Chapter One

 

The alien hung frantically at the end of the noose, the rope cutting into the soft gray flesh of its neck. Its already big black eyes were opened wide as its long, spindly fingers clawed at the rope. The alien's small slit like mouth was agape and emitting a horrid screech as the crowd looked on in horror. Suddenly, the alien's body lurched into an inhuman pose, and then fell silent. The only sound was the audible gasp from the alien's mouth as the last breath escaped his chest.

The once angry mob fell utterly silent. Their torches were still blazing brightly on this cold November night in 1589. A brisk North Carolina wind began to whip across Roanoke Island, twisting the alien's thin dead body back and forth at the end of the noose. One by one, the crowd began to fall back.

A large woman stepped out of the crowd holding her small infant girl. Her usually neat brown hair was flayed wildly about her head and shoulders. She had lost her bonnet in the fray. Swinging her oil lantern toward the alien, a look of horror crossed her face. "What's the matter with ya?" She turned to look at the body, "It's of the devil! It deserved to die!" she said in a British accent. Turning back, she stared angrily at the silent crowd while her baby cried. She looked down and tried to comfort her baby, "Hush, Virginia Dare. Be a good girl for Momma."

A tall, rugged man stepped out of the crowd. Lifting off his hat, he moved closer to the woman. "Elenore, I can't speak for the rest of us, but I don't think we did the right thing." His voice was low and gravelly, but filled with regret.

Elenore quickly turned and scowled at the man, "Don't you give me that, George. You were shouting to kill it just as loud as the rest of us. Don't you go and be gettin' sour on us."

"I ain't gettin sour," he stroked his thick brown beard. "I just think we should've thought this through a little better." The crowd responded with shouts of agreement. "I ain't ever seen anythin' like this before." George kicked at the dirt with his boots, "I don't think it's of the devil, Elenore."

Elenore took a step away from George and the crowd. She quickly pointed at the alien while coddling her child in her other arm. "Look at it! It ain't no person, and it sure as hell ain't no animal I ever seen! And have we all forgotten where we found it? It was sneakin' around Dan Anderson's farm! Terrorizin' his family!"

George dropped his head. "That still don't make it of the devil!"

Elenore stepped up to George, even though she was a full two feet shorter. "Dan's daughter said this thing came ev'ry night and took her away! It was takin' our children for god's sake!" Elenore swung around to face the crowd, "How many of you want this thing takin' our kids in the middle o' the night? I sure as hell don't!"

The crowd muttered in agreement with Elenore.

Elenore turned and pointed at the alien, "Now I say we cut this thing down and burn it!"

The crowd cheered and began to approach the alien. They suddenly stopped when a bright light appeared in the sky over them. The light exploded into a huge silver saucer. It hovered silently over them for what seemed like an eternity. The moment was shattered when a beam of light jetted from the hull of the ship and pinpointed the body of the alien. The beam then slowly moved along the ground, and before the crowd's eyes, three more gray aliens materialized. One of the aliens stepped forward and with a wave of his hand, the noose opened, allowing the dead alien to fall to the ground. The three aliens crouched down by their fallen comrade, apparently mourning their loss.

One of the aliens stood up and turned to address the crowd. They quickly fell back in terror.

Elenore could swear she saw anger in the alien's face. She mustered all the courage she had and stepped forward holding Virginia tightly against her chest. "Devil be gone!"

The alien made no motion toward her, instead it turned and stepped back into the circle of light. Picking up their fallen shipmate, the other two aliens joined the third in the circle of light, and were gone as quickly as they came. The crowd, still astonished at what they had just witnessed, turned their gazes skyward toward the craft.

Screams began to fill the air as the white light abruptly shifted to red and a smoke began to settle over the one hundred or so settlers in the crowd. The gas immediately went to work on the colonists' respiratory system, shutting it down. The gas also seemed to be acting like an acid, burning their flesh. The settlers writhed in agony as their flesh burned and their lungs began to produce thick yellow foam. They were drowning.

