Invasion Earth

by David Tienter

  Stiets stood slowly, regained his erect military bearing, and nodded to Slithest. “Have you reconnoitered the area?”

  “No, Sir. I waited here to protect your arrival.”

  “Good thinking. While we wait for troops, let’s check the place so I can better decide our next move.”

  “Aha,” he said, stepping into the hallway. It had a low ceiling and a narrow walkway, but he could see nothing that would endanger them. He turned to Slithest. “Wait here, alert me if the Earthlings appear,” and he stepped back into the apartment.

  He eagerly waited for the royal guards to come through. The people of this planet would tremble at their appearance. Eager now to face the enemy, he instructed the trooper now coming through the portal to wait for the next warrior and then to follow him.

  He led Slithest down the hallway and stairs, wondering why they would build a ceiling so low. The rumble and cacophony of sounds alerted him that the Earthmen were just outside the door.

  “You go first,” he ordered Slithest, and pushed him out the door.

  Slithest stood alone, confused by what he saw. There were hundreds of the tiny ugly earthlings around him. He was surrounded by swarms of what he knew would soon be the enemy.

  The appearance of an oversized green creature brought laughter and pushing from the nearest people. They believed it to be some advertising ploy from an innovative local company. Most were overjoyed at the distraction on their boring walk to work. Slithest was inundated by earthmen. They were talking at him and trying to touch him. He didn’t like being touched and the hoots and jibes aimed at him were upsetting. He swung his right hand at the human closest to him, meaning to push him back a little, but the sharp edge of his hand, moving faster and harder than intended, hit the unfortunate man’s neck and beheaded him. That should have alerted all of the earthlings, but only the closest witnessed the atrocity. Most still believed it was some strange show being performed.

  Slithest tried to shove away the next person, but his hand, landing on the man’s chest, easily passed through with a non-lethal blow. He raised the skewered man over his head. The screaming, jerking man convinced the people this was not a show. They began to flee from the monsters. The General joined Slithest, and the two began killing more people with rapid arm thrusts that severed their heads. The people near the aliens tried desperately to run, pushing and shoving at the unaware crowds ahead of them. Soon there were fights among the over-crowded Chicagoans with many falling to the sidewalk, to be fatally trampled. Earthmen were screaming with fear of the aliens. The death toll was rising rapidly.

  Despite their disorientation in the wild noise on the streets, the General and Slithest were able to continue their attack. They killed anyone they could catch or reach. General Stiets turned to the street and began attacking the automobiles. He had difficulty smashing windows but, jumping to the top of a close limo, he punched down through roof and killed the driver. Traffic ceased to move as the drivers in the other cars, seeing the carnage, went scurrying down the street, abandoning their autos.

  Curly, the traitor to Izixebi and Trist, came through the door next and immediately raced to help Slithest kill the earthmen. One of the King’s guards came next and moved to help the General attack the cars.

  The commuters ran down the street and hid in any building they could get into or behind the automobiles. Slithest and Curly followed, quickly dispatching any they could catch. The street was red with blood, sticky and slippery.

  A block and a half down Canal Street, Stiets ordered the Tonkians back to the apartment door. He realized he was over-stretching the reach of his small band.

  “We need to guard the portal until more troopers can come through. Once we have sufficient numbers we can continue our attack and conquer the city. We will use this habitation to secure our populace; a land of brick buildings and empty vehicles will be ours. There were certainly enough earthling animals to feed on. I will name this conquest Tonk 2. We now have the technology and a starting place for further expansion.”

  They were soon to learn that earthmen had a pride and fighting spirit far beyond the limits of their weak, easily killed bodies.

