Alienation

by Jon S. Lewis

  There was an echo of footsteps as someone came running down the tunnel.

  “Dad, no!” Oz was out of breath, and his face was twisted in confusion—like he was trying to get his mind to accept what his eyes already knew. His father was a murderer.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Lobo said.

  “Why? Are you afraid that I’ll see who you really are?”

  Lobo smiled, but the expression held only sorrow. “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to take everything away from me . . . from us . . .”

  Krone bellowed as he continued to fight against the bindings that held him. His bones cracked and his skin turned to scales as two extra sets of arms grew out of his back. The man was gone, replaced by one of the Thule. It flexed once, and the Bola Cuffs snapped like they were made of twine.

  Blinded by its rage, Krone attacked indiscriminately. The monster charged at Lobo, who fired three shots into its chest, but it wasn’t even fazed. Krone grabbed him by the face and threw him against the wall. Then it spun and its tail battered Oz, sending him to the ground.

  The monster charged at Colt with jaws wide, but he rolled out of the way before it could bite him in half. Incensed, Krone grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground. Colt kicked to break free, and as he did, he could see Oz inching toward his dad’s gun. He stood up on shaky legs and leveled the barrel at the Thule.

  “Wait!” Colt shouted, afraid that he might get hit by a stray bullet.

  “Relax,” Oz said. “It’s just like target practice back in the desert . . . Aim. Exhale. And then pull the trigger.” He unloaded four shots, burying the bullets in the monster’s back. The sound of its scream echoed through the tunnels as dirt and rock fell from the ceiling. Krone dropped Colt as Oz fired three more times, but the monster wouldn’t fall.

  Oz fired three more shots as the monster ran toward him with arms extended. Then two more. The magazine was empty, but Krone didn’t stop. It swung, and as Oz ducked, its claws ripped through the wall.

  “Hey, ugly!”

  Krone turned to find Colt holding two silver canisters like he was a gunslinger in the Wild West. He sprayed the foam on the monster’s feet and watched it expand. Krone tried to lift its legs, but they were cemented in place. Enraged, it beat its tail against the wall, and one of the rafters cracked.

  “Come on,” Colt said. “We have to get out of here before there’s a cave-in.”

  “What about my dad?” Oz asked.

  “Do you think you can carry him?”

  “I can try.” Oz went to where Lobo lay, unconscious. The dirt around his head was saturated with blood, and his breathing was shallow.

  “Hurry up,” Colt said, looking at the Thule. “I don’t think that stuff is going to hold.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the foam started to crack.

  “Get him out of here!” Colt said. “I’ll take care of Krone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go!”

  Oz threw his dad over his shoulder and headed back down the tunnel, leaving Colt alone with the monster. It ran at him, but Colt dodged and struck it in the ribs with a palm strike. It swung again, but missed, smashing the wall.

  There was no way he should have been able to dodge all six arms, but he did, weaving in and out, ducking and falling back. The Thule pressed the attack, but the monster couldn’t touch him. It was as though Colt had some kind of extrasensory perception. Then he realized what was happening. It wasn’t him . . . it was the alien DNA. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Colt slammed his fist into the monster’s jaw, and its head snapped back. He followed it with an upper cut and then a palm strike to the snout. The monster wailed as Colt swung again, but that time it caught him by the wrist.

  For a brief moment Colt’s feet dangled in the air before the monster threw him across the corridor. Pain erupted as Colt slammed into brick. He tried to stand, but Krone grabbed him by the back of his neck and threw him once more.

  As he lay there Colt could feel Grandpa’s medallion as it hung around his neck. The verse on the back promised that God would be his refuge and his strength in times of trouble, and if he ever needed strength, it was now. He could hear the monster’s heavy breathing as rough hands picked him up and drove him into the wall.

  “Help me . . .”

