Sullivan Saga 3: Sullivan's Watch

by Michael K. Rose

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Marco waved his hand dismissively. “Rome is too big. And there are so many other big cities. Why would they come here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just saying don’t be too complacent. When we get to your family’s house, we need to gather food, water, supplies, try to make it defensible….”

  Marco grinned again. “Don’t worry, Peter.”

  Peter walked on in silence, watching the back of Marco’s head. The man put on a good act, but by the way he kept swiveling his head, searching the fields beside the road, Peter knew he was nervous.

  A kilometer down the road, a small forest took over the fields.

  “I played here when I was a boy,” Marco said. “There are good trees here, old trees. Just before I went to prison, I helped my nephew build a tree house. If you’re worried, you can hide there.” He laughed and pointed up the road. “You see the exit? We follow that road another kilometer and a half, and we will be there.”

  “Good.” Peter glanced at his watch. There were about two hours of daylight left, and he didn’t want to be caught out in the open come nightfall.

  They reached the turnoff and took it toward the village. To the right, the forest stretched off into the distance, but there was more farmland to the left. As they approached the village, Peter began to make out the details. It was in the style of the others he had seen and was dominated by a tall brick bell tower at the center of town.

  Marco led him into the town and through a series of mazelike streets before arriving at a house and knocking on the door. Curtains fluttered in the window, and a moment later the door was thrown open and Marco was pulled into the arms of an older woman. From the conversation, Peter knew that she was Marco’s mother.

  After nearly a minute of hugging and chatting excitedly in Italian, the woman turned to look at Peter. Marco began explaining, and the woman nodded curtly then let them inside.

  They were shown into a living room where they sat as Marco’s mother busied herself in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

  “She recognizes you,” Marco said.

  Peter let out a breath. “I should go, then.”

  “No,” Marco said. “I will explain it to her. I will make it right. But first you must tell me something. You said during your trial that you were—what, possessed?—when you killed Pope Pius.”

  “You watched my trial?”

  “Just about every Catholic did.”

  “You said you didn’t like the Pope.”

  “Still, I am Catholic.”

  Peter cleared his throat. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, “it’s true. It wasn’t just a defense strategy. At the time, I thought I had been possessed by the Devil. But I have a different theory now.”

  “The aliens?”

  “Yes.”

  Marco lowered his eyes and played with the hem of his prison uniform. “We need to change.”

  “Good idea.”

  “But for what it’s worth….” Marco looked up at Peter. “I believe you. Lots of people were seeing strange things just before the aliens attacked. I believe they could have used you to try to create chaos.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it worked. People think this is the Second Coming. I’m not ruling that out just yet, but I’m not ready to panic.”

  Marco grinned. “We are about the same size. I have some things stored here. I’ll find you some clothes.”

  Peter thanked Marco as he got up from the couch and headed toward the rear of the house. Peter looked back toward the kitchen and saw Marco’s mother peeking through a crack in the door, glaring at him. He quickly looked away. In all the excitement at the prison, he’d left his Bible behind in his cell. Now he wanted it more than ever.

  16

  SULLIVAN SCANNED THE monitors. “It looks clear,” he said, checking his energy pistol.

  Ives glanced at his shoulder. A small amount of blood had seeped through the bandage, but the bleeding had now stopped. “I’m ready.” He turned to Bill Cole. “You stay between us until we’re in the building. Then, after we’re sure it’s all clear, lead us up to your apartment.”

  Bill nodded, and Sullivan led them to the side hatch. He threw it open and checked the sight lines down either side of the ship. “Clear,” he whispered.

  The three men crossed the open space between the freighter and the building’s entrance. Sullivan scanned the lobby of the apartment building before trying the door.

  “It’s locked. You have a keycard, Bill?”

  Bill opened his wallet and waved his card in front of the door’s scanner. The light over the door handle switched from red to green, and Sullivan pushed it open.

  “The fact that the door is still secure is a good sign,” he said.

  Bill crossed the lobby to the elevators and hit the call button. Sullivan held him back as the doors opened. It was empty, and the three men rode up to Bill’s floor.

  “Go quietly,” Sullivan said as the elevator doors opened again. “We’ll get your family out first then people from the other apartments, one at a time. I don’t want a mob on my hands.”

  Bill led them down to his door and unlocked it. He bolted inside, calling out for his family. Two children, a boy and a girl, ran out and into his arms. They were joined by a woman a moment later.

  Bill began crying as he hugged his family. “Thank god you’re all right. I was so worried. I tried to call but couldn’t get through.”

  Sullivan and Ives stood quietly inside the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the moment. A flash of movement caught Sullivan’s eye from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

  “Is there anyone else here?” he asked.

  Bill’s wife looked up and shook her head.

  Sullivan gestured for them to back up against the far wall as he and Ives approached the hallway.

  There were two doors along the side and a door at the end. The end door was open, and Sullivan could see that it was a bathroom. The door to his right was also open and looked to be the children’s room. He poked his head around the corner to get a better look inside the bedroom. A figure stood in the center of the room. Sullivan leveled his gun as he completed the turn around the doorframe. Ives was at his side, his gun aimed over Sullivan’s shoulder.

