Blackout

by Edward W. Robertson

  Because when you stayed put, you got nowhere. Your enemies closed around you. The fires neared. The only hope was to go and to keep going no matter how fearful the animal inside you became.

  Because to stay put was to be burned out.

  On their way through the fires, they had skirted the airport. There, a fence of orange matter had been grown around the runways. Two blue towers climbed within it. Raina could see the Swimmers' plans as if she had conceived them herself: torch the city, rendering its buildings uninhabitable to humans. And then raise new structures habitable to Swimmers. Starting at the airport, then extending them further and further until all that was human had been absorbed.

  She didn't yet have a counter to their strategy. Concealed in her heart was the fear that there was no counter. Out loud, to Mauser, she practiced braver words. The colonization of the city was a good thing, she argued. When they held fast to their ship, it was a hard matter to dig them out. Yet the more colonists the aliens brought to the field, the more of them they made vulnerable to attack. When her warriors reconvened in San Pedro, Raina could reprise the assault on the airport. Or better yet, rally their allies in San Diego to attack the Swimmers' beachhead.

  They came to the vast concrete channel housing the river. Swollen by the rains, the waters spread across the five hundred foot-wide canal, a deep green hue, diverting around crashed cars and small islands of silt. Raina called for a stop, sending scouts to clear the opposite bank. Warriors plodded down to the river to gather water. With the city's fires miles behind them, it wouldn't be safe to boil it, but it was far safer to risk tainted water than to fall unconscious from dehydration.

  On either bank, the buildings were large and unfriendly, warehouses and shops that had not concerned themselves with the sensitivities of their shoppers. Good cover, if they needed it.

  Mauser moved beside her. "We've only seen two patrols all day. Might be time to think about turning south before we run up against the mountains."

  "We seek survival, not speed. I want there to be no patrols to witness us."

  "Yes, and I'd like for Mia to rediscover the eldritch secrets of Mr. Jack Daniel's original recipe. Failing that, however, I'll settle for a fifth of anything that doesn't make me blind."

  "The river is a natural border. Once we're on the other side, we'll strike east for another two miles. If the way is clear, we turn south. If it's not, we'll cut across the mountains if we have to."

  "Have you given any thought to what we'll do if we return to an empty Dunemarket?"

  "The old ones knew how to reach the skies with artificial wings," she said. "We will teach ourselves to do the same with feathers and twine. And knock the Swimmers down from their perch."

  Mauser's eyes darted across the far banks. "You are aware that the old ones used jet fuel and turbines?"

  "And are you aware how easy it is to fool you?"

  He looked her way, then laughed, tossing his head. "You're evil, do you know that? Here I am, doing my best to pretend like I know how to fight off the alien menace, and you mock my sage counsel."

  "I only mock when you treat me like a sword that waves itself. So eager for blood that it would rather cut a helping hand than be guided by it."

  With their water refilled, Raina ordered them across the road spanning the river. They reconvened on the other side, angling under the shadow of a mall while the scouts jogged before them. The air was clear of both smoke and jets.

  Raina called Bryson to her. "How does the city feel to you?"

  He scrunched his brow. "How does it feel? Like it wants our sorry asses nailed to a board."

  "Does it? To me, it feels as though we're finally leaving the part that's been corrupted."

  "Whatever you say. It's quieter, that's for sure."

  "I'd like you to range ahead."

  Bryson shaded his eyes, gazing toward the mountains. "Don't we already have scouts out there?"

  "I don't mean to the east. To the south. It's time to go home."

  His eyebrow twitched up. "You got it. I'll take Red."

  "Go four or five miles. We'll make for the golf course on the other side of the 605. Do you know it?"

  "Sure. That's Whittier Junction."

  "We'll rest there this evening. Meet us then."

  He saluted and ran off to find Red. The two men peeled away, heading south at a ground-eating jog. Raina moved onward through a mix of fancy shops and short but sleek offices that looked as if they had once manufactured the future. Whenever they crossed a street or the open field of a parking lot, they stopped to ensure it was free of the enemy.

