by Grover Young
The Last Holidays
by Grover Young
Copyright © 2015, 2017
BigCloset / DopplerPress / Kindle Edition
January 2017
An earlier version of this work was available under the title “End of Holidays”
Produced by DopplerPress
Brielle, New Jersey
DP-01-23-17-TLH-GY
Publisher
Joyce E. Melton
Editing and Proofing
Tom Peashey
Catherine Linda Michel
Design and Typography
Joyce E. Melton
Cover Design
Alex Gavrilas via Fiverr.com
The Last Holidays
by
Grover Young
Table of Contents
The Last Halloween
Chapter One
Epilogue
The Last Thanksgiving
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Epilogue: Far away in another Universe.
The End of the World: The Last Christmas
Macdill AFB
New Years Eve
Boxing Day December 26
Epilogue
The Last Valentine.
MacDill AFB
China
Russia
Assembly of African nations
Assault Team Sparta
Joint Alien Warfare Intelligence Center
The Farm
The Last Valentine Part 2
Lookout Point.
Republic of the Congo Allied Expeditionary Force
LA Defense Zone Seventh Infantry Division
Atlantic Ocean Navy Research Station Zulu
US Air Force Secure Facility 'The Snake Pit'
Pacific Ocean
The Congo
Cape Canaveral Florida
Operation Artimisma
Sol system
Arkham Containment Zone Spring Equinox
Easter Sunday
In a universe far, far away...
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. None of the characters, places, or anything else are meant to represent anything in reality. All rights reserved.
THE LAST HOLIDAYS
by
Grover Young
The Last Halloween
9/13/2019
“When things are their darkest, people become more determined than ever to celebrate the simple fact that they're still alive.”
Definitions of three possibly confusing P's!
Prometheus: A Titan, from the Greek myths, who stole fire from Olympus and gifted it to mankind. He was punished by Zeus, who chained him to a rock where an eagle tore at his liver every day until he was freed by Hercules.
Pantheon: The family of gods belonging to a people.
Parthenon: The primary temple to the Greek goddess Athena in Athens and considered the finest example of Doric architecture. A reproduction is in Nashville, Tennessee USA.
Chapter One
I shuffled along, careful not to slip or slide on the icy, treacherous sidewalk. My uniform's boots gave me reasonably good traction, considering the piss-poor weather conditions, but it never hurt to be cautious. Even with my mittens, my hands were numbingly cold from the brisk breeze blowing across the bay. Passing by a row of long dead, ice covered palm trees, I had to snort at life's irony. Just a decade ago, everyone was worrying about global warming.
Funny how things can change so damn fast; it can make your head spin. Once upon a time, nobody would've been able to even conceive of this kind of weather this far south. Hell, this part of Florida didn't even used to see the last dregs of summer until this time of year, Halloween.
Damn, but I could recall the event that changed it all, even if no one thought much about it at the time. All this untold misery was caused by a small car sized space probe by the name of Voyager One. On September, Friday the 13th, back about ten years ago, it was officially announced that Voyager had pulled an Elvis and had left the solar system. Well, that is it'd actually departed around a year before, but nobody had realized it, given some scientific techno babble about magnetic fields not doing what was expected by the brains in charge.
If they really had known what was about to happen, that argument between the know-it-alls would've never happened. They would've instead been trying to do everything in their power to silence the damn thing so it never would've been found.
You sure could tell when you were on night club row these days. Even with the frightful weather, there were lots of folks out to have a good time. No matter the War and the threat to our very existence hanging over our heads, people would always find an opportunity to party. Perhaps it was because of it all that everyone was celebrating so enthusiastically. Better to go out with a bang rather than a whimper, I suppose.
Personally, I was having a harder time with this particular social occasion. Honestly, yours truly was having serious second, third and fourth thoughts about going to this party, but I had promised. As Sheila put it, who knew if we would get to see another Halloween at all?
Of course our extinction wasn't a done deal, not yet. Humanity was fighting like a covey of pissed-off wildcats backed into a corner, and it helped that the bad guys weren't exactly doing this 'War of the Worlds' invasion thing in the smartest possible way. Maybe, it was more accurate to say they weren't humans, and some of the things they did made absolutely no logical sense to us.
Like just hanging around in orbit, coming to ground only at odd times, sometimes like gangbusters, and in other instances, they appeared to be just poking around. Believe me; it wasn't because we couldn't hurt them, because we've wrecked plenty of their toys. That is, once we could reach the bastards.
Perhaps that was part of the problem. Most of the Aliens' military equipment and vehicles were robotic, just like those the US and other militaries had been developing before the War. They were all nice and comfy up in orbit aboard their ship, and could take their time with their 'bots and drones doing all the nasty work. It was rare as hell to see one of the bad guys in the flesh down here with dirt on his boots. That was saved for very special occasions, although it usually baffled the hell out of us as to what triggered it.
