by T. D. Kohler
It is an eerie, country-quiet night as the admiral wanders into the kitchen of the rustic bed and breakfast. Opening the refrigerator, an elderly voice startles the admiral.
“You ain’t supposed to be in here.”
Standing up, the admiral looks around for the voice in the darkness, the light from the refrigerator blinding him from seeing the owner of the voice.
“I was hungry and didn’t want to wake anyone.”
The voice appears behind him, just under his arm, closes the door, and extinguishes the only light in the room.
“Don’t change no fact that you ain’t supposed to be in here.”
The admiral takes a step back and looks towards the refrigerator.
“My apologies, ma’am. I meant no disrespect.”
The light in the kitchen is switched on, causing the admiral to shield his eyes. At the doorway is the young brunette who checked them in last night. He turns back to acknowledge the voice of the elderly woman. Not seeing anyone standing by the fridge, he scans the room, and when he does not see the owner of the voice earlier, he uses his hands to calm himself and takes a breath.
“Are you alright, Mr. Kay?” The woman in the doorway asks. “You know guests are not supposed to be in the kitchen.”
Still collecting his composure, the admiral gives her a warm smile.
“I did not want to wake anyone. My apologies.”
Walking over to shoo him out of the kitchen, the young lady waves her wrist, motioning for him to step back.
“You already apologized, and you don’t strike me as someone who repeats himself. Now what can I fix you to eat?”
“Just looking for something to drink, ma’am,” the admiral answers as he takes a few steps around the counter, attempting to create some distance from where he last heard the voice.
“Please, my name is Sheryl. You say ma’am and I’m looking for my mother.”
Masking his unease, he says, “Alright, Sheryl, as long as you call me Julian.”
Looking up at him with her large brown eyes, she says, “Sounds like a deal, Julian. Now what can I get you to drink?”
“Iced tea would be great, thank you.” Watching Sheryl turn around, his attention is drawn to her slim, but shapely, figure.
The elderly voice he heard earlier whispers behind him, “She a good girl and know how to cook.”
“I am sure you are correct,” the admiral mummers, not wanting to turn to acknowledge the voice.
Holding a pitcher of sweet tea and a glass, Sheryl turns towards the counter as the light from the opened refrigerator puts a glow around her hair.
“Did you say something? I hope sweet tea will be fine.” Their eyes lock, and a glimmer of a spark holds the gaze.
Garrett walks into the kitchen wearing a Justice League of America tee shirt and rubbing one of his eyes. “Awesome. That would hit the spot.”
Not taking her eyes away from the admiral, Sheryl nods at Garrett. “No problem, sir,” she says and pours her new guest a glass.
The sexual tension between the admiral and Sheryl is interrupted by a reverberation that shakes the house. The admiral reaches over the counter and pulls the young lady to the counter top, spilling the tea.
Garrett dives to the ground, covering his ears. After the ringing in the admiral’s ears subsides, he realizes he’s still holding the owner of the bed and breakfast down on the counter.
“My apologies, ma’am—I mean, Sheryl. Instincts take over sometimes.” Looking around the room, he says, “That was a sonic boom. Why are jets flying so low to the ground? And they are prohibited from breaking the sound barrier below a certain altitude.”
“I’m okay, thank you.” Straightening herself up, Sheryl starts cleaning up the tea. “Dr. Garrett, is it? Would you still like a glass of sweet tea?”
“What the hell was that?” Garrett gets up on one knee, craning his neck around. “I felt that through my bones.” The house begins to stir as guests make their way around the bed and breakfast. Stretching his jaw, trying to pop the pressure from his ears, Garrett gets back to his feet. “That would be awesome, ma’am, thank you.”
The admiral leans back on the sink counter and crosses his arms as his right hand rubs down his chin. Looking back towards Sheryl, he says, “You don’t seem too taken back by the sonic boom.”
Handing the glass to Garrett, Sheryl shrugs. “That has been going on for a few months now. We have already contacted Fort Polk and they have been in contact with Port Arthur. Both say that it’s an atmospheric-pressure something or other.”
