Lance
“I’m so sorry, Lance, but it’s going to be at least another three days,” Lucinda Torres said, and she did sound truly apologetic. “But my supplier is out of that cotton canvas I needed, and he’s waiting for his supplier to restock. From what he told me, it sounds as if it’s sitting in a container at the Port of Los Angeles. Something about a dockworkers’ strike, I hear.”
He managed to refrain from swearing and even muttered something along the lines of, “I know it’s not your fault,” before he touched the screen to end the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat of his Jeep.
A delay was the last thing he needed. What he really wanted to do was load up the 4x4 with every gun and incendiary device he owned, drive out to Secret Canyon, and stage a commando raid worthy of a 1980s Schwarzenegger film. However, all that would accomplish would be to kill him off in some kind of spectacular fashion, and, angry as he was, he sort of wanted to stick around for a while.
He finally had a reason to care about his existence. If he bought it now, the timing would not just be ironic; it would be cruel.
Kara had gotten him more or less calmed down, partly because he realized there wasn’t anything he could do at the moment, not until they were able to infiltrate the base and find out what was really going on. He’d attempted another remote viewing, but he was so agitated that nothing scanned. No images, just the darkness inside his skull.
And now any attempt at getting inside Secret Canyon was going to be put off for nearly a week, just because some dockworkers in L.A. didn’t think their pension was big enough or something. And what was with everything having to come from China, anyway? Did no one grow or make anything in the United States anymore?
Still fuming, he pulled up into the driveway of the Olivers’ house. Persephone had suggested a session with Grayson to see if she could extract any information.
“I had some hypnotherapy training when I was getting my master’s,” she’d explained. “It’s worth a try, since we obviously can’t run the risk of an outside therapist having access to this information. And maybe if I’m really lucky, Otto will show up and give me some advice.”
Otto, the not-so-magnificent. Okay, so her spirit guide had turned out to be some sort of extra-dimensional being instead of a long-dead Turkish eunuch, but whoever or whatever he was, “reliable” didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary, especially lately. Not that Lance and Persephone had a lot of what you could call heart-to-heart talks. However, from certain things she’d let slip, he got the impression that lately she’d been depending more on her own powers of clairsentience than on any input from Otto. What that all meant, Lane didn’t know, but he guessed it was nothing good.
Kara’s Prius was already parked in front of the house, behind Jeff Makowski’s ’70s-vintage Chevy van, which looked as if it could have barely made it up the hill, let alone the five-hundred-plus miles from Southern California to Sedona. Lance shook his head a little at the thought of driving that distance in such a rattletrap, but again, not really his business.
Paul had picked up Grayson and Michael earlier, so now the gang was all here. Usually, they’d all be chattering about something — with Kiki’s clear soprano tones riding on top of the general hubbub — but this time, everyone seemed more than a little subdued. Maybe it was because they knew Lance had come here directly from Brian Henderson’s funeral.
Working his tie loose so he could shove it in his pocket now that it was no longer needed, Lance went over and sat down next to Kara on the couch. A few of the dining room chairs had been pressed into service, since the Olivers’ living room didn’t normally have seating for this many people.
Grayson had already taken a seat in a leather recliner, with Persephone perched next to him on one of the dining room chairs. Kiki was sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug, but Jeff had taken a position on the love seat next to Michael Lightfoot, looking more than a little uncomfortable. The kid probably didn’t enjoy being around so many people.
“You okay?” Kara murmured as she reached over to touch Lance’s hand. She’d offered to go to the funeral with him, but he’d said there was no reason — she’d met Brian once, maybe twice, but it wasn’t the sort of acquaintance that necessitated her presence at his funeral.
Closed-casket, of course.
The other three to perish had been a retired couple from Colorado Springs and their newly divorced daughter, vacationing in Sedona as a way of getting the daughter’s mind off the breakup of her marriage. She’d been just twenty-nine. Kara’s age.
Lance squeezed Kara’s fingers, glad of her touch, her reassurance. Let the others think what they wanted. He wasn’t going to tiptoe around forever, like some teenager afraid of introducing his new girlfriend to his parents.
The anger was still there, of course, but banked down. If he had to wait, then he’d wait. But he’d never forget.
Persephone gave him a brief piercing look, as if she knew all too well what he was thinking. Maybe she did.
“I talked to Lucinda on the way over here,” he said. “Looks like she’s not going to get the fabric for at least another three days. So we have more time to plan than we thought.”
“Can’t she just order it from someplace else?” Paul asked.
“Not according to her. I guess there aren’t that many manufacturers that make the kind of heavy-grade stuff used in military gear. She tried to track some down but didn’t have any luck.”
