by William Bebb
“Hey, you can't come in here. Didn't you see the sign outside? This building is closed until fu- What are you-!” the last word stretched out into a short agonized yelp.
Rockford pulled his sidearm and ran to the fountain in time to see the soldier who'd been nearly asleep on his feet, pointing his gun at a pair of men dressed in dark gray overcoats and hats. From his position he couldn't see their faces, but the guard's expression was one of shock and undeniable terror.
The strange men held things that looked like foot long glass rods and were pointing them at the remaining guard. It was difficult for him to see what exactly was happening as there was a small cloud of smoke or ash slowly drifting down around them. Where it came from was something Rockford wondered.
“Hey! Stop or I'll fire!” Rockford yelled, as the glass rods flashed a brief bright blue color. He'd wondered what had happened to the other guard, but instantly understood as he watched the remaining MP explode with a soft whooshing sound and a brief flash of flame where he'd been standing. His empty uniform collapsed to the tiled floor in a small smoldering untidy pile.
Rockford opened fire from behind the statue in the fountain.
The shots roared and shattered the early morning silence and they were all directly on target.
Both men were shot four times each in the torso. One of them may have stumbled forward a half step, at least Rockford hoped he did because aside from that slight movement neither man seemed effected by the bullets as they turned toward him.
While they pointed their glass rods at him, he fired twice more at the one who seemed to have stumbled before ducking behind the fountain's statue.
The water filled fountain turned instantly into a rushing cloud of superheated steam that exploded toward the high ceiling above. Simultaneously, the bronze statue reflected several small bolts of bright blue and green plasma with the largest one emanating from the upraised cup.
A few minutes later, Rockford awoke face down on the tiles with a swirling nauseated weak feeling and struggled to get to his knees. There was a small patch of blood on the tiles and he felt his nose continuing to leak as he pulled himself over, with great difficulty, to the edge of the fountain.
Distant gunshots drifted down from somewhere upstairs, as he smelled a slight stench of burnt fish.
There was no water in the fountain any longer. The air was hot and humid as he managed to stand. He saw his hands and arms were covered in a fine dust that looked like talcum powder or ashes.
Trying to reach for his gun he felt like was going to vomit, but all that came out was a series of painful dry heaves. Stumbling and trembling, he managed to make it to the long dark mahogany bar and lean across the top. On the other side he saw a spigot on a hose which bartenders used to fill glasses with soda or water. It was hard to focus his eyes and he pressed one of the buttons hoping for water as he held it to his mouth.
Spasms of pain echoed down his throat and stomach as he drank the icy cold water. After a few seconds, he noted there were no more gunshots coming from above. He moved painfully slow toward the emergency exit, holding his hand on the bar for balance as he went. As he opened the exit, screams drifted down from above.
Outside, the deserted alley was lit by the weak predawn sun as he stumbled away faintly hoping no one would think him a coward for running out.
*****
Dr. Everson walked out of Finches Restaurant carrying a bag containing breakfast for the technician and himself. A Hummer squealed to a stop and the driver honked at him as he crossed the parking lot. Since hearing the news that the president was ending the search for answers regarding the explosion, he'd been having a hard time paying attention.
It just doesn't make sense. Terrorists, with mysterious glass cubes that resist giving up their secrets? Aliens or terrorists, not much of a choice. But, if they shut down operations what would they do with the cube?
Who knows, maybe the test with the radio spectrum device will finally answer some questions, he hoped, crossing the parking lot toward the trailer where he'd been working all morning.
A sudden strong gust of wind blowing toward it seemed purely coincidental, but wasn't.
A crunching, tearing and squealing of metal caught his attention and he looked up and saw several soldiers blocking his way back to the research trailer as the gusting wind grew stronger. They were all staring toward the source of the sounds, and after going around them he stopped.
The bag fell to the pavement and as a round greasy sausage patty rolled downhill toward the trailer, he gasped in disbelief.
The middle of research trailer was warping in both size and shape. The front and rear sections were still in their former shape, but the middle third was twisting and shrinking as the metallic screeching intensified.
Everson wasn't sure but thought he heard the technician's faint screams mixing with the shrinking trailer's sounds as an almost gale strength wind howled by. He moved past the group of soldiers several steps before stopping and leaning against a light pole while the wind whipped at his hair and robe. It's just not possible, was his only thought.
The middle section shrank faster as his heart beat erratically and stared. A long increasingly thin string of material, he believed was made up of the trailer, stretched away from the front and end sections to the middle area.
The center section looked darker, as if the morning sunlight shining over his shoulder was powerless to illuminate it. The middle section had originally been about thirty feet long and while the remaining material might measure the same length, its diameter had shrunk to the size of a refrigerator suspended in the air on its side.
“What the fuck is going on!” A soldier standing behind Everson. yelled over the shrieking wind.
The birth of a miniature black hole, maybe? The stunned physics professor thought in answer.
The refrigerator sized section was suddenly reduced to the size of a microwave oven and still suspended in the air by the two strands of material that connected it to the front and rear of the trailer. The actual size was hard to make out as the area surrounding it was almost now pitch black.