Rushing in the kitchen, Stevens is wearing his electronic headgear.
“That was not an atmospheric pressure anomaly! Well, technically it was, but it was not naturally caused.”
“What in God’s name!” Dropping the glass exchange with Garrett, Sheryl grabs her chest in shock as she sees the tall man rushing into the kitchen wearing a metallic, blinking headgear.
The glass shatters to the floor as Garrett slaps his forehead.
Keeping his arms folded across his chest, the admiral closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Lincoln, do you sleep in that thing?” he says to Stevens and raises a hand to let Sheryl know it is okay. “Sheryl, pay no attention to the tall robotic doctor.”
She turns to get a small broom. “What kind of doctors uses that fancy equipment?”
“I could tell you all sorts of things that even I don’t completely understand, but we are men of science,” the admiral assures her.
“I was just going back over today’s information again, since I couldn’t sleep,” Stevens says, “when that sonic boom knocked me out of bed.” He walks past the admiral to the long side of the counter top, where he turns to the counter top and gives a quick nod of acknowledgement to someone standing next to the admiral. “Ma’am.” Turning to the counter top, Stevens spreads out a map.
Looking up at Sheryl, Stevens continues to spread out and flatten the map. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
The admiral takes a step away. “Can we go over this information when the sun comes up? Sheryl, if you will excuse us, we will bid you good night.” He scans the kitchen again for that elderly voice and where Stevens saw something.
Stevens looks up. “Oh, okay.” He collects the paperwork on the counter.
The admiral presses the shoulders of both of his friends as he ushers them out of the kitchen.
Garrett looks back at the pitcher of tea.
“But I didn’t get any tea, and who were you talking to, Lincoln?”
“Never mind that. Harvey, you will survive, and, Lincoln, you can talk about the boom later, I promise, but right now we need to get some rest . . . and some air.”
Hawker Siddeley
HS-125
July 19, 0250 hours
An alarm sounds in the pilothouse. The co-pilot acknowledges it, adjusts the sensitivity of the scope, and on the screen a contact appears a few miles on the flight path to Alexandria. The pilot slows the plane down and puts in a call to AEX.
“AEX, this is HS-One Two Five, do you copy?”
“HS-One Two Five, this is AEX tower, we have you on contact.”
“AEX, this is HS-One Two Five, need to verify radar contact bearing on our zero.”
“HS-One Two Five, this is AEX tower, contact verified and flight path undetermined. Request fuel remaining for go-around.”
“AEX, this is HS-One Two Five, 5703 gallons, request go-around flight path.”
The co-pilot is still adjusting the radar sensitivity when the contact disappears. A sonic boom cracks the windshield as a jet stream washes just off the portside wing, sending it into a starboard side roll. The jet spirals, losing altitude.
Agent Sanchez is sent rolling across the plane and catches the table post latching his arms around it and hooking his legs while yelling absurdities. Agent Abergathy remains belted in her seat, and she grabs her knees to her chest and screams into her lap.
“AEX, mayday, mayday, HS-One Two Five losing pressure
. . . caught in a spin . . . altitude dropping.”
“HS-One Two Five, copy mayday. Monitor altitude. You can pull out of spin when pressure evens at 2400 feet.”
By the time the plane reaches 2250 feet, the pilot is able to regain control of the jet and level it to the horizon line.
“AEX, this is HS-One Two Five, we have regained control. However, we have multiple system failures. Request to make short approach.” Checking the radio status, he says, “AEX, this is HS-One Two Five, did you copy last?”
Looking at his terrified co-pilot, he repeats, “AEX, requesting to make short approach, need immediate landing coordinates. And what the hell was that?”
Inside the cabin, Abergathy unbuckles herself and makes her way to the dry bar. With her hands still shaking, she grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels. A moan escapes as Sanchez stands, holding his wrist.
“I hope you are pouring me one of those. You know sharing is caring.”
