Into the Looking Glass votsb-1 Read online

  Something like a giant mosquito was attached to his neck and more were flying through the air. Sanson shot at one and missed, then Glasser realized they were in an untenable situation. This was a place for Raid and shotguns, not M-4s.

  “Back, back!” he shouted, backing into the gate and out.

  The chief grabbed Howse and threw him over his back then bolted out the door as the rest of the team filled the room with lead. Howse, however, was the only one hit as the mosquitoes stopped well away from the gate.

  Howse was on the ground with a local paramedic bent over him when Glasser, who may have been last in but was also last out, came through the gate. The thing that looked like a mosquito on the far side was, in the decent light of a normal sky, anything but. It had long wings shot through with veins and was colored light green. But the body was nothing but a blocky box and there was no apparent head, thorax or legs. It was attached to Howse’s neck, though, and pulsed oddly in the light.

  “What’s it doing?” Sanson asked, stepping back.

  There were tendrils extending out of its body and, as they watched, they burrowed into the environment suit and, presumably, into Howse. Howse’s face was distended, his tongue sticking out, and he appeared to be dead.

  “Okay, we have a real biological hazard, here,” Weaver said. “Get him in a body bag. He needs to be in a level four biocontainment room, stat.”

  “He needs a hospital,” Glasser objected.

  “He looks pretty dead to me,” Weaver said. “And I’d rather that we not contaminate the whole world with whatever that is. We need a way to stop them, for that matter, if they come through the gate.”

  “They stopped short,” Miller said, walking over to the ambulance and coming back with a body bag. “Sanson, help me get him zipped.”

  “What the hell do we do?” Glasser said, shaking his head. “If those ‘demons’ come back, we can shoot them. But those things… they’re too small. Too quick. Maybe with shotguns.”

  “Big cans of bug-spray,” Woodard said as the chief and the seaman slid the late SEAL into a body bag and hastily zipped it over the flier. “One of those sprayer trucks.”

  “We don’t know that bug spray will kill them,” Weaver pointed out. “But we can catch them if they come through. We need to get some of those light-weight nets for catching birds over this gate. Those things don’t, apparently, have any way to cut. What do they call them? Gossamer nets or something.”

  “Where?” Glasser asked.

  “University of Florida will probably be closest,” Weaver said, shrugging. “In the meantime…”

  “Down!” Sanson yelled, triggering his M-4 into the first of the things through the gate.

  Weaver understood why the, apparently late, Mrs. Edderbrook had called them demons. The thing stood about a meter and a half at the shoulder and was quadripedal. It had small eyes that were overshadowed by heavy bone ridges and more bone ridges graced its chest and back. The head, which was about the size of a dog’s, ended in a beak like a bird of prey. The color was overall green with a mottling of an ugly purple. It had talons on front and rear legs. It had spikes sticking out of its shoulders and chest and a collar of them around its short neck. And it was fast.

  The first of the things through the gate caught Woodard by the leg and threw him to the ground, worrying at the leg like a terrier, the beak crunching effortlessly through flesh with a brittle crack as it severed the bone. But there was more than one; they seemed to be pouring through the gate in a limitless stream.

  Weaver took one look and decided that this was clearly not a place for a physicist. He turned tail and headed for the building line of entrenchments, hoping like hell that none of whatever those things were caught him and that he wouldn’t get killed in the crossfire. Already the national guardsmen had opened fire and he heard bullets fly by as he sprinted for the lines. He also heard screams behind him and hoped like hell that the SEALs had had the sense to beat feet.

  * * *

  “Sanson, Miller,” Glasser shouted, dropping to one knee and opening fire on the beast that had Woodard by the leg. “On me!”

  The three of them formed a triangle, firing at the beasts as they piled through the gate. They would have been overrun in a second if it hadn’t been for the National Guard, though. The guardsmen had kept all of their machine guns, both the platoon level MG-240s and Squad Automatic Weapons (SAWs) pointed at the gate and manned. So when the first of the beasts came through all they had to do was flick them off safe and open fire.

