“Couldn’t this just be a coincidence?” MacAlister asked. “Commander Mulligan would have been under an enormous amount of stress, what with her predicament and all. Couldn’t she have made a simple mistake and misidentified a meteor shower? I mean it’s possible, right?”
“We can speculate about what it might be forever, but the only way to be absolutely certain is to go and take a look at the ship, meteor, whatever,” said Emily. She was surprised by the look of acceptance to her suggestion that she received. She had expected a straight-up no-way-José response; instead she was met with a steady gaze from each of those sitting next to her.
“I’d like a crack at these bastards,” said MacAlister. “At the very least, I want to see what kind of a being is able to bring an entire planet to its knees in a day.”
“So, let me get this straight: You’re suggesting that we travel to Nevada, track down where this thing landed, and try and make contact with them?” said Parsons.
“Pretty much,” said Emily.
“Okay, well, count me in.”
MacAlister glanced across the table at Captain Constantine, who had remained out of the conversation.
“It’s your call, skipper.”
“If Jacob is correct, and what we witnessed last night is some kind of an alien craft, then we need to know how much of a danger they pose,” Constantine said after a few moments’ thought. “We need to assess their capabilities and whether they pose any imminent threat to our safety here. If they do, then we will have to reassess our decision to stay here and find someplace else, somewhere safer to settle as far away from them as possible. I think it’s worth the risk to send a reconnaissance party out there and see what we’re facing. Mr. Parsons, do we still have that drone onboard?”
“Yes, sir,” said Parsons. “She’s stowed away and ready to roll out.”
“Drone?” asked Emily.
“We have a short-range aerial drone that we use for observation and reconnaissance work. It’s basically a big radio-controlled aircraft with a camera attachment that can relay live images back to a remote video unit,” the captain explained. “So, as long as you can get within three miles of the landing site, you can send the drone in and stay at a safe distance. If we decide to do this, I don’t want to unnecessarily risk lives. We have no idea what kind of a wasp’s nest we might be sticking our fist into.”
“How we get there is the next question,” MacAlister said. “From what we saw on our little walkabout yesterday, there’s no way we’re going to make the trip overland, there’s just too much growth. We could skirt back north along the coast, maybe see if there’s any kind of break in the jungle. It’s going to be a hell of a trek, though. Probably looking at weeks’ worth of walking, maybe longer if we don’t have a clear shot to Vegas and have to lug the drone along too.”
“Can anyone fly a helicopter?” Emily asked, half-jokingly. “I think I saw two across the bay.”
The crew all turned their heads to look at MacAlister.
“I may have some experience in that department,” he said, smiling. “Actually, I have about two hundred hours of flight time. So…”
Emily smiled back at him. “Well, you’re just a jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you?”
MacAlister’s smile grew into a broad grin. “Oh, I’ve been called worse… much, much worse.”
CHAPTER 17
Emily climbed into the dinghy and settled down onto the wooden seat next to MacAlister. There were five more onboard with her, including the boat’s pilot who stood at the raised steering column toward the back of the boat. Emily recognized Rusty from their first exploratory trip into the wasteland created by the fire. She smiled warmly at the young sailor.
“Morning, Miss,” he said. “Thor not with you today?”
What Emily wanted to say was: “Call me ‘Miss’ again and I’ll knock you on your ass.” God! She was barely ten years older than him. She had not had the best night’s sleep, and it was showing in her mood. What she actually said was: “No, no Thor today.” She had left the dog with Rhiannon. She was going to be travelling with a bunch of edgy armed men, and she did not want to take the risk that her dog would be shot by some nervous, trigger-happy sailor.
With everyone fastened in, the boat accelerated quickly away from land and headed out toward Coronado Island, east of Point Loma.
The trip across the inlet was rough, the water choppy with rolling swells that rocked the boat up and down. Emily felt her stomach roll with every unexpected rise and fall of the boat, and after a few minutes she began to feel a little queasy.
The rough water didn’t seem to bother the sailors who all seemed relaxed, almost nonchalant.
“Just fix your eyes on one of the rivets,” MacAlister said, his voice struggling to be heard over the roar of the engine and whoosh of spray as the boat cut through the waves. “It’ll help with the nausea.”
She took his advice, fixing her gaze on the head of a rivet bolted into the bottom of the boat. By the time she realized it was just a clever distraction to take her mind off the trip, the boat was only a few hundred yards off the beach of Coronado Island.
MacAlister gave a quick raise of his eyebrows and smiled as she looked up from the floor.
“Clever,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I aim to please.”
Emily wasn’t sure whether that was just an innocent reply or whether he was flirting with her… again.
The boat’s pilot began to ease off the throttle as they approached the shale beach. As the nose of the dinghy cut through the pebbles and the boat came to a shuddering halt, the sailors leaped to the shore, their weapons at the ready but not raised. For some unknown reason, the alien vegetation had not managed to take as strong a hold on this extreme western side of the island, the ground and expanse of concrete and asphalt that stretched out in all directions was free from all but the occasional plant. In the distance, Emily could see a large building, its curved roof and huge doors made it instantly recognizable as an aircraft hangar. Several other smaller buildings—offices, perhaps?—were in stationary orbit around it. The hangar was the only building that appeared to have made it through the storm more or less undamaged. But beyond the cluster of buildings was an all too familiar wall of red, bisecting the island across the middle.
Several fighter planes, or what was left of them, at least, lay broken and twisted on the concrete parkway in front of the hangar. They looked as if some cruel child had reached down and snapped their backs. The two helicopters Emily had spotted when she first landed looked as though they were still in one piece. One was obviously canted to the right, though, the left side of its bottom fuselage resting against the runway. But the other helo was still upright, riding on three wheels, its four rotor blades hanging limply like wet black hair.
MacAlister raised his binoculars to his eyes and glassed the buildings then tracked across to the helos. “That’s where we need to be, lads,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.” At his command the group began to jog cautiously toward the hangar, their weapons raised to their shoulders and sweeping the scenery as they approached the building.
The team reached the nearest building and proceeded along the western edge in single file, Emily in the middle, the sailors covering angles with their weapons.