FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1)

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  The four men nodded. Before anyone else could move, Homlin slipped out the door with Pat and was gone.

  The instant the door closed there was a mad dash by everyone to get to the remaining three guns. The four ‘men’ who had clearly been identified as Homlin's men dove for the guns as did the uniformed men. No one was as fast as Oliver who stopped the blur of action by firing a shot from his own revolver he pulled from his shoulder holster.

  "Back off there or I'll blow you away!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. The four conspirators stopped in their tracks and stared at him. For two or three seconds, Harrison, who stood in front of the other three, studied Oliver.

  “You heard what Homlin said,” Harrison shouted as he lunged toward Oliver, followed closely by the other three.

  Oliver fired point blank into the charging Harrison. The slug caught him full in the chest but still the big man charged. Oliver fired two more rounds. One hit Harrison in the left shoulder, the other removed most of Harrison's skull on the left side.

  The momentum carried Harrison's dead body crashing into Oliver. What followed was a massive free for all between Oliver and his men and the three remaining aliens. As the aliens fought, they began to transform into hunter / survivors making the contest's outcome much less predictable.

  Allan did not stay to find out the final outcome of the battle. Instead, he dashed out the door after Homlin and Pat. As he ran down the hallway, he prayed he would see the two further down the hallway running towards the elevator, but they were nowhere to be seen. Where could they have gone? How could Homlin have disappeared so fast?

  Allan ran to the elevators and stared at the number display above each door. None of the four elevators were even close to the fourth floor. The stairs. They must have taken the stairs. Allan rushed toward the stairway door. He flung the door open and rushed through.

  As the door began to close, he heard a muffled cry behind him but before he could turn to investigate, he felt the shearing pain of a blow to his skull and found himself dropping into the dark pit of unconsciousness.

  Hunting Homlin

  Monday 10:00 a.m., Dec. 6

  The pain threatened to lift the dome of his skull from the rest of his head. It ebbed and flowed with the pounding of his heart, as Allan struggled to regain consciousness, and the first sign he was winning the battle was the pain returning. The second was the muffled sound of men talking.

  "I think he's coming around, Oliver,” Allan heard through the mud puddle of his mind. He tried shaking his head and immediately regretted it as the jack hammering pain increased in volume and frequency.

  "Get me some cold water,” he heard after an interminable time then a little later, felt the chill of a wet compress being applied to his forehead. After several more minutes, he forced his eyes open. The light sent shards of pain deep into his skull, but he refused to submit to the black ebb that called to him. He kept his eyes open.

  "Where am I?" He finally asked. A face, faintly familiar but he couldn't remember from where, came into blurry view.

  "Take it easy. He slugged you pretty hard."

  "Who?" Allan asked, still uncertain what was going on.

  "Homlin, of course,” the man answered.

  Homlin. Oh yeah. It all flashed back to him now. He'd been chasing after Homlin. The door to the stairs, the muffled sound, then nothing. Allan tried to sit up but the pain was too great.

  "Not so quick. You're lucky to be alive. It certainly wasn't because Homlin pulled his punch."

  "I believe it,” Allan replied with a moan. "Did you catch him?"

  "No. Not yet. Somehow, he managed to escape the building. We haven't figured out how. There is an all-points bulletin out for him, though. He won't get very far."

  The FreeForm! What had happened with the pending shipment? Through dry lips, Allan asked the question.

  "Oh, don't worry. We've confiscated everything at Homlin's lab and game preserve. It's all under government lock-up. If Homlin is stupid enough to show up at either place, we'll nab him."

  Allan tried sitting up once more. This time, despite the pain he was successful. He found he was lying on the long table in the conference room.

  "We found you in the stairwell. I had a couple of my men carry you in here. You've been out almost two hours."

  Two hours! Two hours and they still hadn't found Pat and Homlin. He had to go look for her. There was no telling what Homlin would do to her. Allan gently swung his legs over the side of the table then fought a wave of vertigo. He felt like someone had piled his top ten hangovers on him all at once. He shut his eyes for a moment and waited for the vertigo and nausea to pass. When it finally did, he lifted his head and looked at the man.

