by Marcus Sloss
I belted into the auto-taxi and sure enough, as soon as I was belted in, the door slid shut on its own. An automated voice notified us we would be recorded while the vehicle was in progress and to acknowledge this warning or leave the vehicle. The dash-less interior pinged green as Willow and I accepted the warning and the electric motor whined as it sped into traffic. The vehicle had first class seating for two up front, with six more crowded spaces back in passenger class. There was no front section to the auto-taxi like in an older model car. A clear acrylic dome protected the interior and allowed full viewing of your surroundings as you traveled. There were no manual overrides in this design. A silver box nestled at the pinnacle of the dome and provided intelligent control of the vehicle. Below my seat sat the chassis, four electric motors, and anti-collision radar. The taxi had a trunk with ample space and additional batteries under the rear compartment. To balance the weight, the second battery housing unit was under the front axle.
My Gpad linked into the vehicle’s Gnet the moment we gave consent to be recorded. I had checked the box to have my face and identity blocked by the monitor, who was watching a thousand of these displays, and anxiously waited to see a red warning flare up. The auto taxis recorded all potential problems and if you caused any, or were being sought for official questioning, your next location and privacy was revealed to the authorities. Mentioning that aliens were coming and how we were all going to die, would flag the conversation and under normal conditions, would probably get you lumped in with the tin foil hat wearing idiots. I knew I would be throwing flags all over this city with my rash spending in the coming days, but if I was smart about it, those flags would be filed away for further monitoring and never reviewed.
The serene side streets of the old city blocks with their brick homes and fancy yards transitioned to a more commercial district. We increased our speed to merge onto a busy interstate. My gaze shifted to the oblivious people in other vehicles enjoying their trips. Most were glued into their Gpads or Isquares, although a few older folks still stared at cell phones screens. Government-provided Gpads, however, were the most common thing I saw people gleefully synced to. We bypassed a line of frustrated drivers, who honked as they tried to get off on a busy side road. Protestors there were trying to block gas consuming vehicles from using the ramp that led to one of the grandfathered gas stations still in business. In a few days, none of that would matter. I wanted to scream at the stupidity of the situation but clenched my teeth in irritation, instead.
My Gpad kept an auto running countdown that I flicked to check on. Twenty-two days and three hours read the countdown, straight from the NASA Gsite. The general populace were not completely unaware that there was an asteroid winging between Earth and the sun soon. The problem was that the transition date had changed three times already. Based on the fact that all three predictions decreased the arrival time, indicating the asteroid would arrive sooner than calculations predicted, I gave it a week until the news would break. I think the smart NASA guys who knew the truth were out of lies about why the asteroid was speeding up. Next time they updated the countdown, there would be very no excuse, especially when the real answer was ‘The aliens reacted and sped up after blowing our deep range observation satellites into smithereens’.
I came to the conclusion that the government would have to warn people a few days before it all went down. My hypothesis was that they would have to provide a real explanation as they started moving forces to lock down key sites with tanks and military units. You cannot move tanks around most locations without it becoming public knowledge. Then again, President Hansen might already be in a secret bunker thinking ‘fuck the world, I am safe. Peace out’.
I ignored the glimmering billboards that demanded my attention. The city of Denver bustled in the mid-day sunshine. Over the past ten years, the population had nearly doubled which had started causing problems. Construction cranes soared into the air across a growing skyline. Automated builders competed against human crews as the skyline got taller. The interior windows of first-class seating were both clear and ad-free, allowing me to see the advertising infested landscape. Simple windows from apartment homes now blared ads for those who still used ad-free combustion cars. My head bobbed up and down as I considered a world without those constant distractions, and I had to admit that I would not cry if advertising was eliminated by hostile aliens.
