Event (event group thrillers)

by David L. Golemon

  "I see you two have met," he said as he turned and winked at Collins.

  The alien was nervously looking around and sitting upright on the bed. The visitors crowded into the small one-room house. Matchstick eyed each man in turn and listened as they talked, every once in a while tilting its head and then with shaking hands taking a sip of water from the glass Gus had given it.

  "You feel better, Matchstick?" Gus asked.

  Jack turned and looked at the old man. He met his eyes and gave him a small smile. "Matchstick, that's its name?"

  "As close as I can get anyway. He can talk like us," Gus said, "but he's just being stubborn right now. But sometimes he does his talkin' through me; brain chatter's what I call it."

  Jack walked over and joined Mendenhall, who had slid the dirty sheet away from the body of the Gray, which was still lying on the floor.

  "One ugly son of a bitch, Major," Mendenhall volunteered.

  Jack took in the malevolent features of the Gray compared to the soft features of the smaller Green. Like Gus, he didn't think he had an imagination capable of thinking this thing up. He thought the two races were as dissimilar in looks as they were in temperament.

  "Not exactly something you would take home to meet Mom, is it, Sergeant?" Jack turned toward Gus. "Did this being have the same telepathic ability as your friend, Mr. Tilly?"

  "I didn't exactly invite it in for drinks and mild conversation, so I couldn't tell you."

  Collins turned and looked at the alien sitting with its back to the wall on the old bed. Its eyes narrowed and the small mouth set itself in a straight line. Then it finally looked at Gus, its features softening, then turned back to Collins.

  "Destroyer, feeding?" came the buzz-filled voice. It was like hearing someone through a wet pillow using a voice synthesizer.

  "Yes, it's feeding," Collins answered after a moment's hesitation caused by the strangeness of the visitor's voice.

  Babies, babies, babies, babies. This time it closed its eyes and only spoke with Gus through its telepathy.

  "Matchstick says it's laid little monsters, babies, it says," Gus interpreted for them, wincing at the pain. "He gives me headaches when he talks like that, nosebleeds too. Matchstick, talk like regular--" He caught himself. "Just use your voice."

  "So it's definite, it has the ability to project thought," Jack said.

  "You could say that," Gus answered.

  "Matchstick, this is Colonel Sam Fielding of the United States Army," Collins said softly to the small being while raising his left eyebrow toward Gus, who in turn looked down, knowing he had been a little rough on the major.

  The colonel stepped forward and gave the alien an awkward smile and almost saluted, having actually brought his hand halfway up, then, embarrassed, looked at the others in the room and lowered his right hand to his side.

  Collins smiled. "I'm Major Jack Collins. Do you know your race has been here before?" Collins bent down and looked the alien over.

  Mahjtic looked from one man to another, each human in turn, still confused. Then it looked at Gus and then to the boy, not saying anything.

  "Over fifty years ago," Collins continued. "I believe you are going to tell us about a faction of your race, who look to take this planet from us?"

  The alien suddenly looked just at the major.

  "This part of your society has acted upon itself to end life on this planet with the thing you call the Destroyer, am I right so far?" Collins asked.

  "Those that would make us crash... your world with Destroyer, attack us" It closed its eyes in thought. "Damage on... to our craft"

  Collins nodded. "A being like you told a man a similar story a long time ago." Jack sat on the foot of the bed. "The being like you told him it might happen again. Why did they wait?"

  They watched as the alien's eyes widened. It brought its large head down, then up. It understood now.

  "Talkhan, the Destroyer, hibernates. Have you animals here... sleep for long time frames?" it asked, looking from face to face. Collins noticed it was shaking, perhaps afraid they would blame it for the danger they were in.

  "Yes, we have animals that hibernate," Jack answered.

  "The Destroyer kind wake fifty year on its world... We take Destroyer for use by Masters on other world, easy way to--"

  The men looked at the small being, waiting for it to finish, but it was looking at Billy.

  "Matchstick, don't stop now, you go on and tell 'em," Gus said.

