Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (18 page)

Thorpe got up. He locked all of his workstations, picked up his backpack and left his cubicle. He walked slowly to the end of the corridor, then stopped and looked back towards his cubicle.

“I know I’ve forgotten something, but what?” Thorpe scowled and moved on. He reached the entrance of the building. Shannon was there, of course.

“Now I remember!” He said happily. He turned on his heels and ran back. Thorpe unlocked his workstation, logged into the NSA networked and accessed the human resources database. It wouldn’t let him in. But Dmitry’s password worked.

“Now, what did he say? Ellis something? Let's see. We’ve got Elise Cole, Ellis Cameron, Ellis Christensen. Yep, it was Christensen. It did sound German.” He copied her file into his workstation and cut the connection. He opened the file. “Hmm. Basic infiltration course, advanced field work, five successful operations, an investigation for using excessive force against a superior.” Thorpe blinked in surprise.

“Age, twenty-seven. Martial artist. Martial artist? Cool!” He finally saw a picture. He pouted. She wasn’t the blond chick he’d expected. She was very pale, as if she had never seen the sun. Her hair was long and black and her eyes were black as well. She was smiling. Thorpe found himself smiling back against his will. He shook his head.

Thorpe glanced outside. The sky was that pink color before sunrise. He sighed, got up and picked up his backpack. He turned to leave when he felt something staring at him. He turned back. There was nothing in his cubicle that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Who am I kidding?” Thorpe sat back down again. He unlocked the KH11 satellite control station and replayed the short video he had captured in the Colorado Mountains. He froze the video before the monster vanished, head turned up, smoldering eyes looking straight at Thorpe. He stared at them, the two screens sitting one beside the other: one screen showing Ellis smiling into the camera, and the other showing the thing with the prominent long teeth—a primal thing, a monster, a living dinosaur, a nightmare.

Thorpe, who had done his best to ignore it till now, denial being a wonderful defense, could find no escape. That thing was there, frozen on his screen, undeniably real, a monster loose in the Colorado Mountains. He sat there, looking at the hot, glowing eyes, the long fangs and the reptilian contour. He was shaking. He felt himself panting, his breath rattling in his throat. The world around him trembled. How can such a thing exist?

An hour, maybe more, passed. Thorpe looked around him. His old cubicle, with the new equipment, looked exactly the same, nothing had changed, yet Thorpe looked around as if seeing things for the first time ever, as if in a new world. Nothing could ever be the same again when things like that could exist. Finally, he looked at Ellis’s smile. He had initiated the investigation of Owego. There may be things like that there, the Radio Blanket connected them too closely. His heart started racing, his pulse thrumming.

“She’s there because of me. What have I sent her into?” He paused for a moment, looking at the deadline on the blackboard. His freckles became very visible on his pale face. “We know when the New York apartment was torched. It said seven weeks. We have six weeks left now.”

Day 13 after Earth Barrier Breach.

Owego, Tioga County, New York State, United States. Saturday, 08:56.

Wearing a comfortable jumpsuit, Ellis left the diner, running in place, and blowing on her hands to warm them. The tips of her long fingers were red from the cold. It was morning and people and cars were about in the street. The three old men were already seated on their bench and Ellis waved to them.  She was using an MP3 player, the earphones pulled up.

“Hi, guys! How are things?” Ellis asked them.

“And a good morning to you, too!” the cowboy man said, removing his wide hat.

“Won’t you join us?” the tobacco man asked.

“Aren’t you a couplet short of a sonnet, Harry? She works out, you simpleton!”

“Just asking, just asking. No harm done,” the tobacco man murmured. Ellis laughed.

“Yeah, I’m going out for a run. To stay fit. You should also do some sort of physical activity,” she said.

“Harry here does physical activity all day long, girl. Just chewing that foul blend of weed gives a man enough activity for a lifetime,” the cowboy said. The tobacco man grumbled, silently.

“You guys know if there is any part of town I can’t run through? Street lamps falling? Roofs collapsing? Things like that, you know,” Ellis asked.

“Nah. You can go right ahead and run through every part of town. Them nice stranger folks fixed anything that needed to be fixed,” the cowboy man said.

“Their Stormgod wrecked the town in the first place, be damned if he didn’t.” That was from the paper-reading old man.

“Now, Merv, don’t go on flapping your trap about what does not concern you! Go back to your paper!” the tobacco man said.

“You just ignore him, lass,” the cowboy said. Ellis smiled and did some warm-up exercises, stretching her legs, arms and back. Then she went off down the street, waving to the old men. They eyed her wistfully.

“Ah, if only I was twenty years younger,” the cowboy said.

“You could never catch her if you was not a day older then twenty,” the tobacco man said.

