by B. E. Wilson
“Firing positions!” Buckley ordered, stepping onto the platform behind us. “Wait till you see something!”
He didn’t have to tell us twice. As soon as we saw it, we fired. We didn’t even take the time to process what we saw as shots rang out across the field. Round after round of ammo hurled into a stampeding herd of elk as they came through the brush. The bloodbath stained the undisturbed blanket of snow.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Buckley shouted.
Keller laughed, ridiculing our rookie eagerness. “Bunch of killers aren’t you boys!”
When the snow had settled, 20 elk lay dead. The ones that made it through broke for the hill behind us to our right.
“It’s not done, Sarge!” Houserman pointed out.
I readied my rifle on the edge of the wall, now bare of snow from the friction of my hand only seconds before. Splinters poked into my wrist.
“Do not fire, you fuck-sticks, it’s probably just more elk!” Buckley warned.
But it wasn’t elk. A pack of wolves leapt from the brush.
“See, they were running from those wolves.” Buckley paused, his mouth gaping open as he watched the wolves ignore the fallen meal only to run around or jump over the easy dinner. “What the hell….”
With a blue glow lighting up the tree line, its radiant light illuminating the field below it, an alien aircraft flew over the tree tops, spinning and struggling to maintain altitude. Red flames shot out from its engines as they sputtered.
“Fire!” Buckley said, his voice screeching like a banshee.
I got off three or four rounds and had to switch to my last clip, fumbling and nervous. The clip slid from my hands, landing at my feet. I fell to my knees to retrieve it, rising and slamming it into the rifle as I saw the aircraft hurling toward us.
“Get down!” Keller screamed, backpedaling as he tried to escape.
I could feel the air above my head swoosh as it narrowly missed taking my head off. Keller wasn’t so lucky. His lame leg restricted him from finding safety as the aircraft delivered a blunt blow to his right side, sending his body flying through the air. The aircraft hit the ground, bouncing. It nosedived into the fallen sergeant off that first skip, chopping his torso off at the hip. It continued rolling, only coming to rest after crashing into the armory, destroying what was left of our home and the only thing protecting us from this horrible winter.
Buckley snatched my rifle out of my hands and jumped off the wall, crouching as he approached the vehicle. He raised his right hand. Lifting two fingers, he motioned for us to follow. I pulled the ax from my hip and raised it to my shoulder. It was the only weapon I had left. With both hands I squeezed the handle with all my might like a baseball player stepping up to the plate.
“Careful, boys. If something happens, don’t fire until I tell you to, and for god’s sake don’t sweep those rifles across my back.”
I took position at his 5 o’clock as the others spread out beside him. I was only a few steps behind him when the aircraft hissed, causing Buckley to throw his right fist up, which told us to stop.
I never thought Buckley could be scared by anything until the door on that aircraft started to open. He took three steps back so quickly he bumped into me. I placed my hand on his back to stop him from falling.
“Mother of God!” Buckley exclaimed.
I hadn’t actually seen one of these things until now. It wasn’t as scary as I had imagined nor as grotesque as others had made it out to be. Its skin was a dark brown, like tanned leather. It had two eyes like us, but they were a cloudy white. The nose was pointy and shorter than ours. When it opened its mouth, I was fascinated by its teeth. It had just two, a top plate and a bottom one, completely solid.
“Stand your ground, boys. Keep those rifles on that motherfucker,” Buckley commanded.
I studied the creature as Buckley crept forward, directing it by hand signals to get out of the aircraft and lie on the ground. It wasn’t wearing armor as we had expected it to. It only had on black robes that exposed its chest. The alien raised its bald head, shivering as if it was freezing to death, those petrifying teeth clacking together.
Buckley fired a warning shot into the air as he got closer. The creature didn’t respond.
“Get your ass out here!” he told it, “Come out of there or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
The alien slumped over, frightening everyone. Buckley hit the ground as shots fired all around him. The creature convulsed with every round impacting its body; dark orange blood erupted like tiny volcanoes, staining the alien cockpit. Buckley’s commands to stop went unheard until the last round was sounded. The bright ruby-red barrels of the rifles gleamed like candles, steaming as the cool air chilled them.
“You stupid, ignorant motherfuckers! You could have killed me,” Buckley chastised us as he climbed back to his feet. “That was my fucking prisoner!”
We all tentatively approached the spaceship, hesitant and still scared, watching as Sarge inspected the body.
“Is it dead?” Houserman asked.
Buckley turned, shoving him, “What do you think, asshole?”
“S-s-sorry Sarge,” Houserman stuttered. He was just stepping back when the alien rose up, reaching out, and latching onto the back of Buckley’s shirt, lifting him up, choking him. The colossal beast lifted him off the ground like he was a ragdoll.
Without thinking, I pulled that ax off my shoulder with every bit of strength I could muster. The blade landed at an angle, slashing the alien from the left side of its head above the eye and coming out on the right side of its chin. It split like a ripe melon on a warm summer day.
The intruder crumpled over, releasing Buckley from its clutches. His face was still a faded blue, gasping for air, as he fell back into the snow, only to be squashed by the weight of the alien as it fell on top of him.
