X war infiltration, p.1
X WAR: Infiltration, page 1
X War: Infiltration
John Triptych
Published by John Triptych, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
X WAR: INFILTRATION
First edition. June 7, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 John Triptych.
Written by John Triptych.
Also by John Triptych
Ace of Space
The Piranha Solution
Virago One
Alien Rebellion
Wetworld
Grotto of Silence
Expatriate Underworld
The Opener
The Loader
Stars in Shadow
Nepenthe Rising
Shards of Eternity
Wild Sargasso Space
The Dying World
Lands of Dust
City of Delusions
The Maker of Entropy
The Dying World Omnibus
Wrath of the Old Gods
The Glooming
Canticum Tenebris
A World Darkly
Wrath of the Old Gods Boxed Set 1
Wrath of the Old Gods (Young Adult)
Pagan Apocalypse
The Fomorians
Eye of Balor
Wrath of the Old Gods: Box Set 2
Standalone
Stars in Shadow Omnibus 1
X War: Infiltration
Watch for more at John Triptych’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By John Triptych
Dedication
1 Northern Wisconsin
2 Russia
3 Tokyo
4 Northern Wisconsin
5 Paris
6 Los Angeles
7 Minneapolis
8 Los Angeles
9 England
10 Los Angeles
11 Ordos
12 New Mexico
13 Munich
14 Los Angeles
15 London
16 Philippines
17 Washington, DC
18 Philippines
19 Berlin
20 California
21 Philippines
22 Colorado
23 London
24 California
25 Berlin
26 Texas
27 California
28 Colorado
29 Washington, DC
30 Russia
31 California
32 Russia
33 Arizona
34 London
35 Washington, DC
36 Vashon Island
37 Italy
38 Los Angeles
39 Washington, DC
40 London
41 Vashon Island
42 Virginia
43 Los Angeles
44 Paris
45 Colorado
46 Moscow
47 Los Angeles
48 Portland
49 Seattle
50 California
51 Virginia
52 Portland
53 Virginia
54 Portland
55 Washington, DC
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Further Reading: Nepenthe Rising
Also By John Triptych
About the Author
About the Publisher
To Mr. Levy, my high school science teacher.
1 Northern Wisconsin
STARING INTO THE CABIN's stone fireplace, Greg Barton leaned back on the old wooden chair and tried to relax, but he just couldn't. He had thought this hunting trip would take some of the stress away, but the problems in his life seemed to be just over his shoulder, haunting him like a clinging specter that wouldn't let go. Whenever his mind wandered, the bad moments would return and settle themselves into his immediate thoughts, making him moody and restless.
The dying embers cast a flickering, orangey illumination across the cabin's interior, partly contrasted by the constant yellowish light from the antique oil lamp on the nearby table.
Barton continued to watch, his eyes transfixed by the fading glow as the air around him began to cool. He should have gotten up and thrown another log into the fire when it started to burn itself out, but his body refused to move. Whatever strength he had remaining subsided along with the fire as he held the quilted blanket ever closer around his body.
The door to the outside opened with a creak, and a short, brown bearded man stepped inside after using the outhouse. Nate Wilson was originally from Canada, before taking his family south of Lake Superior and settling down in Green Bay. He had known Barton for years, and this was their eleventh annual bear hunt.
Nate glanced towards the dying fire before he turned his attention towards Barton. "What the hell? It's about to go out. We're going to freeze in a minute here."
Barton shrugged. "I’ve got a blanket."
Shaking his head, Nate strode over to a pile of firewood and placed several small logs into the hearth before stroking them with a metal poker, hoping they would ignite. After a few minutes, the fire was restarted, and he sat down on a nearby wooden bench after putting the poker back in place.
Barton closed his eyes, feeling the expanding waves of heat as the fireplace began to roar back to life. Five minutes past midnight, and he would be turning in soon in order to be rested for the early wake up call.
Nate made a low hiss. "You're welcome."
"Sorry, there's been a lot of things on my mind lately."
"Like what?"
Barton reopened his eyes and turned to face the other man. "Evelyn. She wants a divorce."
Nate's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That sucks. I was wondering why you've been in a dark mood since this morning."
"Yeah, she wants half of everything, and she's gonna take me to court if she doesn't get what she wants."
Nate shook his head. "Cosmic bitch."
"She told me I could buy out her share of my business and she'll only take cash. My business—the shop my daddy owned and willed to me just before he died. Can you believe that?"
"I tell you, the damned courts stripped away our rights and gave it all to the women now. This country is screwed. It's like that in Canada too from what my brother told me."
Barton gritted his teeth. "I swear if Evelyn had walked up to the bait we set up this afternoon, I would have shot and skinned the bitch. That's how much I hate her right now."
"Amen to that, partner. I would have helped you out in skinning her."
