Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

  “Well, bet you the Squids decided no one would hide with buildings crashing down,” said Jim.

  “Yeah,” agreed Darryl. “ I don’t think creatures who traveled millions of miles would not figure things out.”

  “Think we’ll find any guns and ammo in any of the stores, Godfather?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The Seattle city fathers and mothers, in all their wisdom, chased out any store or pawnshop that carried such items. Said it made people safer,” Darryl grunted. “Yeah, real safe. Until the Squids showed up.”

  They came across an SUV parked on the street with a piece of building edifice buried in its front windshield.

  “Bet you the driver ran,” Darryl said.

  He used the Asian Bowie to pop the driver’s side window and unlocked the doors. Jim looked in the rear cargo area and exclaimed “Bingo” Darryl went back and saw the reason for the comment. There was a full case of bottled water and canned dog food. Darryl pulled a large paper bag from the area and looked in.

  “Bottle of scotch. You drink, Jim?”

  “Not anymore. It almost destroyed my life. Jane and Jesus saved me, got me to become a pharmacist on the G.I. bill.”

  “Well,” said Darryl. “It's not for everyone. It can help relax people when they are in danger of being eaten.”

  Darryl and Jim split the water between their packs. As they tried to decide about the dog food, Jim looked up.

  “We have company, Godfather.”

  Darryl looked up and saw some half dozen dogs slowly advancing. One off to the right of the others was a massive shepard and mastiff mix.

  “Damn, that dog is big,” stated Darryl. “And she looks very pregnant.”

  “Want to chase them off?” Asked Jim.

  “Hmmm. Not the big one. Dogs make great watch animals. I have an idea.”

  Darryl broke down the case of canned dog food and began opening several. The ring top lids made this easy. He pulled a ballpoint pen from his pocket and used it to lever chunks of the food from the cans, then toss them around the street. He next threw the open cans towards the strays. He saved a full one for the massive dog. The dog grabbed the can with its jaws, walked back a few yards and crushed the can in its mouth. The crushing squished out much of the soft food. Darryl opened the second can and slowly approached the mastiff mix. He used the ballpoint pen to break up chunks from the dog food can and flipped them towards the massive dog. Eventually, the pregnant bitch moved to within a yard of Darryl.

  “How is ya doing, girl? Want some more?” He dropped the open can in front of him and took a half step back. The dog confidently stepped forward and ate the offered food. Darryl slowly stretched his hand out an brushed the dogs head. She turned her head and licked his hand.

  “I think you just made a friend, Darryl,” said Jim.

  “We’ll see if she follows us. Let’s check out that coffee shop on the corner.”

  The two men moved to the coffee shop. The front door had been smashed open. Darryl entered first, with the twelve gauge up on his shoulder. There was a bunch of dried blood on the floor and one broken display case. However, little else seemed disturbed. After making sure the back rooms and bathrooms were clear, they began to scavenge. They ignored the moldy sandwiches in the display cases and concentrated on packages of crackers, cookies, chips and snack cakes. Darryl also grabbed some two pounds of coffee along with some non-dairy creamer.

  “We’ll make some cowboy coffee, grounds in boiling water,” he said.

  Their packs now bulging, they exited the coffee shop.

  “Think a harvester interrupted the people who smashed in the door?” Asked Jim.

  “Yep. That’s why the goods were still so intact, but there was a bunch of blood on the floor.”

  Darryl paused and looked at the business next door.

  “Huh. A lawyers office. Hold up while I check that.”

  The door was shut but unlatched. With shotgun up, Darryl went in with Jim covering the rear. Everything was in order until the two men reached the back office. In the desk chair was a semi-mummified body, the dried brains of the individual splattered on the ceiling. Darryl went around to the back of the deck and found the pistol used to redecorate the ceiling.

  “Glock 40 Caliber. Ten rounds left.”

  Darryl removed the round in the chamber, fed it back into the magazine. He pulled the trigger of the empty weapon, put the Glock into his pack.

  “Locked door,” advised Jim.

