David Brookover Sci-fi-horror Author

Shadow Feeders
By David Brookover
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Forked lightning snake-licked the obsidian heavens and hurled the lavishly refurbished DC-9 jet airliner from cloud to cloud as if it were a balsawood glider. The airliner fought the turbulence like an ocean vessel navigating a perfect storm. Due to the violent pitches and stomach-wrenching ups-and-downs, the VIP passengers inside the government executive jet declined the usual cocktails and sumptuous fare. Instead, the three ashen men and single female remained rigid and stone-faced in their plush seats and nervously viewed the raging tempest through the small windows. They instinctively death-gripped the leather armrests as if they expected the airliner to nose-dive any second.

One of the male passengers was Nick Bellamy, the former FBI Orion Sector Director who had retired to private industry as the CEO of NNC Consultants, a major player in the high-level, national security industry. He had formed the company with his two friends and former co-workers at Orion Sector, Neo Doss and Crow Smith. Thus, NNC (Nick Neo Crow) Consultants had been born. They had negotiated a long-term contract with Homeland Security, but NNC's services were also available to any other government agency, such as the FBI, Secret Service, NSA, DEA, ATF, or CIA.

His ice blue eyes returned to the structural blueprints of the top-secret Montana research facility that had been emailed to him before flying out of Columbus, Ohio. His six-foot, sinewy frame was stretched out in the oversized seat and shifted from armrest to armrest each time the plane rocked-and-rolled. His stoically handsome face, framed by disheveled ash-blonde hair, was drawn with concern, but not because of the violent storm. Some extraordinary and inconceivable events were occurring that night at the Center for Research of Extraordinary and Eccentric Phenomenon beneath Wolf Mountain in Montana.

The top-secret government operation was also known by its brief acronym, C.R.E.E.P. – a carefully whispered joke inside the Pentagon – but those laughing boys weren't amused tonight. Very few people held security clearances high enough to warrant learning the incredible secrets within the mammoth facility. Knowledge that included the terms extraterrestrials, spacecrafts, extinct earth species, and mutants. Even the Congressional Oversight Committee members vehemently denied all knowledge of the place. No one even discussed C.R.E.E.P., fearing that the walls might have ears. Ears connected to the fear-provoking monster Montana facility. Ears attached to government pay-rolled hit men.

Tonight, a group of suspected terrorists had breeched the facility's ultra-expensive, high-tech security systems and taken complete control of its assets and scientific operations with violent force. The President of the United States, Sheldon Hanover, had personally commissioned NNC to recapture the top-secret enterprise at all costs. Terrorist casualties during the C.R.E.E.P. ops would not only be tolerated by the government, but also encouraged.

The full extent of the government casualties during the take-over remained unknown, and the lone mystery terrorist who communicated with the military concerning the situation refused to divulge his name or casualty statistics. Surprisingly, the terrorist had yet to present a single demand to the Pentagon for release of the facility.

Nick was on his way to join one of his partners, Neo Doss, a few miles east of Wolf Mountain, and together they planned to recapture Wolf Mountain. A tall order for two men, to be sure, but a very lucrative one if they pulled it off. They didn't plan to fail.

The luxury airliner suddenly hit a hole in the air and free fell for what seemed an eternity before it its wings contacted air with a bone-bashing jolt. Several blueprints flew off Nick's lap and landed in front of the Washington Post reporter who had been sent to report on the situation. He bent over with his stomach restrained by the seat belt and scooped them up. He glanced briefly at them and then handed them back to Nick.

Nick snatched the blueprints from the reporter's grasp. "Thanks," he said in a flat voice.

Nick was wary of reporters from all media sources. In his experiences, reporters seemed more intent on peddling ratings and sales than facts. To his dismay, Nick had been saddled with the Post reporter. It had been a condition of his business agreement with President Hanover. Nate Sommers would be the sole news feed to the world media during the Wolf Mountain operation. It was far safer than allowing hordes of risk-taking reporters and a sky full of news helicopter jockeys to expose themselves to killer terrorists. Despite the president's rationale, Nick still abhorred the idea.

Sommers regarded Nick with his deep-set, brown scavenger eyes. The forty-something was a tall beanpole whose practiced smile was as slick as his glossy, plastered-down brown hair.

"Think those will do you any good?" Sommers asked.

Nick shrugged.

"I mean, c'mon, one man against all those well-armed terrorists?" he persisted.

A small grin cracked Nick's granite countenance. "I understood that you were coming along, too. That makes two of us, Sommers."