Summoning all his strength, George clawed his way out of the light. Standing up, he looked through blurry eyes at his hands and arms, now covered by burns and blisters. Turning around, he watched his fellow colonists dropping to the ground one by one, their bodies beginning to melt into pools of fluid. He saw Elenore on the ground, her large frame covering her baby as she tried to protect her. George turned away, trying to block out the screams that filled his ears. He couldn't take anymore.

George knew he was about to die. Turning away from the horror behind him, he ran toward a small outcropping of trees. He needed to leave a clue to what had happened here. He didn't want all one hundred and seventeen settlers dying for nothing. He didn't want others to repeat their mistake.

Whipping out his knife, he started to carve a word on the tree. George searched his vocabulary for a word that closely meant "extra-terrestrial", and came up with "Croatoan". The Croatoan's were a tribe of Indians that had helped the settlers learn to fish and hunt when they reached the New World. Several of the settlers, upon first meeting the Croatoans, had remarked how unearthly they appeared compared to the English.

George had spelled out C-R-O when he saw the beam shift directions. Bolting off in a dead sprint, he weaved his way deep into the brush and trees. A tall wooden fence that cut through the thick foliage finally stopped George. Crouching down in terror, he watched the awful red light break through the treetops around him. He knew they were looking for him, and they would find him. Standing up, he carved the letters C-R-O-A-T- O-A-N in the wooden fence post behind him. He only hoped Governor John White would understand the message when he returned from England. When he returned to find the first colony of the New World had vanished without a trace.

Chapter Two

 

Every light tells a story, or so he had been told. The houses' lights below twinkled through a misty fog that filled the valley. He watched as people packed in cars made their way to work and home through the crowded streets. He tried to imagine what was happening in their lives. Were they having a good or bad day, were they fighting with their significant others, or were they simply on their way to a job they hated? So many things could be happening in these people's lives, it was hard for him to fathom.

His father had been a professional writer and had always tried to teach him how to find the story behind everything, but he was never really concerned with the plight of others, only his own.

A brisk wind whipped around him kicking up a patch of dust. He had parked his car on top of a hill that had a gorgeous view of Elko and Spring Creek, Nevada on both sides. For the past several days, they had seen a light snow fall, but most of it had melted away, leaving only the icy grip of winter.

He had parked his car facing north into Elko, and had seated himself on the hood. With his thick black boots and worn black leather jacket wrapped around him tightly, he stared into the partially clouded sky. The stars were shining brightly overhead, one of the assets of living outside a major city, but it didn't matter to him. They all looked dull and lifeless through his cynical eyes.

Tyler Mitchell's life was over, or so he thought. He had just been dumped by his girlfriend of three months. He had never been very good in school or been an athlete, so he'd never had much luck with women. Now in his senior year, Tyler felt as if his chances were beginning to dwindle. He had driven up to the Summit to clear his mind, but only found more pain. This is where they had always come to look at the lights. It had also been here where they had their first kiss, and first....

Tyler didn't want to think about that now, although she was great. Shaking the thought, he turned his attention toward the sky. Patches of stars were showing through the cloudy sky, but something else caught his attention, something bright. It looked like a star at first, until it started to move. He founded himself transfixed on the light as it swooped back and forth. A wave of anxiety passed over him as it paused above him.

He had read all the literature and watched all the documentaries; this was a UFO, and the moment he had been waiting for his entire life. Tyler knew it was crazy, but he had always hoped life really did exist outside of this planet, so they could come and take him away from his meaningless life. Tyler had always considered himself an outcast of society, electing not to attend parties or hang out with his friends on Saturday nights, but to diligently search the skies in hopes of catching a fleeting glimpse of aliens. This was it.

Standing up, Tyler walked around to the side of his blue late model sedan and opened the door. He grabbed his cell phone off the dashboard and quickly dialed a number. He listened as it rang. "Come on, come on. Pick up!" He kept his vision trained on the UFO.

