by Mike Baron
Stella got up coughing, went to the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like Baba Yaga after her cook pot explodes in her face. She’d seen enough of the corridor to know there were private rooms and she had to get out of those clothes.
There had to be a shower.
When she emerged from the restroom, the sprinkler system had shut down leaving a soggy mess in the hall.
She went to the front desk and tried the land line. Dead. Likewise the phone in the administrator’s office. She found the dead deputy dragged behind the portable bar in the big living room, blood trail cursorily wiped away.
Focusing her gaze on the wall, she went back down the corridor, through the black ring of Gabe’s death. Why hadn’t Gabe set the lodge on fire? Seventeen hundred degrees should have done the job, but it was as if the fire focused itself into a tiny sun.
On the other side of the blackened corridor, she found a room with the door open.
Inside was a typical hotel room with a made-up king-size and a private bath. Stella stripped off her filthy garb and took a shower turning the temperature as hot as she could stand it. She dumped an entire hotel shampoo on her head and worked it like pizza dough.
She toweled herself off, wrapping a green and gold Pawnee Grove towel around her head. She checked the dresser. It was filled with men’s clothes. She’d brought a change of clothing but it was still in the car. Salvaging only her bra, Stella put on jockey shorts, a loose-fitting pair of carpenter’s pants, a Pawnee Grove T-shirt and a Pawnee Grove sweatshirt. The Sig fit neatly in a front pocket. She found a beaded belt in the closet and threaded it through the loops. It was so long she had to tie the ends together.
Seeing that her room opened directly on the back deck Stella went outside and put her arms on the rail. God it was beautiful. She inhaled deeply feeling her lungs swoon with relief. Under any other circumstances she would have been awestruck. She inhaled deeply again, holding it in to cleanse her lungs of any memory of that awful cloud. A few meters to her right a white telescope and been set up on a tripod aimed at the mountain at two o’clock.
Stella had no idea which mountain Otto had climbed or even if the false Gabe had been telling the truth.
What had taken over Gabe’s body and why? Had it summoned her from Washington so it could rape her? That didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
Girl, you’re thinking too small.
It was terrorism. Why else would it only target big shots?
Stella pulled up an Adirondack, perched on the end and peered through the telescope. The mountain gleamed gold, violet and white in the afternoon light. She saw two Rocky Mountain longhorns grazing on a ledge but no people. She moved her eye slowly, the way Sam had taught her, leaving no visible part of the mountain unobserved. She trained the telescope on the mountain at ten o’clock and worked it top to bottom. No sign there either.
Where was everybody?
Sam whispered in her ear. “Get back in your car and beat ass out of there, girl!”
But she couldn’t. Not until she had some answers. Sam had also told her to question fiercely and fearlessly.
Pawnee Grove was a land of dread. The dead deputy, the absence of personnel was unnerving and uncanny. There were supposed to be two FBI agents on the scene and at least two Larimer County Deputies. She stood and her scalp pulsed where the shrapnel had struck. She went into the lodge, into the kitchen in search of a First Aid kit. There was a wall bracket for one but it was empty.
Stella went out to the lobby and looked behind the desk finding a stack of maps of the property. She placed one on the desk and looked at it. Certainly, the garage/workshop would have a first aid kid. She went back through the lobby to the broad veranda facing the lake, turned left and down three steps to the ground. A black asphalt trail circled the lake and stopped at the garage/workshop, a large pole-barn building painted beige.
She entered the building through a side door that took her into an office. She tried the phone, but of course it was dead. She went from there into the garage proper, scanning the walls for the familiar red cross. And there it was, across the big garage at the workbench, clamped to the wall.
As she reached the bench, she looked left and saw the second deputy.
***
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
“Strange Contraption”
Otto spotted a slag of metal in the ashes and kicked it free. It was a partially melted federal agent’s badge. He picked it up in a gloved hand and showed it to Alvarez. Next to the agent’s remains were three empty Red Bulls and a fourth unopened. Behind him, the cavern descended in broad galleries like the Moscow subway.
“Steve,” Otto said.
Steve growled.
“Steve, come!”
Steve whined.
“Drop the leg and come!”
The big dog slunk out from behind its cover head hung in shame.
“Great,” Alvarez said. “Now he’s got a taste for human meat.”
“I can always give him Spam,” Otto said. “Dogs can’t tell the difference.”
Alvarez took lead shining his flashlight on the phosphorescent stairs before him. “You know why the people of the South Pacific love Spam above all other meats, don’t you? It most closely resembles the taste of human flesh.”
Overcome with awe they proceeded in silence. It seemed to Otto that joking about cannibalism inside nature’s tabernacle was blasphemous. Only God could create such a place. On the other hand, you had to laugh. What else could you do? Otto wished he had a cross to light the way, automatically touched the tat on his chest and turned it into a genuflection. He caught Alvarez looking at him oddly before turning away.
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
Steve growled and Otto grabbed him by the collar and held him back. “Heel.”
Steve had the scent. If they had to retrace their steps, Steve would know the way.
