Nothing. Every scrap of evidence they had at hand was spread out on the coffee table and it all amounted to nothing.

Well, perhaps saying 'nothing' was a tad bit harsh, but the investigation so far had done nothing but turn up more questions. Where were the Russians? No one knew. A town as small as this one and no one had seen anything out of the ordinary. Where was the alien? It was as if the creature had disappeared into the wind during the raid on the station. More privately – a consequence of Mr. Moon being unable to fully trust Chief Thomson, the identity of the third party at the station was still highly suspect.

“Look. They have two men left out of the three that were at the station,” Chief Thomson began, pinching his glabella with two fingers in an attempt to relieve the obvious stress built up on his face.

“Four men left.” Mr. Moon corrected him. “They started with six. We captured one in our first engagement with them. That makes five. Then one died in the station. Four.”

Chief Thomson paced back and forth through the living room, his shoes trampling the short carpet of his home. It was no police station, but Chief Thomson’s home was smaller, more defensible, and lacked the bloodstains on the marble that brought forth bitter memories.

The living room was a bit crowded with not only the Chief being present, but Officer Paul and Mr. Moon were standing with considering gazes next to the coffee table, and Dag sat like an unmoving, giant monolith on an armchair near a window, his eyes constantly flicking between the discussion and his view of the driveway outside.

“Four then.” Chief Thomson agreed. “Four murdering communists. Armed to the teeth and cop-killers to boot. Meanwhile we have myself, Paul, Rob, and Joseph from the department. Then you two. Beyond that there’s nothing. Every station I’ve radioed has all said the same thing. We’re too swamped. We can’t send backup. Sorry.”

Of course they couldn’t. Mr. Moon knew full well that Mr. Sun had his men working day and night to prevent news of this situation from being spread. Each man answering Chief Thomson’s requests wasn’t from a neighboring precinct, but from the department back in Washington.

Chief Thomson continued to pace his well-worn path. “No break-ins. No attacks or sudden deaths. We don’t know what vehicle they are driving. They have balls enough to attack the precinct and your FBI site, but enough smarts to lay low at this time.”

“The woods?” Paul questioned, “They could hide deep in the forest and we probably couldn’t find them for months, maybe years.”

“Unless we put together a posse.” Rob walked through the kitchen door with a steaming cup of tea in his hand to stand next to Paul. The man had a gentle face with a youthful tint to it, though a small part of the hair on his head was beginning to gradually turn from black to grey. He was still dressed in his sharp policeman blues, having been called right off of patrol to help manage the situation.

Mr. Moon shook his head. “No, we can’t risk drawing civilians into this.” The true, unspoken reason known to only him and Dag was quite a bit more dire than that. The men of the station were already aware of the alien. It was what it was. That knowledge could not be walked back.

However. The fewer people involved. The fewer people who knew the truth. That would mean a lesser chance of the information being spread… and a smaller number of people needing 'silenced' once the creature was back under FBI control.

“I agree.” Chief Thomson sighed. “As helpful as it would be to get some boys together that know the woods like the back of their hands, we’re already two officers down. We can’t draw civilians into this.”

“So we sit here like ducks in a row waiting for something to happen?” Paul said. Frustration filled his voice and his right hand stroked the grip of his holstered pistol.

“Look.” Chief Thomson stopped pacing, pointing at the scant pile of evidence lumped together on the coffee table. “We have part of the picture already. A small group with enough balls to make big moves like raiding a station and an FBI site. A preference for concealed weapons and bombs, but they’re running low. No other reason for them to take the service weapons from Carlos and Bill. They’re crazy and have balls, but each engagement sees them lose a man. The Feds nabbed one. I shot another. Mr. Moon,” Chief Thomson nodded toward the man, “thinks they’re after that weird creature. I agree. Once it disappeared, they melted away like snow in a heatwave.”

Mr. Moon nodded along, beginning to speak once the chief fell silent.

