The command room was alive with movement.
Boots struck polished concrete.
Chairs scraped across the floor.
Voices overlapped in clipped, hurried exchanges as military personnel moved from station to station.
Technicians connected cables.
Communications officers adjusted frequencies.
Intelligence personnel carried folders, tablets, and hastily printed reports toward a long central table.
Across one wall...
A massive digital operations display remained dark.
For now.
"Bring terminal four online."
"Working on it."
"Where's that uplink?"
"Coming now."
"Get me another feed on the eastern sector."
"Copy."
The room had been designed for situations exactly like this.
Emergencies.
Disasters.
Military deployments.
Moments when dozens of different streams of information had to become one clear picture.
But tonight...
There was nothing clear about what they were dealing with.
A young lieutenant hurried across the room carrying a stack of reports.
"Latest civilian emergency traffic."
A major took them without looking away from his monitor.
"Anything from FairHaven?"
"No, sir."
"Cellular?"
"Nothing."
"State police?"
"Nothing."
"County emergency services?"
"Same."
The major frowned.
"Nothing at all?"
The lieutenant shook his head.
"FairHaven is completely dark."
That answer earned a few glances from nearby officers.
The major looked toward the massive screen.
"Keep trying."
"Yes, sir."
The lieutenant moved away.
Near the communications section...
Three technicians surrounded a workstation.
One wore a headset over a single ear while rapidly moving through frequency bands.
Another studied the waveform from the transmission recorded only minutes earlier.
The third stared at the screen with an expression that grew more confused the longer he looked.
"This makes no sense."
The technician beside him glanced over.
"What?"
"The interference."
He enlarged part of the waveform.
"It hit every channel simultaneously."
"Equipment failure?"
"No."
"Power surge?"
"Not on our end."
The technician leaned closer.
"Whatever happened originated somewhere between us and the source."
He paused.
"Or at the source itself."
Another officer approached.
"Can you reconnect?"
"We've been trying."
"And?"
The technician shook his head.
"Nothing from Crestwood Estates."
The officer's jaw tightened.
"Keep trying."
"Yes, sir."
Across the room...
A captain stood over the central operations table.
A large map of the region had been spread across its surface.
Garddale Operations Base.
FairHaven.
Highway access routes.
Secondary roads.
Bridges.
Wooded terrain.
Possible staging locations.
A red marker had been placed over FairHaven.
Another marked Crestwood Estates.
"Route One takes us straight down Forty-Four."
An officer beside him shook his head.
"Too exposed."
"It's also fastest."
"We don't know what we're driving into."
"Which is why it's reconnaissance."
The officer pointed toward another road.
"Approach from the southeast."
"Adds twenty-two minutes."
"Better than sending a platoon blind through the center of town."
Another voice joined them.
"Assuming the roads are even open."
The men fell quiet.
That was the problem.
They were planning around information they didn't have.
No police reports.
No emergency services.
No traffic feeds.
No civilian communications.
No reliable surveillance.
Only one impossible radio transmission...
From a man General Hanson apparently trusted.
And then...
That voice.
No one in the command room had forgotten it.
Even those who hadn't heard the transmission personally had already heard enough whispered descriptions.
Some believed it had been interference.
Some thought someone had hijacked the signal.
Others refused to speculate at all.
But everyone agreed on one thing.
Something had happened to FairHaven.
The question was what.
A communications officer suddenly raised his hand.
"Hold on."
The conversations nearest his station quieted.
His eyes narrowed at the information appearing across his monitor.
Then widened.
"Sir."
The major turned.
"What is it?"
The officer straightened in his chair.
"We're receiving a video feed."
That immediately caught the attention of half the room.
"Source?"
The officer's fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard.
He checked the identification code.
Then checked it again.
"Team Beta."
The major crossed the room.
"Confirm."
"Confirmed."
The officer pointed toward the identification string flashing across his monitor.
"Beta reconnaissance team."
A captain near the operations table looked up.
"Position?"
The officer pulled up the tracking data.
A map appeared beside the incoming signal.
A small blue marker blinked along Highway 44.
His expression tightened.
"They're approximately one mile outside FairHaven."
The command room became noticeably quieter.
One mile.
Close enough to see the outskirts.