“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise,” Persephone said. “It gives us some more planning time, anyway.”
Planning for what, Lance wasn’t sure, since the original thought had been to have Grayson do the advance recon so they could devise a plan based on his findings. But maybe they’d get enough today, they’d be able to use that instead.
Through all this, the hybrid had sat quietly, watching the interchange among the group. Well, among most of them, anyway; Lance couldn’t help noticing that Grayson’s gaze kind of skipped over Kara, as if he didn’t want to look at her sitting there, holding Lance’s hand. It had to be rough for the guy.
But if he was experiencing any inner turmoil, it didn’t show on his face as he told Persephone, “Then let’s get started. I want to know if I’ve got anything important locked up in here.”
She smiled a little. “Okay. I know Janelle Russo already put you under once, so I don’t have to explain how this works. This session will be basically the same, but I’d like to hold your hand during the process. I’m hoping that will help spark things.”
“No problem.”
Even if it had been a problem, Lance sort of doubted Grayson would have declined. The hybrid seemed just as eager to push ahead as Lance did.
Persephone looked over at Paul. “Ready?”
He nodded.
For the first time, Lance noticed that Paul held a small digital voice recorder. Made sense to get everything down in a permanent record.
“And it probably goes without saying,” she added, “but please, no comments, no reactions, during the session. I don’t want anyone to do anything to compromise our findings.”
Everyone either nodded or murmured something along the lines of “okay” — even the ebullient Kiki, who seemed unnaturally subdued for her. She sat on the rug, fingers knotted on top of her crossed ankles, clear brow slightly knotted in concern.
Persephone nodded in approval. “All right. Let’s get started, then.”
And she began the sequence of counting back from ten, her tone soothing, soft. Lance knew better than to fall under its spell, although he thought he saw Jeff blink furiously, as if to prevent the hypnotic suggestion from affecting him.
At the end of the countdown, Persephone said, “Grayson. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“In Persephone and Paul’s living room.”
“Very good. Okay, I want you to go back now. Go back to the time you were in the desert. Do you remember that?”
A reluctant nod.
“Good. Can you tell me how you got out into the desert?”
“Went out through a door.”
“The door in the motor pool, right.” Lance saw her pale fingers tighten around Grayson’s sun-browned ones for a second or two before they relaxed again. “Do you remember any other entrances to the base?”
A frown. “The small door in the ravine.”
Lance remembered that door all too well, hidden in a crack in the cliff wall, obscured by manzanita and low-hanging junipers. He’d rather not have to go back in that way, all things being equal.
“Anything else?”
“The main entrance, through the box canyon.”
Again, a known quantity. Of course, the “main entrance” was almost as small and piddly as the hidden door through which he and Michael and Persephone had first gained entrance to the base…and just as useless.
“…and the service entrance.”
Persephone perked up noticeably at that tidbit. “The service entrance?”
A nod. “It’s lower…you come in through the back, in another ravine. They would land there, off-load supplies.”
This was promising.
“Is it guarded?”
“Yes.”
“How many guards?”
“Four.”
That wasn’t so good. It was possible for one person to take out four…if he got the drop on them and had some other advantage in terms of skills, weaponry, or training. But Grayson would be going up against a group of men who were identical to him, so there went any individual advantage. Maybe the element of surprise would be enough.
Maybe.
Persephone likewise appeared somewhat concerned, but the small frown that had creased her brow smoothed itself away as she asked, “And the door? Is it operated by a key card like the interior doors?”
“No. Biometric thumbprint scan.”
Well, that was a piece of good news. In a way, it made sense. Inside the base, there were probably rooms that not all of the hybrids would have access to, hence the key cards. But keeping them out of the base itself didn’t make much sense.
Everyone else obviously thought the same, because Lance heard a little rustle go through the group as people shifted or nodded or let out a breath. It wasn’t enough to disrupt the session, although Persephone did shoot everyone a quick glance of warning before she continued.
“And how do you make the approach to this service entrance?”
“A canyon…come in through Boynton.”
That was interesting. Lance would have said he thought he knew the area pretty well, but he’d had no idea there was a way to cut through from Boynton into Secret Canyon.
“If you’re coming overland, that is. A lot of drops were by air.”
It figured. All that country was either part of or backed right up to U.S. Forest Service land, so no one would be around to see any comings and goings. Not that the aliens had too much trouble with that angle. The memory of Brian Henderson’s death brought a sour taste to his mouth, and Lance felt himself grimace. The pilot had never seen them coming.
Very soon — if everything went well — the aliens might get a taste of their own medicine.
“And what do you see when you first come in through that entrance?”
“Loading dock. Storage areas. There’s one exit that leads to the rest of Level Ten.”
