"Pull over here," Javier ordered after they'd put about a mile between themselves and the smoking ruin of the meat plant. Chang steered the van behind a cluster of pine trees, cutting the engine but leaving the keys in the ignition.
The scarred man—Marcus, Dale had heard someone call him—turned in his seat. He reached beneath the dashboard and pulled out what looked like a modified police scanner. The device was bulkier than standard issue, with additional antenna ports and a keypad that definitely hadn't come from the factory.
"You're up, Sheriff." Marcus handed him the scanner, his scarred face unreadable. "We need you to call in reinforcements to the processing facility."
Dale took the device, its familiar weight settling into his palm. He looked at Javier questioningly. "Reinforcements?"
Javier nodded, his expression grim. "As many as you can get. State police. FBI. Whoever will listen."
"You want me to bring more people to a building we just blew up?" Dale's law enforcement instincts recoiled at the idea. "Why?"
"Because they need to see." The blonde woman—Amber—had recovered enough to join the conversation, though her voice still sounded raw. "The aliens have been operating in the shadows. Taking people. Replacing them. No one knows what's happening."
"We need to bring this into the open," Javier added. "You're the sheriff. They'll respond to your call."
Dale studied the faces around him—their expressions a mixture of desperation and determination. These weren't terrorists or lunatics, they were people fighting for survival.
He thumbed the transmit button. The scanner hummed to life, already tuned to the county emergency frequency.
"Dispatch, this is Sheriff Harmon." He kept his voice steady, professional. Years of radio procedure made the words automatic. "10-33. I have a major incident at Kelvin's Meat Packing Plant. Multiple casualties. Possible hazardous materials. Request all available units and state support. Repeat, this is a 10-33 emergency."
Static crackled for three long seconds.
"Sheriff Harmon?" The dispatcher's voice sounded surprised. "Didn't you tell us to ignore prank calls from the plant?"
Dale's blood ran cold. "Negative, dispatch. I've been investigating suspicious activity at the meat plant. We have a serious situation that requires immediate backup." He emphasized each word, willing the dispatcher to understand.
More static. Then: "Stand by, Sheriff."
Dale waited, eyes meeting Javier's across the van. Something wasn't right. Dale wasn't a dull individual and immediately guessed his clone must have used his identity to keep the operation under wraps.
After thirty seconds of silence, a new voice came through the scanner—male, authoritative, cold.
"All units, be advised. Individual identifying as Sheriff Harmon is a suspect in connection with the explosion at Kelvin's Meat Plant. Consider armed and dangerous. Believed to be in company of terrorist cell responsible for multiple attacks. Shoot on sight if resistance is offered. FBI and Homeland Security en route."
"They're deeper into your department than we thought," Javier said quietly.
Dale's face hardened as fury replaced shock. He'd spent twenty-seven years upholding the law in this county. Every deputy who'd serve under him, every dispatcher who'd taken his calls—he'd trained them, mentored them, shared meals with their families.
And now they would hunt him based on orders from a thing that wasn't even human.
"How far does this go?" Dale's voice came out as a strangled whisper.
The teenager snorted from the back of the van. "How far does it not go, is the better question."
"We've confirmed infiltration in law enforcement, military, government, and medical sectors, they are doing an admirable job of keeping everyone in the dark." Marcus said while lighting a cigarette. "Your town wasn't targeted randomly, Sheriff. This is happening everywhere."
Dale's mind raced through implications. If they had his department, they probably had state police too. Maybe even FBI.
"The deputies," Dale said suddenly. "My people. Do you know which ones are... replaced?"
Javier exchanged glances with Marcus. "Not all of them. Probably, we really have no proper way of checking, someone I know is working on it, but until then..." he said with a tired shrug. "If they shoot at you, shoot back."
Dale's jaw clenched.
"Chang, get us moving," Javier ordered quietly. "They'll be looking for the van now."
The engine rumbled to life. Dale stared out the window as they pulled back onto the road, his world fundamentally altered. Everything he'd built his life around—his authority, his community, the system he'd sworn to uphold—had been corrupted.
"Where are we going?" he asked, still processing the bitter reality.
"Somewhere safe," Javier sighed. "Somewhere we can think what to do next."
Dale looked down at his hands—still stained with orange gel and alien blood. They were trembling, not with fear now, but with rage.
"I want my town back," he said simply.
"And you will, eventually..." Marcus patted the man's shoulder, before noticing how slimy it was and wiping it on Remy's pants.
"Hey!"
-------------------------
Chang slowed the van as they approached the outskirts of Austin. Theearly sun had risen in the sky and illuminated a small park where joggers would normally be starting their morning routines. Today it was deserted, an eerie stillness hanging over the empty benches and playground equipment.
"This is as far as we go," Javier announced, turning to address the rescued townspeople huddled in the back. "We're dropping you off here."
The van rolled to a stop, and Chang cut the engine but left the keys in the ignition, ready for a quick departure.
Before opening the doors, Javier turned to face the group of disoriented citizens. His expression was grave as he surveyed the frightened faces.
"Before you go," he said firmly, "I need you all to understand something. Red Creek isn't safe anymore. Not for any of you."
A murmur of dismay rippled through the group.
"If any of you have family outside of town, that's where you should head," Javier continued. "Do not—I repeat, do not—go back to your homes if you can avoid it. The things that replaced you are still there, and they'll know immediately that something's wrong."
"What about our families?" asked a middle-aged woman Dale recognized as the elementary school librarian. "My children—"
"Your kids might not be your kids anymore," Amber cut in, her bluntness causing the woman to flinch. "That's the truth you need to face right now."
A heavy silence fell over the group as the horrible implication sank in.
Javier spoke again, his voice slightly softer but no less urgent. "We need help. Anyone willing to join us directly, we could use the extra hands. Those who can't—or shouldn't—we need other kinds of support. Money. Supplies. Safe places to operate. Information."
Dr. Peterson, the town veterinarian, was the first to respond. "My clinic is stocked with medical supplies. Antibiotics, painkillers, surgical equipment. It's yours if you need it."
Javier nodded, weighting the risks of going back for medical supplies.
One by one, they offered what they could—resources, information, potential hiding places. Dale watched as an underground network formed before his eyes, built from the everyday citizens of his town.
"For those of you leaving town," Javier said, reaching into a duffel bag at his feet, "take these." He pulled out a stack of prepaid phones still in their packaging. "They're burners, impossible to trace. Our contact information is already programmed in. If you see something suspicious or need help, call us immediately."
He passed the phones around, ensuring each person took one.
Finally, Javier pulled out a small metal lockbox from under his seat and opened it, revealing stacks of cash. "For those who can contribute financially, take this account number." He passed out small cards with handwritten details. "Every dollar helps us keep fighting."
As the group began to file out of the van, Dale noticed the teenager—Eli—watching him intently.
"You staying with us, Sheriff?" Eli asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the obvious question in his eyes.
Dale looked at the departing figures of his townspeople, then back at the ragtag group in the van. The choice seemed to crystallize in that moment—return to a life that no longer existed, or fight alongside these strangers against an enemy he barely understood.
"Yeah," Dale said finally. "I'm staying."
Appreciation flashed across Javier's face. "Good."
Chang gunned the engine, and they pulled away from the curb, leaving the small group of shell-shocked citizens standing in the pale morning light.