Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

Miller racked the slide of each handgun, chambering rounds in both. Adler holstered hers at the hip. Brodeur threw his jacket on, despite the heat, to hide the two MP5s strapped beneath his arms.

Gravel crunched beneath Miller’s feet as he exited the car. The air here felt warmer, and smelled of dust.

“Around the back,” Adler said.

The threesome walked slowly and quietly around the building. Bees buzzed in the overgrowth rising up through the cracks of what was once a large area of concrete. When they reached the back of the building and saw more of the same, Miller said, “This doesn’t look anything like the picture in the book.”

“Through the trees,” Adler said, pointing to a stand of leafy trees that swayed in the breeze. The swishing leaves transported Miller back to Key Largo again, where the dry palms scratched against each other. He looked up at the sky, confirmed it was still blue, and struck out for the trees.

The temperature dropped in the shadow of the woods, and Miller drew his weapon.

“Hear something?” Brodeur asked, his hand inside his jacket, ready to draw an MP5.

Miller shook his head. “Just tired of being caught with my pants down.”

Brodeur pulled out one of the MP5s and gave a nod.

The trees began to thin and Miller saw the unnatural straight lines of human construction in a clearing ahead. He motioned for Adler and Brodeur to wait and moved ahead alone.

The concrete henge stood half in the forest and half in the clearing. Trees had grown up around it in the past years and a few small saplings rose from its center. Eleven interconnected concrete columns formed the modern monolith. Within the ring, the ground dipped down, revealing where a basin had once been before the forest reclaimed the site. The place felt otherworldly, as though torn from the pages of a fantasy novel. Miller entered the clearing of tall grass, scanning back and forth, looking over his gunsight. Other than the henge, he saw nothing important.

No hostiles.

No Vesely.

“Survivor?”

The voice startled him and spun him around. It sounded like Vesely, but he wouldn’t let his guard down until he erased all doubt. He saw no one and realized that he must have walked right past Vesely. Where the hell is he?

“Is that you, Survivor?”

The repeated use of Vesely’s code name for Miller made him realize it was an identity test. Only he and Vesely knew of the names the man had given them both. “It’s me, Cowboy,” he said, and lowered his weapon.

The ground in front of him came to life. Leaf litter fell away from the lanky man’s body. He wore blue jeans, a plaid flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a pair of leather boots, and a cowboy hat. Vesely slapped the dirt and leaves off of his hat and placed it back on his head. He flashed Miller a smile, strode right up to him, and shook his hand.

“I am happy to see you,” Vesely said.

“I’m happy you’re alive,” Miller replied. “Things didn’t sound too good before we were disconnected.”

“Meh,” Vesely said, giving a dismissive wave. “They sent only two men.” He looked down at his belt where two .38 Supers were strapped to his hips. The .38 Super held six rounds, each easily powerful enough to make a one-shot kill, even if the head or chest weren’t struck—people missing limbs tended to bleed out fairly fast. “I had enough for twelve.”

Miller smiled. The man’s thick accent, eccentric dress, and cocky attitude amused him. But he knew Vesely had been attacked, and had somehow survived, so despite his comical appearance, he might actually know how to use the handguns.

“Just so you know, I’m not here alone,” Miller warned.

“This is good. A battle of this size should not be fought by just two men. How many do you have?”

Miller called out, “Come on out,” into the woods. He knew Vesely would be disappointed when he saw the army of two come out of the woods, but hey, now there were four of them. Arwen would be proud. His very own fellowship. Now they just needed a few elves and hobbits and they’d be all set.

Adler came out of the woods first, putting her handgun away.

“Gut, Sie kennenzulernen,” she said. Good to meet you.

Vesely’s head cocked to the side. “You are German?”

“ Ja. I’m an Interpol liaison to the U.S.”

He squinted at her. “Have we met?”

Adler fought a smile. “I think I would remember if we had.”

“It’s your eyes,” Vesely said, then shrugged. “I must be mistaken. What is your name?”

Adler held out her hand. “Elizabeth Adler, nice to finally meet—”

Faster than Miller had ever seen, Vesely drew his .38 and leveled it at Adler’s forehead. Not only did the man know how to use his weapons, Miller had no doubt his quick draw could match Billy the Kid.

“You colored your hair,” Vesely said, “but you cannot hide your grandmother’s eyes.”

“Do you know who this woman is?” Vesely said to Miller, his voice filled with suspicion.

“Her grandmother worked for the Nazis, yes,” Miller said, and then pointed to the .38. “Mind putting that down?”

Vesely kept the gun raised. “They couldn’t have done it without her. She brought the red sky on all of us.”

“I am not my grandmother,” Adler said, her hands raised.

“And we wouldn’t be here without her,” Miller said. “She kept a journal detailing her calculations and everyone involved. It’s how we found Huber.”

Vesely looked Miller in the eyes. “You have this journal?”

“It is in the car,” Adler said, thankful that she’d managed to hang on to her bag through all of their journeys and chases.

“You trust her?” he asked Miller.

“With my life.”

Before Vesely could lower his weapon, a gun pressed between his shoulder blades. “Put it down, cowboy.”

The Southern drawl of Brodeur’s voice put a smile on Vesely’s face. “You are from Texas, no?”

“You got it.”

“Where in Texas?”

“Amarillo,” Brodeur said. “Born and raised in the panhandle.”

“Then you are for-real cowboy?” Vesely asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

“I’m for-real FBI, and if you don’t lower your weapon, I’m going to put a for-real hole in your for-real back. You following me?”

Vesely holstered the weapon and turned around to look at Brodeur. He looked him up and down, scrunching his face like he’d just smelled something foul. “FBI, yes. Cowboy, no. From Texas and not even boots.” He shook his head.

“I drive a car, too,” Brodeur said. “Hard to catch bad guys on horseback these days.”

Vesely let out a hearty laugh and all four relaxed. “I will call you Tex.” He looked at Adler, suspicion creeping back into his eyes. “And you… you will be Chameleon because I suspect you have yet to reveal your true colors.”

Adler shook her head with a roll of her eyes. “ Genug! We just flew halfway around the world to meet with you.”

“Of course,” Vesely said. “What would you like to know first?”

“We know what was in your book,” Miller said.

“You have my book?” Vesely looked pleased.

“It’s on Google.”

After muttering a string of Czech curses, Vesely said, “Then you know its general construction, who was involved—” He gave Adler a sideways glance. “—and the effects it had on anyone unfortunate enough to stand too close to it.” He looked at the concrete henge. “Were we standing this close during a test, we would be dead in seconds, the fluids and materials that make up our bodies separated. Is like melting.”

Miller remembered the description from Vesely’s book. “The problem is, people aren’t being melted. They’re being suffocated in the open air. So far, nothing we know about the Bell explains how iron clouds from the solar system’s heliopause are being oxidized in our atmosphere.”