I'd witnessed firsthand one of the events our unwanted Visitors had deemed important enough to get personally involved, and that one at least, I knew damn well why. That would be a day I would never forget. I'd been so excited by the possibilities that'd been offered to me, to all of us in the program. Project Prometheus promised nothing, but if you got lucky, you 'really' got lucky.
Standing outside the club, my breath steamed as I procrastinated. Sheila was one of the very few people who knew the outcome of my Prometheus experience. Personally, I found it profusely embarrassing and awkward in the extreme. That did not include the guilt. Take your pick of the flavor: survivor's guilt, letting my country and comrades down or just plain old fashioned failure.
Despite it being cold enough to chase Polar Bears inside to the warmth, I just couldn't make myself do it. While I'd asked myself a hundred times how she'd talked me into this, it was a dumb question. When you had a crush like I had on her, she could pretty much ask me to do anything and I would agree. Sure, I would kick myself in the ass afterward, but tell her no? Sadly, not a chance.
Sighing, I looked on as other well-bundled, costumed party goers hurried inside, out of the cold. Laughing and eager to have a good time, they were all too focused on getting out of the icy weather to pay any attention to me.
I had to smile at the thought that if cell phones were still around, she would've already called, demanding to know where I was. With as good as our unfriendly Visitors were with computers, such things were unwise. Ah, for th
e good old days when you only had to worry about the NSA listening in, instead of Aliens with the means of dropping very unpleasant things onto our heads. We had learned the hard way that relying on anything computerized or remote controlled was just asking for it to be taken over and used against us.
So forget all that drone and robot shit. It was live pilots and drivers with as little automation as possible. Of course, we'd made up the difference by boosting the hell out of our people. Even more ironic is that the technology to do that came from the bad guys.
It was more of humanity using its creative talents to the utmost when it had nothing to lose. We adapted their captured tech and did things with it that had all the science guys wondering why our Visitors didn't use it in the same ways.
Duh! Aliens, some simply said, while others worried at the long term problems we just didn't know about yet. Me, I thought it was likely a combination of the two. Oh, sure they were strange; however, they so closely resembled us, so most of the things that were bad for us were bad for them.
It was that old form and function thing again. On worlds similar enough that we could each not just survive, but thrive, certain things had to be the same. And no, it wasn't a coincidence. The Bug-Eyed-Monsters who found the Voyager couldn't survive on Earth any more than we could on an inhospitable place as nasty as their home-world. However, being enterprising, they went shopping for the perfect buyers who were willing to take on a nice fixer upper. So what if the joint already had tenants. We had, after all, provided them with the perfect sales brochure with all that stuff about Earth and us that we so thoughtfully added to that damn space probe on that damn gold record.
I remembered an old SF author who once said interstellar war was impossible. The enormous energy expended just to travel such distances at all would make any kind of warfare impractical. That is unless you waited till you got to your destination and used the system resources there to build your weapons.
At least, that was the current thinking. We knew they had come in only one ship, and while it was a big sucker, it wasn't that big. Add in them setting up some kind of big operation on the Moon and it was a reasonable guess they had put factories up there. That all explained why we saw mostly robots and drones. They just might have a limited number of warm bodies, but they had all the war machines they needed. No matter how freaking many we blew up, they could always make more. Of course, each succeeding model was usually improved to foil our latest weapons and tactics at destroying the damn things.
A flake, drifting down from the dark heavy clouds, melted on my chilled cheek. Just perfect, I sighed again as more snow began to fall. Damn 'lake effect' coming off the bay meant it would become even more unpleasant out here.
Closing my eyes, I did my honest best to psych myself up for this, focusing on how many of my fellow Prometheus 'graduates' who'd already given the ultimate sacrifice for Mother Earth and the human race, I really tried.
At last I heard, there were only a couple hundred of us, out of the many thousands who had tried, that had drawn that wild card that made the Prometheus Project so worthwhile. However, having our dear Visitors blow the hell out of your facilities each time you used the things tended to slow things up. That didn't stop the Project whatsoever. Despite the costs, the rewards for even one success were worth it. After all, what Army wouldn't want a Superman, Spiderman or Witch Blade?
I even wallowed in the survivor's guilt from not only walking away from that first use of the captured alien tech, but of all of those who had given their all, while I had as many if not more 'gifts' as any but just couldn't push one damn it to hell button.
It was more than that of course, but I just had to complicate things for myself. You know, that 'my own worst enemy' thing. The weight of the Q-Box on my belt felt as heavy as lead instead of the barely noticeable plastic box. Although it had an acronym that had some kind of cool meaning in some dead language, all of us simply called them Q-Boxes because everything after the Q for 'Quantum' was unintelligible techno-babble to us average Joes.
