SNAFU: An Anthology of Military Horror

— 1~

Drun staggered, the skin on his upper body raw and weeping where it had been burned away. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before in his long and arduous thirty years of life.

He needed to rest — he needed to hide — and he needed to find the Drawing Cave. For days, he and his tribe had been aware of the strange newcomers in their territory. He had urged his people to ignore them and simply wait until they passed on, as they had done many times before. But Orlak, Orlak the angry one, had managed to convince the young warriors to attack them, steal their goods and let all the peoples of other tribes know that this land belonged to the Urdan.

Drun had argued, but no one listened to the old chief anymore. Orlak carried the spear of leadership now. Only his voice would be heard.

They had crept closer to the strangers, like any other hunt. There had only been two of them, and they were weak and small. It should have been easy — two quick kills for Orlak to crow about.

Orlak was first, as always, leading the tribe in a whooping charge that had surprised the pair of visitors. Spears were thrust into the shimmering body of one, making him collapse at their feet. But the other was faster and had not fled as they expected, instead turning to point at them, some small object flaring in its hand. Immediately most of the tribe had been covered with fire and light.

Drun whimpered as he remembered the pain of the burning rays — it was like staring into the sky at the great ball of heat and fire. His eyes still ached. Once again, Orlak had been first. He simply vanished in the beams of light that had flown from the stranger’s hand. Many of the Urdan had burned along with their new leader, their screams of fear cut off as they were turned to ash. Drun had been close, partly shielded by the body of one of the young. Even so, the heat had been unbearable, and it had seared his flesh deeply.

The old warrior staggered on, finally spotting the refuge he sought. It was the deep cave they used to capture the spirits of animals they would hunt by painting their images. Drun himself had drawn bison, musk ox, and the greatest prize of all, the giant mammoth.

He crawled deep inside, the precious thing still held tight in his hand, and dropped down against the cave wall. He grimaced as another wave of pain wracked his body. He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to ease himself into a more comfortable position, and rested his head against the cool damp stone. He listened for the sound of pursuit, or some other beast that might have taken up residence deeper in the cave. Nothing save the continual drip of milky water.

Drun opened his hand to examine the mysterious object. When he had fallen, he had found himself on the ground near the speared visitor… and beside him had lain the beautiful shiny thing — hard as a piece of stone, but so polished and smooth it defied belief. And now when he looked closely, he could see there was something bright inside it. Something like fire.

He held it in one open hand, pressing and stroking it with a blunt finger. Immediately a beam of lightning shot from its narrow end, striking the ceiling of the cave. Rocks fells, dust rose, and the small vestiges of light from outside were shut out.

Drun cried out, and his hand locked tight again over the object. Before the dust had even settled, he knew he was trapped. He cried out again but the echo of his voice was absolute. He was sealed in. He wept; sorry for himself, sorry for his lost brother warriors, and sorry for not being strong enough to stop Orlak from making war on the strange visitors.

He lay back, not caring that the drip of the water fell upon his matted hair. Drun closed his eyes and let his mind wander, taking him away from the darkness and the pain. He dreamed of his youth, of his mate, of hunting in warm spring sunshine. He exhaled, the long breath leaving him slowly for the last time.

The water continued to drip down upon him.

— 2~

“There’s something in there.”

Klaus Hoffman shone his flashlight onto the wall of the new cave, moving it slowly back and forth, letting the beam penetrate from different angles. He felt rather than heard Doris creep closer. She did little more than sniff in the cold darkness, letting him know her disinterest was peaking.

”Look, look.” He turned and grabbed her sleeve as he crouched down, pulling her toward him.

“Ow.” Doris pulled her arm away from his grasp. He’d thought his girlfriend had been slightly interested in entering the cave. He couldn’t count the times she had seemed to sit spellbound as he had recounted his many spelunking adventures over the past few months. Perhaps her interest had been feigned, or perhaps her interest only extended to hearing about caves — entering them was a whole different ballgame.

“I don’t see anything.” She looked away and down into the interior of the cave. “It’s too dark.”

Klaus muttered in annoyance and tugged her sleeve again. “Here… don’t look at the rock, look into it. It’s called a limestone flow, and it’s rather like solidified dishwater… cloudy but you can still see through it.”

She had folded her arms, leaned forward and craned her neck. But after a few seconds she slowly shook her head. “Nope, nothing.”

Klaus started to groan in frustration and then had a thought. He held up a finger and then fumbled under his jacket for his water bottle, uncapped it, and splashed the liquid onto the cave wall. The smooth limestone revealed looked like glistening wax. He smiled and sat back on his haunches. “It’s the result of tens of thousands of years of water dripping down to coat everything in micro-mineral particles that hardens to a semi clear covering. It’s the geological equivalent of capturing flies in amber.” Klaus changed the angle of his light beam once again.

“Oh yeah, I can see inside — yuck — that thing looks weird.” Doris wrinkled her nose, but crouched beside him.

“Looks beautiful to me.” Klaus tipped some more water over it.

“Is it a man? He looks deformed or something.” Doris got to her feet, but also kept her flashlight trained on the wet stone.

“You mean, was. And no, I don’t think he was deformed. Judging by the depth of mineral coverage, I’d say he’s been trapped in there for about at least forty thousand years, maybe even sixty thousand.” Klaus leaned in, his nose almost touching the slick stone. “Not deformed, more like proto-human… probably Neanderthal.”

He shone his torch at the cave wall and ceiling, before letting it rest on her face. “The sink hole we entered only opened the cave a few days back, and so far the emergency services have kept everyone well away. We’re probably the first people to set foot here for tens of thousands of years.” He raised his eyebrows theatrically, but she just nodded without enthusiasm.

Klaus shrugged, still feeling the tingle of excitement ripple through him. He leaned in close again, inhaling the smell of the ancient stone. From behind there came the sound of a metallic flicking, followed by a spark of light.

He spun. “Doris… are you shitting me… you’re smoking?”

She pointed the cigarette at him like the barrel of a small glowing gun. “I’m nervous. You know I smoke when I’m nervous. I’m nervous, cold, hungry… and horny.” She tilted her nose in the air, but looked back at him out of the corner of her eye.

Klaus snorted. He knew when she threw in the horny angle she wanted him to do something. Normally she got her way, but this time, his focus remained firmly above his waistline.

“You smoke when you’re nervous, drunk, happy, sad… face it Doris, you smoke all the time. Show some respect; this cave probably hasn’t seen people for about fifty thousand years… and do you mind not dropping ash everywhere?”

She wobbled her head. “I’ve seen you smoke too, Mr. High-n-mighty. Besides, who’s going to complain … him?” She jerked her thumb at the lump in the wall, jammed the cigarette between her pursed lips, and flashed a quick glance at the blue Seiko dive watch on her slim wrist.

Klaus ignored her, and looked back at the encased body. “Maybe… and for the record, it might be a her. We need to dig it out — looks really old and if it’s a good quality fossil, which I think it is, it could be worth thousands.” He half turned. “And the smoke could damage it.”

“Thousands.” Klaus heard her softly repeat the word, and then came the sound of a foot grinding something into the cave floor.

He nodded sagely. “Sure, collectors pay a fortune for this stuff. They’ll even pay for pieces of it. We need to get some tools, and cut it out before anyone else finds this cave.”

Doris crowded in beside him squinting. “Good idea.” She pointed. “Hey, I think there’s a light in there.”

He followed her finger. “Hmm, might be a reflection — or an opal. Could make it even more valuable.”

— 3~

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” Jax slapped each soldier on the back as they jogged past — twenty of the best — combat professionals and genetically bred to be big, tough and fearless. Zone-Cleaners, ass-kickers, terminators; call them whatever you wanted, but they got the job done, the harder and dirtier the better. He had his war party, and they were ready to kick ass.

The portal flared as they all lined up to one side, awaiting his final inspection. Nano-body armor over iron-hard muscles, fusion bombs, magnetic kill-darts, and burners with enough power to fry a city block. He walked along the line, nodding to each, their eyes straight ahead. He balled his fists and faced them.

“We are the hammer, and they are the nail. When we strike, they fall. We will not fail… we cannot fail.” He raised a fist, his jaw jutting. “Anything gets in our way, it’s dead.” Jax began to turn away, but paused, his head tilting. He spun back and roared. “I can’t… fucking… hear you.”

