Terror from Outer Space Page 5

  Several people silently nodded in agreement from their pews.

  “Isaiah 55:8-9 reads, ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’” Pastor Givens continued, “God works in mysterious ways that man cannot understand. We will only have a clear picture of His perfect reasoning when we finally meet Him face-to-face. Until then, we are told not to lean on our own understanding, but to simply trust our loving, heavenly Father. And if we are obedient in this, then the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds.”

  Outside sunlight came across Pastor Givens as the doors to the church creaked open.

  “Please come in and find a seat,” Pastor Givens said, straining to see who it was. “We can make room.”

  There was an audible gasp from the back of the church. People near the front turned around to see what the fuss was all about.

  At the back of the church stood Sheriff Smitty. Pale and drenched in sweat, he was a mere ghost of himself. His clothes were torn and there were visible scratches all over his skin. He swayed back and forth as if he could barely keep himself upright.

  “Sheriff Smitty?” Pastor Givens could see that something was wrong. “Could someone please give him a hand?”

  Before anyone could reach him, Smitty took a weak, wobbly step forward, tried to mouth some words, and collapsed in the aisle.

  Chapter 7

  WHEN DOCTOR BILL BENSON first came to live in Ambrosia, people were a little wary. They wondered why a middle-aged, big-city doctor would want to move his practice to such a small town. Some suggested that perhaps he was running away from malpractice suits or some such thing. It didn’t help that he walked a little funny—stiff-legged—like perhaps he wore leg braces.

  But things changed once people got to know him. They learned that he had come to the arid desert because of a rare medical condition. They also discovered that he was a brilliant physician and that Ambrosia had lucked out when he chose to live and practice medicine in their small town.

  Doctor Benson had been in the church audience when Smitty collapsed. He was by his side within seconds. Doc had already listened to Smitty’s heart and taken his blood pressure by the time the ambulance arrived. He instructed the EMTs to start an immediate IV drip to get some fluids into Smitty.

  As the EMTs started loading the still-unconscious sheriff into the back of the ambulance, Pop and Mike approached Doctor Benson.

  “How is he, Doc?” Pop asked.

  “Stable, for the time being. We’ll know more when we get him to the hospital.”

  “What happened to him?” Mike asked.

  “Wish I knew. He’s showing all the classic signs of heatstroke, dehydration, and shock.” Doc Benson pointed to Smitty’s boots. “And I’d bet my grandmother’s dentures that once we take those boots off, we’ll find that his feet are covered with blisters.”

  “His feet?” Mike asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Look at his clothes. See the scratches on his arms and face? His vitals are that of a man pushed to the point of utter exhaustion.” Doc shrugged. “My guess is that he got lost, panicked, and has been running across the desert all night. He came to this church because it was the first place where he could find help.”

  “Smitty knows this desert like the back of his hand,” Pop said. “And even if he did get lost, he would never panic.”

  “Well, something got to him.”

  “Look!” Mike pointed to Smitty. “He’s trying to say something.”

  Smitty was momentarily conscious. He weakly mouthed Pop’s name.

  “What, Smitty? What are you trying to say?” Pop leaned down, put his ear next to Smitty’s mouth, and listened for several moments.

  “Excuse me,” a paramedic interrupted. “We’ve got to get this man to the hospital.”

  “Of course.” Pop stepped back out of the way, with a puzzled look on his face.

  “What did he say?” Doc Benson asked.

  “Doesn’t make any sense.” Pop turned to the doctor. “He said he was back.”

  “Back? From where?” Doc’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “That’s just it. He said he went back to . . . Vietnam!”

  As the ambulance drove off, the crowd of onlookers started to disperse. Mike turned to find Winnie, Ben, and Spence standing a few yards away.

  “Well, what do you three think you’re doing?” Mike asked.

  “Sorry, Mike,” Ben apologized.

  “We’re not trying to bug you or anything,” Winnie explained.

