by T. D. Kohler
“Oh, I see. This is the end. I’ve heard the stories, and this is where I, my project, and all my research disappear.”
“My name is Admiral Julian Kay. Where did they take your equipment, your suit?”
“What do you mean? Why don’t you know? Who are you?”
Patting the air with one of his hands, the admiral quickly steps next to the detainee. “Keep your voice down, I’m here to help you. They’re sanitizing your lab and equipment below us as we speak. After that I am sure they will be in here to talk to you.”
Garrett starts to try and break free from the restraints.
“What do you mean sanitizing? You mean turn it off? That lab center is an extreme high-gravitational room. It cannot be just turned off. It has to decompress. Idiots!”
Trying to calm him down, the admiral puts a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “Take a breath Dr. Garrett. Where is your suit?”
“They put it in some large, blue, boxy van. We need to stop them from just shutting down my lab. How do you know about my suit?” asks Garrett while still trying to twist his wrist free.
“Never mind how I know about it. What would happen if the lab is just turned off?”
Garrett stops everything and looks at the admiral, perplexed.
“It would be like punching a hole in an aerosol can, only like a million times worse.”
Turning away from Garrett, the admiral gets up to leave.
Garrett squirms feverishly in the chair. “Wait, you can’t leave me here.”
The admiral ignores the doctor as he reaches the entrance, raises his arm, and points a finger towards the zipper. Crackling sounds of ice fill the tent, and the zipper and the surrounding area begin to ice up. The ice spreads out to cover the entrance.
Garrett sits quietly in disbelief as the admiral turns back towards him. “You are not going to put me on ice? Are you?” he asks.
The admiral, still ignoring him, walks around him and pinches the bindings around the Garrett’s wrists. Then with a quick pinch-and-pull motion the restraints break away. “Now, let’s get to the van.”
Standing, he rubs his wrists, trying to warm them up. “What about my lab?”
Opening a flap in the back of the tent, the admiral looks down. “It is too late for your lab. We just need to get as much of a distance from here, as fast as possible.”
Outside the tent, Petty Officer Michaels is running back to the group yelling, “Get in there and restrain the admiral!”
Behind SO1 is a small group of MAs. The Seal team jumps up and one of them reaches for the zipper to open the door. He snaps his hand back; the temperature of the zipper is at sub-zero and nearly freezes the tips of his fingers. Another Seal takes out his knife and thrusts it into the flap. The knife hits firm and slides through the Seal’s hand cutting his palm open.
Petty Officer Michaels pushes his team aside. “Stand back. What the hell is going on?” Nobody says a word as they stare at the tent entrance in disbelief. Just then everyone hears a vehicle start up. Running around the tent they watch the van that they were supposed to guard speed away.
Before anyone can move to alert someone, a low but intense rumble begins to rock everything. An earthquake begins to rip apart the area, sending everyone and everything to the ground. Screams of terror can barely be heard over the sub-frequencies of the quake.
Speeding down Highway 18, the admiral and Garrett try to stay on the road as the quake begins to extend, as if trying to prevent their escape. The admiral swerves, struggling to keep the van on the highway and trying to avoid a crack that is curling in front of them. Slamming on the brakes, the van skids and fishtails to a stop. The earthquake settles to a faint rumble.
The admiral remains motionless as he stares at the disaster area, mumbling, “Like punching a hole in an aerosol can.”
Garrett, holding his neck, looks back. “I guess they didn’t decompress.”
Looking down and pinching the bridge of his nose, the admiral shakes his head. “How did you even find a place large enough for your project, as you call it?”
“It was one of the presidential safety bunkers built in the late ’70s. These bunkers will always have power supplied to them.”
“In the late ’70s? And you just happen to stumble across one of these so-called Top-Secret bunkers?”
Garrett raises his hands. “What’s the big deal? It wasn’t even being used. Hell, I figured they were completely forgotten about.”
“Admiral, Admiral!”
A muffled voice from outside the van catches Garrett’s attention. Noticing a tall, gangly man with strange-looking metallic headgear and waving his arms that have metallic gloves that are reflecting the sunlight. Garrett nudges the admiral. “Who or what is that?”
Without looking up, the admiral nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, that’s Dr. Lincoln Stevens.”
Confused, Garrett nudges the admiral again. “Who’s Dr. Lincoln Stevens?”
The admiral, turning to give Dr. Garrett his full attention, squints his eyes, unsure if Garrett is trying to be funny. “What do you mean who’s Dr. Lincoln Stevens?” Seeing that Garrett has a blank and confused look, he snaps his head to see Stevens yelling and waving his arms outside the front of the van.
“Admiral! Admiral! Can you hear me?”
Dumbfounded, he turns to Garrett to see him wearing the Beringei gravitational suit. Squinting his eyes at him, trying to figure out what is going on, he quickly turns to look back to the front of the van. Stevens is now on the hood, tapping the front windshield.
“Admiral! Admiral!”
2015
Deserted Farm,
Dry Creek, LA
July 19, 1539 hours
Snapping to a sitting position, the admiral holds his head, knocking Stevens back on his butt. The admiral tries to ease his breathing.