Looking at his bruised and rapid swelling wrist, she opens an ice chest and takes off her shirt to collect the ice for an icepack.
“Here, sit down. Put your arm out on the table, and let’s get this thing iced up.”
Shocked at the new side of his partner, Sanchez smiles, following her instructions. His eyes have trouble diverting from her bra.
“I am impressed at your field training and, ummm, your confidence.”
Sitting across from him at the table, she says, “As long as you keep your eyes up here,” pointing to her eyes.
“At least the jet was able to level out. I wonder what happened up there.” She pours them a drink.
Setting the icepack on his wrist, Sanchez takes the drink and sips. A shiver shoots up his spine. “Wow, only the good stuff here. Well from the boom I heard through your screaming . . .” She kicks him under the table. “Ow. And the speed and the way we spun out, I say we hit a jet wash.”
Getting up, she points a finger. “You stay and keep your wrist on ice. I’m going to go talk to the pilot.” She turns and heads to the front of the plane, still reaching out to the sides of the jet for security. Knocking on the cabin door, she opens it up to see the windshield is cracked and multiple lights are flashing. “I may not be a pilot, but I am thinking that this is not a good thing.”
Without looking back the pilot acknowledges his passenger.
“Agent, you need to go back and sit down. I didn’t turn off the seatbelt light.”
“Kristen, please we need you to sit back down.” The co-pilot pauses seeing that she is without her shirt. “Ummm, we know as much as you do, and we’re looking for a place to land. We’re going to try to make it as close to Alexandria as we can, so right now go back in and buckle up, and tell Miguel to do the same. And put a shirt on. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Hurrying back into the cabin, she sees her partner lying back, passed out, and the icepack dropped on the deck. His wrist is turning a deep shade of purple right in front of her. Thinking the pain got to him, she looks around the mess-of-a cabin until she finds the first aid emergency kit. Taking a closer look at his wrist, realizing that it is broken, she wraps the bandage around it with the icepack.
Grabbing a pair of pants from the luggage overhead, she ties one leg around his elbow and traps the other leg into the overhead, elevating his arm.
After buckling him in, she makes her way back to her seat and buckles back in, looking out her window into the cloudless starry night.
“Well, girl, you wanted an adventure. You wanted to be a field agent. Let’s just hope it is not my last.” Seeing her reflection, she realizes that she had forgotten to get a shirt. Smiling she says, “Well at least it is one of my best-looking bras. If I am going to die, I picked a good bra to die in.”
The plane shifts again due to turbulence, causing her to grip the table. Breathe in... breathe out. The turbulence feels like it is attacking the jet. The co-pilot pipes over the speaker system.
“Full disclosure at this point agent. We have lost a lot of our electronic capabilities. We are still about ten minutes out from Alexandria International Airport.”
Turbulence hammers the plane, nearly causing the jet to roll.
“. . . Captain is doing everything he can to keep us in the air . . .”
White knuckling the armrests, Abergathy yells, “You can stop now!”
“We’ve lost communication with the tower, so we will be flying in low and . . .”
“That’s enough!” she yells.
“. . . blind.”
Her cell phone rings and instinctively she looks for it, finding it on the floor under the table next to the bulkhead.
“Now is not a good time,” she says.
Inside the pilothouse the captain is struggling with the controls, realizing they might not be able to reach the runway.
“Find me something that still works. We need to get in control of the landing gear. And put that hand piece down, you don’t need to scare them anymore than necessary.”
A metal piece breaks away from the nose of the jet and bounces off of the windshield completing the spider web of cracks.
“Holy cow!”
Dropping the hand piece, the co-pilot mutters, “Was that ours?”
A door slams open to the cockpit and Abergathy grabs everything she can to maintain balance as she hands the co-pilot her phone.
“It’s the AEX control tower. Apparently, we are below radar, and they want to know where we are.”
The co-pilot just stares at the phone, confused. The captain yells, “Answer the damn phone!” Turning back to agent, he says, “I don’t know how you did it, but go back and buckle yourself in, now!”