“I could beat you any day of the week!” said the cowboy hotly.

“You’re rambling, you are. You should get out of the sun,” the tobacco man said.

Ellis put the player’s earphones over her ears and started an easy jog. People eyed her as she passed through, though she paid them no attention.

“Guardian, this is Alpha. Respond.”

“Guardian here, Alpha.”

“Guardian, I’m on Main Street. Passing near the - wait.” Ellis stopped. She hopped in one place and then did some more stretching exercises, bending down and extending one leg, then the other. She continued on a moment later.

“Guardian, just passed the police station. I was able to peek inside. The chief was there, along with several cult members. The chief was sitting at his desk while the cult members were fixing up a big blackboard.”

“Alpha, are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Jesus, they must have penetrated the police. We can’t use them now.”

“Don’t wet yourself, Guardian. I’m now running down Route 38. Nothing to report.”

“Roger that, Alpha.” Ellis’s collar was pulled up, masking a wearable transmitter with a sub-vocal mike glued to the base of her throat. The radio set she was using was a disguise, enabling her to hear Guardian through the earphones.

“Susquehanna Bridge, Guardian. Traffic normal. No cults. No - wait.” Ellis eyed a small square in front of the bridge. There were a few tended trees and a carefully mowed lawn. A large, bright ‘“Welcome To Owego!’ sign was there to greet those entering town via the bridge. However, the sign had been defaced - a silvery, oval, now-familiar bull’s head with its enormous horns burned into the sign. It seemed to be watching every car entering the small town, as if it now had proclaimed the town its own, its wide snout smelling anyone who entered its territory.

A barefoot, shirtless man, was moving through the small square, taking care of the plants and tidying up the place.

“Guardian, report a drawing in the square in front of the bridge. I’ll take a pic later and have it analyzed,” Ellis said.

“Roger that, Alpha.”

Ellis ran over the bridge that crossed the small river. She stopped for a moment on the far side, outside town, running in place.

“Guardian, traffic normal. There’s one cult member near the drawing. I’m heading north on 38,” Ellis said.

“Alpha, you’re supposed to head west, to the cult’s compound.”

“I’ll get there, Guardian.”

“Hey, you’re running down there, not me.”

“Thanks a lot, Guardian.”

“You know us, dense brothers and all,” Guardian said. Ellis laughed as she jogged back the way she came.

Fifteen minutes later Ellis approached the northern entrance into town on Route 38. It was not difficult spotting what was next to the road.

“Guardian, report another drawing on the sign on Route 38. Identical,” Ellis vocalized into her mike, barely above a whisper.

“Roger that, Alpha. A sign on every entrance to town.”

“Heading west now.”

“Roger, Alpha. You already seem a little out of breath. Too many dates and too little sleep?”

“Ha!” Ellis sniffed as she continued to jog. “Guardian, heading west on Fox Street.”

“Roger that, Alpha.”

Ellis ran on. This street still showed some of the damage from the storm; several broken windows and bent traffic signs had not yet been repaired. She saw burnt tree trunks and limbless trees, with heaps of debris piled in corners.

“Guardian, some storm damage. It must have really been a big norther.”

“Alpha, say again? A big what?”

“Never mind. Guardian, I see one - make that two groups of workers in the street. A dozen workers each plus one chief.”

“All shirtless? Must be really exciting for you, Alpha.”

“At least they work out, unlike others I can name.”

“Be good, Alpha.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“Guardian, I’ve passed the worker groups. Heading west on Elm Street. Approaching the compound.”

“Be careful, Alpha.”

Several minutes passed before Ellis continued: “Guardian, in view of the compound. Forty to fifty parked cars - private cars, pickup trucks and jeeps. I see four tents and a large number of blankets on the ground. I estimate one-hundred to one-hundred-fifty sleeping places. Guardian, there are about thirty people moving about, half of them shirtless. That symbol’s on everyone. Everybody is doing something or carrying something. Ten men seem to be on guard all around; two are heading towards me right now. You getting this, Guardian?”

“Roger, Alpha. Get out of there!”

“Guardian, one rectangular structure. Wood. Twenty people working on it. I think the upper stories are still under construction. Black smoke is coming out the top and. It’s big, Guardian, probably four or five stories high!”

“Alpha, get the hell out there!”

“Guardian, I can see some sort of smelting operation - smoke and sparks are coming out of this big structure. The structure is in the exact center of the compound. There’s something inside, metal, but I can’t make it out. Guardian, wait one.”

“Alpha, Alpha? What’s going on? Alpha!”

Two large men stopped the running woman. She continued hopping from foot to foot.

“Hi, guys! What’s up?” Ellis asked, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” one of the men asked.

“What’s it look like? I’m jogging! Want to join me?” Ellis offered. The men did not smile back.

