The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (5 page)

The last creature opened its gaping jaws of sharp teeth to roar but Hakim fired one shot through its mouth, causing a splash of green and blue mess to splatter on the corridor wall before it fell dead.

“Where the hell did these things come from, Aldridge?” Hakim shouted, moving to the monstrous dead body of the woman.

Aldridge stood, covering his mouth with his hand, sobbing in disbelief at what had occurred, looking at the dead bodies of the creatures that were once Hart and Dunn.

“Dammit, Aldridge! Tell me where they came from!” Hakim hollered, turning him around, making Aldridge face him.

“The l-lab,” Aldridge stammered, his face soaked in tears.

“To the lab, boys! There might be more of them!” the lead officer shouted as the cavalry rushed down the corridor.

***

In the lab, the phantasma was still hovering near the twelve-foot ceiling, pulsating from slow-moving red vapors to blue vapors, making whispery sounds. There was still a thin, green-misty fog throughout the lab, allowing one to see across the entire room.

Aldridge, Hakim and his officers rushed into the lab, gazing above at the mystical apparition.

“What the freak is that?” asked Hakim in a hard tone, staring.

“It was something we f-found,” Aldridge answered, whimpering.

Suddenly, the cactus plant on Hart’s desk exploded in size, shattering the ceramic vase, casting multiple dark, thorny branches throughout the lab, making a few officers duck out of the way from their swift-moving tantalic-like bladed arms, knocking a few officers over, slicing a couple of them on the back and arms, piercing one of them, carrying him to the other side of the lab as he screamed, pinning him against the wall eight feet above the floor, killing him. Some of the branches grew over the demolished doorway, blocking the exit.

“We’re trapped!” one of the officers cried.

Hakim fired at the razor-sharp thorny branches over the doorway, having no effect. He and his men aimed their weapons at the mysterious floating sphere of colors.

“Shoot it!” shouted an officer. “Whatever it is, it’s controlling the branches!”

“No, don’t!” Aldridge said in a pleading tone.

The phantasma shot out a thin electrical streak at the aggressive officer, shocking him.

“Ow! Shit!” the officer hollered. “It just shocked me!”

Hakim and his officers opened fire on the apparition. It didn’t move but remained at the ceiling, turning bright red, emitting red, smoky vapors as the bullets passed through it, hitting the ceiling and the wall.

“Stop shooting at it!” Aldridge shouted.

Hakim and the officers ignored him, firing away at the misty light, reloading their guns, having no effect on it.

“Tell your men to stop, Hakim! Now!” shouted Aldridge, rushing up from behind, frightened.

“Shut up!” Hakim shouted, running out of bullets again, reaching for another magazine.

The officers ceased fire, watching the vaporous apparition drift over them, whispering its echoes.

“Oh no,” said Aldridge, scared.

“Oh no what?” asked Hakim.

Suddenly, multiple streaks of pink, purple and green lightning fired out of the phantasma, hitting one officer after another, vaporizing them. Their weapons hit the floor, clanking. Hakim turned to Aldridge, terrified. A purple and green bolt struck Hakim, turning him into a flash of vapors as he screamed.

“I’m getting the freak out of here!” cried another officer, running to the exit door.

He tried to climb through the thorny branches, cutting his arms to get away, yelling. A lightning rod flew across the lab and vaporized him too.

Aldridge stood alone in the lab, trapped, stunned in terror, gazing at the apparition that drifted over him near the ceiling, turning a hot red color, hissing. He screamed as a final beam came at him and vaporized him too. His glasses hit the tile floor, cracking both lenses.

The vaporous phantasma flew back in a flash into the silver-red metal chest on the table, causing it to spin up into the air then fall to the polished lab floor, clanging.

Minutes later, another wave of security officers rushed to the doors of the lab, scrambling on the reverse side, trying to get in.

“Ow! The thorns! They’re sharp!” one of them cried, cutting himself.

“It’s totally blocked, we can’t get in!” said another.

“The saw! Get the saw, dammit!” another yelled, trying to look through the thick tangle of dark, thorny branches at the lab entrance.

An officer beat on the branches with his hickory stick multiple times like he was trying to kill something.

“Damn, these branches are tough,” he growled as his hickory stick cracked.

