Event: A Novel

by David L. Golemon

  The president looked around him, then at Collins two and a half thousand miles away. “Then we may have caught a break?”

  . “Yes, sir, this man may have been of some assistance to the survivor. We do suspect the crewman may have been injured because of the severity of the crash, but of course we would only be guessing at the extent of that injury or injuries.”

  “Very well, keep us informed.” The president hesitated a moment. “Major, here is what we have done on our end. If our teams fail to contain the animal, I suspect we’ll have a full-scale war on our hands that we can’t keep from the American public. The Eighty-second Airborne is now on alert and already in transit for positioning in either Phoenix or El Paso in case the animal escapes containment. The Fourth Marine Expeditionary Force is on alert for possible action in Los Angeles and the bulk of Southern California. Fort Hood has been alerted and elements of armor CAV are being loaded onto trains as we speak to block any possible movement north into Colorado. That’s it, Major, I’m afraid, as the general said, we are spread thin. So try and come up with a plan that will utilize those men we can get to that valley, and for God’s sake, contain whatever this thing is.” The view of the president and the Situation Room blacked out.

  On the other side of the split screen, Niles looked grave.

  “How is the senator?” Jack asked Niles as he tossed his Kevlar helmet to Everett, who had stepped out of the mess tent.

  “Alice is with him at the center’s clinic. He’s due to be transferred upstairs to the Nellis base hospital in a while.”

  “Not good then?” Jack asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Niles, we need to speed things up. Besides the special material I’ve requested from the private sector”—Jack looked at his notes again—“Dr. Gilliam here at the site has asked for a connection to be made to Helicos BioSciences in Cambridge. They have a high-speed DNA sequencer they’ve been working on that just may fit the bill here to get a firm grasp on this animal. She says our portable stuff is prehistoric when compared to what Helicos has in the works.”

  “I’ll get on it right away”

  Niles saw Josh Crollmier approach Jack from the side and tug on his sleeve, pulling him away from the camera. Compton looked at Alice in confusion as the voices off camera were muffled. But he was pretty sure it was Crollmier, speaking rather adamantly. He could also hear other members of the ground team shouting and carrying on. Suddenly an ashen-faced Collins stepped back into camera view. He ran a hand through his hair again and looked into the lens.

  “What now, Jack?” Niles asked.

  Jack once again focused on the camera. Others around the site stopped and watched him, eavesdropping for any information they could get. Collins reached out and snatched something from Crollmier and held it up. It was a piece of wreckage.

  “The doc here says we have a problem. He says we don’t have the wreckage of one saucer here, we have two. Ryan’s Phoenix missile must have caused the attacking craft catastrophic damage, enough to bring it down right next to the other ship.”

  Niles sat hard on the edge of the conference table.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Chato’s Crawl, Arizona

  July 9, 0830 Hours

  Julie placed the plate of scrambled eggs in front of Billy as he pulled the napkin from the bar and placed it on his lap. He looked at the eggs and bacon without much enthusiasm as he yawned.

  “Man, that sure smells good.”

  Billy turned and saw two men standing there. Juan and Carmella Lopez, his mother’s cleaning people, were still in the midst of vacuuming and washing the last of Saturday night’s dirty dishes. They went stock-still, looking at the two newcomers. One was a small, dark-haired man and the other a big black fellow who stood ramrod straight and smiling. They were dressed totally in black, weapons holstered across their chests and black helmets under their arms.

  “Can I help you?” Julie asked suspiciously as she placed a knife and fork in front of her son.

  “Well, ma’am, you can if you can serve us what that young gentleman is having,” the smaller of the two said as he removed a pair of black gloves.

  Julie gave the two men the once-over. They were dirty and, of all things, wore black nylon jumpsuits. Her eyes traveled to the black boots and bloused pants. As she watched, the small man unsnapped his body armor from his chest.

  “This is Sunday, we’re closed until noon, I’m sorry.”

