“Burgers will go,” Judith assured him, quickly. “How did you get the meat?”
“Got a deal with farmers up north,” the cook said, as he turned to take a pair of burgers off the grill. “They make the mince for us and ...”
He stopped, looking towards the window.
A shadow had fallen over the diner.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Near Area 52, Nevada, USA
Day 235
Sergeant Daniel Conrad (ret.) knew that there was a secret hidden under the formerly-disused service station and trucker’s rest. It wasn't a secret he wanted to know, although he did have his suspicions. There were rumours that various soldiers, when they retired from the teams, had been approached and asked to perform special duties that paid well, but would never be officially acknowledged. Not all of them were mercenary operations, either. His own recall to duty, in the days before the approach of the alien mothership had been detected, had been couched as a chance for him to earn some money for his grandchildren while doing very little.
That had been an understatement, he knew. Money and supplies had been made available to renovate the service station, a task that had been harder than it had seemed. The harsh sunlight of Nevada had ruined what parts of the station hadn’t been looted over the years. Installing new furniture, equipment and suchlike had been a nightmare, particularly when the panic-buying had started. Someone, Daniel suspected, had known in advance about the alien craft. The only alternative was that the whole thing was a wild coincidence – and he knew better than to believe in them.
But he was proud of the work he’d done. The service station was now used by dozens of legitimate truckers, although they tended to travel in convoy these days when they couldn’t get escorts from the Order Police. Daniel had rigged up a handful of concealed firing positions, intended to prevent the bandits who roamed the borderlands between America and Mexico from attacking his territory. It was a definite draw for the truckers to have a safe place to stop and rest – and, oddly, the Order Police had said nothing about it. Given that they normally confiscated all weapons in private hands, it raised a whole series of questions about just what was under the ground.
He stood in the small tower – the control tower, he thought of it – and surveyed his domain. Apart from the service station itself and the large garage, complete with a staff of mechanics from the army, there was a motel and even a small barter hall. It was astonishing what one could find in one of the abandoned towns, if one looked hard enough. The Order Police, thankfully, didn't know the half of it. He was still looking over towards the motel when a shadow fell over the station.
“Shit,” the dispatcher said, staring upwards. “Sir ...”
Daniel followed her gaze. An alien craft was hanging in the air. It had moved so rapidly that he hadn't even been aware of it until it was there. There hadn't even been a sound as the craft moved in for the kill. It hung motionless for a long moment, allowing the humans time to panic, then a hatch opened in the craft’s underside. A stream of alien warriors fell out and plummeted towards the ground.
“Hit the alarm,” Daniel hissed. He had enough firepower to stand off bandits, but he had no illusions about how long his guards could hold off the aliens. How had they even discovered his station? Or had they always known and had simply been biding their time? The last convoy might have been something more important than he’d realised. “And then grab your weapon.”
He sucked in his breath as he saw the aliens hit the ground. It looked as if they should have hit hard and smashed themselves to jelly, but they did something and landed gently. Far better than a parachute, he realised, with a flicker of envy. Even the HAVLO paratroopers didn't fall so rapidly. It would let them get on the ground before the enemy had any time to react.
There was a brief outbreak of gunfire from the direction of the motel. The alien craft didn't seem to move, but there was a flash of light that left spots dancing in front of Daniel’s eyes and the entire building disintegrated into rubble. Unfazed by the noise, the alien warriors kept advancing towards the service station, a handful laying down fire while their comrades advanced. Their hand weapons didn't seem to be quite as powerful, but reports suggested that they had a stun setting. They could just fire wildly and sort the stunned out later.
“Come on,” he snapped, tearing his gaze away from the scene. “We can't stay here!”
***
Judith clutched the side of her head as the alien warriors started their advance, the windows shattering inwards as blue-white flares of light blasted them down. The sight brought back memories, memories – she realised now – that she had repressed ... no, that had been repressed for her. A sudden twinge from her wrists reminded her of how the Order Policemen had marched her back to the alien base, her hands cuffed with a plastic tie so tightly that she had lost all circulation. She’d been their prisoner ...
... How had she forgotten that?
“Judith!”
There was a voice, yelling at her. Judith barely heard it over the roaring in her head, a sound so loud that it overwhelmed the entire world. She’d been one of the Walking Dead, she realised now; she’d been under their control ever since she’d been taken prisoner, a spy in the resistance camp. And she hadn't even known. God, how much had she seen that the aliens had seen through her eyes? She’d seen the alien prisoner they’d been transporting to the hidden base ... Dear God, she was a worse traitor than Benedict Arnold! She’d betrayed the human race.
A hand slapped her face and her mind cleared, briefly. The entire diner seemed to have become a warzone. Blue-white flashes of light burned through the air, crackling like lightning, while the resistance fighters returned fire with guns and hurled grenades. Clare was staring down at her, clutching a pistol in her hand ... she didn't know, Judith realised, discovering that her tongue was thoroughly paralysed. She hadn't realised that her friend was an unwilling spy ...
