A.L.I.V.E. (The A.L.I.V.E.Series Book 1)

by R. D. Brady

  There were only two other doors in the entryway, one on either side of the hallway.

  A quick nod at the guard and Maeve turned into the women’s locker room on the right. Grabbing a pair of pale blue scrubs from the shelf on her right, she quickly stripped off her clothes. Donning the blue scrubs, she folded her clothes and put them in her locker, securing the lock.

  She exited the locker room through the back. After sliding her ID through the scanner, the steel door by the guard slid open. Bypassing the elevator, she quickly made her way to the stairs. She jogged up the two flights to her lab, and at the landing of her floor, she waved her ID over another scanner. The door buzzed and she pushed through. Her floor had bright white walls with gray tile and was lined with eight doorways. To her left was a small lounge, the cafeteria, a med room, the security office, and two bathrooms. To her right was only one room: her lab.

  She turned right. Another wave of her ID over yet another scanner and the light above her door bloomed green. She pushed through and pulled on a lab coat hanging by the door.

  Her ‘lab’ actually consisted of five rooms with only one entrance. This part of the lab contained a large room with two large, long tables. Along the back wall was a couch and her desk. To the left was a large glass wall, beyond which was the control room, which housed a series of computers and monitors. Beyond that was another glass wall.

  Maeve glanced over but the lights beyond the second glass wall were still dark. Inside that room were three doors leading to an additional three rooms—a medical suite, a physical therapy room, and a living space.

  Maeve waved at Greta Schubert, who sat behind a console and a row of screens beyond the first glass wall. Greta had worked at the base for as long as Maeve could remember. Greta smiled, her brown hair, lined with only a few hints of gray, was pulled back in a bun. She wore a blue turtleneck that contrasted with her white lab coat and brought out the blue in her eyes. Greta gave her a quick wave before turning back to the console.

  Maeve glanced at the clock and the still, dark room beyond Greta. Good. I should have about an hour.

  She made her way to her desk, which was neat, just how she liked it. The only adornment was a picture of her with her mom and a small E.T. doll that Greta had picked up for her one birthday a few years back.

  Maeve grabbed the reports that had been printed out by Greta during the day. She took a seat on the couch, flipping through them. EKG readings were normal, as were the sleep pattern readings. She frowned a little at the neurotransmitter levels. They were a little low, especially the dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. She’d have to check that.

  She hopped on her computer and quickly wrote up her views on the lab reports. She was just replying to an email from the head of NASIC when Greta called her through the intercom.

  “He’s waking up.”

  Maeve smiled and pushed back from the desk. She pushed through the glass door into the control room. “Hey, Greta. How are you?”

  Greta smiled. “I’m good. And he was quiet all day. Did you see the neurotransmitter levels?”

  Maeve nodded with a frown. “Yeah. I’ll re-run the test to make sure it’s not just a blip. Did you see anything that indicates a problem?”

  Greta shook her head. “No, but he tends to sleep when I’m around.”

  Maeve nodded and headed for the door on the opposite side of the room.

  “You want me to put the lights on?” Greta asked.

  “Yes, but only at ten percent.”

  The room that had been pitch black on the other side of the control room came into view with the dim light. Through the glass in the door, Maeve could see the bed, side table, small desk, and couch. Everything sized down for a child except for the table, which was regular sized. The color scheme was white with splashes of blue and red.

  Maeve smiled at the old Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls sitting on a shelf next to a collection of matchbox cars. “Open one,” Maeve said.

  A buzz sounded at the door. She pushed through, making her way quietly to the bed. The figure beneath the blanket stirred. Maeve sat on the floor next to the bed and waited.

  The figure turned toward her. Its small mouth opened and breathed out. The face that lay on the pillow was gray with a slight tinge of pink underneath. He had no nose, just two small holes. On either side of his head were two more small holes with the smallest of skin flaps for ears. A pinched mouth and large eyes that were currently closed completed the face. Slowly the eyes opened, revealing large black orbs without any white. The ends of the small mouth turned up when the being caught sight of Maeve.