  The small man looked around and saw the two cleaning people, then smiled and winked at them. “Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what the sign said in the window. But the sergeant and I would forever be in your debt if you could give us something that’s not freeze-dried and full of sand.”

  “Marines?” she asked, noticing the word freeze-dried and the outfits.

  “Not on your life, ma’am,” the taller, black man said, not smiling a bit.

  “Special Operations Group, Mrs….?” the smaller of the two started to ask.

  She watched the two men for a moment, seeing the dirty faces around clean spots where goggles had previously been. She knew they had come in from the desert, because her son always had the same dirty face after riding around in the scrub.

  “You don’t look too special to me, and it’s Ms.”

  The man stepped to the bar and looked at the boy, then down at his plate of food. “Hi, there, my name’s Ryan,” he said as he looked from the boy to his mother. “Well, my mama said I was special,” he said in answer to her statement. “What’s your name, little man?”

  “B… B… Billy,” he stuttered.

  “This is my son, and I would appreciate you talking with me and not him,” Julie said.

  Ryan flinched. He was not used to having a woman come down on him that quickly, at least until they knew him a little better.

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean any harm.” He brought his right hand up and lightly touched his chest. “I’m Lieutenant Jason Ryan, United States Navy.” Then he stuck his hand out to the woman. “The prideful army-type fella behind me is Staff Sergeant Mendenhall.”

  Julie looked at the outstretched hand, then wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, then took the lieutenant’s hand in her own and nodded over Ryan’s shoulder at Mendenhall.

  “Looks like no navy uniform I’ve ever seen, and I apologize, we’re kind of on edge around here,” she said, arching her left eyebrow.

  Ryan looked down at his dusty black nylon jumpsuit, then the holstered nine-millimeter pistol. “Oh, this old thing.” He looked up and met her green eyes. “Doing some fieldwork out there.” He gestured out the window and into the desert beyond. “We’re the good guys, really.”

  “What’ll you have?” Julie asked in defeat.

  “You mean you’re open?”

  “No, we’re still closed, but I can make you something because the grill’s still hot. Does your quiet friend want something?” she asked, going through the batwing doors that separated the kitchen from the bar.

  “Yes, ma’am, eggs over easy and sausage would be fine, and some coffee if you have it,” Mendenhall answered.

  Ryan set his helmet on the long mahogany bar and pulled up a stool next to the boy. He heard and felt Mendenhall do the same to his left. Jason nodded at the boy. “Going to be some loud noises here in about ten minutes,” Ryan said quietly, and winked.

  Billy paused with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth and looked at the man in the funny suit. “Really?”

  “Really. Going to be some very big planes setting down on Highway Eighty-eight right out there just about a half mile from town.” Ryan looked at his filthy face in the mirror behind the bar.

  As of one-half hour from now, the small town would be under quarantine. No one would be allowed in, and for the time being, no one would be going out until escorted out by armed security and placed in a safe hotel far, far away in Phoenix.

  “All of this is for whatever’s out there?” Billy asked, pointing toward the
window with his now empty fork.

  Ryan and Mendenhall exchanged looks, then Ryan smiled and looked down at the boy seated to his right.

  “Out there?”

  Billy took a drink of the milk his mother had given him. When he set the glass down, a nice white milk mustache covered the boy’s upper lip.

  “Yeah, whatever it is that’s out there,” he said, exasperated at the slow wit of the navy guy.

  “You think something’s out in the desert?” Jason asked.

  Billy glanced at the batwing doors and heard his mother out in the kitchen making cooking noises. Then the boy just shrugged his shoulders and slid off the stool. “I have to go now,” he said, grabbing an off-road helmet from the table behind him.

  Ryan looked at the sergeant again, then back at the young boy. “Come on, you saw something out there?”

  Billy placed the helmet on his head, squishing his ears against his head as he did so. “That’s what I mean, mister, I haven’t seen anything”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mendenhall asked, leaning back on the barstool.

