Allan and Jill were petrified.
A sound like popcorn popping came from the tower, drawing their attention.
“Everyone get in front of Columbus!” Lee ordered.
“You want us to get closer to the gas?” Allan screamed back in disbelief.
Lee grabbed him by the hair and pulled, running to crouch behind the large block-shaped base of the statue. The rest of the group followed suit, Nana and LARS carrying SIMI’s limp body across their shoulders.
As they huddled, the thup-thup-thup of their evac chopper approached. Allan looked at the chopper, then Lee. She lowered her eyelids and made sure he knew she didn’t want him, or any of them, to move a muscle.
“I’m going to lower you a winchman,” a booming voice from above said. It might have been the voice of God himself for all Allan cared, he just wanted to get out of there. He looked at Lee again. She looked back sternly, as if she didn’t give a lick for their rescuing angels hovering above. She looked up and shook her head and her hands at the pilot.
The chopper pilot, sensing the same danger, pulled up and away. Allan opened his mouth to protest. Before he could say a word, Lee’s patience was rewarded. The tower sparked from the inside, shaking the entire hill. Flames climbed the little stairway up to the observatory on the roof and into the sky.
As if recognizing the flaming tower as the great eye, Gandalf scratched Jill and escaped, running back down the hill away from the tower-turned-torch.
“Don’t!” Lee screamed as Jill moved toward the edge, preparing to follow her cat. “It’s not over yet.”
The little group huddled under Christopher Columbus saw the intense light turning the tower into a new beacon that even Lady Liberty would envy. Christopher, however, would have to take another beating. Bits of concrete, metal, trees—anything near the entrance to the tower—came blasting at them faster than a bullet. Everyone quickly understood the need to huddle there.
Although they felt the vibrations of the shrapnel hitting the other side of the block, they couldn’t hear it, thanks to the deafening shock wave preceding it. The blast wind rushed back towards the tower, bringing smaller airborne pebbles and smoke rushing past.
Allan got a lung-full of SIMI’s charred flesh and vomited. This cued the group to separate and test the talents of the chopper winchman. They ran to the far side of the parking lot with their backs to the flaming tower.
They searched the sky for a few tense moments, praying their angels were still up there somewhere. Temporarily deafened by the shock wave they had no hope of hearing the winchman’s instructions.
Another agonizing few seconds later the helicopter made a triumphant appearance, glittering rotors pushing the smoke into a mesmerizing swirl of gray and orange. The group lost each other in the haze as ashes from the smoldering tower nipped at them.
Allan fell to his knees, as close to praying as he’d ever been. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder, then a forceful embrace and a rush of wind. A heartbeat vibrated in the air, the thumping of the blades getting closer. Cold corrugated aluminum pressed his face. Allan let it numb the rest of his senses for a moment.
The cold metal made patterns on his face while sparks danced across his back as the rescue crate hoisted him up. Allan would have kept his eyes closed anyway, as the experience of the winch pulling up through smoke, swaying back and forth as the chopper struggled to stay balanced in the updraft, became nauseating even to the experienced pilots who followed him.
Once everyone was secured the chopper banked forward. Allan opened his eyes as they pulled away from Telegraph Hill. A ring of fire supporting a central column of flame reached nearly thirty meters into the sky. The dark silhouette of a one-armed, but still elegantly caped Christopher Columbus, looked up at them, pleading for help.
Inside the belly of the chopper things weren’t much better. If anyone deserved help it was SIMI. The winchman tried to resuscitate him, but Lee put a stop to it. The fire had either melted clothing into SIMI’s body or burned it off completely. Covered in third degree burns, just touching SIMI caused his body to disintegrate further. He lay on the stamped metal floor and LARS clung to him like an ashen doll that might fly away in a strong wind.
As they drew further up into the sky, smoke began to obscure Telegraph Hill until only the loose, concentric, orange circles of flame remained in an inky receding depth.
“Are we going back to Edwards?” Lee asked the winchman.
“We’re taking you to Beale.”
The pilots looked at each other, wondering what the constant shifting of locations meant for their ever-changing mission parameters. And what would be done with SIMI.
“Are our birds there?”
“Your planes? I have no idea.”
The frustration clear on his face, she stopped questioning the winchman. He was just following orders like the rest of them.
“What was his name?” the winchman coldly asked, a rivulet of corrugated metal separating him and his rescues. The words floated over SIMI’s motionless body, a mass of charred meat arranged in the shape of a man.
Lee longed for a flag, or anything, to cover the corpse with, but the spartan rescue chopper had nothing. She reached out and touched SIMI’s arm, still hot. The others joined.
“SIMI, Stopped Ignoring Major’s—”
“No, his real name.”
That was much harder for Lee to say. She’d never faced real combat before the Event, let alone lost someone under her command.
“Lieutenant Alvin Jose Camarillo, Junior.” Lee’s voice cracked as she spoke. “The best pilot in Hawaii. A brother. A son. A soldier. Our friend.”
Chapter 10
After touching down, the winchman opened a compartment and helped smooth SIMI’s body into a body bag. Without a word they separated and the pilots saluted the winchman as the chopper flew back toward the bay.
