Sleeper Seven

by Mark Howard

  Shouts from outside the field caught their attention as camouflaged military trucks arrived, dispensing fully armed soldiers. Outside the opposite entrance, dozens of black-clad SWAT team members emerged from a 'Mobile Command Unit' semi-trailer. Some took up strategic positions outside the stadium, while a core team jogged single-file inside.

  Behind the stadium, out of their line of sight, they watched the reflections of mars lights against nearby buildings and heard the occasional honk of a fire truck or bwoop — bwoop of a cruiser. This United Nations of first responders included the numerous white SUV's they had encountered earlier, as well as a different Mobile Command Unit; this one without any windows, but with an overabundance of radio antennas. It was total chaos, completely uncoordinated, and it appeared that no particular agency was in charge.

  The fatigue-clad soldiers entered onto the field and took up positions around the ship, bringing the action to a standstill for the next twenty minutes, during which Jess whispered to Gavin the details of what she had done. Finally, a man dressed in a white oxford shirt and jeans, accompanied by two guards, entered the field and inspected the ship. They walked back and forth underneath it for several minutes, after which they re-emerged and departed.

  At this point, someone higher up must have taken the reigns, as the SWAT team members began to disperse, along with the firetrucks and swarms of police, all of whom began to slowly pick their way through the morass of eachother's vehicles and equipment on their way back to their stations. Before any of them were able to leave the scene, however, Jess and Gavin watched a team of men in dark suits scatter through the crowd and intercept each one. After a short chat, they were each handed a clipboard with a document to read and sign. After these non-essentials had been processed and sent home, the only forces that remained were the DHS and the Army, who moved to fill the positions in the security ring that the local first responders had vacated.

  The heavy choppers also departed at about the same time, casting an eerie silence over the nearly empty field. Suddenly, the floodlights illuminating the field extinguished, plunging it into darkness. A minute later, a small black helicopter appeared from the west, landing in the McDonald's parking lot across from the stadium. Four men, dressed in fatigues but unarmed, disembarked and made their way onto the darkened field, their headlamps lighting the way, until they disappeared underneath the ship.

  A few moments later, a variety of strobing lights flashed across the surface of the ship; Jess wondered what they thought about finding nobody aboard. The lights stopped, and a familiar low hum began to rise and fall. After a few seconds, the floodlights lit up the field again, blinding them for a moment. As their vision recovered, they discovered the soldiers in fatigues traversing the field on hands and knees, searching the ground in a grid pattern. But like a magic trick, the ship was gone.

  "How did they get it out of there? Where did it go?" Gavin whispered to her incredulously.

  Jess motioned for him to keep quiet and follow her. After creeping back down from the rooftop, they rolled the scooter to the edge of the alley and peeked out to discover a DHS vehicle blocking the road. Retreating, they found an open gangway between apartment buildings and walked the scooter through it to the street out front. Staying in the shadows, they continued rolling it down the sidewalk until they were a block away; far enough for them to start it up and zoom off without alerting anyone.

  There was no sign of anyone around, which wasn't normal for this time of night — especially on a game night. Three blocks further down, they turned a corner and discovered why: another roadblock of DHS SUV's impeded their escape. Not every vehicle was occupied, and while attempting to slip between two apparently vacant ones, they woke a driver who had been asleep in the reclined front seat. "Stop!" he yelled, clambering out of the truck. Ignoring him, Jess gunned it, and after a half-hearted foot chase, he gave up the pursuit and returned to his vehicle.

  Though they had successfully bypassed the second roadblock, Jess became concerned when they traveled several blocks and the streets were still empty. As she was pondering where the next perimeter might be, another white SUV screamed around the corner, heading straight for them. Cutting the lights, Jess took a hard left into the nearest alley, skidding through some loose gravel and almost losing Gavin in the process. The truck, catching up to the turn-off point, guessed wrong and barrelled down the opposite alley.

