Event: A Novel

by David L. Golemon

  “Jesus Christ, how can I put all this in a report?” Wasser yelled.

  But Dills was already up and climbing into the police cruiser, mentally clocking out for the day.

  The News 7 chopper was speeding to the scene at Chato’s Crawl. The word was out that the army, in conjunction with the State of Arizona, was quarantining the town and closing the airspace within a hundred miles. The race was on to get there before they could enforce it.

  As reporter Ken Kashihara watched from the backseat of the newsroom’s Kiowa helicopter, he saw below them the blue-and-white Channel 4 bird slightly ahead of them.

  “Goddammit, Sydney, I thought you said we were the only ones up in the air. Look at that asshole,” Kashihara said, pointing down. “That’s that Janice Mitchell bitch from News 4. If I lose an exclusive to her one more time, it’s your ass!”

  As the pilot started to tell Kashihara to go screw himself, the helicopter was buffeted so hard he thought he’d lost the entire tail boom. He fought to maintain control of the Kiowa as a giant C-130’s tail section screamed over them, and then they saw the Hercules turn for the roadway outside Chato’s Crawl.

  “Goddammit, you see that, you almost got us killed. And for what? Because you got an inferiority complex about that chick from Channel Four!” the pilot said loudly into his mike.

  Kashihara was bone-white after the near collision with the Hercules. He looked at the pilot shakily. “Just get me to that town, and watch the fucking road!”

  The cavern was from an ancient underground river that had dried up a thousand years before the creature’s arrival. It was spacious, and here the beast had chosen to nest. Meat was stored all around the huge cavern, and the smell of blood was heavy as the beast made its way to the birthing chamber where she had collected water. Her distended belly was ripe with the offspring that were only moments away from taking in the food she had waiting for them. They would be born starving.

  The beast roared as the first dilation of her exoskeleton began. The thick armor plate protecting the animal’s reproductive organs split with a loud crack and widened with a sickening ripping noise reminiscent of tearing paper. The creature slammed its claws into the side of the rock-lined chamber and roared again. Her legs buckled at the knees and she squatted, bringing the dripping birthing orifice close to the water that lay beneath. Slime dripped from the opening, creating a natural lubricant for the young as they fought their way out. The beast screamed and slammed her massive claws again into the rock as the first of the new generation slowly slid out. The purple mass fell free of the mother and into the water below. The hardened eggshell of the baby sizzled as it began to expand. This egg was already cracked open and had the remains of one of the small animals sticking out of it, being eaten by the occupant of the egg. Another fell; again its shell hissed and cracked. The first baby, free of its shell, was already attacking the second egg as the mother reached down and slapped it away. It flew completely clear of the water and next to the gathered food. She would have to repeat this a hundred times in the next hour as she pushed the newborns toward the stored food.

  The last of the offspring was the most difficult because of how large it was. By instinct the mother understood that if the creature wasn’t expelled quickly, it would eat its way free, thus killing her. The single male left inside was the largest of the offspring and the last to be born. It would be killed by the mother to keep it from mating with other females in the hatching cycle because she carried enough eggs for millions upon millions of generations, and the male she had originally mated with had been enough to fertilize her eggs—she’d synthesized more sperm after her initial mating, copying the cells that were needed to reproduce. But if this male lived, it would kill everything in its path to protect this cycle of females until they too gave birth, to its offspring. It would kill her because she carried and copied another’s sperm.

  Even the small beings of which Gus’s new friend was a part didn’t understand the true nature of the horror that they had brought. The beast crushed her clawed hand into her abdomen and tried desperately to expel the male. The small creature was clawing and ripping at her insides until she finally reached into herself and grabbed it. She brought the struggling male up to view. Its shell had already been shed and it had started to form what would become its armor. Its neck armor was already intact and merely held to its neck by a mucous membrane that would soon dissolve. It snapped and hissed at the mother as she roared and tossed the creature hard into the wall of the cave, but failed to kill it.

  The two-foot-long male struck the rough wall and immediately gained its feet. It snatched at a female and took it into its claws. It started devouring it even as the mother slapped at it, knocking it farther away into the darkness. Then she started screaming and throwing mutilated cattle toward it.

  The male saw its parent in the darkness as it started in on the bloody meat. The yellow and greenish tinted eyes never left its current threat, the mother.

  For the next few hours, as the animals grew and learned their abilities, the real Destroyer ate and grew faster, and it continued to stare with hatred at its parent, only shifting its gaze to the others if they came too near it. And coming near it was the last thing its siblings ever did. Soon they would gather around him and him alone, forsaking the parent that had brought them into this world. Then the work of devouring all life on this world would commence.

  PART SIX

  THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH

  Riders on the storm, into this house we’re born, into this world we’re thrown…

  — THE DOORS

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Superstition Mountains, Arizona

  July 9, 1000 Hours

  After shaking hands and quickly catching up, Jack explained Fielding’s mission. He took it well that he was here in an unofficial capacity of “advisement” only, and that he would have to take orders from a major. He didn’t bat an eye as Jack led him to a table to sign an extensive secrecy and nondisclosure form.