A flight of helicopters could be seen, far off in the sky to the distant south. My guess was they were training out of Fort Carson; it was the nearest base, being just over an hour away. Six blackhawks spun in a lazy u-turn and started to shrink against the cloudless skyline. Memories flooded back into my mind that I forced away. Without thinking about it, I had pressed my face against the glass to watch them maneuver. I wished we had a few of those in the coming days. Or a pilot. Those ideas flitted through my mind as I predicted military bases and big cities would be targeted. Even if the bases could defend themselves, they would not let a flood of civilians inside.
When Jevon arrived tomorrow, we would start scouting locations in the mountains to purchase. I already had a few that I had circled on my map during my planning. I let my drifting thoughts focus on the thousands of tasks that we needed to get done in the next few days. I tapped out a quick line on my Gpad, and sent a question to Torrez.
‘You at work? Send Status.’ - Eric
‘Yes clear’ - Torrez
‘Yes, clear … or Yes dear? Commas matter.’ - Eric
‘I finished English 12 and have read your reports. You forget commas more than Jasmine forgets my name.’ - Torrez
Jasmine was his three-year-old daughter who had only recently been reacquainted with her father. Torrez had been through hell with me and Jevon. The man had originally been arrested in Oklahoma by ICE. The moment he mentioned that, I was able to guess at the offer he received. Serve your country to become a citizen. Torrez had left his family in an Oklahoma detention center, waiting for his return. When we finally made it home, well -
The auto-taxi turned and I saw Pew-Pew Emporium. A string of protesters tried to block the entrance that a thin line of bored looking police kept open. Guns were controversial just about everywhere, these days. Leave it to those who refused to work, who collected free money from the government, to whine about social issues non-stop. I get that people hated guns. I happened to love guns and was thankful the Supreme Court, even with its liberal leanings, still upheld the second amendment and let respected citizens bear arms.
The whine of the electric motors went silent as our ride drifted to a stop and our doors pinged red. We were warned to exit with caution. A few steps later, we stood outside the shop. The parking area was surrounded by high metallic temporary fencing to keep the protestors out. Pew-Pew looked to be busy today, as vehicles packed the lot and people streamed in and out of the store. I smiled when I thought about why Pew-Pew Emporium existed.
Most of the little mom and pop gun shops had been shut down by hordes of protesters blocking their entrances. What they did to counter that hate was truly American. They banded together, rented an old K-Mart, secured the perimeter, and competed against one another under one roof. The Pew-Pew Emporium was a 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, gun show. Against all odds, it persisted.
“Why aren’t we going in?” Willow asked, as she watched our auto-taxi enter the queue to leave the parking area.
“Torrez is my friend, but he is not on the team … yet. Even if he declines now, I expect to keep him informed in case he changes his mind later. He has a three-year-old girl named Jasmine; he mentions her often. He… He…” I had to pause to keep a slew of horrid memories from consuming me. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Sorry. I owe him and he owes me. We have struggled to transition back to life as civilians. He also moved to Denver for DU. After starting school, he ran into too many issues. Hopefully, he’ll tell you about them—some other time—when he is ready.” I looked around us. “We should be safe to talk inside here. There will
be surveillance video, but no audio. With that said, I do not want to push him here, if he refuses to team up. That is why I paused. I needed to get my arguments in order. I figure he will come to us if life becomes chaotic. Today he might resist my recruitment pitch to head for the mountains, because his wife just moved here and prefers warmer weather. Maria can be feisty and unpredictable. Who knows, though, she could be all for hiding in the mountains until this is over.”
Willow gave me an approving pat on the shoulder and summarized, “Torrez is important and you want to avoid getting into a confrontation with him, and may need to give him the time he needs to decide. He knows the situation but does not have complete control over his home life. Got it. Now, how much can I spend and how are we going to get it home?”
“Unlimited,” I smirked, “Okay a tad exaggeration.”
She grinned and said, “Well, this should be fun. I think the auto taxis will limit what we can bring.”
“I got a plan, and we are not taking it home,” I continued, “As in DU, it is going somewhere better.”