"Hello?" an attractive female voice answered. "Jessie!"

"What do you want, Tyler?" Her tone was harsh.

Tyler didn't know how to proceed. "I'm sorry, I just...well, I think I'm watching a UFO."

"Is this some sick ploy of yours to get back with me? You do realize it's over, don't you?"

"No, this is real! I'm watching it right now!" He waited as silence ensued on the other end of the line. "Jessie?"

"Look," he heard her sigh in exasperation. "It's over, Tyler. I'm not going to take you back. I've got to go, I'm going out tonight."

The click of the phone startled him. "Damn." Pressing the end button, he tossed the small black cellular phone back into his car. Glancing back up at the sky, he became alarmed when he couldn't find the light. He quickly whirled around scanning the sky for the UFO. Where is it?

A burst of cold wind caught him off-guard. Spinning around, Tyler came face-to- face with a huge craft. He stared in awe at its shimmering silver surface as it hovered silently in front of him. A wave of fear engulfed him. Taking several steps back, he unexpectedly caught his foot on a large rock and began to tumble end over end. Tyler fell awkwardly down the face of the hill. Finally hitting bottom, his right leg slammed against another rock, breaking it in several places. Tyler screamed in agony as blood spurted from the wound where the bone broke through his skin. Glancing up, he saw the huge craft maneuvering toward him, its bright red and blue collision lights blinding him. He tried to scream for help, but no one heard his cries; no one except the occupants of the craft.

 

***

 

The clinking sound of silverware against plates filled the room giving it an eerily musical sound. The large ballroom of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada was lavishly decorated for this auspicious occasion. Crystal chandeliers accompanied by strands of gold garland adorned the ceiling and the corners of the walls. The floor was filled with several round tables occupied by well-dressed people of all ages. Laughter and conversation moved over the room as the guests spoke openly about politics and social standings amongst themselves.

A large wooden stage stood at the far side of the room. On it were two tables joined in the center by a tall wooden podium. On the right side of the podium, four well-dressed men were conversing and enjoying their dinner of smoked salmon. To the left of the podium, two men and two women sat anxiously waiting for the night's presentation to begin.

The room's attention was quickly drawn to center stage as the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared. A middle-aged man dressed in a black tuxedo slowly stood up from the right and took a position behind the podium. Testing the mic, he tapped on it three times, filling the room with a dull thud from the speakers. His white hair shone in the harsh spotlight as his blue eyes twinkled. "First off, let me say thanks to all of you out there for making our dream become a reality." His opening remark was met with loud applause from the audience. "Thanks to your generosity, the Wills Foundation has raised well over one hundred thousand dollars to help our researchers combat cancer all over the world!" Applause erupted again. The man raised his hands to try and quiet the group. "Most of you know me," he scanned the audience, "and for those of you who don't, my name is Dan Wills, founder and CEO of the Wills Foundation." He stopped and smiled. "Now, what you've all been waiting for, our chief researcher here at the foundation," Wills turned to his left and gestured toward the man sitting next to the podium, "Robert Kincaid!" The crowd went wild.

Kincaid slowly stood up and turned to face Wills. Grabbing his outstretched hand, Kincaid shook Wills' hand, then moved past him to the podium. Reaching down to the table, he grabbed his glass of water and placed it on the podium in front of him. "Thank you."

