“Infect us, and force us into slave labor. My teams are convinced that they want to turn the Earth into some kind of farm. Breed or transform humans into an acceptable food, and program us to raise ourselves, feed ourselves, and then jump voluntarily into a meat grinder. Like zero-maintenance cattle. We do all the work, and they get free food, air, and whatever else they need. We think the squiddies were employed for a similar purpose on their home world.”
“Do you have the machine with you? The controller you mentioned?”
“No.”
The general’s phone beeped. He plucked it off the table and frowned at it. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. The CIA just announced that they’ve been tracking some kind of encrypted signaling in television networks in Utah. Forces are being deployed.”
“You need to call them off.” Did he find the signal, or is he bluffing? It’s not the first time that kind of technique has been used, and we haven’t send a signal over the comm network in a week.
“It’s out of our hands now, Ryan. Don’t worry. They’ll find the box. But they’re going to level the facility. They’ll find your little alien control box and tuck it away. Maybe they can get it working.”
“You have to cut the operation. We’re so close.”
“It’s too late. If I mention the operation to anyone right now, I’ll lose my stars. I’ll have to try something else.”
“The only people that know how to combat the threat are in that facility.”
“Doesn’t matter. Go back to Montana. I’ll forget you were here.”
“What about the planet?”
“We’ll handle it.”
“You’re handling it badly. Just give me time to get my team out. We can—”
“Ryan. It’s over.”
“So you’re just going to give up?”
“They haven’t deployed yet, even though they can. Your scientists could be wrong. A warm welcome wasn’t a question, it was a necessity. They need to restock, and they decided to seed our planet. We’re prepping to build a landing site at Andrews where they can receive part of our domestic product in exchange for technology. There are other plans to construct fields for them to harvest their own food as well.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” His voice rose in continual increments with each sentence.
“What’s going on is that we misjudged.”
Crisp struggled to keep his voice close to a whisper, even though he felt like blasting the old fart. “They killed a million people, and you’re going to sit there and believe them about some fake promise of civility? Are you kidding me?”
Something was off about the old man. He had a high tolerance for questioning, but a subordinate challenging his motives directly should have triggered some kind of response. Instead of getting angry, he only smiled. “It’s over, Ryan. Go back to Montana. I’ll deal with your friends.”
Ryan shot out of the chair on boosters fueled by paranoia. The commotion should have caused some kind of stir, but only a few patrons bothered to raise an eye toward him. He swiped his hand across the tabletop, knocking the steaming cup against the wall of windows. A splash showered the general and booth in coffee, and again there was little response other then a light wiping with a napkin.
“Jesus Christ.”
The general smiled. He’d turned into a fucking robot. One of the baristas was walking toward Ryan from the front of the café, towel in one hand, and a small syringe in the other.
“Relax,” said the general. “Just let this happen.”
It didn’t matter that he’d been away from actual combat for decades. His instincts took over. Instead of bolting around the café in fear, he stripped the forty-five caliber Sig from the small of his back and let a round fly directly into the forehead of the approaching clerk. A move that could have destroyed him if it were a mistake, but it roused commotion from only one group in the restaurant.
A table tipped as three high-school girls raced through the door. The rest of the patrons sipped their coffee and continued their mundane conversations. Amarillo was now an occupied territory, as was the White House.
His feet pounded the hard tiles without orders, and skipped over the body of the dead waiter. He slammed through the door into the parking lot, where a group of bystanders stood staring calmly at him from the walk. Almost mechanically, they twitched into a jog behind him. The Sig transferred to his left hand as his right reached for the key fob. Flashing amber running lights on the Cavalier signaled the remote start. The door slammed behind him and locked before the innocent human experiments reached the vehicle. They beat open palms against the windows and clawed at the handles.
The car sped in reverse, mowing a few of them down. The newspapers would have a field day with the incident. He was now a fugitive not only from the alien menace and the corrupted government, but once the security footage hit the internet, he’d be promoted to the public enemy list. There was no turning back at this point. He now knew why the money stopped flowing into the Bitcoin account. He knew why the public address came that morning, and he knew that they were in more danger than they could have imagined. The whole operation was lost. If the alien virus was already deployed, then it was game over. Checkmate.
Defensive driving classes were among the most boring weeks of his career, but he knew they would someday come in handy, and that day was today. The streets of Amarillo turned into a gauntlet. He spotted cars turning suddenly and erratically, straight toward his driving lane. He wondered what it would take for the virus to transfer from one of the human zombies to a new host. A bite? A scratch?
Capture was not an option. There was still a possibility that the compound was safe, and this was the general’s attempt to locate it, not by torture as he suspected, but by infection and reprogramming.
He mashed the gas pedal and tore through an empty parking lot. His eyes stayed focused three minutes ahead of the vehicle, any potential threat identified and avoided. Down a dark alley, he slowed to ten miles per hour, and threw himself out of the doorway before rolling several feet on the cold damp pavement while the vehicle continued forward into cross traffic.
