Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

The flash drive appeared fine. But while Miller hadn’t been melted, some of the Bell’s effects had pierced the cryogenic chamber. There was no way to know if the data recovered from the computers remained intact.

Nausea slammed Miller as a violent shudder shook his body. Darkness loomed again.

“Sir!” Hammaker said as he approached. He took Miller’s arm and threw it over his back. “Put your weight on me.”

Miller held the flash drive up. He would have preferred to keep it, but knew it probably wouldn’t survive a dip in the river. “Everything depends on this. Keep it safe.”

Hammaker took the flash drive. “Yes, sir.”

As darkness reduced his vision to pinpoints, Miller asked, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have we—”

The kid understood and said, “I waited five hours, sir. Spent another hour looking for you.”

Six hours.

Brodeur could be halfway around the world with Adler by now if he really did have access to a modern-day foo fighter. Miller was about to ask the kid to make sure he woke him up soon. The world didn’t have time for him to be unconscious. But the darkness claimed him before he could open his mouth.

He woke just minutes later, screaming, as searing heat consumed his body.

Miller thrashed as liquid fire enveloped him. The burn stung his skin like a thousand bees. His heart raced. Stabbing pains pierced his limbs. He fought to free himself, but a tight pressure on his shoulders held him down— someone held him down . He reached up to grab his attacker, but found his arms too weak.

“Stop fighting!” a voice said close to his ear. “The water only feels like it’s burning because you’re so cold.”

The voice sounded familiar.

His vision cleared and he saw water. It bubbled from below.

Boiling!

He fought again, but this time the voice shouted at him. “Stop moving, sir! You need to warm up!”

Sir.

The word identified the voice.

Hammaker.

The kid.

Miller trusted the kid. Remembered being taken out of the cryogenic chamber. Dragged down the hallway, to the—Miller looked at the water. He sat in the river heated by geothermal vents.

As he relaxed and Hammaker loosened his grip, the burn began to fade. The water still stung for sure. It was hot. But he’d been in hotter Jacuzzis. He leaned his head back on the soft, moss-covered shoreline and looked at Hammaker’s upside-down worried face. He was cast in blue, lit by the glow stick. Night had fallen. “Where’s Vesely?”

Hammaker tilted his head to the right. Miller followed the motion, his head spinning as he moved, and found Vesely lying in the water next to him, unconscious and unmoving.

“He didn’t wake up when you put him in?” Miller asked.

“Moaned,” Hammaker replied. “But nothing since. Think he’ll be okay?”

“He’s tough,” Miller said. “Hey, kid—”

Hammaker looked him in the eyes.

“Nice work.”

The kid smiled.

“Can’t believe they made you a cook.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A strange euphoric feeling came over Miller as the heat worked its way into his body, melting the tension away. “You can stop calling me sir. I’m Survivor.” He looked at Vesely. “He’s Cowboy. And now you’re The Kid. I think Cowboy will like it.”

“The kid?”

“Capital T, capital K. And we’ll write it with two Ds so it looks cool.”

Hammaker grinned, but his eyebrows still bent up in the middle. “You need to rest.”

“Uh-uh,” Miller said, and tried to push himself up. “We need to leave. Adler. She—”

Hammaker pushed Miller back down. “Your lips are still blue. You need to get warm. Besides, it’s nighttime and a storm blew in. I’m a good pilot, but I can’t fly in that.”

Miller felt too tired to be angry. He blinked, but had to force his eyes back open. “There isn’t time. The red sky is… We only have two days left. Just two—”

Miller’s vision blurred as sleep claimed him once more.

He woke to the sound of voices.

The river still flowed around him like a wet electric blanket. His head rested on a mossy cushion. The scent of plants and something—coffee?

The smell of fresh brew sat him up.

“Survivor!” Vesely’s voice was loud and cheerful. “You have cheated death once again.”

Miller rolled over and pulled himself from the water. On shore, bathed in blue light, he found his clothes were missing. Naked on Antarctica and not cold, he thought, before wondering what happened to his clothes. Before he could ask, he saw a small fire burning next to the gorge wall. His clothes dangled from the rocks, drying.

Vesely, who was also naked, waved to him from his seat on the gorge floor. Hammaker sat next to him. Both were lit by a large rectangular light that blurred Miller’s vision. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and then saw the light for what it was—a laptop.

Hammaker noted Miller’s attention. “I went back up to the helicopter after Vesely woke up. Got supplies and the laptop. The flash drive works fine.”

“And it is treasure trove of information,” Vesely added. “Come! See!”

The flash drive! Miller quickly joined them by the laptop, his nudity forgotten. He felt a chill for a moment as the water evaporated from his body, but the air at the bottom of the gorge felt tropical. His muscles ached as he sat down, but the pain was bearable. The throbbing in his arm was another matter. He grunted as he put weight on it. The wound had been bandaged.

“It’s a clean shot through the side,” Hammaker said.

“You dressed it?” Miller asked.

“After I sewed it,” Vesely said. “I’m afraid your scar will be as ugly as mine.” He patted his injured shoulder, which also had a new dressing.

Miller flexed his hand. The pain was immediate, but wouldn’t incapacitate him. He knew morphine would help, but didn’t want to dull his senses or reaction time. He’d need both in the coming days.

Days.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours,” Vesely replied. “I’ve been awake for an hour.”

“He nearly killed me when he woke up,” Hammaker said.

Vesely shrugged. “I was confused. Last I remember I am being frozen. I wake up in hot water.”

Miller looked at the computer screen and saw a mass of open files. “What have you found?”

“A lot,” Hammaker said. “And honestly, a few days ago I wouldn’t have believed any of it. There are records going back to World War One. Science staff. Military. Engineers. Support staff.”

“Not to mention traitors, spies, moles, and saboteurs,” Vesely added.

Miller knew that it wouldn’t be hard to weed out the majority of turncoats based on who had gone AWOL shortly after the attacks on Miami and Tokyo, but hard proof was always a good thing to have. And there were obviously a good number of traitors still embedded in the actively deployed military. They would need to be exposed and dealt with as well. But not right now.

Vesely read his mind. “But that’s not important right now. I think I figured out where they went.”

Miller remembered. “Dulce.”

“How did you know!” Vesely said, his thunder stolen.

“I’m an investigator,” Miller said. “I investigated. Before Brodeur tried to kill us.”

“Have you been there?” Vesely asked.

Miller shook his head. “I’ve only heard of it once.”

“Is in New Mexico. Little is known about base, and government denies it exists. In 1997, Dulce Papers were released. There was video. And photos. And supposed quotes from guards about internal layout and alien breeding chambers. Tall tubes. Metal. One guard spoke of pale, skinny being removed and placed in tube of hot wat—”