Kincaid was a tall and wiry man with short, thinning brown hair. His thick dark rimmed glasses were the most outstanding feature of his long, plain face. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he wiped the sweat off it. Taking a long sip of his water, he set the glass down and addressed the mic. "You'll have to forgive me, I've been feeling a little under the weather recently." He balled up his fist and held it in front of his mouth as he tried to stifle a cough. "As most of you know, it's flu season." A small laugh rippled through the audience. Taking a deep breath, he decided to jump into his speech. "As Dan said, I am the main researcher here at the Wills Foundation. For fifteen years, we've been striving to find a cure for cancer, to stop this deadly killer that fears no one. As some of you know-" He was cut off in midsentence by a wave of coughing. Trying to catch his breath, he took a long sip of water. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed it on his flushed face. Finally composing himself, he tried to continue. "Excuse me." He dabbed the handkerchief on the back of his neck and loosened the top button of his dress shirt. "As I was saying, cancer fears no one. It is a plague on the face of the Ea-" Another wave of coughing stopped him. A murmur of anxiety began to race through the audience. Placing his hand over the mic, he leaned over to Wills. "I'm sorry, Dan, I didn't know I was this sick."

Wills patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. "Do what you can, Rob. I think everyone will understand."

"Thanks, Dan."

Lifting himself back up behind the podium, Kincaid stared out into the audience. Raising his hand above his eyes, he tried to block out the spotlight so he could see the reactions of the crowd. Another coughing fit gripped his body. He felt his already tired muscles tense up as the dry heaves erupted. Looking into the crowd, his vision began to blur. Doubling over, he let out a gasp of pain.

Wills immediately jumped up and grabbed Kincaid to keep him from falling over. "Rob! Are you okay?"

Kincaid shook his head furiously as he tried to stop coughing.

Steadying Kincaid against the wall behind them, Wills grabbed the microphone. "We need a doctor!" Several people stood up in the audience and quickly made their way toward the podium. Turning around, Wills spotted Kincaid. He had slid down to the floor. Dropping to his knees, Wills grabbed Kincaid's face and turned it toward his. "Stay with me, Rob. Help's on the way."

A large black man pushed Wills aside. "I'm a doctor. I can help." Reaching down, the doctor pressed two fingers to the side of Kincaid's neck. "His pulse is very thready. We're losing him! Call 911! Now!" the doctor barked.

It was already too late for that; Robert Kincaid's life was quickly fading away as he lay on the floor behind the podium. The doctor ripped open his shirt and began to administer CPR. Looking down, the doctor watched Kincaid's eyes roll back into his head as another coughing fit gripped his body. Thick, yellow foam began to flow from his mouth, choking him.

The doctor reeled back in horror. "What the hell is that?"

The group that had gathered around Kincaid stood watching with their mouths agape as he died.

 

***

 

He awoke suddenly in a cold sweat. Sleep had been a luxury he hadn't enjoyed lately. Pulling off the sheets and sitting up, he looked around the stark motel room he was in. The light from the 'vacancy' sign outside his second floor window permeated the room giving everything a ghastly red glare.

It had been almost a year since he had helped destroy both of the top secret research facilities deep in the Southern Nevada Desert, and Jake Silver was tired of running.

Grabbing the remote control off the nightstand next to his bed, Jake flipped on the television and stood up. Making his way into the cramped bathroom, he cranked on the faucet. Placing his hands on the counter, he stared at the exhausted man in the mirror. The beard he had grown to help disguise himself was starting to look very ragged since he hadn't trimmed it lately. Huge, dark bags hung under his deep blue eyes, and his usually short brownish-blonde hair now hung to his shoulders.

Putting his cupped hands under the running faucet, he splashed the cool water on his face. Turning off the light switch in the bathroom, he made his way through the room to the balcony. Throwing open the doors, he stepped out into the humid night air. It was June in New Orleans, and the streets were bustling with summer tourists. He stared down into the French Quarter at the old style buildings. He loved it here.

Before becoming a Private Investigator, he had been a Field Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, stationed here in New Orleans. Originally from a small farming community in Kansas, he had never been in a major city until he came here. The city became a part of him during his fifteen years in the Bureau; he now called this place home.

