Obsidian

Epilogue

"I loved the book," a young man exclaimed as he giddily walked up to the signing table. "Seriously, I want so bad for this to be real."

I smiled, sitting across the table, barricaded by stacks of my first published novel: Battle at Blue Falls. "Be careful what you wish for, it just may be a true story."

The man, in his early twenties, that looked like he should have been bench pressing a cheerleader, let out a chortle that seemed uncharacteristic of his demeanor. "Can you make it out to Charlie?"

I scribbled a witty catchphrase I adopted about forty signatures back. I handed it to the eager fan, shook his hand, and watched as he ran over to show another young man.

Things had become very different after Costa Rica. After desperately seeking medical attention for a broken collarbone, we began our next steps. The hospital asked what had happened to Sebastian. We told the closest thing to the truth as we could; our van broke down and he was gunned down while a local tried to stick us up for our cash. Sebastian tried to protect us and ended up paying the price. The story wasn't looked into deeply, as it was a common tale to have tourists mugged while in the country. After giving statements, and being fed painkillers for my collarbone, we were on our way back home.

We all flew to St. Louis, where Tori was from. It was hard to break the bond we had all grown to count on during the fight to stop an invasion. X had to sprint from the exit to his next gate to catch his connecting flight to Billings-Logan International Airport, to get him on track to Whitefish. Carl and I had an hour layover until we were on our way back to Denver, where we grabbed our cars and started the drive home to Southmoor. During the layover, Tori and I spoke about continuing a relationship. We were both for it but wanted to let the intensity of preventing a global catastrophe simmer down before anything.

Over the next seven months, I resumed my routine of teaching and studying. I had also started writing. What first started as an outlet to journal and vent my feelings, became the most appropriate way to let the world know, if they chose to know, about extra-terrestrial intelligence. The book has been out for three weeks and while it was picked up by a publisher and is distributed currently in a few test territories, they had set me up on a book tour. I was responsible for traveling and pushing the events via social media. The school board was not fond of me taking more time off but I told them I had the perfect substitute to take over while I was gone.

I received multiple texts per day, some logical, some wildly inappropriate about students, from none other than Carl Friedman. Carl knew my mission was to spread the word under the radar and he was one hundred percent on board. He had already obtained his certifications in many of the same fields that I did. He volunteered to speak to the board, as he had already been a temporary advisor for many Professors and teachers in the past. I was on my last stretch of the tour and would be home in a few days. His texts became less frequent as I assumed he was getting the hang of the role. It made me happy to know I could count on him. That is why Carl is on my team.

I thanked the manager of the bookstore for letting me run the event as I handed over the last set of signed copies. The manager, a curly red-haired woman in her forties, said she would let the buyer know the event went well and invited me to come back anytime. I thanked her again, walked out the front door, and immediately loosened my tie. I hated dressing up in suits. Even when teaching, I would not dress like I was addressing a Fortune 500 company. In my years, I realized the students didn't care what wore, which made life much easier for me and my wallet. Slacks and a collared shirt were more than enough. After loosening the tie, I wrangled out of my blazer. My collarbone was still sensitive even after surgery and three full months of physical therapy.

"Dr. Davis Russell?" A stern-voiced woman called out from behind me as I was opening the front door of my Honda.

I turned around to see a woman that was eight inches shorter than her voice projected. Dirty blonde hair pulled back tight and pristinely, she extended her hand, "I am sorry to bother you. I am Agent Foley and this is Agent Mathis."

She had nodded back to a woman that could have doubled as a quarterback for the Broncos in her downtime. Mathis, pulled her sunglasses down making eye contact as she nodded.

"Agents?" I should have been surprised, but I'm not. "Agents from where?"

"Dr. Russell, we have a few things we would like to go over with you in regard to your..." Mathis had to flip through a file for a moment before finishing, "Galaxus Parasitics."

The butchering of my theory was left uncorrected as I didn't see the point in embarrassing the woman, "Still waiting...what agency are you working for? FBI? CIA?"

"Dr. Russell," Foley spoke up. "We are the agency that you don't get to hear our acronyms until we set a few ground rules."

I scoffed slightly but was not intimidated by the response, "So, you are a fan of the book? Or, just science buffs?"

"We know what happened in Oakridge," Foley said.

The statement did pique my interest, "How do you mean?"

"Conrad Henrikson, Wendall Stone, and many others, including one of your assistants disappeared from that construction zone last year."

Amy, poor Amy. I had taken the advance that I received from the book and anonymously donated it to Amy's mother, who I knew was battling breast cancer with Amy's adult siblings by the woman's side. It in no way could replace an integral part of their family, yet it felt like the least I could do.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Agent Foley. I don't have any information about Oakridge other than reviewing data from the Henrikson team. Listen, there are a few more signed copies in the store if you want to grab one but I have to start heading back to Southmoor."

I turned to get in the driver's side when Foley called out, slight desperation detected, "Dr. Russell, please wait."

I turned back, with a face that had to have read cut the bullshit on it because the next statement out of Foley's mouth was genuine and direct.

"We need your help. Our agency communicates with lots of other organizations and agencies. We like to refer to ourselves as the glue of the government."

I stared, losing patience, waiting for the reveal.

"Two weeks ago, our partners in a scientific observatory outside of Poland saw something in the sky."

Fuck.

"They set up hyper-lapse video and recoursed all available satellites towards the object. It is still two hundred thousand miles away, just under."

Shit.

"After four days of capturing audio, one of the satellites zeroed in on a broadcast message. It was not from anything on this planet."

"The Companion," I muttered.

"I have read your book and came to that same conclusion, which is why I am here."

I knew there was a possibility, an inevitability, that it would not end with one mere creature. I knew the right people would find the book and when the time came, would find me. I didn't expect it to be someone from a government agency, but when a planet-killing event is en route, you tend to be less picky about who brings you the information.

"So, Dr. Russell, you think you are up for saving the world...again?"