by Maxey, Phil
The older man looked at Mason. “What station?”
“Well, it was LA…”
The man nodded as if in thought. “Okay, come with me.” He turned to the soldiers who looked surprised. “I take responsibility, son, they’re with me.”
The soldier typed some numbers into a keypad and the door swung open a few inches.
Grant and Mason followed the older man into a busy wide corridor. People in uniform rushed past them and then disappeared back into side offices.
“I’m Colonel Ross Horton, and I’m in charge of this show. So both of you are from LA?”
“Yeah, I was right there when it kicked off at LAX,” said Grant.
A young female officer appeared from a door at the end of the corridor and waved.
Horton acknowledged and she slipped back inside.
He then knocked on an open office door, inside a middle-aged woman in combat fatigues was working at a computer. “Hey, I need two level three security passes, for these guys.”
The woman nodded and set about typing into her keyboard.
“Give her your details, and then you’ll be able to help out. I believe Captain Fletcher is about to start a briefing on the first floor. If you’re quick you shouldn’t miss much.” He took a few steps into the corridor and stopped, turning around. “I hope you two ain’t yanking my chain with who you say you are—”
“We’re not,” said Grant.
“Good, because we need all the help we can get.”
Horton smiled and walked to the door at the end of the corridor and moved inside.
It wasn’t long before they were jogging around the corridors two floors down, until finally reaching their destination. Grant knocked and they went inside.
The eyes of fifteen men and women who were seated fell upon them.
“And who might you two be?” said the man at the front of the room with a large whiteboard behind him. A map was stuck to it.
“Mason Hendricks, special—”
“Yeah, yeah I don’t need your life story, you got your badges?”
They both held up newly printed cards.
“Good, take a seat. So as I was saying. My name is Captain Julian Fletcher. This briefing is for those that have been given security access so you can know what’s going on. This map behind shows you the new designations for the zones of the city. Six zones, from north-west to south-east. We are in the bottom south-east corner, and our designation is Zone F. You are currently in the headquarters for all the zones but also for Zone F. The other zones are being handled by their own commanders at secure locations. While each zone is protecting the citizens within, a large perimeter wall is being constructed around the city, and this same pattern of protection is being repeated across the nation, on or near other major cities. Any questions?”
“Are people being allowed to pass from one zone to another?” said a woman in a leather jacket.
“Good question, and not if we can help it. The point is each zone is responsible for its own security, providing shelter, and so on, but one zone out of them all tries to help coordinate everything within the external perimeter. Right, now let's get to why you are all here, and what you can all do…”
The next twenty minutes Fletcher took the sixteen former and current law officials through the meaning of their security passes and how they would be the eyes and ears inside the zone.
“It’s you guys’ jobs to help maintain the peace in this zone. Get out there and do what you’re good at. If you spot any strange-ass creatures, do not engage. Instead, get to a safe distance and call it in. The army will take—”
“What if those things are attacking people?” said Grant.
“Honestly. Most of the E.L.F.s that have been discovered are fierce fuckers. One of you, even two of you, isn’t going to do shit against them. You get safe and you call in the cavalry.”
From what Grant had seen he understood the logic in the captain’s words, but he was getting tired of running from these things.
The captain continued. “If you don’t already have a radio you will be given one, and the same for handguns, but if any situation gets to the point where you might need to use a firearm. Don’t. Call the MPs instead. You will also be paired up and given a schedule to patrol. The map behind me shows you the area the zone covers. Each of you will also be assigned other volunteers, which you and your partner will be in charge of.” Fletcher held up a sheet of printed paper. “I have here team members which will be assigned to your zone.” He started handing them out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jean looked through the cracks in the barn door to the flat ground. Outside, the light above the door created a twelve-foot pool of light, but beyond that was complete darkness.
Luis was behind her, seated on a barrel, around his face was a scarf. “Man, I don’t know how long I can stay in here.”
He looked at the crates of rotting food that were stacked on top of each other just yards in front of him.
“It needs to be as stinky as that, so those things come running.”
Luis coughed. “Aren’t dogs supposed to be able to pick up scents for miles? Does it really need to be this strong?”
Jean briefly looked back, sighed, then went back to watching the land surrounding the barn.
Doug stood in the upstairs bedroom which formerly belonged to the Gilberts. He looked out of the window, which gave him a good view of the garden and the outbuildings, both of which had lights attached to them that illuminated the area despite it being night. The fields beyond though were still shrouded in black, with only the darker shapes of trees visible in the distance.
Brad’s idea was a sound one. Create a trap. Draw the wolf-beasts to one confined spot, then blow their asses up with whatever explosives they could find. That turned out to be some dynamite which Doug knew belonged to a company in town. The manager didn’t need much convincing to allow them to use some of his stock.