Meaning this service entrance came in on the lowest level of the base. Good for stealth, not so good if you were trying to make a beeline for a more vital part of the base. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He glanced over at Kara. She stared forward, attention fixed on Grayson. Lance couldn’t guess what she might be thinking. It wasn’t the gaze of a woman staring at her lover, true, but worry was clear in the taut lines of her fine throat, the slightly pursed lips. Maybe she was worried that Persephone was pushing the hybrid too hard, even though the questioning didn’t seem all that taxing to Lance.
Persephone nodded slightly, as if she’d heard some sort of internal suggestion as to what should come next. Maybe she had. Just because Otto had taken a powder for the past few months didn’t mean he might not show up now when they really needed him.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
She leaned forward as she asked, “Why are they here, Grayson? Can you tell us what they’re planning?”
Seemed like a stupid question to Lance. The group already knew the aliens had been trying to enslave the human population of the earth, make them their servants through a particularly nasty form of mind control.
For some reason, though, the question seemed to bother Grayson. He looked upward for a second, and his mouth compressed. Then he shook his head.
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head again, and Persephone waited. In a detached way, Lance admired the way she handled herself, all business, cool, calm. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen too much, but he supposed she would have been trained in this sort of thing when she got her counseling certification.
At length, Grayson said, “The power.”
“‘The power’?” Persephone repeated, clearly mystified.
“Want it. That’s why they came back.”
A lift of the eyebrows, and Persephone looked over at Michael. He frowned but then shook his head.
“Must stop them,” Grayson ground out, the cords in his neck showing as he uttered the words painfully, as if every one of them was being torn from his throat.
“We plan to, Grayson. We will — ”
But then the hybrid erupted from his seat, almost knocking Persephone over. He looked around, wild-eyed, and Lance wondered if he was going to have to tackle the guy to keep him from going on a rampage. Just as suddenly, though, Grayson subsided, falling back into his chair. His eyes went wide, and fastened on Persephone.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her gaze didn’t flicker, but Lance noticed the way her shoulders slumped a little, as if in disappointment. She knew, as Lance did, that Grayson was now out of the hypnotic trance.
“You gave us some great information,” Kara said quickly, as if daring anyone else to contradict her.
“Yes, you did,” Paul added as he clicked the “stop” button on his micro-recorder. “Very helpful.”
The hybrid didn’t look altogether convinced, but then he nodded. “Good. So what’s next?”
For some reason, everyone turned to look at Lance. He didn’t much enjoy being the center of attention, but he also knew he was the one who had to figure out what to with the information they’d just gathered. “Wait for the jumpsuit to get made, and plan like hell in the meantime.”
Paul and Michael both seemed to absorb that reply with no noticeable change in expression. Grayson scowled a little, but Lance couldn’t really blame him for that. Kiki looked worried, and Jeff, as usual, appeared as if he was thinking of something happening roughly a million light-years away. Kara seemed a little green around the gills for some reason. Was she still more attached to Grayson than she’d let on?
Hell, he didn’t know how attached she’d been in the first place. They’d talked about a lot of things, but so far, she hadn’t seemed too eager to go into the gory details of what had happened between her and Grayson. Not that it took a rocket scientist to figure out that sort of thing.
He’d worry about that later. She was with him now, and that was what counted.
That, and making sure they all survived this somehow.
Kara
I begged off going over to Lance’s condo after the get-together. He’d offered in the most casual way, as if it hadn’t mattered to him one way or another whether I came over or not, though somehow I knew that was how he protected himself. Of course, he’d wanted to spend more time with me, and it hadn’t been easy to decline, despite the nausea that had reared its ugly head again.
For some reason, I felt positively ill, and really just wanted to go home and lie down. Maybe I’d picked up some sort of bug or another, even though I hardly ever got sick. Still, what with all the stress I’d been under lately, it didn’t seem too implausible that something had managed to infiltrate my normally tough immune defenses.
So I went home and climbed out of my close-fitting jeans and into an infinitely more comfortable pair of yoga pants, kicked off my platform sandals, and wandered into the kitchen. For all my biliousness, I also was strangely hungry, and a bowl of mint chip ice cream seemed just the ticket.
I’d taken all of three bites, though, before the nausea overwhelmed me again. Pushing the bowl away of ice cream away, I got to my feet and bolted down the hall to the guest bathroom, where I bent over the toilet, retching. Nothing came up. As quickly as it had come, the queasiness subsided, and I got a Dixie cup and made myself drink two cupfuls of water.
What the hell?
A hand to my forehead told me that my temperature seemed pretty much normal, although I supposed I should go to the medicine cabinet in my own bathroom to retrieve the thermometer and see if I really was feverish. After drinking one last cup of water, I crumpled up the little cup and threw it in the trash, then went to the bath off the master bedroom.