  "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

  "Oliver Sykes. I was Pat's superior when she was with B.I.U.F.O. I helped to cover up the story."

  Allan nodded. Pat had spoken about Oliver during one of their late night conversations lying in front of the wood stove. It seemed like it had been years ago but was actually only a few weeks.

  A uniformed man — Allan thought it was one of the men that had burst into the meeting but he couldn't be sure — handed Oliver a note.

  Oliver read the note, then crumpled it and tossed it in the vicinity of the trash can.

  "What did it say?" Allan asked.

  "The D.C. police have just had a report of a car stolen from the parking lot across the street. It could have been taken by Homlin."

  Oh, hell, Allan thought. Homlin's got a car. How in the hell would they ever find him? He struggled to his feet. Oliver grabbed his arm to steady him. He shrugged it off.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Oliver asked.

  "To find Homlin before he kills Pat." Allan stumbled unsteadily towards the door.

  "Do you think you can find him?"

  "I'll find him. I've got to,” Allan replied without turning around.

  "Wait up. I'll go with you,” Oliver said. "We can take my car. I've got a CB. We can stay in touch with the search."

  "Fine with me." Allan continued down the hall towards the elevators.

  As the two men waited for the elevator, Allan glanced over to the larger man. "You wouldn't happen to have a couple of aspirins, would you?"

  Oliver smiled. "Not on me, but I think there's a bottle in my glove compartment. I might even have a flask of whiskey to wash them down with."

  "Sounds like the right combination to me,” Allan replied.

  The trunk smelled of old rags, rubber, and gas fumes. On top of which it was cold and damp, but worst of all it was pitch black and very small. Pat fought the urge to scream. She had tried that for at least thirty minutes with no results except to worsen her headache, the result of her trying to keep the trunk lid from shutting.

  Despite her winter coat, she was chilled to the bone. Her hands and feet were numb and her muscles ached from the close confinement. She wasn't even sure what kind of car she had been stuffed into. Not much more than a sub-compact, if the trunk space was any indication. The gas and exhaust fumes added to her headache and discomfort.

  How long had she been locked inside the trunk? She could only guess since she was unable to see her watch dial or anything else for that matter. It's a fine mess I've gotten myself into this time, she thought as she struggled to pull her coat tighter around her.

  I completely blew it. I had the chance to stop Homlin, once and for all, and I failed. Well, maybe not completely. Oliver had come through -- finally. Or had he? Who knew?

  She'd heard gunshots as Homlin dragged her down the hall, but who had done the shooting? Had the shipment been stopped or not? That was the real question. And not knowing the answer to it contributed more to her headache than the fumes or the bump on the head.

  They'd been traveling for quite a while without stopping. Pat figured she'd been in the trunk for at least a couple hours. Except for the sound of the rear tires on the road and an occasional car passing, no sound penetrated through the trunk. No d
oubt they had left the city but heading in what direction? Where was Homlin taking her and more importantly what did he have in mind once they arrived? None of the possible answers her mind came up with for that last question appealed to her.

  Yes indeed, she'd gotten herself into a fine mess this time.

  As Oliver and Allan opened their respective doors to Oliver's sedan, they stopped and stared at each other over the roof.

  "Where do you think we should go?" Allan finally asked the question that was on both of their minds.

  Oliver laughed and shook his head. "Damn if I know. Where do you go to look for an escape alien on the run?"

  "Well, there's got to be something we can do. We can't just sit around here. Think of something." The words jangled in Allan's head, tormenting his headache that much more.

  "I've got an idea. Let's go,” Oliver said as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

  "Where are we going?" Allan asked, climbing in beside him.

  "Sooner or later, hopefully sooner, someone is going to spot the baby blue Toyota Homlin stole. When they do, we want to be ready to get to it real fast. I've got an old friend, James Stepp. These days he flies a traffic 'copter for one of the local TV stations. He'll be more than happy to take us wherever we need to go."

