by Evan Currie
Kirth glared at him, hissing, “Neither of those last two words are things I want to hear right now.”
Ben rolled his eyes and drew his sidearm, thumb landing on the activator. The weapon hummed almost inaudibly as he brought it up to his chest and thrust out at the target.
“Firing,” He said softly, finger stroking the trigger.
The weapon didn’t buck in his hand. It didn’t make much sound for that matter, just a click that abruptly ended the hum. Air warped from the barrel through the trees and into the clearing.
Sound came from the target though, a popping crackle followed by a hissing that made the Marines’ hairs all stand on end. The target slumped over instantly, though, and then everything was quiet again.
“What the hell was that?”
“Standard issue sidearm,” Ben said, circling his hand to signal the others. “Establish a perimeter, I’m going to check that it’s down and see if I can’t find more tracks.”
Kirth glared after him. “We are going to talk about that thing…”
Ben just ignored him, leaving him to get his men dispatched to secure the area as he’d been told.
*****
With the Marines securing the clearing and Ben scouting around the perimeter as he looked for more signs, Sandra took a few hesitant steps closer to the two bodies within the area itself.
The gator was a moderately sized one, nothing out of the ordinary but still several times the mass of the… thing that attacked it.
She had some interest in the gator, she did minor in climate studies and the ecological impacts, but her curiosity drew her more to the attacker. She couldn’t quite resist, taking a few steps closer and then slowly moving around until she could see it properly.
Sandra’s scream filled the clearing and rolled on far beyond.
Chapter 13
Situation Room, Washington
“Situation report from San Francisco, Sir,” An aide said, handing off a sheet to Strand as he nodded wearily in thanks.
The President flipped open the brief, reading the summary carefully before quickly skimming the rest of the thirty-page report. He frowned heavily, glancing up to see the others around the table doing much the same with their copies.
San Francisco had suffered heavy casualties, the city burning while, across the bay, Alameda had been all but washed away by the sudden flash wave that had apparently been taller than the buildings in its path.
The confirmed death toll was well into the hundreds, with tens of thousands more still unaccounted for as the entire area had lost cell coverage, power, and phone lines.
That meant that information was trickling out, though that stream was growing rapidly as more and more responders waded into the mess with satellite phones and radios.
“I want an armed strike team on call,” Strand ordered. “Just in case something turns up in San Francisco like what we have in Florida. I don’t know what did that, but we don’t need that in the middle of a heavily populated city, let alone one that’s already reeling.”
“I’ll have SEAL Teams moved into position around the city,” The SOCOM General said, “They’re on high alert in Coronado anyway, likely ready to chew the base down.”
Strand nodded, knowing that the General wasn’t kidding.
He hadn’t served himself, but he’d known more than a few men and women from all branches of the service. Without exception, the sort of personality that could make it as a SEAL was the sort who wanted to do the job. Being on alert after a disaster of this magnitude, with no target to go after?
That was torture for the sort of men who became SEALs.
“Well,” He said aloud. “I don’t know if they’ll get a target, but make sure they respond if anything remotely similar crops up.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
He sighed, hesitating slightly, “And I suppose we should warn the Chinese. They probably have seen the video anyway but make it official.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” The Secretary of State sitting in nodded, reaching for a phone and sending off a quick text. A moment later he received a reply, “Our man in Beijing will pass along the word.”
“Good.”
Strand sat back, looking over the piles of paper and computer tablets that now filled the table. They had tons of intelligence flowing in, almost too much in some ways, nowhere near enough in others.
“Does anyone have anything they can make of those videos?” He asked, looking around.
The men and women in the room were each connected to experts from all over the country, the world in some cases, and his question set them all to their phones and tablets as they sent off queries to see if anyone had anything.
Gerald Holt, the Secretary of the Interior, nodded across the table to where a man was standing uncomfortably, looking like he wished he was anywhere but there at the moment.
“Justin?” Holt asked, “Anything?”
Justin Olson, the Deputy Director of the US Fish and Wildlife Service, sighed stepping away from the wall.
“Unfortunately we don’t have a lot,” He said warily. “The initial attack was by a black bear, with high confidence, however there was clearly something covering it… we’re assuming some type of toxic waste at this time, there have been oil spills and the like in the region in the past that might explain the anomaly. Possibly that would explain why it was so aggressive, which is atypical for the species.”
“It went through thirty or more people like a thresher through wheat, Director,” Strand said coolly, “That’s not merely atypical for the species. I’ve hunted in the same woods as black bears. They don’t do that.”
“Yes Sir… I mean, No, Sir, I know.” Justin shook his head. “Frankly, we don’t know. The video isn’t detailed enough, and nothing we’ve ever seen would account for all the anomalies. I have several field personnel who are begging for a ride to the Glades right now, simply because whatever it is it’s clearly of scientific interest.”
“Get them on a plane,” Strand said.
