The alive series box set, p.1
The ALIVE Series Box Set, page 1
part #1 of ALIVE Series
The A.L.I.V.E. Series Box Set
Books 1-3
R.D. Brady
Contents
Books by R.D. Brady
A.L.I.V.E.
D.E.A.D.
R.I.S.E.
Books by R.D. Brady
Hominid
The Belial Series (in order)
The Belial Stone
The Belial Library
The Belial Ring
Recruit: A Belial Series Novella
The Belial Children
The Belial Origins
The Belial Search
The Belial Guard
The Belial Warrior
The Belial Plan
The Belial Witches
The Belial War
The Belial Fall
The Belial Sacrifice
The Steve Kane Books
Runs Deep
Runs Deeper
The A.L.I.V.E. Series
B.E.G.I.N.
A.L.I.V.E.
D.E.A.D.
R.I.S.E.
The Unwelcome Series
Protect
Seek
Proxy
Published as Riley D. Brady
The Key of Apollo
Be sure to sign up for R.D.'s mailing list to be the first to hear when she has a new release!
“There are some hundred billion (1011) galaxies, each with, on the average, a hundred billion stars. In all the galaxies, there are perhaps as many planets as stars, 1011 x 1011 = 1022, ten billion trillion. In the face of such overpowering numbers, what is the likelihood that only one ordinary star, the Sun, is accompanied by an inhabited planet?"
- Carl Sagan, “The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean,”
Cosmos, 1980
"If aliens visit us, the outcome would be much as when Columbus landed in America, which didn't turn out well for the Native Americans."
- Stephen Hawking, Into the Universe with
Stephen Hawking, 2010
Chapter One
Seven Months Ago
Lowry Air Force Base, Colorado
Four medics ran along next to the stretcher bearing Devon Shantz.
“Make it stop!” Devon screamed, his skin pale despite his tan. Sweat and blood soaked through the blue Oxford he wore. Blood pooled on the stretcher, dripping over the side, leaving a trail to follow to the infirmary in spite of the bandages being used to stem the ever increasing flow.
Martin Drummond followed the blood trail as he walked behind the moving medical emergency. A black suit with a white shirt and black tie covered his tall, gaunt frame. His dark hair was long and pulled back behind his ears. He knew that the nickname Angel of Death had been attached to him back at Langley, in part due to his appearance but also his skills. But today as he followed Devon, the name was not hyperbole.
His aide would not survive those wounds. He’d seen the man’s intestines through the rips in his skin and he knew they had ruptured as well. If he didn’t die of blood loss, sepsis would undeniably set in and kill him.
Ahead, the doors to the medical unit at Lowry Air Force Base stood open, waiting for its newest patient. The medics hustled the stretcher into the unit and right to the waiting doctors, already gowned.
“Get him on the table,” the female doctor ordered.
Martin stepped into the unit. A flurry of medical individuals in blue scrubs blocked Martin’s view as they worked frantically to save Devon’s life. Martin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one up as he leaned against a wall. An older woman in a nurse’s uniform pursed her lips and started to walk over, but she was intercepted by another nurse who spoke urgently to her after a quick nervous glance back at Martin.
The first nurse glanced at him again, this time with traces of fear before she headed out the other door.
Martin took a long, satisfying drag, his feet crossed at the ankles, picturing the attack on Devon. It had happened so fast. The guards with them had been stunned. Martin had his weapon cleared of its holster before they’d even begun to react. But even then, he’d known it was too late for Devon.
Dr. Hasan Verma, the head of the medical unit, walked into the room. He glanced over at the flurry of activity around Devon before making his way to Martin. “Mr. Drummond, are you all right?”
Martin took a slow drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out. Most of it hit the doctor in his face. Dr. Verma pulled his head back with a grimace but said nothing.
“I’m fine, but I cannot say the same for my aide.”
“We have the best medical staff here. They will do everything in their power—”
“He won’t make it. You know that as well as I do.”
Dr. Verma nodded. “Most likely. But were you hurt in any way?”
Martin shook his head. “No.”
Dr. Verma’s gaze flicked to the bottom of Martin’s shirt. Martin followed his gaze and noticed for the first time the dark blue spot that had spread there. Surprise flashed through him. I didn’t realize it had gotten so close.
He met the doctor’s gaze. “Obviously that blood is not mine.”
“A med unit was dispatched for the creature as well.”
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
The doctor frowned. “To—to see if it could be saved.”
Martin dropped the cigarette and smashed it under his shoe. “Then tell them to stop and make sure the thing is dead.”
“But, sir—”
“Dead, Dr. Verma, tell them to make sure it is dead.” With one last look at Devon, he strode for the doors, pulling out his phone, careful to make sure that no one saw him smile.
