by W. J. Lundy
Movement in the brush behind them revealed two men creeping out of the woods and into the clearing. A soldier dressed in a soiled uniform, a young man in civilian clothes beside him. The soldier carried a rifle loosely in his arms. The other man had burns to his face and neck. The armed man spotted them and rushed in their direction, dragging the wounded man with him. As they approached them, the wounded man collapsed to the ground, exhausted. The soldier squatted by his side. He looked up at Jacob, and the others then searched the surrounding field.
“Where’s Masterson?” the soldier gasped between labored breaths. “Where the hell is Clem?”
James shook his head, taking the canteen from Jesse and passing it to the new arrivals. “He’s not coming. Can you tell me what happened here?”
“Fuck,” the soldier gasped, dropping to the ground on both knees. “He’s not coming? What do you mean he’s not com—?”
Jacob edged toward him, interrupting. “Where are the civilians, the other survivors?”
The wounded man pulled himself together and sat up. He put his hands on his face and rubbed away dirt and grime from his forehead. He looked at Jacob intently. “I know you; you’re the one with the little girl.”
“Yes,” Jacob said eagerly. “Where are they?”
The man looked down at the ground then met Jacob’s stare. “I’m sorry. Those things—just so fast, they—they took them.” The man closed his eyes tight and looked away.
“Where are they? I have to know.”
The man swallowed hard and pointed in the direction of the cottages. “I barely got away myself.”
Jacob got to his feet and faced the trail. Stepping off, he moved out alone. James and Rogers were quickly up and following him. Rogers turned back and pointed to Jesse struggling to his feet. “Salvage what you can from here then take this one and get to the bunker at the end of the trail—”
“By the radio tower,” the soldier answered.
“That’s the place. Now go.”
Jacob moved on, walking the center of the trail. He noticed the others following him and looked back. “You don’t have to do this; I understand the odds,” he said, his voice breaking.
James increased his pace. Not answering, he moved past Jacob, taking the point position and moving down the trail filled with nightmarish scenes. “We’ll find them,” he said, ignoring the obvious all around him.
Bodies were strewn along the trail, many of them scorched by the blue flames; open wounds cauterized by the heat of the plasma weapons. Smoke was billowing through the woods, mixed with the smell of burning plastics and building materials. Fires raged all around them. Ahead, Jacob could see the one-room cottages fully engulfed, the orange flames lighting the forest floor. He moved past them, feeling the heat of the fires, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers and civilians, checking each as he passed.
He stopped and looked down at the ground. The packed dirt of the trail was broken and disturbed. He knelt and fumbled with the loose soil. Duke was at his side, whimpering and sniffing at the ground.
James pointed off the trail. “The branches are broken, the grass bent against the others… they left the trail here,” he said. James swiveled his head, giving a worried glance back at the flames. “We’ll need to hurry.”
The bearded scout broke the trail, stepping into the pucker brush, his hand pointing to the signs of a cut trail. He nearly stumbled over the body of a young man in civilian clothes, the back of the man burnt down to his exposed ribcage. James stepped to the side and pointed; without saying, the others knew they were on the right path. Coming out of the thick cover, Duke ran ahead and sat on another trail, this one far narrower and led along a dry creek bed. The dog moved ahead, leading the way with the others close behind.
The forest was suddenly quiet, only the roaring of the fire and the crackling of burning trees making any sounds. The light had faded; if not for the eerie back glow of the burning forest, it would have been too dark to see each other. James put down a palm, slowing the others and bringing them in close before pointing down at sets of odd boot prints on the trail. Large and oval shaped, they pressed deeply into the soil and looked to be composed of hundreds of tiny spikes. James stepped off, leading them on before pausing again.
Duke was ahead on the trail, pacing anxiously and whining as he moved on and off the trail to show the way. James cautiously followed along beside the animal and made his way to a steep drop-off. He weaved left and navigated his way off the trail with the others close behind. James stopped in a gravel depression and touched his gloved hand to the soil. When he raised it, it was covered with sticky blood. He then waved his hand along the sand and gravel bed, covered with more of the odd boot prints nearly lost on the loose soil. “A group of them stopped here; one didn’t leave vertical,” he said, sticking a gloved finger into a puddle of blood.
