Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

  Mary Lou stared at him for a moment, then spoke. “Am I going to die?”

  “Why, no. You were not that injured… Oh, I see. You think you are going to be harvested.”

  “That’s what you mechanical monsters do, isn’t it?” She spit out the comment with more bile than she thought she still had in her.

  Andrew sighed as any human would. Then his upper visor retracted from his eyes and forehead. She saw he had very human, hazel eyes. “I am still forty five percent human organic matter, give or take a few ounces of skin and organs. Some two hundred fifty of my comrades and I are from recent Earth born stock, modified to be cyborgs, what you and I call robocops. We joined over a thousand cyborgs created from pre-homo sapien genetic stock. But my brothers—as I call them—and I were all born of women.”

  “But you were constructed and now work for the Squids.”

  “Actually, I have been assigned to the Director. I follow his orders, unless his actions are about to get him killed, or maybe His Lordship killed. Or some young Tschaaa injured or killed. Then I decide what to do.”

  “You take humans…”

  “I took humans,” Andrew interrupted. “I have been taking humans to Key West, where the Director is setting up his headquarters, and the new capital of the areas and former states controlled by the Tschaaa. Not to Cattle Country. Not to be slaughtered for meat, but so that the Director can rebuild some resemblance of pre-Invasion society. The Protocol demands it.”

  Mary Lou stuttered, “B-but why? We’re just meat. The Squids eat us.”

  Andrew smiled. “Not anymore. That’s what Cattle Country is for. To provide fresh meat upon request or need. A Protocol of Selective Survival.”

  Mary Lou felt a bit dizzy. Then she realized she was on a very smoothly piloted airplane. Andrew must have read her expression.

  “We are on a rebuilt DC-3 from a Key West based local airline that survived the rocks. Actually, Tschaaa warriors from the ocean easily took out the resistance in Key West Naval Base, with few aerial strikes being needed. They left most of the local humans unmolested, per his Lordship’s instructions. He already had big plans for Florida Keys and its humans, even days after defeating the local military forces.”

  The huge man-creature then stood up slowly, staying crouched to keep from hitting his head on the roof of the aircraft.

  “You can rest now. Adam Lloyd will be back later to finish the conversation.”

  “Uh, Andrew… My family…”

  “They were not harvested. They were taken by other humans. Feral, maybe Krakens. We lacked the local resources to do an intensive search. This was one of the first attempts to bring order to the Occupied Areas. Soon, there will be Human Community Councils, overseen by my brothers, comrades. Then, amenities will return. But I will let the Director explain all of that. For now, rest. Do not be afraid, for you are under the protection of the Director.”

  As the man-machine moved forward in the aircraft, Mary Lou was surprised that she believed him. And she was not afraid.

  Mary Lou dozed, waking up still a bit groggy from the drugs and the depression of her loss. She knew the injection she had been given took a little of the edge off her emotional pain, but that it could all come crashing down on her at any moment.

  She looked up from her self-introspection to see the men called the Director and the Chief walking to the back of the airplane to her temporary bed. Mary Lou did not know how she should, or would, react to him. So she just laid still.

  “Mary Lou, I believe your name is,” the Director said. “May I ask your last name?”

  “Spencer. And you are Adam Lloyd. Some of the radio broadcasts made you seem like some savior.”

  This comment elicited a smile from Adam. “I guess an attempt at p.r. by some of my people.” He paused, his smile fading. Then he began again.

  “I know you feel like you were kidnapped, abducted…”

  “I was. Twice. Once by those assholes you killed. Then again by you.” Tears began to flow.

  “Why didn’t you just leave me there with my grief? I could have looked for survivors of my family, friends. Or I could have gotten revenge…”

  “You would be dead.” Adam Lloyd stared into her eyes. “As for revenge—the four individuals who ran out the back, as we were coming in to your location, were crucified. By my security detail and myself. As an example that there is, as the saying goes, a new sheriff in town.”

