Secrets under the mesa, p.15
Secrets Under the Mesa, page 15
We’d all come a long way in the last 48 hours, but Abby perhaps more than the rest of us. The conflicting thoughts I had about the changes wrought to her psyche by what she’d recently been through – the battering to her morals and ethics, the assaults to her deeply felt personal philosophies – couldn’t wipe the huge grin off my face at the sight of Gladys Kravitz’s gaping pie hole.
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By the time I got to the diner, I was running a few minutes late. I was greeted by an annoyed expression and a pointed look at her watch.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“I have a lot on the line here, Josh. I want some answers.”
Dark circles marred the otherwise flawless mocha skin, but did little to lessen the overall beauty. I realized with a start that Monica Trevino was quite attractive. The no-nonsense, blazer-wearing policewoman demeanor worked well in downplaying her good looks, but in a snug University of Texas tee shirt and faded jeans, they surfaced loud and clear, despite the absence of makeup and messy ponytail. I guessed her age at mid-forties but from ten feet away, she could have passed for a grad student.
“Okay, but remember what I told you yesterday,” I replied. “Simply knowing what we know could get you in trouble. People have been threatened, kidnapped, beaten, and God-knows what else as a result of what’s happening. Do you really want to put yourself in that situation?”
The level, unblinking gaze was answer enough, but she responded anyway.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I’m a cop, Josh. For most of us – the good ones at least – it’s a calling. Like a nurse or a fireman or a teacher or a minister. It’s what I’ve wanted to be ever since I was a kid. My whole life, I knew with every fiber of my being that I wanted to help people. And to me, being a cop was the most effective, immediate way to do that.
“So putting my own safety or well-being before that of others is practically impossible for me. I’m not trying to come across as a hero, I just want you to understand why I’m here. If lives are in danger, as you say, I can’t turn my back on that. No matter what.”
I nodded. “Okay, then,” I said, then took the next twenty minutes to tell her exactly what was going on.
It helped that she’d seen the news footage. Otherwise, she’d have laughed in my face. As it turned out, she seemed to buy everything I was selling. By the time I finished, the professional cop mask was gone. Horror had taken up residence on her features and I got the sense that Monica Trevino would never look at her world exactly the same again.
“Okay, so what’s the plan? When do we hit the base?” she asked as casually as she might have asked what time the football game started.
Her questions prompted another of those paradigm shifts which seemed to be happening frequently these days. I tried to cover my surprised reaction, but it was too late.
“You hadn’t planned on wiping out their base of operations? How the hell do you think we can stop these things if not at the source?”
“Well, just wait a minute. We don’t even know if there is anyone or anything left at the base after Clean Sweep.”
“Bullshit. Operation Clean Sweep would have been a ‘bio eradication’ effort. Kill the people, or in this case the hybrids and any humans unfortunate enough to be left behind, but preserve the billions of dollars’ worth of equipment. Think ‘neutron bomb’ on a small, localized application. The mesa provided the perfect location for this type of operation. The base is surrounded by miles and miles of desert as well as millions of tons of rock and earth, not to mention man-made fortifications. There would have been no casualties outside of the base itself. My theory is it didn’t work on the hybrids...just the poor human shmucks that were left inside. Whatever other ingredients the hybrids have mixed in with their DNA must have provided enough protection against the bio eradication tools used during the operation. That’s why they’re still around, invading our city and abducting our citizens. They’re sending out scouts as evidenced by the encounter you had at the gas station outside of Dulce and the one you cornered in Dallas – your new buddy. By the way, I’m not buying the ‘good hybrids, bad hybrids’ for one second. The bulk of them are still nestled in their little hive at the base – why would they leave? It provides everything they need. They’re probably self-replicating even now in an effort to bolster their army.
“Which brings me back to my original question: when do we hit the base?”
