Pierce was at the doorway leading out into the hallway. He was casual. Emotionless. He leaned against the door seal with a smarmy grin. His attention was locked on the young lieutenant as she removed her top ABU jacket and tossed it to the floor. Her beige undershirt was soaked with sweat. Pierce looked at the jacket piled on the floor and smiled. “Haven’t had to wear ABUs in a while.”
Gail was unmoved. The comment was a sarcastic point about his casual wardrobe requirements. Security police in Area 51 were not required to wear typical military uniforms. In fact, it was encouraged otherwise. Ambiguity was paramount here.
“Where did you say you worked before this?” Pierce asked.
“I didn’t,” replied Gail sharply.
Pierce shrugged and looked off. He wasn’t getting any small talk from her. He was used to officers’ attitudes. Women were the worst. They all had things to prove and especially hated enlisted men.
Gail stood in silence for a moment, contemplating her rudeness. She felt like hell and didn’t want to engage in any conversation with a stranger, but the silence felt even more awkward. Pierce continued his long stare toward her. His eyes beamed through his smudged eyeglasses. She didn’t have to look in his direction to know he was just standing there and watching her like a creep. She sensed it. She quickly reached up to her matted hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.
“Special projects,” she replied.
Her sudden engagement took Pierce aback. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying to come up with a follow-up to keep the conversation going. It was like trying to stoke a new fire.
Gail felt as though her body was inside an oven. Sweat rolled down her pant legs into her boots. Her chest felt as if it was on fire. Her head throbbed with a migraine. Her eyes were becoming less tolerant to light. The bright fluorescent overhead lights made her sensitivity worse. She angled down to the floor and slowly reached toward the back of her neck. It was achy and stiff — the feeling one would have when starting to get the flu.
She moved her body away from Pierce, almost to conceal her suffering. But it was too late. He took notice and observed her with a discerning eye as she slowly pivoted toward a small handwashing station on the far side of the laboratory. Her breathing was inconsistent. Long-winded gasps coupled with short wheezing breaths to make her movements even more dramatic with each step.
Gail was on borrowed time, and Pierce knew it. Her actions were highly curious. Perhaps he had seen this type of thing before. It reminded him of something. Her disposition was familiar and unsettling.
Gail rested her palms on the sink counter to support herself. She shifted the weight of her body to her elbows. She slumped her head down toward the sink as though she was waiting to vomit. A bead of sweat plopped down onto the black counter below her chin. The sweat looked odd. It was whiter and thicker than sweat. Gail tried to focus on keeping herself upright. She was worried about showcasing weakness in front of Pierce more than anything else. Embarrassment was something she didn’t do well.
She reached around the side of her neck and pulled her hair back. Her neck was getting itchy, and her hair was adding to the irritation.
Pierce took notice of the lieutenant’s exposed neck right away. He slowly looked over with peculiar fascination. A long purple vein snaked across the base of the woman’s hairline down to her shoulder blade. Other small veins split out from the main one like tree branches and led to discolored black-purple blots. It looked like something out of a medical journal — ghastly and freakish. This didn’t look normal by any standard.
Gail was clearly oblivious to what was running down her neck.
She didn’t feel anything in particular — just a throbbing sensation, like a neck ache. She massaged her neck to relieve the tension. Pierce’s eyes grew wider as he realized what he was looking at. It wasn’t a birthmark. It wasn’t a bruise or a surgical scar. It appeared to be a lump that pulsated slightly from under her skin.
CHAPTER 11
Dimitri continued to work with what he had, and it wasn’t much — a pair of screwdrivers and determination. He had made little progress. The elevator call panel was bolted to the wall with a special screwhead. It was the kind no one ever had on hand — the hexagon-shaped type. To make it worse, it was a patch job. A recent repair. And whoever did it made sure the panel was locked in. He only had a flathead and a Phillips head screwdriver. Neither was effective at turning the machine-tightened screws from the plate. Then he had another thought. He could pry it off. He tossed the Phillips head to the concrete and set the edge of the flathead against the cinder block. He pushed and shoved the screwdriver forward, trying to catch the lip under the panel. It was pointless. The lip was also sealed with some type of silicon. That was probably to keep dust out. It was also effective at keeping him from driving the screwdriver anything more than a quarter inch under the lip.
Hanna and Russell stood impatiently behind him. Hanna watched on with helplessness, periodically scanning the long, ominous, dark hallway that seemed to expose them to whatever threat was out there. Her nerves were on fire. If we are going to be attacked, it is going to happen now. A clock ticked inside her mind, and each time Dimitri dropped his screwdriver to the floor, it felt like an alarm going off. It reverberated through the entire facility. Hanna knew something lurked out there. She had seen it. Maybe I should tell the others. She toiled over the thought, glancing down to Dimitri and then back to Russell. Maybe if they knew, he’d hurry the hell up.
Hanna sighed. She knew what they were up against more than she wanted to admit. It wasn’t a foreign invader. It wasn’t a terrorist group or even an inside job. Something much more frightening had taken the base. The possibility of an extraterrestrial foe was much more than she had bargained for. It sounded ridiculous. They wouldn’t believe me if I told them.
Hanna pivoted back to Dimitri. “Maybe we should get better tools and come back. We’re sitting ducks here,” she said.
“No, I am not leaving until I get this door open,” replied Dimitri.
Hanna stepped back with frustration. She felt nauseated. She would have to be patient, but she could hardly stay within her shoes. She was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
Russell was faring no better. He was exhausted from the trek down there. His knees were starting to act up, perhaps triggered by his scuffle with Dimitri only an hour before. Standing was making it worse. He shifted his weight back and forth from one leg to the other to give himself some relief.
Despite the discomfort, he was a good sentry. He stood with full attention toward the other long hallway off to the side of the elevator. His flashlight kept a steady observation of the dark space. There wasn’t any movement, but something felt off. As Hanna had pointed out, they were in a bad spot. Too exposed. They needed to get that elevator door open, and they needed to do it fast.
The sound of a distant door slamming grabbed everyone’s attention. The noise was followed by an agonizing, animallike growl. It was a cross between a bear and a squealing dog. Breathy and drawn out. It carried through the dense facility, bouncing off the walls and pipes as if in an amphitheater. It was hard to pinpoint the direction, but it sounded nearby. More movement came from deep inside the hallway.
Hanna stepped forward and shone her light down the corridor. Russell remained planted, keeping his attention on his hallway. Hanna’s hand trembled. She stepped forward a few more paces and tried to cast her light deeper into the space. She could not see or make out anything. The flashlight seemed to fade only a few yards in front of them. “We need to hurry up,” she said from the side of her mouth, and then she narrowed her eyes with realization.