  Two blocks south on Canal Street, a visiting detective from Toledo, named Robert Morrissey was having a late breakfast with his beautiful wife at Flaherty’s. He’d been up until the early hours celebrating a book signing of his new bestseller with friends. Lieutenant Bob Morrissey had gradually become aware of the furor on Canal. Leaving his favorite morning dish of biscuits and gravy half eaten, he stepped into the street trying to determine what was causing all the screaming, running people. Seeing the Tonkians proceeding steadily, inexorably, and the high-stacked piles of dead people, he knew this threat to the people of earth had to be stopped. He drew his carry pistol and shouted, “Follow me, Chicagoans,” and began marching at the creatures, firing several rounds at the tall green aliens. Soon a rag-tag group began to form behind him. An army created by the local police, storekeepers, taxi drivers, street vendors, and angry Chicagoans. All had pulled their weapons from underneath seats, from desk drawers, holsters, and fake soda coolers. They refused to be pushed around by anything, much less green creatures. They would not surrender their city to any force. They followed the brave man they called Bob or Hey You, marching and shooting. A local beat cop, who recognized Morrissey from a book sale event the night before, handled him a box of 38 cal. rounds and asked, “You have any stories like this in your book?”

  “Not yet,” said Bob, “but wait till next year.”

  The Tonkians, as the superior hunters on their planet, needed only their inborn primitive mind control and armored bodies. Never had the thought of weapons development occurred to them. They were shocked at the sight of the returning earthmen holding sticks that roared and spat fire. As the rounds zipped past, they failed to understand the danger. The first Tonkian hit was one of the King’s guards, resulting in the loss of the use of his left arm. The injury would quickly heal; still, the sight of the damaged arm gave them pause. The danger was assessed, considered, then ignored. Their leader, General Stiets, ordered the Royal guard and Curly to lead the full-speed charge at the approaching men. Although both were hit several more times, they inflicted grave damage on the defenders with their clawed feet and razor-sharp hands. The General and Slithest leaped into the fray. Despite their bravery, the earthmen were losing.

  Detective Morrissey was wounded by the General thrusting a claw through his left arm. Ignoring the pain, Bob shot him in the middle of the chest. A trained fighter, Bob fired not just once, but kept firing until his pistol was empty. Six well-aimed rounds tore through the alien’s nerve-spinal stem and he fell dead. The Tonkians’ susceptibility to chest wounds was now revealed and the last three green aliens were quickly dispatched. Curly and the guard fought gallantly and were shot fighting the men. Slithest was shot in the back as he fled.

  Morrissey’s army searched the area where the first blood was shed, looking for the Tonkians’ entryway to earth. An unfortunate King’s guard opened the door to Trist’s apartment building and stepped onto Canal Street to be immediately shot down. The men began to search the apartment building, finding no more aliens, but in Trist’s former bedroom, they found the portal by the blazing blue light it threw off.

  Many of the Chicagoans crowded into the room, watching the lights and wondering what this was. A Tonkian began to come through the opening. The heroic Detective Robert Morrissey fired six rounds into the being and it disappeared back into the light. Unfortunately, the exigator worked only one direction. It spit the alien back out and onto the floor, and it also returned all six bullets back at Morrissey with the same speed they had been fired. All six rounds hit Morrissey. He was killed by the same bullets he had used to kill the Tonkian.

  The local police took command of the site. They evacuated the building and placed four men on a 24-hour watch. Nothing ever came through it again. Within ten minutes it disappeared. An alert was set world-wide to watch for t
he tall green aliens and blue-lighted portals.

  Although many countries were skeptical that Chicago had been attacked, the photographs and the open welcome to all rulers and scientists to examine the bodies soon convinced the great majority of mankind. The earth now had to be considered as one people. Aliens had attacked once and they would attack again. The major world leaders agreed, the next attack would be substantially larger and would need the cooperation of all. Still, they were humans, and many of the smaller countries ignored the threat and devoted their resources to strengthening their borders.