"If we don't spot a black bear by tomorrow, maybe we oughta—"
Their conversation was interrupted when the front door opened up again, and a third man leapt inside. Jonathan Hoyt was the third and final member of their hunting group, and his blue eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he stared back at the other two while catching his breath.
Nate leaned back on the bench, using the side of the nearby table for support. "You going to divorce your wife too?"
Hoyt shook his head while energetically gesticulating with his hands. "Guys, you're not gonna believe what I just saw out there in the woods!"
Nate started to chuckle. "Let me guess, Greg's wife Evelyn? I bet she's going to take this cabin too since it's in his name," he said, pointing a finger towards Barton.
"No!" Hoyt exclaimed before lowering his voice to a near whisper. "I saw Bigfoot."
Nate howled in laughter while Barton closed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side.
"I'm not kidding, guys," Nate insisted. "I was by my truck and sorting out some stuff at the back for tomorrow's hunt when I saw something moving around, less than twenty feet away."
Barton remained skeptical. "There's nobody out here for miles. This whole place is private property, and inaccessible to the public. If someone drove up to the cabin we'd have heard them by now."
"Maybe the Sasquatch was driving one of those newfangled electric cars so we wouldn't hear it," Nate quipped.
Hoyt made his way over to a work table and picked up a Remington Model 783 rifle lying on the countertop beside a six-pack of crushed beer cans. After checking to make sure there was a round in the chamber, he grabbed an extra magazine and placed it into the pocket of his hunting vest.
Nate got up and made a calming motion with his hands. "Whoa, wait a minute. If there is something out there, it's probably just another man."
"I know what I saw," Hoyt said as he moved towards the door.
Barton stood up as well, letting the blanket fall to the floor. "If there's someone else out here, he might try to steal our stuff."
Hoyt glanced back at them. "I'm telling you guys it wasn't a man! It must have been at least eight feet tall, and covered in fur."
Barton pointed towards the other man's rifle. "And what are you going to do with that?"
"Since you guys don't believe me, fine. I'll just go and bag it for you."
"Hold on, Ed," Nate said as he tried to block the doorway. "Let's say we believe you. It's probably just some idiot wearing an ape suit out there trying to prank us. If you shoot him and he dies, you could end up in jail."
"It's not a man that's out there," Hoyt repeated. "It didn't even move like a man. I saw it in the corner of my eye, and it had very long arms, its fists were nearly touching the ground. When I turned on my flashlight and tried to get a bead on it, it moved quickly behind a tree
Hoyt's words were cut off when all three men heard a strange bellow coming from the outside.
Barton leaned forward while looking out the window, but saw nothing but the suffocating darkness. "What the hell was that?"
"Bear? It sounded like one," Nate said.
"That was no bear, you idiot," Hoyt said. "It's the Bigfoot."
As all three of them began peering out from the closed window, the night sky suddenly became as bright as day, as if a giant searchlight was pointed down at the entire cabin.
Barton looked away as his eyes were temporarily blinded. "Goddamn it, what in the hell is going on?"
Nate partly opened up the window in front of him. "Whoever is out there, this isn't funny. We've got guns and this will turn ugly if you try anything else!"
Without warning, the burning lights above them were suddenly extinguished, plunging the entire area into darkness once more.
Opening another window, Hoyt poked the barrel of his rifle through the aperture. Rubbing his eyes to get rid of the flash blindness, he tried using the scope after about a minute. "I can see some real big shapes by the trees. I think they're all around us."
Nate continued to disbelieve what was happening. "Isn't that Indian Reservation just a few miles north of us? Maybe they're just doing one of their ritual dances or something?"
It was all too much for Barton as he too grabbed his own rifle from the table and cycled the bolt, chambering a 7.62mm round into it before walking up to the window once more.
Nate could barely breathe. "Guys, don't start shooting yet, okay? If you do then the law is gonna come down hard on us."
Barton peered through the scope of his Ruger M77 bolt-action rifle as he trained the weapon to his left, right where their cars had been parked. He held his breath when he saw large humanoid shapes moving slowly around his Ford pickup. After observing one of them placing what looked like an arm on top of his vehicle's hood, he finally snapped and pulled the trigger.
The crack of gunfire was like a large firecracker going off. The shadowy shape he had been aiming at seemed to momentarily stagger after he shot it, before letting out a deafening, enraged roar.
Barton shuffled backwards in panic as the outside shadows began to converge towards the cabin. Nate cried out in alarm while reaching for his rifle as Hoyt began to fire at the advancing horde.
Hoyt managed to shoot off three rounds before his magazine was empty. Just as he reached into his vest pocket to try and grab for more ammunition, a large arm covered in black fur reached in through the window and seized his rifle by its barrel. Hoyt gave a defiant curse as he tried to hold on to his weapon, only for his whole body to be suddenly yanked through the window, bursting through the upper glass pane.