The cavern floor tilted downward precipitously and they had to scramble down to the next gallery on their butts, Steve skittering down on four legs. They descended for perhaps twenty minutes when up ahead they saw yellow light, electric light. Otto held a hand up and Alvarez paused. He looked at his watch. They had been in the cave for almost an hour.
Steve at his heel, Otto led Alvarez across a vast gallery with an undulating floor marked with stalagmites and columns. It was like tracking a fugitive through a ghost Disney World. It was almost impossible not to become distracted by the spectacular formations around them.
As they approached the light, they saw it reflected off a smooth cave wall veering to the right until it disappeared around the bend. Otto pointed at Steve. “Stay.”
Steve sat, tongue lolling, smacking his lips.
Pistol in both hands Otto crouched and edged around the corner moving clockwise. Ten meters on he came upon a natural barrier, a knife-edge limestone ledge caused by steady seepage from the ceiling high above. Otto crept to this natural bulwark and peeked between limestone teeth. He was both shocked to his soul and deeply reassured.
He always knew he would find something like this. His whole life had been a preparation for this moment.
Twenty meters into another vast chamber with a hemispherical ceiling, Emil Witherspoon sat in a gimbals-mounted chair in the center of two massive metal rings, joined at the north and south pole to form the outline of a sphere approximately five meters in diameter. The apparatus rested on a stout wooden deck, obviously tailored to the terrain. Three large cones that looked like pyramidal Daleks surrounded the platform. The chair appeared to be made of metal and plastic. In front of Witherspoon, a thick black wand extended from the base, flowing into a triangle with handlebars at the end. A red and white Igloo ice chest rested on the platform.
On top of the Igloo was the lodge ledger.
Witherspoon gripped the T-top device with both hands and stared into space, motionless.
Otto felt Alvarez creep up behind him. They looked in silence.
“What is it?” Alvarez whispered.
“Fuck if I know,” Otto replied. “It’s Witherspoon in some kind of freakin’ Jack Kirby machine.”
They again lapsed into silence as their eyes swept the rest of the chamber. There was a substantial lake on the other side of the device, perhaps ten meters across. Light came from a series of metal clamp lamps affixed to planks drilled into the wall with cords running up to and beneath Witherspoon’s platform.
The bulbs were curly energy savers. A low electric thrum filled the chamber. Otto gestured for Alvarez to take up position behind Witherspoon’s left shoulder while Otto took the right. Pistol gripped in both hands Otto circled counter-clockwise until he was well within Witherspoon’s view.
“Mr. Witherspoon!” he said, shattering the silence.
There was no response. Otto approached, pistol trained on the caretaker’s chest. Now he saw that Witherspoon was attached to the machine via a black stripe across his forehead. A tiny wire led from the stripe into the control unit, which Witherspoon gripped in both hands.
Two cans of Mountain Dew lay at the caretaker’s feet.
Witherspoon was not entirely frozen. His fingers strained and squeezed as if he were performing ninja power focusing techniques. A frisson ran up Otto’s spine. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like what Witherspoon was doing.
Otto was wearing gloves. Keeping the pistol trained on Witherspoon he ran up to the platform, grabbed the tape where it stuck to the caretaker’s head and yanked it loose. It fell limply to one side.
Witherspoon’s eyes popped into focus. He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time before his gaze settled on Otto.
“Mr. White. I thought we agreed the mountains were off-limits.”
Alvarez circled around from the other side so that both men now confronted the caretaker with their guns, at four and seven.
“What are you doing, Mr. Witherspoon?”
Witherspoon released the control stalk, crossed his arms and offered a chilly smile. “Well this day had to come sooner or later. It appears we are at a stand-off.”
“Where’s the stand-off?” Otto said. “I could blow you away right now.”
“Without learning anything? I don’t think so, Mr. White. You have questions. I have answers.”
“Okay. Who are you?”
The frosty smile. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“He’s stalling,” Alvarez said.
A flame flickered behind one chilly blue eye.
Otto stuffed his gun in his pants and leaped onto the platform. “He’s gonna blow! Help me get him into the lake!”
Alvarez joined him, quickly and efficiently cutting through a shoulder strap with a pocket knife. They each took Witherspoon by an armpit--he offered no resistance, dragged him off the platform and into the gelid lake.
***
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
“Ice Chest”
Wednesday evening.
Otto and Alvarez dragged Witherspoon, tassled loafers scraping, until they stood waist-high in the numbing water. Smoke seeped from Witherspoon’s nose as Otto pushed his head beneath the surface gripping the caretaker by his collar. Witherspoon didn’t struggle. He’d gone limp, a line of tiny bubbles escaping from one corner of his mouth.
Abruptly the caretaker’s right rear leg cleared the water and smacked Alvarez in the face. Alvarez stepped back cupping his chin. The back of Witherspoon’s calf sizzled then burst into a line of improbably yellow flame burning through the soaked fabric.
“Get back!” Alvarez said wading for shore. “He’s gonna blow!”