  Mary Lou sat up on her bed, looked at her hands. “I guess I should say thank you. But then again you are working for beings not much better than they were. Who could eat me at any…”

  “No.” The Director’s voice was loud and demanding. “Whether you and any other people believe me does not matter. What does matter is that I do have an agreement with the Tschaaa Lord who has control of North America. So, intermittent general harvesting in the field is coming to an end. Period.”

  Mary Lou looked deep into his eyes. Surprisingly, she believed him.

  “Okay. But the Squids will still eat other humans in what we hear is called Cattle Country. True?”

  “Yes. I do what I can, save who I can. Eventually, we may achieve the status of a client or service species with the Tschaaa, much like dogs are with us. Until then…”Adam took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “Until then, I try to set up a form of order in the areas actively controlled by the Tschaaa, Squids if you like. That is what I can do today. Tomorrow is another day.”

  “And me, Director? How do I fit in?”

  “Any way you can. You are a tough survivor. I can use people like you in Key West. Care to join? Believe me, it’s voluntary. Check it out. If you don’t like it, a free trip to the destination of your choosing.” Adam chuckled. “I just sounded like a game show host or a timeshare salesman.”

  Mary Lou suddenly stuck out her right hand. “Shake. It seals the deal.”

  Adam smiled, as he shook her hand. He also felt a strength in her grip, a strength of someone used to dealing in a tough world.

  “What was your career before…”

  “Internet web and software design. Still primarily a man’s world when everything fell apart.”

  Adam nodded. “Explains the firm handshake. You’re used to dealing with macho men.”

  Now Mary Lou finally smiled. “Immature macho men. Yes.”

  “Pardon my manners. May I present Chief Master Sergeant William Hamilton. My best friend and right hand.”

  The Chief stepped forward. “Ma’am. Welcome aboard.”

  “Who says I’m staying?”

  The Chief grinned. “You will. I’m a good judge of character.”

  This made Mary Lou laugh. She should be angry, or at least scared. But oddly enough she wasn’t. For the first time in ages, she felt safe.

  “Now, Mary Lou, if I may call you that. You can call me Adam in return—I don’t stand on ceremony. Please get some more rest. We will stop to refuel in a while at a field where we pre-positioned supplies. You can get out and stretch there.”

  Mary Lou looked at both of the men. “I guess I should say thank you, for getting me away from those Krakens. Thank Andrew also.”

  “No thanks required,” answered Adam. “Although Andrew may like to hear that. He may not look it, but he has a big human heart under all that hardware. Now, Chief, let’s leave the young lady to her rest.” The two men got up and walked back to the front compartment of the aircraft. Mary Lou laid down her head and was asleep within seconds.

  Up in the front compartment, the Chief turned to his friend.

  “Boss, are you going to tell her?”

  “What? That we found the remains of her friends and family, being readied for butchering by the rest of that group of Krakens and Feral assholes we saved her from? That I personally gutted them, left them with their intestines hanging out for the rats?”

  “Damn, Adam. Not that graphic. But, you know…”

  “Let her keep the fantasy that some of her friends and family may have survi
ved. At least until she gets settled. Then, I promise. The whole bloody story.”

  Andrew approached the two men. “Gentlemen. Again, I must protest. That wheeled harvester was the third one you have shot up and destroyed this week. As the old expression goes, they do not grow on trees.”

  The Chief grinned. “Did the Tschaaa have trees on their home world?”

  “The record banks I have access to say yes. The land areas had trees, bushes, and a form of flowers. But you are deflecting the discussion at hand.”

  “Oh, all right Andrew,” Adam said. “I’ll apologize to our Lord Neptune. Although I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing whenever I refer to him in that name. A Greek and Roman mythical god name? Why?”

  “Because he has a developed sense of humor when it comes to humans. Now, Director. I will insure that all of our harvesters and other resources are programmed and informed about the change in the Protocol, especially when you are in the area. That should help you and the Chief restrain your destructive urges.”