But of course not, she thought ... or was it the aliens, working through her mind? Even her thoughts couldn't be trusted! Everyone knows that the Walking Dead are inhuman monsters; they don’t laugh or cry or make love. And none of them knew that you’d been a prisoner. How could they even know to look for implants? Nothing you did betrayed yourself because you didn't even know yourself ...
“Judith, we have to crawl out of here,” Clare snapped. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Judith heard her own voice said. “I'm fine.”
A terrible coldness fell over her as Clare turned, crawling towards the exit at the rear of the kitchen. There was no sign of the cook, but oil was spilling everywhere from where a set of alien blasts had wrecked the equipment. Judith felt her hands clutching her pistol, pointing it directly at the back of Claire’s head. Her friend had no warning before Judith’s finger pulled the trigger and blew her head off. Judith tried to scream and fight as Claire’s body stopped moving, but it was futile. She turned, rolling over, and drew a bead on one of the defenders. He too had no warning before he died ... Judith’s hand moved on to the next target, and the next ...
I’m a puppet, she realised, helplessly. What have they done to me?
***
The sound of firing was slacking off as Daniel ran down towards the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, the aliens seemed to have concentrated their advance there, which made a certain amount of tactical sense. It wouldn't be hard to break into the building through the windows and from there they could fan out to take the rest of the building – and secure the tunnel leading down underground. By now, whoever was in the mysterious bunker would know that they were under attack, wouldn't they? He hoped so.
He stayed low as he entered the kitchen, picking his way through the ruined equipment and biting down a curse as he came face to face with Garrison’s body. The cook had been a good man, even if he had been a cowardly fobbit rather than a proper fighting man. His war time service in Afghanistan might as well have been served in America, for all the danger he’d experienced. And he'd only
ever cooked burgers ...
Daniel pushed the thought aside and peered around the counter. A girl was sitting there, her back to him, holding a gun in her hand. Some of the defenders, he realised numbly, had been shot in the back. The girl was sitting there, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut. And the aliens were advancing through the windows ...
A spy, Daniel thought, grimly. There could be no other explanation, certainly none he wanted to face. One of the Walking Dead should have been instantly recognisable. He lifted his rifle and took aim at the girl, only to roll backwards as one of the aliens saw him and opened fire. Blue-white lightning crackled around him, but by some miracle he escaped direct touch. Cursing, he crawled backwards, firing a pair of shots towards the aliens to discourage immediate pursuit. The girl, whatever she had been, would have to wait until later.
Behind him, he heard the aliens crashing forward. Wishing for a Claymore, or something else he could use to slow them down, he pulled himself to his feet as soon as he was out of danger and ran down towards the garage. There was an antiaircraft vehicle there, along with some MANPADs. If enough defenders survived, they could give the aliens a nasty shock.
“Sir,” one of the soldiers called, as he ran into the garage. “They’re massing on the other side of the main doors.”
“Then power up the MANPADs,” Daniel ordered, tartly. The aliens might be able to take the base without much effort, but by God they would know that they had been kissed! “And then prepare to trigger the emergency charges.”
Any mechanical door could jam, he knew – and bitter experience in the military had taught him that relying on any piece of technology was asking for trouble. Just in case, he’d rigged up explosive packs to blow the main doors outwards if the system happened to jam. The aliens, naturally, would be trying to blow the doors inwards ...
He motioned for the soldiers to prepare their final positions, then smiled. “Blow the doors!”
***
Judith’s treacherous body refused to move as the aliens came up and surrounded her. It struck her, as she was desperately trying to avoid thinking about what they were doing to her, just how different the warriors were from the other aliens. Even the worker drones looked related to the leader caste, but the warriors looked more ... well, more passionate than the other castes. She had an odd feeling that humanity might have gotten on better with the warriors than any of the other castes, if they had been given the chance.
Her body moved of its own accord, standing up amidst the aliens. Judith wanted to run, but all she could do was stand there and wait. She couldn't even move her head; hell, she was surprised that she was still breathing. But then, breathing was largely an involuntary movement anyway, if she recalled correctly. The aliens might not need to control her every move.
Dozens of aliens moved past her, heading further into the complex. They ignored her, although she was sure she saw a handful of beady alien eyes flicker in her direction before they headed onwards. These aliens had eyelids, the analytical part of her mind noted, and their eyes were much smaller targets than those of the other castes. But maybe that made sense, she told herself; they’d want some kind of protection in case they found themselves staring into a very bright light. Reports from the cities had suggested that flash-bang grenades gave the aliens a very hard time.
One of the aliens – a hybrid, she realised – stopped in front of her. There was a long chilling moment when dark eyes met hers, then she felt her body turning and following the alien as he walked out of the diner. Outside, several smaller alien craft had settled onto the ground, disgorging more alien warriors. She felt a pang of bitter guilt as she saw the human bodies lying on the ground where they’d fallen. They hadn't realised that she’d been a viper in the nest.
