EGAD: Earth Guard Alien Defense Read online

  E.G.A.D

  Earth Guard Alien Defense

  David Marshall

  Big Whirl Books/First Edition/May 2021

  Copyright © 2021 by David Marshall

  www.davidmarshallbooks.com

  All Rights Reserved by the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the works of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is coincidental, except for certain historical characters.

  ISBN 9798506149972

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful wife, Tiffani, and our son Carter. Thank you for putting up with me and loving me. You give me the strength to do what I do, which is… well, mainly putter around on the computer, make up my little stories, and write and record music. I love you both dearly.

  I want to also acknowledge my parents, who brought me into this world kicking and screaming. If I’m half the parent the two of you were, then I can one day rest knowing I’ve poured every ounce of myself into the love of my life. And of course, my huge extended family; my brothers, my sister, nieces, nephews, greats, cousins, in-laws, and outlaws. There are a lot of us, but we love well.

  And lastly, I’d like to thank my teachers at the former Coeburn High School, in my little hometown of Coeburn, Virginia, for their dedication to generations of children like me. From Margaret Bright, who fostered my love of reading at a very early age, to Karen Peters, Linda Jessee, and Joy Rudder, a trio who challenged me to think and question (and put up with the laziest student in the history of education), to Ben Spradlin and Lockwood Hall, who taught me so much about this big world we live in. Every one of you holds a special place in my heart forever.

  As they say, “An eye for an eye….”

  Prologue

  T he silent black triangle drifted across the full moon’s buttery glow and cast a menacing silhouette against the brilliant disk. The craft slowed to a standstill above the churning Atlantic high tide and hovered like a ghost over its grave.

  The stealthy craft still clung to the horizon when it was first spotted by star-gazing lovers and night fishers enjoying the simple pleasures of the Flagler Beach pier.

  Diners inside the Funky Pelican were the next to spot the oddity. Those fortunate enough to sit by the windows pressed their faces to the glass for a better look. Others abandoned their late dinners and filed out the door to join the curious spectators gathered on the pier.

  Townspeople and vacationing tourists alike braked their cars in the middle of the two-lane road that knifed through the heart of one of Florida’s last hidden gems. Some abandoned their vehicles and craned their necks skyward. It seemed every finger in town pointed to the astonishing display offshore.

  Startled onlookers questioned the mysterious craft’s origins. Was it Earthly or alien? Perhaps it was one of ours? Or maybe those damned Russians?

  The excitement was interrupted by the glissando bursts of a police siren. The mournful wail rose to a haunting crescendo before its rising pitch plummeted like a diver sinking beneath the dark waves. As soon as the final gasps of sound expired in the siren’s throat, it launched its Doppler aria anew. The repeated warning blasts did little to curb the gathering crowd’s curiosity.

  At first, the officers seemed less concerned with the excitement in the air than they were with the traffic cork in the middle of town. But soon, they too were hypnotized by the eerie sight and stole more than one uneasy glance over their shoulders, even as they urged rubberneckers to move along.

  No one seemed to notice the mysterious craft creeping ever nearer to the shore until three F-35 fighter jets scrambled onto the scene from the south. They huddled in a tight flying wing formation.

  The lead jet unleashed twin AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles from its wingtip pylons. Nearly two hundred pounds of heavy-duty ordnance raced along at Mach-2 toward the mysterious intruder. The missiles exploded against what seemed to be an invisible shield protecting the unknown object.

  The explosions jerked the onlookers from their mesmerized gazes and sent them scurrying from the suddenly tangible danger.

  The planes in the rear broke formation and buzzed the intruder. One jet darted toward the shoreline while the other sped toward the horizon. Both planes banked steeply and turned for a run at the ominous craft.

  A beam of light shot from the triangle’s underbelly and blew the jet on the horizon out of the sky. A spectacular fireball accompanied the explosion. The craft plunged to a dark reward in the cold, Atlantic deep.

  The jet nearest the shore unleashed a single missile, but the triangle shrugged it off like a pesky insect. It returned fire and blasted the fighter jet.

