by T. D. Kohler
The admiral closes his eyes and runs one of his hands through his hair.
“Whoa! Whoa,” the Admiral calls out to his friend. “Starfish . . . never mind. Come on down, and join the party.” Looking at the lead officer, he says, “We are only here to investigate the weather anomaly from last night. That is what the equipment he is wearing is used for.”
Stevens makes his way, still keeping his arms up, next to the admiral.
“That is correct,” he lets the officers know. “We got here and nobody was home.”
“Check inside, and make sure it’s clear,” the lead officer orders. The pair quickly moves up the porch and enter the house.
Stevens leans in, whispering to the admiral, “Starfish? Do I really look that much like a starfish?”
“We cannot give them our names,” Admiral explains.
Trying to maintain his whispering, “No, no, no. I get that, completely, but what do I get to call you if it comes to it.”
The admiral affords him a smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to it.”
Dr. Stevens’s boots register a faint impact vibration. Realizing what it could be, he looks out over into the cornfields. “Oh no!”
The admiral’s smile quickly fades as he turns to his friend. “What do you mean, ‘oh no?’”
Not trying to ignore him, Stevens focuses on the readings from his equipment as another, more solid and with closer impact, vibration registers.
“So not a good time.”
Dropping his hands, the admiral turns towards his friend. “Tell me what the hell you are registering?”
The lead officer steps towards the gentlemen and says, “What are you two talking about? Move away from each other!” just as the other two officers that were inside come out to the porch, weapons pointed at the ground.
“All clear?” the lead officer asks.
Before they could respond, everyone looks up as they all hear something up in the sky. Everyone squints to see the sun gleaming off of a large, metallic ball plummeting towards them.
The admiral drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me that’s not . . . Garrett . . . Oh shit!”
The metal ball crashes on top of the front police car, nearly folding it in half, sending glass and dust in all directions. The officers near the car, as well as the admiral and Stevens, are thrown to the ground, twisting and shielding their faces.
As the dust begins to settle, the admiral gets to a knee as the police began to fire at Garrett. Their bullets ricochet off of his suit, sending them in every direction.
Stevens stands, looking directly at the lead officer’s gun, and in a split second a red laser shoots out of the visor and tears into the gun, cutting it in half. Stevens turns towards the other officer and cuts the barrel of his gun, causing him to release the gun and fall.
One of the officers on the porch fires off a shot at Stevens, the bullet careening off of his headgear. The admiral snaps around and extends his arm out as a high-pressure stream blasts out of the glove extensions from the backpack towards the officer.
The officer falls back into the wall of the house, screaming in pain. His hands are iced up and turning blue. With no feelings in his hands he can’t let go of the gun.
His partner, watching him struggle, raises his gun toward the admiral when Garrett launches himself towards him. The police car goes flying backwards as Garrett crashes through the porch railing and pins the officer against the wall.
Garret looks down at the officer he has pinned. “This is where you drop your weapon and leave.”
The officer, scared, nods his head and grabs his partner. They both scramble to their car. The other two officers were already at theirs. The four officers jump into the undamaged patrol car and speed off, kicking up a large dust cloud as their tires spin.
The vehicle screams past the two agents as they duck into the cornfield, covering their faces from the dust cloud.
* * *
Just as the local police leave, the two agents, Abergathy and Carol, are hit by the wave of dust left in the wake of the fleeing police cars. Agent Carol reaches for her phone, and then snaps towards the house, realizing that her phone is under the front porch.
“Kristen, do you have your phone?”
Coughing, Abergathy starts waving her arm, trying to disperse the dust cloud. “My phone went down with the plane, remember?”
Grabbing her arm, Carol pulls her to her feet. “C’mon, we need to get out of here. This place is going to become a circus soon.”
The grip on Abergathy’s arm was a little firmer than expected and she winces in pain. “Ahhh. That hurts.” She drops back down to a knee.
Carol releases her grip. “I’m sorry. Now you know why I don’t like shaking hands. Let’s go. We need to leave.”
Getting to her feet and holding her arm, they head towards the car. The two agents come to a stop as they nearly run into a man who is standing, motionless, in the way of their escape. The man is wearing mismatched clothing that completely covers his skin. Drawing her weapon, Carol calls out to the man.
“Shit, where’d you come from?”
They see the man stretching his hand out as Carol begins to look strained and confused. The man’s voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere.
“So, you are the ones that I was warned about. Clarisse picked up your transmissions earlier.”
Carol begins to struggle against an unseen force pushing her back. Struggling to remain standing, the skin on her arms begins to peel away, revealing mechanical extremities.
Abergathy glances between the clothed man and her partner. She gasps as she sees the biomechanical arms on Agent Carol and the prosthetic skin on the ground. “Nika? What’s going on?”
Looking intently at the clothed man, Carol ignores her partner, and with all her willpower, she launches through the intense, unseen force being put on her.
The man, being momentarily distracted at the reaction of the younger agent, quickly turns and emits a high-pressure wave that hits Agent Carol’s mid-torso, separating her from her prosthetics. Her body is sent flying through the cornfield as her limbs drop to the ground. Blood coats the ground and the tops of the degraded corn, leaving a gruesome trail to where her body ultimately lands with a quiet thud.