As one, the squad yelled in return: “Anything in our way is dead.”

The squad leader grinned without humor. “Damned right.” He turned to the glowing portal. “Let’s go and burn some Gimps.”

He turned his back on them and waited for the portal to open fully and settle itself. The zone they were about to enter was dangerous. The Gimps had evolved, changed, become clever and far more deadly.

Jax was the senior officer in charge of the top cleanup crew, and he was fearless. He knew his men would follow him to hell if need be… and that was good, because where they were going, there were devils. The Gimps, prehistoric monsters that defied belief.

He breathed deeply and cast his mind back to how they had got to this point. His lips moved in a silent curse; damn science officers and their weak-willed approach to everything. He was sick of hearing their advice to command: we don’t need to take Cleaners on jumps; the Gimps fear us more than we fear them;we must hold out the hand of peace. Ha, he thought with a little vindication, hold out the hand of peace and you’d fucking lose it. As the science team had just found out… yet again.

He snorted as he checked his burner’s power cells. Gilbred, that worm, and his know-it-all colleague Hindoy… now deceased. He remembered when the puny excuse for a man had returned from his expedition, shaking like a leaf.

He glanced at the chronometer. The portal’s synchronizers had identified their destination and started the countdown.

Thirty… twenty-nine… twenty-eight… twenty-seven…

There’d been too many trips now. They had burned, interrogated and tortured their way across a lot of the primordial hellhole to get to this point. Now, it all came down to this last zone jump.

As he waited for the portal to stabilize, he let his mind wander over the events of the past few days. Back to Gilbred and when he had first returned.

Jax lunged forward and yelled into the seated science officer’s face. “You fucking lost it? You get attacked by dumb Gimps, let them creep right up on you and spear your companion. Then you let them take his damn burner?” Jax paced, his jaw clenched. He spun back. “You’d upbraid my soldiers for stepping on a single bug, but in a blind panic you fry ten Gimps.” Jax rushed back, getting in close to the cowering scientist. “Do you have any idea what sort of problems this will cause?” He brought his face so close their foreheads almost touched. “Well?”

Gilbred squeaked something incomprehensible. Jax stepped around the science officer, his lips tight in barely suppressed fury. He stopped behind the man and leaned in close to his head. “If you had left his body behind, I’d damn well make sure you spend a week in a pain chamber… of my choosing.” Jax straightened, his hands clasped behind his back, chin lifter. “Why do you science guys always think you know what’s best?”

Gilbred shook his head. “We knew the Gimps were in the area, but they had been so docile before. We didn’t think they’d…” His voice, already high and strained from fear, trailed off as Jax turned, a scowl pulling his face into deep fissures.

Gilbred hung his head. Jax smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. “You didn’t think. Don’t worry. That’s what we do… and that’s why we told you we needed to accompany you on your jumps.” He snorted. “But you knew better.” Jax growled. “Yes, you brainy types always knew better.”

Gilbred lifted his head. “I can show you where…”

Jax’s voice was so loud Gilbred nearly fell out of his chair. “Shut the fuck up; you’ve done enough.” He exhaled loudly. “The burners do not corrode, erode, or malfunction — we designed them that way. This thing will be in operation for a quarter of a million years.”

He sighed and placed both hands on Gilbred’s narrow shoulders, leaning in close to one ear. “Do you know what will happen if those Gimps get that technology? Next time we drop in on them they’ll fry us.” Jax pushed back off the man and walked around in front of him.

“We need to find it.” He stopped and stared down at the cowering man. “You need to find it. We can’t go back to the same zone twice, so you need to locate the lost burner’s xenon radiation trace and then follow it back up the event slope. Give me a place and a date, and we’ll go get it ourselves.”

Jax’s voice became soft. “A warning, though. Make sure you’re accurate. It costs a small fortune to open those portals, so we better find it before the general finds out… or it’ll be all on your head.”

The chronometer indicated the unique radiation traces had appeared again, many millennia after Gilbred had lost his weapon, and in a time they were loath to visit. As a further complication there were many traces showing. Somehow, the burner had infused objects around it with the xenon particles, and now they were spread over a large area. Jax and his team had to check every damn one of them.

His Cleanup crew was a good one — tough and brutal, and all professional zone-jump soldiers. Jax knew they’d need to be. Coming to this type of zone was not recommended. It was too dangerous. The Gimps had evolved a base intelligence, a hunter’s smarts to add to their monstrous muscle power.

Jax was first though the portal. He stepped into the dark space, only just remembering in time to snap down his faceplate. The air was foul, and the gasses would quickly sear his lungs. Only the giant Gimps, with their enormous bellow-like breathers, could absorb the mix of primordial gases.

He looked around. So fucking big, he thought. Even though he was a veteran of the class and gender wars, and as battle-hardened as they come, these creatures scared the shit out of him. Each stood three times as tall as his biggest man, and most Gimps could literally tear him or his men to pieces.

Jax circled his finger in the air, and his team started their search. There were familiar radiation vestiges, but they were faint — the burner had been here. His team examined, probed and searched their way across the dark expanse where the initial trace was detected.

It only took them a few minutes to return. Nothing on scanners, nothing on visual. Arcad, his lead Cleaner shrugged. “Not here. Might have been once, but not now. What do you want to do?”

Jax thought for a moment. “Broaden the search area. If it’s not here, I want to know what happened to it. Let’s do a quick check in the outer areas.”

“Outer areas?” Arcad’s head snapped up. “There are indications of current habitation.”

“That’s right soldier… and that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Jax moved to the entrance of the large space and froze, holding up one hand as he heard a sound from outside. He and the team froze.

Arcad eased up next to him. “Go or no go?” He looked over his shoulder to the portal gateway shimmering in the darkness behind them.

Jax held up a hand and waited, listening. He placed his ear to the entrance, and then shook his head. “Nothing.” He half turned to his second in command. “I don’t like it either, but we're here to do a job. So… we do it.” He pulled the huge barrier back towards him. It opened easily, with only a faint whine of protest.

He was first through, his team stacking in behind him. Jax was the most skilled Cleaner in Euronesia and as soon as he orientated himself he knew there was danger. He sensed rather than saw the Gimp as it loomed over them. The sound that smashed out of the darkness made them all want to cover their ears and flee. The greats beast’s maw was open, a near perfect circle, and huge teeth framed the ear-shattering screech that smashed at them like a physical force.

The Gimp raised one colossal arm. Jax didn’t wait to see if it held something dangerous, he lifted his burner, set to wide beam, and fired. The beast shimmered for a moment or two as the beam struck it, the sound of its terrifying call shutting off as it disintegrated.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He had no choice. They were loath to remove Gimps from this zone as they had strong social bonding. Too late now, he thought. “We need to move quickly. Give me a thorough search, and then let’s get the hell out of here.” He bristled. Those assholes back home better find him the right zone next time, or he’d personally feed them to the Gimps.

It took them only a few more minutes to confirm there was no sign of their missing burner. Jax herded his team back to the portal, taking one last look around. He had sealed the entrance, and was sure he had left no evidence from his team. The other creatures would find the remains of the giant beast soon enough, but as long as the crew wasn’t there, the Gimps would be as clueless. Primitives, he thought. And no burner, either. Waste of fucking time. He stepped back through the glowing portal and it immediately snapped shut behind him. The surroundings rapidly cooled, and silence settled once more.

— 4~

Monroe drank his beer and watched Raptor, his second in command, bring the man down over his knee, the man’s backbone making a noise like a snapping tree branch. He let the jerking body slide to the floor. Monroe knew Raptor didn’t care whether his opponent walked again, or died right there at his feet. Neither did Monroe.

Raptor’s opponent had been big, beefy, and knew how to throw a punch. Probably won plenty of fights in his time. From the minute Monroe and Raptor had walked in through the doors, the asshole glared, sized them up, and then to the delight of his drinking buddies, decided to get in their face. Monroe told him to walk away. The redneck chose not to. Raptor had gotten to his feet and on his way up, had collected an almighty uppercut under his chin. That was Beefy’s last mistake.

Monroe grinned and shook his head, watching Raptor stand like a bloody colossus looking around the bar — blond crew cut, pale blue eyes were so light they almost looked alien. Both men stood six foot three, and were as solid as iron from their special forces training. But Monroe was athletically long-limbed, and Raptor was a human bulldozer.