  Timbers cracked overhead, threatening to break as more debris fell. The rafters wouldn’t hold the ceiling back for much longer. Before Colt could catch his breath, the monster wrapped a clawed hand around his face. It felt like a vise, and no matter how hard he tried, Colt couldn’t break free. Then an idea popped into his head. He pulled out the flashlight and shined the beam in Krone’s eyes.

  Temporarily blinded, the Thule dropped him. Its tail pounded against the wall and the tunnel shook, sending chunks of earth falling from the ceiling. Colt drove his shoulder into the monster’s stomach, but it pounded him in the back, sending Colt to the ground. Then it tried to crush him with its foot, but Colt rolled out of the way.

  “You are not the Betrayer!” it bellowed. “We are coming! And when we do, we will destroy your world!” The monster lashed out with opened claws, looking to rip through Colt’s skin and into his vital organs.

  “Not on my watch!” Colt ducked out of the way and struck Krone in the abdomen with double fists. The monster followed up with a hammer strike, but Colt rolled between its legs and connected with a heel kick to the back of its knee, followed by an elbow to the base of its neck.

  Krone howled and swung a massive arm that caught Colt in the chest, knocking him against the wall. The monster tried to bite him, but Colt recovered and kicked it in the snout. Then, with a running leap, he used the wall as a springboard and landed on its shoulders. He wrapped his legs around the monster’s throat and squeezed as he hit Krone repeatedly in the head. Krone snapped its jaws as it reached for Colt. One hand caught him in the shoulder, and sharp claws tore through his jacket and the ballistic vest. Another hand grabbed him around the arm and ripped him away.

  Colt flipped through the air before landing on his shoulder and skidding across the ground until he smashed into the wall. His body ached, but he was determined to end it. He ran at Krone, using the monster’s arms like monkey bars until he was standing on its shoulders. He didn’t hesitate as he grabbed hold of a splintered rafter and pulled. The beam snapped, and Colt dropped to the ground before running to get clear of the cave-in.

  There was a rumble, and the tunnel started to shake. Confused, the monster watched as the broken rafter struck it in the shoulder. A moment later the ceiling fell, and Krone was buried under a massive pile of dirt and rock.

  As Colt stood in the darkness, he knew that Grandpa was right. There was no glory in killing someone—even when you didn’t have a choice.

  :: CHAPTER 47 ::

  Santiago Romero’s arrest was the lead story for just about every news agency across the globe. He had been linked to the murders of two United States senators, the deputy director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service, a federal judge, and Agent Graves, who had found out about Operation Nemesis and threatened to expose Lobo if he didn’t turn himself in.

  There was speculation that CHAOS was going to shut down, but during a joint press conference with the Department of Alien Affairs it was announced that Ezekiel Watson, the director of the DAA, would assume control of CHAOS, and deputy director Abigail Thorne would run the day-to-day operations—including the CHAOS Military Academy.

  Classes were cancelled the following week to give the new leadership time to transition. That gave Colt plenty of time to answer questions down at DAA headquarters, where investigators asked about everything from his involvement with the Romero family to whether or not he believed that aliens should expect the same constitutional freedoms that were shared by humans. It was monotonous, and at times annoying, but at least he didn’t have to look over his shoulder worrying that someone was goi
ng to shoot at him or stab him with a syringe.

  By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was grab something to eat and go to bed, but Danielle tracked him down and said she needed his help with a project. He should have known something was up when she wouldn’t tell him what it was.

  They met at seven o’clock on the front steps of the library. Danielle was holding a box, and inside was a triple layer chocolate cake with chocolate butter cream frosting. She had baked it from scratch with a little help from Ms. Skoglund.

  “I don’t get it,” Colt said. “This is your project?”

  “It’s Oz’s birthday,” she said. “I thought we could surprise him.”

  Colt felt his stomach churn. He hadn’t talked to Oz in almost a week, in part because he didn’t know what to say. Just that morning prosecutors announced that they would seek the death penalty for Lobo.