“Turn back. Now”!” said the other one.

“Hey, come on. I’m running around the whole town. Next I need to go to Division Street, then south to the highway, and from there back to town.”

“You cannot go through here. Turn back,” the first man said. Ellis lost her smile. She looked around.

“Look, can you call Allan? He’s a friend of mine. He’ll sort this out,” Ellis said. The men exchanged looks.

“Mister Rodell is not here. Turn back.” The men gestured for her to go. She turned around and continued back towards Elm Street.

“Guardian, you got all this?”

“Roger, Alpha. One day you’re going to get into more trouble than even you can squirm out of.”

“Cheer up, Guardian. I’m only acting out my role. Okay, I’m now heading east on Elm Street, back to the diner.”

“Roger that, Alpha.” Ellis jogged past the workers none of whom raised a head to look at her. She noted they worked in complete silence.

“Guardian, passed some cult workers. They have one hell of military discipline here, I can tell you that. These people work like slaves, barefoot and bare-chested.”

“Roger that, Alpha.”

Five minutes later she reached Route 38 and looked around her. Ellis was about to head southward towards Main Street when something caught her attention. A group of people was huddling around someone lying on the street. Ellis looked closer and saw Allan.

“Guardian, I see Allan and a bunch of people. I’m heading towards them.”

“Roger, Alpha. Alpha, it’s ‘Allan’ now? Not ‘suspect Rodell’?”

“Shut up, Guardian.”

“Yes, sir! Shutting up my dense mouth, sir!”

Ellis trotted in the direction of the group. Several bare-chested men were standing around one of their own, looking at the ground at their feet. Allan and a woman were trying to revive the fallen man. Ellis reached them and pushed her way in.

“Allan, what’s going on?”

“Ellis! Those damned bikers again. They passed near one of our groups and one of our men got hit,” Allan said. He was helping the man to his feet. Allan gestured and two of the shirtless men came to support the man from either side.

“Take him back to camp,” he snapped. The men started walking slowly back the way Ellis had come from. Allan looked at them for a moment and then looked at Ellis. His expression softened.

“What are you doing here?”

“Everybody keeps asking me that. What’s it look like? I’m jogging!” Ellis said.

“Oh, right. Sorry I’m snappy. Those damned bikers. The Akrabu bring violence with them everywhere they go,” Allan said, his voice becoming a whisper at the end.

“Why doesn’t the police here do something about them?” Ellis asked.

“I don’t know. The bikers keep coming, harassing our people. Well, worse things will happen. I sometimes wish I took -” Allan stopped talking. Ellis opened her mouth, but another commotion erupted. The noise was coming from the south, from the direction of the bridge. Allan started to run towards it, Ellis following him. A few moments later they saw what was happening. The bikers were circling the ‘“Welcome to Owego”!’ sign in the small square in front of the bridge.

The bikers stopped the traffic. Some of them were moving in small circles, their engines whining, raising white smoke, while others zoomed around, hooting and lifting their front wheels. The worker who had been tending the garden near the Stormgod sign was lying on the ground, a pool of blood around him. The bikers hollered and laughed, gunning their engines. Two rode some distance away, turned, and raced together towards the sign. They raised their front wheels at the same time and crashed into the sign, breaking it while riding through it.

Ellis looked around. Several of the town’s people were around, none of them daring to come closer. But there was suddenly no sign of any of the cult members. Allan had vanished, as if into thin air. A man in a car started to holler at the bikers, and three of the bikers turned towards him, rolling their gas throttles and moving in unison. Their motorcycles rushed at the car. The bikers pulled their front wheels up a moment before impact and their motorcycles climbed the car, going up its roof and climbing down the other side, the bikes bouncing easily as they hit the road again. The man inside was shocked, his car badly dented by the heavy bikes going over it.

Meanwhile, other bikers had dragged the pieces of the broken sign into the middle of the road and they were circling it, throwing empty beer bottles at the symbol drawn on it.

Suddenly, Allan was back beside Ellis.

“Stay here!” he said.

He started to advance towards the bikers, followed by others, mostly barefoot, bare-chested men, the metallic symbol on their chests glinting. More cult members arrived, walking after Alan, following him. None of the cult members were armed, as far as Ellis could see. They just moved ahead, straight towards the bikers.

One of the bikers saw the men and women advancing towards them. He turned and rode towards another biker, stopping near him and slapping him on his heavy leather jacket. The second biker stopped his bike and took off his helmet, holding it in his thick leather gloves. Ellis saw long, blond hair spreading as the man looked around him. He scowled at first when he saw the advancing cult members, but then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. He put his red helmet back on, gunned the engine, turned the motorcycle around, and charged, heading straight at Allan, accelerating all the time.