  Two miles past the river, they gathered in the lobby of an office building to rest their feet and get out of the sun. The warriors broke out lunch. Those who had saved a portion of their alien meat drew envious glances. Initially, many had balked at trying it, fearing that it was poison, but Raina had told them that your mouth will tell you what is right and what is wrong. And that her mouth was telling her that the Swimmers' flesh was salty with minerals, yet as sweet as any lobster.

  Starving on their feet, with the smell of hot meat on the wind, her people had fallen upon it. They'd grabbed as much as they could, but now, two and a half days later, almost all of it had been devoured. As they'd gotten further from the fires, however, they'd found a fruiting avocado tree, and a night-time bow hunt had returned with two possums. Not enough to satisfy 28 people, but they were no longer starving.

  Raina rousted them and carried on. The shops gave out, replaced by a neighborhood of tightly-packed homes. They foraged as they went, picking up a few lemons that weren't too sour. On the other side of the highway, they spotted a Lowe's and infiltrated its garden center. Most of the plant beds were full of weeds, but three stunted orange trees survived. The warriors fell upon them, taking even the green ones.

  They finished plucking the oranges and got back on the road. A jet carved a white line across the sky. It circled the outlying hills, then banked, descending for a closer pass. Raina directed everyone into a nearby Ralph's to wait it out. The supermarket's shelves had been stripped bare, leaving dingy white racks like vulture-picked bones.

  Once the plane went on its way, Raina resumed the march. The clouds had broken apart and the sun caught the smoke, turning the entire sky shades of pink and orange and red.

  With the golf course less than two miles away, Dee returned from scouting. "Swimmers. Two of them. A few blocks south of here."

  Mauser glanced down the street. "Shall we detour north?"

  "Bryson and Red could be back in minutes," Raina said. "We can't let them run into the patrol."

  "Killing it might draw more attention than letting it pass by."

  "This patrol might be all that stands between us and San Pedro. We will squash it and turn south before the enemy knows we've been here."

  She sent scouts to shadow the Swimmers' movements. The two aliens headed northeast, stopping now and then to aim viewing devices at the buildings around them. A block later, as the Swimmers paused to inspect the windows down the way, Raina's snipers shot them dead.

  The rifles' reports echoed through the streets. Warriors ran forth. One of the Swimmers was dead on the spot. The other was finished off with long knives. Someone suggested harvesting the meat, but Raina ordered the bodies dragged out of the street and then motioned her people on. They were too close to breaking free to stop for any longer than was necessary.

  Three minutes later, as they crossed a strip mall parking lot, another jet thrummed overhead. It circled the block where the Swimmers had been killed.

  Mauser stared up at it. "That's no good. I suggest we hole up until that thing buzzes off."

  A pang shot through Raina's chest. "Every time we've taken refuge, they've closed the net."

  "That jet is on the hunt. And we're its prey."

  "Perhaps the fact we act like prey is why we're hunted like it."

  "No, I think we're hunted because they have planes and bombs and we have rifles and feet.
Hence it's in our best interests to use those feet to remove ourselves from view."

  Her heart squeezed as if by an unseen fist. She ordered her warriors into cover. As they filed into a Big Lots, she felt as though she were climbing into her own grave. Much of the store had been looted, but shelves still sported vacuums and plush toys and copies of movies. Raina directed troops to clear the store and locate its exits.

  A second engine vibrated across the sky. Its tone was lower than the first. The fist around Raina's heart tightened its grip.

  "Are you hearing that?" she said.

  Mauser touched the dingy glass door. "I can only hope my Swimmer-lore is worse than I believe. That sounds like a troop carrier."

  The noise intensified, then flamed out. "They've landed. We need eyes on the roof."

  The windowless back room was so dark Raina had to stop in its doorway and let her eyes adjust. Dee had located a ladder up to the roof. Raina shouldered open the stubborn hatch and peeked out. The jet continued to circle. At the moment, it was at least a mile away, but its path would take it much closer to the Big Lots, the roof of which was flat and featureless.

