by R. D. Brady
Damned senators, always getting in the way, Martin thought. But when he spoke, his voice gave no inkling of the storm of information swirling through his mind. “The base has done well, but that was before everyone had a camera on their phones. That was before everyone knew about what’s hidden at Wright-Patt. And even though they’ve managed to keep things contained, some things have slipped out. And it’s only a matter of time before the public no longer wonders, but instead demands transparency. And if the files on the A.L.I.V.E. Project or any of its precursors ever get opened, all the dirty little secrets at Wright-Patt will be spilled. Even school children know about Hangar 18.”
Although the number repeated in the public sphere was wrong, everything else about the infamous hangar that had made it into the public eye was correct. The wreckage from Roswell had been shipped to Wright-Patterson AFB shortly after it was collected. Five of the bodies had been moved to the base. And the bodies had been extensively studied.
Martin couldn’t blame the public entirely. After all, the military had stated that the Foreign Technology Division’s directive was to gather and analyze specialized global intelligence on current threats from the air and space realms. As a result, it didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure if there was alien aircraft, the FTD and later the NASIC was where it would be taken.
Wanda nodded. “Making these changes is going to be dramatic, though. I mean, the movement of the staff alone is going to be a logistics nightmare, especially all at once. So I am asking you, do you really think Project Vault is the right call? That could be equally as dangerous.”
“It could be, but at least if there is a problem, we have more of a cushion to respond. Even today, there were reports of intruders on the base. The site is no longer secure.”
Three animal rights demonstrators had made it through the fence at Wright-Patt. They’d been stopped, but not before they had spray-painted a few choice slogans across two buildings in the research area. Martin had had to dip into his black budget to make that little bit of security failure happen.
“And after Lowry, I’m not willing to take any chances. Allowing these projects to be spread all over the map—” He shook his head. “We’ve been lucky so far, but we can’t count on that being the case forever. And 51 is more heavily guarded than any other base in the United States.”
“But Project Vault is a little extreme,” Wanda said.
“So is the subject.” Martin interwove his fingers, creating a teepee on his chest. “And you know there is an even greater danger than just a few human lives on the line should these activities come to light.”
Wanda met his gaze with a nod. The public at large had never been read into the alien situation. It had been decided that the release of that information would result in widespread panic. The radio broadcast of War of the Worlds aptly demonstrated that point.
On October 30th, 1938, Orson Welles led a broadcast of a fictionalized attack by aliens. They made a disclaimer at the beginning of the recording, but most people did not tune in until after the disclaimer, when the broadcast was well under way. An announcer broke into a song with news of explosions on Mars, then returned to the music. Another break-in occurred a few minutes later to announce a large meteor had landed in New Jersey. Soon the meteor was described as a metallic cylinder with aliens crawling out. The reporter stated that Martians had begun to attack humans with heat-ray weapons.
Radio listeners believed the story was true. Highways jammed as people attempted to flee. People called the police for help in defending themselves and to find out what was going on, overwhelming phone lines. Orson Welles cut in once they learned of the panic and reminded everyone it was not in fact true. But the damage had been done.
Granted that had been almost a hundred years ago, but Martin knew people hadn’t changed. In fact, now, the range of a report would be much wider. Millions would panic. No, the general public could not know what the government knew. In fact, parts of the government couldn’t even be trusted with what other parts of the government knew. But one thing all parts of the government agreed upon—the public could only learn a fraction of what the government was up to.
Wanda pursed her lips. “My one worry with you in this position was that you might miss the good these programs could do. The advancements they could provide us.”
Martin nodded his head, conceding the point and keeping the smile that tried to appear hidden. Oh, but if you only knew exactly how much potential I do see.
“Perhaps. But I think safety should trump any other concerns.”
“And you’re sure this is the safest alternative?”
“Safer than what we have in place now. Wright-Patt has all sorts of security issues. And it’s not alone in their problems. Area 51 has had zero security issues and has complete control of the area surrounding it. It is far and away the most secure base in the United States’ history.”
“But all A.L.I.V.E. projects? Even cases like Alvie, which have never demonstrated any aggression, but in fact have demonstrated the opposite?”
“But we can’t guarantee that pacificity will continue. For subject #1, the sleep disturbances are concerning, as are the neurotransmitter levels. And the doctor herself said he is still maturing. Who knows what changes that could bring?”
Wanda nodded but stayed silent. And Martin knew her well enough to know that she would not appreciate being pushed any further. So he simply sat and waited for her to come to the conclusion that he had led her to.
Finally, she sighed. “All right. Make it happen.”
Chapter Seventeen
After the presentation, Maeve got changed quickly and headed into her lab. She felt like she’d hit a wall. All her worry about Alvie, the complete lack of sleep within the last thirty-six hours, it all seemed to catch up with her. She was done.
When she stepped into the lab, Greta had taken one look at her and shook her head. “Oh no. You need some sleep. Go crash on the couch for a little bit. When Alvie wakes up, I’ll take care of him.”
