Planet Genocide II: Galaxies Collide 5: Onslaught

by Andrew McGregor

  All three women were tearful with the subdued children both sat in the rear foot well of the green station wagon, Katherine, Emily and Elizabeth having witnessed their progress along the ‘road of the dead’ without any sign of survivors, their resolve slowly eroded as they witnessed wolves and other scavengers feeding and tearing flesh from the still warm bodies. The more charred and burnt human remains were ignored in preference for warm cooked flesh, the bloodied jawed carnivores glancing up curiously at the shocked passing humans, perhaps realising the balance of power was finally shifting…that the once feared two legged species was now being chased down and hunted to extinction.

  By early evening, the group were simply exhausted, the limited visibility and morose emotions draining each individual considerably, Benjamin staring across into bloodshot eyes, Brad’s youthful weary figure virtually slumped across the handlebars of the motorbike as yet one more brief stop was accomplished.

  The older experience of a combat veteran came to the fore, the middle aged man considering that an early night stop was now required to refresh spirits and to prepare for another day of anguish. Sipping from a metal military water flask, he raised a scarf across his mouth as he lowered the driver’s window, the motorbike helmet drooped as Brad struggled to keep his eyes open behind the visor, Emily grinning with tired vision as the two German Shepherd dog heads rose inquisitively in the narrow rear seats.

  Benjamin coughed as the dust caught in his throat, indicating to the swirling dirt ahead and then glancing down at the map on his lap, ‘There is a truck stop a few kilometres ahead…what we will find there I don’t know, but it would be a safe place to spend the night…easily defendable as I recall it has shutters and only one main door. There are outbuildings and fuel pumps, so we can get some extra supplies…’ He grinned beneath the scarf in fond remembrance, ‘Even if they have lost power, the burgers will still be relatively fresh and so should the cheese and buns…we can feast for a night. If you don’t like my wife and I’s cooking, the dogs will and they have a log fire and barbecue as I can remember, so we will be warm and have beer at least.’

  Benjamin drew a sharp breath, lifting the sniper rifle from between him and his wife to place it on the wide front dashboard, ‘We must realise that the dead will be all around us from now on…we need to keep moving and help very few of those we meet. The more that travel with us will draw attention, the dead behind us show that…many travelled together for comfort, it is basic human nature, but can draw the attention of the enemy. We travel fast and light…that is the only tactic that will get us to safety…there is no room for any more unless we all agree?’

  Brad seemed to stiffen, Emily and Katherine nodding solemnly as the older army veteran sniffed, his eyes straining against the biting dust as he stared at the motorcyclist, ‘Stop just short of the buildings as they appear on the right. I will scout the premises and then bring you all in…we need to be careful, any survivors have or will have become desperately frightened…they will shoot first.’

  The motorbike slowed, engine note rising as Brad dropped a gear, his eyes straining through the scratched visor and billowing dust towards the darkened silhouettes of buildings ahead highlighted in the bright front headlight and flickering illumination from two burning vehicles. The wider rear bike tyre skidded sideways across the tarmac as he drew to a dramatic halt, a smile flickering across his lips. Excitement rose briefly within his rising chest, a liking for the powerful pulsing bike growing as his nerves had seemed to finally settle, an increasing hunger and longing for a burger and perhaps fries adding to the heightened emotion, a brief escape from grim reality into the fond taste memories of old beckoning.

  The helmet slowly turned with the handlebars, examining the shadows of several deserted vehicles, their doors still open from a hasty terrified departure by the owners and occupants, one closer white hatchback on the other side of the raid drawing a watchful eye as adrenalin once again surged through an exhausted system, the car with blood smear marks along the side…a body slumped on the road across the front bumper, the head lolled forward lifelessly.

  Dropping the stand and slipping his right leg wearily over the seat of the motorcycle, Brad reached for the strap of the assault rifle, pulling the weapon over the helmet and brandishing it in both hands as he gritted his teeth, a head turning from side to side warily. The dust and embers swirled around his half crouched figure, his head lowering briefly as he pulled the bolt back on the rifle, just as Benjamin had taught him ‘to check the breech’ and ensure the weapon was ready to fire.

  Glancing cautiously round once more, Brad stepped uneasily towards the white, blood smeared car, lifting the weapon to chest height, his eyes narrowing as he approached the vehicle, the helmet moving from side to side as his nervousness rose. Rounding the side of the car, he looked down, the injuries on the corpse of a man in his late twenties causing him to draw breath, the victim’s stomach cut wide and deeply open, exposed dust coated bloodied severed intestines spilled onto the tarmac between the prone spread legs.

  Stepping back aghast as he glimpsed the blood soaked shirt and broken, bone perforated leg, he swallowed hard, acidic bile rising almost uncontrollably from an empty stomach. The helmet turned briefly as he briefly heard approaching engines, then back to the corpse before him.

  His eyes strained as he saw the blood trails from the bowed head’s mouth and deep crimson shoulder injury, realising the male casualty had died in excruciating agony, but also concluding that the final wound had been delivered after the man had struggled painfully to his current position…the dreaded merciless enemy was perhaps no longer only in the air.

