They're Among Us

by M. L. WILSON

  “The war started again, right under our noses. After some time, the Promelians realized that this was a much larger undertaking than they thought, so they sought our help. In 1973, the governments of the world were approached with a most tempting offer from the Promelians. They offered to provide advances in technology and medicine to mankind in exchange for our help in assassinating the Cereleans. The governments of the world agreed…including ours. Internet, smart bombs, stealth aircrafts, they gave all of it to us.”

  Bishop smiles and says, “That’s some story,” as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve heard lots of stories, but this one takes the cake. Try selling it to someone else.”

  Detective Bishop turns and starts walking back toward the street. “Please wait, Detective. I don’t have much time. As we speak, they are triangulating my position. I won’t live to see another sunrise, but they must be stopped.”

  “Stopped?” says Bishop. “Sounds like all they want to do is kill off all of these Cr, Cer…”

  “Cereleans,” says the agent.

  “Whatever. Kill ’em all, and then go about their business.”

  “That’s not all they want to do. Not anymore. After spending some time here on Earth, they have taken a liking to it, its resources. Their mother ship has an active homing signal. There is an invasion force, an armada heading to Earth with a single mission: eradicate mankind and occupy the planet.

  “The technology we have today pales in comparison to what they have. The human race would never survive the invasion, Detective.”

  “Okay,” says Detective Bishop. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying, but suppose I did. Why are you telling me, of all people?”

  “Because, Detective, you have already been in contact with them.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes, Detective. There is a Cerelean close to you. Not sure who, so don’t bother asking me.”

  “You’re telling me I’m working with an alien? Buddy, whatever you’re smoking—”

  “DAMMIT, LISTEN TO ME! This time tomorrow I will be dead. They must be stopped, and you’re the only one that can do it.”

  A dead body killed at the scene, no blood, a strange gunshot wound, the body snatched from the medical examiner’s office by men in dark suits.

  Bishop considers the day’s events and concludes that the agent may not be intoxicated or insane. What if this is all true? What if there is a government conspiracy? What if the human race is in danger?

  “Okay. So, what do I do? I mean, if their technology is what you say it is, how can I stop them?”

  “You can’t stop them, but you can expose them. They want to avoid exposure at all costs. At least until their armada arrives.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I don’t know, Detective. I don’t know.”

  The agent turns away from Detective Bishop and ponders his future, what’s left of it, anyway. He hands Bishop a wallet-sized picture.

  “This is my fiancée. Her name is Paula. Can you tell her that I love her, that I did my best?”

  “I will.”

  With that, Agent Stafford runs down the dark alley in the hope of escaping his execution at the hands of either his government or a Promelian executioner.

  Detective Bishop watches the agent until he is out of sight. He looks at the picture and wonders about the agent’s future. He also wonders about the future of the human race, if what the agent told him is correct. His thoughts are interrupted by his cell phone ringing.

  “Bishop.”

  “This is Doctor Saunders, Detective. Can you…come by my apartment? There’s something I need for you to see.”

  “Yeah, sure, Doc. Just give me your address.”

  CHAPTER 42

  BISHOP GETS TO Saunders’s apartment. He knows this is strictly a business call, but it’s been a long time since he’s enjoyed the company of a woman, and he always considered Dr. Saunders to be extremely attractive.

  Bishop puts the idea out of his head and knocks on the door. Saunders looks out of the peephole to make sure it’s Bishop at the door. No one else would be knocking at her door at this hour, though sometimes she wishes some gentleman would come knocking every once in a while.

  She opens the door and looks down the hall, left and right to see if anyone had followed Bishop. Specifically, men in dark suits.

  Bishop, though startled, is not entirely surprised at Laura’s behavior considering the day’s events.

  “Were you followed?”

  “Followed?”

  “Never mind. Come in. Quick.” Saunders grabs Bishop by the arm and pulls him in and immediately locks the door behind him.

  “Okay. What’s going on, Doc?”

  “Follow me to the bedroom. I have something to show you.”

  “Your ah…bedroom?” Bishop says with a smile.

  “In your dreams, Detective. This room is converted into my home lab.”

  When Saunders opens the door, Bishop is surprised to see that she had indeed converted her second bedroom into a home laboratory. The room is filled with computers, microscopes, and other scientific equipment. Bishop is glad to see her dedication to her work, but he wonders if she even has a life.

  “Talk about taking your work home with you.”

  “What do you know about DNA, Detective?”

  “I don’t know...the building blocks of mankind, I guess.”

  “Correct. And DNA is made up of base pairs, the linking of two nitrogenous bases connected by hydrogen bonds. There are four base pairs in our DNA. Only four.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “So, I went back to the crime scene and it appears the boys in the dark suits did a little cleaning up. But they weren’t too thorough. There was still some of that oily substance on the scene so I took some and put it under the microscope. Take a look at this.”

  Laura directs Bishop to look under her microscope, which he obliges.

  “So what am I looking at here?”

  “Can’t you see?”

