shakes his head, “No, it does. There are many different factors that affect the intensity of this radiation on a given day, particularly as it relates to the distance our planet is from the sun. This radiation is scattered throughout the atmosphere, but as I said, it depends on a variety of factors, including absorption by water vapor, ozone and carbon dioxide, as well as cloudiness, longitude and latitude, altitude, and-”
“Make a long story short, Doc,” Anderson says impatiently.
“Right. Well, the amount that reaches the earth’s surface tends to be very minimal, nothing that should cause severe harm to humans, and certainly not enough to cause radiation burns on a home.”
“This extraterrestrial radiation was found on a cottage here?” Anderson asks, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“Well, first, Private Anderson,” Nitchie clarifies, “this radiation has not been confirmed to be extraterrestrial, but it definitely possesses some of the same characteristics, and it does not appear to be from any type of man-made object. And second, cottages, Private Anderson. This radiation was discovered on several homes that sit on the beachfront.”
“So what could have caused these burns?” Anderson inquires.
“I don’t know the answer to that, but the intensity of the radiation burns lead me to believe it is something rarely found on this planet, if ever.”
There are a few moments of silence as the two men contemplate the significance of Nitchie’s statement.
Anderson breaks the silence with a question, “So this kind of radiation couldn’t have been from the bombs that were detonated here?”
Without answering, Nitchie reaches down towards his feet, and Anderson notices a small pouch the doctor is carrying with him. The doctor puts on a pair of plastic, disposable gloves, and then reaches in the pouch and pulls out a shiny, silver object that seems to reflect the moonlight.
Anderson moves in closer for a better look at the object when Nitchie raises his hand and, for the first time, speaks above a whisper, “That’s far enough, Private Anderson. I don’t know what effect this may have on humans.”
Doubly curious now, Anderson stays where he is but leans his head in as close to Nitchie as possible in order to study the object. There, cupped in the doctor’s hands, is a small fish, a trout, approximately eight inches long and three inches wide. The eyes are milky and lifeless, showing Anderson what he already knows simply by looking at it: the fish is dead. Anderson also notices running along the top of the fish’s body is a patchy, reddish mark. Once again, his curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches his hand out to feel the unusual mark.
“Please do not touch it, Private, I am not entirely sure what it is,” Nitchie warns.
Anderson quickly pulls his hand back as if he has touched a hot stove.
“This little guy,” Nitchie explains, “has the same radiation burns as the marks found on the cottages. But I don’t think it was what killed him.”
Anderson looks at the doctor, who seems to be enjoying the suspense of the moment.
Nitchie continues, “I did a rather cursory autopsy on it and found that it actually drowned. There appeared to be significant damage to the fish’s gills and it appeared unable to take in oxygen through the water.”
“So,” Anderson wonders, “what happened?”
Nitchie ponders the question for a moment before responding, “Perhaps the radiation was responsible for damaging the gills. Or maybe the radiation caused a momentary paralyzing effect, rendering the fish unable to swim. It’s possible the radiation caused a temporary blindness, or somehow the fish’s equilibrium was disturbed when it came in contact with this radiation. Perhaps the radiation itself somehow depleted oxygen from the water-”
“Alright, Doc, my head’s starting to spin,” Anderson interrupts. “How did you get a hold of this thing?”
“I swiped it from the lab when no one was looking,” Nitchie sheepishly admits.
Anderson gives the doctor a surprised look.
“I know I probably shouldn’t have,” Nitchie explains, “but, well, there was a whole bin full of them, and no one appeared really interested in analyzing them.”
“A whole bin of them?” Anderson asks.
“Yes,” Nitchie confirms, “apparently a large number of them were found washed up on shore. But again, no one appeared too interested in looking at them, so I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“I don’t get it, Doc,” Anderson admits. “If there was a whole bunch of these dead fish, and they all contained the same radiation burns, the blast radius must have been huge to affect all these fish-”
Anderson notices Nitchie staring at him with an ace-up-his-sleeve look and he stops in mid-sentence. “What is it?” he asks the doctor.
“You’re on the right track, Private Anderson,” Nitchie indicates. “I’ve got something else I need to show you.”
Nitchie leans down again and rummages inside the pouch for a moment before finding what he is looking for, bringing the object up for inspection under the moonlight. Anderson leans in closer, attempting to discern what Nitchie is holding, which appears to be wrapped in a solid, plastic container. Suddenly, Anderson realizes he is staring at a human arm, separated from the torso directly below the shoulder.
“Jesus Christ,” Anderson breathes.
He instinctively steps back in disgust, while at the same time he cannot look away from it. He brings his hand up to the container and instantly feels a ripple of cold radiate from it. He glances at Nitchie, who explains, “I put it on ice, to preserve it.”
“For what? You running away with it?” Anderson asks jokingly.
“I may have to,” Nitchie deadpans.
“Why?”
Without missing a beat, Nitchie earnestly says, “This is evidence, Private Anderson. Evidence that whatever these people,” he motions towards the lab constructed below, “have told General Parker or General Cozey or the press simply is not the truth. In fact, it’s pure and utter bullshit.”
It sounds funny to hear the straight-laced doctor cuss, but Anderson refrains from laughing.
“No radiation marks anywhere,” Nitchie explains as he turns the container over and over. “You see? No burns similar to our fish. That’s one thing. Second, look at the edges of the wound where supposedly the arm was ripped from the torso.”
Anderson leans in for a closer look, “Yeah, so?”
“If this arm was part of a body that was involved in an explosion from several bombs that were detonated here, as they claim, then the edges would be much more ragged, much more uneven. Look at the edges here,” the doctor notes, pointing with his index finger along the edges of the wound, “it’s practically even all around, almost like a perfect separation, a perfect slice if you will.”
“What are you getting at, Doc?” Anderson asks, the paranoia starting to take root in him, too.
“And
