Francesco Mazzotta - Cellular Activity

The vehicle is going to circumvent a low dune, no taller than a few meters.

“Relax lieutenant, I grew up in Detroit, it’s not the first time that… Holy Chri…”

The curse dies in the man’s throat, while he stops the vehicle abruptly and steer quickly to avoid a large fuselage piece protruding from the ground near the low dune. The truck that proceeds behind it is suddenly forced to divert to avoid crashing into the JLTV. Its braking digs deep furrows in the sand.

Lieutenant Bishop looks with a glance of reproach to the driver, while someone else shouts in the intercom from the other cars.

“Damn you, Brody, wanna kill us all?!?”

Bishop unlatches the safety harness and leaves the vehicle. The man expects the temperature difference between the air inside the car and the external one, but is not ready for the nauseating smell of fuel, plastic and charred bodies. He hastens to impart guidelines to Brody, telling him to take the vehicle on top of a hill to have a good signal, and to make sure that the camera has a good view of the disaster area. Then he puts a gas mask on, adjusting its filters and checks that everything works properly. He briskly moves toward the other vehicles, imparting orders.

“Well gentlemen, let’s split and inspect the area. Take a quick check to see if there are any survivors, in which case call me immediately. If you see someone still alive, don’t touch him, just call me. Uncle Sam wants a containment perimeter all around the crash site, but we don’t have enough men to surround the area. We are in the desert, but you never know: don’t let anyone get close. Extinguish all the fires, the last thing we want is that they are sighted by any marauders gang, attracting those jackals around here. Then proceed gathering the corpses and any remains. Pack everything and load it on the trucks and the first helicopter heading to the base. I want a clean and quick job: the quicker we fix this mess the sooner we leave. Any questions?”

The tires of the military jet screech as they impact with the runway, raising puffs of sand and white smoke. The nose of the aircraft, with two white wings that protrudes laterally like mustaches, lowers toward the runaway. The strange mix between a plane and a rocket slows down, although it seems to take an eternity before slowing to a crawl.

A slow maneuver takes it close to a low building. Not a light, not a soul, just shadows upon shadows.

The group of soldiers awakes. They stand up before the plane has completely stopped, putting heavy backpacks on their shoulders and checking their equipment.

“Why more soldiers?”, asks Moore. Ironside loosens his seat belt, leaning forward to speak conspiratorially with her.

“These soldiers are a unit of special forces of the Marines. We are in a foreign country, and we don’t know what we’re dealing with. It’s better to be ready, just in case.”

The door opens, and the cold night air of the desert quickly enters the cockpit. Moore shivers surprised. She is aware that the desert has a remarkable temperature shift phenomenon, but the impact of cold air is still unexpected. She instinctively puts a hand to her throat, to further seal an already very tight jacket.

“Is that all?”, whispers the woman, now on top of the plane’s exit-stairs. She looks around and notices a few scattered, small buildings, almost invisible in the darkness of the night.

Nobody answers, as they descend the steps to the dusty ground.

Fantastic…

Two soldiers wait for them on the ground. Ironside recognizes the ranks of a Major and those of a lieutenant. The first one steps forward, holding out a hand to Ironside, which is the first to touch the ground. “Welcome, I am Major Albert Macready, commander of the base, and this is lieutenant Redmond. It’s a pleasure to receive you, sir, although these are not the best circumstances.”

Ironside shakes the man’s hand, feeling a decisive and firm hold.

“And you are Dr. Moore”, exclaims Macready, holding out his hand to the woman.

Concluded the presentations with the commander of the marine’s team that got off the plane, the group splits. Lieutenant Redmond remains with the new soldiers, who quickly wake several crates of equipment out of the plane.

The Major leads Dr. Moore and Ironside toward the larger building, filling in them about the situation. “My men have reached the crash site, I have ordered them to perform a reconnaissance to detect any possible survivor and to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the area. A Bell UH-1Y Venom helicopter patrols the entire zone.”

“Good job, Major. What about our guest from the Kremlin? Is he already here?”

“Yes, sir”, replies Macready. “Our helicopter has taken him from the Algiers airport. He arrived about half an hour ago. He currently is in one of the rooms that we use as temporary housing.”

“What impression did he make?”

“If you’re asking my personal opinion… Well, the whole thing doesn’t convince me at all. There is a strange madness in that man’s eyes. He refused to discuss with me the reason of his presence here. He wants… assurances.”

“I’d like to meet him immediately, Major. Please arrange a room, we will handle the situation promptly.”

In the night silence they hear the sand crack under their feet. Macready seems to guess their thoughts. “The sand here is always everywhere, we can’t do too much here, outside the base.”

The three finally enter the building through a banal and anonymous door. Their path is lit by a series of LED spotlights that light up as they go by, fading away beyond them as they walk past. The interior smells like a workshop, and in the dim light generated by the LED lights they can see some military vehicles. Trucks covered by sheets, fire trucks curiously surmounted by cannons that spray water, foam or powder, another one that looks like a rescue vehicle, a Humvee and other armored cars. No way to see the end of the hangar that seems to be much larger than its external appearance. Their footsteps echo in the silence of the night, until they stop in front of a solid wall from which protrudes a tiny white box. A black longitudinal stripe runs through it, flanked by a red LED. The Major swipe an identification badge. After a few seconds the red lights turn to green with a beep. They hear a hissing sound, then a large sliding door, almost half a meter thick, opens in the seemingly smooth and uniform wall. The interior is white and lit by LED lamps placed at regular intervals. The floor has a slight tilt and, about fifteen meters ahead there’s a guard cabin on the right. A little further, they notice the sliding doors of a huge lift.

Moore is partly relieved, for the unexpectedly modern look of the base and for the pleasant warm air that comes from some internal air-conditioning system.

Macready notices the surprised look of the woman. “I thought you were aware of the fact that this isn’t an ordinary military base.” In response to her puzzled expression, Macready goes on, illustrating some of the features of the structure. “It’s essentially a laboratory for research and experimentation. Here we operate mainly on new technologies. We regularly receive visitors, teams of special forces who carry out tests in the desert.”

“Are operations of this kind under way?”, asks Ironside.

“No, this will allow us to better focus on the current problem. On the other hand, we only have the men who work here on a permanent basis, and we aren’t many, excluding the soldiers arrived with you. The base is underground, surrounded by layers of solid rock several meters thick. This makes it able to withstand an atomic attack. It spreads over three levels. In the lower floor there are the generators, the armory, the system for air conditioning and circulation, the waste recycling system and a warehouse. In the middle floor there are staff quarters, a room for meetings, an entertainment room, a gym and other rooms. If you’re interested”, he turns to Moore, “we have also a small greenhouse.”