  Ives lowered his gun. “What the hell…?”

  Frank Allen smiled. “Hello, Jeff.”

  “Frank?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “So Sullivan was telling the truth. You’re… what? A ghost?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sullivan stepped forward. “There’s no time for pleasantries. Frank could be pulled away at any second.”

  Allen frowned. “That’s true, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s happening?” Bill called from the living room.

  Ives poked his head out. “Just stay there,” he said. “Everything’s all right.”

  “What’s going on, Frank?” Sullivan asked.

  “There might be a way to end this. A way to prevent the aliens from ever using their wormholes again.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll get into the details later… I can feel Liz pulling at me. Right now, you have to get your ship into space, Rick. I need you there when the next alien ship arrives.”

  “In a freighter? What will I be able to do?”

  “Just trust me. I can’t give you any guarantees, but there’s a good chance what I have planned will work.”

  “We need to evacuate these people, Frank. How much time do I have?”

  “Not much. I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach you again to tell you exactly when you need to be in position. Just get into Earth orbit as soon as you can. The alien ship could arrive at any time.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “I hate to leave all these people in danger.”

  “No matter where you move them, they’ll be in danger. The only way to truly protect them is to get into orbit so we can end this.”

  “Okay, Frank.
I’ll be there when you need me. Good luck.”

  “And you, my friend.”

  Sullivan turned to glance at Ives, and when he looked back, Allen was gone. “Jeff,” he said, “Get another forty or so people from the surrounding apartments. We can take one load, but then I need to go.”

  “Right.”

  Sullivan instructed Bill and his family to gather the few belongings they couldn’t do without. By the time they were ready, Ives had returned with a few other families. “Let’s go quickly but quietly,” Sullivan said. “We’re going to get out of the city to an area that hasn’t been attacked yet.”

  The evacuation went smoothly, and as Sullivan lifted the freighter off the ground, he asked Ives to pull up the news reports about the invasion. “Where can we take them that will be safe?”

  “Looks like Western Maine and most of New Hampshire haven’t seen any trouble.”

  “Good. We can be there in ten minutes.”

  Sullivan piloted the ship high into the atmosphere, just on the edge space, before descending back toward the planet in a sharp arc. The ship’s guidance system directed him toward a small town in Maine that Ives had selected. As they approached, they scanned the area for any signs of trouble. Seeing nothing, they set down in an open field next to the town and began unloading their passengers.

  Bill Cole and his family were the last to leave. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said to Sullivan and Ives.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ives said. “Just keep your family safe. Hopefully, this will all be over before long.”

  Bill shook hands with both of them then swung his son up into his arms and followed the other evacuees toward the town, where a police car and several ambulances had arrived.

  “Let’s get out of here before we have to deal with them,” Sullivan said, indicating the emergency vehicles. “I don’t want to waste time trying to explain things.”

  They went back into the freighter and immediately lifted off. When they were clear of the ground, Sullivan programmed the ship to return to the landing pad opposite Ives’s building but paused before executing it. “Do you want to come with me?” he asked.

  “No. I’m needed on the ground. I have more work to do to get my neighborhood prepared for when—if—the evacuation comes.”

  Sullivan nodded and engaged the autopilot. They returned to New York in silence, each man deep in thought.

  When they landed, Ives stood. “Hey… if you come out of this, you know where to find me.”

  Sullivan smiled and shook the agent’s hand. “Of course. Even if this works, there will still be a lot of work to do to rid the planet of the aliens. We’ll go hunting together. Good luck.”

  “You, too.” Ives smiled and stepped toward the rear of the freighter. Sullivan heard the hatch open then close, and after making sure Ives was clear, he lifted off and set a course to take him into orbit. He wished he could do more, but Frank Allen was counting on him to be in position when the next alien ship arrived. All he could do now was wait.

  III: CONSEQUENCES

  17

  BROTHER PETER LAY on the couch listening to the old-fashioned analog clock ticking on the mantle above the fireplace. Marco’s mother had been polite but distant to him. She’d been overjoyed to see Marco and hadn’t seemed too upset that he’d escaped from prison, so her animosity lay elsewhere. She hadn’t said so, but Peter knew it was because of who he was, because of what he’d done.

  A noise reached his ears from the hallway, and Peter lifted his head off the pillow and peered into the darkness. Marco’s mother walked by without looking at him and into the kitchen. He heard the door leading out onto the patio open and close, and a moment later she walked back across the living room and back to her bedroom.

  Peter looked up toward the kitchen door. A man was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight coming through the window behind him.

  Peter rose into a sitting position. “Marco?”

  The man lunged forward and knocked Peter back down onto the couch. Peter struggled and was able to wriggle out from under him. He bolted for the front door, unlocked it and threw it open. Three more men stood outside, armed with knives.