  The result was a madhouse as six MG-240s and fifteen SAWs filled the gateway with lead. The beasts were heavily armored but enough rounds pouring into them killed them and they started to mound up in the gate, green ichor splashing in a wide circle, as the SEAL team backed away. As soon as they were clear of the immediate threat, and it was apparent that the infantry was piling up the enemy, the three turned their back on the gate and ran for the entrenchments.

  Weaver was waving from a hole behind the main defenses and they made a beeline for him, passing between a shallow hasty fighting position where one of the national guardsman lay, firing careful bursts from an M-16A2 and crying, and a slightly deeper position where a SAW gunner was laying down three- and five-round bursts between what sounded like half-mad cackles.

  Glasser, Miller and Sanson dove into the largish hole head-first, then the three SEALs turned around and began adding their own fire to the din.

  * * *

  Sanson drew a bead on one of the things and fired carefully, watching the placement of his shot. When they had first been retreating it had been a matter of laying down fire as fast as possible and he wasn’t sure but he thought most of it was bouncing of the damned things. Sure enough, when he shot one in the head it didn’t even seem to notice it. The things had overlapping scaly plates as well as the bone underneath. More shots in its side seemed to be effective, though, punching through the scales in a flash of green ichor. He wasn’t sure whether it would have been a killing shot because even as he fired one of the MG-240s hit it and it went down. The ambulance that had supplied the body bag for Howse was in the way of fire from one side of the semicircle of national guardsmen and the things were trying to use it for cover. But the other side of the positions covered the dead ground and they were filling up the space with bodies of the things.

  However, they were clearly spreading out from the gate, despite the fire.

  “We need more firepower,” Glasser shouted through his mask.

  Even as he said it mortar rounds started dropping in the clearing around the gate. The mortars, however, didn’t kill the things unless they dropped right on them and the shrapnel from the mortars didn’t seem to affect them at all.

  Weaver heard a truck engine revving behind them and turned around to see one of the support trucks, a big five ton, pull up behind the entrenchments. There was a big machine gun in a circular mount on the top and it started hammering away, adding its fire to that of the company.

  “Ma Deuce,” Glasser said, sighting carefully and firing a short burst. “Fifty caliber. And it’s doing a job, too.”

  The big machine gun’s bullets weren’t stopped by the armor of the monsters. Head, chest, side, legs, the massive rounds punched right through. The gunner knew what he was doing, too, working his way from the outside in, pushing back the tidal wave of monsters until they were hemmed in around the gate again. But then he stopped firing.

  “Has to change barrels,” Glasser said when he saw Weaver flinch. “You want a weapon?”

  “I wouldn’t know how to use one,” Weaver admitted. “But I’ll be glad to learn if we get out of this.”

  “I need to go find the company commander,” Glasser said. “Miller, Sanson, stay on the doctor. If it goes to shit, get him out.” With that he stood up and sprinted off behind the line.

  “What did it look like on the other side?” Weaver asked.

  “Like being in a big, green, stomach,” Miller responded. He had pulled of
f his mask and now had a chew in again. “I think it was the inside of some big organism. Big. The room we were in was at least a hundred meters long.”

  “Shit,” Sanson said, dropping out his magazine and slapping in a new one.

  The reason for his exclamation was clear. A new type of creature was pouring through the gate. These were bipedal and large but otherwise similar in general appearance to the earlier attackers. The big difference was in their armament. The tops of their beaks appeared to be hollow and as Weaver watched they stitched the line of defenders with projectiles. Two of them concentrated on the big machine gun, which had been gotten back into action, and the two man crew was riddled with the projectiles, their blood splashing all over the truck, which was still painted in desert camouflage.

  The beasts were, also, heavily armored and seemed to shrug off most of the rounds coming their way. Only the heavy rounds of the MG-240s seemed able to penetrate their armor and the things were now concentrating on taking out the machine guns one by one.

  “Joy,” Weaver said, turning over and pulling out his cell phone. He noticed that a news crew had set up behind the line of firing. Alien invasion, live. Joy.