  Darryl looked and saw it was secured with a large deadbolt. Out came his lock pick tools, and in five minutes he had the door open.

  “Well, I’ll be…” said Darryl.

  Inside the security closet was a wrapped bundle of long guns. A quick perusal resulted in a count of one pump shotgun, a Mini-Fourteen rifle, two scoped bolt action rifles, a single shot shotgun and a twenty-two semi-auto rifle. Sealed ammo can revealed a mishmash of ammunition that seemed to match the mini-arsenal.

  “Why is all this here?” Jim asked.

  “Well, it’s either held instead of payment or for one of his clients under indictment who could not have firearms. Either way, the gods are smiling on us.”

  The two men soon had the long gun loaded in a wheeled golf bag they found in the same closet, sans clubs. Darryl also found a lid of marijuana in the lawyer's desk along with a small baggie of heroin.

  “Good for medicinal purposes,” Darryl stated.

  “Wonder why he shot himself?” Jim asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe the guy knew his world as a scum sucking lawyer was at an end. What else was he good for?”

  The two men laughed and exited the office. The oversized Mastiff mix was waiting for them, wagged her tail.

  “She likes you, Godfather.”

  “Good, Jim. We need all the help—"

  Before Darryl finished his statement, the pregnant female dog turned and growled. The two men stopped, listened. Finally. Darryl thought he heard an electric engine.

  “Shit!” exclaimed the Godfather. “Take cover behind the wrecked SUV.”

  Darryl and Jim scrambled to the cover of the vehicle. Jim yanked open the ammo box. He grabbed and tossed a twelve gauge slug round to Darryl, dug out several nine-millimeter rounds for their pistols. Darryl replaced the buckshot round in the shotgun with the slug, then fed a couple of more shells into his handgun. The dog barked.

  “Come here, girl. Come here,” Darryl called out. The dog stood and growled at the advancing threat.

  “I thought harvesters only took humans,” Jim said.

  “Maybe. And maybe a barking, growling dog will piss it off.” He pointed across the street.

  “Jim, head over there, by the building wreckage. Here, take the Glock. We’ll try a crossfire. Remember to cover your eyes if that thing points its light weapon at you.”

  “Will do.” Jim then sprinted to where Darryl had indicated. No sooner had Jim taken cover than the harvester appeared, whirring down the side street. As usual, the sight of the alien machine made him shake. He did not want to to be eaten.

  The Mastiff mix began to trot around, barking and growling. The harvester ignored the canine, seemed to know there was human prey about. As it passed Jim, the trained military man shot two nine-millimeter rounds into the back of the large light beam weapon carrying ball-shaped turret. Darryl thought he saw one jacketed bullet penetrate the metal of the turret. The harvester Rob turned its dome front towards Jim. Darryl popped up from behind the SUV and controlled his shaking enough to fire a shotgun slug in the same area as the nine-millimeter bullets had hit. The slug round definitely penetrated. The shock of the slug caused the harvester to spin its entire mechanical body around to face a new threat. Jim stood up and emptied the forty caliber Glock into the back of the metal beast. The robot turned again, and Darryl fired his second slug next to the penetration hole of the first. Sparks began to emanate from the hole. The harvester started to spin around on its axis as smoke, and more sparks came from the dome. There was an
internal explosion, and dark smoke gushed out from the machine. It froze in mid-spin as the smell of burning electrical wiring filled the air. The Mastiff ran up to the harvester and bit at one of its rubber covered wheels. Sparks flew from the bullet holes, and the dog jumped back. Then, silence.

  Darryl clambered from behind the SUV, grabbed his pack and the golf cart.

  “Let’s act like sheep and get the flock out of here,” he called out to Jim. The other man did not have to be told twice. He ran and grabbed one side of the wheeled golf bag as Darryl pulled on the other. To say they probably beat some land speed record with a golf bag was an understatement. The Mastiff mix trotted behind.

  An hour later, Darryl had his third shot from the recovered bottle of scotch to steady his nerves. Why the thought of being eaten after he was dead was so terrifying to Darryl over all the other threats he had dealt with in his life was beyond Darryl’s comprehension.

