1
Curtis Road, East of Colorado Springs
12 December 1985
2013 Hours Mountain Time
Fucking bastards!
He had seen something.
So, what had been the big hairy deal, anyway? He’d already had the program accesses, why the grilling? Heck, he was even in the process of being trained in this shit, for crying out loud! Whatever he’d seen, it hadn’t been all that much and would learn about shortly. Why not simply debrief him and be done with it? Move on. But no....
Cherko’s car slowed. He gunned the engine, but it only sputtered. Cherko pulled over onto the shoulder and glanced to the fuel gauge.
Empty!
Bone dry. The indicator was pegged all the way to the left, beyond “E.”
“Shit!”
The car knocked a few times before completely shutting down.
“Goddamn it!”
How the hell had he forgotten to fill the tank?
Furious, he looked behind him.
Nothing but darkness. Out in the middle of fricking nowhere.
“Now, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Cherko looked to the clock. Quarter after ten p.m. He exited his vehicle.
And he had that van to catch that would pick him up in less than two hours.
“Wonderful. Juuust wonderful....”
Walking into the center of the lane, he stood there, hands on hips, burning a hole of pure rage out into the darkness.
He was probably about fifteen miles from his apartment. He just had to start walking, is all. Eventually he’d hit Highway 24, where he could bum a ride.
A light appeared down the road.
A car. From the direction of Falcon.
Cherko walked back over to the shoulder.
Could be a sheriff or deputy highway patrol cruiser, or maybe even someone from the site.
The twin headlights soon made their way to him, and slowed down. Cherko listened to the sound of rubber crunching roadside debris as the vehicle rolled up alongside. The passenger-side window rolled down.
“What seems to be the matter, Lieutenant?”
It was that sergeant from his interrogation. Fucking A.
Cherko cleared his throat. “Car trouble.”
The sergeant held his gaze.
“Having a rough time of it tonight.”
Cherko briefly looked back to his car.
“Get in.”
Cherko nodded and went back to his car, retrieving his bag. He turned on his hazards and locked his vehicle, then went to the sergeant’s car. As they left the shoulder, he looked into the rear view and watched his car recede away into the darkness.
And felt an odd, incomprehensible sense of longing....
Cherko lay in bed, the bedroom’s blinds closed.
God, he had a headache.
He shot up to an elbow.
Had he made his other training?
He lay back down.
He had to have, though he seemed somewhat confused at the moment....
And there was... he’d seen something, hadn’t he—yeah, that’s right, he’d seen something at work—
He glanced to the clock just before closing his eyes. Almost seven. Everyone was waking up and preparing to go about their caffeinated day, yet here he was in the enviable position of actually sleeping through the normal work day.
Yes, he remembered. He’d seen something at work he wasn’t supposed to have seen. Had been interrogated because of it.
Yeah, a great night at work.
But, okay, given his oath and debrief to never talk about what had happened, he’d never given an oath to never think about what had happened.
What had he seen? What had been on those screens?
There had been something on one of the displays that had set off alarms, something that had been flying around in orbit above Earth. He hadn’t gotten a clean look at it, but it must have been something pretty gnarly for him to have been so ruthlessly grilled like so much steak. He’d heard of recent tests involving anti-satellite weaponry.
Or it could have been a—
Cherko shot back upright.
How had they known about Erica?
The phone rang.
What now? Were “they” employing further mind-fuck techniques and going to call him back into work to further dick around with him?
He grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” came the soft female voice. “It’s me.”
Cherko sighed.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just had a rough night last night.”
“I thought I’d heard you rattling around over there. Wasn’t sure if I should call.”
“I really just had a hard night, is all. I’m okay.”
“Can I come over?”
“I’m in bed.”
“Can I come over?”
“Sure.”
The phone clicked and Cherko rolled out of bed, making his way to the door. He peered out the peephole to see Erica already standing before his door, clad in sweats. Her arms were crossed against the cold, unkempt hair cascading about her shoulders and lightly touched by a soft breeze.
“Hi,” she again greeted, as he opened the door. “You okay?” She reached out to his face.
Cherko grinned, nodded, and allowed her in. Erica came to him, kissing him gently on the lips. Then she wrapped her arms around him and Cherko just stood there, exhausted.
“Come on,” Erica whispered, “let’s get you back into bed.”
Erica and Jimmy went into the bedroom, where Jimmy slipped back in between the sheets. Erica snuggled in alongside.
“So... it was pretty bad?” she asked, whispering.
“Nothing happened.”
They knew about Erica...
What else did they know? What else could they know?
Cherko kissed her. Erica said nothing, spooning up behind him. She lightly touched his hair.
How had they known about her?
He’d never told anyone. They’d only been together a little more than a month.
And of course he loved sex. Who didn’t? Of course he wanted to be with her—was that a state secret?
Cherko took hold of one of Erica’s arms, brought it in tighter, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. He paused, then turned around into her. Cherko again kissed her. Erica studiously traced the outline of his face, ending up at his lips. This time Erica planted a long, lingering, open-mouthed kiss.
Cherko’s headache quickly dissipated, as Erica slid on top of him, straddling him with her strong, beautiful legs.
To hell with them if they found out about this, too....
Lake Clear, New York
25 December 1974
Fourteen-year-old Jimmy Cherko snowshoed through the hard and softwoods of the back forty of their property. Wisps of dancing snow crystals pirouetted across barren and snowpacked landscape. It was late, and he’d had a fun afternoon playing around with his brand new Iverson’s snowshoes, exploring the heavily snow-packed woods. The air was crisp and cold, and Jimmy loved being alone. The sound of his crunching about on his shellacked wood and leather snowshoes comforting. But the clouds were getting heavier, and it had again begun to snow. The late afternoon light grew steely gray.