Monroe pivoted his head, taking in the other bar room patrons; some of them had been drinking with the man Raptor had just brutalized. No-one looked at either of the two men. Raptor’s brutal and efficient violence had made them invisible.

Monroe’s pocket buzzed. He frowned. It was extremely rare to get called on down time. He and his team belonged to an internal military body simply called Defense. They operated on orders issued from a few generals, and the president himself — they didn’t exist until they needed to. He pulled the disc-reader. Something big must be going down, he thought. He read the message: POSSIBLE NT INCURSION. He grunted.

NT.

Non Terrestrial.

Monroe clicked his fingers and headed to the exit. Raptor followed, but at the door he paused to look back. Not a single person looked up, their drinks now the most interesting thing in the world.

“Victim’s name is Doris Sömmer — at least we think it’s her.” Sergeant Artur Amos led Detective Ed Heisen of the Kripo — the Kriminalpolizei — the through the stinking, dark apartment.

“Based on an imprint of the driver’s license at the check-in desk, we got a twenty six year-old female, approximately five-eight tall. But… fingerprints gone, weight unknown, hair and eye color also unknown.”

“Unknown? I thought you said you had a body.” Heisen followed the older policeman, squinting to try and improve his vision in the semi gloom.

Amos half turned and shrugged. “Meh.” He handed Heisen a sheet of paper with some basic background information and a copy of the girl’s driver’s license. A small photo showed a healthy young woman beaming at the camera.

“What about other prints?” Heisen asked while reading the page.

“Millions of ‘em.” Replied the short cop.

Heisen looked up as Amos slowed at the doorway to a room floodlit by halogen lamps and bustling with several shapes in white biohazard suits. Amos flipped a page from his notebook, and read some more.

“Evidence of a metallic band on the fourth ring finger indicating a possible engagement, but the diamond is gone, and there’s evidence she was with someone. So we’re still looking for trace.” He snorted and stood aside. “And yeah, we thought we had a body too.” Amos pointed with his pen.

Heisen stepped past the smaller man and looked down at the carpet. There was an ash outline, almost too perfect in detail. He didn’t know whether to laugh or stagger from the room screaming his head off.

“Jesus Christ! What’d they use, a freakin’ blowtorch?”

The body, or what had once been a body, was just a thin layer of grey-brown ash in the shape of a figure holding an arm up, either warding off a blow or trying to shield her vision from something.

Amos pointed again with the pen. “No idea what caused it. But whatever it was, it was fucking hot. We think the ring…” he leaned forward and indicated a darker area on the end of the ash-arm pile on the carpet, “once had a diamond. Well, we think that’s what it was, as the lab boys tell me that there’s a small trace of mineralized carbon ash denser than that rest.”

Amos looked up at Heisen. “Do you know how hot a fire needs to be before a diamond burns?”

Heisen shook his head. “I didn’t even know they could burn.”

“Me neither, but I looked it up. It usually takes about fifteen hundred degrees. But this must have been even hotter and faster, cause if you heat girl’s-best-friend up slowly, it explodes. We reckon this was a burn of about two thousand degrees, and it occurred over a few seconds.”

“That’s incredible.” Heisen squatted beside Amos.

The cop waved his pen around. “That’s nuthin; look around, detective.” Amos swiveled his head theatrically, and then faced Heisen, his eyebrows raised. “Nothing else is burned. The heat happened right here, right on her, just on her, for a few seconds, and then just as miraculously, turned itself off.”

Heisen grunted and looked up — the ceiling was also unharmed. He nodded. “Well, wasn’t a flamethrower, that’d fry the plaster overhead, or at least leave a helluva stain.”

He sniffed. There was a strange smell, but not the greasy odor he expected when a body was cooked. He’d seen people burned up before and the fact was, Joe or Jane Doe contained a good percentage of fat, women more so. Even a healthy woman carried about ten percent body fat — burning it should have filled the room with greasy smoke and the smell of fried pork. Instead, there was nothing but a sharp metallic odor.

Heisen pulled on his lower lip as he thought for a moment, and then clicked his fingers. “Microwaves.”

“Huh?” Amos looked at him as if he had just started to speak in another language.

“Microwaves. You know, like what you get in a microwave oven. I hear that the military is working on some sort of device to project the waves that’ll cook you from the inside out — leaves all the buildings intact.”

Amos’s expression didn’t soften, but his head tilted by about half a degree and one of his eyebrows went up by just as much. “Rays? Army fucking mi-cro-waves? Is that your deduction, detective?”

Heisen half shrugged. “Well, what’ve you got?” He didn’t really think that. He’d also read that the devices were as large as a good sized refrigerator — not exactly something you’d cart up to the first floor of some back-alley flea-pit, use it to fry a young woman, and then slip out the back door with it hidden under your coat.

As Amos turned to speak to a couple of uniformed policemen, Heisen stepped back to look down at the outline again, trying to imagine how the girl had been standing before she had fallen back or been pushed to the ground. One arm was up, appearing as if she had the arm across her face at the moment of death, perhaps trying to protect herself from whatever killed her.

Heisen tried to twist himself into the right shape. With his legs splayed, one arm out and the other over his face. He let his eyes move to a doorway on the other side of the apartment. She would have been facing that room. Whatever had killed her had come from there. The door was closed.

The shove to his back nearly threw him to the floor. He spun to see six enormous human beings, all dressed in plain black coveralls, push into the room — five men, one woman, all with faces hard enough to dent a steel door.

One calmly started giving orders, and immediately the group began to spread out, some waving strange devices, the rest joining the guys in hazmat sits and taking their reports from them. Heisen noticed all had powerful looking sidearms strapped to their thighs.

“Hey, who the fuck are you guys?” Amos charged over waving his arms, flanked by two young policemen. The senior policeman went to grab one of the men by the arm. The effect was immediate and alarming — like lightning, Amos’ hand was grabbed and twisted. The senior cop screamed, and the two policemen went for the guns. Before they could even get close to drawing them, five weapons were all aimed at the policemen. The young cops swallowed; behind them the technicians froze. The policemen’s eyes slide to Amos.

Heisen recognized the guns — all Heckler & Koch USP Tacticals. What caught his attention was the modified o-ring barrel with polygonal bore profile and taller sights for using sound suppressors. It also had a slide rail for laser sights — these were not your standard kit, even for the Kommando Spezialkräfte.

“Let him go,” the leader said softly.

Amos was released, and he rubbed his hand, looking like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to walk away or go for his own gun. The leader, and the only one who hadn’t bothered pulling a weapon, touched something at his ear and spoke a few words. The cop’s phone began to ring.

“Answer it,” he said to Amos.

Heisen watched as Amos kept his eyes on the big man and pulled out his phone. He lifted it to his ear. “Amos.” He listened, his brow folding.

He disconnected and turned to his officers. “At ease; that was the boss.” He shrugged “Actually, further up the chain of command.” He turned away, rubbing his arm. “Let these… agents… look around… and give them any assistance they need.” Amos turned back to the man he assumed was in charge. “What’s your name?” The older cop tilted his chin, waiting.

He was pushed aside and the agents went about their tasks. Heisen sidled up next to Amos. “Who the hell are these guys?”

Amos shrugged. “From Defense.” He began to walk away.

“Huh? Defense what — army, navy, Spezialkräfte, homeland, who?” Heisen got in front of Amos.

Amos motioned with his hand to the huge agents. “Be my guest.”

There was a woman amongst them, and Heisen switched on his most disarming smile, and approached. “Hi there, I’m…”

“Fuck off.” She kept walking.

“Thank you.” Heisen waved. He decided to watch and backed up to the wall. It seemed the Defense were going to give them nothing. He could try again, maybe beg them for information, or he could do his job. He moved away from the wall, knowing he only had a few minutes before these guys, whoever they were, shut them all down. If he wanted answers, he’d have to get them himself… and quick.

He stepped around the forensics guys down on their knees sifting and lifting minute bits of evidence from the carpet. As he went by he reached down to lift a rubber glove from one of their cases and held it loosely in his hand. He crossed to the closed door the disintegrated woman had been facing, and gripped the handle. He turned it — locked.

From behind him, Amos confirmed what was now obvious. “Locked or jammed tight, and so is the other side door — we haven’t got in there yet and the landlord doesn’t have a key. We’re waiting on a locksmith. And before you ask, we’ve already stuck a peep-pipe in, and found nothing. So… we sit tight.”