I gave a friendly wave to some bikers wearing Marine Corps vests with veteran patches plastered across the front. No wonder Torrez loved this place. I felt at home around the hard faced comradery. Veterans … We’re just different. “They run deliveries out the back of this place via drones normally. We will have it put in a trailer to tow behind an RV or two. Before you get too excited about RV shopping, though, remember we have to wait to do that on Monday. When is your Mom arriving?”
“Aw, she will love hearing you call her ‘Mom’. Bit soon, though. Still,” she mused, “she is in a rough place, so go ahead and do it. She quit earlier today because of an ass of a trainer at her new job and is in her car headed this way already. When I told her to pack for a month, she replied ‘Duh!’” Willow said with a scoff. “She was probably reading the news, desperate for something to happen. Hopefully she won’t become overbearing. She… has been lonely since I went to university. She wanted me to stay in community college and at home forever, I think.”
“I will try to make her arrival pleasant,” I said with a smile,” and if she pesters me with questions, I will be happy to answer them.”
Willow poked me in the shoulder, “I see you relaxing here around all these guns and intense looking people. Back at the park, you were so tense you were somewhat unfriendly.”
“How about we go in?” I said and cocked out my elbow out for her to latch on to. “Also, don’t worry too much about your mother, I get the feeling she will do whatever it takes to survive. That woman managed to raise you, after all, what is a mere apocalypse?”
Willow jumped up and randomly licked my face. I pulled her hair to return the teasing gesture. Her eyes flared in delight and she bounced her eyebrows, asking for more. An eye roll and shake of my head resulted in batting eyelashes and pouty lips. Our chemistry was indeed heating up.
“You deserved that,” Willow said as we neared the store entry. “I agree though, more fun later. Shopping first!"
There were no metal detectors at the threshold of the Pew-Pew Emporium. A lone guard sat on an old four-legged brown stool with an M11 carbine resting across his armored chest. A First Cavalry Division horsehead was velcroed to the right side of the vest. He wore a hat over his crew cut but kept a short scruff on his cheeks and chin. Another veteran trend was that we grew beards but kept our hair neat—not everyone kept this style, but this man did. He gave me a quick inspection on our approach. I acknowledged him with an incline of my head, and he touched the tip of his hat for Willow.
The building had revolving doors that rotated in only one direction. The thick metal beams made a clear statement about the intent of the security, to limit the flow of people entering quickly. Judging by the number of protestors held back by the thin metal fencing and a few cops, I found the concept fitting.
We entered exactly what you would expect from a big box store. Bright LED lighting illuminated white floors and white pillars supported a flat roof. That is where the similarities stopped. The opening display for the Pew-Pew was model airplanes hanging from the rafters around a replica tank firing from behind a defensive berm. Kids climbing up the man-made hill and sliding back down the dirt seemed to be having a great time, ignoring the tank and a few ‘Do not Play’ signs.
A group of veterans handed pamphlets out to people as they passed by. I accepted the piece of yellow paper with black print scrawled over the surface. The signs to watch out for potential suicide and helplines for free mental health professional support stood out in bold numbers and I stuffed the paper in my cargo pocket. Even when things had gotten beyond grim, suicide had never been an option I thought I had. I know others did; suicide was not something to scoff at. In Saudi, I had found Private Cuomo’s body behind the berm after his weapon discharged. So sad. I buried the memories with a painful lump stuck in my throat.
Willow caught onto my emotions and rubbed her hand up and down my arm. I directed a fake smile her way as we trooped towards a billboard with a bunch of flyers pinned to it. This area was shop free. It provided a meeting spot, where billboards, posters, and people announcing various messages. I glanced over the notes and saw some veteran groups that were recruiting. A construction team was looking for manual labor, offering to teach the necessary skills on the job, and the pay was not bad. Veterans only though. There, eventually I found what I was looking for. I even recognized the handwriting. A white piece of paper had a single line written on it in red ink.
‘The asteroid approaching is a hostile alien; you have been warned.’
