Three O'Clock in the morning. The coast looked clear enough, but in a small gossipy town like Carlston, Cass could never be too sure. Still, there was a point where they would just have to go for it. Otherwise, she and Mark would be waiting with that dang alien all night instead of trying to get all this figured out.

Her car was parked on the curb, as still and silent as she had left it mere minutes ago. She would drive, of course. Mark was both physically injured and probably still a bit drunk. Neither of those were qualities she particularly wanted with a driver. They could shove the alien in the back sea- no, best to shove it in the trunk. No need for someone to get a lucky glimpse at it in the back seat, or for the alien to suddenly start moving.

Traffic wouldn't be an issue. There would still be people at the bar on Main Street, only a few blocks from the police station. Other than that, the roads would probably be clear. All they would need to do was drive right by. If someone tried to talk to them or flag them down, Cass and Mark would simply smile, wave, and drive right by.

Cass nodded to herself and gestured for Mark to follow her. The big guy had the alien tucked under his arm, grimacing like he was about to take a football through a full line of roid-raging defensive guards. Every so often his eyes flicked down to glance at the creature. Then they would shake, his breath would quicken, and Mark’s head would whip away to stare at something, anything in the distance that could distract him from the insanity of the past few hours.

Silently she walked across the lawn to her car, slipping into the driver's seat and putting the key in the ignition. The trunk clattered as Mark wrenched it open and stuffed the creature in, before dashing around to the passenger’s side and sliding in next to her. Once he sat down, Mark’s expression firmed up a little.

“Right. Here goes.” Cass flashed a brave smile, one which Mark was unable to mimic. The Rambler rumbled to a start. In the silence of the night, the sound of that rumbling felt deafening. A part of Cass was sure that would be it. Lights would pop on in the windows of the nearby houses, people would come streaming out of the doors, and some unlucky fella would pop open the trunk to forever have their worldview changed.

But none of that happened. At most, a window blind twitched in the nearest house, but no one walked out. It was probably just someone curious as to why the noise of a car was interrupting a late-night TV session.

Carlston was not a big town. From one end to the other, it could take no more than ten minutes to drive across the full length of it. The distance between Mark’s house and Main Street, which was right next to the police station, would take less than half that time to travel. Five minutes, in and out. That knowledge meant little to Cass, gripping the steering wheel of her car with sweaty hands.

“You still have those tapes.” Mark muttered. Cass glanced over at him, and then over to her car’s radio. It was true. Still loaded and automatically playing whenever the engine was on.

“So? It’s Led. I think their songs are good.”

Mark shrugged. There it was, an unmistakable sense of wistfulness contained in his movements and words. “I don’t know. I just thought you would have moved on by now.”

Cass fell silent for a moment, content to sink back into old, happy memories for the briefest period of time, insulated from the unnerving discoveries of the night. However, soon enough that moment passed, sent on its way with a wry smile and a comment from Cass.

“Yeah, and if you have a problem with it, remember my car’s rules. Driver picks the tunes, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

Mark remained silent and stared out the window with an unreadable expression on his face.

The Rambler inched out onto the street. Down the road. A full stop at the sign, leaving nothing to chance. A street passed by. A full block. Houses upon houses. Cass saw her own house pass by in the rearview mirror.

Main Street came into view. Still in the distance, but close enough to see. No one had bothered them yet. Hell, they hadn’t even seen anyone yet. It was like Cass and Mark were the last two people on Earth and everyone else had disappeared.

Main Street though, that was a bit busier than most. A bit busier, as in there were actually a few people out and about in this extremely AM time of the night. The busyness was mostly in terms of present vehicles, parked outside of the bar a few blocks away. One or two drunks leaned against old, battered pickups, the men looking in no better shape than their barely functioning beater trucks.

A crash of glass split the night air and Cass flinched. Mark did a bit more than that, jumping in his seat and letting out a coarse swear of surprise, quickly followed by a groan of pain as the top of his head smashed into the roof of her car.

“Christ.” Cass placed a hand over her heart. It felt like a jackhammer had slipped into her chest with the trigger duct taped down to keep it endlessly hammering away. Another sound of smashing glass dragged Cass’s attention away from the road to the gas station nearby. For a moment, she had been filled with worry that the crashing of glass had come from the trunk of her car, and the alien was waking up to kill them all, but fate had proved her worries unfounded.

"What a bunch of hooligans," Cass muttered in disgust. It was a small group of teens loitering outside of the gas station. A good mix of high-schoolers and middle-schoolers, some of which she even recognized.