  “Bitch and moan, Andrew,” the Chief commented. “You complain like an old woman.”

  “Ah, but a very large and capable old woman. Which brings me to the point of you two allowing me to protect you…”

  “There you go again! Damn, you’re good at nagging.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on the Cyborg’s mouth. “I always strive to be the best that I can be.”

  With that, the Chief threw up his hands. “I need a drink.”

  The two friends began to laugh, as Andrew looked on and smiled.

  Humor was often the best medicine.

  AVENGING ANGEL

  Abigail Young sat with her back straight, as she waited to be called into the Prophet’s oval office. Michael Smith, Prophet and President of the Nation State of Deseret had the equivalent of both a governmental and a religious office, combined into one.

  The Prophet had the office added onto the edge of the large Tabernacle complex in Salt Lake City, soon after taking control as Prophet of the Church of Latter Day Saints. Not long after that, he had become President of the new Nation State of Deseret, since the United States as everyone had known it no longer existed. Michael Smith could have easily ruled over the survivors in the area formerly known as Utah—just by being the selected Church Prophet, since the overwhelming majority of the State had been Mormon. But, he had demanded a secular election, stating he did not want to be seen as a theocratic dictator to other surviving states and countries. Actions such as that had made him beloved by the majority of the electorate.

  Abigail Young looked up to him as a surrogate father, ever since her Uncle Buck had taken her to the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. He had brought her there shortly after her parents had died from radiation poisoning in the large area of contamination, caused by the Hanford nuclear reservation explosion. Something, possibly the Tschaaa, had started a chain reaction amongst all of the stored fuel rods and other nuclear waste material. Most of eastern Washington, much of Idaho, and the upper end of the Columbia River were soon awash with radioactive fallout and contamination. Safety experts claimed an explosion was impossible, but they had been proven drastically wrong.

  Nearly two years later, and her eyes still teared up thinking about that time. She was not even able to hug her parents goodbye, they were so contaminated from being caught outside and unprotected when the fallout came. Despite her uncle’s distaste of organized religion, he had been of the survivalist ilk and knew of the one group that often prepared for the worst: the Mormons.

  Now, just over fourteen years of age, she was part of a group of nuclear orphans, brought by people to the one possible sanctuary they could reach. Some had been Mormons, some not, but it did not matter. The Church of Latter Day Saints had accepted them all. One caveat that had developed over the years was fear that the children’s and teens’ exposure to radiation would make them unable, or unfit to bear children. Of course, such was the age of fear and paranoia, since the coming of the monsters now called the Squids—all possible threats were greatly exaggerated in the minds of many. Thus, out of twenty-four orphans, only four of the youngest were adopted out, all by people past child bearing age. The word “unclean” was bandied regarding those young people who had possibly been exposed.

  Hearing this, Prophet Smith had accepted them all as his children. The ones not adopted, soon to be known as The Twenty, were housed in a former hotel under the direct control of the Prophet. After settling in, he had called them all together, the children ranging from twelve years of age—as was Abigail—to fifteen.

  “My Children, we are all called by God, Our Lord, to do certain things, and perform certain missions in life. After much prayer and consultation with God, and due to the demons that have been visiting on us in form of the aliens, it has been illuminated to me the need for a special group of people. This group is to help combat these demons and other evil in the world. They will be special, will undergo much training, and will have to endure hardships, which others in Deseret will not have to endure. For they will be a force of good, used to smite the Evil Ones, and protect the faithful here in Deseret. In the tradition of early days of the Mormon Church, a force of new Avenging Angels will be created. You here, will be the nucleus for this, the first group of Avenging Angels. You, who have become known as The Twenty, will not be seen as outcasts, or unclean. You will be honored to the end of your days, and beyond. All I ask of you is your devotion, faith, and belief in this sacred mission. Now, let us pray for divine guidance and aid in the coming days. For we will need both.”