Without saying anything, the man begins to levitate above the corn and towards the house, completely disregarding Agent Abergathy.
Abergathy stands motionless, her jaw open in disbelief, unable to move. She watches the clothed man slowly move until he is out of sight. Snapping out of the trance, she takes off running towards their car. Stumbling out of the cornfield and falling to her knees, she looks up and notices the car has been evenly flattened from bumper to bumper. Flashes of Agent Carol getting torn apart and thrown into the cornfield invade her thoughts.
Trying to control her breathing, she cannot escape the images of blood spraying in all directions as those mechanical arms and legs fall to the ground. Abergathy’s stomach catches and she vomits. She slowly recovers her composure and stands back up. Stepping away from her lunch, she walks around what is left of their car.
A couple of crows caw and land near the vomit, startling her and sending her falling backwards. Lying on her back, she stares into the cloudless sky. Clearing her mind, she watches the crows fly around in a circle. When a realization hits her she quickly sits back up and turns her attention in the direction of the farmhouse. Dr. Stevens would be able to tell me what the hell is going on.
More crows land and gather on the car as they start to fight over the leftovers from the Catfish Hut. Scooting away from the macabre scene she gets back to her feet, brushing the dirt off, and she takes a collected breath. “This is so unreal. It’s like Stephen King meets Marvel Universe.” She heads back towards the house and breaks into a wide grin as an idea comes out of the blue. I wonder if I can be a superhero? That would be kind of cool.
* * *
Outside the farmhouse, the admiral and Stevens f
ace Garrett, who is still lodged in the wall.
“Don’t tell me you’re stuck,” the admiral scoffs at Garrett.
“I’m just waiting for my adrenaline to calm down. That was awesome! We’re like real life superheroes!”
Walking up to the edge of the porch, Stevens is shaking his head and waving an arm in the air. “Yeah, but superheroes don’t attack the police. We were . . . like super villains.”
The admiral stretches his arms out towards Stevens and Garrett. “How about none of the above. All I know is that we need to get the hell out of here. They will be back.” Admiral Kay hops off the porch. Looking at the crushed police car he runs his hand through his hair. Behind him he hears Garrett pull himself out of the wall. The building starts to make sounds as if the side of the wall is going to rip away.
Garrett is able to turn around slowly, keeping the house intact. He sees the demolished police car off in the distance. “Holy cow, I know I landed hard . . .” Dropping off the porch he walks up next to the admiral, who has stopped and is staring at what is left of the car. “Damn, we’re in big trouble, aren’t we?”
From back near the house, Stevens calls out, “Guys, if we need a place to lay low, I know a place that even the Army couldn’t find.” Garrett and admiral turn to look at their friend, and then all three turn and look at the barn.
“Harvey, come with me to get the van. I’m sure your suit needs to recharge. Lincoln, find us a way inside there. We’ll be back shortly.” With that, the two take off into the cornfields towards the van.
* * *
Back at the niche in the road and the cornfields, Abergathy watches the two men head into the cornfields, towards where the van is. Then she notices Dr. Stevens take a couple steps towards the barn when he stops and slowly turns completely around as if he is looking for something.
Instinctively she steps back into the cornfield and trips over one of the mechanical limbs of Agent Carol.
A flash memory of watching her partner being instantly tore apart floods her thoughts, causing her to scramble out onto the road. Watching the ground, she collects herself. Breathe in . . . breathe out. C’mon girl, get a hold of yourself. After a moment she looks up to see Stevens walk into the house.
Making her way around the front, she finds the camera that was mounted on the dashboard of the smashed police car. She climbs on the hood and reaches in to remove the camera from its mount. Sitting down on the crumpled hood, she looks back in the vicinity of where the van was, and then back at the house. Unsure of what to do, she takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes.
* * *
The admiral and Garrett make their way to the van, and the admiral notices the slashed tire. He snaps around to try to look into the cornfield as Garrett shuffles his way next to him.
“What’s wrong?”
The admiral raises his hand, motioning him to stop. After a moment of nobody moving, he steps back and examines the tire.
Not able to see the tire, Garrett asks, “What was that all about?”
The admiral points his hand towards the tire. “We’re not alone.”
Garrett raises his arm and lifts a small panel on his forearm. Inside it he reads a power meter. “It looks like I still have a quarter juice left. I believe I will hold out from taking it off just yet.”
The admiral walks around to the back of the van, “Well, use your monkey strength and help me change this tire.”
Just then Garrett’s stomach lets out a loud growl as the admiral is pulling out a tire from the back. Admiral stops, dropping the tire. Garrett looks at him.
“What? I’m hungry. This is supposed to be a farm. I wonder if he has any food in the house.”
“Let’s get this done so we can move the van, and then we can find some food.”
* * *
Inside the house Stevens is examining the walls. Walking into the kitchen, his stomach takes a turn.
“I’m hungry.” Opening the refrigerator, he is greeted with empty shelves. The freezer has the same results. “Well, this sucks.” Looking around the room, something strikes him as off. Raising his hands out, he looks around as if to get his bearings in the room. “Something’s not very Feng Shui.”
