Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Trevor radioed Nina: "Um, howabout doin’ a sweep around here. I know how much you’d hate it if we got ambushed by a couple of Deadheads or something."

  Nina’s rebuttal crackled over the radio: "Gee whiz, that’d just ruin my day."

  The Apache dutifully circled the area.

  The ground team disembarked. Omar (a smoldering smoke jabbed in his mouth), Jerry Shepherd, and a mass of K9s exited the convoy of SUVs.

  "Here we go," Trevor said as they walked alongside the trench. "According to that lizard-thing, this ship crashed last summer, thanks to an F-16."

  Omar said nothing; he couldn't--not with such a huge grin on his face.

  Shepherd grabbed Reverend Johnny’s shoulder.

  "Hey, what exactly is it that critter said we’d find here?"

  "Some sort of industrial equipment built, no doubt, for the vilest of purposes."

  "Not exactly," Trevor cut in. "The lizards who owned this ship were transporting an industrial-strength matter transfiguration device."

  "A what?"

  Omar explained, "A machine that manipulates matter on the molecular level."

  "One more time?"

  Trevor tried: "A big piece of equipment that some aliens were using to build things they needed by changing other things. Like, oh, taking wood and changing it into metal. For example, um, you ever watch Star Trek?"

  "No."

  "Really? You never watched Star Trek?"

  "Seemed a right bit too far fetched for me," Shepherd considered the new world, scratched his head, and admitted, "Guess that makes me the asshole."

  Trevor went on, "Okay. All things are made up of molecules. Wouldn’t it be neat-o if you could take something that you didn’t need and re-arrange its molecules into something you did need? Like taking a cardboard box and transforming it into glass for a solar panel."

  Omar said, "I am thinking that Mr. Stone is being overly simplicity in his words. But if it is here then we have found the important piece of an alien factory."

  "And that’s both good and bad," Trevor told them. "Something like that working for us could help with supply problems."

  Reverend Johnny boomed, "Praise the all mighty! Where is the bad?"

  "The bad," Trevor said, "is that it means the new arrivals on our planet have the means to set up their own heavy industry. It means, gentlemen, that they’re here to stay."

  ---

  Jon pointed to the map on the desktop in the Command Center.

  "We found a bunch of Redcoats here, but they weren’t a problem after a few bursts from the artillery."

  Trevor said, "It's been nearly a week since we broke them up, and there are still some of them around?"

  "Shows you how lucky we got. They're tough, especially once they establish a position. Problem is, however many are left they are running out of food and ammo."

  A week since the battle for Wilkes-Barre, the true scope of the victory was becoming apparent. Not only had they managed an against-all-odds rout of a larger, better-armed opponent, but the Redcoat army had slaughtered hundreds of hostile animals.

  Before the battle, Wilkes-Barre hosted a den of nightmares. Not any more. Despite their defeat, the Redcoats had thinned the monsters in the city while also leaving behind their artillery, stores of the explosive powder used in those guns, and many chargeable Redcoat muskets.

  Trevor did not want to waste the opportunity. Jon formed small Grenadier-assisted recon teams who spotted for artillery strikes on clusters of dangerous animals.

  Trevor and Nina piloted the one remaining fully functional Apache in alternating shifts around the clock while Jon’s teams moved through the Wyoming Valley. From a multi-legged turtle the size of a garbage truck with the head of a praying mantis to a demoralized squad of Redcoats hiding inside a Dairy Queen surviving on very old Blizzard mix, the Apache, the captured artillery, and the ground teams worked in unison to eliminate the threats.

  Better still, they found a dozen survivors. While badly malnourished, they were the toughest of the tough, for they had lived in the lion's den for months.

  Trevor asked Jon, "So what do you think? We don’t need to rush things. All the same…"

  "All the same," Jon caught on, "you’d like to have control of this city."

  "It’d be a big step, but I’m patient. We still don’t have a lot of manpower."

  Jon answered, "Wow, well, we can take this slow but I think we can have a good chunk of center city and the northern suburbs cleared out in a week."