Nate screamed as he tried to use his body as a counterweight against the things that were trying to smash the door down. He had managed to slide the locking bolt in place, but it didn't seem to matter as the thick wooden door was quickly splintered like matchsticks, and the horde poured through.
The last time Barton saw his friend was when several trunk-like hirsute arms were grabbing at Nate, and they pulled him past the now open entryway. Nate tried to hold on to the doorsill, but his attackers had so much strength it hardly seemed to matter as he was dragged out into the darkness, kicking and screaming before they started to tear him apart.
With a sense of hopelessness overcoming what was left of his courage, Barton got on his knees while the rifle slipped away from his hands. "Please. Leave me alone."
One of the creatures sauntered into the room and loomed over him.
When Barton saw the red glow coming from its eyes he cried out in horror.
2 Russia
MID-NOVEMBER, AND THE snow was already falling hard onto the streets outside. Oleg Ivanov counted himself lucky to have followed the lights in the sky when he woke up after his latest drunken stupor, and found an open doorway leading into the old factory's interior. The small fire he made from scraps of cardboard and paper didn't give off too much heat, but at least it was enough to keep him from dying.
Located just west of the Urals, Perm was a city split between two banks of the Kama River. When Ivanov was born, the city had been called Molotov, so named after the diplomat who had engineered a non-aggression pact with Germany before the Great Patriotic War started. After Stalin's passing, Molotov too fell from power, and the city was renamed back to Perm once more.
Blinking his eyes open, Ivanov propped himself up to a sitting position by the side of the waist-high divider and held his hands out to get warm. Wintertime meant near endless cycles of twilit night across this part of the world, and the cold weather had nearly killed him when the season began. To be homeless was hard enough, but to be homeless during winter would be tantamount to suicide.
I've got another two months in here, he thought as he looked around at the desolate work floor. It was apparent the factory had seen better times, since all that was left were huge empty spaces furnished with nothing but dust and rubble.
Ivanov had once worked in a factory like this, before the fall of the Soviet Union put him permanently out of work. This place is like my life, wasting away until there is nothing left but a shell.
Reaching into the pockets of his worn woolen jacket, he pulled out a crusty piece of bread he had found in the trashcan beside the marketplace before gingerly putting it back inside. I'm not going to eat this yet, he thought. Maybe for breakfast tomorrow.
It didn't occur to him that he couldn't tell what the time was as he fumbled around with his other pockets. The tips of his gloves had worn down, exposing his dirty fingers, and he could feel several matchsticks lining the inner pockets, along with assorted bits of other junk.
When his fingers failed to clasp the small glass bottle, a creeping sense of despair and sadness gripped Ivanov, and his shoulders began to shudder. No! Where did I put the vodka? Did I lose it?
His chin began to tremble as he unbuttoned his coat and threw it off before placing the garment down onto the dusty floor. He ran his hands along the dirt encrusted fabric, hoping to feel a solid, cylindrical bump that indicated there was a bottle inside one of the outerwear's hidden pockets.
A man's voice echoed across the work floor. "Hey you! What are you doing in here?"
Turning his head, Ivanov could see a man holding a flashlight approaching him from the other side. This other man wore a uniformed jacket and a peaked cap, indicating he was some sort of security guard.
Ivanov quickly put his coat back on as the guard walked up to him and pointed his flashlight towards the old man's face, half blinding him. Ivanov grimaced as he used one hand to shield his eyes from the beam's dazzling glare.
The guard gritted his teeth as he stood over the derelict. "I asked you what you are doing here. Will you answer me or not?"
"It ... it was cold outside."
"So what, this is private property. How did you get in here?"
Ivanov's voice was close to a whisper. "I-I was out in the street, and I saw some lights in the sky, very close to me. Then I felt something and heard voices. It seemed like they were guiding me so I followed. The lights led me to a door in front of this place, then the lights suddenly flew back up into the sky and disappeared. I tried to open the door and it was unlocked. So now I'm here."
The guard snorted. "You're drunk and out of your mind. I'm the night watchman here, and I made sure all the doors are locked. You must have broken into one of them, yes?"
Ivanov shook his head. "No, no. It was open. I swear in the name of the Soviet Union."
"Oh, so you're another of those old useless communists, eh? Get up and put that fire out."
Ivanov slowly got up on his feet. Shuffling closer to the small bonfire, he began stamping down on it, but the right sole of his old shoes suddenly gave way, and he slipped, falling to the hard, concrete floor on his side with a pained groan.
The guard tilted his head up and roared with laughter. "You old fools are so worthless, you can't even put a fire out properly." He moved forward and stood over the smoldering pieces, using his boots to snuff the remaining flames out.
Ivanov looked up at him while rubbing his aching hip. "You disrespectful young punk. Back in my time, everyone obeyed their elders."
