The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  The house began to shake, slowly at first, and then the vibrations increased in intensity and volume with each passing second. She looked over at the window and realized that the reason her room was so dark was because Daisy Duck was no longer lit. She had never been in the dark without Daisy before and the thought terrified her.

  “Daddy … Daddy,” she shouted. Still no one answered. She threw her blanket to the floor, jumped out of bed, and ran towards the bedroom door as an eerie violet light penetrated the room. In the afterglow, she noticed the door was much further away than she thought it should be. She ran toward it, trying to increase her pace, but her body would not obey her wishes—and the bedroom door drifted further away. She turned around, searching desperately for Rufus. Surely he would protect her. But the bed and all the things on it had vanished, replaced by three hideous silhouettes that walked menacingly towards her. She couldn’t see them clearly, yet she knew without doubt they were monsters.

  “DADDY … DADDY,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Still no one came. Once more, she bolted for the door, this time her legs responding to her mental commands. But still, the monsters closed in upon her. “HELP ME, DADDY! HELP ME!”

  She finally reached the door, grabbed the knob, turned it, and pulled hard. It didn’t open. She pulled with all her might, but to no avail. The door was sealed shut. She turned around quickly, feeling the eerie presence behind her, and saw the monsters reaching for her with their scary, slimy hands. One of them grabbed her leg and pulled her helpless struggling body towards it. Clawed, clammy, long fingers traced menacingly across her cheeks. She closed her eyes tight—perhaps that would make them go away—only to feel the warmth of their rancid breath waft across her face, the nauseating smell penetrating her delicate nostrils. She instinctively pawed at the cold wiry arms that held her fast, desperate to escape their horrific grasp, her best efforts failing as the creature proved too powerful for her. She opened her eyes, finding herself face to face with the terrible beast—looking directly into its soulless, vacant eyes. She screeched, her throat becoming raw as a piercing scream echoed from her lungs. It was the loudest scream of her life.

  Then she woke up gasping for air. Stacy Michaels sat up, her forehead dripping with sweat that trickled below to her neck. She heaved uncontrollably. Her heart raced and pounded at her chest like a drum. She gripped the blanket tightly for support. This was the most intensely terrifying nightmare she’d had in years.

  In the morning she would contact Dr. Miller.

  16

  COAST MOUNTAINS

  The grizzly lumbered forward, his heavy paws trampled over the early morning dew, his massive weight shifted from side to side as he stepped clumsily, causing the nearby leaves to rustle in his wake.

  It was late last evening when the crashing extraterrestrial space craft rocked his territory in these woods. The thundering sound of the sonic boom jolted the giant slumbering beast awake. The sound of successive trees snapping as easily as twigs, followed by an impact that shook the ground with vibrations of intensity and frequency he had never felt before, brought him swiftly to his feet. Then, an instant later, when the nauseating stench of charred earth and burning air trickled across his wet snout, his survival instinct kicked in and the grizzly fled his territory for higher ground. But now it was morning, and after a fitful, restless sleep on new uncomfortable ground, all the grizzly desired was to return home.

  As he neared his territory he grew disturbed by the unfamiliar scents that brought back the fleeting, unpleasant memories of the night before. He stirred violently, becoming more agitated as he heard movement in the trees above him. Something he never saw before dropped down from the branches about fifty yards in front of him.

  Sensing a threat, he hoisted his 500 pound furry brown frame on his hind legs and let out a roar. Arching his incredibly muscular shoulders, he extended his long curved claws and prepared for attack. But this did not deter the unknown creature as it did with so many of the other lesser animals that lived here. Instead, to the bear’s unpleasant surprise, the thing moved slowly, curiously toward him. Propelling his massive body toward it at thirty miles per hour, he moved swiftly to attack this unknown intruder that purposely invaded his territory, lunging at it with snapping jaws.