  Maeve smiled back. “Morning, Alvie.”

  Chapter Four

  Greg watched Maeve get off the bus and disappear into Building 23. He knew the history of the building. Back in the 1940s, it had been Hangar 23. Then the Roswell crash debris had been brought here in 1947 and the floor of the hangar had been removed. The ship had been placed inside and a new building had been constructed over it.

  Greg turned his eyes back to the front. Of course, that’s what the UFOlogists thought. But Maeve couldn’t be involved in anything like that. She was too normal. He liked her—he had since they’d met in college. He’d tried to ask her out back then but she had shot him down, nicely, of course. But ever since that point, they’d been good friends.

  It was tough not to talk about his research with her because she was bright, smarter than him, which took a lot for him to admit. The only problem with Maeve was that she worked so hard. He knew her mom’s death had really hit her hard. He’d been worried about her, but Maeve just kept going. She didn’t take any time off, which seemed weird.

  “You getting off, Greg?” Sam called from the driver’s seat.

  “What?” Greg looked up and realized the bus had stopped. He grabbed his satchel and hustled down the aisle, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “Careful there,” Sam said.

  “I’m good.” Greg felt his cheeks burn. When he’d been twelve his mom had assured him that he would grow out of his clumsy stage. Seventeen years later, he was beginning to think she’d lied. “Have a good one, Sam.”

  “You too, kid.”

  Greg stepped onto the sidewalk and his pulse picked up a tick. Leslie Cole, dressed in her crisp Air Force uniform, was waiting for him as always. Five foot eight with dark skin and light eyes and with a physique that kept Greg’s imagination happy if unfulfilled, he viewed her presence as an absolute perk of the job. For the last two years, she had been assigned as his guard. Before that it had been Skeet Hamilton—an overgrown frat boy. Greg much preferred Leslie.

  “Hey, Les.”

  She smiled. “Hey yourself. How was your weekend?”

  “It was good,” he said as he fell in step next to her.

  “Red hot nights?” she teased.

  He pictured the Dungeon and Dragons marathon he and his old college buddies had played online. “Um, yeah. Hot.”

  Leslie stepped in front of him to swipe her card at the reader, and Greg took the opportunity to stare at her perfectly shaped ass—not an ounce of fat, just like the rest of her. In fact, he was pretty sure even her boobs were muscular too.

  And he had zero problems with that. Standing at five foot nine and tipping the scales at one hundred twenty-five pounds, the idea of a dark-skinned Amazonian woman by his side gave him more than a little thrill. Of course, he doubted she got the same pleasure from the idea of a scrawny geek standing next to her. But, hey, his imagination was his to do with as he pleased.

  “Greg?” Leslie looked back at him, the door held open.

  He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as if she could read his thoughts, which he wouldn’t put past her. “Right, sorry.” He hustled through the door. Ten minutes later, they’d been through security and had switched into lab gear.

  Two more guards stood outside his lab. They nodded at him as he approached. “Dr. Schorn, Lieutenant Cole.”

  He nodded back with a smi
le. “Hey guys.” But they kept their serious expressions. Greg sighed. He loved his work, but these guys all needed to loosen up a little bit.

  One of the guards keyed open the door and Greg stepped in. Leslie followed him in, taking up her position by the door. Greg went over to the computer and checked to see if there was anything that needed his immediate attention. A few of his results had come in during the day but, sadly, they were all negative. He looked over at the glass with a frown.

  Making his way to the Keurig in the corner of his lab, he made himself a cup of coffee. “Les, you want one?”

  “I’m good,” she said.

  Greg took a sip as he headed over to the glass.

  Leslie left her position from the door and approached as well, her hand resting on her gun. Whenever he went near the enclosure, she was always near.