“Are you sure?” Maeve asked, even though the mere suggestion of sleeping made her want to weep with joy.
“I’m sure. How’d it go, by the way?”
Maeve smiled, even as her stomach clenched. “Good. No problems.”
Greta studied her for a moment. “It will be okay. Don’t borrow trouble.” She waved her hands toward the couch. “Now scoot. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Maeve initiated a sloppy salute that made Greta laugh before turning for the couch.
She lay down, her concerns about what the presentation meant rolling around in her mind. But soon exhaustion pulled her away into sleep.
Maeve struggled with Alvie in her arms up the canyon. They had barely escaped the raiders and they hadn’t escaped unscathed. Alvie’s blood coated her hands from the wound in his chest. His breaths came out in labored moans. She knew he was not going to last much longer.
Her own breath caught at the thought. Tears stung her eyes. She looked down at him. “I’m so sorry, Alvie.”
His eyelids flickered open, and for a moment all she felt was pure love. Then it vanished as his eyes closed. Maeve felt as if the sun had been chased behind the clouds. How could anyone think he was dangerous? How could anyone want to harm him?
She clutched him to her, ignoring the pain in her side and her own blood dripping down her leg. She knew she couldn’t save him. She knew she would be unable to save herself as well. But she would place him somewhere he could at least rest in peace.
Maeve began to climb the side of the mesa. Loose gravel made it a tough climb. She hit an uneven spot and fell heavily to her knees, clutching Alvie to her chest, rock cutting into her skin at the knees. She gasped at the new pain and this time the tears did fall.
Alvie’s little hand reached up to wipe them away.
She struggled to smile, pulling back her fear. “I’m okay. We’re almost there.”
Alvie nodded weakly, and Maeve knew he didn’t have mu
ch longer.
Getting to her feet, she whispered in his ear. “Just a little farther.”
Resolved, she made her way up the rest of the hill. She nearly cried with relief when she reached the small ledge outside the cave. Three tall boulders blocked the way, but she and Alvie could slip through with no difficulty. This had been their refuge from the world, their sanctuary since they were kids. They’d spent more afternoons here than she could count.
The boulders made it impossible to see from the ground. And they’d never run into another person any time they had come. And people had come to the canyon. She and Alvie had watched them, hidden safely away. Maeve would explain to Alvie what she knew of the world and what she hoped for her future and for his. It had been their classroom, their refuge, their church.
Maeve slipped through the boulders, pulling Alvie as close to her as she could. Once inside, she sank to the ground, leaning against the rock wall. “We’re here, Alvie.”
Alvie didn’t respond. Maeve’s gaze flew to his chest. It was still moving but agonizingly slow, and each breath seemed more labored than the next. Maeve let the tears fall. There was no need to be brave now.
She held on to his hand and began to sing the lullaby their mother had sung them each night when they were kids or even as they got older, when they were sick.
By the time she reached the end of the song, his chest was barely moving. Maeve sobbed, her tears mingling with his blood. She stayed like that as the sun dipped into the horizon. A wave of dizziness rolled over her and she knew she needed to finish the job. Gently she laid him down. Getting to her knees, she felt numb. The ground surrounding them was soaked in blood. Some Alvie’s but most of it hers.
She pulled her knife from its sheath and stabbed it into the ground over and over again, breaking the soil. She tossed it to the side and used her hands to pull the dirt out. By the time she had a three-foot hole, she knew she couldn’t dig anymore. Already she was having trouble seeing, and it was getting harder and harder to find her breath.
On her hands and knees, she crawled over to Alvie. She caught hold of his foot and dragged him toward her. She lay down, snuggling him close. She ran her hand over his head and then lay with him wrapped in her arms. “I love you, Alvie.”
She felt his uneven breath, each second a struggle to stay alive. “It’s okay to go, Alvie. I’ll be right behind you.”
She felt the barest of touches across her cheek and then nothing. His hand dropped and his chest went still. She tried to hold back the sobs because each shudder sent waves of pain through her. But it was too hard. She had lost too much. First her mother and now Alvie. And soon she too would be gone. She held him to her, cursing the men who did this to him and her family.
Exhaustion rolled over her in waves. Maeve started to close her eyes and then forced herself to keep them open. With great reluctance, she removed her arms from Alvie’s waist. Sobs shaking her, she gently rolled him into the grave. With the last of her strength she pushed the upturned ground over him, each handful of dirt confirming that he was truly gone from her. She needed to hide him, even in death. She wouldn’t let them take him.
Finished, she lay on top of the grave, her breaths labored, each more painful than the next. She didn’t know how the raiders had learned of Alvie. They had always been so careful, keeping him away from people. But someone must have seen him and talked. And people destroyed what they didn’t understand.
She looked down at the upturned ground. She had never been overly religious, but she always believed there was a life after this one. There had to be. This life was so hard at times, so cruel. It couldn’t be all there was. There had to be a reason for all the suffering.