The brown eyes bored into mine with the ferocity of a lioness. There was no denying her logic. If we were serious about putting an end to the abductions, gathering evidence to expose them and their human creators AND stop their alleged plan to take over our world, we’d be making another road trip to Dulce.
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“She’s right,” Ben said before I’d even finished recapping my conversation with the detective. I wasn’t surprised by his knee-jerk reaction to the idea of storming the castle. As cerebral as my friend is, ultimately he’s a man of action and over-talking things makes him testy.
“I’m thinking it may come to that but I don’t think we’re there yet,” I replied as I placed the Mylanta bottle back in my kitchen cabinet. I really should start buying the stuff in bulk at Costco.
Monday afternoon in North Texas, just a few days before trick-or-treaters would swarm the streets like costumed locusts, had decided to be glorious. I usually got a ton of the little candy-grubbing beggars at my apartment which I attributed to the concentration of residents. Kids aren’t stupid and had figured out the logistics. They could probably quadruple their candy revenues by hitting an apartment complex versus a sprawling neighborhood with only single-family residences.
Coincidently, this was the same concept which articulated what Monica was proposing: hit the area with the greatest concentration of hybrids. Take the bulk of them out in one fell swoop. Document the process and present it to John Q. Public on such a grand scale that there could be no wriggling out of it by the people responsible.
Piece of cake...IF we had a platoon of Navy SEALs.
“And just how the hell do we get in there, Ben?”
“We enlist the help of the hybrid, obviously. If we can’t find him again, then we put feelers out about the base. We need schematics and building plans and a lot more information than we have now.”
I thought of Joe’s group and the possibility that they’d had an insider feeding them information which was then passed along to Joe. If that were the case and he/she had been inside at the time of Operation Clean Sweep, they’d be no help to us now. Still, it might be an avenue worth pursuing if we weren’t able to find Grog and convince him to help us.
As it turned out, we didn’t have to approach Joe’s former benefactors. The following day while Abby and I were in Dallas beating the bushes for our favorite hybrid, he approached us from behind on a quiet side street and calmly tapped me on the shoulder. Startled, I swung around to find the unsettling visage of Grog before me, the corners of his mouth working furiously to keep from breaking into a huge grin. His amusement was evident and I was struck again by the humanness of such a response. Who doesn’t laugh their ass off when they sneak up behind someone and scare the bejesus out of them? None of my friends, that’s for sure.
“Holy shit, Grog, you scared the crap out of me!”
He lifted the long palms of his hands skyward and shrugged, body language which said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to!” Nevertheless, his mouth still twitched and I detected not a shred of remorse.
“We need to talk,” I said, still peeved about almost wetting my pants in front of Abby.
I pulled an electronic tablet from my backpack and handed it to the hybrid. It was time to get down to business. I noticed a secluded bricked-in area ten yards down the street, which turned out to be an enclosure for a stairwell leading to a second floor. Perfect. I indicated that Grog should sit on the steps to have his hands free to type. He nodded in complete understanding and sat on the second to the bottom step, awaiting further instruction.
I suddenly realized that I had no idea how I should begin. At the same time, it also occurred to me that what we wanted of him seemed a bit like fratricide.
Maybe more than just a bit.
“Grog, we need your help,” Abby said, seeing my hesitation.
She squatted down next to the hybrid and placed her hand on his sleeve – the act of someone reaching out to connect with someone else on a personal level. A human instinct, and as Grog glanced down at her hand, then back up to her face, I could see him respond to it. She had his full attention, and he appeared to be pleased at being approached in such a friendly manner. It made me wonder what his human creators and captors had subjected him to. Detached scientists and military types probably didn’t make for warm and fuzzy social interaction. If what Grog had told us about escaping the base to find sanctuary was true, it must have been pretty damn bad for him there.
“We want to stop the bad ones from hurting more people. We think some of them are here in Dallas now, killing people. Do you know anything about that?” Abby’s charm was as effective on alien hybrids as it was on everyone else. Grog seemed content just gazing into her eyes and it took him a second before he registered what she’d said. With obvious effort, he began to type.
