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Invasion

A C.H.A.O.S. Novel

Thomas Nelson

It's a military academy."

Colt McAlister looked at his dad sideways. They were in Washington, D.C., on what was supposed to be a summer vacation, but this didn't look like the kind of place tourists would visit—especially a sixteen-year-old tourist like Colt. "I thought you said this was a camp."

"It's more like a prep school."

"Are you thinking about sending me away?"

"Don't worry," Dad said, and reached over to tousle Colt's hair. "You're just taking a tour, that's all. Besides, they won't admit you until you're eighteen."

"So why am I here?"

"Because you were invited."

"By who?"

"The same people who invited your brothers. This is an elite school. You can't even apply—it's strictly invitation-only."

"What if I don't want to go into the military?"

"That's up to you." As Colt's dad rolled his window down, a panel opened up on one of the brick columns. A mechanical arm unfolded with a sphere like an eyeball attached to the end. Then a green light flared to life before it scanned Colt and his father. Moments later a buzzer sounded, and the gate opened up.

"Is this place owned by Trident Industries or something?" Colt asked as the red beam shone in his eyes. He was referring to the multinational conglomerate that had its hand in everything from weapons manufacturing and robotics to capital investment and biotechnology.

"I doubt it. Why?"

"You know what they say, Trident is watching," Colt said with a shrug. "I mean, if scanners like this exist, I wonder what kind of spy equipment is out there."

"You've been listening to too many conspiracy theories."

"Maybe, but I want one of those for my room," Colt said as they drove through the opening and down the winding drive.

"It might be a little out of your price range."

"I was thinking you could buy it for me."

"I'll have to talk to your mother." Dad didn't hide the sarcasm in his tone.

It wasn't long before they pulled up to the front steps, but when his dad didn't get out of the car, Colt frowned.

"Sorry, but this tour is for potential cadets only," Dad said. "Trust me, it's more fun that way."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'll be back to pick you up this afternoon."

Colt hesitated before he opened the car door. He stepped onto the sidewalk, shut the door, and then stood there until his dad rolled down the window. "Why aren't there any signs?"

"It's a top-secret facility."

"What kind of school is top secret?"

"You'll be fine, son, I promise."

Colt looked over his shoulder at the massive building and felt his chest tighten.

"Look, if this is anything like the tour your brothers took, you're going to spend most of the day playing video games," Dad said. "I hear you even get to watch a movie."

"Seriously?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"When I was six you told me it wouldn't hurt when you pulled my tooth out."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Pain is relative."

"What does that mean?"

"You're just stalling."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"You're coming back, right?" Colt knew that didn't sound very macho, but something felt off.

"Of course. And make sure you say hello to Lieutenant Lohr for me." Dad rolled up the window and pulled away.

After the car disappeared behind a bank of trees, Colt took a deep breath and walked up the front steps. Another buzzer sounded, followed by a click that released the lock. Colt pulled on the handle and walked inside.

The foyer was stark, reminding him of an office building or maybe a bank. There was no art on the walls, the floor was covered in large marble tiles, and a man in a military uniform stood behind the reception area.

"Name?" he asked, his voice monotone as though the answer didn't matter.

"Colt McAlister."

The man pushed a button, activating a metal sphere that rose from the countertop. It flew over Colt's head, where it hovered. There were no strings holding it in the air, and once again, he was distracted by thoughts of Trident Industries spying on the entire world with their top secret network. The Internet was filled with rumors about how they were using it to gather intelligence so they could become the most powerful entity in the world. Sure, Colt thought it was ridiculous. Still, if technology like this hovering scanner existed, then anything was possible.

"What is that?"

"Stand still, please," the man said as he looked at a monitor.

"It's flying."

An aperture opened beneath the belly of the sphere, bathing Colt in a green spotlight as the sphere spun slowly in place. A dimensional replica of Colt flickered to life next to him. It reminded Colt of an X-ray. He could see his skeleton, as well as the change in his front pocket.

"How is it doing that?"

The man ignored Colt's question. "Do you have a phone, camera, or any other type of recording device?" he asked.

Colt shook his head.

The man pushed the button once more, and the holographic image of Colt disappeared. The aperture closed and the sphere returned to the desk as the man picked up a duffel bag from the floor and handed it to Colt. "You can change in the locker room at the end of the hall."

"Thanks." Colt paused, looking at the sphere, then at the man, who didn't return his gaze. He had all the warmth of a robot, and there was clearly no point in asking more questions.

Colt walked down a long corridor before reaching the boys' locker room. He was expecting more science-fiction gadgetry, but there was nothing extraordinary—at least nothing that stood out. There were walls of stacked lockers, hooks filled with towels next to open shower stalls, and long benches. A dozen boys about his age were in various states of undress as they changed into black T-shirts with matching cargo pants and combat boots.

