by D F Capps
Diane raced to her room and grabbed her spare helmet. She’d had enough of the Zetas trying to control her mind. She activated the communications link in her helmet so she could hear reports of where the Zetas were and what was being done to stop them.
She opened the door to the stairwell, and joined a constant flow of soldiers lugging sandbags and construction lights to the lower levels of the base. When she got to the second to last floor she found Henderson stationed in the stairwell, weapon pointed down the stairs. He glanced at her.
“You don’t need to be here, ma’am.” he said. “We’ve got it handled.”
“And what did I tell you about calling me ma’am?”
Henderson clamped his lips shut and glanced back at her.
“Just Zadanski is fine,” she said.
He nodded.
She grinned. “So you couldn’t possibly use a little more support?”
“Still,” he said.
Two loud snapping sounds came from the lowest level of the stairwell.
“Breach!” Henderson yelled. “Northeast stairwell!”
Diane dived to the floor and aimed her flash gun down the stairs. Henderson snatched a flashbang from his vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it down the center of the stairs. He followed it with a regular grenade. Most of the grenades were being vaporized by the Zeta Greys before they could explode, but a few of them were making it through.
Diane and Henderson fired rapidly into the mass of Zeta Greys rushing up the stairs. The falling bodies impeded the flow of Zetas enough to allow Diane to roll away from the stairs and run up to the next floor. Henderson moved almost as quickly up the steps as she did, but he was moving backward, firing as he went.
She heard the reports over the communications system indicating that all four stairwells were breached. The Zetas were advancing up the stairs to gain access to as many floors as they could, isolating soldiers on the lower levels. Four more soldiers joined Diane and Henderson in the stairwell, firing their flash guns at the flood of Zetas while dropping a constant barrage of flashbangs and fragmentation grenades down the stairs.
“Evacuate the lower floors using the elevators,” Henderson yelled. “Pull back! Pull back!”
Deep booms echoed from the lower floors. Diane cringed at what the people must be going through as Zetas swept into the lower levels. Her heart was pounding from the adrenaline rush as she fired her flash gun and climbed the stairs backward. She wasn’t as fast as Henderson, so she had to turn and run ahead as the Zetas advanced up the stairwell. The rapid discharge of flash guns gave her the impression of strobe lights, fixing still images in her mind of a macabre dance of death with the Zeta Greys.
When she reached her residence floor, she opened the door.
Henderson glanced at her and shouted, “Don’t get trapped!”
She nodded, pushed through, and quickly closed the door. She heard the lock thunk into place behind her. Six people were still in the hallway, looking confused.
“Use the elevators! Protect the OPS Center! Run!”
The six people turned and ran. That’s when she heard the loud snap of the stairwell door being vaporized.
Chapter 15
Diane slid to a stop as she grabbed a door handle and yanked the door open. Three Zeta Greys rounded the corner and fired at her as she dived into the small room. With a loud snap, the middle section of the metal door vaporized behind her. She made a quick survey of the room. There was no other exit. She adjusted the focus of the flash gun a little wider, aimed at the open wall between the storage shelves, and pressed the vaporize button. The paint on the wall blistered and turned black, but it was still there.
Damn, she thought. The flash gun is running out of power. I’m trapped!
Based on the shelves loaded with medical supplies, this had to be the storeroom for the dispensary. She ducked behind the small metal desk in the middle of the room and aimed the flash gun at the opening in the door. At the first glimpse of a Zeta Grey, she pressed the kill button. As the Zeta dropped away a second form appeared in the hole in the door, a flash gun in its hand. She fired again. The Zeta staggered back into the hall and slowly collapsed. The third Zeta pulled the door fully open and fired into the room. She ducked low behind the desk as the intense blast vaporized a section of the desktop and the shelves in back of her, and put a three-foot diameter hole in the wall.
