Consigning Fate (16 page)

Fact: Joe told the clone Darrell was in the room. The clone looked at Darrell.

Fact: The clone left the office five seconds before the explosion. He showed no surprise at the explosion; so therefore, the clone had to know about the explosion.

Fact: Joe was in the office with the clone the whole time.

If only two men were in the office immediately prior to the explosion, and the clone’s prints didn’t match the ones on the explosive … where was the third man? Who ... was the third man?

Or was there a third man.

‘
It’s always the last person you’d check.”

Robbie closed his eyes. He mumbled aloud. “Fucking doesn’t make sense. Why? No. No. Can’t be.”

‘
It’s always the last person you’d check.”

“Fuck it.” With a huff, and a ‘what the hell’, Robbie pulled his computer forward, and called up the fingerprint program.

March 28
th

The sun hadn’t broken the dense darkness of the night sky. Although spring had settled, the thick fog just hindered any additional light.

Dean got to sleep. He went home early despite being on the phone with Frank. Just after he fell asleep, Frank called, he had more of that ‘goo’ as he described it.

“There’s puddles of it Dean, fuck it’s gross,” Frank told Dean.

“Explain puddles, Frank.”

“Like it’s seeping from the ground.”

Dean really wanted to see what he was talking about, but knew he had to wait until the next day when Danny was ready to hook Frank with the remote camera. That’s when he slept for a few hours. He supposed, Frank did too. Last he recalled he passed out on Frank’s couch, and was awakened by a smack to the heel of his foot.

“Danny’s ready,” Frank said. “Want coffee?”

“What time is it?”

“Early. Four thirty.”

“Doesn’t he sleep?”

Frank shrugged. “I’m excited about this, Dean. Let’s go.”

Dean knew he’d be excited about it, too once he caught his bearings.

<><><><>

Danny called Frank the video soldier, armed with technology.

Dean laughed.

He had seen Frank dressed for the hunt before but never quite like the way he was before him.

The camera worked on a head strap that wrapped around Frank’s forehead. A small camera with a spotlight, and an eyepiece that hovered his left eye.

The microphone would enable him to capture audio while transmitting to Dean and Danny, and monitor what they said through a special earpiece.

He had a steel net, an electronic probe, gas mask, Dean-Ami, and a tiny music player with a speaker to blast Journey songs into the Killer Toddler region.

Dressed to go.

It was the first time for Dean being in the Danny Broadcasting System’s booth, and he was impressed. It was a reiteration that Danny worked hard on everything he did.

They sat at a control panel, several monitors before them.

“Let me link his camera to all of these,” Danny said. “So we can test.” A few clicks and monitors lit up. No images. “Hey, Frank?”

Frank’s voice played through the speaker. “Yeah.”

“Time for the test.”

“Roger.”

At the same time, Both Dean and Danny peered up.

The monitor flickered and then the image came on.

“We have video,” Danny said.

Aside from those who worked security, only one other person was at their workspace at that hour.

Frank knocked on the bakery door.

The bright spotlight made Gemma wince when she opened it. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Just a test. Thanks.” Frank turned and walked away.

“Whoa.” Dean grabbed his stomach. “Vertigo.”

Danny spoke to Frank. “Hey, Frank, watch the fast turnaround, OK. We’re getting sick.”

“Got it.”

The camera was turned off until he arrived at Sector Thirty-two.

Music on, Faithfully played, and Frank downed that gate, flicking on the camera.

Danny handed Dean the microphone. “All yours.”

“Hey, Frank, walk slow,” Dean instructed. ‘Take me to where you found the puddle.”

“Puddles. Plural,” Frank said. “It’s right up here.”

“Did you see anything else last night?”

“No, it was dark.”

They watched the images on the monitor. Wooded area, clearing, the spotlight illuminating the only clear images.

“Not much further,” Frank said. “Here.”

“Shit.” Dean leaned forward.

“What is that?” Danny asked.

“Our molting protein,” Dean said. “You aren’t kidding Frank. That is a puddle.”

“Here’s the other,” Frank said. “This one looks thicker.”

“Is there something in the middle?” Dean asked. “I thought I saw something in there.”

Frank squatted before the pool of white substance. “Looks it.”

“Yeah, there is,” Dean said. “Can you grab it?”

“What!” Frank blasted. “Dean that’s fucking foul.”

“I know, but I gave you baggies. Please.”

“Fine.”

Dean exhaled watching.

“What is it?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know. Looks like a shell, or skin. Frank is it soft or hard.”

“Flexible. Feels like rubber,” Frank turned his head while grabbing a bag. His head moving as he placed the sample in the bag.

Dean turned some to stop watching, fearing a more nauseous state, but caught it through the corner of his eyes. “Frank. Stop.”

“What? I got it.”

“Don’t move. Slowly turned your head to the left. Slow. At that level.”

Frank did.

“Your other left, Frank.”

“What did you see?” Danny asked.

“What am I looking for?” Questioned Frank.

“I saw something.” Dean moved closer to the monitor. “Again, Frank. Slow … slow... stop.”

Danny saw it. “What is it?”

“Do you see it Frank. Against the base of that tree?” Dean asked.

“Yep. Going there now.” Frank stood, but kept his view on the tree.

“Closer, if you can,” Dean instructed, then looked at Danny. “Is this recording?”

Danny nodded.

“There.” Dean said. “Just stand there. What the fuck?” He stood up. “Frank give me what you see, I’m only getting black and white.”

“Brown mixed with red. Some of that white stuff. Looks like that rubber shit, too, I pulled out of the puddle. This spreads about four feet at the base of this tree. Need a closer shot?”

“Yeah.”

Frank stepped forward.

“Pan the thing slowly for me, Frank.” Dean instructed.