  "What about the West Side?" Trevor meant the collection of boroughs and townships lining Route 11 on the west bank of the Susquehanna.

  "That’s going easy. There doesn’t seem to be a lot over there. Must not have been a big enough population to feed all the predators or something."

  Trevor solemnly reminded, "Could be that there weren’t a lot of people over there when this started. A lot of them got…got vaporized."

  Brewer remembered that Ashley had lived on the West Side. He said nothing.

  Trevor forced himself into a lighter mood. "In any case, damn good job. Let’s keep it up. We take Wilkes-Barre before the snow really starts and we’ll be in good shape for the long haul. Got to be a lot of shit in the stores and stuff down there. Don’t forget the police station."

  "The armory," Jon referred to the Pennsylvania National Guard’s 109th Field Artillery armory. It held big guns, fuel supplies, uniforms, medical kits, self-propelled artillery, Humvees, Bradley Fighting Vehicles, and even a few of the advanced Strykers.

  "Can we take it?"

  "I’m clearing out around it first. Once I know we’re not going to be in the middle of some sort of ambush we’ll move in." Jon cleared his throat and changed the subject: "So, everything is…um…set for tonight. One of Stonewall's guys ran projectors before all this."

  "Thanks for, you know, taking care of that. I appreciate it and all. We've been alternating shifts in the Apache all week and haven't had time to, well, see each other, you know."

  "Geez, you’d think you were launching a major offensive," Jon joked.

  Trevor considered and answered, "You know, I think I am."

  ---

  Trevor’s Humvee with a Suburban trailing behind as escort pulled in the parking lot that a week ago had served as the assembly area for the Redcoat army. Parked in that lot sat the four air ships the vanquished aliens left behind.

  Trevor spied Omar walking alongside one of the ships as the long shadows of early evening stretched across the pavement. Grenadiers and human sentries stood watch.

  "Omar, baby! Whachya got for me?" Trevor beamed.

  "Oh, it is so good to be seeing you, Mr. Trevor, Sir!" Omar replied with his sarcasm and forced accent. "I much prefer the company of you and our furry friends to that of my wife and family. Please be sure to be telling my children hello and how are you for me tonight."

  Between the power problems, the recovered matter transformation equipment, and the Redcoats’ goodies, Omar had little time for sleep or family. However, one of the Wilkes-Barre survivors had been a physics teacher with a high-tech head on his shoulders. Trevor hoped that, after he regained his strength, the man could help Omar.

  Trevor approached the air ship. The landing gear that sprouted from the four corner pods held the main body a few feet above the ground. Both sides of the passenger module had doors with retractable entry ramps. Trevor ascended the starboard ramp and found a series of buttons next to the door. He pushed the largest one and the door slid open revealing a dark compartment.

  "You must first be turning on the lights," Omar stated the obvious.

  Dr. Nehru found another set of buttons just inside the door. One of them activated light panels built into the ceiling. They flickered to life with sterile illumination—like fluorescent lights--in the gray, black, and white interior. The two men waded in.

  Two rows of seats designed for the larger Redcoat bodies ran the length of the passenger module. Storage compartments lined th
e walls, filled with even more salvageable equipment. At the rear stood a thick door that resembled a watertight bulkhead on a submarine.

  "Back there is were the engine is being," Omar pointed. "Very cramped but the engines are very much compact."

  To the front waited another door activated by a button on a panel. It led to the cockpit.

  The windshield stretched across the front of the cockpit but it was rather thin and restricted visibility. Two big seats sat at control panels beneath the window. The controls on either side appeared identical, no doubt for a pilot and co-pilot. Pedals sprouted from the floor in front of both chairs. Each seat had two tilting armrests with big pistol-grip sticks at the ends. The sticks reminded Stone of manual shifters in a sports car.

  For the Redcoats, the space in the pilot’s capsule might have felt a little tight. For a human being, it offered a surprising amount of shoulder, leg and headroom.