Heisen backed up looking around the old door, and then reached up to feel around the frame. From behind, Amos must have been watching.

“Done that — jammed up and no hidden keys. Be too easy wouldn’t it, Heisen?”

“Locked from the inside maybe?” Heisen rolled his eyes and half turned to speak over his shoulder. “Thanks Amos; I’ll take a poke around.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead sliding past the cop and then making a sharp turn down a narrow side hallway, continuing on until he came to a door he guessed was a rear exit to the room he had just tried to enter. Using the glove again, he jiggled the handle — loose but also jammed. He looked at the frame — this one was more promising — the wood looked old and damp-softened.

Heisen reached inside his jacket, slid free his handgun, and put his ear to the door. Though Amos had said they’d stuck a peep-pipe, a cord camera, into the room, he knew from experience if someone wanted to hide, they could fold themselves into a freakin’ suitcase.

Heisen let the large gun hang by his side and put his shoulder against the door. He braced one of his legs against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway, and pushed. He gently applied more and more pressure until he felt the wood crunch softly as the lock was torn from its bed in the rotten cavity. He eased the door open and stepped inside. That weird smell again, but stronger — like an electrical short. The word ozone immediately leapt into his mind.

He quickly stepped out of the doorframe’s halo of light — nothing like a little backlighting to make you an easy target. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and gradually the piles of dirty clothing, food wrappers and assorted rubbish on a bench-top took on greater definition. The only sound came from the forensics team on the other side of the far door.

Heisen remained motionless and just let his eyes slide around the room. Against the wall there was a new pair of jogging shoes, with clean socks tucked into them — incongruously neat amongst the general disarray. On the bench top, a gold chain with small heart locket, an Yves Saint Laurent wallet open and with several cards in place, a wristwatch — blue Seiko dive model — expensive. Not theft then, he thought. Unless what was taken was something completely different.

Heisen looked around, and grunted. It didn’t fit. The entire apartment block was nothing but floor upon floor of piss-smelling flophouses. The picture of the girl, nice, wholesome, the expensive shoes and personal items — just didn’t fit.

Heisen finally walked towards the centre of the room, and holstered his gun. What’s wrong with this picture? He tugged on his lip and he slowly turned in a circle. He hadn’t been in the apartment long, but as far as he could tell the place hadn’t been tossed. So, whoever had killed the Sömmer girl had found what they were looking for, or the objective was the girl herself — a hit.

Heisen sighed and put his hands on his hips. Or theory three, it was some sort of freak natural phenomenon — ball lightning, maybe? He snorted softly and finally pulled the single glove over his hand. He used a couple of fingers to lift the wallet, carefully sorting through the contents. No receipts, no paperwork, or even a bus ticket… but plenty of cash. A runner’s wallet, he thought.

He lifted open one of the sleeves and dragged out a picture of the girl — standing with a smiling young man holding an old brown skull. She wore a slightly bored expression, and was holding what looked like a weird brushed-metal fountain pen. He turned the photograph over. In small script there were three words: Klaus and me. He turned it back, now having a name to the young face.

“Klaus, huh? What did you two kids find?” He studied it for a few more seconds before slipping it into his pocket and checking the wallet’s other compartments — all empty.

Heisen sniffed again — ozone. Ozone, and piss, and stale cigarettes, and booze and sex. No Club Med, and definitely not a place you’d expect to find a pretty young girl in new running shoes wearing a Seiko dive watch. From the little information Amos had given him, she’d come here a month ago and paid her rent cash-in-advance. In places like this, residents came here for hookers, to do drugs deals, or to hide out. You didn’t stay for the atmosphere or the local restaurant’s cuisine.

He briefly pulled the picture from his pocket and looked again at the smiling face — no way do young girls from good families come here to be incinerated in a two thousand degree microburst. Instead, they come here to meet lovers their conservative parents didn’t approve of… or to hide out. He tapped his chin with a knuckle. A runners wallet, he thought again. But running from what?

He flicked the light switch but no glow came from the bulb — it was blackened inside. Looking to the door where Amos and his team worked, he saw no key sticking from the lock. On closer inspection, he could see that the locking mechanism was fused — welded shut. He frowned. Whoever came out of this room to freak Doris out and then burn her up, had then come back in here afterwards, and then made sure the door stayed closed.

Heisen looked around; whoever it was, had come out of here, come back in here … and had stayed in here. He turned slowly, the Glock hanging loosely at his side.

Where the fuck are you? he thought.

Only one place left to look. He stepped towards the old closet against the wall, and brought the gun up. He laid his hand on the doorknob. An image of the ash outline on the floor flickered in his mind, and he worked to calm his breathing.

One-two-three; he whipped open the door, and immediately something leapt at him. He smashed the Glock into it as he turned side-on, his heart galloping in his chest as he rolled away. He was back on his feet in an instant, gun pointed in a two-handed grip. His vision tunneled as he focused laser-like on the mound lying before him.

“Fuck you too.” He exhaled and laughed softly. “A fucking raincoat.” He holstered the gun; relieved he hadn’t let off a round. He could imagine the look on Amos’ face when the cop busted in to find he had just shot the shit out of a plastic coat.

Heisen lifted his eyes back to the empty closet to continue his investigation. First thing he noticed was that wooden backboard was blackened. Clothing framed the cupboard rear as if it had already been pushed aside. Heisen reached in and touched the back of the big piece of furniture — it was solid, scorched, but solid. He pushed it — no false wall, or sliding panels.

He lifted one of the jackets free and noticed that one side of it was missing. “What the hell?” He brought it closer to his face — it was singed, like the sleeve had been cut away by a red-hot knife. He turned it over in his hands — the other side was untouched. He hung it back up, and pulled a shirt from the other side of the cupboard — same thing, but the opposite sleeve — subjected to heat, but no flame — cauterized.

He leant in and looked down at the cupboard floor — no ash. The sleeves and material just… gone. He replaced the shirt and stood back, hands on his hips again. The scorch mark was oval, about three feet high, and he could see now that where the oval and the clothing had overlapped, the sleeves, and other material had simply vanished.

“Fucked if I know,” he said softly to the dark interior. He pulled off the glove and stuck it in his pocket. He’d run a trace on the girl, and try and find out who the mystery man was. At least now he had a name and a face, and somewhere to start.

Heisen paused at the door, looking back at the room. From this angle, the dark oval in the cupboard looked longer… almost like a tunnel. He shrugged. A trick of the eye, he thought. He closed the door behind him, just in time.

Monroe watched his team move through the rooms like a school of sharks parting the smaller baitfish as they went. His Defense team didn’t work with the police, or any other law enforcement body. What they usually fought didn’t obey the rules, so neither did they.

Monroe looked around the room, taking everything and everyone in. His agents, Harper and Felzig squatted by the outline of the body, taking digital pictures, samples, and readings, and in a few moments, Agent Carter appeared at his side, leaning in close, small box in hand.

“What’ve you got, Carter?” Monroe said.

Carter held up the tiny illuminated screen. “Weird; I’ve got extremely high gamma radiation traces, bordering on dangerous. Also, some other form of background trace I can’t identify here.” He nodded towards the locked door. “And that’s the focal point.”

Monroe turned to the door. “Let’s have a look then.” Monroe crossed the room.

“Locksmith’s on his way.” Amos called from behind him.

At the door, Monroe didn’t stop, and simply lifted one huge boot and kicked out. The old door exploded inwards. He stood in the centre of the doorframe, just letting his eyes move over the empty space. Beside him his agents had already formed up, weapons pointed onto the room.

“Clear.” He walked in, followed by Benson, Carter holding out his reader, and Raptor with gun probing the dark. They went around the room quickly and professionally. The first sweep was looking for anyone or anything trying to conceal itself. Then they performed a more focused search — looking for trace and clues.

Monroe stood before the cupboard, looking in at the oval scorch mark. Carter held the reader towards it, and half turned.

“Off the scale, right here.” He tapped the burn mark with his knuckle. “Solid.”

Raptor had appeared beside him. For a big man he moved silently. “Want me to tell you what I think that looks like?”

Monroe exhaled. “You don’t need to.” He turned to Carter. “Get those readings back to base. I want to know what that unknown radiation signature is. And I want it locked in for tracking.”

