Kelly Schwarze
Alien Domicile: Escape Area 51
For my daughter Ellinor
Hidden Base
Eighty miles outside of Las Vegas was the United States’ most secretive military complex. Area 51 had been at the center of conspiracy theories and popular lore for decades. The CIA acknowledged the base’s existence in 2013, but it never confirmed or denied continued operations. Despite this, hundreds of contractors were flown daily from Las Vegas on unmarked 737s to the remote base.
PART ONE
South Secondary
CHAPTER 1
It was a Tuesday. A little after four in the morning. But time didn’t seem to matter as the reverberating hum of shuffling boots sounded against the concrete of an apparently endless subterranean tunnel system. The place was massive. Acres of underground corridors joined large cavernous sections big enough to park commercial airplanes. Tons of concrete and miles of pipe shaped the labyrinthine maze. Decades of oxidization and rust had weathered the walls. Life didn’t seem to flourish here.
The stillness of containment haunted the entire scene as Master Sergeant Ryan Pierce stepped forward. He was the leading man of a small US Air Force security unit. Unlike soldiers on a regular military base, the four members of this motley crew were not in typical Airman battle uniforms “ABU’s”. They were dressed more like civilian contractors — the kind one would expect to see in Iraq or Afghanistan. They wore blue jeans, boots, T-shirts, and tactical vests. They wore no rank and no identification. Secrecy was paramount here, and ambiguity within its ranks was what made places like this work. The only consistency to their attire was their weapons. The soldiers guided their steps carefully and held high-powered assault rifles big enough to take on a tank. These guns were unique, special ordered, and were certainly not something one could get at the local gun shop. They were heavy and miserable to carry. The team was patrolling the large tunnel system carefully, and the strain of uncertainty was visible across all their faces.
Pierce was of medium build and in his midthirties. Caucasian. He had not shaved in days. He wore a thick pair of Buddy Holly government-issued eyeglasses. With his height, crew-cut hair, and five o’clock shadow, he could have passed for a sixties NASA engineer. He was attractive enough to fit in with the rest of the twentysomethings behind him. Pierce was from good stock. His father was a successful businessperson and Pierce never really needed to work for anything. Because he had been the all-star wrestler of his small town in Connecticut, growing up had been a breeze. Pierce had a disdain for women and was well-known on base for being a chauvinist.
Flanking Pierce’s right was a younger female, Specialist Martinez, who carried a discerning expression. How did I get this patrol? she thought. Pierce looked back at her and picked up on her strain.
She had been reluctant to go on the mission. He had made her go and felt power over her submissive demeanor. The military prepared people to lead with aggression or to follow orders like sheep in a herd. His team was shorthanded that morning, and she was filling in. She had barely stepped off her daily airplane ride from Las Vegas when she was pulled into the mission. The woman sarcastically grinned and stepped behind Pierce. The other duo of soldiers, Donovan and Carpenter, cautiously scanned the location behind Martinez. It was their job to protect the rear of the unit.
Like Pierce, the men looked like intellectuals rather than tough guys. The air force was renowned for its brains more than its muscles. On this particular day, though, this unit might have to fight for their lives. The team cautiously continued through the cold facility. Everyone was on alert. The tension was high.
An inconspicuous narrow hallway seemed to capture Martinez’s attention. Something sounded like music. It was distant and barely audible over the loud drone of the facility. She stopped and looked to the others. They obviously hadn’t heard the same thing she had. They were too focused on another corridor that led out to a massive pump room. Martinez slowly veered toward the long corridor, leaving formation. The other two men casually passed her by.
The place was known as South Secondary. It was a two-hundred-acre underground facility located thirty minutes from the main Groom Lake Base by way of an off-road vehicle. It was built during the Cold War. It could hold an entire city’s population. Its original purpose was to protect high-level government officials from a nuclear war, but over the years, it had become a storage unit for controversy and myth. Separating fact from fiction was a daily task for most who worked at the base. Only a few people even knew South Secondary existed. UFO lore and rumors made it difficult to distinguish what the base’s true purpose was. But one thing was certain to Pierce and his team: South Secondary was the last place anyone at the base wanted to patrol that day.
Pierce stopped and glanced back at his team. He hadn’t realized Martinez had stepped off. She had vanished from his sight. He skimmed back toward the other two. Where the hell is Martinez?
The other two looked around with equal confusion.
Worthless. Pierce nodded with agitation to the men, and they quickly retreated back down the tunnel.
Martinez walked to the edge of a line on the concrete floor. It was a faded black-and-yellow caution line that bordered the adjoining corridor. She stood with her toes at the edge. Her body tilted forward. The haunting sounds of twenties jazz music echoed back toward her. What the hell is that noise? She gazed forward with curiosity. Am I losing it?
Something was pulling her into the hallway. Maybe temptation. Perhaps curiosity. Whatever it was, she couldn’t resist. She took a step into the hallway. She moved her boots over the caution line and planted them firmly on the other side. She had crossed into the hallway with one solid step.
Her trip was short-lived. A hand grabbed her shoulder, shocking her back into reality. Holy shit! She looked back. It was almost as if she had just woken up from a nap. It was Pierce. He had a firm grip on her and was pulling her back. His scowl seemed to indicate she should have known better.
“Let’s go.” He motioned angrily with his head. “We’re wasting time.”
Martinez reluctantly nodded and followed him back into formation.
The loud whistle of escaping air pressure cried out from a distant ventilation pipe. Something had ruptured. The pump room was old. Regular maintenance seemed to escape this section of the facility. Pierce and the others silhouetted a large open doorway. Before them lay a massive labyrinth of dated water treatment machinery and facility clutter. Stacked rows of waterlogged cardboard boxes leaned against the surrounding walls with the heaviness of time. Years of forgotten equipment, tools, and junk lined the perimeter. The room smelled like dust and mildew.
Pierce’s attention was drawn to the screaming ventilation pipe. It was several yards away. He could see it, but getting to it was the real problem. It would require them to crawl under a row of large rusted-out water tanks. They would have to actually get dirt under their fingernails and dodge layers of thick spider webs and other unpleasantries. Pierce’s face wrinkled with reluctance. He looked back to his unit.
Let’s move and get this over with. Entering this area was a big risk. The place was alive with brown recluse spiders and black widows. Aside from that, the area was toxic with old water treatment chemicals and respiratory allergens. Pierce took the first step forward.