He couldn’t stay there long enough for them to discover that he wasn’t killed in the wreck. Not knowing what else to do, he ran. The only thought on his mind was getting back to his crew. They were the only hope for the planet.
As he emerged from another small alleyway, something stung his neck. He grabbed for that hard sharp object as his legs gave out. He flopped onto the concrete, skin grinding against the abrasive sandpapery surface. His eyes fell on the tiny object: a steel dart.
The last thing he saw before passing out were the approaching headlights of a black minivan.
Nicole Savage stumbled into the office. John had softened his aggression toward her, but he still didn’t fully trust her. There was something off, maybe around the eyes. Those huge brown almond eyes that held the colonel in some kind of seductive trance.
“My lab is all packed up, as requested. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what all of this is about.”
“I don’t have any idea. It’s almost ten. He said I’d hear from him by now.”
“And you haven’t?”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you.”
She leaned backward as her lips puckered. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“If he doesn’t send me a message on this thing in the next five minutes, then we’re rolling out.”
“To where?”
“Not sure. Maybe Mexico. He wasn’t real clear on the details, just that I’m supposed to contact that suit that delivers the rockets and guns.”
“He’ll know where we’re headed ?”
“I don’t know,” said John. “I don’t know anything. All I know is that I’m supposed to take command and get us the hell out of here. Someone leaked our location to the government, and with all this tripe on the TV about alien sympathizers, they’re going to be coming for us. Maybe instead of standing a
round asking questions, you can figure out which one of your lab rats narced on us.”
Her face tightened before she whipped her jet-black ponytail around while turning for the door. The clack of her high-heeled boots faded down the hallway.
John looked back at the black screen. He decided to send a message first.
You there, Crispy?
It didn’t matter now. They would be leaving in seconds. He wondered who else might be in on the line, but all prior communications had been carefully wiped from the system. Whoever the colonel was talking to, he didn’t want anyone to find out about it. Maybe he was the one who leaked the information, and wanted to put some distance between himself and the base before the government Apaches showed up to level the place. It was just his style to save his own ass while leaving his troops stranded in hostile territory. It was Africa all over again.
A message appeared.
Has there been a development? Am I go for the plan?
John didn’t know what to say. If that was the colonel, why would he ask such a question? What plan? Was this person referring to the raid on their compound? Another message appeared.
I know you’ve seen the reports. I think we should proceed. We may not get another chance. I’ve been waiting on you to give the order since this morning. What have you been doing?
The colonel must have had some kind of failsafe in place. It was just past 2200, and still no word. He wouldn’t be able to access this relay chat again, and it was clear that the colonel wasn’t coming back. He responded, Green light.
Alright, I’ll send the information out. I don’t see any other choice at the moment. Good doing business with you, and thanks for the story.
“What fucking story?” he asked aloud. “Whatever.” He snatched the radio off the desk and miked up. “We ready to roll?”
“Ready as we’re going to get,” came the response.
“Alright. Let’s get about it. Spool the choppers and have the trucks follow me. I’ll figure out where we’re headed on the way.”
The lights dimmed in the office. A flashing red light blinked from the wall, and an annoying buzzing came over the intercom. Stark’s voice cut through the noise. “All hands, we are abandoning the facility. If you aren’t loaded up already, then drop what you’re doing and head for your transport. There won’t be another announcement.”
John zipped out of the door and met the spiky-haired kid in the hallway. “Stark.”
“Sir.”
“Did the colonel tell you anything about a backup plan?”
“Backup plan, sir?”
“Never mind. Let’s get to the truck. The radio stuff is all outfitted?”
“Outfitted and ready.” The boy cocked his head. “I’ll admit, I had no intention to stay here forever, but now that we’re leaving, I’m going to miss this dump.”
The muffled sound of helicopter blades filled the base. “Don’t ever get to attached to a FOB. They’re designed to be expendable.”
“Yes sir.”
John led the way as Stark’s questions followed him. “We’re headed south, I take it?”
“For now, till I figure out where we’re going. Crispy left me in a damn mess, and I have a creeping suspicion that we’re going to meet some resistance on the way out.”
“Resistance sir?”
“Do yourself a favor, Stark. Cut the questions and worry about sending out radio announcements when I tell you to.”
“Yes, sir.”
The room was lit from above with a hanging red bulb, the kind of fixture farmers in Montana use for homemade chicken incubators. Both the steel table and the chair he sat in were bolted to the floor, as were the shackles that bound his wrists. All he could remember was running. If the aliens had him, they could have simply infected him and turned him into a zombie. Why the interrogation room?
To his left, the wall was mirrored, most likely a one-way mirror. Someone behind it surely knew that he was awake. Or perhaps he was infected, and this was just a projection of his consciousness reflecting the mental captivity. Outside this room, he though it possible his body was being controlled by the tormentors that were sure to burst through that heavy iron door any second.