  “Yeah, we were just concerned about Smitty,” Spence added.

  “What’re you doing standing around here,” Mike smiled at them, “when we’ve got a case we should be working on? C’mon!”

  Mike ran off, leading the way like usual, and beckoned for his friends to follow.

  “Looks like the old Mike is back!” Winnie exclaimed.

  Pop’s old B-17, the Lady Liberty, was the perfect clubhouse for the Last Chance Detectives. Pop had run power out from the diner so that the kids could have lights at night. Spence had converted the aircraft’s bomb bay into a small lab and darkroom. Mike had upgraded the radio compartment into a communications center that included a shortwave radio, phone, and computer.

  Today the four detectives gathered around a card table. Mike, Winnie, and Spence sat on folding chairs. Ben reclined in a nearby hammock, reading a comic book.

  “All right, guys, let’s call this meeting to order,” Mike said.

  “Ben, would you put that comic book down for a minute?” Winnie asked.

  “It’s called a ‘graphic novel,’” Ben corrected her.

  “Uh-huh, for the literary challenged,” Winnie shot back.

  “That’s right, for the liter—” Ben paused. “Wait. What?”

  “Yep. Things are back to normal,” Spence noted. He pulled a wristwatch out of his pocket and handed it to Mike. “Oh, before I forget—I haven’t finished modifying your watch yet, but see if you like how mine works.”

  “You’re fixing his watch?” Ben complained. “What about my video game cartridge?”

  “Sorry, Ben. This took precedence.”

  “But what could possibly be more important than saving a princess from the evil—”

  “Guys,” Mike interrupted. “We need to focus on the case.”

  “Sorry,” Ben said sheepishly.

  Winnie began first. “Well, I for one think we can rule out Smitty being zapped back to Vietnam.”

  “I agree. But on the other hand, we’ve got to consider that he was a veteran of that war,” Spence reminded her. “From what I’ve read, flashbacks are not all that uncommon.”

  “Flashbacks? Smitty?” Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “But of all the explanations, it does make the most sense,” Winnie said.

  “So, we’re saying that Smitty either came into contact with something bad enough to trigger a flashback. Or . . .” Mike paused to consider the alternatives. “Or something else happened that—well, you all saw how he looked! Either way, we’re talking about something so horrible it would put a grown man into a complete state of shock.”

  “Whoa!” Ben exclaimed. “But what?”

  The four kids sat in silence, each searching for the solution to the puzzle.

  “Maybe we should make a list,” Winnie finally suggested. “What is the worst possible thing each of us can think of? What’s your worst fear?”

  While Winnie waited for one of the boys to begin, she pulled out her sketch pad and started doodling. A few minutes went by before she realized no one had said anything. Apparently, the guys were afraid they might be made fun of.

  “Fine. I’ll go first,” Winnie said. “I admit that I don’t like spiders.”

  She held up her notebook to reveal a sketch of a black spider. Winnie was a gifted a
rtist. The detailed spider looked angular and threatening.

  Ben started laughing. “Ha! Spiders? Right! Here comes big ol’ Sheriff Smitty running back to town.” Ben changed his voice to a high falsetto. “Oh! Help me! A little insect is after me!”

  Mike and Spence laughed.

  “Very funny, comic boy,” Winnie said dryly. “Okay. Now let’s hear why you still sleep with a nightlight.”

  “How did you know that I—” Ben caught himself mid-sentence. “You want to know what I’m afraid of? All right, I’ll tell you. I’m not ashamed. ’Cause, unlike spiders, this really does give a lot of people the willies. In fact, the very mention of this terrifying subject is enough to strike fear into the very heart of most mere mortals. It’s enough to utterly paralyze the bravest of—”

  “Would you just say it?” Winnie shouted.

  “Two words.” Ben dramatically leaned forward. “Clownophobia!”

  “That’s actually one word,” Spence corrected.