  Peter slammed the door as they rushed forward. He put his shoulder down and charged the man already inside. The man went down, and Peter ran into the kitchen and to the patio door. It was still open, and he bolted through it without looking back.

  A low hedge separated each yard, and Peter made good progress, as he was able to leap over them without too much difficulty. Three yards over, he noticed a waist-high gate separating the yard from the street out front.

  He jumped the gate and stood panting as he looked both ways down the street. The men in front of Marco’s house spotted him and gave chase.

  Peter ran blindly through the streets, hoping he wouldn’t find himself so desperately lost that escape would be impossible. He tried to keep one eye on the clock tower in the center of town. He’d draw closer to it only to be led away again as the street turned.

  The footsteps behind him eventually grew distant. Peter knew he was in better than average shape, and thanked God he’d decided to keep up his exercises while in prison.

  He slowed to a brisk walk and glanced behind him. His pursuers were nowhere in sight, but given the labyrinthine nature of the streets, they could have easily taken a shortcut in the hopes of getting in front of him.

  Peter looked back in the direction he’d been going. He saw a street branching off to the left which looked like it was aimed directly at the bell tower. He reached it and was relieved to see a straight, clear path to the center of town.

  Staying in the shadows as well as he could, Peter skulked to the town center. He found the road leading back to the highway and took to it. He was soon walking alongside the forest next to the town. Marco had mentioned a tree house. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be better than being on the ground during the night, with men who wanted him dead and those alien creatures possibly lurking about.

  Peter kept his eyes on the woods as he continued down the road. If he didn’t see the tree house from there, he’d move into the woods a bit and have a closer look.

  In the corner of his eye, Peter saw a lanky shape dash across the road. He stopped, looked and listened. The moon was bright, but he couldn’t see anything. He was about to continue on when a figure emerged from behind a bit of brush at the edge of the forest.

  Peter froze, but only for a second, before turning and running into the woods. He ran hard and fast, as quickly as he could safely go in the low light. He kept his ears alert for the sounds of the creature and his eyes pivoting from the ground to the treetops. With nothing but socks protecting his feet, he knew that any wrong step could be the end of him.

  Thirty seconds in, he saw it. A rope ladder was hanging from a balcony that appeared to run all the way around a squarely built building perched in one of the larger trees.

  Peter grabbed the ladder and made his way up and into the tree house. He pulled the ladder up behind him and scanned the forest. He’d seen those creatures jump back at the prison and in the news reports. It could reach him, but he’d stand a better chance here than he would on the ground.

  Peter turned and pushed open the door to the tree house. It was empty except for a few blankets and pillows, a stash of candy and soda, empty food packages and other assorted garbage. There was a window in the wall opposite the door, but it was small, and Peter didn’t think the creature could get in through it. The walls themselves weren’t thick, though. He had no doubt that those claws could make quick work of them.

  As he moved across the room, a glint of metal caught the moonlight. Peter bent down and picked up a serrated steak knife, most likely stolen from some mother’s kitchen. Peter gripped the knife with the blade facing down and stepped back out onto the balcony.

  He saw the creature immediately. It was moving slowly but deliberately, as though following a trail. It moved closer to the tree house before fi
nally jerking its head up and staring directly at Peter. The moonlight reflected off the visor covering the thing’s eyes, making it look like the mask was glowing.

  Peter stepped back and braced himself against the outside wall of the tree house as the alien crouched and prepared for a leap.

  It jumped and very nearly cleared the platform, but its foot caught beneath the balcony as it attempted to land. The thing fell forward, and its claws sank into the wood of the platform as it slid backward, cleanly punching through the wood and stopping its fall.

  Peter knew he would have only one chance. He lashed out with the knife and drove it into the creature’s hand. As it screamed out in rage, Peter pulled the knife out and plunged it directly into its toothy maw. He felt the knife sink in and swiftly pulled it out before those teeth could clamp down on his hand.

  The alien gnashed its teeth and pulled its uninjured hand from the wood to swipe at him, but Peter ducked the swing of the claws and used the opportunity to stab at the creature’s mouth again. The knife plunged deeper this time and got stuck. Peter pulled his hand out but not quickly enough to avoid being scraped by the teeth as the alien bit down again.

  But with the knife still in its mouth, the act of biting down appeared to drive it even deeper. The thing’s mouth thrashed and twisted, sending a spray of dark blood over Peter.

  Peter reached down and pulled at the claws that were still embedded in the wood. They came out, and the alien fell and landed hard at the base of the tree.

  Peter looked down. It was still alive but didn’t appear as though it was in any condition to get up, much less make another leap.

  Peter walked back into the tree house and picked up one of the blankets. He carefully wiped the alien’s blood off then tossed it into the far corner. He would wait until the creature died then, if it was safe, climb down to retrieve the knife.

  He cleared part of the floor of garbage, gathered up the rest of the blankets and pillows and made a bed. He knew he would not be able to sleep, but he could rest his body. The morning might bring more of the creatures or even a lynch mob from the town, out to kill him for what he’d done to the Pope. Either way, he would need his strength.