  "Now you're talking,” Allan said. For the first time since being knocked unconscious, his head felt like it might one day stop pumping pain down to his toes. Maybe no day real soon, but . . .

  Monday 1:45 pm

  "Allan, wake up." A firm hand shook his shoulder. Allan turned his head to one side. He opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ice pack he'd been using to relieve his headache. He had shut his eyes for only a minute, he felt certain, but when he went to put the ice back on his head, all that was left was a bag of cool water.

  "What's happening?" He asked as he tossed the used-up ice pack back on the bed.

  "They've found the Toyota,” Oliver replied.

  "All right. Now we're getting somewhere."

  "Abandoned. Neither Homlin nor Pat were anywhere around it,” Oliver finished.

  "Shit, you've got to be kidding. Are you sure?"

  "No question about it. The report just came in from the Pulaski, Virginia police." Oliver sat down on the bed beside Allan.

  "Pulaski, Virginia? Where's that?"

  "Western part of the state a couple of hours north of the North Carolina border."

  The two men stared at each other for several seconds. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Allan finally asked.

  "Don't know, but I'm thinking the bastard is returning to his old stomping grounds," Oliver replied.

  "You don't think he'd be stupid enough to try to get back into Biogentrix, do you?” Allan picked up the spent ice pack and tossed it from one hand to the other.

  "No. He must know we've got both places staked out."

  "Well, do you think we can get James to fly us that far?"

  "Sure, no problem. While you were resting, James called his TV station and told him a little of the story. Don't worry, I didn't tell him what Homlin is. I just said we were looking for a kidnapper. He told his station he has a chance at an exclusive. They've given him carte blanche to fly us anywhere we want. We're checking for any other reports of stolen vehicles in the area. It won't take us long to pick Homlin's trail up again. Let's go."

  Allan tossed the ice pack to Oliver. "Do you think I could get a refill on this before we go?"

  Monday 1:05 pm

  The trunk of the Mazda was a little larger and didn't smell quite as bad as the last car, but it was still far from being a comfortable way to travel. Homlin had given Pat no chance to escape on the change. Being stuck in the trunk for four or five hours had left her at a distinct disadvantage. When they'd finally stopped, Homlin had left her in the trunk for quite a while. After a while Pat began to wonder if he'd abandoned her with the car, but about the time she'd decided that had happened, she heard Homlin unlocking the trunk. She tried to be ready to jump at the first chance, but her stiff body had refused to cooperate at the critical moment.

  As Homlin unlocked the trunk, Pat tried pushing the trunk lid open with all her might in the hope of catching him off guard. Unfortunately, the stiff muscles of her legs had made the attempt appear in slow motion. Besides, Homlin had been ready and had been standing several feet away from the car by the time Pat managed to crawl out of the trunk. Although he had both hands in his pockets, he left little doubt in Pat's mind that one of his hands was pointing a gun straight at her.

  They were in a small town Pat didn't recognize in what looked to be the only public parking lot in town. Homlin had already scouted around before letting Pat out of the trunk and had found a Mazda with the keys left in it. Pat glanced over at the small building where the attendant should have been, but there was no one inside.

  "He's taking a little nap,” Homlin said with a short nod in the direction Pat was looking. "He looked awfully beat when I drove up. Of course, not as beat as he is now.

  “Get in,” Homlin said as he unlocked the trunk of their new car. "Your carriage awaits."

  "I'm not getting in another damn trunk,” Pat said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  "Have it your own way,” Homlin replied. "Would you prefer I kill you here in broad daylight or simply knock the shit out of you and toss you in the trunk?"

  “Neither,” Pat replied, deciding to change tactics. "Just let me sit up front with you. I promise I won't try anything stupid."

  "You already have, but it won't work. Now get in. This is the last time I'm going to ask so nicely.” Homlin nodded toward the open trunk.