Walking over the narrow floor to a ceiling cupboard, he opens it and is greeted with stocked shelves of canned food, from fruits to Chef Boy R Dee. “Very nice.” On the floor of the cupboard are bags of flour and sugar, sitting on a small roll away cart. “Now why would he have the bags on a roll away? I can see keeping them off the floor. But why am I talking to myself?” Shaking his head, he leans over to pull on the cart. As he does his head hits one of the top shelves, tipping the shelf and sending the cans tumbling on him and the floor.
Cautiously opening the front door, Abergathy hears the cans fall. Making her way to the kitchen, she watches Stevens scrambles to fix the shelf and put the cans back. Before she can say something, Stevens notices something on the floor. He stops collecting the cans and reaches in and pulls out the roll away. A hatch is revealed in the floor, and he reaches in and opens what looks like a thick, metallic door.
Stevens turns and steps down the ladder and starts to scan the walls. Mumbling to himself, “Lead and concrete bunker. . . I think this is an old fallout shelter from the 1950s or ’60s. This farm is full of amazement.”
Just then he hears someone else step off the ladder. Turning around he is greeted by the young agent and takes an offensive stance.
Abergathy throws her hands out. “Whoa, relax. Let’s not do anything crazy here.” They both cautiously relax their posture, and she slowing lowers her hands.
“It’s okay. It’s been a long day, and there’s something insane going on here. Now I’m looking for answers so I don’t go completely insane. And I believe you can help me out with that.”
Stevens crosses his arms and leans against the wall, nonchalantly watching the young woman. “And what makes you think that there is something going on here?”
Facial expression and posture drop as Abergathy can’t believe him. “Really? You are going to stand there, in a bunker of a rundown farmhouse, wearing some high-tech equipment, and you are going to tell me that there is nothing going on?”
Raising his hands to his headgear, forgetting that he was wearing it, Stevens slumps his shoulders. “I do not know who you are, but I can’t help you.” He turns to head further into the bunker.
“Dr. Lincoln Stevens!” Abergathy calls out as the doctor freezes and turns back around. “Yes, I know who you are. My thesis is on your work for energy waves and atomic structure. And I saw you remove your helmet earlier.”
Reaching up and removing the headgear, Stevens tries to collects his focus. “How do you know who I am? And who are you?”
“Breathe in . . . breathe out, Doctor, I’m only looking for answers, and I am hoping you can help me out.”
James Monroe Building,
Richmond, VA
July 19, 1307 hours
Inside a large, simply decorated office is an oversized oak desk. Behind it, hanging on the wall, is a shadow box from Afghanistan with a Purple Heart medal. On the front wall is a large television monitor where the national news is covering the reopening of an international bank in East Texas. The reporter is going into detail about the police shoot out that claimed three lives.
Standing with her arms folded and holding a remote is a well-dressed woman carrying an air of authority. Watching the newscast with almost invested curiosity, she tries to ignore her laptop as it alerts her to an incoming email.
After a few more minutes of coverage on the news, she walks around her desk. Scrolling her mail, she clicks on the inbox tab. The e-mail that triggered the alert belongs to the director of the Austin branch of their organization. She opens it and sees that it is a transcript from an interview with the surviving police officer involved in the bank shoot out she was just watching. Giving the reporter another glance, she looks back down to read the e-mail.
Director Carol, I believe t
hat this is something you would find interesting and that this situation warrants further investigation.
Clicking on the attachment, a transcript opens up.
Detective: “Officer Green, can you tell us what happened outside of the bank on the 17th?”
Officer Green: “I can’t explain. From out of nowhere, everyone was just yelling at each other. Anger and frustration was everywhere. And all he did was just stand there.”
Detective: “He . . . you mean Officer Chavez was . . .?”
Officer Green: “No, some strange guy just walked out of the bank. Then like all the frustration and anger I have ever felt just filled me, and all of us. The next thing I remember is my partner bleeding out, and I just know I was the one who shot him.”
Detective: “So, you do not remember shooting him.”
Officer Green: “No, I would never shoot him!”
Detective: “But you did.”
Officer Green: “One minute everyone is laughing about what was happening in the bank. The next moment everyone is yelling at each other. Then I am sitting over my friend trying to stop the bleeding.”
The interview goes on, but one part of the interview was circled.
Officer Green: “The unknown subject messed with a briefcase shortly before anger and frustration overwhelmed us.”
Director Carol reaches over and dials the Austin division. After a few rings, she can immediately tell she is on speakerphone.
“Good afternoon, Director Rodgers.”
A thick Texas drawl from Director Charlie Rodgers booms through the receiver. “Vicki! I presume ya’re calling because ya viewed the e-mail.”
“And you would be correct. My question is…” Director Carol taps the up and down arrows on the keyboard, scrolling the transcripts. “Why do you think this warrants our involvement?”
“Let’s just call it a hunch. I’m going to assign this to Agent Yukiko Nomi. I believe she is ready for the field.”
Director Carol quickly sits upright. “Are you sure? No signs of rejections? She and my daughter were very close once. I think we should observe her longer before she goes in the field.”