“Can anyone hear me in there?” an officer yelled. “Hakim? Aldridge? Cowley?”

The officers made way for a maintenance employee who rushed up to the door with a chainsaw, pulling its cord to start it.

“Watch out, gentlemen,” said the employee, starting at the top of the door.

The blades of the chainsaw cut through the branches one after another, making a loud whizzing noise, flicking sharp wood chips and shards of thorns into the corridor. He cut out a jagged rectangular shape from the branches then kicked it forward, making an entry for the officers.

They barged through the hole, scanning the room with their assault rifles.

“Hakim?” an officer yelled, puzzled at the vacant lab.

“Where the hell did everybody go?” asked another.

“It doesn’t make any sense, Hakim and ten officers were just in here with Aldridge,” said an officer.

“The lab is secure!” one of them said, checking the last corner.

Alfred Manning, one of the directors of N.A.S.A., and his assistants entered the lab, standing, looking around.

“My God, what the hell happened down here on Sector Nine?” Manning asked in disgust. “Somebody talk to me!”

“We don’t know, sir, but whatever it was, there were two of them and Hakim and his squad iced them both,” an officer answered in a calm voice, removing his helmet.

“Iced what?” asked Manning.

“Two beasts or creatures, whatever the hell they were,” the officer replied. “They’re still lying on the floor down the corridor. We got several employees down as well, mostly fatalities.”

“What do you want done here, Manning?” asked one of his assistants.

Manning paced the floor, overwhelmed at the facts, trying to decide what to do.

“These scientists broke protocol and ran some damned secret unauthorized experiment behind my back and now several people are dead on my watch,” Manning responded in a bitter voice.

“Yes sir,” the officer stated.

“Shit!” Manning shouted, pacing as he kicked the red-silver metal chest across the lab floor, causing it to clank against the wall, frustrated.

“Manning, sir? What do you want done?” asked another assistant.

“Everyone out!” Manning shouted.

“What about the lab, sir?” asked the assistant.

“No one touches anything until the forensic investigators get here and examine the room!” Manning yelled. “I want this entire room investigated from floor to ceiling!”

“All right everybody, you heard,” said his assistant. “Everyone out of the lab, now!”

The assistants led the officers and employees out of the hole made through the branches. Manning stood in the lab, looking around, angry. He noticed a pair of broken spectacles on the floor near his feet. He crouched, picking up the pair of glasses with the tip of his pen, examining it for a short time before setting it back down on the floor. He moved closer to one of the thorny branches that ran throughout the lab like a spider web.

“What the hell?” he said, looking at the branch up close.

He ran his finger along the edge of one of the sharp, blade-like thorns, cutting his index finger.

“Ah! Dammit!” he yelled, sticking his bleeding fingertip in his mouth, leaving the lab.

The metal chest sat in the corner silent, making no movements.

CHAPTER TWO
THE FACILITY EXPERIMENTS

FIVE YEARS LATER

A military helicopter flew through dark, stormy skies over Arizona. Chris Michaels, a forty-two-year-old scientist, sat in his seat in the passenger cabin with his briefcase on his lap, watching the dried up desert territory finally receive wetness out his window. He looked weathered despite his rugged, handsome face. There was a strain in his eyes that furrowed his forehead like something was weighing on his mind.

He sat with Juanita Perez, a twenty-eight-year-old human resource assistant who loved her job. Despite her well-fitted skirt, perky optimism and well-groomed hair down to her shoulders, she had a square chin and toughness through her face that made it believable she had worked with the infantry in the US Army.

The other passenger on board was Scott Warnick, another one of the

lab assistants eager to excel in his career. He wiped some sweat from his bald head, scratched his pudgy cheek and cleaned off the lenses of his glasses. He glanced at Chris, the new employee, and smiled.

Chris took out an electronic tablet from his briefcase and glanced sadly through several photos of his digital album of his wife, Kerry Michaels, who was dying of cancer and his son, Kirk Michaels, a twenty-two-year-old marine who was shot down in a Blackhawk over Bosnia. The memories of Kerry having to go through chemotherapy, lying helplessly in her bed, knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do for her, were tortuous. It was all he could do to hold on, knowing she had weeks to live.

