Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Other cars stopped because they were under attack.

  Richard witnessed one woman sucked from an old Chrysler convertible by a bulbous jellyfish creature. He could see her shocked face inside the thing’s belly as corrosive digestive acids went to work.

  Further along he saw a Camaro t-boned by a hippopotamus beast with eyes on stalks. The collision sent the car over an embankment and the creature—clearly a predator—disappeared into the gully in pursuit.

  He weaved between smashed vans and overturned pick up trucks. He dodged packs of panicked people and gassed the car to avoid a second slithering jellyfish monster.

  A cloud of thick, oily black smoke hovered over the street from a burning tour bus. A swarm of cat-sized, acid spitting cockroaches had ignited the bus’ fuel tank. A dozen roasting passengers banged futilely on the windows.

  After clearing the smoke, Dick happened upon a battle at a major intersection. Five leather-clad humanoids brandishing high tech crossbows squared off against the Wilkes-Barre police.

  One of the leather-clad invaders lay dead in the intersection among a pile of human bodies. Two police officers found refuge behind their squad car where they reloaded side arms.

  Fortunately, he avoided the crossfire by changing course and heading for an expressway on-ramp.

  Wilkes-Barre and the rest of the Wyoming Valley is essentially a big bowl between two moderate mountain ranges. A river runs through the middle of that bowl. The raised "Cross Valley Expressway" travels roughly east/west from one end of that bowl to the other, bridging the Susquehanna River on its way toward the rural countryside of the "Back Mountain."

  Richard drove that expressway. From the highway, he could see the eclectic mix of old and new buildings downtown, the rotunda of the massive Luzerne County Courthouse along the river, and the quiet neighborhoods of surrounding suburbs.

  Fires…distant dots flying in the sky…emergency vehicles… loud booms… those were the things he saw and heard as he cut across the valley.

  Temporarily clear of the carnage, his mind finally offered sentient advice. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he used the other to hit the speed dial on his cell phone and heard an automated "all circuits are busy," three times before a ring.

  Ashley answered. She spoke in an eerily calm voice.

  "Hello, Richard, are you coming over?"

  "Wh-what? Oh God, Ashley, things are…things are going crazy," he sobbed as he swerved to avoid a Mustang that had slowed to get a better view of the large spider-thing crawling on the courthouse dome.

  "I know," she said, distantly. "I’m wearing my wedding dress. I look beautiful… you should see it."

  His heart raced. The steering wheel nearly slipped from his grasp as his palms grew greasy with sweat.

  "Ashley, are you safe there?"

  "Safe? Oh yes, my daddy is downstairs. We can hear…we can hear stuff but it's all far away. This dress is so beautiful."

  "I’m coming, honey. I’m coming."

  "Richard, there’s something you need to--" Her voice switched off.

  "Ashley? Ashley!"

  He slammed the brakes to stop for the red light at the end of the exit ramp. No traffic moved in any direction, yet he waited five full seconds until realizing how ridiculous that was.

  Richard Stone ran the red light.

  ---

  The Trumps lived in Kingston, one of half-a-dozen small boroughs lining the western banks of the Susquehanna. Rich drove slow and cautious into the quiet neighborhood. He saw not one soul. Nothing.

  After parking in the half-circle driveway, he raced to the porch. The only noises that reached his ear were noises drifting in on the wind from afar.

  The front door stood ajar creaking softly in a gentle breeze. He went inside.

  "Ashley? Mr. Trump?"

  Rich stumbled over coveralls piled on the floor. A breast patch read "Trump Fences".

  Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God…

  Dick ran the first floor hall ignoring the television news broadcasting to an empty living room. He frantically climbed the stairs and burst into her room.

  A wedding dress lay on the floor in a haphazard bundle. Singe marks stained the delicate white fabric near the straps.

  Ashley had been right.

  The dress was beautiful.

  4. The Old Man

  Richard sat for an hour in Ashley’s vacant bedroom.