Remembering films he'd seen, where atomic tests had been performed above ground, Everson quickly spun around and closed his eyes while shouting, “Don't look at it! For God's sake don't-”
Even with his eyes shut the flash of brilliant red and white light was seen by Dr. Everson, and nearly everyone with a three mile radius of its source. He was expecting an explosion and was as shocked as much as relieved when there was none.
Instead, there was a tremendous thunderclap of noise and the wind ceased immediately.
A few seconds later with his eyes still shut, he heard alarms and sirens competing with yells of confusion and terror as many people realized they'd been struck blind by the flash.
Dr. Everson opened his eyes and saw the bluish ghost afterimages he'd experienced when someone occasionally used a camera flash and they snapped his picture without warning. Ignoring the distortions in his vision, he slowly looked back to the trailer. The long strands of incredibly compacted remnants attached to the remaining front and rear sections of trailer still hung in the air but stopped about ten feet from touching. The middle section was gone.
*****
“Why don't they come forward, make themselves known to everyone, if they're as wonderful as you say these pig guys are? All this hiding who and what they are seems more than slightly insidious to me,” General Heller asked as he sipped his drink while sitting at the bar across from Admiral Branson.
“Sure you don't want to wait for your fellow inquisitor to come back from wherever he went?”
“Just answer me. Why all the secrecy?”
“Remember when I mentioned the Tehran conference that happened during the second world war? Long ago when they first came to Earth they landed in Iran, which was then called Persia.
On first meeting them, some kind of warlord decided they were demonic creatures and tried to have them killed,” Bran
son said and laughed before sipping his drink and continuing. “He sent thousands of his warriors against them. That was a big mistake. Only a few men managed to escape the massacre.”
“Why did they land there in the first place?”
“I'm just going by what I've heard through the grapevine, but supposedly their ship was badly damaged and after checking out the various races around the planet they chose Persia because their natural appearance was most similar to them; well, except for the tusks and snouts that is. You know, I might have overstated the massacre aspect slightly,” Branson said, rubbing his chin gently. “I heard their ship was virtually destroyed and several of them died. But eventually they did win the battle and decided it would be easier to live here if they looked more like humans. It makes sense really. After all, how do you think people would react to people who looked like pigs wandering around?”
“Does the Muslim prohibition of eating pork have anything to do with their choice of where to live, by any chance?” Heller asked, looking at the door while wondering where Rockford was.
“Come on Sebastian, don't be a racist,” Branson said, with a look of disapproval.
The general blushed slightly before responding. “It's not a racist question. If they resembled swine, it would only make sense to live in a part of the world that refused to eat pigs.”
Branson smiled. “Actually I've never asked any of them about that. I always thought that might be more than a little rude, plus some of them are kind of unbalanced anyway.”
“Oh? How many are unbalanced, and in what way?”
“Their people had a falling out over the centuries. The more 'live and let live' variety chose to migrate to the western nations over time. Whereas, some have become- let's just say more radicalized by the initial culture in which they were introduced.”
“Wait? Are you saying the Muslim terrorists are pig aliens? That's insane.”
“I didn't say that, although several have joined forces with and lead some of the most well known terrorist groups. Most of the ones who stayed in the Arab world agreed with the radicals in their desire to see other world religions destroyed and the people converted or killed. I never understood the why part of it though. Maybe they just hate the idea that Christians and others eat pork products.”
“Can you back any of that up with some kind of proof?”
Branson nodded and grinned. “Remember how they never showed photos of Osama Bin Laden's body after he was killed? And how they disposed of his body at sea? Think about it.”
“You're shitting me! He was an alien?”
Several gunshots from the next room accompanied by shouts of surprise and anger came through the closed bathroom door.
“Damn you, Brent!” Heller yelled and fired his gun at the old man behind the bar. The bullets flashed bright purple a few feet short of his grinning face.
“Best put the gun down, Sebastian. If you don't, they're going to do something extremely unpleasant to you and you'll be nothing more than a pile of ashy dust; And on this I shit you not old friend,” Branson said, lifting the glowing purple cube and placing it on top of the bar counter. “And believe it or not, everything I've told you was the absolute truth. So, just put down the gun and relax. They won't kill you, unless you try and make trouble.”
“You're a traitor and not just to America but every single human on Earth! How could you do this?” Heller said, walking toward the bar.
“You can have a piece of the good life too, just drop the gun and tell me where that Captain Rockford went.”
Heller stopped and looked thoughtful as the sound of gunfire ended in the other room. Smiling broadly at his old friend, he said, “I hope that you burn in Hell.” Turning toward the opening door he raised his gun and fired as the first short man entered.
“No! Don't!” Branson yelled at the short man who was holding a short glass rod in his hand.
“Shit!” Branson screamed, as General Sebastian Heller's flaming uniform collapsed on the floor surrounded by an ash cloud of his remains. He looked up at the newcomer in disgust.