“Move out.” Monroe turned away. “We’ve already missed this party. Let’s try and get in front of the next one.”

At the door he stopped and gave Amos a small salute. “Thank you for your cooperation, officer.”

“Like I had any choice.” The old cop snorted as Monroe left the room.

— 5~

The General’s voice boomed inside the large room. Senior science officers and Cleanup team leaders sat looking down at hands clasped on the desk.

“Every zone trip costs us close to a trillion euroyuan.” He looked from Gilbred to Jax. “And both of you are now into me for about ten times that much.” The General walked slowly along behind the rows of seats, and sighed. “This is turning out to be a real shit day.” He continued for another few feet and stopped behind Gilbred, who obviously sensed the big man, and visibly gulped. The General leaned around in front of the science officer.

“Gilbred, isn’t it?” The General grinned like a shark and didn’t wait for the man to respond. “You and your entire science division better start pinpointing better zones for us right now. Because, if we keep stepping in and out of that sort of zone, sooner or later something bad is going to happen.” The General’s jaws worked. “Because in that zone, they’re getting smarter, and I for one, don’t want one of those big ugly mothers working out how to follow us back here.” He straightened, but kept one large hand on the back of the man’s neck. “So, just to be clear. I couldn’t give a fuck about you, your division, or anyone else in this goddamn room.”

The general pushed off from Gilbred and turned to face Jax. “Take a proximity bomb — if you can’t get your hands on the burner, then get as close as you can and take every-fucking-thing out nearby. I authorize you to use all force necessary to retrieve or destroy the device.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Jax sat straighter. “Permission to take language converters and conduct Gimp interrogation, sir.”

The general turned. “Authorized, Master Cleaner.” He folded his arms, and glared at Gilbred. “Get it done, and get it done quick. Retrieval or destruction — no other options.”

Jax stood and half bowed. “Retrieval or destruction, Yes sir.” And Gimp interrogation authorized.

That’s more like it, he thought.

— 6~

Klaus Hoffman scribbled the note as quickly as he could, folded it once and dropped it into the box on top of the fossil. Picking up the tape gun, he set about sealing it, then writing a name and address on the top. He finished by plastering it with way too many stamps. He held it up and looked at the name he’d written. The only teacher he had ever listened to — Professor Matt Kearns. When it came to all things old, Kearns seemed to know everything about everything.

“And no charge for this one.” He giggled with just a hint of panicked insanity. “My last good deed.”

Hoffman looked at his watch. Half past four — he had to get back to Doris and check in before it got dark. She’d panic if she didn’t hear from him by nightfall. It was his idea that they split up, as he bet they were looking for a couple — at least this way, he could move quickly if he needed to.

He jumped to his feet and walked to the door, placed his ear against it to listen for a second and then quickly unlocked the multiple bolts. He opened it an inch, and looked through the crack. He planned to run to the mail chute, throw in the package, and be back inside in fifteen seconds.

A door at the end of the corridor opened and old Mrs. Silberman starting easing herself out — all tent-like, stained cotton dress and wiry gray hair, also in need of a wash. He slammed his door and leaned back against it, surprised at how his heart rate had jumped for nothing.

“Calm down, calm down. Next thing you’ll be the one seeing goblins,” he whispered to himself.

He laughed again as he let his eyes slide around the small decrepit room. The place was a mess, but it didn’t matter, he and Doris would move again by the end of the week. It only took Doris a few days before she said she felt like she was being watched. It was always the same — there was whispering going on in the walls and she was sure her place was bugged. Klaus sighed; he loved her, but she was driving him crazy, becoming more paranoid by the day — making him more paranoid by the day. The final straw was when she told him she thought she saw a goblin… a freaking goblin for chrissakes.

He looked at his room again — all the windows were taped over with newspaper, the phone had been pulled from the wall, the power sockets taped over, and even the door keyholes blocked up. She’s paranoid, but I’m fine, he thought, giggling again.

His one luxury was the ancient television that remained on day and night. He looked across to the old black and white box as the robotic newsreader reeled off the names of the latest drive-by shooting victims, domestic violence punching bags, and other assorted attacks on the human sheep of life. But the next story about a bizarre murder was like an ice pick to the back of the neck — Professor Julius Cohen, the head of paleontology at the University of Tübingen, was believed the victim of a bizarre execution. His remains were as yet formally unidentified, and it was expected that confirmation might not be possible given the state of the body.

Klaus walked towards the television, the package still under his arm, and stood trance-like before the flickering screen. The final part of the story nearly made him double over. Cohen’s apparent murder brought the number of bizarre killings to three, as Julius Cohen now joined Professors Carl Ingram and Rudi Hokstetor as victims in what police were dubbing the Incinerator Murders.

Klaus’ mouth hung open. He knew those men, knew all of them. He had sent each and every one of them a piece of the fossil skeleton. He flopped back into a ratty armchair and grabbed his head. Did he do that? Was it his fault they were dead? Was someone killing anyone who touched the bones? He knew that the complete skeleton was valuable but he didn’t think it was worth killing people for. He put the box down, and backed away from it.

“Think, think.” He paced quickly around the small room. “Gotta get out.” He started filling his pockets with his wallet, phone, and keys when a knock on the door made him cry out. He quickly put a hand over his mouth and listened.

The knock came again. “Klaus? Hello Klaus, are you there? Timmy Boy has got out of his cage again and I need your help. Klaus?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He exhaled. Old Mrs. Silberman and that parakeet would be the death of him. Do one good deed and suddenly you’re an adopted son… and one required to do everything from change light bulbs to recapturing bad tempered parrots that had more escape tricks than Houdini and a beak sharp enough to slice bacon.

Klaus stayed where he was, thinking through his options. Should he scream at her to fuck off? That’d send a clear message. He grimaced; nah, much as he’d love for her to leave him alone, he wasn’t quite ready to be a total asshole. He eased himself down in the chair. He’d wait her out. The knocking continued. He looked at his watch again and rubbed his head, glaring at the door.

C’mon, Mrs. Silberman, go home, willya? He needed to get the fuck outta here and find Doris. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this place.

— 7~

Heisen read through his notes. In the following days, more bodies had turned up — or better said, more bodies had burned up. The coroner had hinted at spontaneous combustion. Alcohol abuse, ball lightning, faulty wiring; all were listed as possible causes. But none of the suggestions actually explained the heat generated, the peculiar explicit targeting of individuals, nor the ability of the heat source to simply switch on and off.

Funny thing was, Heisen was beginning to see a pattern. The closer he came to finding this Klaus guy, the more the ash trails began to pile up. Coincidence, or was there a link? Heisen bounded up the stairs, knocking once on the open door, holding up his badge and heading straight over to where Amos talked with some other uniforms.

“Officer Amos; another nice day for a cookout?” Heisen raised an eyebrow and winked, but the older cop half turned, gave him a look like he’d just noticed dog shit on his shoe, and immediately went back to talking softly with his younger colleagues. Heisen waited, awkwardly.

Finally, Amos issued instructions to his men and turned to him. “You would be the brains of the Kripo, huh?” Amos said as he sauntered away.

Heisen followed. “Hey, lighten up will ya? I just…”

Amos spun at him, stepping in closer. “You just what? Listen, Heisen, why don’t you shut the hell up, unless you’ve got some answers for us? You know; from all your de-tect-ing work.”

Ed Heisen frowned, taken back by the animosity in the normally laconic police sergeant. The guy must have been getting his ass kicked by his boss. He held up his hands. “Okay, sorry.” Heisen motioned to the forensics guys moving about in the next room. “What have you got: another carbonized corpse?”

Amos lips compressed, but he led the detective into the kitchen. Heisen smelled the odor that was becoming too familiar to him — ozone. Amos pointed to the corner.

Heisen winced. “Christ.”

The body, or partial body was laid out on the floor — the arms and legs were nothing but ash outlines, to the shoulders and hips, where the body was intact again. The head was still attached, but gruesomely, one eye, the ears and the nose were gone — seared away, but black and cauterized. As usual, there was no sign of blood, as if something had snap-burnt the limbs and facial features away.

“Well?” Amos went down on one knee, and swept his hand over the body. “C’mon, tell me what you think?”

Heisen crouched beside Amos to study the woman, or what was left of her. Mid-seventies, cheap cotton dress in need of a clean, nothing of value on her. Her hair was wiry and gray, and looked like it needed a wash. But it was her face that drew his attention — even though one eye, the nose and ears had been removed, he could see the mix of pain and fear still imprinted there.