  Hideous beasts crawling the streets…authorities powerless to stop the onslaught…human beings killed before his eyes…his fiancée vaporized by what Jon had characterized as 'alien artillery.' It all warped and spun together in a vortex of confusion within his mind.

  He had never faced death before. Now he had witnessed more people dying and more dead bodies than he could count, all in the span of an hour or so.

  Just days ago it had all been a joke in the tabloids, then an oddity on the nightly news. Now it was reality. His reality.

  It left Richard dazed and confused, sad and scared.

  The cry of distant sirens slipped in through the closed windows. He felt the occasional tremble and saw periodic flashes outside the window that warned of something else exploding, burning or otherwise adding to the anarchy.

  A single sound--the pop of a faraway gunshot echoing at the right moment between all the other sounds--finally focused his attention.

  Rich Stone stumbled to the first floor and into the living room. The television broadcast a cable news network. A waver on the edge of the anchorwoman’s lips suggested she could burst out laughing or break down crying at any moment.

  "Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Houston, and Washington D.C., are all in a state of chaos. Here—New York City—is in the same condition. We can hear gunfire outside our studio and people who work in this building have reported seeing…seeing a wide variety of…of… animals…or beasts…or even monsters. I suppose we should call them what they appear to be."

  Rich sunk into the couch, the couch where he had made love to Ashley several times that week.

  "We had a report an hour ago of fighter jets shooting down an unidentified flying object over Phoenix. Furthermore, we have accessed satellite uplinks from several affiliate stations across the country, mainly video feeds showing the same thing nationwide: street battles between police officers and armed citizens with whatever these invading creatures are. It should be noted that the variety of these…these…things is…well there seems to be a lot of different kinds of things involved in this…this…whatever this is."

  Richard felt sorry for the woman. She chronicled the disintegration of society to viewers around the world in words that sounded ridiculous and unworthy of national news.

  "Our station chiefs in London, Paris, Moscow and Beijing report the same type of mass pandemonium. Yet still no idea as to what is actually happening, why, or what types of precautions should be taken. Umm…precautions? Who’s writing this shit?"

  He turned the television off as the flustered anchorwoman ran a hand through her hair.

  ---

  The community surrounding the Trump’s modular home remained undisturbed but the panicked car horns, the cries for help, and the plumes of smoke in the beautiful late morning sky drew closer.

  Rich drove to the Cross Valley Expressway unmolested and headed west, putting more distance between himself and Wilkes-Barre.

  The highway snaked through a rock cut in the western valley wall emerging in the rural area nicknamed the "Back Mountain." At that point, the expressway morphed into a two-lane rural route passing islands of development among a sea of rolling green mountains.

  He left the main path at the first opportunity for the hidden country roads he knew so well. The car radio offered more—not better—information.

  "This is a new development. Can we get confirmation of this? Is this another prank?"

  A female voice joined the male newscaster.

  "It’s confirmed. That came over from Atlanta City Hall five minutes ago."

  The man said, "Ok
ay, well, then, um, it seems a group has provided a communiqué to the Mayor of Atlanta demanding…"

  "Maybe you should just read it."

  "Yes, yes of course," the man cleared his throat. "It says, ’the leader of the humans of Atlanta is now demanded to surrender to the Grand Army of the Hivvan Republic. All humans will report to processing centers."

  The newsman paused and admitted, "I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing ‘Hivvan’ correctly."

  Rich steered the Chevy around a sweeping turn. Overhead the sun glinted through the plush treetops casting alternating bands of light and dark across the car.

  The woman said, "This is the third report we’ve heard of organizations or groups being a part of…of…all this. The first came an hour ago when an AP wire story from Hartford referred to a column of unidentified soldiers wearing strange uniforms and riding in transports that hovered above the ground. We were not able to confirm that report. Of course, confirming reports has been difficult since many of our correspondents are dead, missing, or in hiding."