One of them, his head covered in thick locks of matted curly hair, picked up another rock and chucked it at the closest working streetlight. Within seconds that streetlight was reduced to the closest non-working streetlight, the rock striking true and busting out the lightbulb within. “I can’t believe they’re still doing stuff like that. I ought t-“

Mark let out a snort of amusement, the first truly positive emotion Cass had seen him express all night.

“Cass, I get it, but um… we should probably deal with the alien stuffed in your trunk first.”

Cass let her eyes linger on the group of rowdy youths for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to the road. She sighed bitterly. “Yeah. We’d better. And may the Lord help those kids if they’re still busting out streetlights next time I see them.”

“Mhm”. Mark agreed. His eyes flinched from Cass’s tone, the strength of her voice clearly making his headache flare up again. “Remind me to ask your dad if I can borrow the video recorder at the station before we head back. I need some comedy gold in my life right now.”

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

Smoke swirled around Zotov Yakovich’s head as he exhaled a large cloud of cigarette smoke. The cigarette was held perfectly between his pointer finger and middle finger, the American way. That was one of the ways he was required to learn before leaving the motherland for this stinking dumpster of a country. It was not only that. How to lean against a building, how to sit, the list went on and on. There were so many ways to accidentally reveal one's nationality by body language alone.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Thus, Zotov Yakovich leaned against the outside wall of the dinky little bar in the dinky little town holding his cigarette in a dinky little way while he watched the pale-blue car creep down Main Street.

Carlston. What a ridiculous town. A ridiculous stakeout in a ridiculous town. Well, perhaps less of a stakeout and more of an infiltration. His boss, Vladischov, was convinced this town was one of the two possible points of origin for the car that had come hurtling out of the night air on the wrong side of the road to directly collide with their van. Fair enough. After half an hour of searching, the team had finally found an identifiable piece of the car, torn off by the collision to land in an unassuming clump of bushes.

It was a Corvette. Practically a symbol of American capitalism and not entirely common in these parts, given how damned expensive one would be. Soon after the piece was found, fresh tire tracks were identified. Fresh enough to have been left up to an hour or two ago, with a size that was consistent with the standard size of tires a Corvette would have right out of the factory. It wasn’t a perfect deduction, the tire size especially was a bit of a reach, but a lead was a lead. Now they had something where once they had nothing.

The tire tracks went for a way, only becoming too faint to see at the final crossroad, one that split between this town, Carlston, and another small town, Johnson. Frankly, Zotov Yakovich was desperately hoping the creature had been taken to Carlston. It would be convenient, extremely so, considering that the same town was their pre-planned extract point. That, and he had a nice pile of rubles bet on the outcome.

Nevertheless, his hope could never be confused for certainty. Nor could Vladischov's hope, who tossed it away instantly in favor of the sheer practicality of splitting the team. Mrs. Orlova and Markov would check out Johnson. Meanwhile, Zotov Yakovich and Komarov would investigate Carlston. Then, Vladischov would be right in the middle, ready to manage the comms and coordination between the two teams.

The question was, what mission did the boy and the girl in the blue car have? It was creeping down Main Street, far under the speed limit. By his estimations… ten miles per hour, most likely. The limit was twenty.

Zotov Yakovich took another drag of his cigarette and thought to himself. That car was no Corvette. It was blue, sure, just like the bits of blue paint that had been scraped off onto the front of the van from the collision, but a simple paint job wasn't enough to connect the dots. If they were in the motherland, he would have definitely still shaken up the tree to see what fruit would fall to the ground.

Not here, though. Secrecy was all too important, especially after losing 'Duke' in the raid and letting the mole disappear. Frankly, he was of the opinion that putting a bullet in the head of the mole after the operation was complete would have been the best idea, but unfortunately, the situation had become far too complicated in the aftermath to take the time to track the squirrely man down.

Then again, the driver looked awfully nervous. Even from here, leaning against the side of the building as he was, Zotov Yakovich could see how tight her hands were against the steering while the car passed by.

The faces of both the girl and the boy looked white, as pale as ghosts. Then Zotov Yakovich’s eyes narrowed. The boy in the passenger’s side seat…

He threw his cigarette to the ground. The motion was made casually, but with great purpose at the same time. In his peripheral vision, he saw Komarov inside the bar see the signal through the window and excuse himself from the small tangle of drunks still out and clawing their way to sweet oblivion at this time of night.

Komarov sidled his way across the bar. He opened the door. The little bell attached to the top of it let out a little ‘ring’ noise that cut shrilly through the night air.

“A lead?” Komarov asked. The tall, heavyset man casually lit up a cigarette of his own and stood next to Zotov Yakovich, as if the only reason he’d left the bar was because he was craving a smoke. Zotov Yakovich lit up another cigarette of his own and discreetly nodded in the direction of the car. Now that it had passed by the bar, he could see the model of the car stamped on the back side of it, the metal shimmering under the streetlights.