  It swallowed and then looked away from Billy and out the kitchen window.

  "Is... is easy way... clean your world. Gray's use...animal to clean undeveloped planets of life for harvesting of...resources and... settlement. The Destroyer exterminate man and... all life on this... world," it said sadly, looking into the water glass. "We take animal to other world, not this one. Gray attack us and bring here."

  "Your kind is against this action?" Fielding asked.

  Matchstick looked up with his large eyes and blinked. "We teach and work machines... We are... worker? Is this your... word?

  "My kind, we... we are afraid and... can do... not much," it said sadly, shaking its head. "I want help..." It pointed and then spread its fingers out at everyone in the small kitchen. It slowly rose from the bed and stood on unsteady feet and walked to the window. "Too late, babies come. Not stop now, but baby have baby in twelve..." It placed a finger to its mouth and thought. "Baby have baby in twelve... hours. Then more baby." It kept shaking its head. "And more baby more smarter baby smarter baby more." It looked to the floor, not able to look at the men.

  "How many babies right now, Matchstick?" Jack asked.

  "Numbers one hundred, little more, maybe one hundred twenty, depend food source? Yes, how plentiful food animal to feed on."

  "How much food is there from three hundred head of cattle and some bikers?" Fielding asked out loud. "Pretty good welcome-to-earth banquet, I would say."

  Jack walked to the window and placed a hand on the being's shoulder. "We need your help."

  Matchstick looked up and held Jack's eyes.

  "If Destroyer and baby killed, the Gray will not stop. This planet is theirs. We cannot help your kind much. We are teachers... doctors...servants. Soon the Gray will tire of easy fight and come here. That you will never stop."

  "First we have to stop this animal. Can you come with us?" Jack asked.

  Matchstick walked away and stood next to Billy, staring at him, blinking its eyes, then smiled at the boy and touched him on the shoulder. Then it looked at the black Kevlar helmet Mendenhall had placed on the kitchen table.

  "Mahjtic and Billy, we will help you."

  "Good, we'll leave right--"

  "Want soldier helmet," it said, looking from Jack to the helmet on the table and then at Billy.

  "Yeah, a helmet," Billy said, looking defiant.

  "Tough negotiator," Fielding said.

  "That's a high price, but, okay, you have a deal," Jack said in all the seriousness he could muster.

  Mahjtic walked over to Gus and took his hand, then pointed at the picture on the small table by the bed of the young Gus in uniform.

  "Gus, fight with Mahjtic, make young again," it said, still pointing at the old black-and-white picture.

  "Looks like you've been drafted, Mr. Tilly," Jack said.

  Gus Tilly looked at the picture and then at the others around the room. "S'pose it wouldn't do any good to call my congressman right about now, would it?"

  All three soldiers shook their heads no.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Chato's Crawl, Arizona

  July 9, 13.40 Hours

  Julie Dawes had been forced to enlist the aid of Tony, who was sober this afternoon because he had misplaced his truck again the night before and hadn't been able to get to the bar. Now he was up for waiting tables to deal with the army-induced rush of business. Juan and Carmella were in the back helping with the dishes. Julie also asked Hal Whikam, her weekend bartender and full-time bouncer, to run the
kitchen while she took food orders.

  Big Hal had a huge red beard and was wearing one of his many slogan-riddled T-shirts. His current shirt read KIRK OVER PICARD AND JANEWAY UNDER ME! It wasn't as funny as the one that had said IT'S GOD'S JOB TO FORGIVE OSAMA BIN LADEN, BUT IT'S A MARINE'S JOB TO MAKE THE INTRODUCTIONS. Hal barely fit his bulk into the shirt, he was so large. Not fat large, but hulk large. Julie counted on little trouble from the people who plied their trade at the Broken Cactus because the ex-marine kept anything from getting out of hand, and if it was going to get out of hand, today would be the day.