  The man added, "There have been scattered accounts of well-planned assaults on police barracks and government buildings by organized forces armed with a variety of weapons. One eye witness account from the San Francisco area tells of silver-skinned aliens using over sized insects as if they were attack dogs."

  Something big flew overhead but thankfully, paid the Malibu no mind.

  To his surprise, Rich nearly missed the turn for his home. He braked hard, squealing the tires as he threw the vehicle into the driveway and then sped along the gravel surface toward his house where he stopped behind his father’s parked SUV. Dick hopped out, started toward the porch…and froze.

  Goosebumps erupted all over: the front door lay torn from its hinges. A tremble—a deep, low tremble—vibrated in his bones.

  With forced courage, he approached the smashed-open doorway as if it were the jaws of a sleeping monster.

  A noise stopped him at the doorframe: a sound of clumsy movement.

  Rich dared a step inside where he inhaled a moist smell that hinted of sour fruit.

  No lights were on and the sun did not shine in. Even before his pupils expanded to compensate for the dark, Richard sensed something awry.

  The walls…blotches on the walls? Did mom repaint the walls?

  Movement stole his attention: a shadow in the kitchen at the end of the hall.

  Richard experienced an epiphany. He realized he had never been this afraid. Ever. Simple, basic fear for his life. Deep, primal, and complete. It unlocked an entirely new level of consciousness.

  To feel the flight instinct screaming run! Run! Run!

  To feel the fight instinct muster adrenaline for battle.

  Nonetheless, Richard stepped two tentative paces across the front room.

  The shadow knocked over clutter in the kitchen. Pots and pans, perhaps?

  Dick’s foot squished into something.

  On the floor he saw a mess—a big chunky mess—strewn over the carpet his mother installed two years before. She loved how the rich rusty color blended perfectly with the decor.

  As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, the mess took form.

  Rugs? Shaggy rolled rugs? What are rugs doing…no…oh no…

  Enough recognizable slabs remained to solve the mystery: that mess had been his mother and father.

  The walls…they had been repainted. Repainted red.

  Air exploded from his lungs, catching the attention of the shadow in the kitchen. A strange silhouette wobbled to the hallway swaying side to side as it lumbered toward the front of the house. A pear shaped body with short legs and even shorter barbed arms, it stood bigger and wider than a man, barely fitting between the walls of the hall.

  Richard retreated a step…two steps...

  An oversized head dominated the brute and featured one big eye surrounded by small red dots that might also be eyes. Teeth gnashed inside a massive, disjointed jaw. Its heavy legs shuffled on the floor and its wide sides brushed against the walls.

  Richard withdrew to the front porch. He stumbled down the stairs and bumped against the side of his car where he stopped and waited. Certainly, the creature would not follow; such nightmares could not survive in the light of day.

  Wrong.

  The nightmares had been freed from the dark passages. A new world had dawned and that world belonged to the nightmares. Man would now hide in the shadows.

  Out to the porch it came. The sun splashed the ugly red and brown body of tough flesh in golden rays. It did not howl in pain. It did not retreat. Birds still chirped; a breeze still blew.

  The creature stumbled forward on those two short muscular legs leaning oddly as if maybe Earth's gravity differed from its home environment. It descended toward Richard who stood against his car transfixed.

  A creak from the steps snapped Rich from his trance. He moved off in a staggering walk then a fast jog. He ran to the side yard of overgrown, weed-infected grass wedged between the cedar home, the garage, and the thick woods. Two strange objects blocked his flight. He skidded to a stop in the knee-high growth and tried to understand what he saw lying there.

  After a moment, he recognized the mounds: two more of the big-headed monsters motionless on the ground, one ripped nastily along its gut and legs where a weird red molasses drained. The second face down, its head torn open.

  Stone anxiously wondered what could mutilate two of these monstrosities? He would have an answer shortly.

  The living monster wobbled into the side yard in pursuit.

  Richard jogged to the rear of the home.

  A recently added sunroom extended into the back yard: mom had planned to install a hot tub there next month.