  Emerging back onto a main road, Jess zig-zagged through the vacant streets until sighting the third roadblock ahead. This one, clearly the finale, had scores of people milling about behind blue police barriers. Veering out of sight again, Jess found another gangway, and after dismounting and walking the scooter through it, they emerged to freedom on the other side.

  Firing back up the engine, Jess and Gavin scooted over to where the crowd was gathered. Several people were arguing with the police officers at the scene; it was obvious the residents were tired of waiting to return to their homes. As Jess had guessed, the whole area had been evacuated.

  "We probably could have ridden right through it," Gavin whispered in her ear, in reference to the distracted and harried officers.

  After a blessedly uneventful return trip home, they stashed the scooter in the garage and quietly climbed the back stairs to Gavin's apartment. Still wired from the night's excitement, they set up camp in his living room as Jess turned on the TV. The local news channels were back on the air, with reporters at the scene covering the drama taking place at the perimeter barriers. The special live news report, although already titled 'Incident at Wrigley', didn't seem to have much information on what exactly the 'Incident' was.

  "Tensions are running high here at this checkpoint," the reporter explained, "with many residents wanting to know when they can return to their homes. Authorities have not released any information on what kind of risks exist behind these barriers, within what they now call a 'National Security Area', and frankly, the residents aren't too concerned about that: they are simply tired, hungry — and as many were hastily evacuated from their homes without warm clothing — cold. Without any information forthcoming, they believe that whatever happened earlier tonight has been overblown, and shouldn't prevent them from returning to their homes. What we can tell you about the incident, from our interviews with witnesses, is that some kind of stealth-type aircraft either landed or crashed in the middle of the field during the eighth inning of the game. There were no reports of injuries, and we'd like to stress it doesn't appear as though this was a terrorist act at this time. We understand that most of the first responders have been dismissed from the scene, and that there will be a joint press conference at nine A.M. tomorrow with Mayor Emanuel and the Department of Homeland Security. Back to you, Tim."

  "Thanks Walt. As a reminder, in addition to the ground evacuation effort, the authorities have now declared the airspace within a perimeter of five miles of Wrigley Field a National Defense Zone, with no commercial or civilian flights allowed below eighty-five hundred feet until further notice. This is affecting flights out of O'Hare, with delays growing up to four hours as only one west-facing runway is currently available for departures..."

  They watched for another hour or so, until the alcohol and adrenaline-fueled night finally caught up with them, and they both passed out on the couch, exhausted.

  ~ 49 ~

  Jess awoke just after ten-thirty the next morning, Gavin's throw pillow patterns etched in red across her face. She listened to him talk with Joel in a lowered voice as he futzed around with the coffee maker, until they noticed she was awake.

  "Mornin' Princess," Joel announced, delivering a cup of coffee to her over the back of the couch. Propping herself up, she accepted it and took a sip, then raised a hand to her aching head and groaned. "Looks like you were on Candid Camera last night," he added with relish.

  Jess looked quizzically at Gavin, who shrugged his shoulders. "He saw the press conference earlier — they said it was a hoax," Gavin explained.

  Jess jerked h
erself up on the couch, almost spilling her coffee. "What?" she spat out in disbelief. "How could they say that? Gavin, you were there! You saw the ship, the pilots...everything!"

  "I'm with you one-hundred, babe. But the huddled masses," he whispered, not-so-surreptitiously pointing a finger towards Joel, "are under the spell. He even admits that the Men in Black have been here, so there you go."

  "Yeah, well not quite, but when I was jogging earlier this morning I did see a freaky white van slowly cruising down the alley, Jess. It followed me all the way down Winchester. Probably some kind of pedophile, my guess."

  "Fella, you held up pretty well, for sure, but you're delusional if you think you're still pedo-bait," Gavin teased, pinching a hunk of flab on his midsection. "They was MIBs fo' sho'."

  "Sure it wasn't a Homeland Security SUV?" Jess queried. "There were tons of them around last night."