  The army had started collecting all the field reporters, cameramen, and tourists, and thank God, most had already been bused out of town, but because the Broken Cactus had food and water, it naturally became the place in town for those remaining to be removed from the quarantine zone, waiting on the next round of transport.

  Most of the remaining townspeople were sitting off in the twenty-two corner tables and booths in the cafe section, watching events unfold around them. They were amazed at the way all the field reporters were shouting into cell phones explaining to their producers the predicament they found themselves in. All the while cameramen were getting all the background footage they could, which of course entailed bright lights aimed in other reporters' faces. Then at exactly 1:45 in the afternoon, all cell phone service in the valley was interrupted. Jason Ryan, USN, had just finished placing the last inhibitor around the town that blocked any signal from leaving. So now all that was heard were the thirty or so reporters and crew simultaneously cursing their cell service for their loss of signal.

  Ryan had come in twice since this morning and announced that they were under quarantine because of a serious outbreak of brucellosis in the valley. When pressed for answers, Ryan had coolly explained that Thomas Tahchako had lost most of his cattle already, and the disease could easily spread out of the valley and even into humans. Julie had watched through the hail of protests and questions as he calmly gave out copies of a prepared press release. Julie had also noticed him look her way and smile on his way back out. That smile had caused her to get the "schoolgirl" goose bumps that had lain dormant in her all these years. It had been a while since anyone had given her that kind of feeling.

  Julie was harried, though grateful for the extra business, but it didn't belie that something was seriously wrong out in the desert. She couldn't wait for the final word for her to close down and head for the buses that were due to arrive anytime. She kept looking for Billy through the crush of strangers since it had been several hours since he had left the cafe. She only hoped he was somewhere in town.

  "Hello," a man said loudly while half leaning over the bar with his feet on the barstool.

  Julie looked his way and noticed the stranger smiling at her. He was good-looking, probably in his late thirties or early forties. His hair was blond and combed straight back. The small, circular lenses of his glasses gave him that bookish look that was the fad these days. He wore simple Levi's and a blue denim work shirt.

  "Hello," she answered back loudly, walking up and flipping open her order pad.

  "Is it always this crazy around here?" he asked, smiling and gesturing to all the reporters.

  Julie looked from him to a cameraman who was holding a Minicam just a foot from her face, the light atop it blinding her. The reporter she recognized as that irritating Kashihara guy from Phoenix. He was doing some background and was speaking into a microphone to kill time until they were let go, which Julie heard wasn't going to happen this side of Phoenix. Squinting her eyes from the glare, Julie deftly tossed one of the soaking bar rags over the lens of the Minicam.

  "Hey, what gives?" the camera jock yelped.

  "Lady, you just ruined a pretty good voice-over," Kashihara said loudly.

  The stranger at the bar stepped in front of the newsman and said, "I guess it means the lady doesn't like being window dressing, and my boss wouldn't like seeing me in your shot either, I'm supposed to be working. Now go and play somewhere else." He gently turned the reporter around and gave him a gentle shove.

  "Who the hell are you, her father?" Kashihara asked, but still moved along as he spoke with his trailing cameraman about going to the Ice Cream Parlor, where it was calmer.

  "Thanks," Julie said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the noise of the crowded bar. She smiled at the newcomer. "Can I get you something?"

  The man looked around the crowded room and then leaned closer, placing both hands on the bar, and said, "Water and a ham-and-cheese sandwich would be great."

  "It'll have to be on white, out of wheat and rye."

  "White is fine."

  "One ham and cheese on white, Hal," she yelled as she pulled a glass from below the counter and poured her only sane customer that day some ice water. She set the glass in front of him and looked him in the eyes. "In answer to your question, no, never this crazy. Are you one of them?" she asked, nodding toward the reporters.

  He held out his hand. "Henry Tomlinson, Department of the Interior."

  Julie took the offered hand and shook. "Julie Dawes, owner of this madhouse. I take it you're a part of that quarantine thing the army claims is going on?"

