The Tiniest Invaders, Book One Coexistence Read online

  The old man turned and began to walk back to the RV, but the deputy spoke again quickly, “Doctor, could you spare a second?”

  “What is it?” He asked, in an irritated and exhausted tone of voice, turning around again.

  “Is it safe to be standing out here? I've heard that the radiation levels were safe, but…” he paused and looked worried then continued, “I'm not afraid or anything. I just don't want to go home and make my wife or kids sick. Is it really safe out here?”

  The old man's irritable look didn't disappear, but it did fade slightly as he listened to the deputy. “The event site-” he paused then started again, “The explosion site does have significant radioactive levels. But you are well outside of the danger zone. Your wife and children will not be harmed by your assignment. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going,” the old man said, then hurried back to the RV and climbed aboard.

  Breathing easier, the deputy grabbed one of the roadblock saw horses and moved it out of the way for the RV to pass through.

  Minutes later, Dr. Anniston and his personal assistant Trevor entered the restaurant. The elderly man was surprised to smell hamburgers grilling. He'd expected the kitchen to be closed since there were no civilian employees inside the quarantine zone.

  A temporary partition wall separated off half of the dining area and a soldier stood at attention in front of the only door going in. The rest of the room was taken up with a few tired looking soldiers and a pair of men wearing black overcoats who were whispering at the table farthest away from everyone else.

  He told Trevor to go check and see if there was anything edible being served while he checked in. Walking over to the soldier, he pulled out the security pass and presented it.

  “Go on in,” the guard said, after briefly glancing at it.

  Opening the door, the old man saw one wall had a highly detailed color satellite photograph covering it. A small desk was in the center of the room. Several manila folders were stacked in neat piles on it. Seated behind the desk a woman was talking on a phone.

  He guessed she might be in her late thirties. Her black hair was tied up in a tight bun. Unlike most government people he’d met before she was wearing normal clothes; blue jeans and a red and black plaid shirt. He couldn’t see her shoes but was willing to bet they were some type of boots or tennis shoes.

  She nodded at the old man and waved for him to come inside.

  He entered, closed the door, and walked over to the wall with the aerial photograph. A collection of small round yellow stickers covered most of the area that was black and gray on the map. A bright red sticker was near the middle of the yellow ones. Leaning closer, he stared at the lone red sticker and noted how trees within a quarter of a mile had been stripped as bare as toothpicks and most of them had fallen in a concentric circle away from it.

  He stepped back and tried to see if he could spot where he was on the map.

  A four lane highway ran south away from the blast zone. An intersection showed a small shopping center and there were several green stickers in the parking lot. He heard the woman behind the desk finish her call and turned toward her.

  “Welcome to Pinson Alabama Dr. Anniston, or would you prefer to be addressed as professor?” The lady said, standing up from her chair and reaching across the desk to shake hands.

  “I would prefer James, but if you feel the need you may call me Dr. Anniston,” he said, as they shook hands. “The professor title is something for my role when I choose to do lectures at universities not out here in the real world. You are Amalia Armstrong. Am I correct?”

  “You are indeed. Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing to a metal folding chair. “I’m sorry the accommodations are so sparse but things have been rather hectic, to say the least, over the last few days.”

  “It’s alright, but I’m more than a bit confused,” he said, sitting down slowly on the cold hard chair with a wince of discomfort. “Why does Homeland Security need me? I’m happy to help, but frankly I’m at a loss as to why I’m here.”

  “Technically speaking, I’m not with Homeland Security or any other branch of the government you’ve probably ever heard of. I serve as a specialist regarding events of singular oddness for various departments, but mostly I work with the Federal Bureau of Investigations,” she explained with a smile. “Did you ever watch that television series where federal agents worked on odd cases of the paranormal?”