“Efficient.” I grunted, “But people will just think it is bat shit craziness without the video to support it, though.”
Hey, what are you doing?” Willow asked, as I grabbed a blue pen taped to the end of a long piece of twine that anchored it to the board. I wrote on the paper below Torrez’s writing. Willow stood over my shoulder and read out loud what I wrote as I wrote it. “I am the asshole buying all the ammo. This message is real and when you realize I was right you will be too late. Signed, Asshole.”
I chuckled. Okay, when a hot babe reads over your shoulder in a sultry tone, I guess it isn’t so annoying. Who knew? That done, I walked to the third store on our left, where I knew Torrez would be.
“You missed a comma back there,” Willow said.
“Ugh, not you too,” I groaned happily.
This old K-Mart had a dozen of these moms and pops little stores. They weren’t booths in the traditional sense, but conex containers welded together with the sides cut open to offer a wider buying footprint. The doors had been torched off and then re-welded back on so there were two swinging doors, which stood propped open when the store was open for business. Saturday afternoons were typically a good sales day. At least, that is what Torrez said. Traffic flowed in and out of the shops and people stopped to converse both inside and outside the containers.
The second store we passed played soft classical music. It was a pretty amazing hidden society they had here. Sure, not everyone was a veteran, but they also weren’t the death metal, mohawk wearing, tattoo-covered bad-asses you might expect. I happened to be wearing a regular DU white shirt - that smelt faintly of lavender from Willow - and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. A few men and women were in business attire as they shopped. The third store’s sign read ‘Colorado Springs Weaponsmithing & More’. Yup, that was where Torrez should be.
“Woah!” Willow said with a huge grin as we came into the store.
“Torrez!” I shouted into the store, “Where are you?”
I had never been a big believer in the separation between officers and their soldiers or not fraternizing with the enlisted. I had started life as popular kid in high-school, became a popular bouncer then a friendly jail mate, and remained a garrulous, charismatic man until we were abandoned in Saudi Arabia. I had not always been such a recluse and shut-in; seeing old friends and making new ones seemed to be just what I needed to pull myself out of my shell.
Miguel Torrez popped out of a small back room, hauling an ammo crate with .22 stenciled on the side of it. An elderly man was at the counter and he pointed to a place on the floor for the box to be set down.
“Be right with you, Cap” Torrez said.
“You made Captain?” Willow asked, thumbing through a rack of gray urban combat fatigues. They were slightly faded in color but would work great. “Wow, seven dollars? That’s it?”
I sensed a new arrival in the store who stopped behind me. An intensely muscled woman unplugged her single earbud that blared heavy metal. She wore a plain black biker’s vest without a single stitch on it. She kept the sides of her head shaved clean, and a mohawk stood in a proud crest. Her forearm had a tattoo that read ‘Try Me’. Okay, sometimes the proverbial shoe fits. The signs Willow had thrown out in her struggles to deflect male attention were immediately picked up on by this masculine woman. In this setting, I hoped conflict could be avoided. Post whatever hell the aliens unleashed … who knows.
“She is with me,” I said with a grunt.
“Such a pretty thing,” the woman admired Willow before turning to me and sticking out her hand. “Becca,” Becca said and shook my hand with a firm grip.
“Hey, I am right here,” Willow said as Becca and I started a squeezing contest.
“I’m Eric,” I said and smiled, applying a little more pressure, “I can cheat.”
“Your hand feels like my strap-on. You don’t think I know you’re wearing a cover? I want to see the strength of your … Aggh…” Becca grunted and yanked her arm back from my grip. Her face flared red as she shook out her hand. “Damn fine work. Mine is better. Check this out.”
Becca balanced on the tippy-toes of her right foot. A metallic clink sounded from her ankle where her long pants covered the joint. The bottoms of the jeans were frayed from drag damage. I watched as her pants start to spin and looked up. She held a hilarious ballerina pose while twirling in swift circles; her foot never moved.