Colt was strong, but most of them looked like professional athletes. They were tall, their shoulders were broad, their chests thick, and their stomachs taut. Without a word, Colt walked over to a quiet corner and unzipped his bag to find the same uniform.

He dressed quickly, embarrassed to find the bag even had new underwear. Since there was no belt, Colt had to use his own to keep his pants from falling down.

"Where are you from?"

Colt turned around to find a tall boy with dark skin and black hair smiling at him.

"San Diego."

"So that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Your hair."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a surfer dude, right? You have the tan, the blue eyes, and the shaggy blond hair. All you need is a set of puka shells and you could be the poster boy for southern California."

"I guess," Colt said before stuffing his old clothes into his duffel bag. He wanted the kid to go away but he decided to be polite. "Where are you from?"

"I was born in Virginia, but I've lived in Germany, Japan, Washington, Texas, and a few other places. Right now I live in Arizona."

"My grandpa lives there."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. By the way, I'm Romero," the boy said, offering Colt his enormous hand.

"I'm Colt."

"So you're a gunslinger or something?"

"Not exactly."

As the boys shook hands, another man in uniform walked into the locker room. "Put your personal items in one of the lockers and follow me."

"I didn't bring a padlock," Colt said.

"You don't need one," Romero said. "Just put your thumb on that sensor."

Colt raised his thumb to a small black pad next to one of the lockers, but he paused when he saw a Trident Security logo.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Colt said, thinking his dad was right. Maybe reading all those conspiracy blogs was getting to him. He pressed against the sensor and a green light glowed as the door clicked open. Romero took Colt's duffel bag, stuffed it inside, and shut the door. Then Colt placed his thumb back on the sensor, but this time a red light flashed three times. The door didn't open.

"Now you try it," Romero said.

Colt put his thumb on the sensor, and just like before, the door clicked open. "How does it work?"

"It's a biometric scanner," Romero said. "They reset them every night, but for today that's your locker. The only way someone could break in is if they cut your thumb off."

Colt shut the door before trying to open it again.

"We'd better get going," Romero said. "Lohr is going to make us run laps until we throw up if we're late for orientation."

"How do you know so much about this place?"

"My dad is kind of in charge."

"He's the principal?"

"Not exactly. He's the director of the entire agency."

"What agency?"

"CHAOS."

"Wait," Colt said. "As in the CHAOS Agency that protects the world from alien invasions?"

"Yep."

Colt hesitated. "I don't get it. I mean, isn't that just in comic books and movies?"

"You'll see."

Romero led Colt through a series of corridors before they came to a set of double doors that slid open like an elevator, revealing a room that looked like an amphitheater. Six rows of desks were filled with quiet boys all dressed in the same gear. Nobody was talking, and Colt could see why.

In the front of the room, standing on a small stage, was a monster at least seven feet tall.

Is that a ... I mean ..."

"Technically he's a Tharik from the planet Nemus," Romero said, "but yeah. It's Bigfoot."

From head to foot the creature was covered in fur the color of a sunrise, and it looked like a mad scientist had performed strange experiments on it. There was a second head made out of iron bolted over its left shoulder, and a mechanical arm that connected to a series of metal plates covered its rib cage.

Colt was having a difficult time forming coherent thoughts. Advanced technology like biometric scanners was one thing, but living cryptids that were straight out of his comic books? "It's a guy in a costume, right?"

Romero shook his head.

"It has to be," Colt said.

"Why?"

"Because Bigfoot isn't real."

"If you think it's just a mask, I'll give you a thousand bucks if you walk up there and take it off."

Colt looked at Bigfoot. "How?"

Romero shrugged. "He came through one of the gateways, the same as all the other aliens."

"There are more?"

"Look," Romero said. "There's an entire world hidden in the shadows. Most people don't know things like Lohr exist, and they never will. It's our job to keep it that way."

"So you're a CHAOS agent?"

"Not yet."

"But ..." Colt's voice trailed off as the giant beast with the robotic head turned to look at him.

"Trust me, this is only the beginning," Romero said.

"Nice of you to show up," the Bigfoot said. Its voice was so deep that it sounded like two boulders scraping together. "Why don't you two find a seat? There's space in the front row waiting for you."

"Did you brush your teeth this morning?" Romero asked.

"What does it matter? It's not like I'm going to kiss you."

A smattering of nervous laughter told Colt that he wasn't the only one in the room who was uncomfortable.

"That's a relief," Romero said before leaning over to whisper to Colt. "Thariks don't like to bathe, so you might want to plug your nose."

"I heard that," the Bigfoot said.

Romero bounded down the stairs to take his front row seat. Colt hesitated, caught between fear and excitement, and then followed, each step slow and deliberate.

