Blood Red City by Justin Richards

convinced him he was looking for a needle in a field full of haystacks. Now, looking back, he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
    But on his last trip, he’d driven past a sign to the Mount Wilson Observatory. Maybe that was his local angle? The astronomers on our doorstep … He found the number and gave them a call. The next afternoon, he was driving out of Los Angeles again – but this time with a defined destination and a specific purpose.
    The Mount Wilson Observatory was a collection of small buildings hidden away amongst the trees. The pale structures could be glimpsed through and above the woods as you approached. A narrow lane afforded the only way in.
    The interviews went better than he had expected. It turned out that one of the senior staff at the observatory had actually been at the Astronomical Society meeting. They were happy to show him the telescope and explain what they did – some of which Jed understood. He took copious notes and snapped a few photos.
    He waited until he was leaving before asking, as casually as he could, if any of them had seen anything on that night back in February when it seemed like Los Angeles was under attack. There were some exchanged glances, but it seemed that no one had seen anything unusual.
    â€˜Hell of a light show though,’ the senior guy – Meredith – said. But no, he assured Jed, no one had seen anything. There were no unexplained sightings in the sky on the night of 24 February. And thank you for coming, it had been a pleasure.
    It was a disappointment, but hardly unexpected, Jed thought as he returned to his car. The photos had come out blank and even under a magnifying glass they’d remained defiantly devoid of detail. No one had seen anything that would help him find out where the strange craft he had seen was from, or where it went. If he had seen it – he could barely recall now what he had witnessed. A shadow, a trick of the light … Time to let it drop. Again.
    The tap on the window made him flinch with surprise. It was one of the men from the observatory, probably come to check he knew the way back to the main road. Jed wound down the window.
    â€˜It’s OK, I remember the way. And I’ve got a map.’
    â€˜A lot of what we do here is government funded,’ the man said. Trevor, Jed remembered his name was, though that could be his first or last name. ‘Or at least, dependent on the government’s good will.’
    â€˜I guess it is,’ Jed replied wondering where this was leading.
    â€˜So you can believe us when we tell you we saw nothing. Back in February, I mean. We saw nothing at all.’
    â€˜I don’t doubt it.’
    Trevor nodded. ‘Good. That’s good. Because,’ he went on, ‘if we had seen something it probably would have been to the south east of here. There’s a few farms out that way – let me show you.’
    He gestured for Jed to pass him the map he had open on the passenger seat. ‘This is the area I’m talking about.’ He pointed to the empty space on the map south east of where the observatory was marked, broken only by a few thin roads on their way to somewhere else. ‘Just to save you the journey, you understand. But there are a few farms and a couple of homesteads in that area. If you ask people down there, they probably won’t have seen anything either.’
    *   *   *
    There were photographs of everything in the Vault. Even of himself, soon after he arrived, helping to catalogue and label some of the artefacts and one of the dead creatures.
    Hoffman paused, his fingers glossing against the surface of the photograph. He looked so young. So naïve. So human.
    He set aside his emotion, like flicking a switch he turned on his concentration and returned to the task, leafing through each picture. A steady, systematic movement. As soon as he finished one box, he returned it