He looked around the room, “We’re not cutting corners on this. It’s already blown up in our face, and I’m not playing the games with emergency response that my predecessor did. I don’t care if we have to recall every unit around the world that’s not actively engaged. Get this handled!”
He let out a deep breath, glaring around the room. No one seemed to object, which he took as agreement or as close as he would get.
“Sirs? Pardon?”
Everyone looked up to a young man who was practically shaking as he stood in the door.
“What is it, Ethan?” Strand winced as he asked that question of the young aide. He had a bad feeling about it.
“Sir, there’s another problem.”
Damn it.
Strand closed his eyes, “What is it?”
“The Carrier division in the Med has reported back, Mr. President.”
Oh shit. The Middle East. Strand had forgotten about that impact, having been focused on the ones that struck across the US.
“How bad is it?” He asked grimly.
“Mr. President, the Kennedy reports no contact. It didn’t show up, it didn’t hit. No one knows where that contact went.”
*****
The escape craft had buried itself into the mud nearly a third of the way up, but the landing had been survivable and far less spectacular than previous examples. Gas hissed as the hatch on top twisted, the seal within breaking, and the pressure equalizing.
The heavy hatch flipped open, banging against the roll of the capsule as it exposed the interior.
A hand appeared from within, getting a grip on the edge as the person within pulled themselves out.
Wearing smoke and flecked camo, the woman dropped a bag off the pod then followed herself, boots digging into the soft earth as her knees flexed easily to absorb the impact.
She turned her wrist over, gesturing to bring up a projected map, and sighed as she confirmed the information.
“Florida, really? I suppo
se it could be worse,” She said mildly. “Though honestly, I’m not entirely certain how. Antarctica, perhaps.”
A light showed on the projection and zooming in showed several points of interest.
One of them in particular, however, was what had her focus.
“Who are you, I wonder?” The woman asked of the air around her. “No one important, I expect. Otherwise you’d have an identification tag I recognized.”
She sighed and picked up her duffel, slinging it over her shoulder.
“No matter. We’ll see this neatly resolved in short order.”
She started walking through the wet ground around her, ignoring everything in all direction except where she was heading.
Behind her the pod began smoking abruptly, before a lance of flame erupted from the hatch and soon was belching thick plumes of black smoke to the skies.
*****
USS Philippine Sea, At Sea off the Coast of Florida
“Skipper, I think we had something there, but we lost it really quick.”
“Show me the logs,” Barrowitz ordered, walking over.
“Yes Sir,” Greenfield said, tapping in a series of commands.
Ted leaned over the Ensign’s shoulder, examining the plot as it played back the log from a few minutes earlier.
He immediately spotted what Greenfield had, but could see why the Ensign had been unsure about it.
It might be noise in the spectrum, he thought, uncertain himself. But I’m not going to chance it.
He took a stylus from the holder by the screen and sketched out a trajectory based on the uncertain reading, then drew a rough ‘X’ on the map.
“Order a fly over of these coordinates,” He said, “If there’s anything there, have them report back to us.”
“Yes sir.”
The Philippine Sea was steaming down the coast, uncertain as to what they were really going to be able to do, what with all the action apparently happening in the interior, but that was the nature of the job on some days he supposed.
Barrowitz stepped back to the Captain’s station and grabbed a pair of powerful binoculars before he walked out to the starboard and began examining the coast.
Florida along the Eastern Seaboard was basically a single megalopolis that stretched from Florida City, south of Miami, all the way up past Canaveral. They’d gotten extremely lucky that the impact had been inland. Out in the Glades there wasn’t much damage that could be done. Hell, in the long term the fires caused by it might even be beneficial.
Had the object struck along the coast, well he didn’t want to think about the death toll. Even hitting in the water, at the velocity the Philippine Sea had registered just before they lost contact, well the tsunami that resulted would possibly have killed as many as a direct impact.
“Skipper, crews report that we’ve shifted half our boxes over to long range cruise missiles,” Commander Yu reported.
“Thank you, Stephanie.”
He wanted to keep the anti-ballistic weapons on hand, but it was equally clear that they might soon require the ability to reach out and touch someone who was already on the ground.
What the hell is going on?
*****
NASA Control, Houston Texas
Gary Mitchell was not a happy camper.
“We need better numbers, people,” He snarled, looking over the herd of cats he was currently in charge of. “So, stop arguing with each other and give me the best you’ve got! I don’t care if you all agree on it, I need it anyway.”
Several of the gathered men and women, PHDs all, looked at him with expressions that would better fit a teenage rebellion than the faces of some of the smartest people in the country.
Mitchell ignored them.
Those expressions had lost all power over him a long time earlier, and not because he had kids of his own. No, his children were rather dismayed to discover that what worked for their peers had little chance against someone who’d long since been inoculated against it by working with geniuses.
“We’ve run the numbers several times, there is NO question,” A woman said, adjusting her glasses. “The objects did not originate within cis-lunar space.”