  “Maybe you should go without me,” Colt said.

  “You’re going to have to talk to him sooner or later. Besides, he really needs you right now.”

  “Yeah, right.” Colt found the thought almost laughable. “I’m the one who tricked his dad into a confession and basically ruined his life. I’m probably the last person he wants to see.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  Colt followed her up the steps and into a foyer where everything was made of stone, from the floor to the pillars to the sweeping arches. She went up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor until she stopped at a simple wooden door with a brass knob.

  “Wait until you see this.”

  She opened the door into a storage room. Cardboard boxes, books, and supplies like lightbulbs and printer paper filled the metal shelves, but that’s not why Danielle had brought him there. Resting against the far wall were five enormous posters featuring covers from the Phantom Flyer and the Agents of CHAOS comic book series, including the issue that had the first appearance of Intellitron.

  Next to those was a mannequin dressed in vintage flight pants, boots, and a leather bomber jacket. Its face was covered by a gas mask and aviator goggles, and it was wearing a helmet and a jet pack.

  “Recognize anything?” Danielle was smiling as she watched Colt from the corner of her eye.

  “Is that my Grandpa’s stuff?”

  “He loaned everything to them for the Phantom Flyer exhibition next month,” she said. “I thought that since Oz was such a big fan, this would be the perfect place to celebrate his birthday. I mean, I know it’s basically a closet, but the curator said it would be okay. What do you think?”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Now help me set up the table before he gets here.”

  Colt unfolded the legs of a card table while Danielle took a white tablecloth out of her backpack. She set out plates and forks, and she even had a Phantom Flyer action figure for a cake topper.

  There was a knock at the door, then it opened and Oz stuck his head in. “Danielle? You in here?” He looked tired. His eyes were heavy and his shoulders slumped.

  “Happy birthday!” Danielle shouted as she ran over and gave him a hug.

  “Yeah,” Colt said. “Happy birthday.”

  Oz smiled when he saw the cake, but when he opened the small package Danielle handed him, he really lit up. Inside was a vintage Phantom Flyer signet ring that looked just like the one Colt’s dad had saved cereal box tops to get when he was a kid.

  “Do you know how hard these are to find? Where did you get it?” Oz asked as he slipped it on his finger.

  Danielle shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “It’s just that they’re really expensive.”

  “If you don’t think you’re worth it, I can always take it back,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Sorry,” he said. “But this ring is never leaving my finger.”

  They ate cake and reminisced about home, wondering about their friends. Colt thought about Lily, and how every guy in the school had probably asked her out by now. He wondered if she had a boyfriend, or if she was too busy writing music.

  Eventually the conversation turned to their new lives at the CHAOS Military Academy, and how quickly everything had changed.

  “How’s your dad?” Danielle asked as Oz scooped up some frosting with his finger.

  “He left the hospital yesterday, and it looks like they’re going to transfer him to Leavenworth until the trial is over. But that could take years.”

  Danielle reached over and grabbed his hand. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Colt said. “I mean, we should have told you about Operation Nemesis as soon we found out. It’s just that . . . I don’t know. I guess I was scared, but that doesn’t make it right.”

  “I would have done the same thing,” Oz said. “Besides, after everything that’s happened, I’m the one who should apologize. I still can’t believe my dad was a part of all that. It makes me sick.”

  “Just remember, you aren’t your dad,” Colt said.

  “I guess.”

  “So what happens now?” Danielle asked. “Are you still thinking about transferring?”

  “I talked to Agent Thorne,” Oz said. “I told her that I want to stay.”

  Danielle’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

  “If Colt is going to lead us against the Thule, somebody is going to have to watch his back. What kind of friend would I be if I bailed on him now?” He held out his hand. “Brothers to the end, right?”

  Colt grasped it. “Brothers to the end.”