The rest of the day was spent rigging the wiring around the Gilberts’ barn and going over the plan to allow Jean and Luis enough time to get out of the blast area. They wondered if the beasts would return to the scene of their crime, especially considering the cattle they had fed on, but Doug and Brad knew for the sake of the town they had no choice. If they didn’t come tonight, they would be back there the next night and so on until they did make an appearance.
Since he had been in the Gilberts’ bedroom he had been on his feet, either standing upright or leaning against the window frame, but at no point would he sit on their bed. Something about that felt wrong. He also avoided going into the children’s bedrooms. The whole place felt like a mausoleum to him, and he hated that.
But he hated what the monsters were doing to his town more.
He clicked on his radio. “Jean, how’s it looking? Over.”
“All quiet over here… well, Luis won’t shut up about the food, but yeah, no giant dog-people yet. Over.”
Doug smiled.
“Brad, any sign of them? Over.”
Brad scoured the landscape with his NVGs. It had been three hours now since he climbed up the rusting metal ladder of the water tower and his back was starting to let him know it.
“Nothing. Over.”
On the other side of the farm, in a smaller construction, sat Todd Edwards. He sipped on his wife’s soup from a flask which he held with both hands to keep warm. He looked out through a hole in the wooden planks which lined the barn. The light from the farmhouse gave him some sense of what the shadows were outside, but he needed to shine his own flashlight through the gap to get a clearer view.
His radio came to life with the sheriff’s voice, being asked the same as the others.
He switched on his flashlight and aimed the beam through the hole.
“Nope, nothing but dirt, crops, and rocks. Over.”
He placed the radio back down on the ground, next to the shotgun, when there was a crunching noise outside. He whipped the flashlight back to the break in
the wood and shifted it left and right to make sense of what he just heard, but the scene was the same.
The sound repeated.
He shook his head in confusion. The noise sounded as if it was coming from directly ahead of him, but there was nothing there. Certainly no seven-foot tall wolves standing upright. That he would definitely notice.
He slowly lifted the radio to his mouth when a scratching came from above his head. He swung the flashlight upwards at the dust-covered beams and cobwebs that covered the inside of the roof. The scratching continued. He could even pinpoint it. It was about five feet from being directly above him. Suddenly, the wooden boards covering the barn creaked as if the whole building was being constricted by an invisible snake.
As dust fell on top of him, he flicked the light back to the hole in the wood.
At first, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Things were moving towards the barn, hundreds… or was it thousands?
He grabbed his radio. “The rocks! The rocks are—”
Before he could finish, the roof cracked open and in poured the rocks. Hundreds of crab-like creatures, with sandy-brown-colored shells. He grabbed for his gun, but they were snapping at his flesh before he even managed to raise it.
Doug was already at the porch of the farmhouse when he heard the blast of a shotgun. The sound was quickly lost within the collapsing of beams and iron.
“Who’s shooting!” said Jean from his radio.
He ran across the parking area, the beam from his flashlight leading the way, weaving between the vehicles and towards the small barn in the distance. “Stay where you are! I’m checking it out! Todd? You hearing me? Todd?” he said into his radio.
Even in the gloom that existed beyond the furthest distance his flashlight could reach, he could see something was very wrong. The dark shape against the night that was there just an hour before was now gone. In its place a heap, and a smudge of dust which hung in the air.
He started to slow, not just because his heart was beating out of his chest, but because if the wolf creatures had destroyed the barn, running towards it was probably not the wisest of ideas.
He raised his shotgun, pointing it in the same direction as he directed the flashlight.
“Todd!” he half shouted half whispered into the dark ahead.
Slowly he pivoted around, waiting for one of the shadows to suddenly spring at him, but nothing of any value moved, but then he heard it. A scratching. Or was it a scurrying?
He swept the beam back towards where the barn used to be, straining to see in the gloom what could be causing the noise, which was now constant.
“Doug? What’s going on? Over,” said Brad from Doug’s radio.
“Hold on Brad… Over,” he said, inching forward on the dirt track.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he felt momentarily dizzy, for the ground, some twenty yards ahead of him was expanding outwards.
“What…”
The air filled with a constant scratching sound as the things scraped across the ground.
He took a step forward and fired the shotgun at the wave approaching. The sight that revealed itself in the half second of illumination from the barrel sent terror through his spine. He turned and ran, scampering across the dry ground.
“The rocks—” he wheezed. “— are alive!” he said into the radio.
As he got back to the vehicles, out the corner of his eye he saw the door to the larger barn open. He frantically waved for them to go back inside as he ran forward. Running up the wooden steps, across the porch wooden beams, he threw a glance behind him, then stopped. The blanket of things which covered the ground were moving away from the house, towards the barn.
He walked along the porch. Thirty yards away, lit by the light above, Jean and Luis stood, frozen by what was coming towards them. They ran back inside and slammed the barn door closed.
“What are those things?” said Jean from Doug’s radio.
