Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone (39 page)

When Lincoln emerged from their PCA car, he wasn’t sure what in the world he was seeing. This rogue, who had been causing havoc for a couple of days, was now attacking a huge department store, one of those super-stores that sold everything from clothing to produce to automotive services. The 911 dispatchers were starting to recognize this particular rogue’s brand of trouble, so the PCA had been called directly, with the police brought in for crowd control. And as Lincoln stood before the super-store, he found a massive building splashed, splattered, and saturated with fluorescent, glow-stick-green liquid.

“She’s over there!” a police officer shouted to Lincoln and Pendler. The left arm of his uniform shirt and both pant legs below the knees were soaked with the bright green stuff. “In the automotive garage! Do your thing so I can go home and wash this shit off, will ya?!”

Lincoln nodded to the police officer and trotted toward the auto garage, trusting that Pendler would bring up the rear, as always. To his pleasant surprise, Pendler instead kept pace with him, jogging by his side with his weapon drawn and ready. Lincoln suspected his partner was so elated to be away from the unreality of Montana, he was showing more exuberance than usual.

When they’d gotten within thirty yards of the first garage entrance, a blast of brilliant green light shown from within with the intensity of a spotlight. One second later, the light curved into a sharp U-turn and flowed like water back into the next entrance, leaving the glowing liquid in its wake.

“Okay, hang back a bit,” he said to Pendler as he slowed his pace. “I’ll head in first, see if I can get her attention. You watch for an opening.”

“Do we know the suspect is a female?”

“Well, that police officer said ‘she’ was in the garage, so ...” When Lincoln saw his partner blush, he added, “Hey, don’t sweat it. I’m tired, too.”

“Yeah,” Pendler said, grateful.

Lincoln kept moving as Pendler squatted next to the closest parked car. If it turned out the rogue was actually turning
into
this liquid light, he might be able to disperse her with a power-clap of his hands, but he dreaded the colossal mess that would make. And what if she could maintain her consciousness even while scattered? It was times like this that he really wished he had a partner more like Lieutenant Takayasu — not that he would ever admit that to Pendler; as he’d told Vortex, the guy meant well, he just wasn’t ... well, he wasn’t Michael Takayasu.

As Lincoln reached the first garage entrance, the inside lights fizzled out. The green stuff left an ambient luminescence, but not enough for him to really see by, not with the parking lot lights still on, not until his eyes adjusted. Maybe he could pound his foot, see if that got a reaction, but he wasn’t sure how much damage—

With an oceanic roar, the largest wave of liquid light yet slammed into him. He saw it coming at the last second and braced himself, digging his back toes into the asphalt just as the wave hit — so long as the pavement didn’t give way, he should be fine.

From within the wave, he could make out one distinct shape toward the source of the flow — a woman’s shape, which he assumed belonged to the rogue in question.

Then again, after seeing Shining Star’s sister, I might have to rethink what defines a “woman’s shape.”

Hey! Stay focused, damn it!

Making sure his back foot was secure, Lincoln prepared to dig his front toes into the ground next, to force his way forward—

But it proved unnecessary. The flow of liquid light broke, leaving Lincoln soaked, yet not feeling truly
wet
, somehow. Now in silhouette, the rogue gasped for breath, hunching as she prepared for another attack.

From over Lincoln’s shoulder shot a stun charge, which struck the woman right between her breasts — she jolted hard ... then relaxed and collapsed, her dark skin contrasting the green puddle around her. As he moved over to her, he removed his mask long enough to wring the green crap from it, then pulled it back into place before some opportunist with a camera phone popped out of nowhere and got off a lucky snap.

“Powerhouse?” he heard Pendler call from behind.

“She’s down,” Lincoln answered as he knelt next to the woman. “Good work.”

The woman was still conscious, but disoriented. As she became aware of him, she rolled her head in his direction, her short Afro-styled hair causing not the slightest ripple in the green puddle.

“Are you all right?” he asked her. “Do you need medical attention?” Pendler had reminded him more than once to stay on guard until the suspect had a psi-jammer in place, but he always expressed concern first — as strong as he was becoming, he worried about causing broken bones or internal injuries. At least this one was taken down by Pendler instead (a fact he would be sure to make known back at headquarters).