“Oops,” a short man wearing dark gray fedora hat and overcoat said, walking through the ashes to the bar. “You okay?”
“I'm just peachy. Did you find a captain somewhere around here and eliminate him?”
“Everyone we've met has been taken care of. My partner's planting the explosives and flame charges. We should leave before the police arrive.”
Picking up his still glowing cube Branson walked from behind the bar and kicked Heller's Colt in disgust, sending it spinning across the tiled floor before landing and quickly sinking in the tub of mud as he stomped through his remains. “I still would have liked a chance to learn more about the captain that was in here. I don't like loose ends. It's sloppy.”
As they walked through the main room Branson looked at the piles of ashes and empty uniforms scattered about. “Did either of you get hurt?”
The short man opened the door to the hall and laughed.
Across the hall an obese woman, wearing very little, stood behind her locked door looking through the peep hole and shuddered as she heard the short man laughing.
It was a nasty snorting kind of sound that reminded her of when she worked on her father's pig farm growing up. Backing away from the door as the snorts continued, she thought they sounded almost like squeals.
She called the front desk to report the gunshots but no one answered. Hanging up she tried 911.
“Emergency services, what's the nature of your emer-” The voice started to say before the phone went dead and the lights went out.
Standing in the dark, except for the dim early morning light leaking in through the heavy curtains, she caught her first whiff of smoke. She ran to the window and threw aside the curtains.
Thick clouds of black smoke were billowing up from below as she heard something explode downstairs. Her last thought as the floor gave way and she started to fall into the flames below was, Momma was right, I should have stayed on the farm.
*****
Colonel Abrahms had managed to enjoy almost ninety minutes of sleep before he was awakened by a discordant chorus of loud sirens and alarms. Rolling out of bed he quickly dressed and ran outside while wondering what new fuckaroo was brewing.
His aide was waiting outside behind the steering wheel of a Hummer. “Something weird happened over at the research lab. I saw a flash of light about thirty seconds before I got a call from the command post.”
“What did they say happened?” Abrahms asked, as he climbed into the passenger seat.
Putting the Hummer in gear and flooring it, he shrugged. “They were hard to understand. There was a lot of shouting and alarms in the background. All I got clearly was and I quote 'The research lab's fucked up.'”
It's that fucking cube. Damn it, I begged Heller to let us send it somewhere else. Why Lord, why doesn't anyone ever listen to me, Abrahms wondered, as they picked up speed.
Expecting to see smoke, fire, and devastation upon reaching the trailers Abrahms was confused and more than a little pissed off to instead see dozens of soldiers sitting around apparently goofing off.
“Stop here,” Abrahms said to the driver as he unrolled his window. “Sergeant, would you please tell me why you're just sitting there looking pitiful?”
“I'm fucking blind, whoever you are. Now piss off and get me and my men some medics.”
Abrahms felt like an asshole as he climbed out of the Hummer and went to the sergeant's side. “I'm Colonel Abrahms, of the military police. Help's on the way,” he said, hoping that was true. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Was going on duty with my squad when a flash of light went off. It was like every flash on every camera in the world went off at the same time. Someone came by a minute ago and led us over to the curb and told us to wait for help,” the sergeant said, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket and trying to light it without much success.
“I got it,” Abrahms said, lighting h
is cigarette for him. “You guys sit tight, I'll be sure the medics are here ASAP. Don't worry, everything will be alright.”
“Fucking president couldn't order and end to this quarantine zone yesterday. He had to wait until today, now I get to go home with a white cane tapping the ground in front of me,” the sergeant said after puffing on his cigarette.
“The quarantine zones been lifted? Who told you that?” Abrahms asked sounding doubtful.
“It was on the TV little while ago. Reporter said we'd be leaving around noon.”
“Fuck a duck!” Abrahms screamed in frustration as he ran back to the Hummer.
Twenty minutes later, ambulances and other vehicles were getting the last of the blinded to the infirmary as Abrahm's walked into the command post trailers. His first thought was that everyone had decided that since the quarantine zone was ending at noon they might as well leave early. There was no one at any of the desks and a maddening chorus of unanswered phones were ringing.
He thought about trying to answer them and shook his head thinking, Fuck that, I have got to see the video and get some answers.
Running through the trailer, past the empty workstations, he heard someone swearing further down the hall toward the surveillance room.
A chubby middle aged man wearing pajamas and a robe was wiggling a paperclip into the surveillance room door's lock.
Abrahms almost pulled his gun until he saw the red ID card on the stranger's robe.
Hurrying up beside him he said, “A key and key card are necessary to get in there. Are you Everson?”
“Yes, and I want to know what happened in that lab,” he said, looking frustrated and scared.
“That makes two of us,” Abrahms said, unlocking and opening the door.
*****
“You can run faster than that. Come on, keep up, jelly belly,” a young man wearing a purple and white jogging suit called over his shoulder to a young woman identically dressed.
The woman was several yards behind him, struggling to catch up as they ran along a stone path that meandered through the small park.