“Get this thing off me,” Buckley wheezed.
The rest scrambled to free him, rolling the creature off his back.
My blood ran hot, adrenaline in overdrive as I kept my eyes fixated on that dead beast. Thinking, that’s for my brothers, for Sanchez and Lee. Go to hell, you dead piece of shit!
“Butler!” Buckley called, bringing me back to reality.
“Yeah, Sarge,” I answered, my chest still heaving.
“Put the ax down, son.”
I didn’t even realize I was still holding it. I let it drop at my feet, watching as it fell. The handle immediately disappeared, engulfed in snow from the impact.
“Get me up,” he said. “Butler, what were you thinking? I wanted that thing alive!”
“You’re welcome,” I sassed him, turning my head. I shot him a ‘don’t mess with me’ look.
“Stand down son. That’s an order.”
I pursed my lips, shook my head yes, and walked away. I knew Buckley wouldn’t admit it, but I had saved his life. But I still wanted more. I wanted revenge.
I could hear him as I walked away. “Boys, somebody’s Marine nuts just dropped.”
8
I had little to no sleep that night, I found myself volunteering for other guy’s watches. I wanted to stand that wall. I wanted to fight. If only one more alien wretch would make it past our walls. I wanted its head.
Buckley said the latest radio transmission had reported fighting in Oklahoma. The bastard alien aircraft probably made it through, barely. He thought more might come, though, and since we were short on ammo, he decided it would be best if we retreated.
The plan was to make it back to Bismarck, find transportation, and seek out another base. As I stood watch, Buckley stayed up all night trying to make radio contact with the nearest military outpost in Billings, Montana. His efforts were unsuccessful.
The clouds had cleared by morning. The sun was finally peeking over the wooded skyline, and I could feel its warmth on my face. I didn’t know much about North Dakota winters, but during my first, the sun didn’t make many appearances.
Since Buckley had taken refuge
in what was left of the armory, the others were scattered around the campfire in pup tents, sleeping two by two. When Sarge emerged that morning from his wintery den, he clapped his hands as an alarm clock.
“Drop your cocks and grab your socks!”
It struck me as funny, made me chuckle. There was no way any of the others would have taken their socks off in this bitterly cold country. If they did, they were crazier than Buckley.
“We got a long day ahead of us, ladies! Get some grub in your bellies and get that important paperwork filed before we head out!” he said.
Important paperwork was his way of telling us to go take a shit. That was one thing since joining the Corps that amazed me—they actually did tell you when you could take a dump, eat, sleep, or do anything else, for that matter.
Our first order of business was to send Keller to serve with the other Marines in the sky, as Buckley put it. We placed his remains in the armory and set it on fire before heading out. Sarge said if the enemy came calling, Keller would hold them off; they would investigate the smoke before searching for us.
He took the lead. The rest humped in a two-man formation except for the last three. They marched behind us, pine branches dragging behind them to cover our tracks through the snow. Only a few had ammo. I clung tightly to my ax; some only had homemade clubs to protect them. It was a thirty-mile hump just to get back to Bismarck. It would be nightfall before we hit the town.
Bismarck, North Dakota
Deserted.
“It’s a fucking ghost town,” Buckley said.
Buildings were boarded up or vacant with the front windows smashed, their contents pillaged.
“So now what, Sarge?” I asked.
“Butler, congratulations. You just made Lance Corporal. You take five of these men and branch out east. Look for anything still capable of running.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Stop with the sir shit. This ain’t boot camp.”
“Aye-aye…si…I mean, sergeant!” I stammered. I was confused by the formality of it all.
“Boy, I’m just a higher ranking enlisted is all. We put our pants on the same and we piss with the same tool. Get your shit together; lead by example.”
I snapped to attention, saluting him, not knowing that wasn’t proper either.
“Don’t fucking salute me, you jack-wagon. I’m not an officer. I work for a living! Did I make the wrong decision in promoting you? Do I need to pick someone else, you limp-dick tool-bag?”
“No, sergeant, I can do this, I swear!”
“Then take your five men and meet back here in two hours, copy?”
“I copy, sergeant.”
I chose three men who had ammo: Johnson, Wilson, and Allen. Houserman was my next pick, followed by Woods, because he had an ax like mine.
We ducked in and out of alleys, trying to stay off main streets. Every car or truck we found had been stripped of parts; most didn’t even have wheels. Houserman noticed an old bus behind a burnt-out church, the front charred from the flames. The tires looked good and the motor was intact, but the fuel gauge was pegged past empty. Houserman said he could get it running if we found some fuel, so we reported it back to Sarge.
“Diesel! In this cold! You have to be fucking kidding me!” he said.
“I can get it started,” Houserman insisted.
“Sarge, there’s a gas station about two clicks away from that bus. You can see it from behind the church; its sign is still standing,” I reported.
“If they still have fuel, we’ll need somebody to go bilge diving. Who’s up for it?” Buckley asked, looking around for a show of hands.
I stepped up. “I’ll do it.”