  Grandpa was at the kitchen table reading his Bible when Colt walked through the front door of the small apartment. He had helped himself to another thick slice of Danielle’s decadent cake, but he was still hungry, so he walked over to the freezer and pulled out a carton of butter pecan ice cream. “Do you want some?” he asked as he searched through the drawers for a scoop.

  “Maybe later,” Grandpa said. “How did everything go tonight?”

  “Okay, I guess. Danielle’s big project was actually a surprise birthday party for Oz.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “We had cake over at the library,” Colt said. “She decorated the room in a Phantom Flyer theme. Why didn’t you tell me about the exhibition? After all, it’s in your honor.”

  “I guess it slipped my mind.” He placed a red satin bookmark between the pages and closed his Bible. “Look, I know things have been a bit crazy lately.”

  “A bit?”

  “Unfortunately, it may get a whole lot crazier.”

  Colt took another bite of his ice cream. “Is that even possible?”

  “A Thule warship crashed near Groom Lake in Nevada around four this morning. There was only one survivor, and he’s in a coma.”

  Colt put down his spoon. “Where did it come from?”

  “By all indications the Thule were able to create a gateway, but it was only open long enough to let the one ship through.” Grandpa rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I used to think we had decades to prepare before they would find a way to bring their hordes. At this rate, they’ll be here by Christmas.”

  Colt, Oz, and Danielle have faced

  numerous alien invasions.

  But they’ve never been prisoners on

  the Thule planet . . . until now.

  //// COMING JANUARY 2012 ////

  Book 3 in the C.H.A.O.S. Trilogy

  AUTHOR ESSAY

  Creating Comics

  By Jon S. Lewis

  It’s exciting to see how popular graphic novels have become. I grew up on comic books. The moment my parents plopped that allowance money into my hand, I’d hop on my bike and head over to the dime store where there was a spinner rack stuffed with Action Comics, Fantastic Four, The Amazing Spider-Man, Justice League of America, and tons more. I was able to buy five comics each week, and I’d stand there fo
r hours thumbing through each title and wondering how I was going to narrow my choices. It wasn’t easy. Eventually I’d make it home where I’d run to my bedroom, shut the door, grab a stack of paper, a pencil, and black pen, and then I’d start drawing my favorite panels. More often than not, it featured Benjamin Jacob Grimm, a.k.a. The Thing (who was also on my lunchbox).

  My purchasing habits haven’t changed much, but instead of riding my bike to the nearest dime store, I drive to Greg’s Comics. I still spend hours poring over the amazing art, and I’ve learned to appreciate the storytelling of not just the words but the images as well.

  I’ve been lucky enough to write for DC Comics, which has been a childhood dream come true. My editor, Shannon Eric Denton, helped me understand the difference between writing a novel and writing a comic book. In traditional prose, writers have a lot of real estate to work with. Most novels end up in the 65,000-90,000 word range, which is usually somewhere between 250-400 pages. In a comic book, there are only 22 pages.

  Writing a comic book must be easier, right? I mean, after all, it’s way shorter. But there’s a catch. You have to tell an entire story in those 22 pages—the same story that you’d tell in an entire novel. Oh, and you can’t write any descriptive text. All you get is dialogue. Still think it’s easier?

  Writing comic books is a fantastic exercise for writing traditional prose, because it teachers you the economy of words. In today’s headline society, few of us read the newspaper from front-to-back (let alone a physical newspaper). We’re so busy that we only have time to read the headlines. That’s why novels need to grab our attention right away—and they can’t slow down. Once a reader gets bored, he’s not going to come back and finish it.

  Books need to be tight. That means cutting the fluff. Writing comic books teaches you how to write an exciting, complete story with an extremely limited word count. It also forces you to make sure your dialogue is strong. A great way to test dialogue is to read it out loud. Or you could even give the pages to a couple of friends and listen to them read it out loud. If the dialogue sounds goofy or unnatural, it probably is. Then you can go back in and tweak it until it sounds like something someone would actually say.