by Неизвестный
John grinned. “You don’t know the half of it, human.”
John’s eyes grew bigger and seemed to cloud over. His skin rippled beneath a changing shape. The only constant was the number of clawed fingers and the evil grin on its face.
Hunter pulled his pistols from the inside of his coat and opened fire. He emptied both magazines. He could see the impacts tear in to John’s clothes and flesh, but the half-breed alien was still increasing in size; the bullets seemed to have had little effect. Spittle dribbled down its chin onto its engorged chest. Hunter swore.
The creature that had been John charged, with its claws pointed to rip through Hunter and MacArthur, but Hunter closed the distance and slammed into the alien beast. They toppled out of the back of the truck and hit the pavement. Hunter rolled off John and kept his momentum long enough to get his feet under him. He stood and backed away, watching the final moments of the transformation taking place in the John-creature. It stood some seven feet tall, like a giant, hairless bear with grotesque anomalies and three eyes. It turned to regard Hunter and smiled again.
And the convoy continued on, disappearing around a bend in the road.
Hunter dropped one magazine and started to reload the pistol. He glanced behind him at the sickly green and orange glow threatening to snuff out all life for miles around.
The John-creature took a step toward him and howled a strange cry from another world, sending a cold chill down Hunter’s back. He stepped away again and holstered one firearm to reload the other, promising himself that if he survived this, he would keep a supply of fresh bullets on his person until the day the Martians were beaten. He slammed the magazine into place and aimed both .45s at the creature’s chest.
Then he aimed higher.
He knew he was about to die, and a part of him never felt so alive as in that moment. Hunter Noir, his arms outstretched, pulled both triggers in rapid succession. Most of the rounds at least hit the Martian half-breed and seemed to do little damage to the beast. But the ones that found their mark and smashed through John’s three eyes left the creature blind and howling in rage and pain. Hunter ground his teeth and froze momentarily at the sound. John leapt at him, reaching blindly for where the creature had last seen him standing. Its claws tore through cloth and flesh, gripping Hunter’s leg below the knee. They both fell to the hard pavement. Hunter raised his gun to fire again at the dying creature, but it lashed out and knocked the weapon from his hand before raking his ribs with its claws. Hunter yelled in pain, returning the favor with a right hook and grabbing the Martian half-breed’s free hand. They struggled beneath the falling green sky, its glow heralding oncoming death.
Hunter heard the machine gun fire before he heard the jeep’s engine. The bullets slammed into the John-creature, knocking it free of Hunter’s leg and killing it at last. The jeep that pulled up next to Hunter had a soldier at the wheel, and General Douglas MacArthur at the mounted gun.
Hunter looked at the general with a smile before regarding his wounds and the pulsing sky. There was still every chance that they were all about to die. He’d never been wounded in such a dire manner before, and the pain of simply getting to his feet nearly caused him to black out.
“Nice to see you, son,” the general said.
“Thank you, sir.” Hunter held his side. “I’m in; step on it.”
They drove north as fast as the jeep would take them.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder at the weird glow that had filled the sky. “My God.”
“Don’t look at it,” the general advised. “It could be blinding, or worse.” The glow rose perceptively. “Pull off the road, lieutenant! We need to take cover.”
The jeep swerved off of the road toward the trees and came to a halt. MacArthur and Hunter helped each other down, and the three men hid behind the vehicle just as the sky became a terrible white. There was a shattering sound as if the world had cracked, and the earth beneath them shook, causing Hunter to release his bleeding side and grip the jeep to keep it from tilting over on top of them. A wave of heat buffeted the land, and the trees and palms waved. Ash and rocks rained down for what felt like an eternity, but the storm eventually abated. The sky had become dark with soot, and the army trio was covered in it. But they were alive.
Silently they climbed back into the jeep and headed north to join the others.
A week had passed.
Hunter Noir was just a man in a hospital bed in New York City. Apathy had replaced the pain from the wounds John had inflicted—he was to be released the following day. The world had become a mad thing, though somehow New York was still part of a free zone, and life was slowly returning to something akin to normal. But America, like the world, had suffered heavy losses.
And then there were the reports of the destruction of the entire peninsula. The combined might of the Martian machines left on overload had wiped Florida off the map. Some said the resulting explosion had enough force to crack the very face of the planet. Whether it was that, or simply enough destructive force to sheer away the landmasses and let the ocean in to flood what was gone, the result was the same: there wasn’t much left. The remaining islands of wasteland infected by the invader’s awful technology was now being referred to as ‘The Glowing Keys.’
There was a knock at the door of his private room. MacArthur stepped in.
“General,” he said.
“Robert, I’m sorry,” MacArthur said. “Your home town in Indiana is gone.”
He sighed. “I know. And Robert Black died with them.”
“Hunter, then. I wanted to thank you for saving my life. You got your commendation then?”
“Sir,” Hunter began, “I’m just a civilian with nothing left to live for.”