  The explosion rocked the shore so hard the pier teetered and pitched. A lucky few escaped the buckling structure before it collapsed like a house of cards and plummeted into the angry surf below. The blast also blew out the restaurant windows and showered those cowering inside with shards of glass and debris.

  The pilot fought the wounded plane hard, but the crippled jet crashed onto the beach and tumbled tail-over-nose toward Ocean Shore Boulevard before it broke apart. The nose section and part of the fuselage exploded on a sand dune and scattered burning jet fuel in every direction. The tail section skidded across the road and crashed into a realtor’s office.

  The indiscriminate inferno engulfed the downtown area and ravaged the heart of the tourist district. Firetrucks, blocked by the heavy traffic, raced up the sidewalks and got as close as the flames would allow.

  The lead plane banked a hard turn and scampered back toward its home at Patrick Air Force Base, south of Cocoa Beach. The triangle blasted it from the sky as well. Nearly a hundred million dollars of taxpayer money came to a violent rest in front of an elementary school about four miles inland. The fiery fuselage exploded in a spectacular flash and set the school aflame.

  Frantic sirens pierced the once-lazy summer air, their cries foreshadowing a battle in the coming days for Earth’s very survival.

  The black triangle settled above the leafy tendrils of the summer treetops and headed northwest. For the few that heard it, the craft emitted only a barely-perceptible soft hum.

  Chapter One

  W ho actually reads this garbage?” laughed the girl in the checkout lane behind Eddie. She gawked at the magazine rack by the bubble gum display. Though obviously thrown together for a midnight munchies run at the big-box, twenty-four-hour retailer, she was still a knockout.

  An unkempt tangle of chestnut locks framed a soft, feminine face with ocean blue eyes and thin lips. The lack of makeup exposed a patch of sun-kissed sienna freckles that painted the bridge of her button nose and spilled onto her high cheekbones.

  Her pink pajamas were salted with tiny white hearts and poured over the tops of her feet, revealing the chipped polish of her once-red toes. A “Purple Rain” tour shirt brushed the knees of her pajamas. She completed her ensemble with neon green flip-flops. She smelled of chlorine and tanning lotion, a sure sign she spent the day in and around her hotel’s pool.

  Eddie removed a cantaloupe from his shopping basket. He placed it on the conveyor belt with his eclectic spattering of groceries. “Excuse me?”

  The girl removed the current issue of the EGAD! tabloid from the impulse rack near the front of the checkout lane. Her nose wrinkled. “What kind of idiot takes this shit seriously? Black triangle spotted at alien lunar base! Putin is from Alpha Centauri! A race of reptile cave-dwellers found near the center of the earth!”

  Eddie pointed to the smaller print beneath one of the stories. “You know that one has to be true. They even tell you where the lunar base is located.”

  The girl flipped the tabloid arou
nd to read the print under the headline. “Gardner Crater? Is that even a real place on the moon?”

  Eddie chuckled. “Hell, if I know. Everybody needs to believe in something, I guess.”

  The girl’s full-throated snort caught him off-guard. She was too pretty to be a snorter. “But have you ever seen anyone actually buy a copy?”

  “Would you want people to know you read it?” the cashier asked as she whisked Eddie’s groceries across the scanner. “I’ve worked this register for twelve years and can’t remember the last time somebody bought one. We keep a copy in the lounge, though. Manager enjoys the crossword.”

  Eddie snatched the rag from the wire rack and plopped it onto the conveyor belt. “Sold! I can’t live without the truth!” he said, echoing the hyperbole of the tabloid’s melodramatic tagline.

  The pretty girl covered her mouth. “Oh no, you didn’t! You’ve got to be shitting me!”

  Eddie snickered. “Why not? I could use a good laugh after the week I’ve had.”

  “Rough one, huh?” the girl asked.

  Eddie nodded. “Something like that.” It wasn’t as terrible as he made it sound, but any night he left work without a tourist on his arm qualified as a personal tragedy.