Diane reached up and hit the kill button without looking. She waited for a second blast from the alien flash gun that would end her life. When it didn’t come, she glanced over the top of the desk. The Zeta Grey stood there, staggering, trying to aim its weapon.
It’s not dead!
She shifted her hand and pressed the vaporize button. The Zeta wobbled backward, not vaporized, and certainly not dead.
No more power left in the weapon!
She threw her flash gun at the Zeta, striking it in the left eye. It dropped its own weapon, paused momentarily, then walked slowly in her direction. She became hysterical for the first time in her life, screaming and throwing anything she could grab at the creature. Boxes and plastic bottles bounced off the Zeta’s head as it continued to come closer. She gripped a glass bottle and threw it as hard as she could into the bony face, now barely three feet from her. The bottle shattered, spraying a reddish orange liquid over the creature’s head and on to the desk. The liquid covered its eyes and ran down the scrawny neck, dripping onto its small chest.
The Zeta stopped.
Diane glanced around for any kind of a weapon: scissors, scalpel, IV kit—anything she could use. Nothing substantial was there. She was about to dive through the hole in the wall when she glanced back at the alien thing in front of her. It stood still for a moment then a shiver went through its body. The faint shaking grew stronger as it toppled over and went into convulsions.
Breathing heavily, Diane paused, trying to calm her jangled nerves.
The creature’s convulsions grew stronger then stopped.
Diane walked cautiously over to the body and kicked it in the side of its chest. No reaction.
Is it dead? she asked herself. How would I know for sure?
She took a peek out of the storeroom and into the hall. The two other Zetas squirmed on the floor. They appeared to be recovering. She picked up the flash gun dropped by the Zeta in the doorway and aimed it at the closest alien. She paused, walked over to the second, then the third Zeta, and picked up both flash guns. She looked at the dead Zeta in the room, then back into the storeroom. She pursed her lips and walked back to the shelf containing the glass bottles. She looked again at the dead Zeta Grey on the floor and at the two, still alive in the hall, then back at the bottle label.
Betadine.
She snatched a bottle off the shelf, strode quickly into the hall, and twisted the cap off. She poured a small amount of Betadine on each of the struggling Greys, more on one than the other. Stepping back, she checked down the hall in both directions. It was still clear. She leaned against the wall, still breathing raggedly, as she observed both Zetas starting to shiver and shake.
The one that received the larger dose of Betadine went into convulsions first, followed a short time later by the other one. She watched dispassionately as the convulsions increased and finally stopped. It took almost five minutes for the second disgusting creature to die.
Communications coming over the speaker inside her helmet indicated that the Zeta Grey attack had finally failed. The army unit was sweeping the entire base, securing it room by room, making sure no Zeta Greys remained. The base had survived its second attack in five days.
She removed her helmet and read the label on the bottle: Active ingredient—iodine.
* * *
“There you are, ma’am,” Sergeant Henderson said as he approached her. She gave him a stern look. He looked at the three dead Zeta Greys, smiled, and gave her a nod. “General McHenry and Colonel Novak would like to have a word with you. If you would follow me?”
Diane walked with him to the conference ro
om, the bottle of Betadine still firmly clutched in her hand. Henderson opened the door, motioned her in, and closed the door behind her.
“Lieutenant Commander Zadanski,” McHenry said as she entered.
“Please have a seat,” Colonel Novak said, motioning to a chair.
She sat, uneasy about what would happen next.
“From what we can ascertain,” Colonel Novak said, “you discovered the Zeta Greys before they had a chance to fully assemble. That delay gave us time to mount a defense.”
“How did you know?” McHenry asked.
“Woman’s intuition,” she said.
“Sergeant Henderson doesn’t think so, and frankly, neither do I,” Novak said. “You woke up at two in the morning concerned about the security of the base. You walk right to their hidden entrance point and help foil a major attack? I’m not buying it.”
She glanced from one of them to the other and back again, thinking, I can’t tell them I hear voices in my head. They’ll lock me up in an asylum.
