There were flashlights set in the tops of the helmets, and the light bobbed up and down as we went at least half a mile down the path. We’d only seen a few other staff, who had also been wearing big suits, and none of them had any identifiers on them. I hadn’t seen any of the people who were supposed to shoot me if I wandered off, but I had no doubt they were out there, watching us with high-powered rifles and night-vision devices. I was not going off the path. No, sir. Place like this, you could get retina cancer just from glancing off the path too hard.

“This particular storage unit wasn’t cataloged. It didn’t show up on any of our maps or tables. The units around it all date from 1943 to 1945, so that’s our approximate time frame. Somebody stuck it in the ground and didn’t so much as make a note. No idea what project it originated from or what the nature of the unit was. I hate, hate, hate when they do that.”

“Have you been down yet, Major?” Franks asked.

“Hell no. Not going to, either. Once you people say the case is closed, we’re going to cover it back up and stick a sign on it that says ‘Do Not Touch.’ I don’t want any of my people involved with it. We’ll stick to safe things, like anthrax. I thought we had all of these damned Decision Week leftovers cataloged by now. Last time MCB was out here was when a hard rain revealed one of their experiments. A deer was exposed to it and grew tentacles instead of antlers. Tentacle deer…The Army doesn’t pay me enough to deal with that kind of shit.”

That was the second time I’d heard mention of Decision Week tonight.

“Who else went in?”

“Just the team from your agency, couple of hours after we sounded the alarm. They poked around, took some pictures, decontaminated, and flew out.”

Franks stopped. “Which team?” I bumped into him. Rubber squished and squeaked. It was very awkward.

“Two men, one woman. Good looking redhead, that one…” the Major stopped when he realized Franks wasn’t moving. “Let me guess, not MCB? Their credentials said MCB and they had all the right approvals. So, far as I’m concerned, that’s who they were, and I don’t ask questions.”

So the missing Unicorn team had been here already. That was news to Franks.

The major began walking again. “Heh, you black helicopter types, always with the games.”

“It’s no game,” Franks muttered.

“My job is to watch things so awful that a single vial could kill a city. Anything less than that sounds like games to me.”