Doug watched speechless as the space between the house and the barn became a sea of thousands of small scurrying things, like the ground itself had come alive.
“The barn won’t save you! Find a way out the back of it!”
The creatures leaped and clung to the wooden beams of the barn and started ascending.
“There is no other way out!”
A smaller group of the rock-crabs broke away and moved towards the porch.
Doug started stepping back towards the front door, then changed direction and ran towards a police SUV. He jumped in the driver's seat, immediately starting the engine. As he started to reverse, two of the creatures flew through the air, landing on the windscreen and cracked it.
Doug slammed down on the gas, but the creatures were stuck fast to the glass, their needlelike legs scratching the surface.
He kept on reversing, steering around the property, smashing through a side fence, on to the field, and then towards the back of the large barn.
“If you’re going to do something, better do it soon,” said Jean from Doug’s radio.
He raised the shotgun to the windscreen, and fired it off, just an inch from the two creatures that were hanging on, they immediately disintegrated along with the glass. “Stand away from the rear wall!” he shouted into his radio.
As he approached the back of the barn, still reversing, he could see hundreds of the small creatures covering the exterior. The only space left was what he was aiming for.
He crashed into the wooden wall, splintering the wood, and sending himself forward into the steering wheel.
Despite being winded, he waved at the two officers. They pulled the rear door open and jumped in, and he threw the SUV into drive and surged forward.
Clatters of heavy scratching things landed on the roof, but he didn’t care. Crushing the green crops under the wheels, he sped across the field towards the water tower.
He remembered the explosives just at the moment they exploded, sending pieces of the barn and the creatures hundreds of feet into the night sky.
Doug skidded to a stop just in front of the tower, throwing the crab-like things into the undergrowth.
Brad was already waiting and climbed into the passenger's seat. Without a word between them, Doug hit the gas and they moved off, back onto the dirt track that led away from the Gilberts’ farm and the flames raging into the night.
*****
Brad leaned back in the only chair that seemed capable of allowing sleep in the Roswell Police canteen. His eyes were closed but the wailing of Todd’s wife in the corridor outside was the only sensation his mind was processing.
He witnessed most of what transpired at the farm from the relative safety of the water tower. But he hadn’t realized they were being attacked by a second type of E.L.F. until Doug ran back to the house, and the army of small creatures converged on the large barn.
I should have known there could be more…
The drive back to the center of town had been done in silence. Each felt as if they had failed, but that was especially true of Brad. He wasn’t a law officer. He wasn’t an expert marksman, he didn’t even have youth on his side. The only reason he could think of as to why Doug wanted him around was that he was the expert in Roswell on the ‘strange.’ If anyone could understand and maybe give them an advantage on these exotic animals, Brad would be it.
Except he wasn’t it. And another man had died.
Silence returned to the room, with the coffee dispenser, microwave, and a handful of tables and chairs. The door opened and Doug appeared looking as tired as Brad felt. He walked straight to the coffee machine and poured himself some out. He then sat in the chair closest to Brad’s.
He sighed, then took a sip of his coffee.
“I put in a call to the local army base, see if they could spare anyone, but I was told that they have all been deployed to larger towns. They said if the situation changes, they will let us know…”
“I should have known…”
Doug looked at him, his eyelids
heavy. “None of this is on anyone. It was a good plan. Once I’ve had some rest, I’ll go back to Marney and get some more explosives and… we can set up again at another place… we gotta do something… You think we killed all those crab things?”
“Probably not…” Brad got to his feet. “I’m going to head back to my place. I’ll give you a call sometime around noon.”
“I’ll get Jean to drive you back.”
“It’s not far. I’ll walk.”
“Leave the pickup keys here and if your pickup’s still in one piece we’ll drop it off at your place today.”
Brad fished the keys from his pocket and left them on the table, then left the room. As he passed the offices and walked down the main stairs to the lobby, the faces of the people he passed reflected his own mood. People were now dying daily and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
He pushed through the glass doors and out to the sidewalk. The morning air was fresh and cool due to a small downpour, and puddles reflected the blue sky and groups of white fluffy clouds.
He stood and listened for a moment. All the sounds a town should have were absent. No distant hum of vehicles, muffled voices, or the birds whistling. He felt as if Roswell was caught like a fly in the web of the present, not able to escape the terror bearing down on it.
He sighed and set off across the road, the clack of his boots on the concrete echoing around the brick built buildings.
The route back to his home was a short one, perhaps ten minutes.
As he passed the tile store, the church, the gas station that was abandoned long before animals mutated to something else, his mind kept jumping back to the events of the past few days. A constant dreamscape of blood and death.
He shook his head to wipe the scenes and to help keep him awake and took a right into another road. He was soon walking past an impressive brick building. One of the many schools in the town. Only shadows lurked beyond its high windows, and a large sign had been hastily hung across its double entrance doors.
‘No school for foreseeable future. Check website for details.’