  “I’m afraid not. The last television show I watched regularly was Little House on the Prairie. Modern excuses for television programming tend to make me nauseated.” he said, looking at his watch and yawning before continuing. “So, you are an agent who investigates odd events. Seems to me a nuclear blast, albeit a fairly small one would not equate to the realm of the paranormal; abnormal to be certain but not paranormal.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at the aerial map on the wall again then back at her. “I was under the impression, from news reports, that this was a case of terrorism but your being here coupled with the request I received to come here raises an interesting question,” he said, falling silent and looking at her expectantly.

  “That being?” She asked, with a smirk.

  “Do you suspect this a new Roswell or something along those lines?”

  “I wasn’t alive when the incident at Roswell took place. But you’re on the right path James. The initial investigators found several things that didn’t make much sense.

  Nuclear material leaves a unique signature under normal circumstances. A trained technician can usually identify the probable or definite origins of such material within hours or sometimes minutes but rarely is it impossible to determine. The blast here was five days ago, almost six, and yet the best investigators in the world are stumped. The radioactive signature is unique and several trace elements have been found at the blast site, but the kicker is this; one of them was previously unknown.”

  “Unknown to whom?” Dr. Anniston asked, as he felt his pulse quickening.

  “I’m not trying to sound melodramatic when I say, it’s unknown to anyone on this planet. But that’s not the reason you were asked to come.

  Since the blast, intelligence has intercepted several messages that have been indecipherable. At first we tried decoding them as regular messages, but the world’s best cryptologists and most advanced computers haven’t had any luck.

  Admiral Branson, at Langley, suggested you might have some degree of success with them and that’s why you’re here.”

  “My dear, I hate to correct you however I am here because I chose to come. The news media have been filled with a plethora of drivel, as usual. Admiral Branson said you’d fill me in on the true story.” He unwrapped a small butterscotch hard candy and sucked at it before continuing. “How have the messages been intercepted?”

  Amalia looked embarrassed and remained silent for several seconds before saying, “E-mails sent over the internet.” She saw Anniston’s face turning red and hurriedly continued. “It’s not a hoax. I swear it’s not. Ever since the blast, government snooper programs have intercepted several dozen of these messages. They range in size from a few dozen to a few hundred symbols.

  The origins have been WI FI internet hotspots with multiple source email addresses and the addressee is always different. The origin has been tracked back to several sites throughout the world, but the majority have been sent from here.”

  “Here?” He asked torn between laughter and disbelief.

  “The majority, over eighty percent have originated from the Birmingham area.” She handed him a micro memory card. “Here’s the complete record, so far, of every message. Is there anything I can do to help, James?”

  “I will need a place to park my vehicle and a good night’s sleep,” he said, taking the memory card with his trembling fingers. “And before you tell me not to let any of this information leak out, please do not bother.

  Back when I worked to decipher both the Nazi’s Enigma program and the Imperial Japanese codes, I was taugh
t the consequences of loose lips. One of my fellow analysts disappeared for nothing more than a slip of a tongue after a few drinks at a London tavern.” He slid the memory card into his shirt pocket.

  “Your driver will be told where to park. The operations and research trailers are already in place. If you gain any insight, ANY-” she stressed “...please let me know as soon as possible.

  I’ve managed to steer the more aggressive elements of the military away from the more insane responses they’ve proposed, but time is critical Dr. Anniston; very critical.”

  “Are you suggesting they wish to retaliate? Against whom and where? Are they so convinced that it’s extra terrestrials that they won’t believe it even if I prove these e-mails are just coming from mundane run of the mill terrorists?” He asked, standing up with some difficulty. The cold metal chair had been decidedly uncomfortable for his old body.

  “All I know is that there is a faction that believes all of this is a prelude to an alien attack. Saner minds are currently unconvinced of an alien connection. Those are the decision makers who are looking at some militant group being behind the whole mess.

  Truthfully, I hope it is just a terrorist thing. If aliens are proven responsible behind this it could get very bad for everyone. There have been proposals made that I can’t go into detail about, but let’s just say they would make what happened here pale in comparison.”