The thought that Chris was going to lose both his wife and son roughly within a narrow timeframe took him to the verge of a meltdown. They were the only family he had and life was taking both of them from him. He closed his eyes, remembering a nightmare he had of Kirk going down in a smoking Blackhawk with flames coming out of it, screaming for his life as it exploded on the ground, killing everyone on board. The dream flashed into Kerry saying to him in a weak, tired voice from her sick bed,
Take care of our son, Kirk, Chris. Promise me you’ll look after him and not let anything happen to him. He’s in the Marines going to Bosnia to war and I worry about him, Chris
. The feeling of grief came over him again as he turned off the tablet.

Chris thought on about the horrible aftermath of his alcoholism that followed the losses of Kerry and Kirk. He reminisced about sitting in classes for alcohol addiction, staring at the floor as the counselor paced the floor, speaking to him and other class attendants saying,
Okay, guys, alcohol is a drug. It will take you down and keep you down. You NEED to find a way to put hope or faith into something that is bigger than you to overcome your problem with booze, a deity for example
...

Chris’ thoughts drifted into him remembering the horrible meeting he had with Colonel Thomas Sharp, Dr. Alex Siddoway and a couple of Siddoway’s assistants in his living room while he had messy hair, looked stoned and was coming off another bad hangover, trying to get the death of Kirk and the medical hardships of Kerry out of his mind.
We have important things coming up in a new facility, Michaels. Siddoway tells me you’re great around the lab and are a reliable worker. I find that difficult to believe. However, Siddoway is vouching for you so, providing you can clean your life up a bit, there is a position for you at the Red Phoenix facility in Siddoway’s department of genetic engineering. It’s located in southeast Arizona and will be opening in a couple of months. Are you able to accept this position or not?
Sharp had asked him, sounding serious.

He looked out the window again, watching the lightning flash and hearing the thunder roar in the distance as they began to approach the Red Phoenix, a massive new government facility that was financed by federal grants and outside investors. The three billion dollar facility looked like a mighty futuristic sci-fi fortress made of concrete, glass and steel in the middle of nowhere. The building stood fifteen stories high and was designed with four dome-shaped corners that were connected with multiple skywalks in between them, connecting the five domed building to allow the employees to go from one building to another.  The building looked like four gigantic beehives connected together by curvy skywalks.

Red Phoenix had its own private airport for mainly military personnel, an underground subway system and thousands of government employees to staff it. There were fleets of armed military vehicles, aircrafts and helicopters parked outside the facility in a fenced lot, which seemed endless. Some of the employees walked outside the building in large robot suits with huge mechanical arms, legs and feet, picking up heavy pallets of stacked boxes, carrying them through tall doors of an aircraft hangar that opened and closed by itself.

On the south side of the building, a huge gulf the size of a small canyon had been dug along with a reservoir and dam that was four-hundred feet from a river that ran at the base of the dam. The engineers knew the humongous structure of the Phoenix was going to need an enormous water source as well as several dumping grounds for its toxic waste and residual chemicals after the latest military weapons for land and air warfare were designed and built.

“So, Michaels, are you excited about working at Red Phoenix?” asked Juanita.

“I don’t know,” Chris answered. “I’m anxious to have a look around.”

“It’s a great place,” stated Juanita with a reassuring smile.

“Why do you say that?” asked Chris.

“Trust me, I’ve been all over the map looking for the right government gig and this place has got enough departments to encompass everybody,” she answered. “No matter what your interest is, there is a department for you.”

“Great,” Chris responded.

“So you’re a scientist?” she asked.

“Of sorts,” he answered. “After my time in the military, I bounced around a lot from lab to lab doing what most people would call
boring stuff
.”

“What department?” she asked.

“Genetic engineering and research,” he replied.

“But your resume says you’re a weapons specialist?” asked Juanita.

“I dabble in that too,” Chris answered. “Dr. Alex Siddoway and I go a ways back and we came up with a few ideas together. He put a good word in for me.”

“I’m in Siddoway’s department too,” stated Scott, sounding proud. “He’s a great man. His designs for weapons are some of the best I’ve seen yet.”

“So, in other words, Siddoway threw you a bone when the lab assistant spot opened, huh?” asked Juanita with a pleasant voice and a grin.

“Pretty much,” Chris replied.