The woman tried to say something, coughed, then said, “I’m ... I’m so sorry. I haven’t ... I haven’t had ...”

“Powerhouse?” Pendler called again. He didn’t sound any closer. What was keeping him?

Lincoln called back to him, “She’s down, Pendler. Where’s that psi-jammer?”

“I’m sorry ...” the woman repeated. “I ... I didn’t want ...”

Lincoln placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her arm. “It’s all right,” he told her. “We know you’ve probably been under some, uh, duress for a lot of this. But you’ll still want—”

“Powerhouse?!” Pendler sounded stressed out now. “You need to come out here and take a look at this!”

What the hell?
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder to see Pendler staring up at the building’s rooftop. No, higher than that — he was looking almost straight up into the dusky sky.
What now?
To the woman, he said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t cause any more trouble, okay? We don’t want to have to stun you again.”

The woman was crying now, but her face expressed more relief than anything else.  She didn’t look like she planned to cause any more trouble.

Lincoln hustled out to Pendler’s side. He asked, “What, what is it?” but he was already turning to follow Pendler’s line of sight.

High above the store’s roof, but descending even as he spotted it, was a veiled ship. The only reason Lincoln recognized it for what it was, with its mirage-like hull, was thanks to his already having seen the Taalu ships.

“Why are
they
here?” asked Pendler.

Lincoln turned his attention to his partner, then back up to the approaching ship. “What?”

“The Arthians, Taalu, whatever. Why are they here? Won’t the President be mad about this?” He looked around at the crowd. “We can’t cover this up. Why are they landing in front of all these people?”

The ship was coming straight down, with no forward motion at all. And because Lincoln had been distracted by Pendler, it took him a second to realize what this would mean.

“Wait ...” he said, holding up a hand to fend off Pendler’s next question. “Are they going to—?”

Something on the rooftop
screeched
in protest as the ship alighted right on top of the store.  The building shuddered, and several of the large windows at the front cracked and one shattered.  The store’s illuminated sign, which proudly announced the business name for all to see, sputtered and strobed. Everyone in the parking lot was gaping up at the ship now.

“Jesus ...” Pendler whispered.

“You’re right about one thing,” Lincoln said without humor. “We really can’t cover this up now.”

The ship released a spray of thick, white gas as it settled —
Did the Taalu ships do that?
— and something deep within the craft rumbled like thunder; it was the only sound the ship had made until now. About a third was visible from the ground, and what was in view was still veiled, looming over the parking lot like a funhouse mirror on steroids.

“Hey ... hey!”

Lincoln turned to see the same police officer wave him down, and glare at him. “Aren’t you going to do something about ... that?” the officer insisted. A few other rubberneckers chimed in their agreement.

“What the hell are
we
supposed to do?” Pendler complained to Lincoln rather than the policeman. “We’re the P-C-A, not the— the
E-T
-A, for God’s sake! I’m ... I’m getting really tired of this!”

“Easy,” Lincoln said to him. While he agreed with Pendler’s sentiment, he supposed he should do
something
. If this was one of the Taalu ships, he should talk to them first. He could jump up onto the roof easily enough, probably aim for the left side, where Larr and Naltin had emerged ...

It dawned on him that, while the Taalu ships were triangular in design, this ship was shaped more like a nose-heavy Zeppelin. And it was maybe half the size of the Taalu ships.

Definitely not the Taalu. Okay ... so now what should I do?

“Pendler,” he said, “you better call the Lieutenant. He’ll want to know—”

With another blast of white gas and an ear-piercing
skreak!
, a portal under the nose of the ship irised open, revealing thinner mist wafting around a mustard-yellow light; the circular opening formed a luminescent oasis in the shifting mirage of the hull. That’s all that happened at first, and yet, that misty light was somehow ominous. Lincoln couldn’t have explained why, but he wasn’t alone — most of the rubberneckers backed away.

“Powerhouse ...?” Pendler whispered.

Something shifted inside the portal. A large, lumbering form passed in front of the source of the yellow-ish light. A moment later, it shifted back and eclipsed the light as it shuffled toward the opening.

“Lincoln ...?”

“Call Lieutenant Takayasu. Now.”