“Torture.”

“Jesus Christ!” Amos jumped as the word floated in from behind them. Heisen spun to see the tall black-clad agent standing behind him, towering over them. His eyes moved over the old woman’s remains. He squatted beside Amos, not apologizing for startling the old cop. Amos swallowed, and shook his head, turned back to the crime scene.

“Who are you?” asked Heisen.

“Call me Monroe,” said the big man. He clasped his hands together on his knees. “In Iraq, we lost a man on a mission. When we finally found him… recovered his body, his bones had been broken, starting at the fingers and toes, the impact trauma moving slowly up to his hips and shoulders. Would have taken hours… been agony.”

Heisen grunted. “I’ve seen that before as well — on the poor saps the Columbian drug gangs had their fun with. Pretty vicious stuff… especially to an old lady.” Heisen looked across at him and nodded. “Detective Heisen.”

The big man looked at him for a moment, then nodded. He got to his feet, and yelled over his shoulder. “Carter, got a body in here.”

“Wait a minute.” Amos frowned and turned. “Tortured?” He pointed at the partial corpse. “Agnes Silberman, seventy-seven, with arthritis in both hips and chronic diabetes. She’s on the freakin’ pension and lives by herself. Why the fuck would someone want to torture her? What the hell has this old lady got that someone would do that to her for?”

Heisen, still crouching, looked at the dry scabbing on the wounds. “What has she got? Maybe not money, maybe nothing… or maybe she had information.”

Another agent, Heisen assumed it was Carter, entered with a box case and immediately set to work sampling the air, examining the body, and even slicing away some of her skin at her arm’s cauterization line. He pulled out a probe, and lifted an edge of her dress. He let it drop, and then examined the ground beside her, leaning in close to a small outline pressed into one of the ash pipes that used to be a leg. He turned to Monroe. “Got something.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a small can, shook it, and then sprayed something that foamed up onto the small indentation. After a second it changed color and settled flat. He carefully lifted it out, and dusted off the excess ash. Carter stood and showed it to Monroe. Amos and Heisen tried to see around him. Monroe looked at it, his eyes narrowing. He waved it away. “Bag it.”

Amos squinted at the object as Carter placed it into a small clear envelope. “Is that a footprint?”

Heisen nodded. “Looks like one… if you’re about three feet tall.”

“Kid maybe?” Amos responded, eyes following the bag as Carter took it back to the case he’s brought in with him.

Heisen shrugged. “Sure it is, and why not. Some kid with a laser. You can get all kinda shit on eBay these days.”

Monroe glared at them both.

“Boss.”

Monroe’s head whipped around at the sound of the voice. “Yo.” He turned back briefly to Carter. “Finish up.” Monroe left the room.

Carter was down low, waving a small box around. He pointed it at Mrs. Silberman’s ruined corpse. Heisen knelt beside him.

“Weird shit, huh?” Heisen said.

Carter grunted, keeping his eyes on the small box. Heisen looked over his shoulder, and decided to try his luck. He nodded towards the small box. “Pretty unusual readings.”

Carter grunted again, staying focused on the small illuminated screen. “Got that right. At least we identified it — xenon.”

“Xenon? That’s the weird stuff used in flash lamps isn’t it?” Heisen looked back at Mrs. Silberman.

Carter shook his head. “Not this type. This is 135. Normally Xenon is a gas that occurs in the Earth’s atmosphere. Consists of about eight stable isotopes, and five times that many unstable ones — pretty normal stuff. But 135 is different; it’s not naturally occurring. Used as the propellant for ion thrusters in spacecraft, it’s a neutron absorber in nuclear reactors, and is usually the result of nuclear fission. Nope, Xenon-135 should not be here at all.”

Heisen stood. “Like I said; weird shit.”

Heisen turned to Amos, grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the room. “Hey, have you looked in the other apartments yet?”

Amos shook his head. “Next thing on the list.”

“Good.” Heisen let him go. “One more thing; anything else weird in here?”

Amos frowned.

“Burn marks in odd places maybe?” Heisen asked.

Amos’ frown unlocked. “Oh yeah, in the bathroom. Looks like the old bat set fire to something — big black oval on the wall.”

Monroe stood with Felzig in the bathroom. There was a three-foot black scorch mark on the wall under the sink. Felzig turned and raised her eyebrows, holding out the small reader in her hands. Monroe exhaled. “Let me guess, gamma off the scale, and more traces of Xenon 135.” She nodded. Carter and Benson joined them, and Monroe turned to Carter. “What could have done that?”

Carter shook his head. “We’ve got HEL tech mounted on our destroyers. Those High Energy Lasers work at around a hundred kilowatts — that’d do it. Also some industrial lasers, but they’re not portable.” He shrugged. “Bottom line; nothing we’ve got.”

Monroe stared back out into the hallway. “Well, someone or something is coming in and out, with some pretty high tech… and given what they did to the old woman, seems they’re here to play hardball.” Monroe turned away. “We can do that too.”

In the apartment down the hall, Heisen went quickly from room to room, stopping at one littered with packing tape and brown paper. On the debris strewn table sat an unsent package. He spun it around and read the label — Professor Matt Kearns. He ripped it open.

“Alas poor Yorick.” He lifted out the skull, holding the brown relic up in his hands. He smiled. “Nice to finally meet you the elusive, Mr. Klaus.”

Heisen put the skull down and dug deeper into the package, finding an envelope addressed to the professor. He tore it open and quickly scanned it. There was a brief introduction from Klaus, and then description of his find — a complete Neanderthal skeleton, plus one other item. Heisen frowned remembering the picture of Doris Sömmer holding the small metallic device. “One other item, hmm?”

He turned slowly in the small room. There was a dark scar on the far wall. The curtains hanging beside it had been seared away in a perfect facsimile of the oval burn. Heisen looked back at the letter in his hands. It was signed ‘K’ and had a single mobile phone number at the bottom.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. It answered after the first ring.

“Hello Klaus.”

— 8~

It took Heisen most of the day and a dozen calls to convince the young man he was who he said he was. But eventually Klaus relented, and… spoke. The kid sounded at near mad panic stage, and after hearing about his girlfriend, he was close to disappearing for good.

Heisen wanted to meet with Klaus. He sat on a park bench, waiting for his phone to ring. He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds lengthen and fragment, and he turned his focus inward, sorting through what he knew in his mind. Klaus and Doris had found something in Germany — a Neanderthal skeleton and something else, as yet undetermined. The kid wouldn’t give him any details over the phone, but confirmed they found something strange entombed with the fossil — something that didn’t belong there.

Now, the girl was dead, many of the scientists that Klaus had sent bits of the skeleton to were dead, and his landlady was dead… and added to that, she died horribly. It was a trail a mile wide, and leading straight to Mr. Klaus Hoffman.

If the group had just been hit over the head, or stabbed or shot, Heisen might conclude they were only after the skeleton. A find that one museum expert suggested could be worth half a million. Big money, especially considering you could get someone whacked for a measly fifty bucks these days.

But the way the murders were executed defied belief. Forensic analysis and the subsequent Coroner’s report said that the incineration reached temperatures in excess of two thousand three hundred degrees. And the concentration meant that it was consistent with some sort of high intensity laser. But one that left no burn residue, just a nice neat cauterization.

Nobody had any idea what type of device or weapon was used — even one from the military’s research and development arsenals. And the kicker was the throwaway comment by the Coroner — out of this world, she said, as she closed the book on the Sömmer girl’s inquest.

“Out of this world.” Heisen repeated softly.

He jumped when the phone rang in his hand. “Shit.” He quickly jammed it against his ear.

“Detective Edward Heisen.” There was a pause.

“It’s me.”

Heisen breathed a sigh of relief at hearing the young man’s fear filled voice. “Hi Klaus. How you doing?”

Several seconds of silence greeted his question, and Heisen thought he would ring off. But there came an intake of breath, a clearing of the throat and then Klaus came back on.

“Not good.”

“We can help you,” Heisen responded automatically.

“Bullshit. No one can. There’s fucking little people after me… and they can walk right through the walls.”

Heisen squeezed the phone as he concentrated. “What do you mean by little people?”

“I’m not mad.” Klaus said softly.

