What the Government Doesn't Want You to Know:RATE OF CATTLE MUTILATIONS SPIKES! ['UFO Insider' magazine, February 2005]
Nilla was standing in the hospital's cafeteria, devouring sliced beets out of a tin can she'd found sitting open on a counter when she heard a violent squawking noise coming from outside. She swallowed and went to the window. It was dark outside but blue and red light kept flashing across the slats of the Venetian blinds. With her clumsy hands she pushed open two of the slats and looked out.
Oh, God, no,she thought.
FEMA MOVES HEAVY EQUIPMENT THROUGH ILLINOIS AT 3 AM: What are they preparing for? [ctrl.org, 3/20/05]
'There are SWAT teams ready to storm the building. You still have a chance to come out of this in good shape if you're willing to release some hostages.' The words blasted against the brick face of the hospital and rebounded off into space. No answer was forthcoming. The sheriff's deputy switched off his bullhorn and turned to shake hands with Clark and Vikram. He was a big man, clearly a weightlifter in his off hours. He had a blonde crew cut and dark deep-set eyes. 'You're from the Army, huh? I didn't know we rated that kind of attention.' The deputy looked dazed. He was out of his element here'his town had always been a quiet place, one of a thousand Californian hamlets betweenSan Francisco andLos Angeles where nothing ever happened. Now he was overseeing an actual hostage crisis. A complete breakdown of the social pecking order.
'We're just here as advisors,' Vikram soothed, giving his biggest smile. He asked about the boy's tattoos. The deputy seemed grateful for the diversion but was too riled up to give more than one word answers.
Clarkwasn't particularly frosty himself. He very, very much wanted this to be a wasted trip. He wanted to go back toColorado safe in the knowledge that the thing, the bug, the virus or whatever it might be was wholly contained inFlorence .
He forced himself to relax by grabbing his keys in his pants pocket until the jagged edges bit into the ball of his thumb. The discomfort helped him focus. He studied the layout of the denied perimeter the sheriff's office had created. The hospital was a three story building studded with windows. On the side that faced the street it had only a single entrance, a wide lobby of automatic doors leading into the emergency room. Blue and red light flashed across the glass: the deputies had formed a wedge with their patrol cars, a covered forward position for the negotiation phase.
Beyond the doors darkness filled the building like a fluid.Clark saw occasional flashes of motion in there but he could never make out any details. Just inside the emergency room, illuminated only by the police lights, he could see what looked like a leg'the wrinkled sole of a foot, the bumpy shape of an ankle'as if someone had collapsed in the shadows. 'There,'Clark said, pointing it out. 'Do you see that? It looks like a man down. Can you get someone in there to retrieve casualties?'
The deputy glared atClark but then he looked away and lifted his radio handset to his mouth. He uttered a few quick strings of police code numbers and after a moment three SWAT troopers in full armor emerged from a truck behind them. Two of them took up station in short range of the entrance while the third conspicuously put his weapon down on the ground and advanced. He kept his hands in plain view as he ducked under a flapping cordon of caution tape and advanced on the doors. No weapons fire or any other indication of resistance came from the hospital so the trooper moved in closer and then slipped quickly and silently through the glass doors.
Clarkcouldn't see him after that. 'This is SWAT Two, 10-97,' he heard crackling over the deputy's radio. '11-44.'Clark knew that code'it meant 'possible fatality.' 'Oh, man,' the trooper said, his breath heavy as it roared out of the radio. 'Oh, man, it's just a leg, it's been torn off''