MacArthur walked steadily on his prosthetic leg to the window to look out at the city. “We’re still drawing up new maps since the Martians—or whatever they are—attacked. Intelligence is still coming in, but its safe to say the Japanese are no longer a threat, though the Germans might have struck some sort of deal with the invaders. Any of our armies that survived the attack are scattered behind enemy lines, from Europe to the Pacific Theater. Stateside is little better off; the Martians hold the country from the Rockies to the East Coast in some places, and Florida is a smoldering slag heap, though we’ve enough army to defend New York and the Northeast, thanks to you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because others have suffered as you have suffered,” the general said, turning from the window. “And because I’ve learned something personal as well. And for that I want to offer you a chance to live for something again. I need a good man who understands what we’re up against.”
“You want a new aide-de-camp?” Hunter asked, somewhat incredulously.
“No,” the general answered. “No, I need someone I can trust who is not bound by military oath. You heard what that creature said; they’ve been here for some time, and someone within our own government knew, all along. All power can be corrupted, so I need someone who can work both within and outside of the chain of command. I need Hunter Noir.”
The year was 1948. The alleys of New York City led to a lonely street lamp under which sat a black 1939 Lincoln Zephyr, belonging to Hunter Noir. The air was crisp and cold, and the woman at Hunter’s side was wearing his black overcoat, so he opened the door for her and grabbed a spare coat before she got inside. He’d just put the woman through hell; with her consent, he’d used her to flush out a rogue Martian male that had snuck into the city for its mating ritual. She’d barely escaped the creature’s grip and had lost most of her clothing in the process, but she had persevered and helped Hunter dispatch the evil creature.
The girl, one Josie Taylor, had now successfully had her mettle tested. Until today, she had been simply a beautiful brunette nightclub singer. She seemed to nod to herself, squaring her shoulders. Like Hunter Noir before her, Josie Taylor was something more now. It was time for Hunter to start forming a team of Martian Killers,
and she was the next person on his roster. And it was time to show her what she had gotten herself into.
The Lincoln followed the dark streets toward Coney Island, and Hunter parked at a garage just inside of the park. Josie wrapped the overcoat about her tightly, obviously thankful that it covered such much of her near-nakedness. They walked out in the direction of the sounds of amusement rides, music, and people. Lights greeted their senses as they approached the park—this was a place of celebration, of life, where things got on even though a war raged beyond the borders of New York. But before they got too close to the festivities of Coney Island’s boardwalk, Hunter led Josie to a small check-in booth, unlocked the door, and they both stepped inside.
“This way, Miss Taylor, and close the door behind you.”
When she did, the hidden elevator began its descent.
When it stopped and the pair stepped out, Josie was awed by the giant underground hanger in which they found themselves standing.
“My God,” she said. “Jack just took me to Coney Island a few weeks ago. This has been underneath it the whole time?”
Hunter nodded. “Since 1945. General MacArthur had this secret base installed for the Army, but you and I, and a few select others have our own haven here.”
“Amazing,” Josie stammered. She let her gaze linger on the planes around her, ignoring the soldiers and crew that watched her. Bombers, fighters, trucks, even a train and underground tracks were there. She had obviously never seen so many types of craft all in one place. “Can I learn to fly these?”
“You can, Miss Taylor,” Hunter answered, and opened a door to an office at the rear of the hanger. “And in more capacity than a simple WASP. This room is private to us, do you understand?”
Josie nodded.
It was a simple enough reception room, with locked filing cabinets, bookshelves, a hat stand, a desk without a secretary, and no further doors.
“I hope I didn’t do all of this to become a receptionist,” Josie said dryly.
“Follow me,” Hunter answered. When they reached a light switch on the wall, Hunter threw it and pressed the secret panel as soon as the lights had gone out. The room was in pitch black, and the panel could just barely be heard sliding open to reveal the doorway to the hidden chamber beyond. The tubes and electronics that inhabited it dimly lighted the hall beyond.
“Oh,” Josie exclaimed when Hunter ushered her through and closed the panel behind them.
This room was larger with no obvious means of egress, with a cramped area of machines and tubes, a desk with a visual COM device, drawers, weapons, and more. An all but empty adjacent smaller room was where Hunter trained. It was soundproofed and padded; he could test-fire weapons, train with a practice dummy, or meditate in front of the shrine that consisted of items from a number of the major religions—including the bust of an American Indian and a small statue of Cleopatra. A ramp led from this room to a garage where a black 1936 Cord sat in front of the door.
“They’ve been here before,” Hunter Noir said. He pointed to a table and the glass top lit up, showing a map of the world as the Martians had made it. “1938, the 1920s, the turn of the century, maybe even before that. Which means someone knew all along. And still, the invasion happened.” He looked at her. “We work with good people here, Miss Taylor, and we work for a good cause. But we do bad things sometimes in the name of that cause. The ‘Martians’ as we call them are God’s creatures as much as men are. But they have been corrupted, just as Hitler corrupted the German people. From here, I watch over them all, including the people that we work for. Do you understand, Miss Taylor?”
“Yes,” Josie answered. “Yes, I think so. This place, it’s your secret within the secret.”
“And no one else will be allowed here unless I permit it. That includes your beau, Captain Paris, although I hope to recruit him soon.”
Josie was still in shock from this whole turn of events and the strange, secret world that this man she had only recently met inhabited. “I see; we all do our part. You have my word, sir.”