  "I'm going to get you for this,” Pat muttered under her breath as she climbed into the trunk. "You just wait and see if I don't."

  "You've been a worthy opponent, Ms. Vogt. Perseverance and a never-say-die attitude are your strong suits. Unfortunately, you don't realize the game is over. Now, I suggest you lower your head a trifle more this time unless you want another bump on your head."

  Pat did as she was told and a few seconds later found herself in total darkness again, in a little larger and less smelly trunk but still completely powerless. The feeling was becoming impossible to bear. She had to do something but not just anything. She would probably only get one chance, and she had to make it count. But how would she know when the one chance was here?

  Well, I have my instincts, she told herself. I've been operating on skill, training, and instincts for the last ten years with this animal. Why should it be any different now? But she wouldn't just wait for the right moment. She'd do whatever she could to create the moment, and when it came she'd be sure to be ready.

  Like right now. What can I do right now to prepare myself for that moment? She pondered the question for a few minutes. She needed something to balance the sides. Homlin was stronger than she was. And he had a gun. She did not. On top of which he could change into many different forms, including the killing machine that had almost taken her life on their first meeting.

  Okay, how to balance the scale? She needed a weapon. Something? But what? The manufacturers of automobiles hadn't yet offered automatic rifles as optional equipment. What could she possibly hope to find in the trunk of a late model Mazda?

  No sooner had she asked the question than she had the answer. Every car came with a spare tire (not much of a weapon there), a jack (a little better but too bulky), and ... a tire iron! That was it. A tire iron or lug wrench, whatever they were called. Every car came with one. Most of them lay in some dark recess of the trunk and was never needed. Well, one was needed now.

  Pat began to rummage in the dark with her hands, checking every corner, every crack, every irregularity. She finally found a little compartment built into the side of the trunk. She pulled the plastic cover off and pulled out a small packet of tools. She opened the tool case and found two unexpected prizes -- Phillip’s head and flathead screwdrivers. Weapons!

  She dug her hands back into the hidden
compartment. The only thing left was the jack, tightly bolted to the floor of the compartment. Damn. Had the owner of the car lost the lug wrench? Surely not. It was a fairly new car. It was doubtful the owner had ever had a flat tire. Keep looking. The lug wrench must be around here somewhere.

  Pat stopped her search for a moment. Where would you put a lug wrench if not with the jack and the other tools? With the spare tire, of course. She felt around with her feet and hands but there was no tire. Impossible. There had to be a spare. Where did they put the spare in these tiny Japanese cars? They certainly didn't bolt them to the outside like with her jeep. No, they hid them, like they hid the tool kit and jack.

  She continued to fish around in the dark looking for another hidden compartment. It would have to be a larger compartment. One large enough to hide a spare tire. Underneath her. It had to be in the floor of the trunk. Of course. She felt along the edge of the trunk until she found a hold to pull the floor covering away. It came away easily. A good sign.

  Pat pressed herself against the back of the rear seat, pulling the covering towards her. She then shoved it under her body so she could get to the false bottom. She found the small space increasingly claustrophobic as she fought to move the flooring out of the way. Finally, she had it off to the side enough to reach down and feel ... the tire. Victory!

  But no, not victory at all. She wasn't looking for the tire. It was the lug wrench she needed. Was it down there or not? She felt all around the tire but could feel nothing like a long iron rod. She finally determined that the tire was securely bolted to the floor of the car. The bolt ran through the center of the tire and was held in place with a large wing nut. It took her several minutes before she was able to loosen the nut. She was sweating now. Her activity had at least taken the chill off, although her feet were still like blocks of ice. Finally, she was able to remove the wing nut completely. The tire was smaller than she expected, then she remembered hearing someone in her office complain about the toy tires they were putting in new cars these days. Although it was small, it was heavy. She struggled to get her hands underneath the tire. She was pressed so hard against the back seat that she found it increasingly hard to breathe. Calm, I must stay calm.