I had stayed awake for 36 straight hours. Needless to say the events during that time and the numerous spurts of adrenaline were taking their toll. It was nearly midnight before the hum of the ships and the lessening frequency of the thuds lost out to fatigue. I slept until noon the following day before suddenly awakening with the feeling that I was late for work.
I could only dream of how wonderful being late for work would have been that morning. I had no doubt that work was nothing more than a pile of rubble by then. I dragged myself over to the sink and splashed some cold water on my face. As I grabbed a towel and began drying my face I realized that the low hum of the ships, the thuds and the rumbles, were nowhere to be heard. Had they gone? Was it over? Was anyone else out there? These were all questions that I was eager to find answers to.
The steel door to my shop was designed to open outward so that it wouldn’t blow in during a hurricane. After rigging myself with a small arsenal I attempted to open the door only to suddenly realize one big design flaw... debris. It was obvious that something was stacked against the door, preventing it from being opened. I turned and hurried to the door to the boat house. If it had also been blocked I would have next turned to a sledge hammer to make a new door.
The roof over the shop was solid reinforced concrete making for a very rugged bunker while the boat house roof was a standard wooden truss design with block walls. Before checking the boathouse door, I rechecked my weapons and ammo. I was not going outside unarmed. I opened the boat house door just far enough for me to squeeze out. The truss roof had not survived and the whole thing had collapsed.
Only a small area of the structure was intact enough for me to stand in. I would have to go under water to get out. I removed my guns and then dropped down into the water and after submerging for a moment, I exited what was left of the structure.
I slowly poked my head out of the water on the other side, fully expecting to have some hideous creature standing there with a blaster weapon ready to incinerate my skull. I was greeted with nothing more that the quiet rustling of the trees with the Sun blinking through the leaves. It was good to see the daylight again and see that the Sun had not also been blasted from the sky.
I climbed up the bank of the canal and pulled myself up through the underbrush towards my house. Even though I had heard and felt its destruction, I still wasn’t prepared for the sight of it. Nothing remained but a large shallow crater, spattered with bits of what was once my little paradise.
Whatever weapon had been used had basically pancaked the structure. It was as though it had been hit by a giant sledge hammer from above. I guessed it was some type of concussion weapon that crushed and compacted whatever it hit, the concrete block looked to have been pulverized.
I returned through the water into the boathouse for my weapons and after passing them through a small hole I once again submerged to exit. I again pulled myself up from the cold spring, rearmed, and was ready to explore the immediate surroundings.
When my father had passed I took his old Mercedes and put it in storage. It had come down to Florida with Renee and I. I had hoped to one day finish its restoration. With all the toys I had had in the garage I had eventually constructed a small shanty under a larger oak and had parked the Mercedes under that for safe keeping. The shanty roof provided only modest coverage from the elements and a large brown tarp was used to do the rest.
As with the bunker the shanty and tarp were covered with a season’s worth of leaves, making them nicely camouflaged from the sky. The garage was mashed flat just like the house, so I remember feeling a small bit of joy at seeing the Mercedes intact, still sitting under its tarp under the oak. As I looked around I could see what looked like the flattened remains of my truck poking out through the garage debris. I reasoned that maybe old Suzie would finally get some use.
The air was acrid and dusty, in the distance smoke from some burning fires lifted into the otherwise peaceful sky. A large mighty oak had taken the brunt of the blast headed towards the bunker from the house. The once broad thick limbs had been twisted around and snapped like twigs before coming to rest against the outer wall of the bunker. The large trunk lifted halfway from the ground.
The remaining oaks around the boathouse had fared much better and would continue to offer much needed shade from the heat of the day and cover from the skies. Whatever this concussion weapon was, it seemed to keep its destruction very localized.
I wanted to dig through the rubble for any extra clothing or other salvageable items, but I was not bold enough to stand in the open just yet. I had a fair amount of supplies, so I was in no rush to venture out much from my sanctuary. Besides, I needed to put some effort into fixing up my boat house. I needed to get in and out of the bunker without having to submerge.
I had already decided to leave the debris from the tree right where it was as it seemed to provide an extra layer of camouflage to keep me hidden. The next several days were spent rebuilding the boat house and further concealing the whole structure.
I had food for at least a month and with some bass thrown in from the lake I could stretch that out much longer. I thought the neighbors cows and orange trees could also prove invaluable in the not to distant future, if I was willing to venture out and they were willing to share.
A few days later, with the boat house somewhat repaired and the entire structure now well concealed, I felt it was finally time to go out and see what was really left of my world. My first checks would be of my neighbors. Both neighbors were good hard working responsible types that took care of their own business and would offer a hand to others if needed. If they were in need, I thought I might lend the hand as I was in good shape in the bunker.
John Kendall, a rancher, was closer and offered a nice concealing tree line from my bunker almost all the way to his house. He and his wife had been retired for a number of years and had enjoyed the business of the country life. They had an old two story country style home with covered porches that wrapped all the way around. Their two large red barns provided them with ample storage for all their ranch machinery.