“And I still hold that is ludicrous!” A man shouted from across the table.
“Ethan!” Mitchell snarled, “Decorum, if you please! For my ears, if for no other reason.”
The slightly pudgy man, Ethan, slumped and mumbled an unconvincing apology.
“Thank you,” Mitchell said, “So do you have anything to refute the numbers?”
Ethan looked uncomfortable, but finally shook his head reluctantly.
“But that’s still ludicrous,” He rallied a moment later, thankfully keeping his voice down. “Next thing we know, we’ll be discussing whether they’re extraterrestrial or not.”
“And why ever shouldn’t we?” the original speaker asked archly.
Mitchell stepped in before that argument could kick off again.
“Now, Linda,” He said, “Let’s not open that can of worms until, and unless, we must. For now, we know that the objects are powered, and they originated from beyond cis-lunar space, at least in the short term. Any disagreements?”
No one spoke, most shaking their heads however reluctantly.
“Excellent,” Mitchell smiled genuinely. Despite their often- childish displays, he knew every person in the room and respected their intellects greatly.
Sometimes it just took a little nudging to keep them to the facts instead of flying off with speculation as they began to engage in the obsessive pastime that was theory building.
“We are limited in what we can influence now that the objects are within the atmosphere or on the ground,” He went on. “However we can backtrack their path and attempt to ascertain precisely where they came from. Linda, the Hubble and the Webb are at your disposal, carte blanche. Everyone else has been bumped. Find the point of origin.”
Eyes gleaming, the woman nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Gary.”
“Not a problem, build your team… but I want Ethan on it.”
Both of them stared at him, their horror amusing him.
He ignored that too. The pair of them would keep each other honest, and hopefully limit speculation and unsupported hypothesis.
Theory building was a great thing to indulge in, he knew, but most people… even most PHDs… didn’t seem to understand the difference between a theory in construction and a Theory with the capital T.
The first was just ideas, the second was as close to Truth as you got in science.
“Alright,” He said. “Get to it!”
*****
USSTRATCOM, AFB OFFUT, Nevada
“Keep the coffee coming.”
“Yes Sir!”
Admiral Zachary Quinn was having the bad day to end all bad days. But at least it felt like he was accomplishing something, even if it was just trying to keep all the chaos happening under his umbrella aimed in more or less the same direction.
Every one of the objects, aside from possible the last one, were now down and accounted for.
San Francisco was the worst hit by any measure, but estimates from the Beijing strike were saying that was likely to be bad as well despite the impact happening north of the city.
Fires, smoke, debris, and other incidental damages would be serious there, despite the lower population levels in the strike zone. Additionally, lower was a relative term given the region.
It was possible China would never admit to the exact numbers, but it was clear already that it would be bad.
Just not as bad as San Fran.
“Sir, reports from the Philippine Sea,” A Sergeant said. “They thought they had another contact, but it was faint and they lost it quickly. Captain Borrowitz tracked the ballistic trajectory and highlighted a search area, they’ve requested a fly over.”
“Make it happen,” Quinn said. “Highest priority after getting more people into the initial impact site.”
“Yes Sir.”
That was the big story at the moment, one that no one had any real idea what to make of beyond the obvious.
Someone was shooting at American fighters in water that was, if not American Territorial waters, at the very least under effective American control and protection. There was no way in hell that was going to stand.
“No positive identification on the bandit target yet, Sir,” The sergeant was apologetic. “Very little decent imagery, if any for that matter. It appears to be a submerged contact. The Dory has detached a Virginia Class fast attack sub to investigate and engage if possible.”
“Good. We’ll leave it to them for the moment,” He said. “But make sure we have bombers wound up in case they need any extra kick.”
The Sergeant snorted, drawing a raised brow glance from Quinn. He shrugged, “Sorry Sir, but it seems to me that if a Carrier group doesn’t have enough kick, we might be in pretty deep trouble.”
“Yeah,” Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I agree with that.”
He looked back over the maps showing all the current hot spots.
“Make sure those bombers are ready, Sergeant.”
The Sergeant paused a heartbeat, then grimaced.
“Yes Sir.”
*****
Chapter 14
Glades, Florida
The scream brought Kirth running, waving his Marines back to their positions.
“Maintain the perimeter,” the Sergeant ordered, 1911 in his fist as he slowed to a walk, eyes on the Civilian accompanying them. “What is it?”
Silently she pointed, and he turned to look at the thing that had been eating the gator and took an involuntary step back himself.
“What the… fuck?” He whispered, eyes lighting up with anger. “Hey! You bastard!”
There was no immediate response, so Kirth strode out of the clearing and quickly found Ben, grabbing the big guy by the shoulder and turning him around.
He found a pistol in his face, but merely responded by pushing the muzzle of his 1911 into the big guy’s belly as they looked at each other.
“Don’t do that again,” Ben growled, lifting the weapon.