  His attacks were mighty and swift but his agile opponent evaded each one. A webbed dark hand unexpectedly slapped down hard across his nose, stunning him. He refused to back down. This was his home. He marked it and he would defend it. He attacked again, swiping with his strong front legs. The thing leapt over him, slashing him on the back with a metal blade, before landing gracefully behind him.

  The grizzly rose on his hind legs, rotated around, and roared with fiery anger and maddening pain. The thing didn’t move. It just stared at the beast, gazing upon him with empty, dark, soulless eyes. Wounded and fighting a losing battle, the bear’s instincts told him to flee. But he found the thing’s scent so disagreeable, so unpalatable, so threatening, he could not and would not tolerate its presence in his territory. Growling loudly, he lunged forward to attack. Then a beam of blue light ripped through him with such destructive intensity that his charge was instantly halted. A strange, final sensation, beyond pain, gripped him as his entrails exited wildly from his back, splattering the forest behind him. And with a sickening splash his massive lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

  17

  SKIES ABOVE THE CANADIAN COAST MOUNTAINS

  “How you holding up, Hound?” Lynx asked through the radio microphone strapped to his chin.

  “It’s not the same, buddy. We got to get ourselves back into the Hornets soon,” replied Hound.

  The two pilots were referring to the jet fighters they normally flew. Today, however, they were flying Blackhawk helicopters. They didn’t have the speed or the power to match the F-18’s, but this was a search and locate mission. The Hornets were great in combat, but to find a stationary object hidden in the dense greenery of the mountains below them, a helicopter was more practical. Major Gaines chose to utilize the Blackhawks because they were available and both Lynx and Hound had previously logged some hours in them. They were also equipped with defensive measures in the unlikely event they might prove necessary.

  Lynx looked down through the thick curved front glass windshield, scouting the forest below. So far everything in the mountain range looked as it was supposed to—unending rows of green, sprinkled with wood and snow. “To see what we’re going to see, I’d be happy flying a washing machine with wings on it. Anything yet?” he asked.

  Hound was two miles west. “Not yet. You’re the lynx-eyed one. How about you?” asked Hound, as he banked westward. Claude Devereaux earned the code name Lynx because, like the big cat, he was known for his sharp vision. He was always the first pilot to visually spot the enemy during the drills.

  “Nothing. I’m going to make a high pass over the southeast region. I’ll contact you again in ten minutes. Lynx out,” he replied as he turned the metal bird to the right and increased his altitude by 500 feet. Ever since this morning when he first glimpsed the UFO, he wished to know exactly what it looked like. He also wished he would get a chance to fly it. For now though, he was hoping to settle for one out of two. He took a moment to view the landscape. The scenery was spectacular. The mountain tops, hidden in snow, rose into the clouds. The ground was covered with bright green trees as far as the eyes could see; only now turning brown with the season. Claude always laughed at that because it reminded him of his niece, who, when she saw them, always said they looked like little broccoli florets. However, there was one notable flaw. Just over the third ridge to the north, a “scar” marred the tree line. “Hound, do you copy?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Lynx. You got something?”

  “Sure do pal. Just over the third ridge. I’m going in to take a closer look. Meet me here as soon as you can.”

  Lynx flew closer, noting at the higher end of the line, toward the east, the tops of the trees were sheared off, and to
the west the trees became shorter, creating a wooden slide into a valley. It was clear the UFO came from the east and crash landed there. He flew high, hovering over the west end of the line to get a bird’s eye view of the craft. A large group of trees were collapsed slightly inwards making it difficult to see what was underneath.

  “Hound. How far away are you?” asked Lynx.

  “At least another minute. Any problems?”

  “Well, I located the object. The landing path’s easy enough to see, but it’s pretty thick down there. I can’t get a good enough look. There’s no place to land either. The closest clearing I can spot is at least a half mile away.”

  “Can you see the ship?” Hound asked curiously.

  “Not really. The trees are blocking most of it. I’m going to drop lower … see if I can get a better look.” Lynx eased the helicopter down slowly.

