Invasion

by Jon S. Lewis

  Ah, another Phantom fan, I see,” Robert said as he assumed the seat behind the cash register.

  “Yeah, my dad used to have some issues,” Colt said. “I haven’t seen many of these, though. They’re incredible.”

  “I commissioned a few Phantom Flyer sketches at the San Diego con a few weeks ago,” Robert said. “If you’re coming back, I’ll bring them in next week so you can take a look.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “I’m pretty sure we have some of the action figures in the back. Just let me know what you want to see, and I’ll grab them for you.”

  Colt flipped through the stack until he came to an issue titled Beware the Cursed. The cover showed a pack of snarling men in tattered U. S. Army uniforms. Their eyes were glowing red as they circled around the Phantom Flyer with a ghosted image of Adolf Hitler in the background.

  “Where did you find this?” Danielle asked.

  “The secret stash in the back room.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Didn’t Van Cleve mention that Trident helped the Nazis develop mind control technology?”

  Colt nodded.

  “I wonder . . .” she said, looking up at the ceiling as she pondered. “If the Nazis had secret projects, I bet we did too. I mean, there were plenty of American industrialists who could’ve made all kinds of crazy inventions.”

  “I suppose,” Colt said. “What are you thinking?”

  “I bet the gadget that the Phantom Flyer used to defeat the Cursed really exists. Maybe we could find one.”

  “Maybe,” Colt said. He slipped his fingers under the strip of tape that Howard had used to seal the protective bag.

  Danielle peered over his shoulder as Colt thumbed through the comic. Nazi scientists were placing what looked like mechanical squids on the necks of captured American soldiers. The squid would plunge tentacles into the back of the soldier’s head as the GI screamed.

  “That’s disgusting,” Danielle said.

  When Colt turned the page they could see that the eyes of those soldiers were glowing red. The Nazis transmitted an order that forced the captured GIs to attack American paratroopers holed up in the city of Bastogne.

  The effect was devastating, because the paratroopers didn’t know if they should fight back or retreat. After all, the men attacking them were fellow Americans. It was bedlam, but in the end the Phantom Flyer and his Agents of CHAOS were able to scramble the signal and release the captured GIs.

  “Look at that,” Danielle said, pointing to a panel where the Phantom Flyer had removed his mask. “That looks like your grandpa.”

  Colt studied the image. There were similarities, but Colt had a hard time believing that it was his grandpa. “Have you been talking to Oz or something?”

  “No. Why?”

  “He said the same thing.”

  “You never know.”

  While Colt tried to imagine his grandfather flying around in a jet pack, Oz was on the other side of the store going through his stack of new comics. None of them saw Robert’s posture grow stiff or his eyes flare with a red light. Like a marionette controlled by a puppeteer, he reached stiffly to unzip his backpack.

  As Robert dumped the contents on the countertop, dozens of iron spheres rolled across the glass, tinkling as they went. They were about the size of golf balls, and once they stopped, eight jointed legs unfolded from each body. Then red lights, like a cluster of eyes, flared to life.

  Danielle was the first to notice the mechanical spiders. “What are those?”

  “Injector drones,” Colt said, his face lighting up. “No way! Where did you get those?” Robert didn’t answer, but Colt hardly noticed. “Baron Iron Cross used them to poison the Phantom Flyer in issue 74.”

  “It was actually 73,” Oz said. “74 was where the Phantom Flyer teamed up with the Star-Spangled Patriot to defeat Torrax, Destroyer of Worlds.”

  “For the two most eligible bachelors on campus, you guys are geeks,” Danielle said. “I wonder what—” She stopped talking when the first drone started to move. It crawled down the front of the display case, its metal legs tapping on the glass with each step.

  Others followed. One climbed on top of the register. Another skittered up Robert’s arm before it climbed over his face and onto the top of his head.

  “We need to get out of here,” Colt said, taking Danielle by the arm.

  The drones were too fast. They were already clinging to the walls and ceiling, shooting wire webbing that crisscrossed through the store. In seconds, the front door was covered with the strange material, cutting off any hope of escape.

  “Don’t move,” Oz said. One of the drones had climbed onto Danielle’s shirt and another was on her shoe. “The front legs are like needles, and they’re filled with poison.”

  Colt looked down to see two drones inching up his pant leg. A third was directly above, creeping across the ceiling. It stopped before lowering itself with the strange webbing until it was inches from Colt’s face. Poison seeped from the pointed tips of the drone’s legs.

  Colt grabbed the webbing from the spider hanging in front of him. He whipped it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. The lights behind its eyes faded as it twitched on the floor and then stopped moving.

  “Look out!” Oz said.

  The man behind the counter was taking aim at Danielle with a pistol that looked like a ray gun. Oz jumped over a table and tackled her. They fell to the ground as Robert pulled the trigger, releasing a pulse of energy that obliterated a shelf loaded with comic books.

  “Come on, Robert, I don’t want to hurt you,” Oz said as paper covered in colorful panels fell like a ticker tape parade.

  Robert pulled the trigger again and more comics exploded.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Oz threw the table to the side, took two steps, and launched over the glass counter to tackle Robert. A remote device went spinning across the floor in one direction, the plasma pistol in another. The drones started falling to the floor around the shop, their lights fading.