John ran about 20 head of beef cattle and a few milk cows. His wife Joanne maintained a quarter acre of vegetables along with several fruit trees. She would occasionally drop off excess for my own consumption. I had hoped they had left the house before the destruction began.
As I got closer to the Kendall’s compound I could see that it didn’t look good. The house and barns were flattened as if stepped on with a giant boot. I slipped from tree to tree, past the house and close to what was once a barn.
A handful of cattle lay on the other side of the trees near the barn, all dead, some squished and some beginning to bloat up and rot in the hot afternoon sun, the buzzards told the whole story. The stench of death was so thick it almost knocked me over when it happened to drift my way. I took note of the dozen head of cattle that still grazed peacefully in the field nearby, it was as if nothing had happened, a handful of chickens scurried about.
At the risk of drawing unwanted attention, I let out a couple shouts for John and Joanne. Both of their vehicles lay pancaked in the drive beside the flattened house. My thought at that moment was that at least they had passed quickly and in the place that they had loved most. The whole scene gave me a less than enthusiastic feeling about being a survivor. We were in a rural area and for our homes to have been targeted meant the urban areas had probably fared much worse.
As I surveyed the destruction my eyes came to rest on Joanne’s garden. It was still in good shape and with a little care it could be a treasure trove of food. And, it would beat the daylights out of the dried foods I had been nursing my way through the last four days. The dried goods were emergency rations and anything I could do to preserve them for later I felt would only work in my favor.
I began looking for any tools that might be of use to me in my struggle. I had once helped John rope up a couple of his bulls for hitching to an old wagon; he would occasionally take his grand kids and t
heir friends on hayrides. After hitching up the wagon the next few hours were spent hauling salvage to the bunker. I felt bad taking it, but these were dire circumstances and I knew John would have wanted me to.
As the Sun of the day began to set I thought I might try my luck with the fish. The walkway out onto the dock was covered overhead by one of the big oaks, giving me the cover from above that I so desperately sought. It had been almost five days since I last had contact with another person. The radio and TV stations were all silent and there was no internet to speak of. There were no planes in the sky and absolutely no sound of Man whatsoever.
As I cast into the calm waters I wondered if the great civilization of Man had been wiped from the face of the earth... crushed and defeated in less than a week. Were there other survivors out there like me? Was I alone? I desperately wanted to know, but my immediate needs were focused on my survival. I decided then that I was in need of a plan. I wanted to live, even if I was the only person left on Earth.
Chapter 6
My next day’s adventure to the Hayward’s and their orange grove yielded the same results, a flattened house and barn with no people in sight. I wasn’t bold enough to go searching through the rubble because I didn’t want to have the vision of what I might find continuously running through my head.
I soon noticed that I had not seen nor heard any of the alien craft for days. Had they gone? Why had they come? I had plenty of time to ponder these questions, but without more information I really had no clue as to the answers. The next week was spent venturing out further and further from the bunker and salvaging supplies.
As the days passed I was becoming very process oriented about my means of survival. Foods were gathered and stored and other supplies stockpiled in clockwork like fashion. With nothing else to occupy my time or mind it was good to have that one big task before me. The days of the pool and frat parties up in Detroit only seemed like something that I had seen on TV eons ago. I didn’t have a care in the world then and the only worries were about where and when the next kegger was to be held.
My worries were of my daily survival. I couldn’t help but wonder if Renee had made it through and how she might be faring. I could picture Eunice with her friends, spreading a doyly out on a fallen tree before sitting down to bicker about these crass aliens and their noisy rumbling ships. The thought of that gave me my first good laugh since the attack had all come about. My thoughts then turned back to Renee and along with that my somber survivalist mood returned.
The next day I ventured out to the main roadway in front of my home. I hadn’t heard a car since I first went in the bunker. Looking up and down the road it looked as though it was any other day. A gopher tortoise made his way slowly across without any threat of death from a vehicle. My thoughts suddenly turned to the Mercedes sitting back under the oak.
Should I brave the roadway with the potential of getting caught out in the open in a car? Who would be there to catch me? There had been no sign of anyone for weeks. I reasoned that maybe they had come, taken what they wanted and left. A man could easily get himself trapped in the wild speculations that could occur from just thinking about it. So, I made every effort to just block those kinds of questions out, because they consumed large amounts of brainpower and rendered no solutions whatsoever. I had survival to focus on and that would surely keep me busy enough.
I took the old tarp off of Suzie and tried cranking her up. Again, the old diesel started right up and ran like new. My father would have been proud that day. I topped off the tank from my diesel reserves and decided to go for a short drive to see what else might be out there.
Sporting a small armory, several days of food provisions and a trunk full of tools, I made my way out to the road. Suzie still had a nice ride even after all the years of being ignored. It was two miles to the nearest gas station and any other signs of civilization.