  “Be there in a minute. Just be—,” bzzzzzzt “—careful—” squaaark squarrk squeeee, “Lynx? Getting some interference here buddy. What’s going on? Lynx. LYNX?” Hound received a steady stream of radio static for an answer. “Damn.” He pushed down on the throttle increasing his speed. When he neared the third ridge, he was relieved to see Lynx’s Hawk still in the air. “Lynx, can you read me?” he asked worriedly.

  The radio static was intense. “Ye—” the barely audible reply leaked through.

  “Can you repeat, Lynx? I didn’t copy that.”

  The static stopped as Lynx’s helicopter rose higher. “Yeah, I got you Hound,” Lynx answered. He rose to Hound’s altitude then signaled a thumbs-up through the windshield.

  “What happened?” asked Hound.

  “I’m not sure. As I headed down for a better look some of my systems got out of whack. Radio communication was lost.”

  “We better play it safe and get back to base. I’m sure they’d love to hear what we found.”

  “Copy that, Hound,” Lynx agreed. He pulled back on the throttle, lifting the Blackhawk further in the air, and turned it in the direction of the base. He knew his mission was more important than his personal curiosity. He looked disappointedly back at the crash site and whispered to himself, “I’ll see you another time, my friend. Another time.”

  18

  The refitted C-11 transport plane shook under the constant battering of the turbulent cross winds on its way to Alaska. Inside its metal hull, two of the three passengers, Dr. Jeff Blaze and Logan Grey, sat in uncomfortable plastic seats that faced each other across the wide aisle. The third passenger, Colonel John Chase, stood up front leaning against the bulkhead, doing his best to ignore the rough ride.

  Dr. Blaze, the physicist, looked at both his companions with a studious intellectual eye. No two men could be more opposite, he thought. Blaze knew all the many nicknames John Chase acquired over his long career, most of them unflattering, but the one that stood out in his mind right now was “Nails”. Chase was certainly tough, as the cliché goes. In his mid forties, Chase was in better shape than most men half his age. His square head, covered by a short blond spiky crew-cut, sat sturdily atop his thick neck. His nose was crooked. Clearly, it had been broken at least once. Two scars marked his face, one above his left eye, the other on his chiseled chin. When he stood at attention, his lean hard body rigid, he really looked like a nail. Dr. Blaze knew he could be as stubborn and narrow-minded as one as well.

  Logan was a different animal. He had the polished look of a successful yuppie. He was a good-looking young man—early thirties, Blaze guessed. He was also in good shape, but unlike Chase who was whipped into shape by the army, Blaze was sure Logan belonged to one of those thousand dollar a year health clubs with the fancy weight machines, saunas, and babes adorned in tights designed to attract Mr. Right. Just the kind of man that Colonel Chase liked to chew up, spit out, and step on, and it was obvious that Chase disliked Logan already.

  Logan sensed the same, but after almost an hour of unwelcome silence he decided to break the tension. “What’s the plan? Or did you gentlemen decide to keep me in suspense?” he asked lightheartedly, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt.

  Jeff looked at Colonel Chase, who was pacing in the aisle, and got a nod of approval before answering. “We’re on our way to Alaska to meet up with a SEAL team. From there we’re going to head into the mountains and see what we find,” answered Jeff.

  “So I was right?” said Logan, edging up in his seat.

  “Huh?” Dr. Blaze said with raised brows.

  “I was right. You know, about where it crashed,” said Logan excitedly.

  Jeff chuckled. He unbuckled his seat belt, walked across the plane and sat down next to Logan. “Yeah … really pissed off the general too. That was pretty quick thinking.”

  “Yes. Yes it was,” said Colonel Chase. It was a rare admission on his part, indicating that at least for the moment he was willing to cut Logan some slack.

  “Thank you, Colonel …” Logan stumbled not knowing the man’s name.

  “Colonel John Chase.” He extended his hand and Logan shook it firmly. “This is Dr. Jeff Blaze, our resident physics expert. Welcome aboard Mr. Grey,” he said stoically.