  Raina ducked back through the hatch and called to Dee. "Bring me a tarp. Or a sheet. Anything I can use to hide beneath."

  Dee disappeared into the store. A minute later, she returned with a set of beige bedsheets. Not a perfect match for the gray of the rooftop, but a mismatched square of color would be far less obvious than a human body. Raina draped herself in the sheet and moved to the low wall ringing the roof, tossing the edges of the sheet around her to further disguise her figure.

  She lifted her binoculars to her eyes. For a long time, she saw nothing except the crows haranguing each other from the rooftops. Movement caught her eye. Up the street, an alien emerged from a shop. It was followed by a dozen others. Another dozen appeared further up the street. Both groups paused outside each shop they passed, holding their tablets up before it, and then entered, weapons drawn. Each shop brought them one step closer to the mall. Raina watched them make a thorough check of the block, cross the street, and then start on the stores there.

  And all the while, the jet circled.

  She climbed down to the dark office and moved to the front of the store. Mauser turned, mouth falling halfway open. "Oh, I don't like that look."

  "The Swimmers are coming," she said. "They're going door to door. Searching everything."

  "That's an alarming shift of strategy."

  "Perhaps they know that we ate their dead. Or perhaps they no longer fear us. They will be here in less than a quarter of an hour."

  Mauser pressed his face to the glass. The sun was behind the buildings to the west. "It's going to be dark soon. We could make a break for it then."

  "It's at least half an hour until twilight."

  A warrior named Ryan ran out from the office. "Swimmers to the south. They're going door to door!"

  "How many and how far away?" Raina said.

  "Four blocks, maybe five. At least twenty of them."

  She turned back to Mauser. "We can't stay here."

  "Sure we can. We'll stuff ourselves into those couches in the back. Or hide out on the roof. I guarantee they're not poking every cranny of every building they're going into."

  "We can't hide. Not with this many of us. When they come to this store, they will find us. And if they don't kill us then, the jets will."

  "Why don't you just state whatever solution you're implying?"

  "The only way out," she said. "We move."

  "If we storm out there and get in a tussle with the infantry, lasers are going to fly like the second coming of Star Wars. Even if the ground troops are too gobsmacked by our bravery to radio it in, do you think the jet is likely to miss the light show?"

  "Then at least we will die in battle rather than trapped like rats in a hole!"

  Around her, the warriors stared, fear filling their eyes. She could smell their sweat, their anxiety. It was over.

  Dee stood. "We move. And if we die fighting, then we can die proud."

  Ryan stood, too. Then Kary and Bradley. Then they were all standing, weapons in hand, eyes glinting with more resolve than fear.

  The fist on Raina's heart lost its hold. She breathed deep, filling her lungs. She knew it would be one of the last breaths she ever took.

  Yet if her blood was to spill, let it fall on the soil of Los Angeles. So that a part of her would always be a part of her land.

  "We go now to die," Raina said. "But before we pass on, we will make them regret the day they came to Earth."

  She drew her swords and threw open the front door.

  III:

  REBEL

  19

  Holding the sheet of paper in his hand, Walt glanced to all sides. The park was perfectly quiet. A few crickets or cricket-adjacent bugs. He took another look at the sky, which was dark and told him nothing, then got out a pen.

  Under the alien's note, he wrote, "Okay."

  He retreated three blocks south to where the street started to curve away and installed himself in a north-facing room where he could spy on the park with his binoculars. A whole lot of nothing ensued. With his legs getting sore beneath him, he shifted position. Was someone playing a prank on him? What was more likely? That an alien had taken notice of him, and rather than bombing him into a red cloud, it had wandered up to the park, penned a polite note in English, and asked him for a response?

  Or that it had been written by a human playing a prank on him?

