Event (event group thrillers)

by David L. Golemon

  "That means it could be a threat to my men if it finds us first," Fielding said. Like any good commander he feared for the well-being of his men above all else.

  "Okay, what about these others?" Jack asked hurriedly.

  "Well, they're not too dissimilar from us. They definitely died due to impact trauma. Wounds on one were severe enough that he must have died instantly. The other looked almost as if it were asleep. There was old scarring on both of the subjects, as if they had led a harsh existence. Some here think they are fighting scars, as many of them look like they were made by claws, or nails if you will, while others were clearly teeth marks. These beings may be from a harsh or combative society, or they may be a subservient species of something else."

  "Doc, right now let's make the priority this creature that treats alien steel like it was tissue paper," Jack said, touching the ripped-open areas of the cage. "I think we have to--"

  Jack was interrupted by shouts and warnings outside.

  The three people turned and listened as yelling filled the camp and crash area. They started for the tent flap but were met by Mendenhall, just returned from town with Colonel Fielding.

  "Major, we have a visitor out here, and he asked to see the man in charge of the flying saucer crash; his words, sir."

  "So much for securing the area before the cover story hit the news," Collins said.

  They walked outside, removing their surgical masks. The sun was blazing and made their eyes water. They stood and watched as an old man was escorted by two armed security men to where they were standing. The man wore an old brown fedora and newer-looking jeans, battered brown cowboy boots, and looked as if he had just shaved. He had at least three pieces of toilet paper stuck to his cheeks and chin, stanching the flow of blood from the nicks that were obviously inflicted by a hurried job with a dull razor.

  "This man just walked up the mountain, sir. Right to where we were hiding and said he wanted to speak with the man in charge," one of the men said. "We would have just sent him on his way, but he said he wanted to talk to the fella that was in charge of the saucer crash. It's like he knew we were there, sir."

  Collins stepped up to the taller, much older man. He looked him over, then held out his hand. "I'm Major Jack Collins, U.S. Army, and you are...?"

  The man looked from Collins to the crash area around them and then at the huge tents that had been erected overnight.

  "Gus Tilly. I prospect this part of the mountain." He didn't take the major's hand right away, instead eyeing the strange black Nomex uniform a moment. "Don't look like what I wore in Korea."

  "U.S. Army, sir, that's what and who we are," Collins said, gesturing to the men and women around him. He was still holding his hand out, but with his other he reached over and pulled down a Velero patch on his right shoulder and revealed a small American flag underneath.

  The old man looked relieved, then took Jack's hand and shook quickly.

  "Now, why do you think this is a flying saucer? We can't tell what it is."

  The man turned and shaded his eyes against the sun. Then the old gray eyes fixed on Jack. "You're not gonna tell me it's a plane crash or some horseshit like that, because I'll call you a liar, sir."

  "Whoa, take it easy there, Mr. Tilly. All we're saying is we're not sure what it is. Now, why do you think it's a flying saucer?" Jack asked.

  "Because, youngster, I have the guy... er, uh, pilot or whatever it is that flew the goddamn spaceship thing here," Gus said, looking from Collins to Colonel Fielding. "And I'll add one more thing, fellas. You better listen to what he has to say, because we have a whole lot of trouble on our hands."

  The rocky valley had turned into an armed camp above and a civilian holding pen on the highways below. News crews from as far away as Los Angeles had picked up the rumors of the mutilated cattle and the two missing state policemen, and now even a story that maybe a rogue motorcycle gang had been responsible.

  The element of the 101st herded them together one news crew at a time as they came into the small town of Chato's Crawl, ignoring the shouts and curses that they had rights. As soon as the army had shown up and corralled his news crew, Ken Kashihara knew this wasn't about a rogue biker gang. He was worried because three full busloads of reporters and conspiracy nuts had already been moved out of town. He didn't believe for a second the cattle-disease story; his gut was telling him something else was going on and it was big.