  "This is going to take some figuring," Trevor, standing between cockpit seats, contemplated while Omar walked off to examine the engine compartment.

  Trevor knew he could not ‘pick up’ how to operate the airship. After all, humans had not designed the machine so--

  He swooned from a sudden bout of light-headedness. The cockpit faded away, replaced by visions…

  …visions of a sky dominated by two suns, one slightly larger than the other, beating down on plains of glassy pebbles and mountains of red rocks; of majestic cities built from colorful stones sitting on the banks of massive rivers straddled by gigantic dams; of buildings made to hover above the ground with no support below; of a people dressed in colorful outfits and the trappings of royalty; of ships defying gravity and gliding through the air; of an army of white and red clad soldiers marching in tight rows toward a black and gray archway crackling with bolts of electricity…

  …Trevor pinched his nose. The dizziness faded.

  He saw the cockpit once again; saw it in a new light.

  This is not possible.

  ---

  Nina had all the gear the mission required. Her uniform fit perfectly: blue jeans, suede boots, a black sweater and a leather jacket. Of course, she also carried an M4 carbine as well as a side arm. A girl couldn’t be too careful.

  Next to her waited Odin the elkhound, who felt as if he might be part of her uniform for he rarely left her side.

  Nina checked her watch: 6:10 p.m. Trevor promised to pick her up at six. With a convoy, of course. This would be the best-armed date in the history of mankind. Her father would have approved.

  Standing in the driveway outside the A-Frame, she saw Grenadiers walking their rounds as dusk dwindled but no sign of Trevor.

  Odin whimpered. She knelt next to the pooch and stroked his head.

  "You wouldn’t think he’d keep a hot chick waiting like this, do you?"

  Odin grew agitated and searched the sky with his eyes and nose.

  Suddenly, one of the boxy Redcoat flying ships swooped overhead, banked, then flew to the end her driveway where it eased to the pavement moving eerily quiet.

  Nina pointed her machine gun and cautiously retreated a step.

  A ramp extended and the side door slid open. Bright light from the passenger compartment spilled into the twilight.

  "Hey, baby!" A familiar voice yelled. "Wanna go for a ride in my mean ma-cheen?"

  ---

  Trevor said again. "I shouldn’t be able to do this. I don’t understand how I, how I…"

  "How you ‘picked it up’?"

  "Yeah."

  He flew the ship from the pilot’s seat while Nina sat on the opposite side with her eyes darting around the cockpit. Trevor wore headgear resembling a combination of headphones and goggles and used rubber bands to hold the oversized contraption on his head.

  "Well, join the rest of us. Are you ever going to explain how you ‘pick these things up’?"

  He dodged the question: "Awe, shucks, ma’am. And take away all the mystery?"

  The craft glided effortlessly. It did not feel as if they flew; more as if they rode in a luxury sedan across perfectly smooth pavement.

  "I've made an executive decision," he said. "We're going to call these things Eagles. Just like our old national bird."

  "Eagles?" The idea struck her as funny. "Not very graceful-looking. More like Volvos, I think; boxy and all."

  He chuckled then said, "The nose cone is like a beak; real sharp looking. Besides, they may not look slick but they sure as hell fly with the grace of an Eagle."

  Nina shrugged at the whole name thing and asked a more important question: "So, you going to tell me how this thing works? I’ve noticed there are no wings."

  "I don’t know all the engineering. I mean, I know what to do but not why it does it. It has something to do with an anti-gravity circuit that runs through the thing. It sort of repels gravity like the same ends of a magnet repel each other. I increase the power to the anti-grav circuit and we go up or vice versa. Then there’s just straight hydrogen thrust coming out the back."

  "Armaments?"

  "No. But we can change that. Just like there’s no night vision or infrared. There is something like radar but it’s limited."

  Nina, surprised, said, "How could a race of people who know how to make anti-gravity circuits and energy weapons not have infrared or night vision?"

  "How is it we put a man on the moon but can’t cure the common cold? Different technology trees, I guess. By the way the Redcoats shut down at nightfall, maybe they came from somewhere where the sun shines most of the time. I dunno."