Damn you, she thought. It was the only thing she could do to resist. Damn you to hell.
***
Daniel smiled tightly as the door exploded outwards, converted into thousands of pieces of flying shrapnel. The aliens scattered as the human defenders opened fire, driving them back from the doors before they could even start returning fire themselves. Several of them, no matter how tough, had been knocked down hard and seemed to be staying down. The remainder would regroup any moment and start fighting back.
“Get the truck out there,” he barked. It was a risk, but he suspected that the aliens would hesitate to return fire with maximum force. At the very least, they would bury the entrance to the bunker and have to spend hours digging it up, allowing the bunkers occupants a chance to escape their clawed hands. “Hurry!”
There was a roar as the antiaircraft vehicle moved forward, missiles already swinging up into firing positron. It was outdated, at least by the standards of the vehicles that had fought when the aliens descended on America, but it would be firing at point-blank range. Soldiers with grenade launchers and RPGs laid down covering fire as the vehicle moved into firing position, then unleashed two missiles towards the alien craft. The alien warriors destroyed it seconds later, but the damage was done. Their transport flipped over and crashed towards the ground, hitting it hard enough to bring the lamps falling down from high overhead. It probably wouldn’t take them long to bring up additional fire support, Daniel reminded himself ...
Something flew into the garage and landed in the far corner, exploding seconds later. Daniel swore as stockpiles of gas caught fire, sending rivers of flames raging towards the defenders and driving them towards the exit. The end could not be long delayed.
At least we’ll go down fighting, he thought, as he adjusted his aim. The alien warriors pressed forward, firing as they came. He shot one through the head and watched it stumble backwards, before two more took its place. And we’ll make them know that they were hurt.
***
Judith saw the alien craft careering past their position and out of sight, before it hit the ground with a noise like thunder. Even the alien control over her movements couldn’t keep her upright – and she had the pleasure of seeing the alien she was helplessly following stumble too. But the control her body was as strong as ever. She couldn't move a muscle without their permission.
Just for a moment, the sound of firing died away. Were they all dead? It was possible ... but she truly had no idea what the base actually was. Had the aliens decided to liberate the captured alien or was there something else going on. A moment later, her body turned and walked towards the garage. Smoke and fire was billowing out of holes in the roof, but there was clearly still someone alive in there. The aliens had surrounded it, but were holding their fire.
Judith fought – again – to stop herself as she walked right up to the remains of the door and stopped, keeping her hands in view. A handful of alien bodies lay on the ground, leaking eerie green blood onto the concrete; she couldn't help feeling a moment of vengeful pleasure at the sight. Maybe they’d made her a traitor and used her as a spy, but they’d been hurt regardless. If only she’d been able to do it herself.
“Attention,” she heard her voice say, as she advanced into the darkness. “My masters are prepared to spare your lives if you surrender now.”
***
Daniel frowned as he studied the advancing girl. She was clearly the same girl he’d seen before, the traitor who’d stabbed her own comrades in the back ... and yet there was something about the way she moved that set alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. It almost seemed as if she had forgotten how to walk ...
The nasty thought he’d had earlier came back to him in full force. What if the aliens had succeeded in creating a Walking Dead man – or woman – who could pass for human?
He gritted his teeth, wishing that he could ask. But if the girl was a traitor, she wouldn’t tell him ... and if she were under alien control, she couldn’t tell him. There was no way to know. He started to choke as he breathed in the smoke, knowing that escape was pretty much impossible.
And if the girl had been enslaved by the aliens, she didn't deserve to suffer like that. No one did.
“Good shot, sir,” one of his remaining men hissed.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, as the alien warriors started their final advance. He started to shoot, knowing that there was no longer any point in conserving ammunition. “I just hope we bought enough time.”
Blue-white light flashed and he knew no more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Area 52, Nevada, USA
Day 235
“What the hell is that?”
“The emergency alarm,” Alex said, sharply. He hadn't heard the howling racket outside of drills – and they’d been warned that if they heard the alarm without being informed about the drill in advance, it was an enemy attack. “We’re under attack.”
Abigail stared at him. “What? How?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, as he stood up. “We have to get to the emergency tunnels, now!”
He gritted his teeth, thinking rapidly. Every piece of data gathered at Area 52 was backed up in other places, but losing the expertise that had been gathered to research the alien technology and biology would hurt. And then there was the very real risk of someone who knew more than they should falling into enemy hands. The aliens would interrogate them, find out what they knew and then start hunting for the rebels in their ranks.
There was a crash outside and he grabbed for his sidearm, before realising that the aliens were unlikely to have penetrated so far into the complex so quickly. The door opened a moment later, revealing a pair of armed soldiers who glanced at both of them suspiciously. If they had known what Abigail was, Alex suspected, they would have arrested her on general principles. Someone had to have betrayed them to the aliens.
But she didn't have a chance to betray us, he thought, grimly. She was meant to be going into lockdown with the rest of us, the ones who know too much.
Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory Page 26