  He stepped up to the glass and nodded to the being in the back. “Hi, Hank.”

  ‘Hank,’ official designation Kecksburg-AG2, sat crouched on his perch at the back of the enclosure. His reptilian eyes narrowed, and he pulled back his lips, drool dripping onto the floor. Hank slithered from the corner, and the lights glinted off his dark green scaly skin.

  Hank lowered himself from the perch using strong arms attached to a long torso. Thick legs with talons at the ends touched down on the floor, and at one point he stretched to his full six-foot height. Then he rushed the glass. The chains on his wrist yanked him back at the last second, keeping him a foot from the glass. A low growl sounded from his throat, his eyes staring into Greg’s.

  Greg took a sip of coffee, used to Hank’s greeting. Hank was a second-generation creation of A.L.I.V.E. He had been created from remains found at a crash site somewhere in the US. It was beyond Greg’s pay level to know which one, but he knew the original clone had had difficulties with the atmosphere especially sunlight.

  The second generation’s DNA had been merged with crocodile DNA to alleviate its skin’s difficulty with the environment. Greg wasn’t sure an aggressive animal like a crocodile was the best choice, but no one had consulted him. He had been brought in to observe and record. And that’s what he did. Each day, he ran Hank through a myriad of tests to determine his abilities, intelligence, personality, and most importantly, his weaknesses.

  And although Greg kept all his reports clinical in their detailed description, he knew that one term best described the creature in front of him: psychopath. Hank was a violent psychopath with no apparent empathy or interest in befriending any human.

  And as for weaknesses, Greg hadn’t found any besides the obvious: he needed oxygen, food, and water just like any living being. His skin was nearly impervious—a combination of the crocodile and the being’s natural physicality. His bite radius was stronger than an earthen crocodile’s. And he was fast and extremely strong.

  Whatever race this thing had come from, the world had better pray it never showed up in force.

  Greg watched Hank as he stepped back into his corner, his eyes scanning the enclosure. And that was the scariest part about Hank: his brain. Because he apparently had the same mission as Greg—to find whatever weaknesses he could.

  Greg stepped back, thankful for the reinforced glass separating them. And Maeve once again floated into his mind. Yup, whatever Maeve did on the base couldn’t possibly be as cool as this.

  Chapter Five

  Langley, Virginia

  Martin Drummond walked slowly down the hall at CIA Headquarters. The last time he had been here, Devon had been with him. Devon hadn’t been married, and his parents had been informed that he had died in a training accident. Just yesterday, his body had been cremated without allowing any viewings beforehand, even though his death had occurred over a month ago. Martin had ordered the body examined with a fine tooth comb before he’d released it for cremation.

  It was a shame, though. Devon had been a good agent, if a little too docile. But his death would aid the cause, and that was all that mattered.

  The aide to the CIA Director for Military Support caught sight of Martin and quickly moved to open the door to the office behind him. The man kept his gaze down as Martin passed, and just the slightest tremor was obvious in the man’s body. Martin smiled. He liked that his reputation preceded him.

  He stepped in the room and Robert Buckley looked up from his desk. The years had been kind to Buckley. But then Martin had often thought that life in general had always been kind to Buckley. Robert came from a rich Southern family. His golden boy looks and family connections had opened many doors.

  Martin, however, had been kicked in the teeth by life on the regular. A tall, skinny kid from the small town of Blackwater, Arizona, he’d never met his dad, and his mother had been a barely functioning alcoholic. Unlike Robert, Martin had earned, sometimes violently, every opportunity presented to him.

  Yet the two shared a desire to protect the United States by any means necessary. Robert stood slowly, his expression somber, and held his hand out to Martin. “I’m sorry to hear about Devon. He was a good man.”

  Martin accepted the handshake, keeping his face equally somber. “Yes. His death was a true tragedy.”

  “Take a seat,” Robert said, indicating the chair in front of his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Martin raised an eyebrow. Years ago, Robert wouldn’t have had to ask. He would already know why Martin was here. “We have a situation.”

