plane floated leisurely across the black sky, its red and white running lights blinking on and off as if winking at him.

  Ray felt watched, studied by an unseen observer as he sat at the picnic table in his backyard. A chill, unrelated to the cool night, ran icy fingers down his spine.

  It had been three weeks since the bloody conflict below the desert soil of New Mexico. Three weeks of distance and separation, but it seemed as if it happened yesterday. For him it was not a one-time event, not a singular occurrence. It repeated. Every night—every time he closed his eyes—it happened all over again; a horrific videotape stuck in an endless loop. The images were so real, unlike any nightmare he had ever experienced.

  The gun battle replayed itself; the dead bodies splayed on the concrete floor; the enigmatic cylindrical curtain of water in its endless cascade from the high ceiling; and the face. Oh, dear God the face. It was a phrase Ray had uttered a thousand times. The face. The face.

  Ray made his living with words. They were his companions. There had never been a situation or a sight he could not describe. No matter how shocking, no matter how macabre, there had been words to portray it—but not now. What color portrayed the blue tinted gray-green face? What terms could depict the knotty texture of the skin? How could he illustrate the eyes, the pools of pupil-less blackness? There was intelligence behind those eyes, knowledge of things Ray couldn’t and didn’t want to know.

  The nightmares had come every night since the event. That’s how he referred to it, “The event.” Better to use an innocuous phrase than some term that told the truth of the terror, he reasoned. No matter what term he used to describe it, it was inadequate.

&nbs
p; The first nightmare came as he rested in the underground base’s medical clinic. Although unhurt by the violence, Devlin had insisted he rest a full night before being allowed to go home. There had been no rest that night or any night since.

  That was three weeks ago. Twenty-one days that seemed eternally past and as recent as breakfast. Twenty-one days to stew and agonize. It was unnatural. Sure he’d seen the unbelievable and been a victim of violence, but should it all seem so intense? Why did his emotions remain so overpowering?

  “Mr. Beeman?” Ray jumped at the sound of the unexpected male voice. He snapped his head around and saw a man in casual dress standing a short distance away. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” the man said. Ray recognized him: Dale Shackleton, the minister from Skeeter’s church.

  “No . . . I was just lost in thought.”

  “I don’t generally sneak up on people,” Shackleton said, walking to the table. “Especially at night. May I join you?” His speech was soft and understated like a man with bad news to deliver.

  “Skeeter’s in the house. At least she was when I came out here.”

  “I know,” Shackleton said. “It’s you I’ve come to see.” He took a seat on the bench opposite Ray.

  Ray shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not good company.”

  “That’s all right. I can entertain myself.”

  “Did Skeeter put you up to this?” Ray asked. It was a blunt question, but his manners had dissolved along with his sense of security.

  “Yes she did. She’s worried about you. So is Mrs. Beeman.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

  Shackleton stared at him for a moment. The conversational pause crawled at a snails pace. Finally, Shackleton spoke: “Mr. Beeman—”

  “Ray.”

  “Of course. I’m not here to pry, Ray. I’m here so one man can have another man to talk to.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Another moment of silence crawled by. “Night terrors, loss of appetite, weight loss, mood swings—”