Chapter Two
Today
Dayton, Ohio
The horse’s hooves thundered across the field, her flank damp with sweat. Maeve Leander’s fingers ached as she clutched the reins. Alejandra’s dark mane flew behind her, as did Maeve’s own hair. She’d pushed Alejandra hard and had nearly been thrown a few times. But she didn’t dare slow down. Instead she silently begged—please, my friend, go faster.
She’d heard about the raiders when she had been in town. She’d crossed through Copper Canyon to avoid the roads and cut her time in half. But now the road was her only option. Caution dictated she slow down but fear wouldn’t let her. She knew she had already pushed the old girl too hard. But she still urged Alejandra to go just a little bit faster. And the horse responded as if she too understood what was at stake.
As soon as the horse gained traction on the dirt road, her pace picked up. But not before Maeve saw that which she was dreading—hoof prints. Lots of them.
No, no, no. Terror slid over her. The reins became slick in her hands.
A waft of gray smoke drifted over the hill in the distance. Disbelief and fear fought inside of Maeve, each trying to gain the upper hand.
She leaned forward, keeping her focus on the hilltop, not letting herself think what the smoke meant. It can’t be. It cannot be, she repeated to herself as Alejandra began the climb. She kept up the mantra as they ascended. Finally, she reached the peak, and her family’s farm came into view.
Maeve reined Alejandra in sharply. Her breath left her body in a gasp just as sharp, and the fear she’d been shoving away broke free, threatening to swallow her whole.
A pyre of flames burned brightly in front of the barn, gray smoke wafting up angrily from the blaze. Even from this distance, she could make out the red shawl being engulfed by the flames, the body it still clung to already burning. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a hole developed in her chest, threatening to split her in two. “Mama.”
No one else was in sight. Just her family's home and the barn, watching in silent horror as her mother left this world in ashes. Maeve wanted nothing more than to turn Alejandra around and flee. But she knew she needed to check.
She needed to be sure her mother was the only one they had found.
Maeve Leander’s eyes flew open. Mama. She reached up and felt the tears on her cheek. She stared at the ceiling, her reality coming into focus as the dream faded. But the feelings of grief remained, raw and deep. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, but new ones replaced the old. And this time it was for her own mother, not the girl in the dreams.
Alice Leander had died over a year ago from breast cancer, but at moments like these her death seemed like it had occurred just yesterday.
A vision from the dream returned, the red shawl covering the body as it burned in the pyre. Maeve shivered at the memory. Her dreams had been so vivid lately. And they all revolved around the same place—Mexico. She’d never been to Mexico in her life, and she couldn’t understand the source of the dreams. Her subconscious was obviously trying to tell her something. But what?
The alarm clock on her side table blared to life. Sitting up, Maeve fumbled for the button to switch it off.
She sat with her head in her hands for moment, her dark wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders. With an impatient gesture she pushed it back.
She’s gone, but she would want you to be happy. She would want you to keep going.
She knew her affirmation was right, and she wasn’t one who gave up. But sometimes she just missed her so much. She sat for a moment staring around the Spartan one-bedroom apartment. A delivery person had arrived last week with the bed and asked if she’d just moved in. Maeve had told him yes, even though she’d been here for five years. But her life was not spent here. Here was where she slept, occasionally ate, and showered. Her real life occurred at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.
A small face appeared in her mind, chasing away her feelings of grief. She wasn’t alone. And there was still someone counting on her.
Pushing herself from the bed, she crossed the short distance to her windows and pulled back the room’s darkening curtains. Bright sunlight streamed in and Maeve blinked hard, taking a step back. She glanced at the clock. 4:02 pm.
Time to go to work.
Chapter Three
Maeve sat near the front of the bus reading her book as she and twenty others who worked at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base were driven toward the base. Security on the base was incredibly strict, especially for the research divisions. As of three weeks ago, no personnel were allowed to drive in. They were bussed from a parking area set up outside the base perimeter. All bags were checked before entering the bus and before leaving the installation. And no unauthorized personnel were allowed within three miles of the base. They said it was for construction, but Maeve was pretty sure it was a new security measure.
From behind her, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around.
Greg Schorn pushed the dark hair from his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. He nodded out the window. “What’s that?”
Maeve looked up from her book with a frown. “What?”
Greg nudged his chin toward the front of the bus. Maeve looked past the driver and saw the familiar fence of the base. But today there was something new—protestors.
“Never seen that before,” Greg murmured. “I wonder how they managed it?”
Maeve was just as baffled.
Wooden sawhorses had been set up to keep the protestors from blocking the road. Military police lined up along the sawhorses as well.
“I don’t get it. Why didn’t security just run them off?” Greg asked.
Maeve read a few signs as they passed.
Stop Animal Abuse.
Animals Are Not Disposable.
The protestors ranged in age from college students to senior citizens and all raised their fists towards the bus. Some yelled, although the heavy glass windows made their words impossible to discern. An animal rights demonstration?
“I wonder which project they’re protesting,” Greg said.