  Frustrated and tired, Bishop pulls away from the microscope. “Never mind the science lesson, Doc. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “Okay, no need to get bent out of shape. As I said, we humans have four base pairs in our DNA. The blood I took from the crime scene—”

  “Blood? Since when does blood look like oil?” Bishop asks.

  “Just listen. The human genome is the genetic information about humans and is located in the sequences of our DNA.”

  “Okay?” says Bishop, trying his best to follow along.

  “The DNA sequence information is located in the twenty-three chromosome pairs in the cell nuclei.”

  “Okay, so…,” says Bishop as he gestures with his hands for Saunders to get to the point.

  “So, look at the chart. I found a twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth chromosome pair in the cell.” Saunders pauses for a moment, hoping that Detective Bishop will understand what she is saying.

  “Please tell me you’re not suggesting this is alien blood,” Bishop says. Laura does not answer. She just looks at Bishop, and he knows the answer.

  “Oh great. First the G-men, then the guy in the alley, and now this,” Bishop says as he walks away from the microscope shaking his head.

  “Guy in the alley? What guy?”

  “Some nut job. Says there’s aliens living among us and that are gonna take over the planet. He said there’s a war going on between two alien races, and that after one race kills the other, they are going to take over the Earth.”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “You kidding? Why in God’s name would I believe that?”

  “Okay then, you explain it, Detective. Where is Kevin Phipps’ blood? You said yourself; he was killed at that spot in the alley. Why was the body taken?”

  “I can’t explain it. Not yet, anyway. Right now we need to focus on who Kevin Phipps was.”

  “Fair enough. So where do we start?”

  “Well—”


  Before Bishop can complete his sentence, the front door to Laura’s apartment is kicked in by six men dressed in S.W.A.T. gear and armed with automatic weapons.

  CHAPTER 43

  THE ARMED AGENTS have no identifying markings on their uniforms so no witnesses can affiliate them to any organization. Bishop instinctively pulls his weapon from the holster.

  “Get on the floor,” Bishop whispers to Saunders as he quietly runs to the entrance of the bedroom. He peeks out the door and sees six agents pointing their weapons in a systematic search pattern as they enter the living room. Laser sights searching for a target.

  “FREEZE! POLICE!” yells Bishop.

  He immediately notices that he is hopelessly outgunned.

  Now might be a good time to run Ken, he says to himself.

  The agents already know who he is; they are there to kill him and Dr. Saunders and take any evidence they obtained from the crime scene.

  The agents respond to Bishops directive by pointing their weapons at him. Bishop ducks back into the bedroom and closes the door behind him as a hail of 5.56mm rounds from the agents MK18’s penetrate the bedroom door. Splinters from the door fly through the air as the bullets penetrate the door and the wall behind him and Saunders.

  “STAY DOWN!” yells Bishop

  “WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Saunders asks.

  “CRAWL TO THE WINDOW AND CLIMB OUT! HURRY!” orders Bishop as he blindly fires rounds through the door, hoping to hold the agents off while they make their escape, and possibly get a lucky shot off and hit one or two of them.

  “WE’RE ON THE SECOND FLOOR!”

  “MOVE!” Bishop yells.

  Saunders realizes that a sprained ankle from a two-story jump is preferable to multiple gunshot wounds. She makes it to the window and jumps safely to the ground below where she waits for Bishop.

  The firing has stopped suddenly. Bishop knows this tactic all too well. His assailants are planning their assault. A window of opportunity. The only opportunity he will get.

  When the agents barge in, Bishop knows he will only get two of them at most before he’s turned into Swiss cheese. Bishop fires the last of his rounds into the door to hold them off; buy a little more time until he makes it to the window.

  Saunders hears the gunshots from below and immediately thinks the worst. She considers leaving him, but she’s been around cops long enough to know you never leave a man behind. Much to her delight, she looks up and see’s Bishop crawling out of the window, apparently unharmed.

  Holy Shit, Saunders says to herself as she marvels at the exit Bishop chooses; head first. She fears the worst, as Bishop rapidly descends to the ground. Much to her delight, Bishop roll’s with the landing as he was trained to do, comes to one knee, and points his weapon back up at the bedroom window just in case he is followed.

  “Are you ok?” Saunders asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

  “Yeah! Come on, let’s get to my car!”

  Bishop and Saunders run around the building, constantly looking behind them to make sure they are not followed. Bishop drops the empty magazine clip from his weapon and pulls a fully loaded one from his pocket. They make it to his car; no sign of the agents.

  “Hop in!” Bishop orders as Saunders eagerly complies.

  As Bishop inserts the key into the ignition of his Trans Am, the rear window explodes from gunfire.

  “HERE THEY COME! HURRY!” Saunders yells.

  “OK!”

  “HURRY!”

  “I AM HURRYING!”

  “I MEAN IT!”

  Bishop finally gets the car started and hits the accelerator. The tires on his Trans Am spin out, creating a thick white smoke that, unintentionally serves to cover their exit. The agents are left firing into the smoke, hoping to hit their targets.