“How long was I out?”
Stevens is checking his pulse. “I was monitoring your heart rate and it really peaked up there for a minute. I thought you were going into cardiac arrest. Now I think I am having one.”
Still holding his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, the admiral looks over to Stevens, who is still monitoring his pulse rate, and asks, “What time is it?”
“It’s almost four in the afternoon. We were out for a few hours. I haven’t seen Garrett yet. With that suit he could’ve ended up in space for all we know.”
Standing, Stevens scans the neglected cornfields. “I have to get back so I can analyze the readings on that thing.” Stepping back and putting his hands on his hips, he says, “I can’t believe we actually saw a . . .”
“Don’t say it! You have no idea what we saw,” the admiral admonishes. “Think for a minute. Whoever or whatever was flying that thing lives here and stores it beneath the barn.”
Turning his head, Stevens opens his mouth as if to say something, then raises a finger and says, “One moment.” Turning to face the barn, then looking back at the Admiral, he says,
“That . . . is a very good point.”
* * *
Off in a distant niche in the road, obscured by the cornfield, Agent Carol watches the gentlemen through her binoculars.
“Are you sure this is where we need to be?”
Without looking up from her computer pad, Abergathy whispers, “Yes, it is. I can’t believe you guys were able to narrow it down to a specific location.”
Dropping the binoculars, Carol looks back at her new partner tapping away on her iPad in disbelief. “We don’t always trip over ourselves.”
“I apologize.” Abergathy quickly looks over to Carol. “As soon as I said that, I knew it was worded wrong. What I meant was that I have been working on this algorithm to find this location for months and could only narrow it down to a hundred-mile radius.”
The memory of her falling up the stairwell to show the director some information floods her line of thinking. “Wait, what exactly did Director Harris tell you?”
“Oh, relax,” Carol says tryin
g to maintain the seriousness of the mission. “We all have our moments of glory.”
Looking up from her computer pad, Abergathy steps over to Carol. “Nika, why are we just standing here? Did you really have to slash one of the tires of that van? And who are you watching?”
Carol looks back into the binoculars to study the men regaining their bearings. “Breathe in . . . breathe out. Isn’t that what you say? What’s with the questions all of a sudden?” She lowers the binoculars and turns her attention from the gentlemen lying next to the barn and sees the genuine curiosity in her partner.
“Since this is your first time in the field. We are here to observe and report, not actually do anything. Second, I popped a tire in order to make sure the owner does not try to leave before the team that is supposed to do something arrives.”
Carol takes a moment to look around the field as if she heard something. “Lastly, the reason why we are just standing here is because we have no idea who they are and what they have to do with the magnetic field anomaly you were tracking. I do know that equipment they are wearing is not exactly low-grade equipment.”
Carol pauses long enough to study her feet. “Hmmm. What we can do is call the cops on them.”
Shocked, Abergathy’s jaw drops. “What? Why would we do that?”
Dialing her phone, Carol takes to a knee. “Easy. We may not be in a position to see who they are, but the local LEOs are more than capable to do our work for us.”
Giving her new partner an appreciative smile, Abergathy looks over to try and see the two men. “Clever. Remind me to thank Director Harris for partnering me up with you.” Taking the binoculars from Carol, Abergathy turns her focus to the gentlemen.
* * *
Still craning and massaging his neck, the admiral turns his attention to the barn. “Well, we may not have our superhuman-metal-monkey friend, but we still need to find a way to get under that barn.”
Stevens takes a short step back and looks at the admiral. “What? You’re just writing him off? I was only kidding when I said he could be in space.”
The admiral chuckles. “I know you were. He is a very intelligent man, and as long as we don’t go and leave, he will find his way back here.” Looking at the house, he says, “You know since you could not find a way to get those doors open in the barn, perhaps we can find something out inside the house.”
Stevens looks at the admiral, then back at the house. “That sounds logical.” He reaches up and removes his headgear. When he gets to the steps, he looks back over into the cornfields. “I sure hope Garrett makes it here soon.” Turning back, he steps into the house behind the admiral, noticing that the door handle is missing. “What happened to the doorknob?”
* * *
Agent Abergathy gasps as she sees the electronic helmet removed. She snaps her head towards her partner, who is busy on the phone with the local law enforcements.
Pulling the phone away for a moment, Carol sees Abergathy’s expression. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Ummm, not sure. They went inside the house.”
Carol squints at her and waits for a moment. Giving a quick nod, “Good, that will make it easier for the police to detain them.” Still eyeing her partner as she watches her look back into the binoculars, she then starts back in on her phone call with the police.
Watching the front door through the binoculars, Abergathy becomes lost in thought, her mind spinning with questions. Dr. Lincoln Stevens what are you doing here? How are you involved with this anomaly? Who is that with you? How can I meet you before the police arrest you?
Just then a phone goes flying over her head towards the house, landing and sliding under the front porch. Dropping the binoculars and looking behind her Abergathy asks, “Why did you do that? How did you do that? That’s over a hundred yards away.”
“The conversation with the LEOs is over, and I know they are tracking the phone, so I put it where we need them to find it.” Carol grins nonchalantly as she walks up next to her partner. “Kristen, just tell me they didn’t see that.”
