Detour

Been driving north the past few days. Made a very interesting detour as we just entered Colorado.

We were planning to make a brief stop to a small town to fill up on gas. Tiny place, didn’t even show up on any maps of the area. Only reason we even knew about it was because 330 had been through it before. Just a quick get gas, drive on. Nothing special planned.

Then I started seeing police cars ahead of us. A lot of police cars, blocking the road into the town. 330 pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out to get a look at them. There were a handful of officers, directing any cars that came down a different road.

“Well, this looks interesting….” 330 said, “Lisa, notice anything about those cops?”

I looked at them, but didn’t know what she wanted me to see. “Not… really….”

“Oh, come on, you ever see small town cops stand so rigidly to attention while guarding a middle of nowhere road before? Maybe if they were ex military, but I’m doubting that.”

“Then… what are they?”

“Let’s find out. Come on.”

She walked towards the blockade, with me following close behind. There were four officers by the cars; one held out a hand as we came nearer.

“I’m sorry, but this area has been closed off. I need to ask you two to leave.”

330 responded by pulling several ID cards with her name and face on them, and holding them to the officers face. “Which one of these lets me go inside?”

The look on his face…. Never seen anyone’s eyes go that big before. He had a very urgent hushed conversation with the others. Heard 330’s name come up a few times. Once finished, he spoke with us again. “I’ll take you to the commander right away.”

He got us into his patrol car, and we drove into the town. Soon as we entered, it became obvious that 330 was right. These weren’t police. Police don’t patrol the streets in such militant uniforms. Or carry guns that big. Weren’t any civilians on the streets that I could see. Didn’t recognize the uniforms either; they were grey urban camo style, but without any American military markings.

“So I really have to ask,” the driver said, “how does one get an ID card for both the CIA and the KGB?”

“Oh, you know. You just are minding your own business, leveling entire city blocks to try and kill the things hiding in them, and next you know some official people with very nervous smiles are handing an ID card to you saying thank you very much, we’ll call you if we need help again, please don’t come unless we call you please.” The driver laughed, and 330 resumed. “So, I have to ask, which card was it that got us in? Cause I know a lot of these are out of date.”

“We’re the Masons. We don’t usually let in random civilians, even if they do have identification, but your name seems to carry some weight.”

I whispered to 330, “Masons? Really? Please don’t tell me that the Freemasons are secretly a paramilitary conspiracy or something….”

“No, not really.” She whispered back. “The Masons are a privately run group with no connection to the Freemasons; they just chose the name to mess with any conspiracy theorists who tried to investigate them.”

“And they’re another secret group fighting monsters?”

“Yup.”

“How many of these things are there?”

“More than you would think possible. Everywhere I go I seem to run into conspiracies.”

More soldiers further into town, all moving around very quickly and purposefully. Didn’t see any civilians. We stopped by a sprawling park at the center of the town, which had been surrounded by sandbags and trenches. As we were stepping out of the car, a man with far more bars, stripes, and other assorted fancy indications of rank than anyone else around walked towards us. After acknowledging the driver’s salute, the officer held his hand to 330.

“General Moore of the Masons. If you’re here, I’m assuming that means things are going to get FUBAR pretty soon, but it’s not like we weren’t expecting that.”
He had a very harsh voice, which matched his looks. Older, grey overtaking most of his hair, with equally grey eyes and a face which looked stern enough to have been chiseled from rock. 330 smiled as she took his hand.

“And what makes you think that?”

“From what I’ve heard, you have a tendency to show up whenever shit is hitting the fan. And I’m assuming you came here because of the operation we’re performing?”

“Would you believe it if I said that we just happened to be passing through?”

His eyes said that he didn’t, but he kept quiet about that. Then he faced me, and… holy shit, I’ve never seen a stare that intense before. “And who’s this?”

Tried to answer. A bunch of stammered “ums” came out instead. 330 quickly interjected for me, saying, “This is Lisa Wells. She once shot the Intrusion with a flamethrower.”

Couldn’t tell whether his “Hmph” was impressed or apathetic. “You two might as well come with me. It’ll be good to have you on hand if this doesn’t work.”

Led us to a tent by the sandbag perimeter, explaining along the way. “Some local nutjobs summoned something nasty which nearly wiped out the town. We took care of that, but the cleanup is costing us more men than we expected. The corpses of those cultists won’t stay down unless we pump a few clips worth of lead into each one. The remainders are holed up in the park, and we’re about ready to move in and clear them out.”

“What happened to the people living here?” 330 asked.

“Most of them? Dead. We’ve evacuated and quarantined the survivors, but there weren’t many. Someone in management will probably negotiate handing them over to the government, and let them figure out what to do with the people. My jobs just to get them out of the way so we can kill these monsters.”

As we reached the tent, a soldier poked his head out and said to the general, “All squads reporting that they’re in position, sir.”

“Good. Are either of you planning on joining the final assault?”

“Hell yes!” That was 330.
“Who, me?” That was me.

Once it became clear to Moore that I, in spite of 330’s boasts about my prowess at fighting swarms of insects, had no idea how to use a gun (something 330 said we would “need to fix really soon,” a statement far more foreboding than I’d like to hear from a time traveler) it was decided that I would stay inside the safety of the command tent while 330 ran around with soldiers shooting zombie cultists. I was okay with this, even if it meant “missing out on all the fun” (330’s words, not mine.) And most of the people inside, including the colonel, seemed too busy with their jobs to speak with me, which suited me fine.

Never got to see any of the attack, but I could hear it unfolding through the communications going through the tent. Reports from the soldiers came steadily through the radios; Moore gave orders when necessary, but otherwise remained stoically silent. The aids were the ones bustling around with activity. Tried to keep track of what was happening , but it was too chaotic for me to hold everything in. First contact was reported three minutes in by a squad moving in from the northern end; another squad spotted and took down three cultists a few minutes later; then another got pinned by a large group in the camping area, until “That chick with the eye patch came out of nowhere and crushed them! God damn, I’ve never seen anything like that before! She killed them all in seconds!”; ending when the northern and southern squads linked in the center and began to clear out the few remaining pockets. The last shot was fired over three hours after the start. I’d barely noticed the time pass.

330 returned with the victorious soldiers not much later; there’d been a few casualties, but no deaths (did you know there’s actually a difference between those two? I didn’t) owing in large part to 330 repeatedly jumping out and rescuing people at the last moment. It was amazing, they said, how she managed to move across the battlefield so quickly. Almost like she was able to be in two places at once. 330 and I had a good laugh at our shared secret, earning us a few confused looks.

Kinda expected a victory speech from Moore. What we got was much shorter: “Excellent work,” and a salute to the men. From the smiles on their faces, it may as well have been a full speech.

Thus we left that little Colorado town as heroes. Well, 330 was a hero, while I basked in the warm glow of association. Felt kinda good. Almost good enough to make up for my dislike of the attention that was falling on me. Almost. Thankfully 330 was there to save me from that. “So sorry, but we really need to get going. Have a super secret conspiracy to stop. No, not your guys’ conspiracy, another one. No, I don’t think she… Lisa, do you have a cell phone? No? Sorry, she doesn’t have a phone number to give you…. No, I don’t have a phone number either, but try buying me a drink next time I’m around and we’ll see. Yes, we really must go now, don’t worry, you’ll probably meet me again next time something really big explodes.”

Got into our car, and then we were back on the road.

-Lisa