  “I guess I need a shrink,” he mumbled to himself. Angie walked up to him.

  “So what is the big dog’s name, Godfather?” The young girl asked.

  “Hell, honey, I don’t know. Go ask her.”

  “You know dogs don’t really talk, don’t you?”

  “Well, Angie, there is always the first time for everything.”

  An exasperated Angie walked back to the Mastiff mix, who was getting to know King. The growing puppy was wriggling with joy at having another dog around. The pregnant bitch flipped him over and sniffed him all over. Then she lay down and began to give him a good tongue bath.

  “I guess we didn't keep him clean enough,” Darryl said to himself.

  “You okay?” Joanne was the questioner.

  “As okay as I’ll ever be after coming close to being butchered and eaten by some bug-eyed monsters.” The Godfather started to pour another shot, then stopped himself.

  “I guess my Good Catholic upbringing is working against me. I can’t be buried in a decent cemetery if I’m in some Squid’s stomach.”

  Joanne stepped up and hugged him. “You’re too tough and ornery to eat, Godfather,” she said.

  “Glad you think so, my dear. How’s Mary?”

  “Better. Jane’s feeding her some of that powdered soup you two brought back. You did good in the scrounging department.” Joanne frowned, then continued. “Except for this big ass dog that will eat us out of house and home.”

  “She and her pups will help keep us and all the others who come here safe. They’ll warn us when there are Squids and such around. I’ll go out and find some dog food tomorrow.”

  “No, you won’t, Godfather. Jim and I will. You’ve done enough.”

  Darryl looked at Joanne and saw that look that women get that tells a man not to argue. He patted her arm. “Okay. You win,” said Darryl.

  Angie dashed up. “Her name is Diana!” she blurted out.

  “And how do you know that?” Darryl asked.

  “She told me, silly. You said she would.”

  “Diana, as in Princess Diana, of Wonder Woman fame?”

  “Why yes, Godfather. How did you know?”

  He smiled, then hugged Angie. His family was getting bigger. Time to make some plans.

  “Joanne. When you get a chance, we need to expand into that Import Store next door. Then scope out some other locations for survivors who show up.”

  “Won’t that attract harvesters, Squids?” asked Joanne.

  “We have more firepower now. And I know the harvesters are not as tough as they look after today.”

  He surveyed the scene of humans and canines.

  “Dogs and humans conquered their world once before. We’ll do it again, now.”

  It was a little over a year later, and Darryl was the Godfather of First Avenue for some four city blocks. Plus he was expanding up to Second Avenue. Darryl had to in order to find room for the survivors and refugees. About a week after he and Jim had killed the harvester, some dozen disparent people showed up. One was even an African American little girl named Emily, all of six years old.

  “Where are your parents?” Jim had asked her. She began to sob.

  “Goddamn Squids. I guess they are focusing on people of color,” stated Darryl. He walked over, picked Emily up and hugged her. “I’m your Godfather now. We’ll take care of you.”

  More people began to come in dribs and drabs. All had similar stories. The harvesters were becoming more selective on their prey, and preferred people with darker skins.

  “Great. Racist aliens,” Darryl grumbled. But the horrors were not ending. For some of the survivors brought stories of humans who were helping the Squids.

  “They’re called Krakens?” Darryl asked Juan Pena, a dark-skinned Mexican who had just arrived with his family

  “Si, Patron. I mean, yes, Godfather. They have tatuajes, tattoos of their masters on their faces and bodies.”

  “You mean they have tattoos of squids and octopus on them?”

  “Yes, Godfather. They are marks of pride to them.”

  Darryl began to curse long and hard. He even combined words no one there had heard before. Then he stopped.

  “I understand another species eating us,” said Darryl. “But humans helping them? That is Evil.”

  “They also have the robocops, Godfather. The big half man, half machine,” added Juan.

  “Have not seen those yet. Hope we don’t.”

  Darryl called over to Mary and Joanne, his housing coordinators.

  “Ladies. Another family to place, if you please.”