  Fielding looked at Jack and rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Just who in the hell are you working for, Jack?”

  Collins held the colonel’s gaze a moment; an unvoiced answer seemed to flow between the two officers.

  “Why, the same man you work for,” he finally said.

  “Got it, don’t ask.”

  Jack nodded.

  Collins entered the tent with Colonel Sam Fielding close behind. The colonel had taken the rest of Jack’s briefing without batting an eye, only commenting, “Should have fucking known the government was covering up at Roswell.”

  Sam’s element of 101st would be split to secure the town for the quarantine cover story and Site One security. That would free up the Event Group personnel and the Delta/Ranger contingent for tunnel teams. Jack had all of the incoming troops sign secrecy and nondisclosure orders, basically assuring the government they would have to keep their mouths shut forever.

  The two men put on surgical masks as they stepped through the makeshift autopsy area. They were met by a staff doctor and shown the way into the examination area of the spacious army tent. There were several of the strange metallic boxes found at the crash site. Teams were using small tools, brushes, and cotton swabs as they gathered minute samples from the containers. To the left was a paneled-off area with a large see-through window that showed teams inside working with other high-tech gear, but most were bent over microscopes.

  “Hello, Jack,” Denise Gilliam said as she walked up and removed her surgical gloves.

  “Denise, this is Colonel Sam Fielding. He and I served together in the Gulf a million years ago. Colonel, Dr. Denise Gilliam, our chief forensics pathologist.”

  The colonel and the doctor shook hands.

  “What have you got so far, Doc?” Collins asked.

  Gilliam turned and took in the scene around them. “Well, we have collected the DNA samples of over three hundred different species of alien life in these twenty-seven containers,” she said, then saw
the look of confusion on their faces. “We believe the containers are like cargo bins, they get used over and over. We also know they were empty on this particular trip, as none of them have any recent bodily material inside of them. We have sent off slides and specimens by fighter jet to Helicos BioSciences in Cambridge. But as I was saying, the cages were empty.”

  “All of them?” the colonel asked.

  She looked at Jack, who nodded his head for her to continue. “No, sir, we have one here that was occupied upon impact.” She gestured to a large crate that was mangled and torn apart. “We were successful in collecting DNA of a species of creature that is not found on this planet.” She placed a hand on the ripped-open section of the metal container. “We’ve found hair, or what we would consider hair. Actually it’s more like a porcupine quill. We believe it’s part of this particular animal’s sensory input mechanics as the follicles on the ends have bits of nerve ending on them. Now we’re running the samples again to be positive of the results, but what it looks like is that whatever was shipped in this container is anatomically different from any life-form we know of.”

  “How do you mean?” Jack asked.

  Denise turned and walked over to the window and looked in on the other pathologists, who were busily working alongside the paleontologists. “Its atomic structure is out of whack” she said, looking away into the area her team was working. “It shouldn’t be able to exist,” she said with awe in her drifting voice.

  “I don’t follow,” Fielding said.

  “It means its body should sink right to the core of this planet, Colonel. Its structure is so dense it shouldn’t be able to live on this world, or any others that our space probes have reached thus far.”

  “Can you expand on that?” Collins said.

  “I’ll try, gentlemen. Have you ever tossed a rock into a lake and watched it fall once in the water?”

  They both gave a quick nod.

  “Well, that’s what this creature would be able to do here on this world. The ground would be like water is to you or me. It would literally be capable of swimming through our soil.”

  “You mean it can tunnel or dig?” asked the colonel.

  Gilliam looked at him for a moment in thought. “The atomic structure of this animal is not like ours and everything around us. You see, every atom that makes us or even the ground we stand on, or the furniture you sit on, is always in motion to some degree. One atom spins around another, that spins around yet another, never connecting but giving the illusion of being a solid to the naked eye. This animal is made up of atoms that are attached to each other in groupings of eight and ten, no single atoms like us, thus its structure is far more solid than our own. So, no, not tunnel or dig, Colonel. It would be able to run or whatever it does in the ground a lot faster than we can walk or run in our own atmosphere. I just used water as an example for lack of a better example. In our air or aboveground if you will, it would be eight or maybe even as much as ten times faster than we are. Just conjecture at this point because it being here and living is still, at least according to our science and universe, an impossibility.”

  “That means it could be a threat to my men if it finds us first,” Fielding said. Like any good commander he feared for the well-being of his men above all else.

  “Okay, what about these others?” Jack asked hurriedly.

  “Well, they’re not too dissimilar from us. They definitely died due to impact trauma. Wounds on one were severe enough that he must have died instantly. The other looked almost as if it were asleep. There was old scarring on both of the subjects, as if they had led a harsh existence. Some here think they are fighting scars, as many of them look like they were made by claws, or nails if you will, while others were clearly teeth marks. These beings may be from a harsh or combative society, or they may be a subservient species of something else.”

  “Doc, right now let’s make the priority this creature that treats alien steel like it was tissue paper,” Jack said, touching the ripped-open areas of the cage. “I think we have to—”

  Jack was interrupted by shouts and warnings outside.