Deserted Farm,
Dry Creek, LA
July 19, 0651 hours
A morning fog settles across the fields as the large van cuts through on the dirt road towards the farmhouse. Garrett looks out the back window, watching the fog stream around the van. “Can this place get any creepier?”
Turning back to his gravitational suit, he notices the admiral and Stevens looking at each other, trying to hide their grins.
“You two are enjoying yourselves, aren’t you?” He turns his attention to his suit. He mumbles, “Damn, it does look like a gorilla outfit.”
“What was that, monkey man?” The admiral hears a familiar sound and turns into the cornfields as a murder of crows take to the skies.
Garrett is thrown to the back corner of the van as his head whips to the window, watching the crows take flight. “I really, really dislike those birds. A little warning next time, Admiral.”
Out the back window, a series of Army Humvees are thundering down the road with the fog obscuring the view of the van. The admiral turns to watch them fly past.
“Well looks like the secret is out, and we’re too late.”
Stevens taps away on the iPad.
“I still would like to get a look inside that barn, Admiral. I’m not registering any radial- magnetic waves to the levels of yesterday. Whatever was there is gone and it did not leave with those Humvees.”
“This is as safe of a distance as we need anyways.” The admiral looks in the back of the van at Garrett. “Let’s everyone suit up, and that includes you, monkey man.”
“Okay, okay, it does look like a gorilla exoskeleton. And if you’re going to give me a call sign, I want to be called . . . Beringei.”
Stevens nods. “Very nice. Well played.”
The admiral looks back at Garrett. “What the hell is a Beringei?”
Smiling, Garrett opens up his suit and adjusts his body into the form-fitting interior. “The Beringei are the largest gorillas in Africa and are on the verge of extinction. And, since both DC Universe and Marvel are already using Silverback as a character name, I thought of the Beringei.” The suit closes up. “We should have call signs to hide our real identity.”
Tapping away on his computer tablet, Stevens says, “Harvey, you need to get out of your comic book world and into the real world; although, I
do like the idea of having pseudo names. You’re a genius, Admiral.”
Pinching his nose and shaking his head, he says, “Unbelievable. Let’s get suited up. We don’t know who or what is still here.”
The admiral and Stevens walk around to the back of the van. They open the back door to be greeted by a large metallic gorilla.
Stevens smiles. “Beringei, I presume?”
Moving very cautiously, Garrett’s suit is computing the earth’s gravitational pull. “I don’t know about this. This suit may not be able to adjust to Earth’s weak gravitational pull.”
“Come on! Get out of the van so we can project up,” Stevens urges his friend. Garrett, hunched over, slides and grabs the step on the back of the van with both hands. He swings his body out of the van, and in the process the van is thrust forward, and he ends up landing twenty feet behind the admiral and Stevens.
Stevens puts his hand on top of his headgear. “Whoa, you better get a handle on that before you hurt something.”
“This is going to take some getting used to,” Garrett says. He raises an arm, and as he turns his hand palm up, a crow lands on it. “Seriously?” Seconds later the bird’s head is obliterated by the laser from Stevens’s head gear.
“Okay, that was gross and really awesome at the same time,” Garrett says.
Stevens smiles. “Saved your life.”
“Saved whose life?” Getting out of the van, the admiral is wearing a MIT Bio Suit as well as a backpack with carbon tubes connecting it to mechanical gloves.
“That is cool, no pun intended. That nuclear nitrogen pack is truly extra-terrestrial technology,” Garrett says. “Where did you get that? That’s it! We can call you Admiral A/C.”
Pointing a finger at the mechanical gorilla, the admiral chides, “Do it and we’ll see how well that suit works on ice.”
Throwing both arms into the air, the momentum actually lifts Garrett in the air for a moment.
“Alight, I surrender. We need to come up with something cooler for you.”
“Are you almost ready, Lincoln? I am ready to test this suit out.” Garrett smiles and tilts his head towards the van.