  Ken grabbed his cameraman and walked to the rear of the roped-off area. He at least wanted to be one of the last reporters removed from the area.

  Event Group Complex

  10.15 Hours

  Sarah went through the logistics line collecting her field gear. She had collected a set of ambient-light (night-vision) goggles, web belt, and canteen, a portable VDF, which she had trained on extensively for use in locating underground rivers, and a black set of Nomex BDUs. Then she was surprised by receiving a weapon that she had only fired once in her time here; it was still experimental, she thought. The Event Group quartermaster handed her an XM8, the newest assault rifle developed for the U.S. Army. It came with an SMG/PDW package. That meant it was configured with butt plate slid in and had a short barrel, excellent for Sarah's line of work, in tunnels or other tight spaces. The quartermaster issued her three hundred rounds of 5.56 mm armor-piercing ammunition in thirty-round magazines.

  "Jesus, where in the hell are we going to deserve these kind of weapons?" asked Steve Hanson.

  "The weapons are courtesy of Major Collins. I don't know how he did it, but he pulled some strings and we got a hundred of these just an hour ago."

  Sarah accepted her weapon and signed for it. She couldn't help but wonder where they were going and just what in the hell was out there that they needed these.

  "Sarge--"

  "Before you ask, you'll be briefed on-site, young lady. Now get to the transport level," the gruff quartermaster ordered.

  "Well, you wanted your field mission, Sarah, I hope you're happy," Steve said as they gathered their gear.

  "Yeah, and now I'm a little worried," she said as she raced him down to the cargo elevators to be one of the first on the helicopter.

  Military Airlift Command, Flight 241 Bravo, over Taos, New Mexico

  July 9, 10.25 Hours

  The four jet engines of the giant C-5A Galaxy whined a sleep-inducing lullaby for the one hundred soldiers in her cavernous belly. They sat in canvas seating strapped along the side and center of the aircraft, instead of the more comfortable airline seats on regular military charters.

  Thirty of the U.S. Army's elite and highly secret Delta unit, sometimes known as Blue-light, watched the more boisterous elements of the seventy-man team derived from both Companies B and C of the Third U.S. Ranger Battalion (Enforced) as they talked about home and girls. The Delta teams checked their weapons and conversed in soft whispers. They removed their black helmets and readjusted their chin straps before placing them back on their heads. Before leaving Fort Bragg, where they had been training for the last few months with these very Rangers for a mission in Africa, a mission that had suddenly been scrubbed, they had been issued small oxygen cylinders and new night-vision goggles. They also received the new multi-use vibration-direction finders, or VDFs, the kind geologists used to detect minute tremors and anomalies and the direction they came from.

  "What the hell is up with these things?" a young Ranger PFC asked.

  "Who the hell knows? Maybe they're lowering us into volcanoes now," his sergeant whispered, as he checked the loads in a magazine of 5.56-millimeter rounds.

  "Did you hear the latest?" the PFC shouted over the engine whine, succeeding in getting the attention of the rest of the Deltas and Rangers. "I heard that we're going after something in a desert somewhere."

  "What? Here in the States?"

  "That's what I heard, probably some more training for Libya or something."

  "Well," the sergeant said, patting the stock of the special-order Barrett fifty-caliber rifle, "
whatever it is, I hope it doesn't like breathing."

  Chato's Crawl, Arizona

  11.20 Hours.

  Farbeaux watched his men and was pleased with the way they were preparing. All former French Army commandos, they had experience ranging from assaults in Africa to clandestine actions in South America.

  They were arranged around the hydraulic lift in Phil's Texaco. The station was closed, and Phil, Farbeaux guessed, was out with the rest of the town's people, wondering what was happening. Farbeaux had indeed lucked out when the tracer he had placed on Mendenhall's hand had led him straight here. He and his men had dodged a search team twice as they searched the town for stragglers that they could hustle off to that bar and grill and detain. He and his men had come inside one of the now quarantined helicopters shortly after the arrival of the first American C-130 this morning.