  “Logan’s fine, sir.” He exchanged a handshake with Dr. Blaze as well. “So this is the real deal, huh, real aliens, real spaceships?” Logan asked.

  “Only one, spaceship that is,” Jeff answered raising one finger. “Who knows how many aliens,” he added provocatively.

  “Hmmm” Logan thought about that for a second then moved on. “How do we know where to look?”

  Dr. Blaze answered again. “Satellites. The ship gave off a sonic boom before it landed, giving us a clue. Now that we know the general proximity, our spy satellites should be able to pinpoint its exact location. They should have an answer for us by the time we arrive.”

  “What if it’s on Canadian soil?” Logan pointed out, wondering about the potential for an international incident.

  Colonel Chase answered that question. “We’ll let our diplomats and politicians handle the fallout. We find it, examine it, and if possible—,” he looked directly at Jeff, “—extract it.”

  “What if there are alien survivors?” asked Logan curiously.

  “That’s what you’re here for,” replied Colonel Chase, half sarcastically. It was clear that comment just lost Logan any points he may have earned with Colonel Chase for his clever discovery of the spaceship’s location. “I’m going up front—see if the spy guys came up with anything yet.” Chase glanced at Blaze with an “I told you so” look of disapproval then walked to the back of the plane.

  Dr. Blaze looked at Logan. “He was almost beginning to accept you.”

  “Yeah, next time I’ll remember to keep my dumb questions to myself.” Logan was uncharacteristically nervous as the full magnitude of his task stood before him. Could he really do it? He decided to change the subject, hoping that not thinking about it would somehow make his task easier. “I’ve read up a lot on these things, mostly the scientific stuff, some of the psycho-babble. What’s your take?”

  Dr. Blaze smiled broadly, thrilled to hear Logan ask that question. He loved talking about science but rarely had an interested audience. “I gather you’re familiar with Drake’s equation?”

  “Somewhat,” Logan shrugged.

  “Well, it’s a framework for how someone might estimate how many space faring civilizations might be out there at a given time. Drake figured logically that the answer to that question depended on how you view the variables. The variables being; How many stars are out there? How many of these stars have planets? How many planets do these stars have? How many of these planets are capable of supporting life? What percentage of that life will be intelligent enough to reach the stars? And what’s the life span of these species?”

  It took Logan a few seconds to digest all of that information.

  Blaze saw the confused look in his eyes and slowed down. “The first three I believe are fairly simple. In our galaxy we have about a trillion stars. I’d say proba
bly a billion have planets. On average, five planets apiece gives us five billion planets. I’d estimate at least twenty percent are capable of supporting life. That’s one billion planets that might have life just in our galaxy.”

  A solid number was something Logan could relate to. “That’s quite an abundance. If that’s true, how come we haven’t found any yet?” he asked.

  Jeff smiled coyly, reminding Logan of the mission he was currently on. “You see the hard part of the equation is the final variables. Just because a planet can support life, it doesn’t mean life will exist or that intelligence will evolve. And even when it does, they still might be incapable of reaching the stars. For example, look at dolphins. They’re clearly intelligent, but they’ll never travel through space. Then there’s the big question. How long can a technologically advanced civilization survive? How long can a civilization with the power to control the vast energies needed to travel through space, survive without managing to blow itself up? Perhaps it takes five billion years to evolve a species that’s smart enough, but only a hundred years to completely self-destruct. Look at us. We live on the brink of nuclear holocaust every day.”

  “That’s a scary thought.” Logan paused a moment, reflecting on the possibility, then shook it off. Pondering the possibility of Armageddon was a tangent he didn’t want to take. “So how do you answer those final variables?”

  “We can’t. So, we guess.” Jeff paused for breath before continuing. “In order for a civilization to reach the technologically advanced stage where they’re capable of interstellar travel, they need resources, particularly metals. Assuming their technology is founded on electricity and magnetism, their planet would need metals to build advanced machines.”

  “Like a spaceship,” said Logan.