The morning sun began to peek out of the clouds as the helicopter came to a landing near the monorail transit system that encompassed the entire facility and went underground.  The train was shiny and rounded but, in the front, it had a pointed-tip with a large windshield. There were windows all along both sides of the cars and the logo
Red Phoenix Express
. Chris, Juanita and Scott climbed down and jogged to the open door of the train car.

“Wow, this place has its own transit system, huh?” asked Chris, clearly astounded, setting his briefcase in a seat but holding on to the overhead handrail.

“Only one like it in the world,” Juanita answered as the train moved off.

“Sure beats trying to get to where were going on foot using the automatic sidewalks and elevators inside the main entrance,” Scott added.

“So, how is this subway set up?” asked Chris. “Does it go to the nearest town also?”

“No, no, it just encircles this enormous place on the outside then spirals down underground to the bottom floor, which is level mighty,” Scott answered with a half-smile like he was impressed at how far down the building went.

“That’s a long ways under the surface,” said Chris, sounding surprised.

“It took all of fifteen years to build this place,” Juanita added. “Uncle Sam had to borrow some
boo-koo
bucks to finish it up.”

The doors locked and the train headed out. A woman’s voice with a soft, professional tone came over the intercom saying,
Welcome aboard the Red Phoenix Express transit system that has been made available for the convenience of the employees at the facility
. Her voice continued on with the date, time, weather and other administrative matters as Chris looked out the windows, watching armed officers walk on a corridor near the railway, putting in pin codes, entering a private door that slid shut by itself behind them. The monorail drifted on through narrow concrete tunnels, after passing double-level mezzanines with offices above the platforms for passengers to step off on either side of the train.

An eerie feeling came over Chris when the train entered another dark tunnel and the only light was on the ceiling of the train-car. It reminded him of when he and his team were caught in Pakistan and thrown into a dark cellar for a few days with no food or water. He gripped the overhead railing, hoping to see the daylight again soon. He closed his eyes remembering him and the other soldiers yelling for their lives inside their dark cell. A stream of perspiration rolled down the side of his face as he struggled to get over his new fear of the dark and claustrophobia. He turned away from Juanita and Scott, hoping they didn’t notice his heavy breathing, while he wiped the sweat from the side of his face.
This train is like the Tunnel of Terrors ride at that one amusement park
, he thought.

He glanced at Scott and Juanita. They kept their attention out the windows, waiting in their seats, enjoying their pleasant transport.  He envied their ability to have such ease during the ride. He closed his eyes again, exhaling with quiet breaths, trying to calm himself down as he listened to the vibrations and gentle rocking of the train-car that were making soft rumbling sounds around him.

The tunnel came to an end. Daylight poured back into the monorail passenger areas. A feeling of relief spilled over Chris, letting go of the overhead railing to allow his sweaty palms to dry after feeling a streak of anxiety. Chris noticed another military helicopter descend to a landing pad. More personnel were on the ground, waiting for it to land.
Jeez. How many Blackhawk helicopters does this facility need? This place is humongous,
he thought.

The subway came to a stop and then made a
ding
sound.

“Level minus fifteen, that’s me,” Juanita said in a cheery tone. “Michaels, I have your folder here and I will make sure it gets filed, okay?

“Thank you,” Chris responded in a pleasant tone.

“Welcome aboard Red Phoenix!” she added with a grin, stepping off the monorail.

The subway moved on. Scott watched Juanita through the window with lustful thoughts as she walked down the corridor, admiring her curves through her well-fitted skirt as she weaved through other employees.

“Man, if I had a nickel for every
I-used-to-be-in-the-armed-forces hottie
that works here, I’d be pretty well off,” stated Scott, keeping his eyes on her.

“You like Juanita?” asked Chris, holding on to the bar above to brace himself.

“I just like women,” Scott answered.

The monorail continued on.

***

A large delivery truck approached the south gates of the facility that were guarded with armed officers wearing body armor, helmets, thigh-holstered pistols and holding assault rifles. Their faces were serious and none of them cracked a smile as they watched the approaching truck. The gates were twenty foot high chain-link fences that could open by themselves and that had STOP signs posted on either side of the guards. The fence appeared to border the entire south side of the two square mile property. The Red Phoenix facility was in the distance in the background.

Corporal Blake Gough stepped out to the road, putting his hand up to stop the truck, maintaining a scowl.