It drove the science guys nuts, but despite all their explanations of shifting quantum states bought into matching something or another, we, the end-users, had to simplify things. Sure I got that Prometheus was somehow linked to a universe with some kind of higher energy thingum-a-bob, and connected it to us, but really understand it? That would be a no.
The simple explanation was it turned you into a ‘you’ that could, or might have been, a superhero. Or for that matter, maybe they were villains. There was no way of knowing, since there was nothing like communication with that other dimensional universe or whatever it was. Just you becoming like your unknown twin in that universe; however, there were some problems too.
Other mad scientists' programs using the alien tech like any of the various Super-Soldier or Project Rebirth plans had a one hundred percent success rate. In that program, you were re-born at your physical and mental peak. In most cases, I understand that actually exceeded what you really had been like at that age, since damn few people really reach their full potential.
To be in your mid-twenties again was something most people would not turn down. Besides, if there was one thing the human race needed, it was every available warm able body to fight the bad guys. After a few kinetic bombardments here and there, over-population was no longer a worry. Extinction yes; but one thing at a time please.
I sighed, freezing, as snow blanketed Tampa. No, I just had to risk it all. Not sure of the interactions, the Docs usually limited you to just one of the enhancement choices, but being young again wasn't good enough for me. Being a dreamer has always been my biggest fault, and boy did it bite me in the butt this time.
Irony upon irony, I now understood exactly what 'being careful for what you wish for' meant. I got exactly what I wanted, but it freaked me out so badly I couldn't use it.
Giving up, I hung my head low and walked into the bustling club.
The music was thrumming with Dr. Demento's 'They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!' as the club's lights strobed madly. Shrugging off my parka, I left it in the lockers as other patrons stored their own cold weather gear they'd worn over their costumes as the club's bouncers looked on.
I thought one of them was going to say something about me not being in the required costume until he saw my leggings-like uniform and boots. Whether as qualifying as the required costume or being in uniform, that got me inside.
The Liquid Metal Skins were another of those things we'd taken from our besiegers. Most people just shortened it to Skins, since there was nothing else like it. The stuff was elastic like Spandex, but provided as much, if not more protection as old pre-invasion bullet-proof vests. Covering from head to toe, it provided great impact resistance that really helped prevent all the bumps and scrapes you tend to accumulate while trying to stay alive on a battlefield. The stuff would even change color to blend into the environment and even did a fair job of keeping you comfortable no matter the temperature. That is, if you wore the whole ensemble.
It drove me to distraction since LM was so sensual it put silk to shame. The leggings and top were bad enough, but the head piece/hat and gloves were worse. Having that silky softness constantly playing over my hands and face about drove me crazy. That was why I kept my trusty parka with its deep hood, and my mitts.
The other parts I had to wear, since it was the uniform of the day for the Pantheon Teams which were formed from the Prometheus Project's successes. The single biggest reason was because it could stretch a lot and still provided that aforementioned protection.
On the other hand, the figure hugging material did nothing for my decidedly non-heroic body. In theory, I was on detached duty because of medical issues, so I could've worn a nice normal uniform, which is what I usually did. It went without saying that a traditional costume would've worked, too. It was Halloween.
That is, except for Sheila who had convinced me to come dressed as a Pantheon trooper for the occasion. My reminding her I really was in that
elite organization didn't work. She explained it was like Superman who appeared in public as his real self. It was Clark Kent who was the disguise.
Of course, I had promptly chickened out at the door.
At this point, I think I was hoping to see someone, anyone, we knew so I could claim I did in fact make an appearance and then run home as fast as the deteriorating conditions outside would allow. That is except for Sheila. That would not be good, because I knew she would guilt trip me about breaking my promise.
However, the problem with finding that someone to make my alibi was obvious. Everyone was in costumes. The creative efforts highlighted other benefits such as it was of the invasion. The new technologies made possible some very realistic presentations: Frankensteins, were-wolves, vampires and scores of others, including even one of our unwanted Visitors, a Tweety.
Mind you, I don't care for that term for the Aliens. However, it came about from their short stature and oddly shaped heads which kinda made them look big. The crowning fact was their feathery hair which was always brightly colored. The first one we saw had bright canary yellow hair which immediately got them labeled as Tweeties.
You see, I liked the old Looney Toon cartoons and Tweety Bird in particular. I'd often silently jeered my tormentors while growing up as 'Bad ole Puddy Tats!' Actually, I like cats, too, but you get what I mean.
Well, if you wanted a real life monster – that would certainly fit the bill. I wasn't sure what the world's current death count from the invasion was at, but the Aliens had killed more people than anyone or anything in all of our history.
Rumor had it that, in the off and on talks with them, they claimed they had bought the Earth all nice and legal, and we were nothing more than squatters who they were trying to evict. Given they told us that Voyager's information had been sold to them, that sorta made a kind of demented sense. On the other hand, it told us that in galactic society, that might made right. We had no recourse, but to fight tooth and nail to keep our world and lives.