Close enough to finally begin learning whether Richard Whitmore's impossible story had any truth behind it.
The major stepped beside the communications officer.
"Why the hell are they that close already?"
"Beta was conducting regional readiness exercises when General Hanson ordered preliminary reconnaissance."
The officer glanced toward another screen.
"They were the closest available ground element."
The major nodded.
"Get them on comms."
"Yes, sir."
The officer switched channels.
"Garddale Command to Beta Actual."
Static.
"Beta Actual, this is Garddale Command."
A few seconds passed.
Then—
KRRRT.
A man's voice came through the speakers.
"Garddale Command, Beta Actual. Read you five by five."
Several officers immediately turned toward the station.
The major stepped closer.
"Beta Actual, confirm your current position."
"Approximately one mile northeast of FairHaven municipal limits."
The major looked toward the tracking display.
It matched.
"Status?"
"Convoy intact."
A pause.
"Four vehicles. Twelve personnel. No casualties."
"Any civilian contact?"
"Negative."
"Emergency services?"
"Negative."
"Police?"
Another pause.
"Negative."
The major frowned.
"You haven't encountered anyone?"
"That's correct."
The answer unsettled the room.
The major exchanged a glance with the captain.
"Beta Actual, describe the area."
The radio remained silent for a moment.
Then—
"Quiet."
The major waited.
When nothing else came, he pressed.
"Define quiet."
The team leader answered.
"Abnormally quiet."
His voice had changed slightly.
Still professional.
But more cautious now.
"We passed three residential roads approaching the town."
"No vehicle traffic."
"No pedestrians."
"No emergency response."
"Nothing."
A faint hiss moved through the channel.
Then the soldier continued.
"We've also passed several abandoned civilian vehicles."
"How many?"
"Eight so far."
"Signs of collision?"
"Some."
"Occupants?"
"Negative."
The major frowned.
"Doors open?"
"On several."
Another pause.
"Personal belongings still inside."
The room grew quieter.
The captain walked closer.
"What about the video feed?"
The communications officer checked.
"Receiving."
"Put it on the main display."
"Yes, sir."
The massive screen remained dark for another moment.
Then—
BEEP.
A small status indicator appeared.
INCOMING TACTICAL VIDEO — BETA TEAM
The screen flickered.
Static rolled across it.
Then an image appeared.
Dark.
Shaky.
Grainy.
The camera was mounted somewhere near the front of the lead vehicle.
Headlights illuminated an empty two-lane road stretching ahead through thick forest.
Trees crowded both sides.
The road disappeared into darkness beyond the headlights.
Nothing moved.
No cars.
No people.
No animals.
Nothing.
The only movement came from the vehicle itself.
The camera bounced slightly with every imperfection in the pavement.
The command room stared.
"Can you clean that up?"
"Working on it."
The image sharpened.
Telemetry appeared along the bottom of the display.
Vehicle speed.
Coordinates.
Time.
Heading.
The blue tracking marker continued crawling toward FairHaven.
One mile.
And closing.
The major leaned toward the communications console.
"Beta Actual, Garddale Command. We have your visual."
"Copy."
"Maintain current speed."
"Roger."
"And Beta..."
The major paused.
"Eyes open."
A brief silence.
Then—
"Way ahead of you, Command."
The transmission ended.
The major straightened.
Onscreen...
The convoy continued forward.
Headlights swept across a road sign.
The camera passed too quickly for anyone to read it.
"Back that up."
A technician rewound the feed several seconds.
"Freeze."
The image stopped.
The sign filled one corner of the screen.
FAIRHAVEN — 1 MILE
No one spoke.
There it was.
The town Richard Whitmore claimed had fallen.
One mile away.
The captain folded his arms.
"So far we've got abandoned cars and an empty road."
The major nodded.
"Which could still have a dozen explanations."
"Evacuation."
"Chemical spill."
"Civil emergency."
"Mass casualty incident."
The communications officer glanced toward them.
"Except nobody reported any of those."
The major looked at him.
The officer returned his attention to the monitor.
"Just saying, sir."
The major didn't reprimand him.
Because he was right.
A second voice suddenly came through the Beta channel.
More distant.
Likely another soldier inside the lead vehicle.
"Hey, Sarge."
The team leader answered.
"What?"