It was also his first choice when he needed a place to lay low for a while. In the eleven months since he had helped destroy Area 51 and Site 4, agents of the government had been showing up everywhere he went. His mind wandered back to that close call in Seattle, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

He was concerned with something else, or rather, someone else. It had been several months since he had last seen Alex Robinson. They had decided to split up, realizing that having the only two surviving people that knew what happened that fateful night in Nevada in the same place was dangerous. The logic behind the thought was that if one was caught or killed, the other would still be free. It was a good idea on paper.

He didn't know why, but in the time they had spent together running from the government, he had grown very attached to Alex. He had been married once, but his career had always come first. Jake remembered the morning he came home from an all-night stakeout and found a note from his wife that just said, "I'm sorry". She had left and taken his daughter without even attempting to work things out. This time, however, it was different. He couldn't explain why.

Alex had decided to stay with one of her colleagues at the University of Colorado in Boulder. She had insisted she needed time and a decent laboratory to work on the sample of the green liquid that the test subjects were being immersed in while they were at Area 51. Jake had agreed. He now regretted that decision, though. Jake now realized that even if they were in danger together, he needed her. Her continued belief in extra- terrestrials and the UFO phenomenon was the reason he kept running. Alex's passion was all consuming.

Taking one more look across his city, he stepped back into the air-conditioned room and closed the doors. Returning to the bathroom, he lifted a small brown travel bag off the floor and laid it on the sink. Turning on the tap, he held his hand beneath it waiting for the water to warm up. Unzipping the bag, he removed a small blue razor and dipped it in the water for a moment, then placed it next to the sink. Lifting a can of shaving cream out of the bag, he popped off the top and sprayed a generous helping of foam into his hand. He steadily began to smear it across his beard. Lifting the razor, he took one final look at his beard.

Trying to keep himself occupied as he shaved, he listened to the television playing in the background. Before he went to bed, he had been watching one of the twenty-four hour news stations.

"...The President will return to work immediately after a week off spent with his family at Camp David. In other news, it seems the southwestern United States still seems to be having a stroke of bad luck." Jake stopped for a moment. Peeking his head around the edge of the bathroom door, he stared at the well-manicured anchorman. "It was less than a year ago that the area around Las Vegas, Nevada was rocked by an earthquake measuring eight point two on the Richter scale. Thanks to federal aid, the area had just finally gotten back on its feet, but now, it seems an unknown contagion has hit the gaming capitol of the world. We now go live via satellite to Jill Marlens in Las Vegas."

The picture changed to a well-dressed woman standing in, what looked to Jake, like a hospital ward. Her long, brown hair was neatly tucked behind her ears and being held in place by a pair of wire rimmed glasses. She was wearing a germ mask over her face. "Thanks, Bob. As you can see, the hospitals and doctors' offices are overflowing with patients. The first reported case of this mysterious illness was only reported about a week ago, when it claimed the life of world-renowned Wills Foundation cancer researcher Robert Kincaid, so it seems it's spreading very quickly. Researchers are still baffled by what's causing the outbreak. They do know one thing, if you are experiencing flulike symptoms and live in Southern Nevada, Southern California, or Northern Arizona, go see a doctor immediately. You may have contracted this deadly illness. The Federal Emergency Management Agency is on the scene, but so far, they have no answers either. This is Jill Marlens reporting live from Las Vegas, Nevada. Back to you, Bob."

"Thanks for that report, Jill. In other news, the stock market hit an all-time high today. Most analysts think interest rates...."

Clicking off the TV, Jake sat down on the edge of the bed. The implications of that story were too big to just ignore. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed his wallet and dug out a small business card. Lifting the phone off the hook next to him, he quickly began to dial the number printed on it.

After a few short rings, a female voice answered on the other end. "University of Colorado at Boulder. This is Suzanne, how can I help you?"

"I need to speak with Dr. Robinson. It's urgent."

 

***

 

It was a scorching hot day in the middle of the Southern Nevada desert. For the past few days, a patch of thunderstorms had moved through, but the rainfall wasn't enough to squelch the drought that gripped the entire area. The dry lakebed that the complex was built on was barren for miles. Surrounding the lakebed was a range of mountains littered with rocks, sagebrush and Joshua trees. It was a desolate place.