  Farbeaux was dressed casually and was waiting for his phone to ring, which he knew it would, and this time he decided he would answer. He only had to wait another minute. He looked down at the incoming number, then placed the cell phone in the portable scrambler.

  "Legion" was all he said.

  "May I be so bold as to ask what it is you are doing?"

  This was the man the Frenchman was hoping for, Hendrix himself.

  "You fool, if you go in without Centaurus expertise to back you up, you and whatever idiots you have following you will be chewed to pieces. You have eliminated two of my teams, that I can forgive, but if you fail to satisfy me in this matter, there won't a safe place where I can't get to you. Now fulfill your contract to Centaurus!"

  "I wouldn't have lived long enough to say thank you for the bullet you placed in my brain. I will collect what I can of the technology and--"

  "You dumb son of a bitch, is it technology you think we are after? We have all that we need." Hendrix laughed. "The thing that may be out there is far more than even you have bargained for. Even if you live through this without getting mauled, I will burn everything in your private collection right in front of you, and then I will personally put that bullet in your brain, do you unders--"

  Farbeaux pushed the button on the scrambler and ended the call.

  No, my friend, you won't be doing that. And please, "mauled"? Besides, I have learned enough about you and your little basement secrets that it should make interesting reading to a certain senator, he thought to himself as he picked up a handheld electronic computer and started writing his "get-out-of-jail-free card."

  Eight Miles South of Chato's Crawl, Arizona

  July 9, 13.00 Hours

  Billy turned the ATV off and coasted the final ten feet. The four-wheeler had enough forward momentum to roll through the scruffy yard to barely bump the rotting slats of the wooden front porch before coming to a full stop. The boy removed his helmet and looked around. The chicken coop was full of chickens, but unlike on Billy's previous visits they were all huddled together in one corner of the pen with a large Rhode Island Red rooster walking guard in front of them. He then looked at Buck's stall and noticed the mule was gone, and that meant Gus was still up in the mountains.

  He was just about to put his helmet back on when he saw out of the corner of his eye a flash of movement at the kitchen window. He swallowed and wondered who, or what, was watching him. The boy knew without a doubt eyes were on him because the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Gus once told him that usually meant danger to a man attuned to the desert. Billy tried to slide the helmet on, but it seemed his arms wouldn't work anymore. He turned slowly and looked at the window. It was empty.

  He shook his head, still trying to build up the bravery he needed to get out of there. It was for reasons like this his mom never let him watch those old horror movies she sat up late watching on television. She told him kids of today didn't have the patience to be frightened as she had been when she was young. Billy had thought that was just about the dumbest statement he had ever heard. He shook his head, unable to believe he was actually as afraid as he was, so he guessed he had learned patience.

  Instead of placing the helmet on his head, he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He wouldn't let the fear of something that wasn't there scare him. What would Gus think? He sure wouldn't think Billy was ready to accompany him to the mountains to prospect, that was for sure.

  Billy placed the helmet on his handlebars and looked at the house. It looked normal.

  "Hey!" he shouted bravely at the house.

  His eyes roamed over the front windows quickly, looking for any signs of movement. He took another breath. He didn't see motion but he felt he was still being watched. Then a horrible thought struck him: What if Gus was hurt? Maybe Buck was still in the desert, but Gus had come back and had a stroke or something?

  That helped him find his bravado. He jumped from the ATV and ran to the porch, and that was when he saw through the old screen door that the front door had recently been repaired. Nails were crudely pointing this way and that, and a few were even bent over. Billy stopped and examined the situation again.

  "Hey, I know you're in there!"