“Very good. Now, let’s get you some clothes, Miss Taylor.”
He soon saw her out of his secret chamber and to the door of his faux office, where the Martian Killers team would be meeting, once they were all assembled. Hunter Noir had come a long way since ‘Robert Black.’ He shook his head at the thought. “I’ll take you back home now, Josie. You’ll sign in with the guard the next time you come down the elevator from Coney, do you understand? In a few days, you begin your training.”
Josie smiled slightly, though she looked nervous. “I understand. And thank you…for believing in me, to give me a chance to do more.”
“The same was done for me.”
Josie was the first one out the office door. Hunter stopped at the framed mirror next to the door and studied himself. He had become an agent of vengeance in black, with fake bandages covering the fake scars on one side of his face, beneath his fedora. His eyes locked for a moment with those of Hunter Noir.
Before leaving the room, he switched off the lights.
IN THE WORLD
TODAY
By Megan E. Vaughn
“In the world today!” the disembodied announcer declared to the darkened room.
Shirley shifted in her seat, attempting to escape the tentacle she assumed was her boyfriend’s arm. Popcorn scented breath tickled her neck and she cringed.
“Bobby, cut it out,” she jeered at him without taking her attention from the screen.
The arm loosened its grip and a series of grumbles followed. “It’s a stupid news reel. No one watches this stuff. Come on. The war’s practically over.”
She ignored him, training her gaze forward at the title card reading, Our Boys Overseas Still Need Your Help, America. She enjoyed the news reels. They showed parts of the world she normally only experienced though her father’s subscription to National Geographic. At the movies, the exotic photos came to life through the images projected on screen.
Like with so many other opinions she had, Bobby did not feel the same way about the world or the wonders of theaters. Her hopes that he would stop attempting to kiss her were quickly dashed. She wondered if she had been too subtle earlier when she’d elbowed him during the cartoon and teased, “Not in front of Goofy.”
“Why did you come with me to this stupid picture if you aren’t going to be any fun?” the voice beside her hissed.
“You know, Bobby, some of us go to movie theaters to actually watch movies,” she replied. For the past three weeks, she and Bobby Kent had been going steady, an event that became the talk of their small school. However, the novelty of being Bobby Kent’s girlfriend was wearing off for Shirley. Still, she put up with him. After all, who was she supposed to go out with when half the fellas her age were fighting Nazis in Europe. Bobby would probably be gone soon too, and then who would buy her popcorn? It was a selfish thought, yet in such times she decided her mind intended practicality more than cruelty.
The arm snaked lower across her back and a hand brushed her chest. She quickly pinched down hard into his skin with her long nails.
“Jesus!” she heard him yell. This time everyone in the theater must have heard him. “What was that for?”
With a flick of her styled blonde hair, Shirley sighed heavily, annoyed that her actions needed any explanation. “Going steady does not mean you get a free pass to touch whatever you want. Now, quiet down before an usher kicks us out.”
“Who cares? I’m not even interested in this stupid Martian flick.” Bobby retracted his arm at last and pouted.
“Then why did you pick it?”
“‘Cause I’m not sitting through another thing that stars Carey Grant!”
“Could you please be quiet?” an irate voice begged from the row in front of them. A young man a little older than Bobby and Shirley turned to face them. His features were not traditionally handsome; the mix between his squared chin and oversized ears should have equaled a comedic lookin
g face. Yet he was distinctive, like a young Clark Gable or Humphrey Bogart.
Shirley looked instantly guilty. “Hey, Marty. I am trying, I promise.”
“I don’t blame you, Shirley.” He spoke to her kindly, the previous agitation in his voice vanishing when he spotted her pretty, delicate features. Marty Stewart was the sort of boy parents praised and classmates ostracized. He led every youth home front committee in their neighborhood, since severe asthma and near sightedness kept him from fighting. The light from the projector reflected in his glasses. He pushed them up higher on his nose and repeated pointedly at Bobby, “Some of us are trying to pay attention.”
Shirley glanced between the two boys, debating whether agreeing with Marty would get the poor guy killed by her jock boyfriend. Marty’s build was that of a toothpick compared with Bobby’s muscled arms straining against the seams of his old coat.
Bobby grinned maliciously at their peer. “Trying to take notes, Martian Mart? I almost forgot you actually believe in this hooey. So, tell us. Are the little green men going to conquer Earth soon?”
The thinner boy twitched with annoyance at the comment.
“Sorry about him, Marty,” Shirley mumbled, wishing boyfriends came with off switches.
“At least I have a mind of my own to believe stuff with. It hasn’t been knocked out of my skull by multiple balls to the head.” Marty directed the words at Bobby, yet continually glanced at Shirley, watching with delight as she smiled.
Instead of showing his anger, Bobby leaned down and purposely made a show of his lips pressing to Shirley’s temple. He whispered just loud enough so the three of them could hear. “You know, Shirl, if Martians are coming to Earth, then maybe you and I should spend more time together. You wouldn’t want to die a virgin, would you?”
“Get off!” She pushed him back in disgust. If her mother could hear him talk, she would probably choke on one of her “what a nice young man” comments.