Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

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.

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.

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.