  Chapter Twenty: The Eastern United States

  Long Island, Boston Harbour

  The two soldiers had been running southwards for some time and were now drenched in sweat, their bodies drained as they stopped in a small clearing between the trees, gasping for breath. Rodrigues dropped to his knees, wincing at the extreme pain in his ears, the younger marine lowering slowly onto a tree stump in exhaustion, the lapping water only a few metres away.

  Distant muffled explosions and cracks of rifle fire sounded through the trees, the fighting in Boston harbour now progressing into the streets behind the waterfront, thick black plumes of smoke rising from the shattered forward thoroughfares and burning buildings, the inferno spreading northwards.

  The young marine slipped the helmet from his head, rubbing a gloved hand through his matted hair as he drew breath, recalling the screams and horrified shouts behind as they had run from the lighthouse, the Morgons slaughtering everyone in their path, hacking and mutilating the adults as they had cowered with their children. A grey MPV had hurtled past the running soldiers, two teenagers sprinting with them, the terror consuming the middle aged driver preventing him from seeing any need to stop for others.

  They had run along Long Island Drive from the north for a short time, passing the tourist signs for the historical defensive forts on either side and then approaching converted apartment buildings, the island originally housing the homeless and dependency recovery programmes.

  The two soldiers had slipped into the trees, wary of staying on the long straight track from the lighthouse at the northern picnic area of the island, passing impressive secluded and private dwellings at the water’s edge. Both realised in grim silence that any wealthy residents that were in the apartments behind were probably now beyond help and if left could delay the hunting Morgons searching the numerous buildings and surrounding land, preventing their own demise as they searched for a boat. The soldiers knew they had limited time to escape...every second counted and none would be saved if they waited for others.

  Rodrigues had indicated for them to move along the coastline, to scour the private moorings for any possible launch or pleasure craft, the only possible escape from the remote island. The Latino senior private had considered that it was best for them to sail south, towards Quincy or Weymouth to join another military unit there, or even the nati
onal guard. The searches had been fruitless…any boats they found being without keys, several already having departed earlier in the day as the owners went to work in the city beyond.

  His thoughts had then considered there may even be security personnel or even weapons at the abandoned cold war missile base further south on the island…perhaps a military launch if they were lucky, the two soldiers progressing alone through the trees on the western coastline and then preparing to make their way inland when they reached the outer boundary of the complex.

  Muffled gunfire from the north caused them to wearily rise, realising the Morgons had now reached the apartment blocks and were butchering any unfortunate remaining residents in their homes, several of the occupants firing back with their own private handguns or rifles. A low howl chilled the blood of the younger soldier, his ears straining as he heard another to the north east, his lips curling in distain as he realised the hunting beasts were calling out to each other, perhaps celebrating their kills.

  Slipping further into the trees, Rodrigues moved first, his pistol raised as they stepped carefully along the sightseeing path, hearing distant screams between the gunfire and wary of stepping out from the shadows of the trees, stars beginning to sparkle in the clear sky above.

  The young marine glanced round, staring at the flashing lights of several enemy craft as they swept through the night air towards Boston further west, his head shaking in despondency as they moved further southwards, glimpsing rising steel fencing ahead with the benefit of flickering illumination from the burning city, the coastline path weaving back and forth with a narrow beach below.

  Approaching the boundary to the abandoned Nike Missile Launch Base, Rodrigues turned to his countryman, grimacing at the high fencing and razor wire above, his voice raised with the perforated eardrums, ‘We will have to be quick…skirt the western edge for an opening or signs of any security…then continue south if we find nothing.’ He sighed, a hand rising to the side of his head, dried blood smeared from his lower ear lobes, ‘I don’t fancy swimming across to Moon Island…that’s where the bridge was before they demolished it.’ He grinned, wiping his sweat and dirt encrusted face as the younger marine grimaced, the Latino slapping his uniformed shoulder in encouragement, ‘There will be some sort of marina or mooring at the southern tip…maybe we can get a boat there. Someone must have escaped and be trying to get to their vessel…perhaps even the tour boat will be there for…’ His voice trailed off as the young man stiffened, grasping his arm, the cracking of twigs and rustling of branches behind in the trees alerting the other marine as he pointed, their bodies lowering with pistols extending in alarm as the youngster heard a low growl, Rodrigues gritting his teeth as both soldiers backed along the path.

  Holland Tunnel, beneath the Hudson River, NYC

  Struggling along the darkened Holland Tunnel, Davis glanced from side to side, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the shadowed huddled figures, women with children and exhausted office workers cowering in fear against the walls in the gloom of the tunnel. Many were slumped silently with bloodied head or limb wounds, the low moaning and weeping resounding across the grimy tiled walls as many sat with heads slumped downwards in defeat, their emotions drained completely from an afternoon of terror and exhaustion. Most were dishevelled, in dirt and dust encrusted suits and clothes, a number of medics crouched before the more seriously wounded, other people struggling past between the abandoned stationary cars and vans.

  The NYPD police officer slowed and glanced round, biting his lower lip and drawing blood as he realised there were many people behind, the rumble of escalating gunfire and explosions now seeming to be near the eastern entrance to the tunnel and spurring the fleeing civilians onwards.