  “Clowns?” Winnie couldn’t believe her own ears. “You’re afraid of clowns?”

  “Lots of people are!” Ben replied defensively.

  “Ben’s afraid of Bozo!” Winnie mocked him in a singsongy voice. “Ben’s afraid of Bozo!”

  “Want me to prove it?” Ben asked, trying to ignore her. “All right! Who’s Batman’s archenemy? Huh?”

  “The Joker is a clown,” Mike admitted.

  “And . . . and . . .” Ben tried to think of another example. “Well, just look what clowns did to Dumbo’s mom!”

  “I never have forgiven them for that,” Spence agreed.

  “I know! And check out this comi—uh, graphic novel.” Ben held up his comic book. On the cover, the picture looked like it was curtains for the Action Rangers as they tried to dodge the plasma gun of an evil, grinning, galactic clown. “See this guy? That’s Clarence the Cosmic Clown. You can’t tell me he’s not scary!”

  “He’s not scary,” Winnie said with a yawn.

  “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Mike said. “Let’s get back to Smitty. Last night I had a lot on my mind, but weren’t you guys trying to talk to me about that weird radio call Smitty got?”

  “Yeah, we didn’t hear the whole thing, but it sounded like the Wilsons had seen some sort of spaceship,” Spence explained. “It’s a goofy story, but that’s where Smitty was headed before he freaked out.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Mike said. “Who knows where the Wilsons live?”

  “I do,” Winnie said. “To get to their place you have to travel across American Indian land. So they had to get permission from our tribal council. They live in a trailer home, just this side of the old military base.”

  “What?” Ben’s eyes grew large.

  “Are you sure, Winnie?” Mike asked. “That’s over twenty-five miles from where Smitty showed up at the church. He would have had to have run over—”

  Ben suddenly slammed his hands down on the table. “Hold it! Hold everything! I think I just figured this whole thing out.”

  Winnie rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go . . .”

  “No, listen!” Ben made sure he had everyone’s complete attention. “Maybe both stories—the aliens and Smitty going back to Vietnam—maybe all of it’s true!”

  “Honestly?” Mike shook his head. “I’m having a hard time believing either story.”

  “And statistically speaking,” Spence pointed out, “the odds of even one of the stories being true—let alone both—are virtually impossible.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong! Every bit of it is possible,” Ben paused for dramatic effect, “in the ‘Forbidden Zone’!”

  “C’mon, Ben. Quit fooling around,” Winnie said.

  “Winnie, I’m serious! This could explain everything!”

  Spence looked deep in thought. “It is an interesting premise.”

  “What?” Winnie thought Spence must be joking. “Spence, don’t encourage him.”

  “See?” Ben turned to Mike. “Mike, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” Mike said with a shrug. “The Forbidden Zone just sounds like an old TV show.”

  “C’mon! The Forbidden Zone!” Ben repeated. “It’s what everyone used to call the old military base. It got that name because it was off-limits and so many weird things happened out there. People said that even from town, you could see strange lights and hear bizarre sounds. My older brother and his friends say it was the original Area 51!”

  “Please don’t tell me that you’re buying any of this, Spence,” Winnie pleaded.

  Spence rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, historically speaking, the Air Force denied the old military base even existed up until the late 1970s. That was when they mothballed the whole operation,” Spence explained. “Now they openly admit that it was a place of top-secret, high-technology experimentation.”

  “But what does that have to do with spaceships? Or Vietnam?” Mike asked.

  “Don’t you see? There’s only one possible explanation for all this stuff.” Ben looked at Mike intently. “Someone must have reopened the Philadelphia Experiment!”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Ben.” Mike stood up from the table. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go out and take a look.”

  Chapter 8

  POP FOWLER WAS ALWAYS fixing up old vehicles. Whether it was a plane or a car—if it had an engine, Pop could get it running like new. A year earlier, Pop had repaired an old Cessna aircraft for a client and was paid off with four quad runners in return. Not knowing what to do with them at first, Pop decided to branch out and add a side rental business to the Last Chance Gas and Diner.