But now, as her life faded, she grew fearful. What if there was nothing to come? What if these were her last moments on Earth and she was alone? She reached through the soil and found Alvie’s hand. And like he had done a million times during his life, he gave her comfort. The touch of him, even though he’d begun to grow cold, reminded her that life was not all cruelty. Not all hardship. There was beauty and kindness.
She closed her eyes, knowing her end was near. But now she didn’t fear it. She looked forward to it. She clutched his hand.
I’ll see you soon.
Chapter Eighteen
Maeve woke up, her heart pounding, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands reached for her side, surprised when they came back unbloodied. The dream had been so vivid, so real. Just like the others. Frustration rolled through her. Why am I dreaming this?
Her eyes strayed over to the glass. Greta was busy at the console and paid her no attention. Through the glass, Alvie sat on his bed watching Maeve, wanting something from her. She searched his face, trying to understand.
What are you trying to tell me? What can I do to help you? she asked silently, feeling helpless.
Those men had come for him, but it was just a dream, wasn’t it? It wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be. She rubbed her eyes and stood. She made her way across the room and nodded at Greta. “Hey. I’m good. Thanks for staying.”
“No problem. But I could stay longer if you want to sleep some more.”
“Thanks, but no. Go get some sleep yourself.”
Greta kissed her on the cheek. “Have a good night.”
Maeve watched her disappear out the lab door before turning to Alvie’s room. She let herself in, and Alvie sat waiting for her on the couch. She sank down next to him and pulled over her tablet.
“Did you dream?”
Alvie nodded.
“What was it about?”
Alvie took the tablet and typed. I died. You did too.
Maeve’s breath hitched. “Did you share the dream with me?”
Alvie nodded.
“Why?”
Alvie took the tablet. So it doesn’t happen again.
She looked at Alvie sharply. “Again? What do you—”
The door to the lab buzzed and Chris stepped in. Maeve quickly wiped the conversation from the tablet, standing up. “Hey.”
Chris smiled from the other wide of the glass. “Sorry to interrupt, but the technicians said there was a problem with the blood sample. They need another one.”
Maeve frowned. A problem? That had never happened before. “Uh, sure. I’ll take care of it.”
She looked down at Alvie, wondering what he had meant when he said he didn’t want it to happen again. Nothing like that had ever happened to him. It was just a dream, maybe a shared dream. She must have misunderstood him.
But he gave no sign of being bothered by the previous conversation. He just sighed. She knew he hated getting his blood taken and she couldn’t blame him.
“They need a salvia sample too.”
Maeve frowned. “Why?”
Chris shrugged, putting up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Blood and saliva samples right after the presentation. Something was happening. She looked down at Alvie and he took her hand.
Maeve squeezed it. “It’s okay.” I hope. Maeve took the samples and handed them off to Chris for the lab. Dropping her gloves in the hazardous waste receptacle, she returned to Alvie, who had grown still.
“Alvie? Do you want to play Monopoly?” she asked. Alvie just stared at the wall. 872-AR flashed through her mind.
She went still, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. The same number as the other day. She had checked, and she was right, it was a room in the archives building. The room held all of the old files, maybe even Alvie’s.
“You want me to go there, don’t you?” she asked softly.
Alvie nodded at her.
“I can’t, Alvie. I can’t get there. I don’t have clearance for it. If I get caught—” She sighed. He looked into her eyes, and for a moment she felt his pain and sucked in a breath. “Alvie, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He looked away and then curled up in his bed.
She sat next to the bed for twenty more minutes but couldn’t get a
response from him, except for the numbers in her mind. Finally, her cramping legs told her to take a break. She left the room, struggling to think of something she could do. She watched him through the window. He was so still. So sad.
All the terror of his episodes flew through her mind, along with the unusual presentation followed by the sample request. Something was happening. And she couldn’t help but think she needed to learn the cause of Alvie’s incidents to prepare for what was coming.
She stood there hearing the second hand of the clock tick down and she knew she needed to make a move. Finally, she reached over and grabbed the phone. She dialed the number quickly. “Hi. Could you ask Captain Garrigan to come down to the lab?”
A few minutes later, Chris strode in. “You rang?”
Maeve smiled. “Yes. Um, I need a favor.”
“If I can do it, I will.”
“I need to see Alvie’s old files.”
Chris went still. “What?”
“His old files.”
“Why?”
“The other night you mentioned his sleep disturbances. Well, they’re concerning me, and I thought if I could see his old files—”
“You don’t have clearance for that.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
Chris went still. “Maeve, I can’t do that. I can’t just look at files without permission. I would lose my job. Hell, I would lose my freedom. You know that, right?”
“I know, but it’s just—”
“No, Maeve. I’ll mention it to John, but I can’t go behind his back. And you can’t ask me to do that.”
“No. I can’t. I’m sorry. Look, I’m just tired. If you could ask John, that would be great. It would save me from having to fill out the paperwork and wait for days for a response.”