“Knowledge of bad others is zero. Grog viewed missing humans on television and know some bad ones are here. Others like Grog fear the bad ones. They desire to hurt humans and others like this one.” Chest tap.
His ability to communicate had improved since yesterday and I wondered how he’d managed it. Had he spent the last 24 hours in front of a television, soaking up language and whatever else he could glean from news, sitcoms and Keeping Up with the Kardashians?
“Have you seen them? Do they look different from you? Hell, for that matter, how different do any of you look? Are you all identical?”
Grog nodded slowly and began to type again.
“Good and bad ones look little different. Very similar.”
Not good news.
“How do you tell the good ones from the bad ones, Grog? How do you know which is which?” Abby asked.
The hybrid pondered his response and after a few seconds one of his long fingers tapped his temple. Our blank expressions must have conveyed a lack of understanding, so he began to type again.
“All others like Grog and bad ones too talk with brains. Not like humans with mouth.”
It took a few seconds for that to sink in.
“You mean you communicate telepathically with each other?” I asked.
He nodded slowly. Perhaps ‘telepathically’ was a new word to him but he seemed to grasp the concept.
“Yes. Grog and others send thoughts with our brains but only to each other. Humans don’t hear.”
Fascinating. I had no idea if this valuable bit of information would have positive or negative implications for what we wanted to accomplish. I’d need some time to think about it. It did explain the hybrids’ inability to vocalize. They didn’t need vocal cords to communicate with their own kind.
“Grog, do you hear the thoughts of the others now? Even the bad ones?” Abby asked. He hesitated a few seconds before responding while he stared dreamily at her face. Finally, his fingers moved again.
“No. Grog can put up wall and others can put up wall. Sometimes strong thoughts come through wall. Grog likes quiet.”
“If you try to send thoughts to the others, the bad others, will they get them? Even if they’re far away?”
“Yes. If Grog sends strong thoughts the bad others will get them. Distance has zero importance.”
“And if you put your wall down, you will get all their thoughts? The good ones and the bad ones?”
“Yes but Grog likes quiet. Keeps wall up.”
The hybrid allowed the shadow of a smile...the barest stretching at the corners of his mouth.
“So you identify the bad ones from the good ones by thoughts?” I asked.
He nodded again.
“Yes. Bad ones thoughts are rotten. All thoughts are to hurt humans. Grog puts up wall so rotten thoughts don’t come through. Grog likes humans now.” He looked significantly at Abby. “Desire to be friends with humans.”
Long, shy fingers touched Abby’s arm. It’s a testament to her kind heart and self-control that she not only didn’t flinch, but grasped his hand with hers and squeezed it gently. I have no idea if the hybrids have tear ducts, but I swear Grog’s eyes got misty. I felt like I was watching the Lifetime channel in the Twilight Zone.
“I’m so glad you feel that way. We want to be friends with you too.” Her smile was dazzling.
Suddenly the dreamy expression vanished and the hybrid’s eyes widened in what I could only interpret as alarm. He swiveled his head around to survey the street in both directions. Instinctively, Abby and I did the same. There was nothing significant – just a few business types walking to and fro. It was late morning on a Tuesday in the downtown district of a large city. Nothing stood out as anomalous as far as I could tell, but the hybrid’s demeanor indicated danger.
“What is it, Grog?”
“Must leave now. Bad ones are near,” he typed frantically then tossed me the tablet with the grace and quickness of an NFL quarterback. Was he afraid of what they would do to him or to us? Or both?
He dashed up the stairs and motioned for us to follow him into the building. Holding the door open, his hand moved in a frantic ‘hurry up’ gesture. It was a moment of truth for me. Could we really trust him or was the good guy act just that...an act? Abby and I exchanged pointed looks. I could see in her eyes that she trusted him. In mute agreement, we darted up the stairs – a climb that felt more like a leap of faith.