“This whole program is highly compartmentalized,” she said. “I can’t talk to you about it.” She hoped that would hold them off for a bit.
McHenry shook his head. “Not good enough, Zadanski. I’ve read your file. All of it. You met with someone named Charlie. During the first battle for the base, you were able to sense the Zeta Grey battle plan and act in time to save the base. You were able to track where three tall Greys went inside the base, terminating them before they could escape. With twenty miles of tunnels and corridors, you located them within three minutes. How?”
She glanced around, looking for a way to avoid any more questions. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
McHenry started laughing.
“We know you didn’t do anything wrong,” Novak said. “We’re not trying to assign blame for anything. In our world of covert operations, too many things go wrong all of the time. We increase our odds by using sensitives, people with special abilities who can give us a strategic or tactical edge over the enemy. Have you ever been trained by the CIA or other clandestine organization in mind control? Because nothing shows up in your file.”
She frowned. “No. I haven’t.”
McHenry nodded. “She’s a natural.”
“We need your help,” Novak said. “We want you to work closely with us, give us any advantage over the enemy you can.”
She looked down at the bottle of Betadine in her hand. “I have my own job and responsibilities that have to come first, but I can give you this.” She set the bottle of Betadine on the table in front of her. “I don’t know why, but it kills Zeta Greys.”
Novak took the bottle and read the label. “Betadine? It’s an antiseptic.”
“Maybe the Greys live on bad bacteria. I don’t know. Primary ingredient is iodine. All I know is that it killed three Zeta Greys when nothing else was working.”
“Interesting,” McHenry said. “Apparently toxic to the Greys, but harmless to humans.”
“From the reaction I saw, my guess would be it’s highly toxic to Zetas.”
Novak nodded. “How did you get it into them?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. They don’t eat anything. They absorb nutrients through their skin. I assume they get rid of waste materials the same way—through the skin. That would help explain their odor. If we can get the iodine on their skin, it soaks in and they die. Simple.”
Sergeant Henderson knocked on the door and entered.
“Casualty report is in. Admiral Hollis wants you to meet him in the OPS Center. You too, Zadanski.”
* * *
The hallway to the command center was littered with the bodies of dead Zeta Greys. At least they weren’t stacked above her knees as they were in the first attack. The blast door to the OPS Center was standing open and appeared to be undamaged.
Diane stopped when she saw a medic wrapping Hollis’s right arm just above the elbow. The elbow joint and the entire forearm were missing. Hollis was grimacing in pain.
“Sir, how did . . .”
He cringed and breathed deeply. “They want to give me something for the pain, but we need to have a conversation first, while I’m still lucid. We lost a lot of good people—eighty-seven dead, nearly two hundred wounded. This concerns McHenry, Novak, and you, Zadanski. Below deck.”
Hollis haltingly led them down the spiral stairway to the main computer room under the OPS Center. Three technicians were checking the rows of servers.
“Give us the room.”
The technicians scurried up the stairs.
“First, thank you for saving the base. Second, I am the first to admit that I am not a warrior—I’m an administrator. A good one, which is why President Andrews placed me in charge of this program. The three of you are the warriors. Extraordinary warriors, as it turns out, for which I am very grateful.
“Zadanski, I’m going to need more help from you. I hereby promote you to the rank of Commander. You will work directly with Captain Jakovic, who is in charge of the Planetary Shield. You will also work directly with Novak and McHenry to coordinate all operations against the Zeta Greys.” He turned to face McHenry and Novak. “Any objections?”
“No, sir,” McHenry said, a slight smile growing on his face. “We like her. We’ll make a good team.”
“Very well. Carry on.”
Hollis slowly climbed the spiral staircase.
“So,” McHenry said, “we get to work together closely after all. Commander, your secret is safe with us. Only the three of us will know about your special ability.”
It’s actually four of us, she thought. Charlie knows, too.