  He rented the quad runners to sightseers who wanted to explore the desert. But after a few months of tourists getting lost, hurt, and crashing into cacti, Pop realized he had made a miscalculation and closed the rental business for good. He now let Mike and his friends use the quad runners—as long as they promised to be careful.

  At their meeting earlier that day, the four detectives had decided to ride the quad runners out to the old, abandoned military base and see if they could dig up any clues.

  They’d been driving for an hour when Mike pulled over to the side of the dusty road to take a rest.

  “What’s wrong?” Winnie stopped her quad runner beside Mike.

  “I just want to make sure we don’t take a wrong turn.” Mike pulled a topographic map out of his daypack and began examining it. “My guess is that if we’d taken a left back there, we would’ve come to Smitty’s truck and the Wilsons’ place. But as long as we stay to the right, we should eventually find an old paved road that leads to the military base.”

  “The Forbidden Zone,” Ben corrected.

  Spence took a drink from his canteen and peered over at Mike’s map. “You know, I recently read in his biography that Albert Einstein once visited the Forbidden Zone. That’s probably what started the rumor that the military was using his theory of relativity as a basis for time-travel experimentation.”

  “Time travel?” Mike looked up from the map.

  “Yeah,” Ben said as he removed his helmet. His wavy hair was dripping with sweat. “They figured out a way to open some sort of cosmic wormhole.”

  “The urban legend is that a battleship called the Philadelphia was all but lost in just such an experiment,” Spence explained. “They were trying to find a way to make ships invisible on radar. The story goes that scientists, using huge magnets and incredible amounts of electricity, eventually succeeded. The Philadelphia disappeared. Not just on radar—the ship was literally no longer there. Apparently, they had opened some kind of interdimensional wormhole into another time and space. Now they had a new problem: getting the Philadelphia back.” Spence stopped mid-story to take another sip from his canteen.

  “Well,” he continued, “the scientists worked frantically and eventually got the battleship to reappear. But something had gone horribly wrong. Somehow the
ship had gotten all jumbled up. Pieces of the top decks were down below. Cabin rooms were backward. And witnesses claimed that the few surviving sailors were actually fused into the metal deck.”

  “Ew!” Winnie grimaced. “Gross!”

  “I’m just telling you what I heard.” Spence shrugged. “The project was supposedly abandoned because the new technology couldn’t be controlled. Some say a few of the wormholes never did fully close.”

  “Which explains all those missing planes and ships you hear about in the Bermuda Triangle,” Ben added.

  “But that’s way out in the Atlantic Ocean,” Winnie said. “That’s thousands of miles away. And last I checked, there aren’t a lot of battleships around here.”

  “But somewhere around here is the base where they developed that technology,” Ben said. “And if their experiments accidentally left some of those dimensional doorways open—well, that could explain what happened to both the Wilsons and Smitty!”

  Mike and Winnie had been trying their best to keep straight faces. But it all sounded so bizarre that they finally burst out laughing. Spence couldn’t help but join them.

  “C’mon, Ben!” Mike laughed. “Even for you, that’s pretty far out there.”

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Ben replied. “But have you guys got a better explanation?”

  “Well, no,” Mike admitted. “But interdimensional wormholes?”

  “Okay.” Ben was tired of not being taken seriously. “How much do you want to bet that when we find that base, it’s fully operational and swarming with guards?”

  “After all these years?” Winnie asked doubtfully. “Ben, no one’s gonna be out in the middle of nowhere guarding an old, abandoned pile of junk!”

  It took the kids another half hour to find the outer perimeter of the old military base. Rusted No Trespassing signs hung limply from the chain-link fence. The road that had once been paved was now cracked and overgrown with brown weeds. Riding their quad runners, the kids approached the main gate and were shocked to discover two armed military guards blocking their entry.