  "And the goggle things? Which, by the way, look way-cool on you."

  "Sarcasm dully noted. But you couldn’t fly one of these things just looking out the window. Right now, it’s as if I am the ship. My forward view is unobstructed. It’s amazing—try them on; there’s another pair next to your seat."

  She found the oversized headgear and held it with both hands. As the goggles slid over her eyes, it felt as if she stepped outside of the ship. The night sky surrounded her, with the moon above and black, rolling countryside below.

  The sensation was one of her body flying through the air. It took a few seconds, but she stifled the thrill of the view and thought in practical terms again.

  The view inside the goggles included a heads-up display with indecipherable symbols: most certainly a data stream.

  "Have you figured all this out?"

  "No," he told her. "I can’t read their language. But the thing at the bottom right is sort of a heading indicator. I can kinda follow that back to the Wyoming Valley Mall."

  She removed the head set.

  "Kinda? Kinda? You’re flying blind at night in an alien plane that you’re not even sure you know how to fly?"

  He smiled and admitted, "Yeah. I’m flying blind tonight. But I was doing that before I had the ship."

  She understood, shrugged, and conceded, "I guess that makes two of us."

  ---

  Dinner and a movie sounded simple. First, they went to the Grotto Pizza restaurant outside of the Wyoming Valley Mall and ate by candle light.

  Nina had hoped he had somehow scrounged a pizza but instead ate from a picnic basket he brought including chicken from the farms, instant soup, and canned asparagus, all chased by cold Amstel Lights.

  "Oh, look, they’re almost cute," Nina kidded when the things resembling shaved squirrels with glowing tales and fibrous wings gathered on the windows. The glow in the tails came from acid. Acid that ate through glass.

  After evacuating the restaurant, Trevor and Nina moved to stage two.

  The projectionist Jon had found for the night was able to start up the equipment inside the mall's cinemas. When Trevor and Nina arrived, they found Kristy Kaufman taking "tickets" and playing usher with Dante Jones running the snack bar. A portable generator got the popcorn machine popping and ran the projectors. Trevor and Nina saw thirty minutes of a romantic comedy before the film melted and the popcorn machine caught fire.

  Instead of lamen
ting the disaster, Nina did something Trevor had never seen before. She laughed. She could not stop laughing. As a result, he laughed too.

  They left the 'Eagle' under watch and traveled home in a convoy, killing two hostiles along the way.

  Trevor escorted Nina to her apartment and paused at the base of the stairs.

  "Sorry this wasn’t exactly a night on the town," he apologized.

  She answered, "Everything went pretty much as I expected."

  "Oh, now that’s just cold."

  "Listen, we got back alive, right? I’m just saying that that ain’t half bad these days."

  He had seen her smile more that night than in all the weeks before combined. In that, he found some victory.

  "I hope you’ll give me a chance again soon. Good night," he told her.

  Nina’s brow crinkled.

  He asked, defensively, "What? What is it? What’d I do?"

  "Well," she tried to be cute but she could not help grinning a big dumb-ass grin. "I mean, this kind of was our first date so shouldn’t we, you know, have, like, a good night kiss?"

  "Oh," Trevor considered. "Yeah. I suppose you’re right."

  He leaned in slowly. Despite smiling uncontrollably, Nina prepared her lips.

  Trevor’s mouth drew closer…closer…then pulled away.

  "I didn’t earn it," he smirked. "Next time."

  ---

  Trevor walked into the room. The afternoon sun beamed in through the windows illuminating the dust stirred to life by his movement. He sat on the bed.

  The room felt both very familiar and foreign at the same time; like visiting a high school classroom years after graduation.

  "I came to say goodbye," he told the room.

  No one answered.

  "I’m moving on now. I have to. I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you when… when it happened. I’m sorry all of our plans got shot to Hell. I really wanted to dance with you. I wanted to see you wearing that gown."

  He gazed at the wedding dress on the floor.