  Dad kept the back lawn green and trim. He considered it his job—more a passion—despite how often Rich volunteered to handle the chore.

  A wooden play set with swings and a metal sliding board sat atop a bed of wood chips along the edge of the grass. When he had been eleven years old, Rich fell from that sliding board. Or had Dante pushed him?

  Exhaustion forced him to stop in search of breath.

  Thus far, his plan entailed running around the house, nothing more. He dared not go inside and face the bodies of his parents and he could not think of anywhere else for escape.

  The pursuer—the monster with the big round red eye and the gaping jaw—arrived in the rear yard.

  Yes, he could run around the house some more, but he decided to give it a good look. He decided to see if this were some man in a mask, some massive prank pulled by Dante Jones and Lori Brewer.

  They would all jump out now—Ashley, mom and dad, that lady who had been eaten by the jellyfish thing—they would all jump out and surprise him. The whole world would be fine again.

  A surprise did come, yet not what Richard hoped.

  Two more animals joined the fray.

  Tyr and Odin—the Stones’ stocky black and gray Norwegian Elkhounds—bolted around Richard and closed on the monster. As he watched, Rich realized what had dispatched the other two creatures.

  His household pets showed the clever instincts and fast reflexes that had empowered their ancestors to hunt moose and bear alongside the ancient Vikings. Now Rich’s dogs acted clever and fast with a different type of beast.

  Tyr demonstrated directly in front of the creature, easily dodging the clumsy flails of the barbed arms and the snaps of the massive maw. Odin circled behind and lunged. The dog’s jaws ripped into the bottom of the leg of the thing. A liquid squirted and the monster howled.

  The brute slowly turned to face Odin, only to have its lower body savaged by Tyr, all while Odin took his turn dodging snaps and lunges with barks and yaps.

  Richard watched in awe.

  In short order, the demon’s shredded legs no longer supported the weight of its oversized skull. It toppled like a dictator’s statue before an angry mob of peasants. Once on its back, the creature was doomed.

  Canine jaws worked again and again, pu
lling and tearing.

  Richard cringed as gore spewed from the fallen foe. Its grunts and groans faded. Its jaw stopped gnashing; its legs stopped kicking. Steamy vapors rose from vents torn in its flesh.

  Once their work ended, the two dogs trotted to Richard with their heads slightly bowed.

  He spoke to himself aloud, "What happened here?"

  An answer surged into his mind with uncanny clarity.

  Three creatures had come to the house. One smashed the front door and grabbed the mother. The father had grappled with the monster bravely, but to no avail.

  Outside at the time, the hounds raced to the rescue but the other two beasts intercepted them. A battle ensued. Tyr and Odin out-maneuvered the things. Alas, by the time they had scored their kills the mother and father were dead.

  Not wanting to fight inside the tight confines of the house, the dogs had waited in the woods until hearing their Master return home.

  This understanding of what had happened came clear—eerily clear--to Richard’s mind.

  He walked around front, sat on the porch steps with his head in his hands, and wondered if Dante still lived out there, somewhere. What about Jon? Was he on the battlefield scoring victories for humanity? What of Lori?

  We must leave.

  "What? Huh?"

  Certain he heard a voice, Richard pulled his head from his hands.

  Tyr hovered nearby, standing taut with his ears perked. Odin wandered around the drive further away.

  Something coming.

  Someone did speak, but had he heard the voice with his ears or his mind?

  The ground trembled softly.

  Odin trotted fast to the front porch alternating his eyes between Tyr and Richard.

  Something coming from road. Big.

  Both dogs moved toward the side yard. When Richard did not follow, they paused and gaped. The trees on the far side of the lot swayed. Richard decided to go.

  They had barely reached the tree line when it slithered from cover onto the Stones’ property: a crawling mass of tendrils and squirming appendages spilling from a conical carapace that could have been a shell but not quite: more a hard fleshy bag the top of which reached taller than the garage. A putrid smell of acidic rot emanated from the sickly beast.