Otto felt heat building through the water but maintained his grip on the caretaker’s collar. Witherspoon went wild, arms and legs thrashing with all his might as if he were trying to stave off drowning. Otto pushed his head deeper. A gout of flame burst through the surface of the lake beginning at Witherspoon’s heels. A column of fire, smoke and water danced and collapsed. The smell of burning flesh filled the air along with a gray cloud that quickly dissipated in the cave’s internal winds.
The water hissed and boiled for an instant then went silent. Otto realized he’d been holding his breath. Dragging Witherspoon by the collar, he backed out of the lake. The caretaker’s torso and head appeared intact. His eyes had turned red.
Otto pulled the caretaker out of the lake and left him lying flat like a set of winter long johns. Alvarez stared at the body. Witherspoon’s mouth had pulled into a rictus grin. Steve approached tentatively and sniffed.
“Leave it!” Otto said.
“Jesus,” Alvarez said. He closed Witherspoon’s eyes. They popped open. He closed them again. They popped open again.
“Now what do we do?” Alvarez said.
“Get that ice chest. Take out whatever’s in there but keep the ice.”
“Oh man…”
“It just makes sense. We’ve got to get this head to Cheyenne as soon as possible.”
Alvarez went to the ice chest and removed three cans of Mountain Dew and two Red Bulls. He popped one of the Mountain Dews.
“You want a Dew?”
“No thanks. Come over here and help me hold him steady.”
Alvarez brought the ice chest and set it down on the cave floor. Otto took out a wicked-looking black knife with a serrated edge.
“Hold his head steady. This could get messy.”
As Alvarez gripped the caretaker’s head with both hands Otto sawed through the neck. Surprisingly there wasn’t much blood. It seemed oddly congealed and reluctant to flow. It was hard slippery work. Otto kept losing his grip in what blood there was and having to rinse it off in the lake.
His knife made a moist vibrating sound as he cut through the spine that traveled up his arm and got into his head causing a sharp pain to bloom in his right temple. Even in the chill of the cave and water he began to sweat. Steve crossed his forepaws and laid his muzzle down looking longingly at the corpse. He whined.
“Shut up!” Otto snarled.
The head came loose. Otto placed it in the ice chest on a bed of ice and closed the lid. They went to the device. The wooden platform had obviously been built there but the rest of it looked alien.
Alien.
Otto had an instant of gut-clenching terror. An invisible repellant urged him to flee. He stifled a scream.
Alien.
As in from another world, another galaxy, another universe rife with infinite wonder and terror. Otto felt the weight of history pressing down on him as if the earth itself were balanced on one spiked stiletto. There should have been an Army Division present along with the President and Secretary of State. Ray Bradbury should have been there. Not he who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.
“Hey.”
Otto felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Otto physically shook himself and blew a raspberry. Snap out of it! He had a job to do.
“I’m good.”
Otto went to one of three two-meter tall pyramidal black towers surrounding the platform. The top had a lattice frame like an oil derrick. Otto removed his pen light and shined it into the lattice. A red sphere the size of a ping-pong ball lay on a black metal base.
“Red balls,” Otto said.
Alvarez went to another of the towers and looked. “Here too.”
“I think we’re looking at some kind of receiving station for a teleportation device,” Otto said.
Alvarez looked at him in astonishment. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. Just because we don’t know what it is doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. Looks like it’s been happening for some time.”
“What’s been happening?”
“Alien fuckin’ invasion. I believe we will find a microscopic vehicle at the top of Witherspoon’s spine. I believe the three red spheres atop Mts. Archimedes, Pythagoras and Isosceles are some kind of transceiver that focuses right here on this platform
. It’s a teleportation device.”
Alvarez palmed his face. “I have a headache just thinking about it. Where’s this power coming from?”
Both men looked at the platform into which the cables ran.
Steve got to his feet and went ballistic. Sharp yelps and wild ululations ricocheted around the cavern like a hail storm. Steve took off like a shot deeper into the cave.
“Steve! Stop!” Otto yelled.
For an instant there was only the click-clatter of Steve’s claws on stone.
The piercing retort of a bullet struck like a cold slap to the face. Steve yelped and went silent.
Seconds later Ryan Hornbuckle approached holding his smoking pistol.
***
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“Down and Out”
“OTTO NO!” Alvarez shouted reaching for his friend.
Otto drew his pistol and put three in Hornbuckle’s chest. Alvarez collided with Otto sweeping his gun arm down. Too late. Hornbuckle was dead before he hit the ground. Otto looked at the gun in his hand, jammed it in his pants and ran toward Steve, leaping over Hornbuckle’s body.
The big dog was barely alive. Otto took Steve’s head in his lap and cooed at him while his eyes dimmed. “Who’s the greatest dog who ever lived?” Otto sobbed.
Alvarez held back, unwilling to intrude on Otto’s grief. At the same time, Alvarez drew his pistol.
For long moments, Otto held the dog. The silence stretched to the snapping point.
“You just killed a federal agent.”
Otto looked up with red swollen eyes. “I know.”
“I should put you under arrest.”
“Not until we get to the bottom of this, Gus. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Alvarez put his pistol up. “Do you promise you’ll work with me until it’s done and not try to bolt?”
“I give you my word.”