  Billy stopped and turned. “Late yesterday I seen a whole bunch of rabbits and coyotes running away from the mountains, and since then I haven’t seen anything, not even birds. It’s like they were scared of something.” The boy shrugged his shoulders, then walked out of the dining area.

  “Hey, you stay close by because—”

  But the boy wasn’t listening. He was already through the door.

  The two men were quiet as they watched the boy leave the bar and grill. Then they turned and Mendenhall shrugged.

  Julie came through the door with two platters. She set them down in front of the two men and slapped napkins with silverware rolled up inside beside the two heaping plates. Then she wiped her hands and looked out of the large window in time to see Billy leave on his ATV.

  “Damn, that looks good,” Jason said.

  “You didn’t say how you wanted your eggs, so I just made them like I made the sergeant’s” Julie said to Ryan, reaching for the coffeepot under the bar.

  “Well, you guessed right,” Jason replied, diving into his eggs and sausage.

  As the two men ate their breakfast, Jason noticed a man on the television set above the bar. He was holding a microphone to his silent lips, with a caption below it that read, Capitol Building, Phoenix, Arizona.

  “Ma’am, could you turn that up?” Ryan asked Julie.

  Julie reached up and turned up the volume on the television set.

  “… said the disappearance of the two state troopers has law enforcement agencies statewide on the alert. Now Eyewitness News has learned of a possible military deployment to the mountains just northeast of the small town of Chato’s Crawl. What this means is anyone’s guess, but there is a rumor starting from the halls of the capitol stating there may be some sort of outbreak among cattle in the nearby area. This is Ken Kashihara, Channel Seven, Eyewitness News, at the capitol building in Phoenix. Back to the newsroom.”

  “Well, that’s got to please everyone from the president on down,” Mendenhall said.

  “Just what are you guys doing out there? You helping look for those bikers and state troopers?” Julie asked, hands on her hips.

  Before Ryan or Mendenhall could think of what answer to give her, a thunderous roar filled the interior of the bar. Mirrors shook and glasses clinked and chimed as Juan and Carmella, who had been dusting around the green-felt-covered pool tables, turned and grabbed for Julie’s antique storm lamps. Then the two cleaning people crossed themselves and cowered in the far corner by the dance floor.

  Ryan swallowed the last drop of coffee in his cup and threw two twenty-dollar bills on the counter, then stood.

  “Thank you, ma’am, it was delicious. Have to go to work now,” he shouted over the noise. “I’ll stop back by if that’s alright with you, I like the way you cook.” Ryan turned and followed the sergeant out the front door.

  Julie ran to the window and watched the two men climb into a Humvee. The vehicle tore out of the parking area and headed out of town. She shook her head in amazement at the forwardness of Ryan, but pleased for some reason, she had to smile as the noise that surrounded the small town continued to grow louder. Then she looked to the right and left and saw both patrons and owners alike empty out into the street eager to find out what was shaking their quiet world on this Sunday morning.

  The ten U.S. Air Force personnel Ryan had left on the highway one mile out of town had been busy. They had placed blue and white strobe lights every ten feet on both sides of the highway, and they were now flashing brightly. They were similar to the ones seen at any airport. This part of the highway had been picked for its flatness as there were no large dips, and it looked as if it would bear up under the excessive weight that was to be placed upon it. As Ryan and Mendenhall pulled up, an army specialist from the Event Group staff ran forward and saluted. Ryan returned the salute as he scanned the sky overhead. The security man was wearing a regular army BDU so he would blend in and wouldn’t be asked any questions about his real outfit.

  “All ready?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes, sir, so far no one has entered the landing zone. But we do have a report from a Kiowa scout ship of a state police car heading this way from a dirt road about three miles to the east,” the specialist said. “And three news helicopters out of Phoenix coming in from the west. The Apaches won’t be here to intercept, sir. They just left Fort Carson and Fort Hood two hours ago.”