  The three people turned and listened as yelling filled the camp and crash area. They started for the tent flap but were met by Mendenhall, just returned from town with Colonel Fielding.

  “Major, we have a visitor out here, and he asked to see the man in charge of the flying saucer crash; his words, sir.”

  “So much for securing the area before the cover story hit the news,” Collins said.

  They walked outside, removing their surgical masks. The sun was blazing and made their eyes water. They stood and watched as an old man was escorted by two armed security men to where they were standing. The man wore an old brown fedora and newer-looking jeans, battered brown cowboy boots, and looked as if he had just shaved. He had at least three pieces of toilet paper stuck to his cheeks and chin, stanching the flow of blood from the nicks that were obviously inflicted by a hurried job with a dull razor.

  “This man just walked up the mountain, sir. Right to where we were hiding and said he wanted to speak with the man in charge,” one of the men said. “We would have just sent him on his way, but he said he wanted to talk to the fella that was in charge of the saucer crash. It’s like he knew we were there, sir.”

  Collins stepped up to the taller, much older man. He looked him over, then held out his hand. “I’m Major Jack Collins, U.S. Army, and you are…?”

  The man looked from Collins to the crash area around them and then at the huge tents that had been erected overnight.

  “Gus Tilly. I prospect this part of the mountain.” He didn’t take the major’s hand right away, instead eyeing the strange black Nomex uniform a moment. “Don’t look like what I wore in Korea.”

  “U.S. Army, sir, that’s what and who we are,” Collins said, gesturing to the men and women around him. He was still holding his hand out, but with his other he reached over and pulled down a Velero patch on his right shoulder and revealed a small American flag underneath.

  The old man looked relieved, then took Jack’s hand and shook quickly.

  “Now, why do you think this is a flying saucer? We can’t tell what it is.”

  The man turned and shaded his eyes against the sun. Then the old gray eyes fixed on Jack. “You’re not gonna tell me it’s a plane crash or some horseshit like that, because I’ll call you a liar, sir.”

  “Whoa, take it easy there, Mr. Tilly. All we’re saying is we’re not sure what it is. Now, why do you think it’s a flying saucer?” Jack asked.

  “Because, youngster, I have the guy… er, uh, pilot or whatever it is that flew the goddamn spaceship thing here,” Gus said, looking from Collins to Colonel Fielding. “And I’ll add one more thing, fellas. You better listen to what he has to say, because we have a whole lot of trouble on our hands.”

  The rocky valley had turned into an armed camp above and a civilian holding pen on the highways below. News crews from as far away as Los Angeles had picked up the rumors of the mutilated cattle and the two missing state policemen, and now even a story that maybe a rogue motorcycle gang had been responsible.

  The element of the 101st herded them together one news crew at a time as they came into the small town of Chato’s Crawl, ignoring the shouts and curses that they had rights. As soon as the army had shown up and corralled his news crew, Ken Kashihara knew this wasn’t about a rogue biker gang. He was worried because three full busloads of reporters and conspiracy nuts had already been moved out of town. He didn’t believe for a second the cattle-disease story; his gut was telling him something else was going on and it was big.

  Ken grabbed his cameraman and walked to the rear of the roped-off area. He at least wanted to be one of the last reporters removed from the area.

  Event Group Complex

  1015 Hours

  Sarah went through the logistics line collecting her field gear. She had collected a set of ambient-light (night-vision) goggles, web belt, and canteen, a port
able VDF, which she had trained on extensively for use in locating underground rivers, and a black set of Nomex BDUs. Then she was surprised by receiving a weapon that she had only fired once in her time here; it was still experimental, she thought. The Event Group quartermaster handed her an XM8, the newest assault rifle developed for the U.S. Army. It came with an SMG/PDW package. That meant it was configured with butt plate slid in and had a short barrel, excellent for Sarah’s line of work, in tunnels or other tight spaces. The quartermaster issued her three hundred rounds of 5.56 mm armor-piercing ammunition in thirty-round magazines.

  “Jesus, where in the hell are we going to deserve these kind of weapons?” asked Steve Hanson.

  “The weapons are courtesy of Major Collins. I don’t know how he did it, but he pulled some strings and we got a hundred of these just an hour ago.”

  Sarah accepted her weapon and signed for it. She couldn’t help but wonder where they were going and just what in the hell was out there that they needed these.

  “Sarge—”

  “Before you ask, you’ll be briefed on-site, young lady. Now get to the transport level,” the gruff quartermaster ordered.

  “Well, you wanted your field mission, Sarah, I hope you’re happy,” Steve said as they gathered their gear.

  “Yeah, and now I’m a little worried,” she said as she raced him down to the cargo elevators to be one of the first on the helicopter.

  Military Airlift Command, Flight 241 Bravo, over Taos, New Mexico

  July 9, 1025 Hours

  The four jet engines of the giant C-5A Galaxy whined a sleep-inducing lullaby for the one hundred soldiers in her cavernous belly. They sat in canvas seating strapped along the side and center of the aircraft, instead of the more comfortable airline seats on regular military charters.