Storming Area 51
Thirty-five awesome stories -
one kick ass meme that started it all.
It started as a joke.
Storm Area 51 they said.
"They can't stop us all," was the battle-cry.
But all laughter stopped when the U.S. Air Force mobilized
the reserves and pulled out the big guns.
It was too late, relentless mockery and derision by the media and the powers that be had pushed the weebs and alien enthusiasts too far.
What else were they supped to do?
They put on their big girl panties and showed up, determined to find out exactly what was hidden behind the walls of the clandestine government facility.
Buy this book and share in the terrible secrets concealed deep behind the barbed wire, fences, and armed guards.
~~~Here's a snippet from The Trip Home~~~
The Winnebago broke down just east of small town called Pahrump, Nevada. In late July, the desert was everything anyone would expect it to be…hot, dusty, dry, and miserable. Megan Ramirez paid no attention to any of these things because all she wanted was a damn cell signal. Wandering the parking lot of this easily forgettable garage/gas station mix with her cell phone in her hand, she raised it up as high as her five foot six frame could get it, all the while bitching under her breath like she had turrets syndrome.
Family vacations were the worst. Period.
“Megan!” her mother yelled out to her.
“I think I got a bar!” she replied, refusing to walk toward her mother, even though she fully understood that’s what the woman wanted.
“Give it a break, Megan. The man inside said that you’re not going to get a signal around here anyway, not with our cellular provider at least. So come here.”
The tone was not a suggestion and Megan was old enough to know better than to dawdle any longer. However, she sighed dramatically at the news and stomped over to her mother to express her displeasure at nausium.
Mrs. Ramirez motioned Megan inside and this time she did as she was told without hesitation.
Thankfully, the relief from the summer sun and desert heat was immediate. Megan sighed again, but this time in appreciation of air conditioning. “I almost had it.”
“Sure ya did,” Megan’s younger brother said, plopping his emo-self down onto a bench, rolling his fourteen-year-old eyes at her as the desert dust clung to his all-black attire.
“Do shut up, Bryce,” Megan snapped.
“Megan,” scolded her mother.
“I’ll be wandering the store,” Megan replied, and walked off without waiting to be told if she could or could not explore the gas station goodies.
For every place they’d stopped, Megan had found some sort of souvenir to track her journey. Usually it was magnet or some other tchotchke. This time she found a bottle opener with the name, Pahrump, Nevada, on it. Selecting a flavored water beverage from the cooler, Megan caught a glimpse of herself in the corner mirror and immediately shoved her phone into the back pocket of her jean shorts so as to fix her wind blown hair.
Pulling the red scrunchy out, she smoothed her chestnut brown hair back from her face and redid the high ponytail. Hands in pockets, she shuffled her feet as she made each aisle last longer than it should until she spotted a small, countertop, revolving platic holder full of sunglasses. Seeing as Bryce had officially killed her last pair that morning, she belined for them.
By the time she put on the fourth pair, she heard someone behind her say, “I like those on you the best.”
She turned to see a good looking young man, easily a few years older than her, with blue eyes and wavy light brown hair that he kept shaved short on the sides and back. He was easily six foot tall and when he smiled, Megan’s stomach flipped.
“Ya think?” she asked as she turned dramatically to fully face him, her elbow hitting the sunglass holder, sending many of them everywhere.
“Well, fuck,” she whispered.
He laughed as a few more tumbled to the ground and she prayed none broke.
Megan felt her face go red so she quickly looked at the floor, and with a groan, squatted down to pick some of the glasses up.
He lowered to one knee and began to do help her. “Flimsy holder, huh?”
“Uh, yeah,” came her oh-so-pithy reply as she finally looked up at him nervously.
He smiled wide at her again and she about dropped the glasses in her hands.
“I’m sure you’re not the only knock them over,” he said. “And yes, I do think those are the best ones on you.”
Megan touched the Aviator knock offs she had on and said, “Thanks.”
He put out his empty hand. “I’m Cole.”
Megan moved all the glasses to her one hand and shook his with the other. “Megan.”
A tiny shock went through Megan’s palm at his touch but she chalked that up to static electricity, or her stupid attraction to him, and then promptly pretended it never happened.