  He pulled out his PDA and found the number he had been given then dialed it.

  “White House, National Security Advisor’s office.”

  “This is Doctor William Weaver,” he said. “I’d like to speak to the NSA if she’s available.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr., she’s in a meeting at the moment,” the operator said. “Is that firing I hear?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “You might want to get a message to her that we’re being invaded by aliens and the National Guard company trying to hold them off is about to be overrun. It should be on CNN by now. That was really all I called to say, anyway. Thanks. Bye.” With that he cut the connection.

  * * *

  Lieutenant VanGelder’s SWAT team had been more than happy to let the National Guard secure the site. But, on the other hand, this was Lake County and the gate was a clear and present danger. So he’d had them stick around and had taken over one of the upstairs rooms of the Edderbrook residence as his headquarters. When the firing broke out most of the team had been in the room and they had immediately stepped to the window to watch the growing firefight.

  Most of the team was armed with MP-5s, which was not going to do much good in this battle. But in the team vehicle were heavier weapons. Some of them so heavy that the SWAT team got a good bit of ribbing for having them.

  “Jenson, Knapp,” he snapped as the smaller beasts started pouring out of the gate and the SEAL team retreated. “Go get the Barretts.”

  * * *

  Weaver had stuck his head back up over the side of the hole just in time to see one of the big monsters go pitching back with a hole in its breast. From the rear there was a loud BOOM that was audible even over the sound of the firing around him.

  “Barrett,” Command Master Chief Miller said, spitting out a line of tobacco juice. “Probably them SWAT boys. Doctor, I think it’s time for us to get out of here.”

  “Agreed,” Weaver said, just as one of the things turned and sent a stream of projectiles their way. He ducked down and looked behind them where some of them had embedded in a tree. They looked like thorns about two inches long, glittering black against the grayish-brown trunk. “How?”

  “Low,” the chief said. “Crawl out the back. Keep your butt down and your head down. There’s enough of a parapet in the front that if you stay low and go you’ll be covered by it. We’ll be right behind you.”

  * * *

  VanGelder tracked right until the rifle was lined on another, then squinted through the scope. At this range it would have been better to use iron sights but there hadn’t been time to take the scopes off much less rezero the sights. So he used what he had. He lined up the next beast through the crosshairs, stroked the trigger and then worked the bolt.

  “Got him,” Knapp said. He was standing by with another magazine and spotting for the lieutenant. “Left, monster in the open.”

  VanGelder tried not to laugh in near hysteria as he tracked left and shot another of the things. Unfortunately, it was like spitting in the ocean. The right flank of the National Guard company had been rolled up and most of their medium machine guns had been taken out. And more of the little monsters were pouring through now.

  He shot another, changed magazines and then looked at the overall situation. Most of the national guardsmen were trying to scurry out of their holes and run. He didn’t think anything against them for it; the situation was clearly out of control.

  On the other hand, be damned if they were going to invade through Lake County if he had anything to say about it.

  “Get on the horn. Call dispatch. Tell them to send everything we’ve got. If we can hold them by the gate we can hold them. Hell, send out a general call, anybody with big guns. Even a hunting rifle. Get your ass down here. We’ve got to hold them, here.”

  “I’m on it,” Jenson said. “There’s a news crew down there, I’ll tell them, too.”

  VanGelder nodded and looked back through the scope. Monster in the open.

  * * *

  Sanson squatted by a window, firing single shots in rapid fire. Miller had scooped up one of the abandoned MG-240s, its two-man crew dead, and was laying down fire from another window.

  Dr. Weaver had settled on the couch in the front room and was contemplating gate activity. So far there had been one gate caused by man and one that appeared, apparently as the result of a hostile alien force. The first one sort of made sense. The Higgs boson had caused some sort of wormhole effect, either to another planet in this universe or to another universe. The second one did not. And then there was the hypothetical gate through which Tuffy had appeared. Would there be more? And why were they occurring.

  He dialed his phone again.

  “Garcia.”