I would have volunteered to go through the first two weeks of boot camp again if I had known what it was actually going to be like, having to shimmy down the manhole into a dark tank that smelled like ass. I was covered from head to toe in diesel when I climbed back out. I had one uniform left; the one I was wearing had to be burnt. Standing stark naked in the snow in the field beside the gas station as a couple of guys rubbed ice and snow on my skin to try and eliminate the smell, I thought that I would risk frostbite a million times over just to get rid of that stench.
Salvaging parts from other cars and trucks, Houserman had the bus running in two days, which was good since supplies had dwindled to the bare minimum. Buckley had been sending search parties out around the town to ransack houses and bring back anything edible or useful.
“Bundle up, this jalopy don’t have a heater,” Sarge said as he turned the key, the old bus wrestling to turn over. “Come on…come on…” he said, his head pressed to the top of the steering wheel. “You can do it, girl, come on.”
The batteries were dying due to the cold; the whining of the engine was faint and weak.
“Houserman! You said this thing could run!”
“It will, give me just a second,” he said, taking off outside.
We had taken every car battery we could find in a one-mile radius. Houserman jumper-cabled the last two remaining batteries.
His voice muffled, we could barely hear him say, “Try it now; don’t give it too much.”
The chariot that had once brought people to Sunday church services finally started to show life as it began to sputter and puke, black smoke billowing from the tail pipe.
“Get your ass in here, Houserman!” Buckley barked at him, a smile appearing on his face. It was possibly the first time any of us had seen him smile.
Houserman slammed the hood and boarded the bus. Sarge didn’t even let him take a seat before he stomped the accelerator, sending him flying down the aisle of the bus.
“I got you,” I said, grabbing his arm, pulling him into the seat with me.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Travel was slow going over unplowed highways. It felt like we were the only ones left on earth; there were no signs of life anywhere. A trip that should have taken around six hours took 14. I don’t remember too many car trips from my youth, and this one didn’t help bring back any memories.
We reached Billings close to midnight. It too was desolate. It was like people had just stopped in the middle of their daily lives and disappeared. Empty cars with open doors were parked in the middle of streets, unshoveled drifts of snow blocked store entrances, and the only light in town was coming from the one working headlight on our bus.
“What the fuck happened here?” Buckley said faintly.
“What now, Sarge?” I asked.
“The army has an outpost about twenty miles outside of town. We’ll go there.”
“What about fuel?”
“We’ll check out this gas station,” he answered me, pulling off into the station, “Holy shit, look at that.”
I stood up to get a better view behind him. Two cars were still parked at the pump with nozzles in their tanks, just sitting there.
“What do you make of that?” I asked.
“I don’t know…but it ain’t right. Johnson! Give Butler your weapon. The rest of you stay here. Houserman, you take the driver’s seat. First sign of trouble, back this bitch out of here.”
We zigzagged our way through the parking lot, trying to stay behind cover until we reached the store’s front door. I knelt down behind a trash can as Buckley hunkered down next to the door. I watched as he reached up and pulled the door wide open. When he motioned to me, I went to him; I would be the first to enter. As I entered, he followed, his hand on my right shoulder. My rifle swept the left side and his the right. The store was vacant.
“Clear,” he said.
I followed his lead. “Clear.”
Items were still stocked on shelves; the coolers were full. It was creepy.
“Something happened to these people,” he said.
I browsed the items on the shelf. Then a rustling sound behind me got my attention. I drew my weapon and turned toward sound.
“Sarge!” I called.
“I heard it.”
We proceeded to the rear of the store. A door was open, rocking in the wind. Buckley eased the door open, snow blowing in on the floor at our feet. We burst through, only to find ourselves behind the store, alone.
“Stand down, nothing here.”
“Copy that,” I said, relieved it was nothing.
“Look here, it’s a generator,” he said.
I watched as he twisted the cap off the tank sitting next to it.
“I’ll be damned, it’s full! Let’s give it a try.”
He turned the key on the generator and the store came to life. Lights inside glowed bright, and the glare from the sign out front lit up the woods behind us. He started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. I didn’t understand the humor.
“We’ve got heat, food, and a place to crash. What else could a man ask for?” He grinned at me. “Go get the others and black out the store windows. We don’t want to give away our position. And get Houserman to disable that sign.”
It had been a long time since I had felt heat. It was nice not to have three or four layers of clothing on. Eating something other than MRE’s was also nice for a change. I quickly developed a fondness for Twinkies. In history class they taught us about the Romans, and how they purged after stuffing themselves with food. That’s how I felt. I ate till my stomach hurt and I almost wanted to puke.
“Don’t get spoiled, boys. We need to ration some of this food out. We’ve still got a long way to go,” Buckley said.
I smiled at him, “Come on, Sarge, one more Twinkie…” I began to say, when a scratching at the back door stopped me from finishing my sentence.
Buckley jumped off the counter where he’d been lounging. He rushed to the back wall, leaning his head around the corner. The scratching noise was getting louder. He gestured for me to move down the hallway. He took a knee about six feet from the door. When he lowered his hand, I yanked the door open as fast I could.
I shut my eyes and waited for Buckley to start shooting, but nothing came. His hysterical laughter and the sound of whimpering caused me to cautiously open one eye. A frail little mutt waited at the door, tail wagging, waiting to be invited into the feast.