  The transporting power of the exigator had been proven. The scientists who had scoffed at such a Star Trek science fiction idea now conceded that a transporter machine could be created. Six years after the Battle for Chicago, the first man was beamed from New York to Los Angeles. The face of the earth was changed rapidly. Rocket development ceased immediately. Airplane production was reduced dramatically. Most planes were made for and purchased by the military. Transports would soon be powerful enough to travel anywhere. Within six months, airports were large empty buildings. The weakness of the transporters was that it could move people only in one destination. But banks of transporters, set up in many cities, had the ability to transport a person from Chicago to New York, to London, to Los Angeles, and back to Chicago in under thirty minutes. 43,000 ex-convicts and old hockey players were laid off, as there was no longer a need for airport security.

  Four years later, a bronze statue of Detective Robert Morrissey was established at the site of what came to be known as The Battle for Chicago. Its unveiling was attended by the heads of over twenty countries and was televised worldwide.

  THE ISLAND

  The truck was burning miles north on I-95 while Trist listened to the reporters talking about the battle with the Tonkians on the radio as carefully as he did to the motor. The police and the militia were on full alert. Since the Exigator portal had opened in his bedroom, they would be trying to locate him. He feared an all-points bulletin had been issued and if the authorities found them or his truck broke down, they were doomed.

  He wanted to avoid I-95 as he believed it would have security cameras at the rest stops and truck weighing stations, so he took the closest exit. He believed the back roads and small towns would be safer. He topped off his tank in a tiny burg, crossed the street to a grocery, and purchased ten pounds of hamburger and a couple of sirloin steaks. His cash was short and he was forced to use his credit card. They would be able to trace him this far. He was tense when they swiped his credit card, but apparently they had not red-lined it yet as the cashier didn’t refuse it. He swung through a burger joint, then drove north out of town. He drove slowly, watching for an abandoned farm or a safe hidden place to pull off. A gray shack and a badly decayed barn appeared to his right and he stopped close to the house. It was well hidden from the road. The place looked to have been boarded up years ago.

  “Let’s eat here,” he shouted, as he pulled up the tarp covering the Tonkians.

  Both stretched and walked a bit. Larry held a pound package of beef that he ate while working out his tired muscles. Izixebi started to eat also, and soon the beef was gone.

  Damn, thought Trist, they both just ate six pounds of meat and still looked a little hungry. He trusted Izixebi, but Larry not so much. He could be looking at Trist as the next meal. He knew Izixebi would not help him if Larry attacked.

  “Thank you for the food, My Hero,” Izixebi said.

  “Can you sense any humans in the area?” asked Trist.

  “Nothing living within a hundred yards of us, except a couple of rabbits behind the barn,” said Larry. “That solid meat was much better tasting than the ground meat.”

  Trist looked the farm-house over closely. It looked the same as thousands of others that had been boarded up, but long years of abandonment and teenage partiers had left it with broken windows and a front door groaning out its agony with every stray breeze. Trist and the Tonkians sat quietly on the porch watching the evening fall. Before them lay a small pile of empty wrappers and the bare bones left from the steaks.

  Trist stood and began to pace in front of them. “I want to tell you my plans so at least you’ll know what to expect. I figure on spending the night here. Early tomorrow morning, we leave for the boundary waters. I will rent an outboard boat, then search for an island where we can be isolated and safe. I think it’ll be easier to hide on an uninhabited island than anywhere else. “

  “We Tonkians do not like boats or to be on water.”

  “Can you think of anywhere else to go?”

  “A deep forest or desert would be best for us,” said Izixebi.

  “I can understand that,” said Trist, “but I haven’t got the money or time to get to either. Do you understand the pinch we’re in? The militia, highway patrol, local police, and probably the National Guard are all out searching for us. We have to disappear and disappear quickly. They catch us, we’re all dead.”

  “We will go where you decide, my Hero/Warrior.”

  At the shore of the boundary waters, Trist left the Tonkians waiting in a copse of trees near the water, several miles outside of a small town. “Wait here, stay quiet.”

  He drove back into the town, and found a quiet, tree-lined street to where he left the truck, unlocked and with the keys left in it. With luck it would be stolen. He walked to the dock and rented a boat. Thirty minutes later, he picked up the two Tonkians and headed the boat toward the middle of the lake, hoping to find a small uninhabited island. Three hours later, with no island in sight, the motor began to cough and soon died. The dockyard man had only provided them with a half tank of gas. He’d told Trist that the tank was full. Now their hopes to reach an island began to die with the engine.