“No, Nika, they’re still inside. But how could you throw that that far?”
Carol smiles making a throwing motion. “Easy, I didn’t pay for it.”
Abergathy looks at her with an astounded expression at the Captain-Obvious response. “You know what I meant. That was over seventy-five yards.”
Stepping in front of her partner, Carol looks out at the house and takes a crouching position. “Let’s just say we all bring something different to the table. Now, let’s stay low and out of sight. We can wait for the police to show up. I really hate dealing with LEOs.”
Sandlot,
West Dry Creek, LA
July 19, 1556 hours
Out in a distant field, slowly moving out of a small crater, Garrett tries to make his way to firmer ground. His suit is not cooperating in the soft sand. “Well this really sucks,” he says as he looks around, realizing that he is standing in a sandlot that looks more like a dried mudslide. “Where in the hell am I?”
Slowly trying to maneuver and walk around, his weight causes him to slip and slide down the hill. He stops when he hears the faint sounds of small engines revving. He scrambles up the hill toward nearby trees.
“Whatever it was, it landed up on the landing!” one of the voices yells out.
The voices and the sound of ATV’s are getting closer as he looks around for a place to hide. “Damn, if this ain’t a pickle.” With a push, Garrett clears the sand slope, crashing through the neighboring tree line.
“Over there!” one of the men shouts.
“What the hell was that?” yells the other.
“Shit! Can this day get any worse?” Garrett mumbles to himself after hearing their voices. With that, he jumps up a little stronger, clearing the sandpit and trees. Shots fire in his direction, and the bullets careen off of his suit. When he lands again he crashes through the tree line on the opposite side. He can hear the roaring of engines as the men charge towards him.
“D’jou see that?” one of the men hollers out.
“I done believe it,” says the other, spinning his ATV to a stop. “My grandma always said the Rougarou exists. I ain’t never believed her.”
“I know, man, never thought I could actually take one down.” Paul looks up the hill towards where Beringei landed. “Now man up, and let’s get dis thing.”
Revving his engine, one of the men spins his ATV back around. “Aww man, we are so gonna die.” Wheels spinning, the ATV’s try to gain traction in the fresh crater.
“Look at the sizes of dis impact. This Rougarou is a big one.”
Shutting off the ATV, he says, “Damn, we’re not going to get traction here. ’Sides we need to ’proach with some stealth.” Getting off the ATV, he grabs his gun, checking the ammo.
The other man nods and shut his ATV down and then makes his way over to his friend. Holding his rifle, he tries to see into the tree line. “Alright, let’s go.”
Doing his best to crouch in the shadows, Garrett watches the local men devise some sort of plan. Taking a deep breath and mumbling to himself, “Well, I can’t stay here long. At least they will have a story to tell their grandkids.” He shifts his position, and with a stronger jump, he launches into the air and into the distance. While in the air and looking for telltale markers to where he was at, he mumbles again, “Now if I just knew where I was going, that would be awesome.”
“Shoot it! There it is!”
Both of the local men fire off shots as they watch it fly over their heads and towards the lake. As the thing leaves their line of sight, they stand wide-eyed, looking at each other.
“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t see a thing here today.”
“Yup, nothing.”
Deserted Farmhouse,
Dry Creek, LA
July 19, 1609 hours
In the house, Admiral Kay is rummaging through some disregarded mail as Stevens studies the photos on the wall. He stops and
looks over at the admiral.
“I’m not sure what we’re going to find in here.”
Putting the mail down, the admiral scans the room. “This does seem mute, but at least we are staying out of sight until Harvey finds his way back here.” Looking up he notices Stevens has stopped and is staring at his feet. “What is it, Lincoln?”
Stevens puts back on his headgear. “We have company, two vehicles, driving fast in our direction.”
“Those boots told you that?” the admiral questions, amazed at the silver footwear on Stevens’s feet.
“These boots, as you call them, are registering the vibrations from the cars on the dirt road.” Stevens turns and picks up his tablet.
“Well stay inside and I’ll go and see who it is,” the admiral orders. “We don’t want to freak them out with your silver-tipped starfish getup.”
Walking to the door, the admiral steps out to see two police cars pull up.
Two officers quickly get out of the first car. The officer on the passenger side extends his arm with a wave.
“Sir, we got a call that two men were creating a disturbance.”
Making his way down from the porch, the admiral walks out to meet him. “I assure you, officers, there’s nothing going on here.”
Experience tingles on the back of the lead officer’s neck as he steps away from the patrol car and places his hand on the stock of his gun.
“Sir, I am going to need for you to stop right there.”
The admiral stops and looks innocently at the officer as the other two officers from the second car approach.
“Whoa, take it easy. I told you there is nothing going on here. Let’s not get overzealous.”
“Where is your partner?” the lead officer asks, handgun drawn.
The two officers from the other vehicle begin to move and make their way around the admiral to the house. Before they get to the porch, Stevens steps out of the house with his hands up, forgetting that he is still wearing his headgear. The two officers nearly trip over themselves drawing their weapons.