She wanted to turn around and ask Greg if he knew anything about the protest but she didn’t. One of the biggest rules of working at Wright-Patt’s National Air and Space Intelligence Center (NASIC), formerly the Foreign Technology Division, was that you never asked questions about what was happening on base unless it was absolutely necessary. In fact, Maeve had ridden the bus with these same twenty people for the last three weeks but she had known their faces for much longer. But she didn’t know what project a single one of them worked on—not even Greg, who she’d been friends with for years.
The departments were all completely separated. Maeve herself had top-secret clearance and she simply assumed no one else did. It was just easier that way. Who the others worked for and what their clearance was she didn’t know and simply couldn’t risk finding out. Anyone who spoke with someone outside their project parameters about their research would be immediately dismissed.
Maeve knew of three people that had been dismissed for violating that rule. And Maeve had way too much at stake to break it.
But despite that precaution, she and Greg maintained the friendship they’d developed in college. In fact, Maeve was the reason Greg applied for the position at Wright-Patt. And Maeve enjoyed having a friendly face around, even if neither of them ever mentioned their work.
The bus pulled up in front of Hangar One, and three people got off. Wright-Patterson Air Force Base had been established back in 1948 with the merging of Wright and Patterson fields. In fact, the base had its origins with the fathers of aviation: the Wright Brothers Huffman Prairie Flying Field. In 1917, it was established as a military installation. Since that time, the US military had used that same piece of land as a testing site for aviation. Now it had grown to cover almost twelve square miles and employed over twenty-seven thousand people, both military and civilian.
Greg leaned forward. “Hey, did you do anything good this weekend?”
Maeve shook her head. “I was here.”
Greg shook his head. “You know, I’m dedicated to my research and all, but you take it to a whole new level.”
You have no idea, Maeve thought but just smiled as the bus pulled up to her stop. “Lunch this week?”
“Yeah. Let me know what’s good for you.”
“Will do,” Maeve said as she headed for the door.
With a nod of thanks to the driver, Sam, she stepped out into the cool night air. Building 23 stood fifty feet away. It was a square brick building only three stories high, one wall almost completely made of glass and dark metal framing. It looked completely unassuming and identical to another dozen buildings or so on the base.
Maeve moved quickly up the short path and placed her hand on the palm plate at the front door. The door popped open and she stepped into the vestibule. A guard sat at a desk at the back of the foyer with a thick wall behind him. A steel door stood to the guard’s left, which led to the upper floors, and another one stood to the right, which housed another security detail. But even those guards weren’t allowed into the building itself unless there was an emergency.
There were only two other doors in the entryway, one on either side of the hallway.
A quick nod at the guard and Maeve turned into the women’s locker room on the right. Grabbing a pair of pale blue scrubs from the shelf on her right, she quickly stripped off her clothes. Donning the blue scrubs, she folded her clothes and put them in her locker, securing the lock.
She exited the locker room through the back. After sliding her ID through the scanner, the steel door by the guard slid open. Bypassing the elevator, she quickly made her way to the stairs. She jogged up the two flights to her lab, and at the landing of her floor, she waved her ID over another scanner. The door buzzed and she pushed through. Her floor had bright white walls with gray tile and was lined with eight doorways. To her left was a small lounge, the cafeteria, a med room, the security office, and two bathrooms. To her right was only one room: her lab.
She turned right. Another wave of her ID over yet another scanner and the light above her door bloomed green. She pushed through and pulled on a lab coat hanging by the door.
Her ‘lab’ actually consisted of five rooms with only one entrance. This part of the lab contained a large room with two large, long tables. Along the back wall was a couch and her desk. To the left was a large glass wall, beyond which was the control room, which housed a series of computers and monitors. Beyond that was another glass wall.
Maeve glanced over but the lights beyond the second glass wall were still dark. Inside that room were three doors leading to an additional three rooms—a medical suite, a physical therapy room, and a living space.
Maeve waved at Greta Schubert, who sat behind a console and a row of screens beyond the first glass wall. Greta had worked at the base for as long as Maeve could remember. Greta smiled, her brown hair, lined with only a few hints of gray, was pulled back in a bun. She wore a blue turtleneck that contrasted with her white lab coat and brought out the blue in her eyes. Greta gave her a quick wave before turning back to the console.
Maeve glanced at the clock and the still, dark room beyond Greta. Good. I should have about an hour.
She made her way to her desk, which was neat, just how she liked it. The only adornment was a picture of her with her mom and a small E.T. doll that Greta had picked up for her one birthday a few years back.
Maeve grabbed the reports that had been printed out by Greta during the day. She took a seat on the couch, flipping through them. EKG readings were normal, as were the sleep pattern readings. She frowned a little at the neurotransmitter levels. They were a little low, especially the dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. She’d have to check that.
She hopped on her computer and quickly wrote up her views on the lab reports. She was just replying to an email from the head of NASIC when Greta called her through the intercom.