  The older policeman was grunting behind, still half supporting the female corporal, his teeth clenched as he saw the stationary civilians, nodding grimly to Davis in the flickering light, ‘Keep going…we can’t help them, there are just too many. Shout for them to follow…that’s it…that’s all we can do now!’

  Davis shuddered and turned to trudge onwards between the cars, along the middle of the carriage way, his hoarse voice rising as he drew a deep breath, ‘We are NYPD, you cannot stay here! You all need to keep moving westwards...away from the enemy! They will soon be here…get up and follow us…the army will be at the other end of the tunnel!’ His breath caught as dust fell from the tunnel roof, chest heaving as several people pushed past, his voice strained, ‘You will escape if you follow…’

  Noticing several of the dirt covered civilians rising, a couple of medics glanced round, nodding warily and assisting their patients upwards, Davis shaking his head in despondency as others simply stared at him with tearful blank expressions, unable to move as they sat slumped in overwhelming shock.

  Progressing further down the slope under the river, the overhead and side lights began flickering and dimming, Davis straining his eyes nervously as he glanced back, the older policeman struggling after him as silhouettes passed on either side along the walls. Many more civilians now progressed along a raised side walkway, his eyes fixing on another police officer amongst a group, the young Latino holding a blood soaked shoulder tightly as he urged the stunned people along, the young man shouting across at others sat on the edges of the tunnel to move.

  Turning back, he indicated to his partner and the fearful female, ‘I will take her now…’ Shaking his head, he pursed his lips in regret, ‘Sorry bud…should have offered sooner…’

  The older officer grinned, shuffling to the side and between to stationary cars, ‘It’s okay…we have become friends even though she is still deep in shock…she seems better now, but seeing most of her unit slaughtered has not helped.’ He wiped hands across his dirt smeared black uniform as Davis edged between two vehicles opposite to allow others to pass, the officer’s eyes meeting as the older man swallowed, ‘Okay…so we are without a car and precinct now and I think and I am not going back. We get to the other end of the tunnel and report to any duty commander…they will assign us to further duties.’

  NYPD officer Davis Michaels nodded grimly, then stiffened, his head turning to stare back along the darkened tunnel, the distant rumble of explosions continuing as his eyes widened, screams filling the air as louder gunshots rang out, people surging forward in panic as he gasped. A distant shriek and then burst of automatic fire, tracers streaming above them as the lights surged and flickered once more, his vision focussing on numerous distant black armoured figures surging between and over the vehicles, the sparks and glimmer of blades flashing from side to side as he frantically grasped for his holstered pistol.

  The older officer shouted, his words drowned out as he grasped the female corporal, the lights flickering and dimming as Davis lowered his stance, his teeth gritted, ‘Get going…’ He raised his firearm and grasped his right wrist with his left hand, the older man struggling into the throng of screaming and jostling civilians.

  The frantic screams became high pitched, the lights seeming to surge and then suddenly go out, the tunnel plunged into darkness briefly as terrified panicking people fell against vehicles, scrambling over each other to escape, the Morgon shrieks becoming louder as the gunfire increased. Flashes filled the darkness of the tunnel as Davis ducked down, the bullets zipping overhead, several bodies crumpling on the walkway as the shouts and screams intensified.

  A brief flicker of light as Davis’s nerves ran cold, the blood soaked Morgon soldiers now only a few vehicles away as he rose, their armoured plate crashing against cars and shattering windows as the massacre continued. His pistol bucked twice as the lights failed completely, the flashes illuminating the walls around eerily as sparks flew from a nearby helmet, the NYPD officer backing away as he strained his eyes to see, his thighs coming to rest against the car behind.

  Then red sparkling eyes filled his vision, the Morgon trooper at the other side of the vehicle, several more igniting nearby, the pin lights sweeping across the pitch darkness as he raised the p
istol instinctively.

  The immense impact knocked the wind from him, his body tossed across the tunnel, bones cracking as he smacked against the tiled wall, his frame shuddering as he fell roughly on top of others, some crying and moaning, other bodies still beneath. Groaning, he realised he had been hit with considerable force from the side, his left arm and leg broken as he moaned in pain, rolling over slowly to come to rest against a car wheel.

  Sucking air painfully, he felt across his chest, realising there was a deep tear in his side as he tried to roll over, fingers touching the jagged broken bone of his ribs that now extended through a soaked uniform shirt. Gasping for breath as he coughed up blood, the agonising pain seared through his prone body, wide unresponsive eyes staring up at the tiles above as they flashed, his brain unable to process the zipping tracers above as the Morgons fired controlled bursts down the tunnel.

  Then two red piercing lights filled his blurred vision, the angular helmet tilting slightly to one side before immediate darkness and a loud crunch, the armoured boot thrust abruptly downwards and crushing his skull.

  Presidential Bunker, beneath the Blue Ridge mountains in Virginia

  Numerous screens flickered across the main communications room, the twelve seats manned by young weary security personnel as they tapped furiously at their keyboards, attempting to gain information from jammed airwaves and revolving small receiver dishes hidden across the raised tree filled mountain above the deep bunker.