  “I understand,” he said, feeling much older than he had when he first came in. He glanced at the color aerial map again before walking to the door. The crazy nutters want to nuke the area. It’s just like those crazy movies from the 1950’s. Aliens come to Earth and some idiot in the army wants to exterminate them. Only this time they would incinerate millions of humans in the process. Good God, what a mess. All I have to do is prove the messages are from terrorists or not related to this event to save everyone, he thought, closing the door behind him.

  “Do they have anything edible?” Anniston asked his old friend, Trevor.

  “Nothing I would suggest for human consumption. Give me twenty minutes and I'll whip up something that won't give us botulism or something equally disagreeable,” Trevor said, holding open the door to the parking lot.

  “That would be most appreciated. What time do you have?”

  “It's almost eight. Why do you ask?”

  “I think after dinner I shall try and get some sleep. I'll try and arise early tomorrow and get to work. If I weren't so exhausted I'd start now,” the old man said, stifling a yawn.

  “Is it that bad?” Trevor asked, opening the door to the RV.

  “It's just the end of the world, but I feel fine.” Dr. Anniston said, with a slight smile.

  “Oh, good, you had me worried for a moment.”

  CHAPTER THREE: All God’s children don’t need shoes

  Thomas waited impatiently for Sally to fall asleep. As she tossed and turned, he knew if he tried to sneak out of bed she’d be fully awake in an instant. However, once she was unconscious he knew it would take a freight train plowing thru the bedroom to snap her out of her slumber.

  Just thinking about the cute girl sleeping down the hallway was enough to give him something he hadn’t had for nearly a decade; an erection. (Of course, the two special little blue pills he took before bedtime might also have had something to do with that) He felt his lumpy wife fidgeting next to him in their king size bed and grew more impatient as he stared at the red numbers on the clock glowing brightly in the darkened room.

  She’s so pretty. Like a delicate porcelain doll. I don’t care how weird she acts, she’s perfect. Probably a run away or maybe a bit touched in the head. Either way, I’m sure we could have some fun together, he thought, as a wicked grin stretched across his wrinkled face in the darkness.

  Sally snorted next to him and brought him back to reality. The glowing red numbers floating in the inky blackness slowly advanced until his wife’s first rumbling series of snores began. Not wanting to be caught, he decided to wait a few more minutes to be on the safe side. I bet I could do things to that girl that would make her squeal in delight for hours. And then, I bet she could do some nice things for me. Maybe she’d fall in love with me. She might even beg me to run away with her and be her husband. I wonder how old she is. I guess I could ask her after we’re done having some fun, he thought, slowly sitting up and swinging his old spindly legs out from under the heavy quilt.

  With his wife’s snoring cycling up stronger and louder he was sure the time had finally come. After standing up on his shaking skinny legs, he tip toed across the room. He ignored the familiar route to the bathroom and headed instead for the closed hallway door. Dressed only in a saggy pair of jockey shorts that were mostly brown with a few white spots, which when brand new had been solid white in color, he felt more alive than he had in years. With visions of himself as an admittedly somewhat older Romeo in search of his juvenile Juliet he stepped firmly down on Mr. Sawyer’s tail.

  Mr. Sawyer had been sleeping soundly but having been awakened by a bare footed ninety-eight pound horny old man it did what seemed most reasonable and logical. The cat yowled and dug its sharp claws into one of the old man’s ankles. It bit down as its rear feet kicked and clawed at the man’s leg for good measure.

  Tom screamed for less than a quarter second before managing to clamp a hand over his mouth. Realizing what he'd done, the old man lifted the foot that had stomped down on the cat with as he struggled both not to scream and not to collapse from the intense unexpected pain.

  Mr. Sawyer was free but chose to give the old man a few more lacerations and scrapes as it wrapped himself more fully around his lower leg.

