Invasion

Pitt restarted the van, pulled across the road, and parked between the ancient gas pumps and the dilapidated building. They all eyed the structure with unease. There was something about it that was spooky, particularly with the screen door opening and closing repeatedly. Now that they were close enough they could hear the aged hinges squeaking. The small paned windows, which were surprisingly intact, were too filthy to see through.

"Let's take a look inside," Sheila said.

Hesitantly they climbed out of the van and warily approached the porch. There were two old rocking chairs whose cane seats had long ago rotted out. Next to the door was the rusting hulk of an old-style, ice-cooled Coke dispenser. The sliding lid was open and the interior was filled with all manner of debris.

Pitt propped open the screen door and tried the interior door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open.

"You guys coming or what?" Pitt asked.

"After you," Sheila said.

Pitt stepped inside followed by Jonathan and then Sheila. They stopped just over the threshold and glanced around. With the dirty windows the light was meager. There was a metal desk to the right with a calendar behind it. The year was 1938. The floor was littered with dirt, sand, broken bottles, old newspaper, empty oil cans, and old car parts. Cobwebs hung like Spanish moss from portions of the ceiling joists. To the left was a doorway. The paneled door was partially ajar.

"Looks like nobody's been in here for a long time," Pitt said. "You think this supposed meeting was some kind of setup?"

"I don't think so," Jonathan said. "Maybe he's waiting for us in the desert, watching us to make sure we're okay."

"Where could he be watching us from?" Pitt asked. "It's as flat as a pancake outside." He walked over to the partially opened door and pushed it open all the way. Its hinges protested loudly. The second room was even darker than the first, with only one small window. The walls were lined with shelving, suggesting it had been a storeroom.

"Well, I'm not sure it makes a hell of a lot of difference if we find him or not," Sheila said dejectedly. She nudged some of the trash on the floor with her foot. ''I was holding out hope that since he was giving us some interesting information, he had access to a lab or something. Needless to say we're not going to be able to do any work in a place like this. I think we'd better move on."

"Let's wait a little while," Jonathan said. "I'm sure this guy is legit."

"He told us he'd be here when we got here," Sheila reminded Jonathan. "He either lied to us or ... "

"Or what?" Pitt asked.

"Or they got to him," Sheila said. "By now he could be one of them."

"That's a happy thought," Pitt said.

"We have to deal with reality," Sheila said.

"Wait a second," Pitt said. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Sheila asked. "The screen door?"

"No, it was something else," Pitt said. "A scraping noise."

Jonathan reached up and felt the top of his head. "Something's fallen on me. Dust or something." He looked up. "Uh oh, there's someone up there."

Everyone looked up. Only now did they appreciate that there was no ceiling. Above the rafters it was darker than below in the room. But now that their eyes had adjusted to the low level of illumination they could just make out a figure in the attic space, standing on the joists.

Pitt reached down and snatched up a tire iron from the debris on the floor.

"Drop it," a raspy voice called down. With surprising speed the figure dropped out of the attic by swinging down on one hand. In his other hand he held an impressive Colt .45. He studied his visitors with a steady eye. He was a man in his early sixties with ruddy skin, curly gray hair, and a wiry frame.

"Drop the club," the man repeated.

Pitt abandoned the tire iron by tossing noisily onto the floor and held up his hands.

"I'm Jumpin Jack Flash," Jonathan said excitedly while repeatedly tapping his chest. "It was my name on the Internet. Are you Dr. M?"

"I might be," the man said.

"My real name is Jonathan. Jonathan Sellers."

"I'm Dr. Sheila Miller."

"And I'm Pitt Henderson."

"Were you checking us out?" Jonathan asked. "Is that why you were hiding up in the rafters?"

"Maybe," the man said. Then he motioned for his three guests to move into the storeroom.

Pitt was hesitant. "We're friends. Really we are. We're normal people."

"Get!" the man said while extending the pistol toward Pitt's face.

Pitt had never seen a .45 before, particularly not from the point of view of looking directly down the dark, threatening barrel.

"I'm going," Pitt said.

"All of you," the man said.

Reluctantly everyone crowded into the dark storeroom.

"Turn around and face me," the man said.

Fearful about what was going to happen, everyone did as he was told. With throats that had gone completely dry they eyed this sinewy man who'd literally dropped in on them. The man returned their stare. There was a moment of silence.

"I know what you are doing," Pitt said. "You're checking our eyes. You're looking to see if our eyes glow!"