The next morning, as the sun rose over a distant ridge, Henry Burke and his team were hard at work investigating the crash site. A cover story about a mysterious chlorine spill had done its job, and area roads were blocked off for miles in every direction. No civilians would disturb the scene of the accident. Burke was in total control.
In the early-morning sunlight, they could see much more than the night before. One group scoured the long trench where the flying object had burrowed into the ground. They took photographs and used metal detectors to make sure there were no remnants of the craft left behind in the dirt. At the far end of the trench, there was a gaping hole where the object had been pulled from the sand before being transported back to Witch Mountain.
Burke and his assistants, Pope and Matheson, were now searching the hillside where they thought they had heard something the night before. Pope, a fresh-faced scientist straight out of MIT, was just about to take a step, when Burke reached over and grabbed his leg in midair.
Pope instantly realized his mistake. He moved back so as not to disturb anything, while Burke pulled out an ultraviolet light and waved it over the ground Pope had nearly stepped on. Under the light, they were able to make out footprints. From the looks of them, they had definitely not been made by any animal native to the desert.
“Cast it,” Burke instructed Matheson as he moved the light forward and illuminated several more footprints. “Cast all of them.”
Fifteen minutes later, Matheson was inside the mobile command center that had been set up at the crash site. The center was sleek and modern and filled with computers, monitors, and all sorts of electronic devices.
Matheson had arranged the plaster casts he had taken along a table and was studying them with microscope goggles. Burke, Pope, and Carson all watched.
“There’s a distinct pattern alternating between the depth of the impressions—a differing weight distribution,” Matheson explained, “suggesting not one, but two separate EBEs.” EBE stood for Extraterrestrial Biological Entity.
Burke looked down at the casts and considered what the scientist was telling him.
“They were moving fast. Bipedal,” Matheson continued. He looked up at the other members of the team and took a deep breath before adding, “Possibly . . . humanoid in form.”
He locked eyes with Burke. This was by far the biggest discovery they had ever uncovered.
The moment was interrupted by Pope. As usual, he was enthusiastic, to say the least. “How awesome is that?” he asked, his voice cracking. “I mean those little nanomicrobes that were found in that Mars rock were cool, but”—he paused—“nowhere near as cool as aliens—who run!”
The three other men turned and stared at him, their expressions stern. Pope had said the A word. Gulping, he pretended to be fascinated by the footprint casts.
Burke instantly began instructing the others. “Review every data-gathering entity within a fifty-mile radius, starting on impact.” He scanned their faces to make sure they understood exactly what they were looking for. “Hunt for the anomaly.”