Danny asked. “Those long things? Are they vines?”

“Or umbilical cords,” Dean said.

“What the fuck?” Danny blurted.

“Hey, Frank, can you grab me one of those vine looking things?”

“Yeah. Fucking gross, Dean,” Frank reached. “Hey Dean?”

“What’s up?”

“I got a cooler in the jeep. You want me to get as much of this thing as I can?”

“Frank,” Dean said with enthusiasm. “That would be awesome. Could you.”

“Yeah, cause these vines are attached. But the backing isn’t attached to the tree.” Frank said. “Man, I’ve seen this before.”

After looking quickly at Danny, Dean said. “You have?”

“Yes. I have.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Fucking Alien movie,” Frank said. “It looks like a nest.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Dean said. “It looks like a nest.”

“Fuck.” Frank blurted.

“What?”

“You mean to tell me we have a fuckin alien nest.”

“Frank, I don’t think …”

“You think it’s like the Predator Alien or the Alien, Alien?”

“Frank …”

“I fuckin hope it’s not the Alien looking thing. Fuckin got acid for blood.”

“Frank,” Dean said. “I don’t think it’s Alien.”

“Predator then.”

Danny snickered.

Dean grunted. “Just get the cooler.”

“Got it.”

Danny spoke. “And turn off the …”

“Ow,” said Frank.

Curiously, Dean looked. “Frank?”

“Ow. Ow. Fuck. Ow.”

The camera shifted back and forth, fast.

“Frank?” Dean called out. “Are you OK.”

“Where the fuck. Ow. Mother fucker. Ow.”

“Frank.” Dean grew concerned. “Come in.”

“I’m here, Dean. Ow. Hey!”

Both Danny and Dean winced when Frank blasted. “Learn to watch your ... ow. Where the hell … ow! Knock it off! I can’t get this with this shit on my head.”

The camera went off.

There was silence in the control room.

“Frank.”

Nothing.

After a brief silence, the typical Frank, “Oh, yeah.” Rang through.

Dean called him. “Frank?”

“Hey, Dean. Wait until you see. Aside from the nest, I got a surprise for you.”

The radio went off.

Dean tuned to Danny. “A surprise?”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe it’s alien?”

He put a pen flashlight in his mouth and Frank used that to illuminate his palm. The camera headgear was restrictive, and once he removed it, he was able to be agile, and visual enough to see what was pinching his ankles.

He was surprised to see his combat boots had tiny jagged tears in them, but once he saw the source, it all made sense.

They scattered. Ran. Came back. Gnawed, then scatter again. But after yelling, Frank managed to reach down and snatch up one. It fit in the palm of his hand. In fact, it looked almost buried in there. He snickered as he wiggled his fingers away from its tiny, snapping jaws.

Frank wasn’t exactly positive what it was, he could guess. Although it had a slight stubby and fleshy tail, it looked like the tiniest Killer Baby he had ever seen.

Not knowing what to do with it, and not wanting to hurt it, Frank placed it in the steel net sack.

<><><><>

It wasn’t going to be a very Italian spring. What he called a season when people made lots of tomato sauce. Hector couldn’t wait for late summer because the latest batch of greenhouse tomatoes were pitiful. The residents were going to have to use the canned tomatoes in distribution.

He was grateful planting season wasn’t that far away.

He picked the first of the ripe tomatoes. The rest would be finished in a day or two. He was almost embarrassed to take them to distribution or to canning. There were a lot, but they were tiny. Smaller than a cue ball and that was unusual.

Joe wanted to test a batch without Dean’s super fertilizer and the results were in. Dean really did have a good fertilizer.

But one thing was different about the non-induced tomatoes. The scent. It was sweet, sweeter than the other tomatoes. Perhaps there was a perk.

The alarm on his watch beeped and he knew it was time.

Five thirty. Time to get the field workers.

The special workers, who were once brilliant scientists, served a purpose as field workers. Scientists cryogenically frozen, and mentally damaged in the defrosting process.

They tended to wander. They were harmless, but Hector didn’t want to take a chance.

At the edge of the field, not far from the greenhouses, a small housing building was erected. It had the six bunks, a table with chairs, and games designed for preschool children. They slept and ate in there, and several times a day, they were taken for walks.

Gemma would be arriving shortly with their breakfast.

The workers had a build in alarm clock to their system.

Maybe they were just trained.

Danny and he both worked to get them to that point.

They knew to get up, to shower, and get dressed. They knew by instruction what they did. They washed their hands several times a day even with wearing gloves. And they all showered again before bed.

“Today we pick peppers,” Hector would dictate. And they’d do just that. Like drones.

It was routine.

Five thirty his alarm went off. He’d go to the building. Unlock the door, and when he opened it, he’d find them sitting around the table waiting for their food. He usually got them a beverage, checked them over, instructed them, and by that time, Gemma usually arrived with food.

He tossed his cigarette as he approached the bunk house.

A subconscious trigger, Hector supposed from them being doctors, because anytime any one smoked around them, they reached for the cigarette.

The light was on, and he unlocked the door.

“Morning guys,” Hector announced as he usually did. He took a step to the table, out of habit, and stopped.

They weren’t there.

They weren’t sitting and waiting for food? Where were they?

He didn’t need to call out. He saw them. All six of them were in the bunk portion of the building, the back area of the room.

They were all standing, huddle around one cot.

“Guys,” Hector called out.

They didn’t respond.

What were they doing? Were they watching something? At first Hector wondered if one of them died, and the others were staring at the body. But he counted six.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Not like he expected a verbal answer, but he called out his thoughts.

The workers didn’t move. The just huddled and stared.

Hector made his way to the grouping. “What’s up?” He had to physically part and move two workers to break through. He did. When he saw what they were staring at all Hector could say was, “Oh my God.”