He stopped, listening to the cracking and splitting of timber. The laboring of his breath. Watched his breath puff up about him like frigid ghosts; noticed his breath only came out of one nostril. Breathing in this freezing weather through his nose froze his nose hairs, mildly shocked his lungs. He breathed a little heavier.
Yep, only one nostril.
Weird. He never noticed that before; have to talk to Mom about it.
But, what if he wasn’t alone? What if he really was being watched?
The snow came down thicker, the temperature quickly plummeted. What late winter light there was quickly disappeared...
* * *
The snow was heavier now, and it lent a distinct hushed sensation to the woods. A calming... coziness. He could even hear it hit the ground and trees all around him.
Cherko came up on a spot he’d come to call “Devil’s Den,” from the Gettysburg battlefield spot of the same name. It was a huge boulder balanced atop another extrusion of rock, both of which were now heavily covered in snow. Why he called it that was long ago lost to him, since it really didn’t look anything like the actual battlefield location. But, it was rocky.
He paused.
Again looked up into the heavy, drab, skies. Blinked against the large falling flakes as they lit upon his face. It was absolutely magnificent. Peaceful. He could curl up in its snowy blankets and fall sleep within it.
Cherko looked back from where he’d come. Smiled. Looked to his tracks leading back into the darkening woods. Listened to the cracking and splitting timber. His labored breathing.
Really... what if he wasn’t alone?
What if he really was being watched by someone?
Something?
The snowfall was quite heavy; the temperature had dropped to what had to be near zero. What late winter light there was was gone...
* * *
Something was wrong!
Though the cold had already penetrated his garments, another chill passed through him.
He looked to his feet. Behind him. Before him.
The only trail was the one he’d made, packed several inches into the snow, yet he’d felt as if he’d already done this... already been here... already hoofed it up and over at least an acre of land...
But no other tracks.
And it was darker. Later in the day than he felt it should be.
Jimmy stepped up his efforts. Didn’t want to get stuck out here in the dark. It wasn’t that he didn’t know his way around in these woods, he’d explored them plenty, every inch of them, but things not only looked different at night, they also got colder. And he didn’t want to catch a load of crap from his parents.
Jimmy picked up his pace. There was still plenty of light to make it back in time...
* * *
He stopped. Listened to the cracking and splitting of timber. His laboring breath.
What if he wasn’t alone?
What if he really was being watched by someone?
Something?
The heavily falling snow no longer felt comforting, the temperature sharp, biting, and bone-cold....
Jimmy again found himself where he’d started. The echoes in the wood around him sounded different.
He began to sweat; broke out into an all-out snowshoe sprint.
Something was holding him back! Coming for him!
Frozen branches slapped and stung his face like whipping wire. Tears sprouted from his eyes.
He had to get home!
It was only a short fifteen-minute jaunt, but his legs grew weak, noodley. The cold bitter and biting. He snapped trees branches as he plowed into the darkness...
* * *
He stopped. Listened to cracking and splitting timber. Laboring breath.
What if he wasn’t alone?
What if he really was being watched by someone?
Something?
It was dark and freezing. Frozen sweat coated his skin. His toes and fingers numb.
He felt as if the night was closing in around him like some enormously hungry unseen evil entity.
Where was he?
What was happening!
Emotion welled up uncontrollably. Cherko cried, but did the only thing he could do.
He again took off in another sprint...
But, no sooner had he taken flight, when he was knocked on his butt after having run full throttle into a tree, a branch tearing into his face. Quickly pulling off a glove, he scrambled for the wound. Thanked God for not having taken an eye. Shoving his hand back into the glove, he got back to his feet. More carefully, he tearfully picked his way through the thickening darkness.
What was happening? Why couldn’t he make it home?
The sounds in the distant woods were no longer friendly nor comforting. He’d really wished he’d brought a flashlight. It felt very late.
Increasingly exhausted, Jimmy bumped his way to what felt like Devil’s Den—again. Openly sobbing, tears froze on puffy and cut cheeks, Jimmy called out to his dad, his mom, hands constantly windmilling and whipping the darkness before him.
Something was coming for him!
“Daddy!”
But his bawling only landed him right back where he started... and it was definitely below zero, because of that hard Styrofoam-like sound snow got at that temperature.
Again knocked back onto the ground, Cherko didn’t even bother to get back up. He lay there, snot bubbles blowing out his nose as he exploded into huge, soul-searing pleads.
It wasn’t his Daddy that found him.
* * *
Colorado Springs, CO
13 December 1985
0858 Hours Mountain Time
Cherko sat up alone in the darkness, pulse pounding and sweat pouring off him.
He brought a hand to a long-healed scar on his cheek.
He remembered no such scar...
Snow. Darkness. His dad?
Dizzily shaking his head, and emitting a long, drawn-out grunt, he swung out of bed and got to his feet; felt the adrenaline drain from his body.
Good God, he was exhausted!
Where was he?
What time was it?
He collapsed back down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and stared at the clock. Nine a.m.
He still had some time left to catch up on sleep. Why was he so tired?
But, it had all felt so real.
He got back to his feet and paced the room. Went out into the kitchen.
The dream was fading fast... something about snow... snowshoeing? The Lake Clear house.
Running?
Cherko got a sip of water. Stared out to the empty poolside area from his kitchen window.
He felt like he hadn’t been able to get away from something.
He set down the glass. He really needed some sleep.
He headed back into the bedroom. The dream... what was it about the Lake Clear house?
But it hadn’t been a dream, had it? It had been something more, something real. It had been more of
A memory.