"They either already have it or they don't. If they do, there's no sense in sticking around. Those men will already be gone. If they don't, doubtlessly they'll eventually launch a search of their own across the town. They won’t lick their wounds. Not for long.”

Chief Thomson turned to the wall, where a map of the town had been pinned. Below it sat several framed pictures that had been hastily removed to make room.

“We’ve searched every street by now. Every man, woman, and child in the town had been instructed to take care and report anything out of the ordinary.”

The map was quite large, large enough to take up the majority of the wall. Freshly taken from the city hall, right from the planning office, it showcased every street, every block, the zoning details, even the park and the undeveloped areas. The only parts it failed to show were most of the rural areas since they stretched far past what would be reasonable for any city planning map to ordinarily show.

“Right.” Chief Thomson snapped his fingers decisively. “Let’s do another full patrol of the town. Even if we don’t see anything, folks will be happy to see us out and about. Paul, you and I will take our squad cars out in the country. Let's say… how about a drive-by of all the farms and ranches within thirty miles of the city limits? Those folk out there know each other well and keep a good eye on their land. If anything strange happens, they'll know. Rob, get Joseph on the radio. Let him know you two will be covering the suburbs and the Main Street area. Mr. Moon…” The Chief’s voice trailed off questioningly.

“I’ll go with you. We don’t know the town as well.” Mr. Moon replied. “Dag, stick with Rob. Anything happens, radio it in.”

Mr. Moon’s eyes did not fail to notice the flash of irritation on Chief Thomson’s face, an emotion that flitted across it as fast as lightning striking the ground.

“Roger that.” Chief Thomson replied as if nothing had happened, being the first to turn and walk out to his squad car. Mr. Moon did the same. If Chief Thomson truly wished to hide something… then he would oblige.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Alright! You two should be all about set!” The woman cheerfully smiled at Steve. She was quite thin, with a mousey face and blue jeans that were already stained by grass. Steve smiled back, the gentle motion causing the woman to unconsciously smile even wider. He accepted the offered keys and took another look around while Cathy shook her hand. The rental wasn’t bad at all. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been sure if they would have been able to find somewhere to stay in the first place.

Renting was always a tricky problem in a town as small as Carlston, and at such short notice too. They couldn’t be picky. How could they, considering this was literally the only option? Located deep in the town’s suburbs, the rental house was painted bright blue, almost like a robin's egg in house form. The one-car garage just barely fit the van, the basement was full of spiders and cobwebs, but there were two bedrooms and the price didn’t matter. Not when Mr. Sun was taking care of the budget back in Washington.

Truly, they were lucky this woman was hoping to get some extra income by renting a house her husband had fixed up as a hobby. The man hadn't done a bad job on it at all and her price was a little bit above reasonable. Again, that last bit hardly mattered since Mr. Sun was approving all the checks.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Cathy finally managed to shake off the woman who owned the apartment, giving her one last wave as her old pickup truck rumbled its way out of the driveway. As soon as the woman was out of sight they walked into the garage. Dark, cool from being out of sight from the afternoon sun, and quite cramped from the bulk of the van, the garage wasn’t much.

Still, it was time to get to work. Steve pulled down the garage door to shield their activities while Cathy opened the van’s back doors. Inside of the vehicle were mounds of communications equipment. Radios, jammers, signal boosters, extra cables, replacement parts, mics, headsets, it all jumbled together in Steve’s eyes.

How Cathy made sense of it all, he would never know. All he could do was help unload and carry the equipment into the master bedroom. It was the only room with enough electrical sockets to handle the mass of equipment. Even then, Steve had a feeling the owner of the rental house wouldn’t be happy about the electrical bill at the end of the month. Hopefully it wouldn’t take them that long to get everything sorted, but he’d been undercover for longer missions in the past. If push came to shove, he could deal with it.