The pilots carried SIMI’s body down the tarmac toward a deserted-looking Beale Air Force Base while the two scientists followed close behind. The lights near the helipad turned off after they landed. Apparently another landing wouldn’t be expected for some time.
“Why’d they shut off the lights?” LARS asked with caution.
“This must not be the most secure site,” Lee guessed. “It’s isolated, but there’s a town not far out, I saw it on the way in, lit up with emergency generators. I’m guessing, just like Edwards, they’ve got all their people and equipment in use, which means up in the sky. Like any good base they’ve probably got a pretty good storage hold for food and water, something the locals are likely to realize before too long. Best to make it look abandoned if they can.”
“If memory serves, this base hasn’t been a public relations accomplishment for the Air Force,” Nana added.
As they walked toward one of the dark buildings by the runway, Allan did a double-take at the only other aircraft, a C-40 in blue and white Air Force livery resting outside a hangar.
“Déjà Vu?” Jill asked.
“Maybe. This base looks familiar, even though there’s no way I’ve been here before.”
“Traitors and hipsters,” LARS boasted. “That’s what Nana was talking about. A few years ago this base was all over TV because they tried to do an ‘occupy’ movement on it. Protesting the drones, Chelsea Manning, and all that. Bet you they’d love our help now, though.”
“Maybe,” Allan admitted. “I didn’t pay much attention to all that.”
“Then the B1, B2, dragon lady and blackbirds, might have been it,” Lee clarified. “Beale’s a reconnaissance base for Air Force Intelligence. Half the promo shots you ever saw of our declassified spy planes were shot on this tarmac. That’s part of why they protested-all the drone killings.”
“And now they’re all up there?” Jill asked, pointing at the sky.
“I’m sure,” Lee answered. “Now they’re our eyes in the sky. Every spy plane and drone we own is probably on never-ending flight duty until this all gets sorted out. Until you two sort it
out, I guess.”
As the group closed in on a large one-story building, a door on it opened. The first signs of life appeared in the middle of the barren desert base miles from Yuba City, California.
A young man came out to greet them. Allan studied the patches on the man’s arms, starting to think studying military rank and insignia might prove useful as long as he remained their practical prisoner.
“I see you’ve got our PhDs, but lost one of the bubbas,” the young soldier said.
“Yes, sir,” Lee said, without dropping her grip of the body bag to salute him.
Eight more men in uniform joined as they approached the base door. They quite forcefully took over the responsibility of transporting SIMI’s body. The bubbas were reluctant to let go at first.
“We’ve got this, Lieutenants,” a gruff but respectful soldier assured them.
As the new soldiers took control of transporting the body, the young man who left the building put his hand up to stop the pilots and scientists from following.
“I need you all to stay out here with me a moment. I’ll only give you two orders tonight and then you can relax, if that’s possible. First, you cannot speak of what you’ve seen or where you’ve been to anyone on base. Second, you are to go to barracks after we go through those doors and get some sack time. I know you need it. You’ll get a full briefing tomorrow morning, but I can tell you the good news right now. You’ll all be heading to Hawaii tomorrow.”
“The docs too, sir?” LARS asked. “Haven’t we babysat enough?”
Allan and Jill frowned but knew enough to stay quiet.
The young soldier looked directly at Lee, imploring her to get her bubbas in line.
She groaned through a fake grin. “Major Britely told us before we left for Frisco the hierarchy of command is fucked, kid. If you don’t mind, the bubbas and I have gone through a lot. I’m sure you can forgive momentary insubordination.”
He stiffened. “Keep in mind you’re not alone. Subordination is all we’ve got to keep things going. Information is in limited supply for all the branches. NASA and private entities are coordinating to get a satellite up in a few days, but even then they won’t share much with anyone at our level.”
“So we’re still running blind?” Lee asked.
“That’s right, Lieutenant. I think your rescues might know more about what’s happening than anyone here. From the radio communication I received, these two wiz-kids are more important than a nuke. If the looting escalates outside the base, we’re to protect these two with our lives. Whatever they know is more important than you, me or the thirsty people of Yuba City.”
“All other priorities rescinded,” Lee whispered with contempt.
“Yes,” he answered, without acknowledging the cryptic allusion. “They’ve put a lot of effort into building a transport scheme for these two after what we learned yesterday.”
“What happened?” Allan asked.
The young man raised a finger to quiet him.
“In due time, Doctor. I don’t need any more demotivators on this base, so chatter about what’s going on off the base stops here on the tarmac, got it? The easiest way to prevent security leaks is not to share information in the first place. You’re not getting any information to spill until I see you on your way tomorrow morning. If I have even one AWOL, it’s going to be your fault.” He pointed at Lee.
She glared back, tension mounting between them.
“Hierarchy be damned, Lieutenant, but we all have to do our best to make sure this country doesn’t fall apart. The world is looking to us for leadership. You and your squad represent that ideal. Earlier today that meant a fiery rescue. Tonight that means taking orders, even from a kid like me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Lee answered and her crew followed suit, now with salutes.
The young man swiveled his hips and came to within a nose of Allan.