The reporter forced a dry laugh, but he was uncertain whether Nick was joking or not.

"Yeah, right, just the two of us. The pen is mightier than the sword, and all that," Sommers responded lightly.

Nick feigned solemnity. "You might want to bring a gun along, too, just in case the terrorists dislike reporters and aim their automatic rifles your way," he deceived the reporter, and then returned his attention back to the blueprints.

Lieutenant General Wilkinson and his executive assistant, Rachel Myers, chortled at Nick's joke. It was obvious that they enjoyed his handling of the arrogant Washington Post reporter.

Sommers reclined in his seat, folded his hands thoughtfully behind his head, and weighed his chances of surviving a gun battle with terrorists. Suddenly, this cake assignment didn't sound like a such a great idea. Tagging along with Bellamy and exchanging his life for a blaze of media glory wouldn't entitle him to free drinks at the local bars or all the groupie sex he desired. Dead men don't drink or fuck. He glared at the NNC CEO. Sommers was beginning to loathe the guy.

A few minutes later, the pilot's strained voice crackled over the ceiling speakers in the well-appointed passenger cabin.

"We're making our initial approach to Evergreen, but the landing's going to be risky. The up-drafts and crosswinds over the Rockies are pretty unpredictable, compliments of the storm. For those of you who are religious, I suggest praying for clearing weather during the next twenty minutes or so."

The silver-haired Wilkinson traded worried glances with the mahogany-haired knockout, Playboy pin-up of an assistant, Rachel. It was a bit more than the customary boss-employee exchange of impersonal concern, Nick noted from the corner of his eye. He wasn't being a busybody. Noticing things had been a critical factor in surviving the first fourteen years of government security work. Every little thing. It was one of the crucial job skills that promoted life expectancy in the business.

Nick smiled. He was the odd man out, stuck with a couple of lovebirds and a loner reporter. His situation reminded him that he missed the hell out of his fiancée, Gabriella, who was not only a powerful witch, but also his best friend and business associate. He wished that she could be there with him, but it was too dangerous for a civilian, even if she possessed potent magical powers.

He sighed and rested the blueprints on his lap. During plane flights, he routinely exchanged tactical information with Neo and Crow before an operation, and in this case, arrange a sensible invasion strategy for the Wolf Mountain ops, or Area 52 ops, as the facility was clandestinely known. But here he was, studying blueprints without a proper briefing while the turbulent gale rocked and socked the airliner. Nick glanced down at the subtitle on the blueprints again. Area 52. Its secrecy had survived a myriad of top-secret disclosures, government leaks, and military security breeches during the past thirty-some years, but its cousin, Area 51 hadn't fared as well– until now.

Nick took a fleeting look out the closest window at the lightning barrage. The DC-9 flew lower now, and he could just make out the jagged mountain peaks during the flashes. A ferocious horizontal bolt exploded and struck the left engine. The plane dipped precariously to the left, spilling his blueprints onto the floor again. This time, Sommers and his insatiable curiosity ignored the mess. So did Nick.

He leaned closer to the window; his breath frosted the glass. Flames sprang from the engine and gyrated in the stormy gusts.

The pilot's voice crackled through the cabin speakers again.

"We're making our final approach to Evergreen now. Please stay seated. This is going be a rough ride, folks. Think rodeo."

Rachel ignored the pilot and unbuckled her seatbelt. She tottered at first, then raced across the aisle like a kid running down a slide. Her considerable cleavage swayed and bobbed with the plane's erratic motions, before she crashed into the seat beside Wilkinson. The concerned general draped an arm around her tremulous shoulders and spoke quietly to her.

The reporter's bony knees chattered like Ichabod Crane's in "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow". Sommers forced his eyelid shut and maintained his white-knuckled grips on the armrests. His lips moved noiselessly like he was praying.

Only Nick remained calm. He knew they were going to make it down safely. Gabriella wouldn't have it any other way. Her magic was that powerful.

But he spoke too soon. The next series of lightning explosions ravaged his assurance. He didn't want to believe his eyes. Nick blinked repeatedly and pinched his arm to ascertain that he was wake. He was. The vision wasn't a nightmare, although awake or asleep, it qualified. He continued to search through the rain-spotted glass for the mountainous terrain below. Or rather, where it should have been.

The mountains and surrounding landscape, including Evergreen and the airport, had inexplicably vanished. Nick stared open mouthed at a black void where the earth had been only moments ago!