"My name is Lieutenant Lohr," the monster said, "and yes, I'm a living, breathing Sasquatch—or if you prefer, Bigfoot. So now that we have that out of the way, who can tell me why I'm stuck babysitting a bunch of humans?"

"You got a promotion?" Romero said. There was more nervous laughter.

"I realize you think that you're special, Romero, but from here on out you'll address me as Lieutenant."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Romero said with a salute that didn't look terribly sincere.

"Most of you have grown up believing that the monsters in your closets were part of your imagination, but I'm living proof that they're real," Lohr said. "The CHAOS Agency exists to protect the world from creatures that make me look like a teddy bear—and believe me, there are more of them roaming around than you know."

"Where are they, Lieutenant?" asked a boy with a thick Texas accent. "I mean, if there're so many, shouldn't we be able to see them?"

"What's your name?"

"Lawson, sir. Tyrese Lawson."

"Well, Lawson, if we do our job, you never will," Lohr said. "It's up to CHAOS to hunt those monsters down before they crawl through your windows in the middle of the night."

"Where do they come from, Lieutenant?"

"Name?"

"Dante DiMaggio."

"Care to guess where they come from, DiMaggio?"

DiMaggio shrugged.

"Anyone?" Lohr's robotic head scanned the room looking for someone to respond, but no one did. "Come on, don't any of you read comic books anymore?"

Colt raised his hand, though only high enough for Lohr to see. The mechanical eye on the monster's second head spun left, then right, and left again, like a camera lens trying to focus.

"You're one of the McAlister boys, right?"

"Yes, sir. My name is Colt."

"Did you know that I served with your grandfather in the Second World War?"

Colt frowned as he tried to do the math in his head.

"I'm older than I look. Besides, why do you think I have all this fancy machinery?" Lohr wiggled his mechanical fingers and rotated his robotic head. "The Nazis bombed our position, and I took a direct hit. Your grandpa was part of the team that saved my hide. Without him, I wouldn't be here today."

"I had no idea."

"That's the way it's supposed to be," Lohr said. "All of our missions during the war were classified. Your grandpa was lucky, though. He made it to retirement, but I've been stuck here long enough to train your father and all seven of your brothers too. With hair like that, are you sure you're a McAlister?"

"People say I take after my mom."

A few of the boys snickered.

"Hey, he's from California; cut him some slack," Romero said. "Everyone looks like that out there."

"Is that so?" Lohr smiled. "You're the one they call Runt?"

There was more laughter.

"I guess so," Colt said as he shrank down in his chair.

"You had some fairly impressive test scores," Lohr said. The laughter stopped, and all eyes focused on Colt. "Then again, so did everyone sitting in this room."

"What test scores?" Colt asked.

"You've all taken them, you just didn't know what they were for," Lohr said. "Your score is a culmination of everything from the standardized tests you take at the end of the school year to the fitness tests you take in your gym classes. We even ran samples of your DNA that were taken moments after you were born."

"Is that legal?" a boy with a shaved head asked.

"Excuse me ...?"

"The name's Simon Fletcher."

"Would you like to rephrase that, Fletcher?"

"Is that legal, Lieutenant?"

"We have certain privileges that other government agencies don't share," Lohr said. "In fact, today we're going to put you through a few more tests to determine if you have what it takes to save the world. If you pass, you'll be admitted into the CHAOS Military Academy."

Colt raised his hand. "What if we don't want to go, Lieutenant?"

Lohr smiled, revealing a set of incisors that looked like they could puncture steel. "Over the next few weeks more than a thousand young men and women will come through these doors. We'll be lucky if a dozen qualify, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

There was a murmur through the room, but it quieted when Lohr raised his hand. "Those who qualify will get to pick a specialty from things like space exploration, counterintelligence, weapons systems, piloting, and espionage. We even have teams of scientists and engineers, so there's room for everyone. Well, everyone except Romero, anyway."

"You should really leave the comedy to the professionals," Romero said.

Lohr smiled again before he turned his attention back to Colt. "You were going to tell us where all the creepy crawlies that go bump in the night come from."

For a moment Colt lost his train of thought, but he recovered. "I have a question first," he finally managed to say.

"Go ahead."

"Is this the same CHAOS agency as the one in the comic book?"

"You mean Phantom Flyer and the Agents of CHAOS?" Lohr asked. He held up his hand to show Colt a Phantom Flyer signet ring that would have been big enough to fit around Colt's neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

"In that case," Colt answered, "according to the official CHAOS Guidebook, monsters and aliens come to Earth through invisible gateways that connect us to other worlds. They're kind of like bridges, I guess, and they allow us to go places we couldn't reach by spacecraft."

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Excerpted from Invasion by Jon S. Lewis. Copyright © 2010 Jon S. Lewis. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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