“What the…?” Caplan leaned forward until the tip of his nose practically brushed the windshield. “Did you know that was here?”
Tony Morgan didn’t reply.
Caplan pressed the brake pedal. The clunky four-wheel drive vehicle, known affectionately throughout Hatcher Station as Roadster, slid gently along the snow, coming to a stop halfway up a small hill. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the long metal posts and the thick, sparking wires.
The surrounding forest had been cut back to make space for the curving fence. Metal posts, embedded in concrete blocks and painted to look like trees, rose twelve feet above ground and measured at least a foot in diameter. Thick metal bars, interspersed with wires, connected the posts to each other. There were no safety signs, no warnings to keep back.
Inside the fence, Caplan saw more trees, dripping with the vestiges of the last snowstorm. His subconscious detected something unsettling about the ancient pines, cedars, and hemlock trees. The landscape, although picturesque on the outside, hinted at a great evil. An evil that ran deep in the soil, spoiling all it touched.
“I asked you a question,” Caplan said, more firmly this time. “Did you know that fence was here?”
Tony, clad in a bright orange coat, remained still for a moment. Then he nodded.
“I’m your boss,” Caplan said. “How come you found out about this before I did?”
“Because I’m unlucky as hell. Listen, I need to do a few things. So, if you’ll just—”
“Forget it.”
“But—”
“I don’t know what this place is, Tony. But I know we’re not supposed to be here. If we get caught—”
“We’re not going to get caught.” Tony’s voice rose a few decibels. “Do you want to know how I know that, Zach? Because this area doesn’t exist. Oh, it exists in person. Just not in Hatcher’s systems.”
“I don’t understand.”
Taking a deep breath, Tony lowered his voice. “A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a little shaft of light while browsing the feeds for this sector. Looking closer, I saw a fence. At first, I thought it was some old relic of the past. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I shifted feeds, hoping to get a better look. But it didn’t work. That got me real curious and I started comparing the feeds to each other. And you know what I learned?”
“What?”
“The feeds and our instruments only cover part of this sector, even though our systems say otherwise. In other words, there’s a gap in our coverage of 48. I call that area — which you see before you—48A.”
Caplan stared at him, then at the fence.
“All those times I borrowed Roadster, I came here.” Tony exhaled. “I’ve driven and hiked along the fence for miles in each direction. I haven’t seen anything yet. Not even animals. But the Foundation has to be hiding something in there.”
Caplan’s brain swirled with this new information. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”
“If you’ve got one, I’d love to hear it.”
Turning his head in either direction, Caplan followed the fence to its vanishing points. It didn’t move in a straight line or even close to it. Instead, it curved and angled wildly. Coupled with the paintjob, which also covered the concrete blocks, the fence appeared well disguised from aircraft and satellites. Not that it mattered much since the Vallerio Forest had been designated an official Prohibited Area many years earlier, alongside such well-known places as Camp David, Mount Vernon, and Groom Lake. Other than Corbotch-approved crafts, no flights of any kind were allowed to enter the airspace.
Caplan felt vague hints of curiosity stirring in his joints. But equal amounts of dread stirred with them. Dread of what lay beyond the fence. Dread of getting caught. Dread of losing his job.
“Maybe the Foundation is building a new base of operations.” He shrugged. “Regardless, it’s none of our business.”
“Says you.” Grabbing the handle, Tony pushed his door ajar and stepped outside. Hoisting a duffel bag over one shoulder, he shot Caplan a mock salute. “Back in a minute, bro.”
“Get back here!” Caplan banged the steering wheel with a frustrated fist as Tony slipped, skidded across the snow-covered earth.
After a short distance, Tony slid down a small hill like a baseball player stealing second. Throwing his bag to the ground, he donned a pair of thick gloves and sorted through it. Selecting an aerosol can, he doused the nearest wires with some kind of foamy, white substance.
Cursing under his breath, Caplan turned off the ignition, jerked his door open, and stepped out into the bitter cold. He lingered for a moment at the open door, soaking up whatever heat he could get from the still-warm car. Then he closed the door. Hunkering down against the biting wind, he hiked across the crunchy, wet snow.
Tony tossed the aerosol can aside and picked up a pair of sharp bolt cutters. Caplan couldn’t quite see the handles, but figured they were made of fiberglass or a similar material. He knew he should stop the man, but blazing curiosity kept him from doing so.
Lifting the cutters, Tony attacked the bottom two wires. Sparks flew as he snipped and peeled back four-foot sections of fencing. The gentle buzzing of electricity turned strident. Tossing the cutters aside, Tony flopped onto his belly and crawled under the barrier.
Caplan’s heart sank to new depths even as his curiosity soared. “This is stupid,” he shouted, emitting tiny clouds of vapor into the icy air. “The interior must be gigantic. You’ll never get through it on foot.”
“Don’t need to.” Reaching back, Tony grabbed his bag and pulled it into the gap afforded by the cut wires. “I’m just going to plant a few cameras, set up some instruments. At least we’ll have eyes and ears on this place.”
“Tony…”
“Give me twenty minutes. That’s all I need.”
Tony Morgan tossed the heavy bag over his shoulder. After another mock salute, he trudged across the untouched snow, heading to the trees.
Caplan stopped well short of the fence. Clutching his arms across his chest, he shivered. Part of him wished he had Tony’s audacity. Part of him wished Tony had his cautiousness.
Darkness swallowed Tony up as the man stepped into the forest. Caplan shivered again as a strange sensation filtered through his blood. Trying to ignore it, he stared at the landscape. The trees floated over the snow banks like ancient pillars of a long-forgotten city. A city abandoned to the elements for reasons modern man would never fully understand.
“Holy—” Tony’s shout ceased immediately, like a radio station cut off mid-song.
Caplan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he called out.
Wet snow crunched like gravel. Tree branches shook violently, sending their snow airborne where it turned into a cloud of thick whiteness.
A roar, not especially loud but full of unearthly evil, rang out. Its sound, fierce and discordant, reached into Caplan’s very soul, touching some ancient, instinctual part of him. Vast amounts of fear, fear he’d never felt in his life, sprung up inside his heart.
More roars, the stuff of Caplan’s worst nightmares, rang out. Tony’s voice lifted above the ruckus, shouting something unintelligible. The dark corridors between the trees started to tremble, to swirl with unseen activity. The darkness expanded, contracted, and expanded again.
Abruptly, two things shot out of the forest at cannon-speed. The first thing — the duffel bag — slammed into the fence and fell to the ground, just a few feet from the gap. The second thing hurtled to the snow several feet in front of the trees and rolled twice. As it came to a halt, Caplan saw sprawled limbs, a ripped-up face, and a sliced and bloodied belly.