“I know you’re not. In fact I believe you. Tell me where you are, son.” Heisen felt he was holding his breath.

The silence stretched again. “Wilson Street… number seventeen. Third floor, apartment 3B. It’s an old brownstone.”

Heisen knew the area, and told him so. “It’ll take me twenty minutes to get to you. Stay inside and keep the doors locked.”

“Are you shitting me? I’m never going outside again.” Klaus rung off.

Heisen pulled in to the curb and sat for a moment as he examined the dark brown building on Wilson Street.

“Little people,” he said to the windscreen as he searched for anything out of the ordinary in the building’s third floor windows. “Fucking little people.”

If he’d had the conversation in an Irish bar he would have got the joke. But the weird oval burn holes, the even weirder way people were being killed, and the tiny footprints left behind in Mrs. Silberman’s ash outline — those tiny, perfect footprints — he didn’t think it was a kid for a second. The foot was too narrow — like an adult’s, but much smaller. Something was seriously weird and it was no joke.

“Little people,” he said again softly and then snorted. “Little fucking people with laser guns, executing our citizens.” He laughed out loud. “Haven’t had a drop to drink, Chief… honest.”

He pushed out of the car, checked his gun and then sprang lightly up the several flights of stairs to 3B on the third floor. Heisen knocked once and immediately stood to the side — old habits die hard, especially after you’ve seen half a dozen hollow nose slugs tear through a door dead centre in response to the old open up, it’s the police request.

Heisen waited. There was movement inside.

“Who is it?” whispered from behind the door.

Heisen stayed with his back against the wall. “Detective Heisen, Klaus. Lemme in.”

“How do I know it’s you?” Klaus’ voice was high and tight with fear.

Heisen groaned and resisted the urge to swear, deciding instead to cut the kid some slack given he still sounded scared shitless. “Klaus, we just spoke twenty minutes ago…” He lowered his voice. “… about the little people.”

A bolt slid back, and then what sounded like packing tape being ripped from around the frame. The door opened a crack, the security chain still hanging in place. The eye ran him up and down, and the door closed for a second, to be immediately pulled back open.

Heisen guessed he looked enough like a cop to pass the test. He stepped inside. A pale youth stood in the muted darkness wearing a stained t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. His eyes looked sunken — the kid needed some hot food and about a week’s sleep.

Heisen quickly looked him over for weapons — old habits again. He sniffed; the place stunk of body odour, cigarettes and mildew.

Klaus half smiled. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Heisen smiled and nodded, letting the kid unwind.

Klaus motioned to a formica table and chairs. “I’d offer you a drink, but there’s nothing left. I ran out of food a few days back and have been too scared to go out. Uh… do you have anything? Food I mean.” Klaus asked.

Heisen shook his head. “Just some gum.”

Klaus seemed to think about it for a few seconds, and then shrugged. “Okay.” He held out his hand.

Heisen gave him the pack and Klaus jammed a few sticks into his mouth, chewed for a few seconds, and then swallowed the entire mass. He quickly stuffed the rest in and did the same.

Heisen sat down. “So, tell me about the little people?”

Klaus swallowed again, breathing heavily and savouring his first meal in days. He sat down heavily, and looked up with exhausted eyes.

“They’re after me.”

“You said that.” Heisen said. “What do you think they want?”

“They want what I found.” Klaus responded lethargically.

Heisen shrugged. “The skeleton — the Neanderthal — that?”

“No, no, I don’t think so. I mean I did at first, but not anymore. It was what the fucking cave man had in his hand.” He rummaged around in his pocket. “This… they want me because of this.” He placed his fist on the table. He opened his hand.

Heisen leaned forward. It looked like a fountain pen, brushed chrome and about four inches long with a slight bulge at one end. He squinted. There seemed to be a glow coming from inside.

“It’s still working.” Heisen sat back.

Klaus licked his lips. “I know, and that’s impossible. The matrix we dug this from was at least fifty thousand years old. Whoever, or whatever, dropped this thing was around at the time these Neanderthals were spearing mammoths on the German steppes.” His mouth worked for a second or two before finally finding the words. “I don’t think it came from our world.”

Heisen frowned as he stared at the object. “And now they want it back.”

“I’ve got to get rid of it. You take it.” Klaus slid it across the table.

Heisen didn’t move to touch it. “What does it do?”

Klaus’ eyes went wide. “I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. I just want to get rid of the damned thing.” He lunged at Heisen. “I know… I know what it is… it’s a goddamn homing device or something like that. That’s why they keep finding me.”

He stood so quickly his chair flipped back onto the floor. “I just need to give it back and get on with my life.” He paced, wringing his hands. “But these little things came out of the wall — just walked right out of it. I held it out to them, but they freaked. I bolted, and ran into Mrs. Silberman’s apartment. I… I jumped out her window and ran, and kept running.” He snatched the thing up in his hand and shook his head, his eyes crushed shut. “Is… is she okay? Mrs. Silberman, I mean. I tried calling her, but a cop answered.”

Heisen continued to watch the young man, not feeling any urge to tell him he got the old lady tortured and killed.

“Klaus, we’ll get you to a safe house. Get someone to have a look at that device and find out exactly what it is. Maybe work out why they want it so bad.”

Klaus scoffed. “A safe house? There’s no such thing with these guys. Have you not been listening to me? These freaks walk through walls. I’d last about…”

“We’ll have you guarded twenty-four-seven. I give you my word.” Heisen shrugged. “Besides, once it’s out of your possession, they’ll probably lose interest, right?”

Heisen waited a few seconds. He could see the young man’s mind was ticking over. He looked again at his emaciated frame. “One thing’s for sure, you can’t keep going like this; you’ll be dead from starvation in a week.”

Klaus dropped his head into his hands and rubbed the fingers hard through his shockwave of greasy hair. “Maybe I’d be better off dead.” He sighed and sat back, his eyes and cheeks sunken like a shipwreck survivor.

Heisen noticed Klaus’ lips were so dry they were flaking. He got to his feet. “Stay here kid. I’ll get you some water. Then I’ll call in some back up and we can get out of here.” He smiled down at the cowering youth. “First thing though, I want a doc to look at you, okay?”

Klaus nodded, resting his head back in his hands. The device remained on the table, glowing softly. Klaus stared at it as though in a trance.

Heisen pushed through the small swing door, and blew air through compressed lips at the sight of the pile of dirty dishes. The congealed food smelt like a blocked drain. He’d seen worse; one guy had drowned his cat in the sink, and then hung himself. After a week, they found him… and the cat. By then, the animal had turned into feline porridge and they needed HazMat suits to even get near it.

Heisen guessed there were no clean cups, so grabbed one with the least amount of crap buildup and rinsed it out — he doubted a bit of extra bacteria was gonna kill the kid now. He turned the water off and froze. The rim of the swing door glowed, and the smell of ozone filled the air. He stared at it, confused for a second or two, half cup of water still in his hand.

It took him a few more seconds to guess what might be happening. He gently lowered the cup to the bench-top, crossed to the door and eased it open a crack. Klaus stood, arms up, as if surrendering to someone. He gibbered for a second or two, shaking his head until a tiny shaft of light struck him. The kid glowed for a moment, before falling backwards. Before he even hit the ground, his body was collapsing into dust.

“Fuck!” Heisen felt a shock run through him from his toes to his scalp. He pulled his Glock, sucked in a breath and kicked the door open, immediately diving and rolling. He came up fast, shooting at multiple targets. He missed.

A golden beam came out of nowhere, slicing through his shoulder and taking his arm. Then it all went to shit.

— 9~

Monroe held up a fist. Behind him Raptor, Harper, Benson, Carter and Felzig froze and waited, focused just on him. They had cut the power to the building, throwing the old brownstone into darkness. Now each had L-3 Warrior night vision goggles pulled down over their eyes.

Monroe turned, his four red eyes taking in his team. He nodded, and then turned back to the door. Its outline was clean and green-lit by the NVGs. They were the latest tech, with two lenses pointed forward like traditional goggles, giving him his hunter’s depth perception, while two more tubes pointed slightly outward from the center to increase his peripheral view, allowing Monroe and his team to more quickly move through the OODA loop — Observe, Orient, Decide, Act — in a few seconds.