  Trist watched desperately as the falling twilight started to hide the dark rolling clouds from the small desperate band huddling together in the small boat. The temperature had been falling since noon and the light wind still blowing accentuated the cold. He used a rough canvas wrapped around all three for warmth. He no longer tried to steer the small craft, letting the wind decide the course. He knew that certain death lay behind them, before was the terrifying unknown.

  The aliens slept fitfully while Trist kept watch, trying to clear his glasses frequently to gain any vision in the mist. Since all his clothing was wet already, there was little vision gained in wiping them.

  A twinkle in the distance caught his attention. “A light,” he said, gently shaking the sleeping Tonkians.The wind was pushing the boat closer to the light. Too soon, they could see it begin to grow fainter as the wind continued to pull at their boat. The gathering dark hid the distance. It could be a block away, or perhaps a mile. There was no way to get a good estimate.

  “I’m going for it,” said Trist. He handed Izixebi his glasses, and stood to strip off his clothes. By the time he had pulled on a life jacket and tied the anchor rope around his waist, he was shaking uncontrollably from the cold.

  “No, Trist, don’t go. Don’t leave us, “she said. Trist knew Izixebi feared losing the last friendly human on earth.

  “Izixebi, this lake is huge. This may be our last chance. No way to know what’s ahead.” He slipped over the side into the black water. Surprisingly, after the frigid wind, the water felt warmer. Maybe I can do this, he thought.

  He began a short breast stroke in the direction he had seen the light. He made progress rapidly until he hit the end of the rope and began to feel the pull of the wind against the craft. He kept a steady rhythm with his swimming and was rewarded by the towed craft straightening out as it began to follow him. Without his glasses, he had difficulty seeing the light, but occasionally he would catch the flash of light. He swam faster, trying to increase his warmth, but to no avail. The water continued to drain his strength. The lifejacket kept slipping around his side, and impeded his stroke. He untied it and let it float away. If he failed to make the shore, his life would be over anyway.

  Finally, his arms ac
hing with exhaustion, he rolled onto his back, and began to kick. His rate of progress was very slow but after long years of developing his running muscles, his legs kept the beat going steady.

  I refuse to die out here in the dark and the cold, he thought. My life will not end tethered to a boat. I will keep moving, I can keep going for hours, no problem. Our lives depend on it.

  He rolled onto his stomach. A visible light was steady now. Luckily he had stayed on course.

  He began to do the Australian crawl. It was much faster but more exhausting. Reach forward with one hand, pull hard, kick, kick, and kick. Reach with the other hand, pull hard, kick, kick, kick, and breathe. I can do this, I can make this, he thought.

  Trist concentrated hard on using correct technique to keep from thinking about his cold, tired body. Reach that hand as far out as he could, spread the fingers slightly, and pull, keeping the stroke down past his navel. Roll onto that side, lift and reach with the other hand, and pull, breath, kick, kick, and kick. His hands began to stiffen and cramp. His lower stomach was also twitching with small cramps. He knew that portent. The end of his strength was near.

  On the next stroke, something wrapped around his arm. He muttered a mild curse, shaking it free. His other hand became entangled on his next stroke, and he realized he was in a bed of hyacinths, which grow only in shallow water. He had made it into a cove of the island. He was almost there. At last, his foot hit bottom and he walked up onto the shore, pulling the boat behind him. As the bow slid to a stop against the shore, Larry leaped out and picked up the front of the boat to haul it several yards further onto the land. Izixebi came ashore then. Trist quickly grabbed his clothes and dressed. He put on his glasses and wrapped the canvas about him to cut the cold wind.

  “Larry, shove the boat as far out onto the lake as you can. We can’t leave it here or they’ll find us tomorrow when they fly over.”