  The Twenty became devoted to the Prophet. In turn, he took care of them, even as he demanded much of them. They became child soldiers in an army of God. There was criticism by some that creating child soldiers was a form of abuse. But when the Prophet pointed out that no one seemed to want to adopt them as he had, and that this was the result of divine guidance, criticism soon disappeared. Life in the hotel turned barracks may not have been as easy as compared to normal life in a family, but they were well fed, received excellent medical care, and attended education classes. They also learned the skills of warfare and killing, as they were necessary to fight the Evil Ones.

  Now Abigail had been called before the Prophet. She looked at her bruised knuckles of her right hand, covering them with her left. Once again, she had been fighting. Now, it had reached the attention of the Prophet.

  A well-dressed woman, in a skirted business suit and coiffured brown hair, came into the waiting room.

  “The Prophet will see you now, Abigail Young.” The woman flashed a friendly smile, which did little to alleviate the fear in Abigail’s guts. She stood up, made sure her natural blonde hair was still in its tightly braided bun, smoothed her pressed combat fatigues, and walked into the Prophet’s Oval Office.

  Prophet Michael Smith stood up from behind his desk. Six feet in height, well-muscled but not huge, short and immaculate brown hair with just a hint of gray, Prophet Smith had the good looks of a Hollywood movie star. He grinned at Abigail as he greeted her.

  “Abigail Young…”

  “Sir, Avenging Angel Young reporting as ordered.” She stood at attention, straight and firm as a metal rod.

  “Oh, come now! Relax. Not so stiff. You are one of my children. Please, come closer.”

  Abigail tried to relax, tried to smile. She failed.

  Prophet Smith put his hands on her strong, yet feminine shoulders. “Let me look at you, Abigail. I must admit I have been remiss lately, not spending much time with members of The Twenty. I have been an absent father, and I must beg your forgiveness.”

  Abigail tried to say something cordial or friendly in response, but her mouth and voice did not seem to work.

  The Prophet, still smiling, let go of her shoulders and reached for her right hand. He raised it to near eye level, and Abigail began to shake nervously.

  “Hm. I guess you did injure yourself a bit in that little—shall we say—spat you had with those three young lads.”


  Abigail cast her eyes downward, her chin quivering. Her voice wavered as she tried to speak. “Prophet, I must beg forgiveness. I have brought dishonor with my inability to control my temper. I am…”

  Prophet Smith raised her chin with his hand, looked into her eyes, which were becoming damp. “Abigail, you are afraid. You are afraid of me and my displeasure. Please, you are my daughter. I am far from being displeased or angry with you. Believe that.”

  “But, Prophet, I…”

  “Here, please. Relax.” With that direction Michael Smith walked behind Abigail and pulled up a padded chair to the side of his large desk. The Prophet then leaned over to his office intercom and buzzed his female assistant.

  “Alice, bring us some cold drinks, please. Abigail, sit down. Please, now.”

  Abigail sat down and tried to control her emotions. She felt like she had let the Prophet down, and that she had been so bad, that she felt as if she would burst.

  Alice brought in some ice cold lemonade. The Prophet cancelled the prohibitions against drinking caffeine and alcohol in the early days of attaining his position, after one of many Revelations, stating that anything in moderation which did not harm you was to be used by the Children of God, especially in these times of scarcity and trouble. “It is your bad acts that become a sin, not some substance which the Lord produces or gives us the ability to produce, if the substance had some intrinsic worth. If we misuse it—that is the sin.”

  However, he still preferred lemonade when he wanted something cold. And of course, many people followed his lead.

  Abigail sipped at the lemonade, her stomach still in knots. The Prophet smiled. “Since you will not relax until we deal with what you feel is the problem at hand, let’s look at this report I have.”

  Prophet Smith opened a manila folder and began perusing the contents. “So, it seems three young men were bullying a youth much younger and smaller than them, yes?”

  “Yes, Prophet Smith.”

  “And you came to the young boy’s aid, correct?”

  “Yes, Prophet.”