  “Have the detectors arrived?”

  “About an hour ago, and you were right. There’s a fairly continuous stream of subatomic particles coming out of it. I think it’s degrading.”

  “Okay, good,” Weaver said.

  “Is that firing I hear?” Garcia asked.

  “Yeah, we’re being invaded,” Weaver replied and yawned. “Monsters from the eighth dimension or something. I think we’re about to get overrun.”

  “Jesus! Get out of there!”

  “Well, we’re sort of cut off,” Weaver admitted. “Look, what sort of particles?”

  “Muons and something else,” Garcia said. “Do you really want to talk about this now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, there’s some muons, like I said, but we’re getting readings on others. They’re not anything I recognize, not mesons, not quarks, very high mass. I’d guess they might be bosons.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Weaver said, squinting his brow as the machine gun set up an almost continuous clatter. “Not the big particles, the muons. I’d have expected neutrinos.”

  “I don’t happen to have a neutrino detector on me at the moment,” Garcia said, sarcastically. Neutrino detection required very large tanks of chemicals, usually in the tens of thousands of gallons. When the neutrinos hit the chemicals they were accelerated to faster than light speed, creating Cherenkov radiation detectable as purplish-blue flashes of light.

  “The Japanese have one down to, oh, the size of a container car or so,” Weaver said, yawning again. “Maybe we can borrow it. But the rest makes sense. If it’s degrading into the universe it’s probably going to increase the charge of each of the released particles. That means you get small gates at first and larger ones as it continues to degrade. Or maybe they’ll go further and further away. And the first gates that would open would be nearby. Finally things are starting to make sense.”

  Sanson walked over and slapped a pistol into the scientist’s empty hand.

  “You know how to use one of those?” Sanson asked.

  “Point and click?” Weaver said,
looking puzzled.

  “Yeah, more or less.” The SEAL laughed. “Round up the spout, cocked, not on safe. Touch the trigger and it fires. Just remember to point it at the bad guys.”

  “Look, one of the SEALs just handed me a pistol,” Weaver said, keeping his finger away from the trigger. “I think that’s a bad sign. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

  “Okay,” Garcia said. “Decaying, releasing particles, particles open gates.”

  “Something like that. And increasing charge, larger gates or further away as time goes by.” Tuffy was small. Small gate? But large enough to take Mimi? The front door burst open and one of the smaller monsters came into the room, howling its terrible cry. Sanson turned and fired a burst that bounced off the armor but as it turned towards the SEAL Weaver lined up the pistol on it and shot. The first round was high, kicking dust out of the wall, but he lowered the pistol slightly and was rewarded with a green blotch on the second round. Two more bullets into it, and one in the floor, and it was kicking and twitching on the ground, spilling green ichor into the blue rug.

  “Well, gotta go,” Weaver said.

  “Doc…”

  “See you later, Garcia.”

  Another of the beasts sprang into the room and Weaver shot at it, missing, then two more times and hit. The second round hit it in the hindquarters and its back legs dropped, limp. But it continued to crawl forward on its front legs and his next two rounds missed, poking holes in the far wall and shattering a picture of a sailboat against the backdrop of a tropical island. That was his last round and the slide of the H K locked back on the empty magazine.

  “I think I’m out of bullets,” he yelled, standing up and stepping back over the couch.

  “Here!” Sanson yelled, tossing a magazine through the air.

  Weaver caught it but had no idea what to do with it. However, he was an engineer; it should be easy enough to figure out. The thing had crawled up to him and he backed away, into the room, hoping to draw it away from the two SEALs as he attempted to determine how to reload. Let’s see, two levers on the handle of the gun, one blocked by the slide. Lever near the trigger. He fiddled with the lever and was rewarded by having the empty magazine drop out onto the floor. Point bullets forward, insert magazine. Eureka! But the slide didn’t go forward and pulling the trigger didn’t work. He grabbed the slide and pulled back and was again rewarded by having it slide forward. By this time the thing had nearly crawled up to him again and he jumped backwards then pointed the gun at it and shot several times.