"Exit 23"
VII.
Those who were conscious, relatively uninjured and had their wits about them dragged those who weren't to the cars. Dr. Neary pulled Dr. Akens to the Volvo, jumped inside and turned the key. With a squeeling of tires, his Volvo, the black Lincoln and Wheeler's old Ford Bronco all slipped through the snowy ramp away from the gas station as quickly as they could.
Time seemed to stop as a fierce orange light suddenly blossomed in Neary's rearview mirror. A roaring sound filled his ears, and a concussive blast slammed into the cars, which skidded wildly. The Volvo crunched into a snow drift, spinning around so that his side window was facing the gas station. He looked outside.
A giant fireball blossomed from the remains of the station. Pieces of furniture, brick, wood, and metal rained into the snow, causing steaming craters to form all around them, but the cars were far enough away that they were unharmed. "I wonder if Mabel got out..." he whispered softly to himself.
The others were all awake now, and got out of their cars, looking in awe at the remains of the gas station that was Exit 23. The evening finally seemed to be over. Weary and sore from the many injuries, the constant state of tension for the last few hours and just the plain lateness on their watches, they all dully helped Neary get his Volvo out the drift, itself a bigger job than they hoped, and turned to each other to say farewell. That's when Nichols pointed to the sky, unable to speak.
The rest of them followed his finger, to see three bright lights darting towards them from the south, coming faster than they believed possible; faster than any helicopter or plane could hope to travel. One of them came right overhead, and the stopped so abruptly that they could almost hear the laws of physics screaming in frustration at being so ignored. A large pattern of lights loomed above them, and the could see beyond the lights a silvery, delta-shaped structure. The lights suddenly blazed, bathing them in blinding white glow. With yells of surprise and dismay, they climbed back inside their cars and sped away. The glowing craft in the sky paced them, keeping directly above them, no more than fifty feet.
Truitt picked up the shotgun that was still sitting in the seat of the Bronco and leaned out of the window to take a shot at the craft. He was so rattled that he missed it by a mile, blowing the mirror off the side of the door. Wheeler still had enough presence to mind to cuss him out for that. (
Probably the first time I've seen a -3 on an attack roll. It doesn't help dramatic tension when folks are getting -3's on their attack rolls and making everyone else laugh.)
The lights on the craft began to dance crazily, even though the craft stayed still. Then they flared again, but a deep yellow this time. Their vehicles all shut down completely and came to jerky stops.
Neary hunkered down, as if he could hide in his driver's seat. Two other of the weaving craft come forward, and also shined their brilliant lights on the three stopped cars. And the original craft landed, right there on the road. And a ramp suddenly appeared from the side of it, and they could see something getting out.
It was a man. A middle-aged man in a ... "...military uniform?" said Dr. Akens, confused. He turned to Dr. Neary next to him his face blank. The man outside had a blue dress uniform on, and was heavily adorned. He was not a low-ranking soldier. The two got out of their cars, followed shortly by the other four.
"Gentlemen..." said the man in front of them. "Colonel Crawford, USAF. Pleased to make your acquintaince." He was greated by some half-hearted but mostly confused hellos.
"I understand you've had quite an evening. Most importantly, I understand you've helped keep an important artifact out of the hands of that meddling Hoffmann Institute. My congratulations. Now, if you'll come with me, I believe we need to talk. News of this incident is strictly classified, of course, but I think we can reach an arrangement that will be very mutually satisfactory."
Colonel Crawford turned around and walked into the ship. Nichols looked around, as if pondering making a break for it. Lights now glared at him from the ground as well; he realized half a dozen Humvees, crawling with men in fatigues carrying M-16s surrounded their three cars. With a nervous shrug to each other, they turned and walked inside the flying craft, not exactly eager to see what tonight's adventure had landed them into.
The End