  “Forty-one sixty,” the cashier announced with a coarse, grinding-metal tone. She pulled a bag loose from a spinning carousel that held hundreds of plastic sacks and stashed his goods into it.

  “You can’t be serious?” Eddie asked. “It’s not even ten items!”

  The cashier lifted the tabloid from a plastic bag and held it high enough to display the logo. “You get what you pay for, sir.”

  Eddie removed his wallet from his back pocket and took out his debit card. “Can I get cash back?”

  “Sorry, sir, the card reader is down,” the cashier replied.

  The card reader’s tiny gray screen flashed, “Network Unavailable. Try Again Later.”

  Eddie combed through his wallet for something green. The only thing more embarrassing than discovering he was short on cash was doing so in front of a pretty girl waiting in the checkout line behind him. “I’m sorry. I never carry cash. Maybe if I took my stuff to another register?”

  The cashier shook her head. “It’s the network sugar, the marvels of modern technology and all that.”

  Eddie sighed and pushed his empty wallet into the left hip pocket of his jeans. “Sorry to waste your time.” He hoped to slink away quietly.

  “Put it with mine,” the pretty girl offered.

  Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  The girl placed a box of corn-puff cereal on the belt. “You didn’t ask. I offered and won’t take no for an answer.” She pointed to the tabloid in his bag. “Besides, who am I to deny you intellectual stimulation?”

  The cashier rolled her eyes and reached Eddie’s bags to him. “Have a good night, sir.”

  Her forced pleasantry, peppered with a generous dash of judgment, was as convincing as one might expect from a night cashier working for minimum wage. She dragged the girl’s cereal over the scanner. It beeped, and the display removed thirty cents because the brand was on sale.

  Eddie chatted with the girl while the cashier scanned her groceries. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. I didn’t get your name.”

  The girl held out her hand. “Priscilla.”

  “Well, Priscilla, you should wear a cape on your back,” Eddie laughed as he shook her fingertips. “You’re my hero.”

  Priscilla raised a finger to her lips and shushed him. “Keep it quiet, okay? Alter egos are a pain in the ass once they’re blown.”

  The cashier scanned the last of Priscilla’s items. “Seventy-one sixty-two.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Eddie. “Most of that total is mine. Let me put my stuff back.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “Absolutely not! A hero needs someone to rescue.”

  Eddie motioned for her to continue.

  “Thank you,” said Priscilla. She paid with a one-hundred-dollar bill.

  The cashier didn’t look pleased to receive such a large bill at the late hour but completed the transaction anyway. She returned Priscilla’s change to her.

  Priscilla dumped the money into her purse.

  “I feel like such a deadbeat,” said Eddie. “I have money. I do work.”

  Priscilla slapped Eddie’s arm. “It’s no big deal. It was worth it to see somebody buy that rag! Maybe that could be their next headline! “Man buys a copy of EGAD!”

  Eddie blushed. “I should have put it back. I only bought it to be a smart-ass, and it made my groceries more expensive. Well, technically, you bought it.”

  Stop beating yourself up,” Priscilla laughed. “I wanted you to have it.”

  “Why?” Eddie asked.

  A broad, toothy smile spread across Priscilla’s face. “How else would I pick you up?”

  “Pick me up?” Eddie asked. Perhaps his night would turn out better than he imagined. “Then you have to let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. I insist.”

  Priscilla laughed. “With what, Moneybags? I just bought your groceries.”

  Eddie ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, a nervous habit he hated. He still wasn’t sure what Priscilla meant by “picking him up.” Was she looking for a one-night stand or an all-week sucker to spend money on her while she enjoyed the Smokies? Dinner was one thing, but he wasn’t about to break the bank for some nookie even if she was prettier than the girls he usually bedded. “So, what now?”

  “You tell me,” Priscilla replied.

  Sober girls were harder to read, and Priscilla was sharp-witted.

  “Well?” Priscilla asked.

  Eddie may not have known what she had in mind, but he knew what he wanted. “We can stop by my place and throw your cold stuff in the fridge.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t go home with strangers.”