  Still nothing. He took one step and then another. He placed one foot on the first step and then evened it out with the other foot. He swallowed and watched the door, and then he suddenly looked to the window that sat above Gus's old cot in the corner. Did that window shade move? He started to back away, then thought about Gus again. He took the next step, and then he was at the front door. He placed his hand on the screen door and easily pulled it open, flinching every time the spring made that popping noise. Then he placed his shaking hand on the glass doorknob and closed his eyes. He turned the doorknob, but stopped and thought, what kind of an idiot was he? He had put one over on his mom on occasion and seen too many movies where a door had been the only thing separating a stupid kid from the horrors of a slasher that waited just the other side of that door. Then he looked down and saw that the wooden door's center panel hadn't been nailed down all the way and one corner was sticking out.

  Billy swallowed and backed away a step and examined the repair job. Yeah, it was Gus's work alright. Bob Vila he wasn't. With one hand holding the screen door open he leaned over and peered through the crack. All he saw was darkness. He knew then that he was being silly, but still wasn't in a hurry to throw open the door. He looked behind him to make sure nothing was sneaking up there, then went to one knee and looked again. This time the space seemed even darker. So Billy leaned closer--and saw the huge black eye blink. Billy stood straight up and the screen door slammed him in the ass, knocking him against the door. He stood motionless as he heard something move on the other side of the door.

  Suddenly the windows started shaking and the door was rattling in its frame. The screen was flapping like a bird's wing, and that made him move, almost tearing the screen door off its old hinges when it slammed back on him. He stumbled and fell backward, rolling down the steps of the porch, and then a hurricane of wind and dirt and dead grass started pummeling him. The noise came from the back of Gus's house, hesitated there, then started forward, seemingly coming from over the roof. Billy screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth as the world became a swirling storm of desert sand and wind. Finally one of Gus's front widows shattered and glass flew everywhere. Then a shadow fell over the porch and front yard as the horrible noise and vibration not only continued but increased twentyfold. Suddenly he felt the evil was out here and not in the house, so he quickly gained his feet, but it was like one of his horrible dreams where you try to run but your shoes are sticking in syrup or something equally thick and sticky. He finally pulled the screen door open, and it flew back with a crash as it hit the house and the spring snapped. Then to his horror the screen door went flying away off the porch.

  "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he cried as he turned the doorknob and opened the front door and ran in.

  He was halfway through the kitchen when he saw Gus's back door crash in and a large, dark forbidding shape crouch and then stand motionless. His mouth wi
dened to scream, but again nothing came out. And then to top off his day, he saw something rise up off the floor and go screaming away from the menacing dark figure. It was small and wearing a white shirt that caught the wind from the open front door and flew back like a cape.

  Billy finally managed a loud and convincing scream as a small green creature ran right for him with the taller black thing in the shadows starting forward into the house. Billy immediately turned with both pursuers screaming after him. The smaller of the two hit his back and they both crashed onto the porch and right into the arms of another figure that towered over him. Billy screamed and then Matchstick screamed as they both fell onto the porch after bouncing off the thing standing before them.

  "Hey, hey, easy," the tall figure said as it removed its black face and head.

  "Ahhhh!" Billy screamed again.

  "Ahhhhhh!" Matchstick screamed behind him.

  Billy turned back toward the scream and his eyes widened when he saw what was there. Matchstick's eyes went from Billy to the taller figure and then back to Billy, and they both cried out simultaneously.

  "Hey," a voice called among the wind and debris. "Billy, Matchstick?"

  Billy stopped screaming and looked up and finally saw the first sane thing he had seen since arriving. Gus was running from a settling black helicopter, then Billy looked up and saw a dark-haired man looking down and holding a helmet, tossing a black nylon mask into it. He smiled and pulled the boy up. Then he hesitantly reached for the thing behind him, but decided to hold off.

  Sergeant Mendenhall called from the interior of the house, "All clear!"

  "Clear here!" Jack called out, still staring at Billy and the small alien, then quickly stepping aside for Gus.

  The old man reached Billy and picked him up off the porch, then Gus reached for Matchstick, who looked to be in shock and was shaking as heavily as Billy.