"You seeing this?"
A pause.
"Yeah."
The major immediately leaned toward the microphone.
"Beta Actual, Garddale Command."
No response.
"Beta Actual, report."
Static.
Then—
"We've got something ahead."
Every conversation in the command room stopped.
The major's expression sharpened.
"Specify."
The video continued forward.
Nothing obvious appeared yet.
Only pavement.
Trees.
Darkness.
Then the headlights caught something.
A vehicle.
Sitting sideways across the road.
Its driver's door hung open.
Another vehicle rested partially in the ditch.
Then another.
The convoy slowed.
"Multiple abandoned vehicles," Beta reported.
The camera moved closer.
The major watched carefully.
"Any civilians?"
"Checking."
The convoy slowed further.
The headlights illuminated more of the road.
And more abandoned vehicles became visible.
Five.
Seven.
Ten.
Some parked.
Some crashed.
One had struck a telephone pole hard enough to crush its front end.
Another sat with both front doors open.
A child's backpack lay in the middle of the road.
The room fell completely silent.
Then—
The command center doors opened behind them.
Two military police officers stepped aside.
General Nathan Hanson entered.
An aide followed several steps behind carrying a thick operations folder.
Hanson walked quickly.
Purposefully.
His expression carried none of the humor that had been present during his earlier conversation with Richard Whitmore.
The moment he entered...
Several officers straightened.
"General."
"Sir."
Hanson barely acknowledged them.
His eyes had already found the massive screen.
The abandoned vehicles.
The empty road.
The darkness beyond.
He slowed.
"What am I looking at?"
The major stepped toward him.
"Team Beta, sir."
Hanson's gaze remained on the screen.
"They made contact?"
"Yes, sir."
"Location?"
"Approximately one mile outside FairHaven."
Hanson stopped beside the central operations table.
His eyes narrowed.
"They're already that close?"
"They were the nearest available reconnaissance element."
Hanson looked toward the communications station.
"Current status?"
"Convoy intact."
"No casualties."
"No civilian contact."
"No police."
"No emergency services."
The major paused.
"And they've encountered multiple abandoned vehicles approaching town."
Hanson's expression tightened.
He looked back toward the screen.
One of Beta's soldiers had exited the lead vehicle.
His helmet camera now filled a smaller section of the display.
The soldier approached one of the abandoned cars with his rifle raised.
The driver's door stood wide open.
Keys remained hanging from the ignition.
No driver.
No passenger.
No one.
Hanson stared at the image.
Then quietly asked—
"Do they know we're watching?"
"Yes, sir."
Hanson removed his cap.
Placed it on the operations table.
Then stepped closer to the screen.
"Good."
His eyes remained fixed on Team Beta's feed.
"Open a direct channel."
The communications officer immediately began working.
"Yes, sir."
Hanson folded his arms behind his back.
Only hours earlier he had been speaking to Richard Whitmore through a radio.
Listening to impossible claims about monsters.
Walking corpses.
A town consumed by something no military briefing had ever prepared him for.
He had agreed to investigate because he trusted the man making the call.
Nothing more.
Now...
He had twelve soldiers sitting one mile outside FairHaven.
And for the first time...
General Hanson was about to see for himself whether Richard Whitmore had been telling the truth.
On the main screen...
The helmet camera shifted.
The soldier moved closer to the abandoned vehicle.
His rifle remained shouldered.
The beam from his weapon-mounted flashlight swept across the interior.
Front seat.
Dashboard.
Passenger side.
Then—
It stopped.
"Command."
The soldier's voice came through the speakers.
Hanson's eyes narrowed.
"What do you have?"
The soldier leaned closer to the open driver's door.
His flashlight lowered.
For a moment...
No one in the command room could see what had caught his attention.
Then the helmet camera tilted downward.
The driver's seat came into view.
Dark stains covered the fabric.
A lot of them.
The soldier went still.
"Blood."
The command room fell quiet.
Hanson stepped closer to the screen.
"How much?"
The soldier didn't answer immediately.
He moved the flashlight.
The beam traveled across the seat.
Across the center console.
Onto the steering wheel.
More blood.
Then the driver's-side door.
Even more.
Dark streaks covered the interior panel.
Some had dried.
Others still reflected faintly beneath the flashlight.
