Invasion

1

10:15 P.M.

“Hey, hello!” Candee Taylor said as she tapped Jonathan Sellers on the shoulder. At the moment Jonathan was busily kissing her neck. “Earth to Jonathan, come in please!” Candee added while she began rapping on Jonathan’s head with her knuckles.

Both Candee and Jonathan were seventeen and juniors at Anna C. Scott High School. Jonathan had recently gotten his driver’s license, and although he was not yet permitted to use the family car, he’d been able to borrow Tim Appleton’s VW. Despite it being a school night, Candee and Jonathan had managed to sneak out and drive up to the bluff overlooking the city. Each had eagerly anticipated this first visit to the school’s favorite “lover’s lane.” To help set the mood, as if they’d needed any help, the radio was tuned to KNGA, home of nonstop top forty hits.

“What’s the matter?” Jonathan questioned while probing the tender spot on the top of his head. Candee had had to hit him pretty hard to divert his attention. Jonathan was tall for his age and thin. His adolescent growth spurt had been all vertical, much to his basketball coach’s delight.

“I wanted you to see the shooting star.” As a gymnast, Candee was significantly more physically developed than Jonathan. Her body was the source of the admiration of the boys and the envy of the girls. She could have dated almost anyone, but she chose Jonathan because of a combination of his cuddly good looks and his interest in and abilities with computers. Computers happened to be one of her interests as well.

“So what’s the big deal about a shooting star?” Jonathan whined. He glanced up at the stars but quickly returned his gaze to Candee. He couldn’t be sure of it, but he thought that one of the buttons of her blouse that had been buttoned when they’d arrived was now mysteriously unbuttoned.

“It went all the way across the sky,” Candee said. She traced her index finger across the windshield for emphasis. “It was awesome!”

In the half-light of the car’s interior, Jonathan could just make out the imperceptible rise and fall of Candee’s breasts with her breathing. He found that more awesome than any stars. He was about to lean over and try to kiss her when the radio seemingly self-destructed.

First the volume jumped to an ear-splitting level, followed instantly by a loud popping and hissing noise. Sparks leaped out of the dashboard and smoke billowed up.

“Shit!” Jonathan and Candee screeched in unison as they reflexively tried to push themselves away from the sparking receiver. Both leaped from the car. From the safety of the exterior they peered back inside, half expecting to see flames. Instead the sparking stopped as abruptly as it had started. Straightening up, they eyed each other across the top of the car.

“What the hell am I going to tell Tim?” Jonathan moaned.

“Look at the antenna!” Candee said.

Even in the darkness Jonathan could see that its tip was blackened.

Candee reached out and touched it. “Ouch!” she exclaimed. “It’s hot.”

Hearing a babble of voices, Jonathan and Candee looked around them. Other kids had gotten out of their cars as well. A pall of acrid smoke hung over the scene. Every radio that had been on, whether playing rap music, rock, or classical, had blown its fuse. At least that’s what everybody was saying.

10:15 P.M.

Dr. Sheila Miller lived in one of the city’s few residential high-rises. She liked the view, the breezes from the desert, and the proximity to the University Medical Center. Of the three, the last was the most important.

At age thirty-five, she felt as if she’d been through two lives. She married early in college to a fellow premed student. They’d had so much in common. Both thought that medicine was to be their consuming interest and that they should share the dream. Unfortunately, reality had been brutally unromantic because of their arduous schedules. Still, their relationship might have survived if George hadn’t had the irritating idea that his career as a surgeon was more valuable than Sheila’s path, first in internal medicine and then in emergency medicine. As far as domestic responsibility was concerned, it had all fallen on her shoulders.

George’s undiscussed decision to accept a two-year fellowship in New York had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. The idea that George expected her to follow him to New York when she’d recently accepted the position of head of the University Medical Center emergency department showed Sheila how mismatched they were. What romance had once been between them had long since evaporated, so with little argument and no passion they divided up their collection of CDs and back issues of medical journals and went their separate ways. As far as Sheila was concerned, the only legacy was a mild bitterness about assumed male prerogatives.

On that particular night like most nights Sheila was busy reading her unending pile of medical journals. At the same time she was taping a TV presentation of an old movie classic with the idea of watching it over the weekend. Consequently her apartment was quiet save for the occasional tinkle of her wind chimes on her patio.

Sheila did not see the shooting star that Candee saw, but at the same moment Candee and Jonathan were startled by the destruction of Tim’s car radio, Sheila was equally shocked by a somewhat similar catastrophe with her VCR. Suddenly it began to spark and whir as if it were about to launch into orbit.

Startled from the depths of concentration, Sheila still had the presence of mind to yank out the power cord. Unfortunately that maneuver had little effect. It wasn’t until she disengaged the cable line that the machine fell silent although it continued to smoke. Gingerly Sheila felt the top of the console. It was warm to the touch but certainly not about to catch fire.

Silently cursing, Sheila went back to her reading. She vaguely toyed with the idea of bringing the VCR to the hospital the following day to see if one of the electronic technicians could fix it. She justified the idea with her busy schedule. There was no way she could take the time to schlep the thing to the appliance store where she’d bought it.

10:15 P.M.

Pitt Henderson had been slowly easing himself down so that he was now practically horizontal. He was sprawled on the threadbare couch squeezed into his third-floor dorm room on campus in front of his black-and-white thirteen-inch TV. His parents had given him the set on his previous birthday. The screen might have been tiny, but the reception was good, and the image was clear as a bell.

Pitt was a senior at the university and scheduled to graduate that year. He was premed and had majored in chemistry. Although he’d been only a slightly above average student, he’d been able to snare a position in the medical school by evidencing hard work and commitment. He was the only chemistry major who had opted for the work-study program and had been working in the University Medical Center since his freshman year, mostly in the labs. Currently he was on a work rotation and clerking in the emergency department. Over the years Pitt had developed a habit of making himself useful wherever in the hospital he was assigned.

A huge yawn brought tears to his eyes and the NBA game he was watching began to fade as his mind began to drift toward sleep. Pitt was a stocky, muscular twenty-one-year-old who’d been a star football player in high school but had failed to make the team in college. He’d weathered the disappointment and turned it into a positive experience by concentrating that much more on his goal of becoming a doctor.

Just when Pitt’s eyelids touched, the picture tube of his beloved TV blew up, scattering shards of glass over his abdomen and chest. It had been at the same instant that Candee and Jonathan’s radio as well as Sheila’s VCR had gone crazy.

For a second Pitt didn’t move. He was stunned and confused, unsure if the disturbance that had shocked him awake had been external or internal, like one of the jerks he’d get on occasion just before falling asleep. After pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and finding himself staring into the depths of a burned-out cathode ray tube, he knew that he’d not been dreaming.

“Holy crap!” he remarked as he heaved himself to his feet and gingerly brushed the thin shards of glass from his lap. Out in the hall he heard multiple doors creaking against their hinges.

Stepping out into the hall, Pitt glanced up and down the corridor. A number of students in all manner of dress, male and female, were looking at each other with dazed expressions.

“My computer just blew a fuse,” John Barkly said. “I was on the Internet.” John lived in the room right next to Pitt’s.

“My freakin’ TV exploded,” announced another student.

“My Bose clock-radio practically caught fire,” said another student. “What the hell’s going on? Is this some sort of prank?”

Pitt closed his door and eyed the sad remains of his beloved TV. Some prank, he mused. If he caught the guy responsible, he’d beat the crap out of him...