  Suddenly the first giant C-130 Hercules filled the sky, rising over a small hill two hundred yards in front of them. The huge C-130 banked sharply, its left wing seemingly only feet from the top of the rise, and at that moment it suddenly straightened and brought its nose down. Jason had never witnessed an air force combat landing before. The plane was down to a hundred feet before the nose came up. The landing gear exploded downward out of its belly as the wings of the giant plane caught the air. It flared, bringing the nose up suddenly, and the wheels chirped loudly as the “Herky” bird came into contact with the hot macadam of the roadway. The noise increased as the pitch on the sixteen propeller blades was reversed and the flaps popped high on the wing, further braking the great aircraft and slowing it even more. The rear ramp was coming down just as the plane hit the ground, and the brakes screamed as it came to a stop.

  Immediately troops of the 101st Airborne Division ran deliberately down the ramp carrying equipment and weapons. Ryan was approached by a man wearing a tan desert BDU. His helmet was the same Kevlar German-type Ryan himself had been wearing the night before.

  “You Lieutenant Ryan?” the man yelled over the noise of the aircraft.

  “Yes, sir.” Ryan saluted.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Sam Fielding, 101st Airborne advance recon unit,” the man said, returning the salute. “I’ll tell you right now, mister, I was only authorized ten percent of my manpower for this, and they claim security reasons. Now I expect someone to explain.”

  They both turned as the thirty-five men of the first unit moved away from the Hercules, followed by a Humvee that shot down the ramp, its fifty-caliber machine gun and TOW missile launcher strapped down for safety while in transport. The plane suddenly revved its four engines to a high-pitched whistling whine while the pilot applied the brakes. Then when the engines were at full power, he released the brakes and the Hercules started its turnout roll. It quickly came up to speed with an assist from eight rockets and was in the air in less than 150 feet, climbing steeply into the sky.

  “Colonel Fielding, you can get your men settled just over there, sir. We don’t know the full story yet, but my on-site commander is Major Collins, U.S. Army,” Ryan said, holding his black helmet against the thrust of the departing Hercules.

  “Jack? They have Jack Collins in on this?” the colonel asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man looked around and spit onto the roadway. “Take me to him, young lieutenant,” Fielding said. “If Collins is here, then the
real skit’s here.”

  The two state troopers were spent after their long night out at the Tahchako ranch counting slaughtered cattle and trying to find out what had killed them.

  “Say, what’s this?” Dills asked.

  Two men appeared in the middle of the road, rifles slung on their shoulders. They wore black and had the same color baseball caps on their heads.

  “I don’t know, but I smell military,” Wasser said from the driver’s seat.

  The two troopers reached down and unsnapped the straps holding their automatics in their holsters. They stopped a few feet in front of the two waving men.

  Wasser opened the door and stepped from the car.

  “What’s this?” he asked loudly to thefirst soldier.

  “Sir, we have an airplane about to utilize this roadway.”

  “The hell you say!” Wasser replied, not too gently. His sense of humor had left with the thousandth mangled cow part he had viewed the night before.

  “Sir?” the soldier asked.

  “We can’t be havin’ planes coming down on state highways, boy,” Dills chimed in, puffing his chest out.

  The two soldiers looked at each other, then hurriedly moved to the side of the road and knelt down holding their hats.

  “Ain’t you hearing me, boy? We’re not allowing any planes to come down on this or any other highway in this state,” Dills said, sunglasses reflecting the morning sun.

  “Yes, sir, we heard,” the first soldier said.

  The two state troopers were suddenly knocked off-balance, and they grabbed the open doors of their cruiser to keep from being thrown face-first into the roadway. Their hats flew from their heads and they dove to the hot asphalt when the noise hit them full force. A windstorm blew sand and scrub brush against their bodies and rocked their cruiser as the giant C-130 touched down two hundred feet in front of them.

  After the strangest night shift of his life, Trooper Dills had reached a point where any more input would just swirl around in his mind and not take hold anywhere.