The heavy industrial door slammed shut behind us. We stood in a huge room which had perhaps been a call center at some point in the last decade or so, but was now devoid of office furniture. Weak sunlight filtered through the grime-coated windows and skylights.
The hybrid stood just inside the door with his eyes closed and his body tense with concentration. What were those telepathic messages revealing? Was he receiving or sending as well?
“Grog, what’s going on? Are the bad ones chasing you?”
He responded with the merest shake of his head and held up a long finger – universal body language for ‘shut the fuck up I’m trying to think.’
Abby watched the hybrid with the patience of a person who has never interrupted anyone in their life. The only indication that she was afraid was when she slipped her hand into mine. My heart did a back flip.
Muffled footsteps came from the street below, the noises floating through a broken window. There were no voices – only the footsteps which sounded closer every second. Grog’s strange eyes flew open and before I had a chance to feel even more alarmed, he grabbed our arms and broke into a fluid run, causing me to drop my backpack and dragging us along before I could retrieve it. That leap of faith we’d taken by coming up the stairs had just turned into an Evel Knieval vault across the Grand Canyon as we headed into the dark maze of hallways.
Visibility was worse in the interior of the building, but random fluorescent overhead lights still worked in some of the corridors which provided a sporadic and barely adequate light source. Grog placed a long finger vertically to his wide mouth – ‘hush now…’
The sounds of our pursuers echoed down the corridor from the room we’d just exited. Immediately, we were on the move again, dashing down a dark side corridor. I could tell Grog’s night vision was superior to ours as he navigated us through hallways where I could barely see a foot in front of me.
If our pursuers were still on our tail, I could no longer hear them.
Finally, the hybrid pulled us into a room off a narrow corridor. A vague light source from the end of the corridor barely illuminated a medium sized break room. A small table and plastic chairs were scattered about and there was some cabinetry with a sink against one wall. Grog shut the door soundlessly and motioned for us to squat down on the floor below the level of the square glass opening in the door. I could barely see in the gloom. The hybrid repeated the hush gesture as he squatted next to us by the door. We were inches from each other in the dark and the sound of our breathing – mine and Abby’s at least – seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence.
Grog’s hushing gesture became frantic. Did he want us to stop breathing?
The answer was yes. The hybrid placed one long hand over each of our faces, pinched our noses shut and covered our mouths.
We heard movement right outside the door...the barest hint of stealthy footsteps on carpet. Grog didn’t need to suffocate us – I’d have been holding my breath in terror anyway.
The seconds ticked by. Pressure blossomed in my lungs from lack of oxygen. At the moment I thought my body would defy my brain and demand a breath, Grog removed his hands from our faces. He glided to the cabinetry and began opening drawers and cupboards, rifling through the contents in utter silence. Finally, he motioned to us. He held two long knives and a large serving fork, gesturing for us to take them. ‘Weapons.’
The knives were long and wide but not sharp...probably bought at Walmart for the purpose of slicing employee birthday cake. I made Abby take the giant fork as well as one of the knives. Holding them up in each hand, she looked like a Lilliputian at Gulliver’s dinner table. I thought longingly of the guns in my backpack and cursed my clumsiness for dropping it. Instead of the Sig and Glock, I’d be protecting Abby with barbecue implements.
Grog opened a lower cabinet door and gestured to Abby. It was pitch black inside and possibly full of spiders, but she nodded and scrambled in. Before he shut the cabinet door, he placed a long finger on that wide mouth again.
The hybrid turned to me and indicated another cabinet door. I shook my head. No way was I going to hide like a coward. Grog placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, motioning again to the dark opening. “I really must insist,” the friendly squeeze said, but it hurt like hell. Our hybrid was even stronger than I had imagined. I crawled inside, wedging my body into a tight space that was barely large enough to accommodate me. The cabinet door shut soundlessly behind me.