The thermometer told me what I’d already suspected — nothing. Temperature of ninety-seven point nine, which was normal for me. I always ran a little low.
So…what? Not the stomach flu; I’d have a temperature with that. Maybe that burger at Red Planet Diner had been a little off, but you’d think if that were the case, I would have started to feel sick a lot sooner than this.
Just a bug, I told myself. Just because it doesn’t fit the parameters of something you’ve had before doesn’t mean it’s anything except a nasty little virus that slipped under your defenses.
The T-shirt I was wearing suddenly felt too hot, despite my apparent lack of a temperature. Time to slip into a tank top and my oldest, loosest bra, and then curl up on the couch and ride out this thing, whatever it was.
I went to my dresser and pulled out a faded blue tank and the bra in question, and yanked the T-shirt over my head. After that, I reached back to unhook the bra I wore, and gave a sigh as it came off.
Freed, my breasts almost felt worse, heavy, aching. I grabbed the alternate bra and slipped into it, frowning. My breasts shouldn’t be hurting like that. Sometimes, they were sore a day or two before my period started, but that blessed event was still a week off. No reason they should feel so swollen, so strange….
I stopped then, the fear blossoming like an ice-cold flower somewhere in the pit of my stomach, spreading out to fill every vein with something roughly akin to antifreeze. There was no way….
Slipping the tank top over my head, I stumbled into the bathroom, pulled my packet of pills out of the medicine cabinet, feverishly inspected the interior of the little plastic case. There were no missing days; taking a pill at night just before I brushed my teeth had been part of my regimen for so long that I didn’t even think about it anymore.
It had to be something else.
The pill isn’t one-hundred-percent foolproof, my brain told me, and I shook my head. That didn’t matter. Grayson had always used a condom, and so had Lance, for that matter. He’d gone to get tested so we could dispense with those things as soon as possible, but he was still waiting on the results.
But then it hit me. That one time, when Grayson had come back from his ride, just after the MIBs had left. I jumped on him like an animal, not thinking, just wanting him, wanting him inside me. Of course, he hadn’t stopped me, and I hadn’t hesitated, maybe knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that it was perfectly safe, that Grayson was no risk in terms of disease, and I was on the pill anyway….
A frightened little moan escaped my lips. No, it had to be something else. Just a bug.
But what kind of bug would make my breasts hurt like this?
Barely a hesitation, and then I was shoving my feet into a pair of flip-flops, grabbing my purse, running for my car so I could go to Walgreens and get the test that would put my mind at ease.
No point in wearing sunglasses; everyone at the drugstore knew me, of course. All I could do was slap the pregnancy test down on the counter and pray that professional courtesy would keep Jerri, the cashier, from commenting.
Thankfully, Jerri didn’t say anything except, “Hi, Kara, how’s business?” before scanning the barcode on the pregnancy test and dropping it promptly in a bag, as if she instinctively knew that the less time it was visible, the better.
“Fine,” I managed, before handing Jerry a twenty. This was one transaction I definitely didn’t want on my debit card.
And then I was done and was out, hurrying back to my car and tearing out of the parking lot at a speed that was definitely not safe. Good thing Sedona’s finest all seemed to be occupied elsewhere at the moment.
I pulled into the garage and rushed into the house, ignoring Gort’s inquiring brown eyes, dropping my purse on the coffee table in the living room, practically sprinting into the bathroom. No need to look at the instructions; I’d had to use one of these things years ago, in a scare when I was still with Alan and I was sure the pill had failed me then, too. That’s all this will turn out to be, I told myself. Just nerves.
Just jumping to conclusions because I’d been so on edge lately.
Peeing on a stick was not a graceful endeavor no matter how you looked at it, but I performed the task with a minimum of mess and somehow managed to wait the required three minutes. Then I bit my lip and looked down at the little pale pink stick.
Two lines.
The bile rose in my throat again, and I choked it back. After swallowing, I looked back down again, but those two lines were still there, staring up at me like a pair of evil, slitted eyes.
It was impossible. It had to be impossible. But the test claimed to be ninety-nine-percent accurate.
Yeah, well, they say the same thing about the pill.
Then again, the pill had never really been designed to stand up to alien super-sperm, had it? Or maybe I was forgetting how it really worked.
Logically, I knew the test could still be wrong. Somehow, though, I realized it wasn’t, that despite my precautions, something had happened. Something I had never imagined in a million years.
Shaking, I bent my head, unable to tear my gaze away from those two accusing little lines. Finally, I shut my eyes, although I knew that wouldn’t make them go away.
Oh, God. What do I do now?