  The old man reached down, grabbed a handful fur attached to the cat and pulled.

  This was not a good way to extricate the extremely agitated feline from his leg.

  As he lost his balance and fell against the wall, the cat retracted its claws and ran under the bed.

  I’m gonna shoot that damn fleabag, he thought, limping slowly to the hallway door. After finding the doorknob, he held it firmly and listened to his wife continuing to snore. Slowly, he opened the door and crept into the deserted hallway. By the light spilling from the living room he could see trickles of blood running down one leg.

  The mantel clock in the living room started chiming as he walked in. Had he not been looking down at his wounds he probably would have seen Betty before she spoke, but as it was he nearly had a heart attack.

  “You are injured,” the strange girl observed from where she stood in front of an antique oak desk.

  An almost obsolete computer they used for keeping in touch with relatives was in front of her. Her fingers were rapidly tapping on the keyboard as she turned her head and looked at the old man.

  Looking embarrassed, he stood in the middle of the living room wearing only his dirty underwear. “It’s nothing really. The cat just didn’t take kindly to being stepped on. It doesn’t even hurt,” he said, trying to figure out what to do or say next.

  “Why did you step on your cat?”

  “I didn’t intend on doing that. It was just an accident,” he said, moving slowly toward her as she continued to type extremely fast. “So, you like playing on computers? Me too.”

  She turned her head back so she was again facing the screen.

  He bit his lip and decided to prod the girl. “I hope you’re not looking up naughty pictures on there. Sally gets mighty pissed when she catches me taking a gander.”

  Sidling up behind the girl, he placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at the computer screen. He recognized the popular email program and tried to read what she was writing. It was gibberish; just a long series of numbers and letters and symbols.

  He looked at her face and forgot all about his aching leg and the computer. My God, she’s beautiful, he thought sniffing at her hair.

  She didn’t seem to notice or mind so he sniffed again and looked puzzled. There was a faint aroma of chemicals about her that he hadn’t noticed earlie
r. It wasn’t quite ammonia but it was close. And some other smells he couldn’t even guess at.

  The old man was so engrossed in Betty, he didn’t notice her finish the message she had typed and sent. When she turned to look at him, he jumped back startled.

  “You should treat your injury or it will likely get infected,” she said, staring up at him.

  “It’s not that bad. Betty can I ask you a question?” He continued as his breathing increased and his face turned slightly pink.

  “You just did.”

  Thomas looked confused for a second and then chuckled. “Right you are, Missy. But what I meant was; may I ask you a personal question. You know just between you and me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to sit on the couch with me?” He asked gesturing at a large lace covered sofa.

  “Is that the personal question you wanted to ask?” Betty asked, walking toward the sofa.

  Thomas laughed and sat down. “Yer a funny little lady, ain’t ya? No Betty, I just wanna have a little chat is all. Here, take a load off,” he said patting his knee. “Just sit on my lap and call me Santa.”

  “I do not think I should. I weigh quite a bit.”

  Weighs a lot, my dimpled ass, the old man thought angrily. Little bitch just doesn’t want to play nice. He grabbed the girl’s wrist and pulled her onto his lap.

  Betty tried to keep from falling but was surprised and knocked off balance.

  He smiled as he pulled her down and wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist. His smile was very brief as her full weight snapped his leg like a brittle chicken bone.

  A scream was growing in volume as Betty looked into the old man’s shocked face. Her blue eyes flickered and a brilliant flashing light shined out of them. His scream died into a murmur of confusion and then nothing as his mouth hung open and his pupils dilated.

  She stood back up and removed the old man’s arms from around her waist as the flashing light sped up. “Be quiet. You do not feel any pain. When you awaken you will not remember coming to see me tonight.” She paused for several seconds before continuing. “You will help me in any way that I ask. I am your granddaughter, Betty White. I have come to live with you and your wife for a time. Now, close your eyes and sleep until morning.”