  As usual, Eddie’s good fortune stumbled headfirst into a brick wall. “Oh. I didn’t mean to….”

  “I meant tell me your name,” Priscilla giggled, nudging Eddie’s shoulder. “Unless you prefer me to call you Moneybags.”

  “I’m Eddie. Am I bad at this or what?” His cheeks burned. “It’s been a while.”

  It wasn’t a total lie. It had been a while since he last flirted with a sober girl.

  “Rule number one,” said Priscilla, snaking her right index finger through the handles of her plastic bag and holding it up, “Never tell a girl it’s been a while.”

  “Should I leave a mint on your pillows?” the cashier asked. She eyed the automatic doors at the front of the store.

  Eddie thumbed over his shoulder at the annoyed cashier. “I think she wants us to leave.”

  “Your place far from here?” Priscilla asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “It’s at the end of the Parkway. Are you a local or visiting?”

  Priscilla snatched a small, stuffed black bear from the circular wire bin by the door. It wore a blue shirt with “I Heart Great Smoky Mountains” emblazoned in red letters across the front. She made it dance along the top of the wire bin and tossed it back into the pile of stuffed animals. “Tourist. Can’t you tell?”

  “Cool,” Eddie replied. “Where do you hang your hat when you’re not rescuing penniless bums from the scourge of starvation?”

  Priscilla admired the cheap sunglasses by the front door. She tried on a pair but returned them to the spinner rack after checking her reflection in the attached mirror. “Our nation’s capital.”

  “Then you know a little something about tourists too, huh?” Eddie asked.

  Priscilla nodded. “Enough to know they should avoid locals prowling for a one-night stand.”

  “Hey! You picked me up!” Eddie exclaimed. “Remember?”

  Priscilla grinned as they walked through the foyer to the parking lot. She gestured in the general direction of the spattering of cars parked near the front of the store. “That I did. So, which of these fi
ne chariots is yours, or did you walk?”

  Eddie pointed to a beat-up Chevy Caprice parked in the accessible parking space. Swatches of bare metal peeked through peeling copper paint on the hood and right quarter-panel. The mismatched driver-side front door was burgundy. “I drove.”

  “And parked in the accessible space?” Priscilla asked, her eyebrows raised.

  Eddie shrugged. “Come on; it’s after midnight! The entire parking lot is one big handicapped space!”

  Priscilla followed Eddie to his car and tossed her bags into the back seat. “Is this piece of shit safe?”

  “Define safe,” Eddie answered.

  “Safe as in road-worthy,” Priscilla replied.

  Eddie opened Priscilla’s door, and she slid into the ripped, split-bench seat. Bits of yellow, crusty foam poked through the torn vinyl. “Allow me to point out the difference between roadworthy and safe. Marge here…”

  “You named your car Marge?” Priscilla asked. She kicked a discarded nacho tray from underneath her feet. Old, moldy cheese smeared into the carpet. What was one more stain?

  Eddie nodded and shut Priscilla’s door. He crossed in front of the car and slid into the driver’s side. His door slammed shut with a satisfying, solid thud. “Short for Margaret, but she hates it when I’m formal. As I was saying, Marge is roadworthy as they come. However, I can’t guarantee you won’t become hopelessly lost in her clutter. She’s a messy girl with a lot of baggage under her tires, if you know what I mean. Safe? She’s a travel-at-your-own-risk kind of girl.”

  Priscilla nodded along as if digesting every word. “Right… And you had nothing to do with creating this pigsty? Good deflection, though. Do you have commitment phobia too?”

  Eddie plunged the key into Marge’s ignition and turned the switch. The engine coughed to life. “I regret the flavors I don’t choose when I buy ice cream if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes.

  The car creaked from its space and chugged across the parking lot with a loud sputter and a pronounced knock. Marge’s lament was her way of telling Eddie the motor mount boot was bad. He wished he bought some duct tape before he left the store. Marge sputtered to the light, and Eddie turned right on red without stopping.