Chapter 16
Sean Wells draped his suit coat over his arm. The hot, sticky air of central Florida was more uncomfortable than he had anticipated. He checked the address on the house. This was the place. The house was small, maybe eight hundred square feet, with peeling and cracked white sideboards. The torn screen door stood half open on the uneven wooden porch. The planking of the front porch sagged without noise under his weight. He knocked on the dirty glass of the front door.
“Come on in,” a woman’s voice said.
“I’m Sean Wells from the New York Times,” he said, as he slowly opened the door. The room was empty.
“Back here,” Laura Stilton called out.
Sean glanced around and cautiously followed the sound of her voice. He slowly walked into her kitchen. Laura was short and on the chubby side, with auburn hair and green eyes. She was standing on a rickety stepstool, stretching to reach a coffee can on the top shelf of her pantry.
“A little help?” she asked.
Sean stepped over, reached up, and plucked the can from the shelf.
She stepped down to the floor. “Thanks. The guy from the store keeps putting the coffee on the top shelf. I keep telling him I can’t reach it there, but he forgets.”
Or doesn’t care, Sean thought.
“I live on disability,” she said. “Fibromyalgia.”
He nodded and took out his notebook. She fixed coffee as he asked his questions. He had finished reading Dr. Jackson’s book on alien abductions. A definable pattern was emerging from the abductees: Bright lights appeared in the middle of the night, three to six small Greys entered the home, floated the victim, usually a woman, out of the house, and up to a saucer-shaped craft. Medical procedures were performed and the victim was floated back into the home.
He realized that many people either couldn’t recall what happened to them, or were just too traumatized to even consider that the abduction was real.
“I knew something was very wrong with me,” Laura said. “When Dr. Jackson came to Tampa to speak, a friend dragged me to hear him. I didn’t want to go. But as I sat there listening to what he described, everything began to fall into place. I scheduled a session with him. He spent a month in Tampa helping all the people he could. I’m so grateful. He comes back for a week every three months to evaluate people and see how we’re doing.”
&nb
sp; “That must be expensive,” Sean said.
She shrugged. “It probably is. He never charged anyone for his work. Some people give him donations. I just couldn’t afford to.”
He scribbled more in his notebook. “It must be hard to talk to people about what happened when there’s no real physical proof.”
She smiled. “That depends on what you consider to be proof,” she said. “For skeptics, nothing other than a dead alien would be acceptable proof. Even then, I wonder about some of them.”
He smiled. Dr. Jackson had an agenda behind the patients he recommended. That was becoming obvious. “What proof do you have?” he asked.
She got up slowly, opened a shallow drawer in the kitchen cabinet next to the stove, and retrieved a small jar. She rattled it as she carried it over to the table, setting it down in front of him. She grinned. “The thing is,” she began as she sat down, “I’ve also got rheumatoid arthritis. I get X-rays once a year. Each year they find one of these and remove it.”
Sean frowned. “Every year?”
She nodded. “And after I get abducted again, there’s another one. Some times in the same place, sometimes in my hand, near my elbow, or behind my ear.”
He looked at the small things in the jar. “What are they? Some kind of tracking devices?”
“Sort of.” She opened the jar and shook one of the small pieces out onto the table. “From what I’ve been told, they’re small chunks of an iron meteor.”
He frowned and shook his head. “So someone found a meteorite, broke off a small piece, and put it inside of your arm?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. A meteor gets heated up as it falls through the air. It changes the structure of the iron. These pieces never got heated. The iron is in its original form.”
Sean leaned back in his chair. “How do you know that?”
“There are several scientists who work with Dr. Jackson. They examined the pieces and told me about them.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him.
He leaned over the table and examined the small pieces more closely. They were similar in size, but varied in shape. Some were almost spherical; others were like a small shard, thin and pointed. “So you’re saying these didn’t fall to the ground? That means they had to be collected in outer space, not from Earth.”