David Morrell - The Shimmer

“West Texas. Outside a town called Rostov. Nothing’s there except millions of acres of ranchland. We built an airstrip there before we entered the last war. It was a good place to hide the pilots we were training so the Germans wouldn’t suspect how actively we were preparing to help the Allies.”

“Oppenheimer’s got his mind set on Los Alamos.”

“Rostov may offer another advantage,” Edward pressed. “There might be fission already occurring there.”

The general began to look interested. “Continue, Captain.”

Edward focused his remarks so that they related exclusively to nuclear fission. He described his father’s reports and concluded by saying, “There’s no doubt the lights are powerful. Ultimately my mother died from the skin cancer they gave her. One theory is that they’re caused by radioactive elements in the soil. If the rays can be channeled, and used as a weapon…”

The general held up a hand, cutting him off. “Put it in writing. I’ll submit it to Oppenheimer.”

“Yes, sir.”

But Edward knew what happened to reports.

A week later, during the next meeting, the general announced that Los Alamos would be the primary site for designing the atomic bomb.

Edward contained his disappointment.

Then the general surprised him by adding, “The Germans are pursuing the development of a second major weapon.”

The room became silent.

“It may be related to nuclear fission, or possibly it’s based on a totally different principle. All we know is that since Germany invaded Norway in 1940, they’ve sent a disproportionate number of soldiers there-a half-million occupiers in a country of two million people. Many of those soldiers are in a position that strategically makes no sense-surrounding a small valley in the middle of Norway. The valley’s called Hessdalen.”

The general looked directly at Edward. “Reports indicate that those soldiers are providing security for scientists investigating strange lights that appear there.”

“Lights, sir?” Edward tried not to show the emotion building in- side him.

“With effects that apparently range from mass hallucination to religious rapture. Some people went blind from looking at them.

Others became violent-even murderous. Still others developed cancerous lesions. There’s no telling if any of it is real, but Germany’s committed to exploring those lights as a possible weapon, and once they get interested in something, you know damned well we need to do the same. Even if the lights are bogus, all Hitler needs to do is start the rumor that he’s figured out how to use them as a weapon and de- ploy it anywhere he wants. Sometimes psychological warfare can win more battles than tanks.”

A colonel spoke up: “Sir, are these lights similar to the west Texas phenomena that Captain Raleigh was talking about?”

“That’s the conclusion the president came to. If Hitler’s using them as smoke and mirrors to distract us from his nuclear-fission program, we can do the same thing. Captain Raleigh, you’re ordered to take an exploratory team to whatever this town is in west Texas.”

“It’s called Rostov, sir.”

“To prove how apparently serious we are, two of Oppenheimer’s researchers will accompany you. They’ll send equipment from the University of Chicago. The Army Corps of Engineers-which is building the Los Alamos facility-will contribute a dozen men. There’ll also be a rifle platoon to make a show of providing security. If it turns out there is something useful about these lights, so much the better, but I’m willing to bet that the main thing we’ll accomplish is to drive Hitler crazy by making him think we’re not only commit- ted to this project but actually making progress. As a bonus, you’ll act as a diversion from what’s happening at Los Alamos.”

Before the end of the month, Edward’s team flew on a C-47 military transport plane to Fort Bliss, then drove ten trucks of men and equipment to Rostov. As soon as they reached the old airfield, they set up tents and unpacked electronic instruments, activating a generator to provide an independent source of power.

Oppenheimer’s researchers scanned the ground with Geiger counters but couldn’t find any trace of radioactivity.

“You’ll need to scan a lot more ground than that.” Edward pointed past the Badlands. “The lights come from way over there.”

“I hope we made a big enough fuss about getting here,” one of the researchers said. “German spies keep watch on Oppenheimer and anybody associated with him. Since we’re here, word is bound to get back to Germany.” The gangly, bespectacled man scanned the featureless horizon. The only things in sight were two jackrabbits and five scattered cows trying to eat the meager grass. “Hell, nobody would bother to come here if it wasn’t desperately important.”

The sunset was spectacular. As darkness thickened, the air cooled, making them cross their arms across their chests.

“So, where are the lights?” a soldier asked.

“They don’t always come out. Give them time,” Edward answered.

“Anybody got a smoke?”

An engineer went into the sizable main tent and leaned his watch toward one of the glowing instruments. “It’s 9:20. This has been a long day. If something doesn’t happen by 10 o’clock, I’m heading for my cot.”

“You might need to give the lights more time than that,” Edward said. “They don’t exactly appear on a schedule.”

“Well, wake me if you see Hitler’s new secret weapon. Not that it’ll be easy to sleep with that generator droning.”

“And the static coming from that directional radio,” a researcher said. “Doesn’t matter what frequency I use. That’s all I receive.”

“No, there’s something in the background. But I can barely hear it.”

Somebody chuckled. “Probably a Mexican radio station playing mariachi music.”

“Look, what’s that over there?”

“A shooting star. Wow. Haven’t seen one since I was a kid. I’ve been living in the city for so long, I almost forgot what they look like.”

“There’s another one.”

“No, that one’s not a shooting star. It’s too low on the horizon, and it’s lasting too long.”

“A bunch of them. They look like skyrockets. I bet we’re seeing fireworks from across the border. Does anybody know if it’s a Mexican holiday?”

“Hey, whoever’s in that tent, stop turning up the volume on that radio. The static’s hurting my ears.”

“Nobody’s in the tent,” one of the researchers said. “The static’s getting louder on its own.”

“And the fireworks are getting brighter,” a soldier said. “Look at all those colors. They remind me of the Northern Lights. I saw them once when I was a kid and my dad took me camping on Lake Michigan.”

“But these are to the south. And they’re awfully low on the horizon,” an engineer reminded him. He turned and stared toward the tent. “Are you sure nobody’s screwing with that radio? Now the static’s louder than the generator.”

Abruptly the static ended.

So did the shooting stars or the skyrockets or the Northern Lights-or whatever they were. The horizon turned completely dark.

So did the glowing instruments in the tent. The generator stopped droning.

“What the hell happened to everything?”

“Gentlemen,” Edward said, “welcome to the lights.”

Page frowned when something changed on the ground behind the Cessna. The glow of the spotlights abruptly went out.

Tori noticed it, also. “Something happened behind us.”

He banked the aircraft to the left and returned in the direction from which they’d come. But the landscape no longer appeared the same. “Where’s the observation area? I don’t see the floodlights.”