  He sighed and reached for his most recent bottle of tequila, taking a long pull and chasing it with a bite of lime. Thinking on it, he didn't actually feel that disappointed. He had already accepted the inevitability of his death fighting against the aliens. And not in an "it'll come some day" sense, either. More in the sense that "Hey Walt, no sense saving the good stuff for later, because you're not going to last another week." This business with the note was meaningless: he'd had nothing to lose, hence nothing had been lost by participating in it.

  He decided to declare a holiday from hunting Swimmers. The streets were dead anyway. This raised the question of what to do instead. The obvious solution was to drink more, but he wasn't feeling it at the moment. Out of the blue, he was struck with the yearning to watch a new movie. He laughed bitterly. There were hardly enough people left in Los Angeles to round out the extras on a film, let alone to create one.

  Out in the night, something tapped against the pavement. Like a man with a cane. Or more accurately, given the quantity of the taps, like a man with nine canes, or nine cane-bearing men out for a cane-parade.

  Walt frowned at the tequila bottle.

  A lone Swimmer walked down the road. Walt watched as it moved to the strip of park, stopped at the dog bag dispenser, and picked up the note.

  No sense dragging out this pen pal routine. Walt grabbed his pack and gun and hit the street. In the park, the alien appeared to be adding something to the note. Once Walt got within a block of it, he slowed. It still had its back to him. As Walt neared the street that crossed the park, the Swimmer whirled.

  Walt lifted his free hand. The alien stood on the chipped bark. Walt held his laser by his side. The thing's eyes weren't quite as buggy as they tended to be. Instead, they had a slanted cast, giving the alien a skeptical or even mocking look. The Swimmer lifted one tentacle and waved.

  Walt laughed. "What's up?"

  Moving slowly, the alien produced a tablet from its bandoliers, waggling a tentacle over it. It show the tablet to him. The screen's background was black, the letters white: "WE MOVE"

  Walt read the words several times. At first, it was with raw wonder—the Swimmer was writing, in English—and then it was to try to puzzle out what the hell it meant.

  "We move? As in we move forward? Or did you have somewhere in mind?"

  The alien stared even more blankly than its default expression. Walt sighed. It couldn't hear him. He, meanwhile, had no idea how to use its pad. Then again, there was alw
ays analog: the piece of paper hanging from the poop bag dispenser. He gestured to it, then moved to it, the alien's eyes tracking him all the way.

  He got out a pen and wrote, "Move where?"

  The Swimmer read it and gave him a look like he'd shown up not wearing any pants. On its tablet, it wrote, "FROM HERE WE MOVE"

  "That clears up everything," Walt muttered.

  Guessing, he pointed to a house down the street. The Swimmer drew one of its claws in a circle and trotted toward the house. Walt followed, keeping both eyes on the laser it wore on its belt.

  At the house, it climbed the stoop, wrapped a tentacle around the door handle, and pushed inward. Walt had looted the house a few days earlier and was able to direct the alien away from the front rooms and into the kitchen, which was blocked from sight of everything except the home that stood eight feet away from the one they were in.

  Walt leaned against a granite counter. The alien stood across from him. Walt found a notepad on the kitchen island and wrote, "Want to tell me what this is about?"

  The Swimmer gestured and held up its tablet. "THE END OF WAR"

  "That's a little ambitious," Walt said. He wrote, "How did you find me?"

  "I FOLLOWED THE BLOOD"

  "I guess that would do it. So do you know who I am?"

  "I SHOULD?"

  "I assume there's a reason you came to me specifically."

  The alien rocked back, eyeing him. "YOU KILL AS THOUGH TO KILL IS TO BREATHE"

  "That's a good thing?"

  "IT IS GOOD WHEN KILLING IS WHAT IS NEEDED"

  "So what's the plan here? Blow up the big ship?"

  "IT IS NOT NEEDED TO KILL EVERYONE. IF YOU KICK AT ME, I CAN STOP YOU BY KILLING YOU. OR I CAN TAKE OFF YOUR FOOT"

  Walt tapped his pen against the pad. "What does the foot represent?"

  "THOSE WHO SHOVE THE WAR"

  "So you'd like me to eliminate them."

  "YES ELIMINATE"