“I’m sworn to protect you, but that can just as easily be accomplished by slamming you two in the brig for the night if I think you’re going to talk. Do you understand?”
Allan nodded and nervously sputtered, “Yes . . . sir.”
The man snapped a smile back on his face, winked at him and turned. “Good.”
He motioned for them to follow.
“Let’s see you to your accommodations then, shall we?”
Allan, the last to arrive at a preordained room barely larger than a janitor’s closet, was surprised the young man in charge came into the small space with him. He shut the door behind them and put his hand on Allan’s shoulder.
“Doctor Sands, I have good news for you that I didn’t want to share with the group. Your wife and two children are safe.”
“Are they here?”
“No.”
The man turned to leave.
“Wait,” Allan pleaded. “Where are they? How do you know this? When can I see them?”
The man turned back around and pressed his hand into Allan’s chest forcefully.
“When I asked you if you could keep a secret, this is what I meant. I can’t answer your questions and I’m breaking about fifty security protocols to even tell you.” He paused and let his stance soften just a bit. “I’ve got two little girls in Oklahoma right now, so I know what you’re going through. The only thing keeping me going at this point is the hope that they’re okay. As a father myself, I thought you had a right to know, but I’m not prone to favors, so don’t push it. You want to know more, keep asking other people, because I never told you. Got it?”
Allan looked down. It should have been good news, but it left him more confused than ever. It wasn’t the first time they told him his family was “fine” or “safe,” but where was the proof? Why couldn’t he see them? When the door shut on the windowless room he felt more like a prisoner than ever.
The bunk might have been the hardest bed Allan had ever slept on, making him wonder how bad the brig could be. Strange jet noises zoomed closer and farther all night, as if he slept the night in an airport lounge. However, after all he’d been through, even jet engines couldn’t keep him awake long.
Allan dreamed of a darkness full of energy. Traveling through a void, his mind flew through time and space far from his body. Symbols and sounds, distinct from the high frequency of the jets outside, swam around him. A message remained just out of grasp. A vast intelligence, frustrated with his primitive senses, tried to convey something. At first Allan imagined he dreamt of the singularity, interfacing with a wise computer.
However, the symbols, vibrations, and emotions spoke from a place of deep memory, a well of experience too broad for his simian brain to grasp. Points of light in an endless room frustrated him. Surrounded by an unknown star field, Allan searched with futile exasperation for familiar constellations.
“No.” he heard, and realized he experienced the word not in his visual or auditory cortexes, but somewhere deeper. He felt it, as a child might experience the temporary emotional rejection of a parent.
“Who are you?” he asked the stars, using the freedom of a dream turned lucid.
“We are,” a comforting feeling came.
A voice, the primitive production of mammalian vocal chords, shattered the stars.
“Doctor Sands!”
The presence Allan communed with vanished.
A young airman opened the door of Allan’s diminutive room. “Your briefing will commence in a few minutes. Breakfast will be provided. Please dress and I’ll escort you.”
Allan took a chair at the back of the briefing room. Some of the chairs had little desks attached, like a college classroom. Jill already sat in one, playing with one of the model F-16s on sticks indicating they were in a pilot briefing room. She sported a new neon yellow cast on her wrist, already signed by a soldier who must have taken a liking to her. Allan didn’t want to know.
“What a night, huh?” she said, eyes drooping.
“Did you have crazy dreams too?” Allan asked.
“I barely had any dreams
at all. But I did learn something very interesting hanging out in the cafeteria this morning. I gave up on sleep around five and went to get a cup of coffee. I don’t know who the guys at the table next to me thought I was, but they didn’t seem to have the same restrictions on talking that we’re under.”
“Someone tried to talk to me last night, too. I think.”
“What? They weren’t talking to me, I just overheard. What are you talking about? Someone came to your room?”
“No. I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t sleep well either. So what did you overhear?”
“One of the soldiers just rescued a group of survivors in Boston.” She raised an eyebrow.
“So?”
“Who do you-no, who do we know in Boston?”
“I don’t—” Allan’s shoulders dropped. “Really? Of all the people. God, who’s next, your high school prom date?”
“If he’s on the president’s list, too.”
“Kamran Douglass is on the president’s list? Hey, at least somebody is giving him attention now,” Allan snidely remarked.
Jill shifted and crossed her arms. “Can we make a truce or something? I won’t chide you about little blondie back in Pasadena if you don’t say anything about Doctor Douglass. Deal?”
“He wasn’t a doctor the last time I saw him, couldn’t even pick a new thesis advisor after you left him high and dry.”
“I’m glad you’ve stopped snooping on my boyfriends. Grow up, Allan. You left me, remember? Thanks for reminding me why.”
“Fine,” Allan relented and rolled his eyes. “Deal. I suppose they’re planning a little reunion for the three of us soon. I can’t imagine how he feels about it. Maybe that’s what this briefing is for. If they needed him then we might be dealing with more than a slide down a wormhole. And after last night . . .”
“You said that before. What happened last night?”
“Morning, Docs!” Lee came through the door next, leading the bubbas.
“Sleep well?” LARS asked.
“No,” and “yes” they answered simultaneously, sharing a look of apprehension with each other.
The Filter Trap Page 9