  The man lowered his glass after taking a long swallow of the cool water. His eyes focused on the body of the woman behind the counter, appraising her a moment as he deftly displayed nothing. "Let's just say I'm here to evaluate the situation. If you don't mind me asking, why say the army 'claims'?"

  Julie wiped her hands on the dish towel and looked the man in the eyes. "I wasn't born yesterday. All those guys walking around in CDC coveralls, they're armed. Strange way of fighting a bug, isn't it?"

  "I wouldn't know about that, only what my boss in Washington tells me. But I do know one thing for sure: someone could open up a used-helicopter dealership out there."

  Julie smiled at his reference to all the news choppers sitting just inside town. Most of them had been forced to land by the lethal-looking army helicopters, which had very nicely told them to set down, or else.

  The man watched as Julie made her way down the bar removing dishes and replenishing water glasses. Somewhere in the back, the jukebox started up, and an old Creedence Clearwater Revival song, "Hey Tonight," began to play, and it bounced its way through the crowd with some cheers and some boos.

  He sat and took it all in as Julie returned and placed his ham and cheese in front of him and started writing his ticket.

  "One ham and cheese on white, anything else?"

  "No, this is it. Can you tell me where the army has set up?" he asked, then took a bite of his sandwich.

  The question made Julie hesitate a moment as she wondered why this man didn't know where the army had their camp since he was from the government. But she decided it was probably innocent. "All I know is they're everywhere. But you may want to look for a Lieutenant Ryan. He seems to be in charge in town." Julie looked up into the man's eyes. "Do me a favor. If you see a little boy hanging out with him on a four-wheeler, tell him his mother needs him back home, would ya?" she asked, batting her lovely eyes.

  "My pleasure, ma'am, and the name of the guy is Ryan, gotcha. By the way, how will I recognize the boy?"

  "Easy, he's the only child in this madhouse."

  The Talkhan watched as her young started their separate journeys to the surface. They had eagerly devoured all the nourishment she had stored for them, and still their added abilities demanded more for their burning metabolisms. They were again starving.

  The activity felt and sensed from above was enough to set them on their instinctual path to the outside world.

  The only offspring to lag behind the others was the male. It sat far away from the females and watched. The mother had approached it earlier in an attempt to wrest one of the smaller females from its clawed grasp, but it would have none of it. Already as large as her, it puffed out his purple neck armor and backed away a few steps, its horrible eyes never leaving her. The mother, sensing danger, moved
off to tend to the females. The brooding male dove into the earth, its instincts taking over and driving it away from the others for survival. The females, their food exhausted, went separate ways, diving into the soil in all directions.

  The mother watched as they went, then she too dove upward from the birthplace and into the soil. She would hunt separately.

  The extinction of mankind was now beginning in earnest, and a new king was about to sit alone at the top of the food chain.

  Ryan was trying to hold his rising temper in check with the state trooper as best he could. He felt for the man, but missing brother or not, he couldn't let him go back out into the desert. The other twenty state troopers that were also surrounding him all shouted their curses at the same time.

  The forty members of the 101st Airborne who had been assigned to Ryan were spread throughout the town, but some were starting to make their way to the assembled crowd of policemen, as their shouts of protest were becoming a little more threatening.

  "Look, we have men out there right now. We didn't try and hand you a bullshit cover story like the rest, and you saw yourself what this animal is capable of from the cattle you found. Do you want to run up against that with just a sidearm and riot guns?"

  "We can take care of ourselves and don't need the fucking army to hold our hands, goddamm it!" Dills shouted back, and the other officers nodded in agreement and shouted epithets like Damned straight "We're willing to go along with your bullshit cover-up about a disease, but you have to give us a break. Let us go back out there and do our jobs. We have missing men and my brother is one of them!" Dills shouted.

  At that moment, Ryan felt someone tugging at his sleeve. He ignored the shouted curses of the state troopers and turned. At his side were a man and a woman. They were disheveled to say the least, as the older woman's hair was loose and going in every direction of the compass and still had a few curlers hanging on for dear life. The older man was pale and had small cuts on his face and neck and was sunburned.