  "Nope, plain ol' van," Joel replied. "Like old-school Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine, but white, tinted windows all around. Creepy," he added with a shudder.

  "So back to the thing, is that all they said? A hoax? No other explanation?"

  "Nope. But hey, maybe they'll see it again. They're continuing the game this afternoon — they said it was stopped due to an 'Alien delay' at the conference. Got a big laugh."

  "Oh wonderful. It's a big joke now." Jess was furious. "Seriously, how did they explain it?"

  Joel sighed. "They said it was a hoax, that they were still investigating, that it was likely a group of UK jokers called the 'Yes Men' or something, it was all a publicity stunt for a reality show, and there was never a threat to national security. Apparently it was made of paper mâché and Christmas lights, and they deconstructed it last night and hauled the junk away."

  "You have got to be kidding me! Seriously? Right. That's a load of bullshit and they know it, and everyone at that game knows it. Gavin..." Jess implored, but he threw his arms up and walked over to the kitchen, shaking his head.

  "Okay crazies, I'm off to the real world, so help me," Joel said, gathering his things, "Gav, Norah is in the back room on the iPad, I already gave her some Cheerios. See ya."

  "Gavin. You have to go to Wrigley with me today," Jess pleaded. "I want to talk to people about this."

  "Sorry Jess," Gavin replied apologetically, "I've got Movement with Norah later."

  "Really? Movement? Oh, whatever. But seriously, you're on my side in this, right? You've got my back?"

  "Correct, I am just as insane in the membrane as you are."

  After downing her coffee, Jess stormed up to her apartment. She was gobsmacked at how blatantly they were spinning — no, make that lying — about what happened the previous night. She guessed that was their right, they were just defending their secrets, after all...but still. After showering, she ate, then took a long walk over to Wrigley in the sunshine. Everything seemed back to normal, and with the surreality of last night gone without a trace, life felt normal again.

  After finding a scalper out front hawking tickets, she forked over a twenty — a pretty reasonable entrance fee. Just after her purchase the guy was shooed away by security, at which point she noticed a decidedly heightened presence. Mostly undercover guys, though, the kind that are obvious in their forced normality: always with the jeans, bright polo shirt, cap, dark sunglasses (not mirrored — that would be too obvious), and requisite flesh-toned earpiece, if you can spot it. But beyond the attire, the dead giveaway is the expressionless face and the aimless meandering about, without friends or seeming purpose.

  She found her seat behind first base, and though she had arrived early, there were some fans already seated around her. She scooted closer to a nearby family.

  "Hey, so what did you all think of what happened last night?" she asked casually.

  Their two boys answered simultaneously. "Cool!"

  "It was something else, alright," their mother added. "Never seen a trick like that before, and I've seen David Copperfield."

  "So you think it was a trick?"

  "Well, yeah..." she replied, looking at Jess uneasily.

  Jess moved to the other end of her row, where three twenty-something guys clad in Cubs gear were already hard at work on their second or third Old Styles.

  "Did you guys see the thing last night? What did you think of it?"

  "You weren't here? It was awesome! That thing was huge," the closest one replied, spreading his arms to communicate the immensity of it, and spilling beer onto his buddy in the process.

  "Oh sorry Bro, my B," he conceded, high-fiving the third Bro while emitting a seal-like laugh.

  Beer-victim-Bro had something to say about the thing too, but only after knuckle-punching the first Bro in the family jewels as payback. "Dudes, I saw the crane though! There were wires coming down."

  "Bullshit, dude! That was some Class-A Area 51 stealth fighter shit last night!" first Bro replied, high-fiving the dry Bro again.

  Jess slinked away in her own stealth mode, unnoticed by the Toasted Bro Trio. She didn't need to go any further with this, she decided — it seemed everyone had their own explanation for what happened, regardless of what the media had told them. She was surprised and disappointed, however, that none of them seemed to have any deeper curiosity or interest in it, other than it being a good story. Nothing short of a full-on invasion, Orson Welles style, would have any real effect on them, she concluded.