“The Rambler. Blue color. The drivers are suspicious.”

Komarov narrowed his eyes, all the better to focus his vision on the pair.

“Aye.” He nodded, but still voiced his concerns just in case. No need to do anything drastic until they were completely sure. “Two lovebirds maybe? Sneaking out without their father’s permission? Or perhaps they are drinking. Remember, the legal age is eighteen here. They look young enough to still be in school.”

Zotov Yakovich nodded in understanding. His comrade had good points. However…

“The boy in the passenger seat. His nose is freshly broken. I could see the blood in the streetlight. The rest of his face is damaged as well.”

“Ahhh…” Komarov voiced his understanding. “It could be damage from the wreck. No one could walk away from that unharmed.”

“It is to be expected for an airbag to break one’s nose when it activates.”

“Should we radio Vladischov?”

Zotov Yakovich threw his cigarette to the ground again. It was nowhere near finished, but there would be time for a nice long smoke later. His boot crushed the smoldering end against the cement, but his eyes still followed the Rambler. Followed it down the rest of Main Street. Followed it as it slowed even more after a few blocks.

Followed it as it came to a stop right outside of the police station.

He nodded. “Call it in. Ninety percent certainty. We cannot afford to lose even a potential trail.”

Komarov nodded. “Aye.”

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

Finally, the station was in view. Close enough for Cass to let out a slight sigh of relief, though the harsh voice in the back of her head continued to scream, ‘Eyes up, Cass! Constant vigilance! You’re so close to the end, something is bound to happen!’.

Cass shook her head and the harsh voice faded to be nothing but background noise. The windows of the police station were still glowing with warm light. Just past the glass doors up front, she could see Carlos at the desk, working the night shift like usual. She turned to Mark, using the motion to also glance around the immediate surroundings. The bar was still in view and still somewhat busy, but other than two men smoking outside, the streets themselves were pretty quiet.

The voice in the back of her head got louder all of a sudden, and as Cass began to speak with Mark, she threw her car into reverse and swerved so that the back of the car was facing the doors of the station.

“Alright. Once I finish backing up I’ll pop the truck. Once I turn my car off I’ll give you my windbreaker to wear.”

“It won’t fit.” Mark replied. The brief moment where he had cracked a few jokes and let the tension bleed out a bit was gone, replaced by the same jumpy, jackrabbity Mark who’d answered the door to his house just a little bit ago. Fear flowed through his eyes as easily as a rain-soaked river.

Cass held back an exasperated sigh and elaborated with a few quick words. “Just drape it over your back. That way when you tuck the alien under your arm, my windbreaker will cover it.”

Mark made a noise of understanding. "Those smokers. So they don't accidentally see."

“Or anyone else who stumbles out of the bar.” Cass continued.

The Rambler shuddered to a start. Cass leaned down and pulled the lever on the floor near the driver’s side door that would pop the truck open, and then wrenched off her windbreaker to hand to Mark without any further words. Mark threw it over his broad shoulders, the nylon creaking as it struggled to fit. Then Mark tore open the car door, jogged around to the partially open trunk, and tucked the creature under his right arm.

Cass, meanwhile, moved at a more sedate pace – the more natural she looked, the better, or at least she assumed that would be the case. She took another glance around the area. There was still no one other than the two smokers. Cass shivered. One of the smokers had happened to glance up. Even as far away as they were, a couple blocks away at least, she could still faintly see the eyes of the thin man. He had uncomfortable, piercing eyes, eyes that bored into her very mind like all the secrets in Cass’s head were being wiggled out for examination one by one.

She shivered again, and like that the smoker turned to his companion and laughed, clearly sharing a joke as they whiled the night away.

“Come on.” Cass muttered. Creepy man notwithstanding, they couldn’t afford to just stand around. Mark was still practically quaking in his shoes, so Cass took the lead and walked up to the glass doors, pushing them aside to let her friend with the ill-fitting windbreaker inside the building.

Carlos looked up and smiled a gentle greeting.

“Cass! A bit late, don’t you think? You here for your old man? Oh, and with Mark! Hi Mark!”

Cass nodded briskly while Mark wordlessly nodded his greetings to the familiar officer. “Yeah. Is he up in his office?”

“Like usual. Nothing crazy, if that’s what you were wondering. Just an overflow case from nearby that piqued his interest. Want me to call up?”

“Ah, this won’t take much time.” Cass was already halfway to the stairs that led up to the second floor, and thus to her dad’s office. “Thanks, Carlos!”

“Always a pleasure.” The kindly man nodded back to her before pulling his sports magazine back out to peruse.