  They miss.

  The Trans Am travels about three blocks in a matter of seconds. Traveling at about seventy miles per hour, Bishop tells Saunders to look back and see if they are being followed.

  “See anything?”

  “No. I think we lost ‘em.”

  Bishop and Saunders breathe a sigh of relief and decide on their next course of action.

  “You still think I’m crazy?”

  Bishop doesn’t answer. He knows this is only the beginning; that his and Saunders life are in danger because they stumbled onto something big.

  “We’re gonna need a place to hide,” says Bishop as he pulls his cell phone from his pants pocket, hoping it wasn’t damaged in the jump out the window.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Justice.”

  “Are you sure you can trust him? We don’t know who’s who.”

  Bishop thinks long and hard on what Saunders is suggesting. Unfortunately she makes a valid argument.

  Agent Stafford did say there was an alien close to me.

  “You’re right, but we have to trust someone.”

  “Who then?”

  “Sergeant Kuntz.”

  CHAPTER 44

  DETECTIVE JUSTICE ARRIVES at his brownstone row house and parks on the street just outside the front entrance. He’s lucky to get a parking spot so close. He usually has to park a block away. At least something went right for him today.

  His neighborhood is quiet. Some of the row houses are rented or owned by NYPD detectives and officers. The row houses are two stories with windows on each floor overlooking the main street. On his days off, Justice likes to sit on the steps of the entrance and watch the world go by. The streets are quiet tonight, though. Nothing left to do except wait for his partner’s call.

  First day on the job as a detective and he already has a good story to tell. Not only do he and Bishop have the murder of Kevin Phipps to solve, but they also have to solve the mystery of why what appeared to be federal agents would want to take his body.

  The street lights have come on in this quiet neighborhood. The sidewalks are free of pedestrians, except for a lone figure standing in the shadows at the end of the block. His presence doesn’t go unnoticed by Detective Justice as he walks up the steps to enter his building.

  As Justice inserts the key in the lock, he notices the figure heading in his direction. Justice doesn’t panic; everyone here knows he’s a cop.

  The figure emerges from the shadows, completely visible now. Visible and familiar. A middle-aged man, casually dressed underneath a dark trench coat, he approaches Justice.

  “Good evening, Detective,” says the visitor.

  “Mr. Bennett. I knew it was just a matter of time,” Justice says, unsurprised that his visitor is at his doorstep.

  “There is an urgent matter we must discuss, Detective. Our people are in danger.”

  “Come inside.”

  CHAPTER 45

  JUSTICE DECORATED HIS apartment in a cool, contemporary style as befits most young bachelor pads. As a child growing up on Earth, he was told stories of his home world, of the war. While his heart is of Cerelea, he embraced the culture and lifestyle of American youth.

  His guest looks around the living room with part admiration for the decoration and part concern for it as well. Those millions of Cereleans that were born on Earth know nothing of their home world. They know nothing their heritage.

  Detective Justice is one of those millions. His guest wonders if the remaining Cereleans have embraced Earth’s cultures so much that they may not want to leave it.

  Leaving Earth is becoming more fantasy than reality for most Cereleans. The truth is, Earth is their home now.

  “Nice place you have here,” Bennett says. He takes his coat of and lays it across the arm of the sofa as he takes a seat.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, you know why I’m here.”

  “Yes. The Promelians are here. They’re continuing what they started.”

  Mr. Bennett just nods his head in agreement. He had a feeling he was not delivering any news that Justice would not have already figured out. After all, he is a police detective.

  “So w
hat’s our plan?” Justice asks. Bennett simply lowers and shakes his head in disappointment and hopelessness.

  “There is no plan I’m afraid. We are not a race of warriors. Most of our people have abandoned our way of life. We’ve lost touch with each other over the years.”

  “So you’re saying it’s every man for himself?”

  Bennett does not answer. Instead, he chooses to change the subject.

  “Tell me something Detective. What do you know of the war? Of our people?”

  “You kidding? They killed millions of our people.”

  “Yes I know, but tell me in your own words what you know of the war. Tell me what you know of your people.”

  Detective Justice does not respond. He simply looks at his guest curiously. The line of questioning sounds more challenging than inquisitive. Who would know the difference better than a police detective?

  “My apologies Detective,” says Bennett with a smile as he rises from the sofa and walks toward Justice.

  “The elders are a bit concerned that the younger generation may have grown too accustomed to life on Earth. That they may not be concerned with the ways of our people.”

  “And you think I fall into that category?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  “Do you think we will ever go back to Cerelea?” Justice asks.

  “We should never give up hope. There is always a chance.”

  “A chance? Cerelea is destroyed. Even if we did go back and try to rebuild, the Promelians would just attack us again.”

  “You must not think that way. We must keep trying—”

  “Trying? You said yourself, we are not a warring people. We are no match for the Promelians.”

  “What are you suggesting detective?” his guest says sarcastically. “Do we just give up? Lay down, and be slaughtered like our ancestors were?”