  Leaving the ballpark, Jess walked back home, dejected. All she had risked, and all the problems she caused in attempting to raise the curtain on these government secrets, had amounted to nothing more than an entertaining spectacle, soon to be forgotten.

  Lost in her despair, she was already halfway home by the time she noticed the van.

  ~ 50 ~

  It was plain white, an older model — just as Joel described — and it was trailing a block behind her. Though only early in the evening, its lights were already on, and she couldn't see who was driving through the tinted windshield. She sized up her options. There was an El stop two blocks away, but she was still loathe to board another train at this point, even if her life depended on it. Then she noticed the Metra embankment up ahead, and more importantly, the pedestrian tunnel beneath. After a count of three, she broke left in a full sprint towards the tunnel as the van gunned its engine behind her. It caught up to her just as she entered the tunnel opening, but instead of stopping, she heard it speed up and drive away behind her.

  Backtracking, she peeked out the entrance to watch the van turn into an underpass a block down — they were trying to catch up to her on the other side. Exiting the tunnel, she backtracked and made a break for the Irving Park El stop around the corner.

  Entering the station, she swiped her card and collapsed on the stairs inside, out of breath and drenched in sweat. After a few minutes of not seeing the van, she gathered her courage and trudged up the stairs to await the next train. Scanning over the platform railing, she expected to see the van speed by on the streets below, but there was nothing but ordinary street traffic. A train finally rumbled into the station, and though her nervous system was on high alert, she boarded it and sat down.

  By the time it pulled out of the station, her heart was beating faster than it had been when she was running from the van. Beads of sweat gathered on her brow as she began to feel a nauseous, twitchy feeling in her stomach. I am going to puke on this train, she thought to herself. Breathing heavily, she felt the saliva collecting in her mouth. Lifting her bag from the floor, she opened it on her lap, tilted her head down, and waited for the inevitable.

  She glanced sideways, in order to see who might be a witness to this unholy display, when she noticed him. Though sitting directly across from her, she could've sworn there was nobody in that seat when she boarded the train. He was paging through a copy of the Reader, but from what she could see of his head, and his lanky frame, she knew it was him. It was the man she had rescued in North Korea.

  The shock of seeing him distracted her from her twitchy stomach, and bi
t by bit the nausea receded. Catching herself drooling into her bag, she quickly wiped her mouth and placed her bag back on the floor. Embarrassed, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed, only to discover there was no one else on the train.

  This confused her even more, as she was sure the train had at least a few riders when she boarded. She turned back to look at the man again. He was wearing jeans, grey sneakers, and a Cubs jersey, but she was sure that he was the gentleman: he was the same height, had the same white hair, and the same fair appearance. It was him. Confused, she thought to herself What are you doing here?

  Lowering his paper a few inches, he looked directly at her as if in answer, the hint of a smile on his face. As she locked eyes with him, the train car seemed to recede into the background, muffled and out of focus, as a hazy golden glow enveloped them.

  Suddenly, as if a light switch had been flipped, the glow was gone, and the train car was back to normal, filled with the passengers she initially saw. The gentleman, of course, was also gone. Looking around for him, she was interrupted by the announcement for the next stop.

  As she exited the station, she searched again for the gentleman — completely forgetting about the white van — and after not finding him, began to walk home. There was a feeling within her, a sense of peace, of strength, yet she was oblivious as to the source. It was as if she had awoken from a most pleasant dream, where the memory had already faded, yet the feelings still lingered.

  She didn't quite know what had just happened, but one thing she did know: she wasn't afraid anymore.

  ~ 51 ~

  Her phone began buzzing — it was Gavin.

  "Uh, hi, what's up," she answered distractedly.

  "Jess, glad I got ahold of you, are you still at the game? If so, don't come home, there's the same...thing...Joel saw last night right out front."