  “What happened?” Danielle asked.

  “Robert just tried to kill us with those drones, that’s what,” Oz said as he struggled to keep Robert pinned to the ground.

  Colt found some duct tape, and between the three of them, they were able to secure Robert to a chair in the office. Then Oz collected all the drones and locked them in a cooler that he took from the back of his Jeep.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Danielle asked.

  “We can worry about that in a minute,” Oz said. “First I want to know why those things were after you two.”

  “What makes you think they were after us?” Danielle asked.

  “Because they were locked to your genetic signatures,” Oz said. “They didn’t even know I was in the building.”

  Danielle turned to look at Colt. “We might as well tell him.”

  Colt still wasn’t sure if he could trust Oz—not wholly anyway. He seemed like a good enough guy, but Colt still felt convinced that Oz was somehow a part of everything that was happening.

  “Any day, McAlister,” Oz said.

  Colt looked at Danielle, who nodded. “This is going to sound crazy.”

  “Try me,” Oz said.

  “We think someone from Trident Biotech murdered my parents, and now they’re after me . . . well, us.”

  Oz didn’t flinch. “Why?”

  “Because my mom was working on a story about a mind control program that Trident is running. They didn’t want it to go to print, so they killed her.” Colt paused, waiting to see if Oz was going to react. He didn’t, so Colt went on to describe everything that had happened, from Albert Van Cleve to his run-in with Jimbo at the gas station.

  “That’s quite a story,” Oz said. “Have you told anyone else?”

  Colt shook his head. “Who’d believe us?”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “What about you?” Danielle asked.

  “I belie
ve you, but that’s not saying much,” Oz said. “I was the last kid in third grade who thought Santa was real.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Fair enough,” Oz said. “But this has to stay between us or I’m going to get in a lot of trouble, okay?”

  Colt felt vindicated, if only a little. He was right. Oz did have something to do with it.

  Danielle raised an eyebrow. “It depends.”

  Oz flashed a smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to trust you,” he said. “My dad is the director of something called CHAOS.”

  “The Central Headquarters Against the Occult and Supernatural?” Colt’s eyes were wide. That’s not what he’d expected, but it was better than the alternative. At least Oz wasn’t part of the organization that murdered Colt’s parents. “As in Phantom Flyer and the Agents of CHAOS? Are you serious?”

  “I thought you might be impressed,” Oz said. “We’ve had this conversation before, though. Not that you’d remember.”

  Colt frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I told you about my dad when we were at the CHAOS Military Academy last summer.”

  “The what?” Colt was incredulous.

  Oz didn’t seem bothered by the skepticism. “If you don’t believe me, ask your grandpa.”

  Colt looked at Danielle, but she just shrugged. He turned back to Oz. “Are you messing with me or something, because if you are, it isn’t funny.”

  “Your family went on vacation to Washington, D.C., a few weeks before school started, right?”

  Colt nodded.

  “And one of those mornings, your dad dropped you off at a military school?”

  The spark of a memory flashed in Colt’s mind, but it didn’t catch, leaving him confused.

  “Well, he did,” Oz said. “That’s where I met you. In fact, you broke my nose.”

  “How?” Danielle asked, stifling a laugh.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Colt was frowning at her.

  “It’s just that . . . I don’t know,” she said, stammering. “Look at you two. I mean, if anyone was going to get his nose broken—”

  “Fine, I get it.”

  “It’s true,” Oz said. “We were sparring, and you took me out. The only reason you don’t remember anything is because they gave you a serum that buried your memories.”

  “Let’s pretend what you’re saying is true,” Colt said.

  “It is.”

  “Fine,” Colt said, wanting to keep the conversation hypothetical. “Then why me? I mean, why was I at a CHAOS military academy?”

  Colt stood there waiting for Oz to tell him this was all a joke.

  “Every summer CHAOS flies in a bunch of us to see if we have what it takes to become agents,” Colt said. “We were part of this year’s batch of candidates.”

  “So I might get to be an actual CHAOS agent?” Colt said as the corners of his lips started to break into a smile.

  “From what my dad tells me, you have a pretty good shot,” Oz said. “But you can’t tell anyone. Most people don’t even know CHAOS exists, and it has to stay that way.”

  Pushing aside his disbelief for the moment, Colt peppered Oz with as many questions as came to mind. Did soldiers in the CHAOS program really fly in jet packs? Did the Nazis actually build UFOs using alien technology? Were Yetis real, and could they speak? What about the Undarian Coliseum, where alien races were supposed to send their greatest warriors to fight in hand-to-hand combat?

  Oz stood there, amused. “Slow down, McAlister,” he said. “I can’t give away all my secrets.”

  “But—”

  “You could torture me with Katharian slugs and it wouldn’t help.”

  “Could you two stop geeking out, or am I the only one who realizes that someone just tried to kill us with poisonous spiders?” Danielle asked.

  “Injector drones,” Colt said.

  “Whatever.” Danielle’s eyes flared. “We almost died, and you two want to sit here and act like a couple of nerds at a Phantom Flyer convention. Have you lost your minds?”