The shambling silhouette reached the threshold, blocking all light from within the ship. Lincoln squinted up at it — he couldn’t make the thing out, but it sure as hell wasn’t Taalu, or even humanoid.

Before Lincoln could decide his next move, the shape rumbled forward and dropped. Everyone scrambled to back away from the thing, including Pendler, but Lincoln held his ground.

The shape — alien? creature? — landed on the parking lot pavement with a gentleness that belied its considerable bulk. It shifted back and forth, as if testing its footing, then unfurled until it stood a good seven feet high, giving Lincoln his first real look at it.

And his first thought was,
Gross!

The creature appeared to Lincoln like an erect elephant seal, or maybe a manatee or walrus, but with better defined arms and legs. Its face was particularly hard on the eyes, favoring less a walrus and more a lamprey eel. The only reason he didn’t dismiss the creature as some outlandish animal was the set of bulbous, sienna orbs that glistened atop the cracked, umber hide of its head — he took the orbs for eyes, and those eyes conveyed an undeniable intelligence.

“
Bne ha cee-tee
,” the creature rumbled with a noisome spray of saliva. He thought it was talking to him, but he wasn’t sure if it truly did not speak English or if its bifurcated, roiling lips and mouthful of sharp teeth were mutilating the words beyond intelligibility.

Lincoln tried to think of something to say back to it. “Uh ... I, uh, I don’t—”

“
Bne ha cee-tee
,” it repeated in its cavernous timbre, but added, “
cja-hah besah?
”

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand—”

It cut him off, sounding angry as it rumbled, “
Bne hoo hinn Taalu!
”

“ ‘Taalu’!” Lincoln latched onto the familiar word. “You said ‘Taalu,’ right?” It was only after he had already opened his big mouth, admitting by behavior if not vocabulary that he recognized the term, that he considered whether that might not be a good idea.

The creature snarled, he thought — it was difficult to tell with that lamprey mouth. It waddled around, its fat, shovel-like tail scraping along the pavement, and arched its back until it was looking up at the ship above. It snorted, spraying phlegm with such force Lincoln was grateful that it was facing away, and shouted,
“Toa hah et Taalu! Camo nateho maj!
” Its orbs rotated back in Lincoln’s direction. “
Hne ptonme haweto peme!
”

Resisting his natural instinct to keep his distance from this thing, Lincoln took a tentative step forward. Being less than ten feet away from it, he was close enough to discover that it didn’t smell any nicer than it looked. “I can’t understand you,” he said, “but can you understand me? Can you understand my—?”

The creature whipped back toward him, and this time it did not waddle.

Its awkwardness,
he noted,
might be just for show. Or at least misleading.

“
Bajte bawn,
” it hissed. “
Bne ha cakate ahha Noctoponm!
”

Lincoln was at a loss. If only Takayasu were here! Or Vortex, Shining Star ... someone, anyone! He held his hands out in what he hoped was a passive enough gesture. He didn’t want to just keep repeating “I can’t understand you,” but what the hell else was he supposed to say to it? Maybe—

Lincoln’s deduction that the creature had been playing up its lack of grace was correct. He had no time to react when it undulated onto its belly, closing the distance between them in one smooth motion of its massive body. And as it unfurled back onto its legs, it collided with him, head-butting him in the chest, hard.

Unbelievably hard.

Lincoln stumbled backward, struggling to stay upright on his now-shaky legs, but only half-succeeding as he slipped down onto one knee. He coughed, fighting to get his breath back.

The effect on the surrounding crowd was instantaneous, both civilian and police alike; all fell silent as they gaped in collective shock: This was Powerhouse,
the
Powerhouse of the PCA ... and this hideous
thing
 — a thing that dropped from an unknown, half-invisible ship of some kind — just hurt him! It knocked him down, knocked his breath out! It - hurt - Powerhouse!

The stunned hush was broken when someone close to the action screamed, and that was that — the place turned into a madhouse. People who had been struggling to get a closer look or maybe snap a photo just a few seconds ago now scrambled to clear away from the surreal scene of green liquid light, mutant lamprey-walrus, and
the
Powerhouse, down on one knee before the gruesome monster and gasping for breath. Some of the evacuees leaped into their cars to effect their escape, which immediately led to a number of fender-benders, but most hightailed it on foot.