  Buckley’s blue eyes scanned Martin, trying to read any and all tells in his body language. Martin gave him nothing to work with.

  Buckley put down his pen. “What is it?”

  “A sighting.”

  “Where?”

  “Ellsworth.”

  Buckley raised an eyebrow. “Ellsworth? Weren’t we doing some testing there today?”

  Martin nodded. “Apparently someone decided to come see the show.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and walked over to the TV in the corner of Buckley’s room. He quickly linked up his phone. “This recording was taken from their control room.”

  “Who’s out there?”

  “Major Adam Juno.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Martin struggled not to roll his eyes. A good man—what a useless phrase.

  The screen came to life, and the control room of the tower at Ellsworth Air Force Base came into view. Six people were on screen. One, a tall, slim man, faced four of the room’s occupants. “You are all sworn to secrecy, understood?” Major Adam Juno asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the four individuals in front of him said before exiting the room. Juno turned to the one person left in the room—the radar operator.

  “Who’s she?” Buckley asked.

  Martin paused the recording. “Nancy Stall, Airman First Class. Married, two kids, been with the Air Force for five years. Good at her job.”

  Robert nodded a smile on his face. “Good.” And Martin had thought the same thing when he’d done the background check on her. She had people that were important to her, people that would keep her quiet. Martin hit play again.

  “Report,” Juno said.

  Nancy Stall spoke clearly, without any emotion. “Taggert reported an unknown object at 1600 hours at his three o’clock.”

  “Heading?”

  “South, away from him. He’s been following it for the last few minutes.”

  “Has the object interacted with him?”

  “No. Taggert describes it as a long cylindrical object.”

  A male voice cut in. “Sir, the object is stopping.”

  Juno hit a button on the console. “Is it landing?”

  “No, sir. It’s hovering.”

  Juno and Stall turned their attention to the radar screen. Sure enough, the object had stopped moving and remained in the same spot. Something no jet should be able to do.

  “Sir? Orders?” Taggert asked.

  “Keep it in sight.”

  “Holy crap. Did you guys see that?” Taggert said.

  The light on the radar moved off screen.


  “That thing had to be doing Mach 9 or 10, and from a standstill,” Taggert said.

  Juno hesitated for only a moment. “Taggert, return to base. A special unit is being sent to you for debrief. You speak with no one but them about this. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Martin turned off the recording. “That was two hours ago. They’re getting bolder.”

  “Who knows?” Robert asked.

  “Everyone in the room was sworn to secrecy. They’ll be monitored to make sure no one talks. And the usual safeguards are being put in place should one of them do so.”

  Martin had agents combing through each person’s life, looking for any string to unravel in case they went public. Family members, vices, anything that could be used to discredit them.

  Martin was sick of it. Not intimidating hardworking Americans—he considered that a perk of the job—he was sick of the lack of response to these invasions. They weren’t joyriding—whoever was invading their air space was checking their defenses and forming a plan. Martin had no doubt about that.

  And we need to be doing more.

  Years ago, the US government had agreed to clone the alien bodies in their possession to learn their weaknesses. But it had taken years to fine-tune the cloning process for it to be fit for the alien DNA. And even then, they ran into more problems than answers. Most of the beings had been incompatible with the hosts they were bred within. A few clawed their way out only to die as soon as they escaped, their bodies too underdeveloped to do much else. Others lasted through birth only for their systems to fail once exposed to the Earth’s atmosphere—gravity, oxygen levels, air quality, acid levels—the list of problems went on and on. It was one failure after another.

  Yet after the first successful creation, he’d had such high hopes. And then Dr. Alice Leander and Senator Billingsley had managed to stop all their progress in its tracks. And Martin had been forced out. For years, he’d sat on the sidelines watching, letting others run the show. Letting others screw up the greatest chance the Earth had to protect itself. But not anymore.