  Jim walked up to the Godfather. The tall human had become the right hand man for Darryl. His steadiness and honesty helped Darryl keep everything together.

  “We need more food, Godfather.”

  “You cleaned out the Federal Building and surrounding offices?” Darryl asked.

  “Yes. I think it’s time to head towards the Ferry Terminal. I know it’s close to the water, but—"

  “We may finally run into those Squids we heard were snooping around. Well, time to see if it is true, that they have stopped harvesting us around here.” Darryl sighed. Then he called out.

  “Angie. Can you get me that fishing gear you found?”

  Jim stared at him.

  “Isn’t that like poking the bear?” asked Jim.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We have seen neither hide nor hair of harvesters for months.”

  Jim shrugged at Darryl’s answer.

  “You’re the boss. You’ve been right so far.”

  “Well,” added Darryl. “We will be armed with rifles in case a harvester comes around. Or we see our first Kraken.”

  Just over an hour later, every hook, line, and sinker Darryl and Jim put in the water off of the ferry dock netted a good sized fish. The two-man team soon had an example of almost every saltwater fish they had ever seen.

  “Man, where did all these fish come from?” Asked Jim.

  “No boat traffic, no other humans, they’ve been reclaiming some of the areas around the Port of Seattle as theirs,” replied Darryl. “Next the seals and sea lions will come back.”

  “How about Orcas?”

  “Good question, Jim. I wonder if they are a threat to the Tschaaa?”

  “Good afternoon, humans.” The loud slightly accented voice came from behind them. Darryl slowly turned around and saw his first robocop. How such a large being had snuck up on them was beyond his comprehension. It looked like a character from now-defunct Hollywood, with a helmet, and visor covered head. The jaw on the close to seven-foot cyborg looked a bit more massive than one on a Homo sapiens. Jim slowly reached for his pistol and Darryl motioned “No.”

  “Ah, good afternoon, Mister,” Darryl said.

  “You may call me Ismael. It is a pleasant sounding Earthling name. My ancestors came from Earth, but they were not Homo sapiens.”

  “That must have been a long time ago-Ismael.” Darryl had learned how to talk with psychotic killers while in the Mafia. Those skills would serve him now.


  “Yes. Millions of your years I believe.”

  “So, Ismael. I’m Darryl, this is Jim. I take it we are not on the menu,"Darryl stated.

  “Menu? Oh. I understand,” replied Ismael. “No, my Lords have their own source of cattle, of meat. Plus some have re-developed a taste for fish.”

  “Well then, Ismael. What can we do for you?”

  The statuesque being stood rock still for a moment, as if deep in thought. Then Ismael answered.

  “The Breeders and female Caretakers want me to inform you to stay away from that area you humans called the Seattle Aquarium. It is a breeding Creche area for the Tschaaa young. If you harm them, even by accident, your existence will be terminated. Do you understand?”

  Darryl knew he and his community were on a tightrope, and the answer he gave could lead to the collapse of everything. He swallowed and tried not to shake as he answered.

  “Uh, I have not seen Breeders or Tschaaa young. I have only heard them described.”

  Darryl thought he heard some clicks, felt high-frequency vibrations. Again the robocop spoke.”

  “Turn and look where you fishing lines are placed.”

  Darryl and Jim turned slowly and looked down into the water. Staring up at them was a large cephalopod shape with huge eyes. As the two men stood in shock, much smaller versions of the creature appeared. Breeder female and young looked up the two humans, barely moving in the sea.

  “Would they like some fish?” the Godfather finally croaked out.

  “That may be an acceptable action.”

  Jim bent down, picked a large flounder they had just caught. He held it up for the being called Ismael to see.

  “That will do,” Ismael stated.

  Jim tossed the fish near the Breeder. Five digit hands grabbed the offered fish. The Breeder held it out of the water, making some half-dozen young Tschaaa try to crawl up her to grab the prize. Then the creatures disappeared into the darkness below.

  “I will go now,” said the robocop. Jim finally found his voice.

  “Will we see you again?” asked Jim.

  “Perhaps, human. Please stay away from the Breeder area.”