Monroe pointed two fingers at his team — Raptor moved fast, attaching a shaped charge to the door in a large ‘X’ pattern. Then he attached a silver sheet from the top that unfurled covering the door — they wanted the entire wooden frame to be obliterated, out of their way, and most of the percussive blast to enter the room for maximum disorientation. Felzig had the EMP disc in her hand, rotated it, lights on its outside counting down as she slid it under the door.

Both agents got behind the wall to take cover. Monroe held up a hand, fingers splayed, and counted down, one finger at a time. He reached one and signaled the assault.

Raptor triggered the breaching charge. The door exploded inwards. Monroe and his five-strong team charged in, their laser sights quickly finding the small goblin-like creatures scattering in the darkness. There would be no attempt to communicate, no compromise, no hostages. These things had come here to kill — brutally — Monroe’s agents, the Defense, would return the favor.

Monroe counted at least fifteen moving bodies when they came through, in seconds they had halved that amount, even though the creatures seemed to be wearing body armor and moved agilely and quickly, like a cross between wolverines and deformed children.

Raptor took the centre of the room, gun up and spitting rounds into the smoke-filled darkness, his laser sight picking out bodies, and his unerring aim just as quickly putting them down.

Then it all changed. There came a high pitched squeal from out of the dark, and then a yellow beam shot out to touch Raptor. The big man froze as a hole the size of a dinner plate opened in the front of his body. There was no wet-matter dispersal, and no projectile follow-through, just an enormous hole burned clean through that didn’t even bleed. The big man fell backwards like a tree.

Carter targeted the shooter, following its nimble movements as it scurried from position to position. But from his three o’clock another beam shot out. This time there was no clean hole. Monroe watched as Carter’s entire body shimmered where the golden beam touched and stayed on him. The man simply collapsed into a mound of powder before Monroe’s eyes.

Monroe had to dive and roll as more of the deadly beams criss-crossed the room. He stopped with his back to an upturned table.

“Go to full auto,” he roared and dived again, flicking the selector switch on his rifle and firing back at the source of the beams. Around him, his remaining agents changed up their delivery, moving out of the OODA loop, and into a lethal spray mode — the intermittent coughs of the silenced weapons became a staccato beat as high velocity rounds punched through anything they touched.

The Defense backed up, keeping each other out of the crossfire, targeting anything below waist level. Beams and bullets crossed in the small room. Monroe felt like they were fighting a pack of high tech furies, so ferocious were the small beings in their resistance.

He saw Felzig go down on one knee to reload. Like magic, one of the small creatures appeared beside her in the smoke and pointed a small device up at her. She spun, but before she could react further, her face took the small beam front-on. Her entire head simply vanished, leaving a stump of neck seared dry. She stayed upright for a second or two, the arms dropping and then her body toppling sideways.

Monroe’s teeth clenched, feeling the fury ball in his chest. He liked Felzig. He’d fucked Felzig. She was a tough woman, an insatiable alley cat in the bedroom, and a tigress in the field. Now, she had simply ceased to exist — no scream of pain, no bleeding bullet wound or loud explosion, just a golden rod of light, and then… gone.

From his position, Monroe saw a small figure disappear into the shimmering doorway at the end of the room. The three foot glowing oval was fixed to an external wall, and inside looked to be a long horizontal tunnel. Given there was a three-story drop on the other side of the wall, this doorway had to lead to somewhere other than a Berlin street. Monroe remembered his initial code call — Non Terrestrial Incursion.

“And you guys sure ain’t going home.” He lifted his gun, sighted on the shimmering doorway and fired into it, emptying his magazine. Horns blared from somewhere deep inside it, and the portal snapped shut with a rush of charged air. “Fuck you. The rest of you are mine.” He ejected the empty magazine and snapped in another, yelling over his shoulder as he scanned the carnage in the room.

“Agents, count off.”

From out of the dark, Benson and Harper yelled in return. Monroe waited, the smoke was settling, a broken window creating a small draft of clear air. There was a tinkle of falling glass, the soft sound of dripping water or blood, and soft moans of pain from the downed beings. He held his breath. Silence settled around him.

He slowly pulled off his night vision goggles and blinked once, his eyes quickly adjusting to the semi-gloom. In his peripheral vision he detected a tiny movement, and snapped around to fire a single round at the small figure, as it tried to improve its position in relation to him.

His bullet blew it off its feet, spinning it doll-like across the floor to land face down on the debris-strewn carpet.

“Cover.”

Harper and Benson came up behind Monroe, facing away from him, scanning the room for movement. Monroe knelt to examine the creature. He kicked its weapon away, placed one huge boot on its back and pressed down. It groaned. They were small, the same size as a three year old, but slim and perfectly formed. A helmet was pulled down over its face, and even though it looked to be wearing some sort of body armor, he saw that it was no match for the slug that had obliterated its shoulder.

He used the barrel of his gun to turn it over — it groaned again. He reached out and lifted the visor off its head. There was a rush of weird smelling air, and then a face from a nightmare. Monroe grimaced — it looked like a hairless, deformed child, with no nose, large eyes and small shovel-like teeth. The skin looked transparent with pumping veins pushing dark blood into a large pulsating brain inside its potato-shaped head. It glared at him with a boiling hatred and revulsion that Monroe had never experienced before in his life.

One handed, he lifted the small being and stared into its face. His own features twisted in disgust. “What the fuck are you?”

There came a disgusted noise from the back of its throat and it bared its teeth. The eyes still burned into his own.

“Yeah, feelings mutual, buddy.” Monroe pointed the big gun at its face. “Got something for you from Felzig — open wide.”

The small being began to smirk and reached up with its remaining good arm to punch a button on its belt.

“I’m Jax. Die, Gimp. It’s clean up time,” it hissed at him.

Monroe’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you can talk.”

A blinding light engulfed the small smashed body, then Monroe, then Benson and Harper, the room, and then the entire building. In another moment there was just a crater where the brownstone had stood for fifty years.

A month later, Detective Heisen sat in a taxi across the road from the empty lot where the brownstone used to be. His eyes were glazed.

“What do you want to do, buddy.”

“Huh?” Heisen blinked at the sound of the driver’s voice. “Give me a minute.” He got out and crossed the road to stand at a line of police tape still strung across the sidewalk — he didn’t know what it was there for — there were no clues, there never was to begin with. There was nothing to see, and nothing to steal — nada, zero, zip — case closed.

He flipped up the tape and ducked under, groaning as the back-brace cut into his waist. He was out of work, pensioned off at thirty-eight — a one armed detective, with several separated discs in his back from the blast that had thrown him out the window that night. The injuries, along with the potential therapy for the rest of his life, wasn’t exactly Officer of the Year material. His former squad hadn’t been real supportive. That’s the guy who saw hobbits, elves, leprechauns, they’d sniggered. Well, fuck ‘em all. His curse turned into a groan; his salad days had turned to boiled cabbage nights in the blink of an eye.

Heisen walked in to stand in the centre of the vacant lot. Beneath his feet, pumic-like material crunched. The boffins had told him the bricks, the steel, everything, had been super-heated to a point of molecular transformation. He looked up, trying to judge where he had fallen from, trying to remember what happened; what was real and what was the result of impacting with a sidewalk after a thirty-foot fall. He lifted his stump, staring for a moment. A gas explosion had been the official explanation. A gas explosion that had been as hot as a sun had neatly cut away his arm and cauterized the wound so cleanly that an industrial laser could not have been so efficient.

Heisen blew air through compressed lips. Nothing left but ghosts and memories. The agents, the Defense they had called themselves, had all vanished in the blast, as well as the tiny creatures he knew existed. For all his digging, no reference to the special agents, to the tiny beings, to Klaus, or to the case was on file anywhere. Even Sergeant Amos had been reassigned, and wouldn’t take his calls. Someone way above even his superintendent’s pay grade had shut this down and zipped it up so tight that even thinking about it was a dismissible offence.

This case had been buried and him along with it. No loose ends, nothing to see here, move along folks, and enjoy your new life as a crippled ex-detective, Mr. Heisen.

The cab honked and he turned to wave. But there was something they all forgot. He used to be a detective, and a damned good one. Agent Carter had said there was a strange radiation present. Xenon-135 he had called it. He had an in-law that worked for the university in the physics lab. If anyone could trace Xenon-135, it would be her, and if that material turned up again, then he was going to be there, waiting.

After all, everyone knows that if you capture a leprechaun it’s good luck. He’d be waiting all right.