When I arrived at the Dart Mart I got that sinking feeling of again being alone. The station was flat. I got out to check the gas tanks and within a few minutes of hack-sawing the lock off, I found the diesel tank to be about half full. For a moment I felt like I had just unearthed a gold vein, having just found my own private stash of thousands of gallons of diesel. It was enough to potentially last me for several years depending on my driving. And if there was fuel available at this station there was likely fuel available at many others. I replaced the cap on the tank and got Suzie back on the road.
A mile further was my first real encounter with death. The whole left side of the road was a big flattened shallow crater with the remains of a blue car in the center. Buzzards were picking at the remains of the passenger that had been partially squeezed out through what was once the windshield.
The smell was overwhelming and I had to speed away to keep from throwing up. Even though I had known that death was all around me I was still shaken with it being so up close and personal. Seeing dead cows was one thing... seeing dead people was another.
The unfortunate victims had probably been on their way to the Dart Mart when this black ship appeared out of nowhere and smashed them flat in an instant. As I drove further I began to see one car after another with the same result. The small crater created was only about twice the size of the vehicle which left much of the roadway still intact and easily passable.
Every home and structure I passed along the way was flattened as well. Except for the occasional shredded tree the surroundings were just as they had been before the attacks. I stopped counting the flattened cars when I reached 20. I also stopped slowing down as I had no further interest in seeing who or what they had once contained.
I next came upon a major intersection that had once been a local mecca of shops, stations and restaurants. Everything flattened. Cars all over the roadway and in the ditches all flattened. A pack of dogs that had once been the neighborhood pets now roamed the debris looking for scraps.
The once nicely manicured grass around the buildings and parking lots was already showing the signs of neglect. I wondered how long would it take for nature to fully reclaim it all. Once again I had to fight back the urge to try to answer that question as it only led to endless idle speculation.
That particular intersection had only been four miles from my sure-to-be former workplace. Without the familiar structures along the roadway, that I was so used to seeing every day, I had to double and triple check my bearings. Upon arrival at Ringwells I knew for certain that I was no longer employed. Fifteen years of my existence no doubt snuffed out in an instant with a hiss and a thud.
I had been away from the bunker for more than two hours and was starting to feel like I was pushing my luck. It was a hot July day and ole Suzie had no AC, So I turned back to the cool and comfort of the bunker. I reasoned there would be plenty of time for more scouting the following day.
My next day’s adventure was into the nearest town. The navigation turned out to be much more difficult because the level of destruction had been far more intense. City block after city block had been completely leveled.
Flattened cars littered the streets making many of them impassable in the Mercedes. The stench of death was also overpowering and I had resorted to breathing through a cloth that I had earlier dowsed with a coconut scented sunscreen. The coconut was overpowering itself, but it at least masked the smell enough to keep me from getting nauseous.
The more densely populated an area had been the more difficult it was to travel through. I had to rely on a compass to keep my bearings because many of the street signs had been crushed along with the surrounding structures and cars.
It had taken me nearly five hours to get to the outskirts of Orlando that had normally been a 30 minute ride. Not a single building larger than a tool shed was standing in all the ground I had covered. And most of them had been pin point flattened as well.
Our visitors had been thorough in their destruction. Had it not been for my neglect of the roof over my bunker and the surrounding brush I would have been lying flattened in a pulv
erized concrete coffin. The city had been dealt a deadly blow. I soon returned to the bunker and to the security that it offered.
Chapter 7
The new day brought a decision to get more of my little survival empire in order. I gathered the Kendall's remaining cows, fenced them and saw that they had water. I picked a load of vegetables and did some mild weeding in the garden.
After several more days of labor I decided it was time to go all the way into the city. On my previous trips I had begun to map the passable roadways. That strategy paid off by cutting my travel time down to two hours. As I had made my way further into town, the level of destruction increased with the density of the structures. I could see in all directions for a good distance. Only the occasional tree was left to add any vertical aspect to the city.
I was in amazement at how effective the alien weapons being used were. It was as if everything had been squished flat in place. I had also come across what looked like the partial remains of a fighter jet. The nose, canopy and much of the fuselage looked like it hit a block wall and had been pushed in like an accordion. I couldn’t fathom as to why it had not exploded and burned. It was as if it had hit a wall in the sky and just fallen to the earth.
I surmised that with a weapon like that, all of the smart missiles in the world would likely be ineffective. They could probably even stop a bullet from ever reaching their hulls. Slow moving inertial weapons technology wouldn’t stand a chance.
I thought perhaps a high power laser or maybe even a rail gun might have a shot. But good luck getting either of those close enough to be used. After all, the delivery platforms for those weapons were big and bulky and there was no way you were sneaking up on anyone with a plane the size of a 747 or with a Navy cruiser.
SODIUM:2 Apocalypse Page 4