A tall, slender man with sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes stood alone in the middle of the longest runway in the world. His dark blue uniform was neatly pressed and fit him perfectly. He adjusted his wire rimmed sunglasses as he stared at the newly rebuilt main hangar of Area 51. Crews had worked around the clock for ten months to rebuild the hangar and stabilize the underground portions of the base that had been damaged in the explosion.

He had read the files that dealt with the destruction of Area 51 and S-4, but was unable to fathom how two people could infiltrate, then destroy, two of the most top secret facilities in the world. He knew it would be no challenge to run this base more efficiently than either of his predecessors.

"General Foster?"

General Michael Foster spun around. "Yes?"

A slender woman with long brown hair and green eyes strode toward him. She extended her hand to him. "Sir, I'm Colonel Anne Carroll. I apologize, I wasn't informed of your visit until half an hour ago."

"Understood." He grabbed her hand and shook it firmly. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel. You're in charge here?"

"Yes, sir. I was placed in charge of all base operations after General Perry was killed."

"I read in your report you were shot while defending S-4. Everyone in that base was presumed dead when it imploded, yet you survived. How?"

"My gunshot wound wasn't that severe. It missed all my major organs going straight through my side, but the pain I was in was excruciating. Using all my strength, I pulled myself up and made my way toward the exit. Once outside, I felt the first explosion tremor tear through the base. Moving as fast as I could, I tried to get as far away as possible before the second explosion." Her mind started to wander back to that horrible moment in time. "I wasn't far enough away when it happened, though. The shockwave from the explosion moved across the ground like a ripple in a pond, throwing me off my feet and slamming me into the face of the rock wall next to the access road." She grabbed her side, cradling her old wounds. Foster detected a small tremor in her voice. "I spent close to a week wandering in the desert before I finally found civilization."

"That's quite a story, Colonel," Foster admitted.

"Thank you, sir. The doctor that operated on me accredited my survival to my strong will to survive." Her voice returned to a more professional tone. Anne quickly directed Foster toward her waiting jeep.

Arriving at the jeep, Foster set his duffel bag in the back and unzipped it. He removed a large manila envelope and handed it to Anne. "Read this, Colonel."

Anne quickly opened the envelope and removed its contents. "Are these new orders?" she asked while scanning over the documents.

Foster paused for a long moment before answering. "I hate to do this to you, Colonel. I know this was your first command-"

Anne interrupted, "You're replacing me as the Commanding Officer of this base?" Foster nodded. "The President and Joint Chiefs felt it was wiser to have someone with more experience in charge of the facility, especially after what happened last year."

Anne began to flip through her new orders with disbelief. "Sir, I was given this assignment with the understanding that after we completed reconstruction, I would retain command."

"I am sorry, Colonel." Foster lifted himself into the passenger seat of the vehicle. Anne quickly composed herself and snapped to attention. "With all due respect, General, I deserve my own command." She thought for a moment. "What's my new assignment?"

Foster removed his sunglasses and stared at her. He slowly folded them and then slid them into the breast pocket on his jacket. "I need you here with me."

"Why is that, sir?"

"Your job here will still be one of command, I need you to help me get acquainted with the base and the men. I don't want to jump into this assignment blind."

"But, sir-"

"My final word has been given, Colonel Carroll," Foster replied sternly.

Anne crisply saluted. "Yes, sir." Moving around to the driver's side of the jeep, she climbed in and threw the vehicle into gear. Stepping on the accelerator, she piloted the white Jeep Cherokee toward the main hangar of the base.

 

***

 

Jim Durard was having a rough time traversing the rocky terrain wearing a pair of thick rubber boots. He stopped and began to wave a small silver device around himself, attempting to catalog the radiation throughout the area. Checking the meter, he let out an audible sigh. There was still no sign of anything.