The soldier exhaled.
"Enough."
His voice had lost some of its earlier calm.
"There's blood all over the driver's seat."
He shifted position.
"Steering wheel too."
The camera moved toward the floorboard.
A dark pool had dried beneath the pedals.
"Floor's covered."
The major glanced toward Hanson.
Hanson didn't look away.
"Body?"
The soldier checked beneath the dashboard.
Then the rear seats.
"Negative."
"Check the surrounding area."
"Roger."
The soldier stepped backward.
Another member of Team Beta approached from the opposite side of the vehicle.
Together...
They swept their flashlights across the roadway.
The ditch.
The tree line.
Nothing.
The first soldier moved around the rear of the car.
His light traced across the pavement.
"I'm not seeing anybody."
Hanson reached for the communications microphone.
"Beta, this is Hanson."
The soldier immediately responded.
"General."
"You have blood inside the vehicle but no occupant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any blood trail?"
The soldier looked down.
His flashlight swept around the open driver's door.
"Checking."
The beam traveled across the pavement.
Nothing.
He moved closer to the ditch.
Still nothing.
Then—
"Wait."
The camera stopped.
A few dark droplets marked the pavement.
The soldier crouched.
"I've got something."
Hanson leaned slightly forward.
The droplets continued several feet away from the car.
Then stopped.
Completely.
The soldier slowly stood.
"Blood trail goes maybe six feet."
"And then?"
"Nothing."
Hanson frowned.
"Nothing?"
"Stops dead, sir."
The soldier moved his flashlight farther along the road.
"No drag marks."
He turned toward the ditch.
"No footprints that I can see."
Another soldier spoke nearby.
"Nothing over here either."
The first soldier looked toward him.
"No body?"
"Negative."
The helmet camera returned toward the bloodstained vehicle.
The driver's door remained open.
Keys still hanging from the ignition.
Hanson stared at the image.
"Check the other vehicles."
"Copy."
Team Beta began moving.
Two soldiers remained near the convoy while the others spread carefully across the roadway.
Their flashlights pierced the darkness.
One approached the vehicle in the ditch.
Another checked an SUV farther ahead.
A third moved toward a pickup truck resting against the guardrail.
The radio remained quiet for several seconds.
Then—
"Got blood here too."
Another voice followed.
"Same."
Then another.
"Command, I've got another vehicle with blood inside."
The major's expression hardened.
"How many?"
The team leader answered.
"Three so far."
A soldier opened the passenger door of the SUV.
His flashlight moved across the interior.
"Make that four."
Hanson's jaw tightened.
"Bodies?"
"Negative."
"Any bodies anywhere?"
The soldiers looked around.
Flashlights swept across grass.
Road.
Ditches.
Forest.
Nothing.
"None in sight."
The words settled heavily across the command center.
Several officers exchanged looks.
A communications technician slowly removed one side of his headset.
The major crossed his arms.
"Could've been an evacuation."
Hanson glanced toward him.
The major gestured toward the screen.
"Injured civilians abandoning vehicles."
Hanson looked back toward the blood.
"Then where did they go?"
The major didn't answer.
Onscreen...
One of the soldiers approached another sedan.
Its windshield was shattered.
The driver's door had been bent backward almost completely.
The soldier stopped.
"Jesus."
Hanson immediately looked toward the feed.
"What?"
The helmet camera moved closer.
Deep grooves ran across the driver's door.
Not scratches.
Gouges.
Four parallel trenches had been carved directly through the metal.
The soldier slowly raised his flashlight.
"Command..."
His voice became quieter.
"You seeing this?"
Hanson stared.
"Yes."
The soldier placed a gloved hand beside one of the marks for scale.
Each groove was wider than his fingers.
The metal surrounding them had curled outward.
The major stepped closer to the screen.
"What could do that?"
Nobody answered.
The soldier crouched.
"Looks like something tore into the door."
Hanson's eyes narrowed.
"Mechanical?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Collision damage?"
"No, sir."
The soldier ran the flashlight along the gouges.
"They're too clean."
He paused.
"And they're spaced evenly."
Another member of Beta stepped beside him.
"What are you thinking?"
The first soldier stared at the marks.
"I don't know."
He lowered his hand.
"But I don't like it."