Either way, his mental projection seemed accurate enough. In the reflection, his face was scraped up along the right side. Brownish red scabs coated his cheek and forehead, right where his flesh was burning. The aching under his skull convinced him the room was real. Maybe the mousy biologist was right all along. Once the soldier in her care was infected, he lost all cognitive ability. Maybe the squiddies had to extract the information from him first before turning him to a zombie slave.
He hoped that when they finished with him, the infection would also carry death, just fade to black. He didn’t like the idea of knowing that he was being controlled from elsewhere, and didn’t look forward to watching his body carry out the alien agenda.
Almost as if he had willed it, a loud clack echoed through the room, and bright light from beyond the door poured in as it opened, nearly blinding him. In the light, two humanoid shadows appeared. The door locked shut with another clack. His eyes adjusted quickly. They looked human enough. They wore black business suits. He didn’t recognize the lapel pins. One of them held a manila envelope, packing the edge of it against an open palm.
“Ryan Crisp,” said one of them.
Under the suit he must have been huge, either that or he was wearing a heavy vest with rifle plates. His black reflective glasses matched the straight hair, like an older version of Stark. The other man was smaller and blonde, but otherwise the same profile, wearing the same pair of Ray-Bans.
The man continued. “Enlisted in the army, nineteen ninety-two. Officer training school in ninety-three. Ranger school in ninety-four. Black ops field work starting in ninety-six. Panama, Libya, Afghanistan. . .impressive resume.”
The men stepped forward. Under the light, only their skin and white cotton shirts caught the red glow. Their suit jackets were dark as sack cloth. “Promoted to the rank of Colonel in two thousand, headed up your own security division for years, till the Army bounced you out after a failed job in Africa. It’s funny. The files on that mission are still sealed. Even we couldn’t get access to them. The general in the habit of burning records?”
“What do you want?” asked Ryan. “If you’re looking for base coordinates, I don’t have them. I instructed my team personally to not reveal our location to anyone, including me. Only a few people know it, and they’re permanently stationed on site. They drive everyone to and from the compound for hours in the back of a truck. Dropped me off in Amarillo.”
“Nice try, colonel. Your men are in danger.”
“My country is in danger. Maybe instead of wasting your time with me, you should be taking care of the alien threat that’s about to descend on this planet. Of course, you aren’t worried about that. You’re already working for them. So grab the newest torture device and let’s do this. I’m ready.”
The men shared a chuckle. Odd for squiddy slaves to have a sense of humor, he thought.
“Sorry about the restraints. I know you’ve been through hell, and we wanted you to hear us out before you try to escape.”
“As if I ever had a choice.”
The man with the envelope smiled, twisting his head and bearing teeth. This was obviously amusing him, like a kid tormenting a trapped lizard.
“Colonel. Can I call you colonel?”
“I’m the one in restraints. Call me whatever you want.”
“Right. Okay colonel. Here’s the deal.” A steel chair on the other side of the bench screeched back with a tug, then flipped the opposite direction. The folder landed on the table as he sat down in a reversed position. “I don’t know how the hell you evaded General Gibbons. He’s heading up the task force on Operation Raindrop. We tried to intercept you in the parking lot, but there were too many of them around.”
“Them?”
“The test subjects. Amarillo is suffering
an outbreak of the alien virus. It’s a hotbed of activity, but nobody knows about it. We can get to that in a minute.”
“What is this?” asked Ryan.
“We tested your blood. They didn’t manage to infect you. Again, sorry about the dart. Our agents have to be careful with anyone that might be contaminated. Last thing we need is that nonsense infecting our division.”
“What division?”
“We can get to that in a minute. You mind telling me what you were doing in Amarillo? Why were you talking to the general?”
Ryan’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men. The squiddies were clever, but this seemed almost surreal. These guys smelled like spooks. They carried a subtle presence of character that few could identify.
“Well, colonel? Why were you talking to the General?”
“I was getting my new orders and delivering a progress report.”
“Did this have something to do with Operation Raindrop?”
“You really are clever,” he said. The situation forced a grin across his cheeks. Even with an unsettled stomach, they were putting on quite a puppet show for him. “I know what you want. Why don’t you just ask?”
“I did. You aren’t infected. So either the general laid a trap for you, or you’re working for them. Which is it, colonel?”
“Are you really that stupid, or is this part of the game? Who are you working for.”
The smaller man spoke up. “Your psyche profile said you would cooperate, colonel. I’d advise you to do so. We saved your life. My men risked their lives to pull you out. The least you can do is answer one or two questions for us.”
“And if I don’t?”
Suddenly they didn’t seem so happy. The two men stared at each other for a moment before turning their glasses back his direction. The envelope glided across the metal bench, stopping at Ryan’s hands. “Open it up.”
He flipped the folder open. The first page looked like part of his service jacket, but with all the little details representative of an NSA file. At the bottom, there was an interesting note in the comments. Current location unknown.
Invasion Page 3