He suddenly felt a twitch under his nose. Doing his best to stifle it, he felt it pass. Taking a few steps further, he suddenly sneezed inside his yellow contamination suit. Mucus splattered across his visor. He cursed under his breath as he vainly tried to wipe it off, even though it was on the inside. Reaching down, he worked his gloved hand over a small black transmitter on his belt. He flipped a small silver switch into the 'on' position. "Hey, Greg, are you there?"

The speaker crackled to life inside his helmet. "Yeah, go ahead, Jimmy."

"Where are you?"

"Down here! I'm waving at you," Greg Hollman replied with a bounce in his voice. Jim stared down into a huge hole in the Southern Nevada Desert that used to contain the top secret underground base known only as 'S-4'. The crater had been estimated to be almost a mile deep and several miles in diameter. It was thought that when the base imploded, it disrupted the porous soil underneath that comprised most of the Great Basin area, creating a huge sinkhole.

Durard caught sight of Greg standing just outside a group of men in yellow contamination suits. "I see you. Hey, listen, I'm going to head back to base camp for a minute."

"What happened?" Greg asked.

Durard felt embarrassed at his rookie mistake. "I sneezed inside the suit. I need to wipe my face shield off." Laughter erupted from the speaker. "It's not funny," he stated very seriously.

"The hell it's not," Greg argued while still laughing.

"I'm heading back," Durard replied, trying to end the conversation.

"Okay," Greg was laughing as hard as he could. "Hey, you might want to grab some tissues when you come back next time."

Durard reached down and clicked off his transmitter. He enjoyed working with Greg, but sometimes, the man got on his nerves. Sliding the silver cylinder into its holster on his belt, he turned around and began to walk toward several white domes that stood near the top of the crater. They vaguely reminded him of gigantic igloos.

Reaching the nearest dome, he moved toward the entrance. He quickly grabbed the handle and twisted it, opening the door. Stepping inside, he stared at the large vents built into the floor and ceiling and another door in front of him. He tapped a glowing green button on a waist high console to his right that started two large fans in the vents.

After several minutes, the giant fans kicked off and a loud buzzer began to sound inside the small room. He slowly pulled off his thick rubber gloves and reached up to his helmet. Grabbing the zipper on his right shoulder, he pulled it down over his chest and slowly lifted off his helmet. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he slowly moved through the second door.

The inside of the dome wasn't as large as it seemed from the outside. It was filled with long tables that held scientific equipment of every kind. Lab technicians dressed in white jumpsuits with black gloves and boots moved about the equipment examining various samples attained from the site. Long ventilation shafts ran the entire length of the roof, giving it the feel of a warehouse.

Sitting down on a bench near the door, Durard began to peel off the contamination suit. Once the suit was off, he exhaled a long sigh of relief. Running his hand through his chin length blonde hair, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. It wasn't easy wearing a thick rubber suit in the middle of the desert.

He had only been employed by FEMA for a little over a year now. He had been recruited right after he'd graduated from Stanford. Being only twenty-six, Durard was one of the youngest men in the organization. Turning to his right, he spotted a dark- skinned man working at a computer terminal near him. "Steve!"

The man looked up from his experiment just long enough to acknowledge Durard. "What's up, Jimmy?"

Steve Curtis was a lifelong scientist. He was one of those kids that pulled the legs off bugs to see what would happen, and the appliances around his parent's house never worked right again after he had taken them apart to see how they worked. Even though he was considered one of the friendliest people in the Federal Emergency Management Agency, he had an intimidating look to him. His dark hair was done in dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders. His lower face was covered with a thick black beard, while his light blue eyes set off his dark skin. He was a middle-aged man of about forty, but you couldn't tell by the way he conducted himself.

"I just needed to take a break for a minute. It's damn hot out there," Durard said, wiping the remaining beads of sweat off his face.