  Colt looked at Oz. They were both smiling.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you?” Colt said. “My grandpa really was the Phantom Flyer.”

  “I told you, McAlister. No more questions. If you want an answer, you’re going to have to ask him yourself.”

  “So what are we going to do about this place?” Colt asked, turning to look at the wrecked comic shop.

  “CHAOS has cleanup crews for this kind of thing.” Oz pulled out his phone. “It’ll be back to normal before the sun goes down.”

  : : CHAPTER 25 : :

  I don’t think I can do this,” Colt said as Danielle pulled her car into the driveway. “My grandpa doesn’t like to talk about what happened during the War.”

  The last time Colt had felt this nervous was when he played a Lost Boy in Peter Pan in grade school. He only had two lines, but he forgot them and ran off the stage in a panic.

  “You’ll be fine,” Danielle said, trying to hide her smile. “Just think of him as your grandpa, not the famous soldier from World War II who inspired a radio show, comic books, toys, a television show, a movie, and a new video game that’s coming out next summer.”

  “Wait . . . are you serious? There’s going to be a video game?”

  “You realize that by asking that, you’re in jeopardy of losing your status as a card-carrying member of the Phantom Flyer fan club, right?”

  “Come on, Dani. Be serious.”

  “If you don’t believe me, look it up.”

  “Trust me, I will.”

  “You’re just stalling.”

  Colt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

  “You’re pathetic, do you know that?” she said. “This is the same man who wears that goofy hat and drives one of those little motorized cars in the Fourth of July parade every year. Why are you such a wreck?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Colt said as he grabbed the door handle.

  “Of course I’m right.”

  “Just be careful. Oz said those drones were programmed to go after both of us.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  When Colt got out of the car he noticed a sedan parked in the street. It had government plates, but that didn’t mean much. There was no way to tell who had a Trident biochip planted in his head and who didn’t. His grandfather’s Cadillac was in the driveway, which was strange. Everything on that car was original, and Grandpa McAlister never let it sit out in the sun like that. He was paranoid about the paint oxidizing. Grandpa must have been in a hurry.

  As he walked up the front steps, Colt was careful not to make a noise. He placed his hand on the doorknob and slowly twisted it before pushing the door open just a crack. He could hear his grandfather talking with two men, but they were back in the kitchen, so the conversation was muffled.

  Colt slipped off his shoes before sneaking into the front room, down the hall, and into the laundry room. From the crack between the hinges, he could see his grandfather seated at the kitchen table. Colt recognized Senator Bishop from his parents’ funeral, but he didn’t know the other man, who had skin the color of the night sky and a clean-shaven head. There were two stars fixed to the shoulders of his suit coat, a cluster of colorful medals pinned over his left breast pocket, and the name Walker pinned over the right. Colt was relieved to see that none of them had red eyes.

  “Everyone in this room knows that Santiago Romero is one tough son of a gun,” the man named Walker said. “And I understand that we’re partially responsible—”

  “Partially?” Grandpa McAlister said. “It was your decision to privatize the CHAOS program and put him in charge. Now that he doesn’t want to be your puppet anymore, you want to get rid of him? What did you expect? Romero is a soldier, not a politician.”

  “I’d like to sit here and tell you that you’re wrong, but I can’t,” Senator Bishop said. “We made a mistake
, and it’s cost us. All we can do now is move forward and pray that we make better decisions . . . and that’s why we’re here.”

  Grandpa McAlister pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I’m retired, Senator.”

  “But your grandsons aren’t,” General Walker said.

  Colt watched as his grandpa shifted in his chair. His eyes grew heavy, then he sighed. “I told Roger not to let them join the military.”

  “We’ve been conducting evaluations to find Romero’s successor for more than a year,” Walker continued. “We’ve narrowed our search to a handful of candidates, but we’d like to interview one more to gauge his potential.”

  Colt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It had only been an hour since he learned that the CHAOS program even existed, and here one of his brothers might take over as director. That wasn’t going to be good for his friendship with Oz.

  “I know this much,” McAlister said. “The twins aren’t on your list, and I doubt that Curtis is ready. I could make a case for the others, but why don’t we cut to the chase? Which grandson are you going to lead to the slaughter? Clive? Christian?”

  “We’d like to think that this appointment is a privilege, McAlister,” the senator said. “But I understand your concerns. The CHAOS program isn’t for the weak of heart.”

  “Who is it, Sam?”

  “The person with the highest aptitude scores in the history of the program.”

  “Please tell me that was a joke,” Grandpa said. “Colt just turned sixteen.”

  “You can come out now,” Grandpa said after the other two men had left.

  Colt emerged from the laundry room with his head bowed like a puppy expecting a scolding. “Grandpa, I . . .”

  “It’s okay,” McAlister said. “You were bound to find out sooner or later. You remember Senator Bishop?”

  Colt nodded.

  “He’s the chairman of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security. The tall one was Major General Robert T. Walker of the United States Army. Apparently you’ve made quite an impression on them.”

  “Why me? I mean, they can’t be serious . . . Do they really think that a sixteen-year-old should be the director of CHAOS?”