“A standard two-two.” Mr. Moon had said. The man’s voice somehow always seemed a bit… empty. Dead, even. A perfect picture of an emotionless federal agent. Like a bad guy in one of those movies about fighting the power and pulling one over on those nasty Feds. From what he'd seen of Mr. Moon's demeanor, the reason likely wasn't because he didn't care, or lacked emotions. The man certainly had emotions, he was no robot. His only purpose right now was to complete the mission. Nothing more.

On that, Steve could find common ground. Likely they all could. He didn’t know for sure, but his instincts told Steve all four of the agents in this room were the same. That Mr. Sun had made the same promise to Cathy. To Dag. Even to Mr. Moon. The same promise that would be carried out if they succeeded in their mission.

“Two men out and about, openly working with known assets. Two men deep undercover, waiting in the wings for the enemy to slip up. With both sides covered, intel can be gathered in a far wider range than normal. Some people are willing to speak with officials when they see something, but some are not. Some are more willing to speak with a man at a bar who they see as a fellow ordinary man.”

Mr. Moon ignored the obvious elephant in the room, that the job would be all the more dangerous for the two men outnumbered in the open. It was the trade-off for the infiltration plan if things truly did come to that. The man seemed to think so. And if someone as experienced as Mr. Moon expected it to be this way, Steve only had to agree.

“Moreover,” Mr. Moon continued, “the Russians will see only the two of us. They’ll wonder – do the Americans think only two men are needed, or is there a whole team waiting in the shadows? They’ll be jumpy. Paranoid. Imagining agents in every shadow behind every door. An invisible army lurking right out of sight. Meanwhile it will just be the four of us. Two in the open kicking down doors. Two undercover running local communications and gathering intel.”

The words echoed around the room. Mr. Sun sat silently to the side, content with not interfering in the discussion. If men with the reputation of Mr. Moon and Mr. Sun were confident in this strategy, then Steve was happy to go with the flow.

Besides, the team composition fully supported the plan. Mr. Moon and Dag Sterner were obviously quite used to a good fight. Cathy was pulled straight from communications, and Steve himself was an old hand at stakeouts and infiltration. Meanwhile, he was still pretty decent with a gun, so he could cover Miss Communications if push came to shove.

“Groovy.” Steve clapped his hands together. “When do we start?”

Steve brushed his palms together as if he was shaking off dust that wasn’t there.

“Phew. I think that’s all.”

Cathy looked around the place with a professional eye, eventually nodding. Each metal box, each crackling radio, each headset, microphone, and electrical doodad was plugged in and ready to go.

“Perfect.” Steve shot a thumbs up toward her and made to leave. “I’ll secure the rest of the house. Best of luck, ay?”

Cathy waved him away, already intently focused on the communications equipment before her, and Steve closed the door behind him so that her focus wouldn’t be interrupted.

“The husband has already been banished to the couch," Steve said softly to himself and then laughed at his own jest. “What next, is she going to pull the power to the TV? Steal my Sunday night football? Terrible woman. Enough to make a guy frequent the bar and get drunk with strangers-soon-to-be-friends.”

“You know they say,” Steve shrugged lightly, opening the door to the basement and banishing the pitch-black scene with a single flick of a light switch, “A lady in the house means a man at the bar. And a man at the bar leads to a lot of talking being done~. A man doesn’t have secrets when ol’ Mr. Whiskey and Sir Beer are friends of his.”

The basement was dirty, spider-filled, and neglected. A single door at the back led out to a small flight of steps that spilled out to the backyard. A single light bulb valiantly battled against the encroaching shadows, revealing all sorts of random junk that tended to accumulate in the dank corners of a basement. Hedge trimmers, laundry baskets, random piles of bricks, a small tool bench (score!), and even a chainsaw.

Otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Steve shrugged and headed back up the stairs to the main part of the house. "House secure." Steve muttered. "Now let's meet the neighbors to let them know a charming and loving young couple has moved into their sleepy town to start a happy life. Get them comfortable enough to do the neighborly thing and warn us when something odd is happening on the block."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Cass peered out from behind the window blinds. It was the perfect spot, located to provide a good view of the winding gravel road that would take a car onto the Henryk’s property.

It wasn’t like she expected trouble. Sure, it was good to be prepared, but they were in the middle of nowhere. But keeping watch, it helped Cass focus. Helped stave away the images that her mind constantly ran through, over and over like her brain was trying to find some way that night could have been different.

Those nutjobs were after that alien. How did they know Cass and Mark brought it to the station? The smokers from the bar were with those people. Did they spot the creature when Cass’s car passed by the bar? Or when Mark was unloading it?

Carlos. Cass’s mind kept replaying that sight in her head. His unmoving body splayed out on the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He had a family. Now he was gone, leaving his kids without a father.

Was there any way she could have stopped that?

The first, most obvious way was not going to the station. But she’d already been over this with Mark. Odds were if they dumped the alien in the woods, someone would see them. Cass just should have realized that if someone could see them heading out to the woods, someone could just have well seen them heading to the station.

She hadn’t realized that. Cass’s tunnel vision on getting her dad’s help made sure of that. What could she have done, though? Her dad always knew what to do. Even when they’d dropped an alien on his doorstep, he knew what to do.

Not only that, but even at the start of the attack she’d made mistake after mistake. Running foolishly to help her dad, even though it took her into the middle of a firefight. Heavens above, she probably distracted him more than helped him back then. Mark had wanted to stay upstairs.

Cass should have listened. They could have been shot as soon as they went downstairs, or when they ran along the side of the main hall. Sure it worked out in the end. Cass was able to stop that man from ambushing her dad from behind. That was the end, though. Taking into consideration what she’d known at the start of the fight when she was in the office, there was no good reason to go downstairs. No reason other than the arrogance and foolishness that made Cass believe she could help out.

Cass blinked and her mind shifted away from agonizing over that endless trailing loop of thoughts. Her concentration went back to watching the driveway. Her hands absentmindedly clutched at the grip of the handgun she took from her dad’s gun safe. Unbidden, the slow-motion replay of the man she killed spun through her mind.

One bullet. That was all it took at that range. But she had to do it. Mark would have died otherwise. Then she would be next. After that, her dad and Paul.

That didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t soothe the scene that played over and over again in her head.

“Hey.”

Cass jumped, whirling around to face Mark.

“Christ.” Cass muttered. She placed a hand on her chest. It felt like her heart was beating at a trillion miles per second from the unintentional jump scare. Then her eyes widened in surprise.

“Mark…” Cass cut the man off from what he was about to say, “Your nose.”

“Yeah?” Mark’s head tilted in confusion. “It’s broken. I know. My fault.”

Cass shook her head, both to deny Mark’s reply and to clear her thoughts. Maybe she was seeing things that weren’t there. She forced her eyes closed and wrenched them open.

It was the same sight.

"No," Cass said, part in wonder, part in confusion. "It's not. Not anymore. It’s not broken.”

Mark’s hand shot up to touch his face. At first gingerly, as if he was worried Cass was lying and he was about to feel a world of pain, but then with a much rougher approach. He slapped his nose. Twisted it. Bopped it.

There were no cries of pain. Dried blood still decorated the bottom part of his nostrils, but his nose was no longer crooked. It no longer made Cass shudder at a glance.

“Holy moly…” Mark muttered.

Cass leaned forward and tweaked Mark’s nose with her own hands. It was solid, at least as much as a nose tended to be. The cartilage felt intact. The skin, unbroken.

Mark’s broken nose was healed. The skin was unblemished apart from the dried blood. Even if it had healed naturally, something that would ordinarily take several weeks, it would have likely turned out to be a bit crooked. Especially since it was never set in a splint.

But in under two days it had completely healed.