"Why do you have to lie to me?" Steve responded in a sarcastic tone, still concentrating on his work.

Durard was confused. "What?"

"Greg already radioed ahead and told us that you had a little 'accident' in your suit." Steve began to laugh, his deep voice echoing off the sides of the dome.

"I'm going to get that smart ass." Standing up, Durard made his way over to the table where Steve was working. "What are you looking at?" He quickly tried to change the subject.

Steve was delighted when anyone asked him about work. It was his passion. "I've found something really strange in a few of the soil samples we've recovered."

"Radiation?" Durard asked.

"No," Steve studied his notes for a moment. "I haven't even found the most minute traces of radiation at this site."

Durard was puzzled. "That's strange, considering the military told us this base suffered some kind of nuclear explosion."

"That may be what they told us, but that's not what happened."

"How do you know?"

Steve stood up. "Follow me." He quickly began to walk over to a section of the dome that was littered with large chunks of scrap metal. He pointed down to one of the bigger pieces, "See the scorching?"

Durard nodded. Long black char marks ran the length of the metal. "Okay, so that would still indicate there was an explosion of some kind."

"Right, but not a nuclear one. All these pieces tested negative for radiation." He began to walk back to his workstation. Hitting several keys on his laptop computer, the screen flickered to life with graphics. "You see this?" He pointed to his computer screen.

Durard studied the computer screen. "Yeah, it looks like your basic double helix."

"So you did study in college." Steve smiled at Durard. "This isn't your ordinary DNA strand, though. It contains code I have never seen before."

"And that means what?"

"It means this fragment of genetic material we found in the soil might not be terrestrial in origin."

Durard took a step back. He had never been one that believed in UFOs or aliens that visited Earth. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"What was it doing there?"

"Apparently, the same thing it's doing now. Nothing. It's totally inactive." Steve thought for a moment, "It does remind me of bacteria, though."

"Why is that?"

"It's built the same way."

Durard began to chew on his fingernails, but quickly stopped. "How could something that might be extra-terrestrial look like bacteria here on Earth?"

"Hey, man, bacteria are one of the oldest forms of life on this planet. A lot of the big wigs at NASA are now theorizing that life on this planet may have started when a meteorite carrying alien bacteria crashed here billions of years ago. Once it landed on the fertile planet that was Earth, it began to flourish."

"I don't subscribe to that theory."

"Why not?" Steve asked. "It's completely plausible. That's a lot easier for me to believe than some omnipotent god came down and said, 'let there be life'."

Durard really didn't want to get into this debate with Steve. He had been known to argue his point until his opponent gave in or died, whichever came first. "So where did this particular strand come from?"

Steve shook his head. "I have no idea, but from my samples, it appears it's not contained to this area alone."

 

***

 

There was a long silence before someone picked up the phone. "This is Dr. Robinson," a female voice answered.

"Alex, it's Jake. How are you?"

"Jake! It's good to hear from you." Jake could hear Alex smile over the phone. "I'm great. How have you been?"

"Good, considering." Jake paused. "How's your work coming there?"

"With the help of Dr. Lucas, I've made some very big breakthroughs lately. It's been very exciting."

"Great." Jake didn't want to get to the point. He was just enjoying talking to Alex. "Have you been watching TV lately?"

"No, I haven't had much time to," Alex admitted. "Why?"

"Do you have a set near you?"

"Yeah."

"Turn it on. There's something I want you to see."

"Okay, hold on for a sec." Jake listened as Alex set down the phone and went to turn on her TV. Several moments past before he heard her gasp. She immediately picked up the phone. "What's going on in Las Vegas?"

"I don't know," Jake admitted, "but I have a sneaky suspicion that our friends at Area 51 do."

"Where do you want to meet?"

Jake felt a large smile cross his face. "Stay there. I'll come to you." Jake thought for a moment. "I'm in New Orleans right now, so I'll catch the next flight out. I should be there tonight."