Jacob followed him into the creek bed, the despair building in his body, fearing what he may find. He spun, looking at the boot prints and the blood on the sand. A lingering fear began building in his stomach. He stopped and was caught by a sudden flash of color, bright nylon fabric against the bank. He rushed ahead and found Laura’s backpack, her rifle and a spent shell casing on the ground beside it. Jacob took a step forward and dropped to his knees, pulling the backpack to his chest.
“Jacob, over here,” Rogers called, following Duke over a rise on the far side of the creek.
A bare foot exposed from the surrounding grass. Jacob moved closer, climbing the rise and finding a scene of burnt and discarded bodies scattered among the small clearing. “My God, they killed them… all of them,” he gasped.
Rogers shook his head in disagreement as he bent over and lifted a stuffed bear. “No, only the men,” he said, indicating the bodies. “Check them for yourself. All the women and children are gone, and all their belongings are left where they were dropped. They were taken, Jacob.”
Chapter 14
The television was too loud. Tin echoes recalling the previous day’s news, traffic, and highlights of the weather. She had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Jacob would be home soon, she should get up. She squinted. Bright sunlight from an open window; she forgot to close the blinds last night. Somewhere in her subconscious she smelled wood smoke, distant but alarming. A tiny voice in the back of her mind began to scream something is wrong, pulling her into the present.
“Mommy.”
Laura rubbed her face and jerked her head to the side. Prying open tired eyes, she looked into an unfamiliar space. Shocked awake, her now conscious brain struggled to move into this new place. She was not home. She was lying on an overstuffed sofa, covered with an afghan blanket. The room was a cliché 1960s theme—pastel walls, shag carpet, a wood-paneled console television along a wall, playing a black-and-white image with a looped broadcast. There were family photos on the wall, filled with people that she didn’t recognize.
“Mommy,” Katy said, shaking her arm.
Laura pulled her in, suddenly remembering her last thoughts when she was hiding in the woods, trying to keep Katy safe. But now Katy was here and she was clean, wearing a yellow cotton gown. Her hair was soft, washed and tied back, a concave bowl attached to the top of her head. Remembering, Laura’s hand swung up, checking her own head; she wore the same device. She noticed she was also dressed in the same yellow clothing. “Katy… where—?”
“You were sleeping, Momma. The people gave us food,” she said.
Laura pushed herself up, feeling disoriented and struggling to recall the gaps in her memory. In the corner of the room was a small dining table; on the top was a brown tray with cut sandwiches and stainless steel cups. “Did you eat it?” she said, tension building in her voice. “Who put it there?”
A hissing sound, the clunk of a lock, and the door swung in. A backlit figure stood in the opening and lurched a cautious step forward. “The consumables are safe; we have no reason to poison you.”
The voice was soft and familiar; it appeared in her
thoughts rather than her ears. Katy was on her feet before Laura could stop her. She moved past the being and climbed to the table, grabbing a sandwich. She took a bite and looked back at her mother, smiling.
Dressed head to toe in baby-blue linens that reminded Laura of hospital smocks, the creature slid another step toward her, and the heavy door swung closed behind it. Feminine features, tanned skin, petite and slender, it was smaller than any woman Laura had ever met. The thing’s head was free of hair, its face perfectly shaped like a store mannequin. Its lips moved when it spoke in a foreign tongue, but Laura was somehow able to comprehend the words. “Are you comfortable?”
With graceful movements, the creature moved closer. It looked at Laura and blinked its piercing blue eyes. Passing through the room, it sat gently on a chair across from her and smiled with perfect rose-tinted lips.
Laura looked away, repulsed; her head spinning.
“Don’t be alarmed; it’s your knowledge plate. The discomfort will soon pass as your system adjusts,” the alien said.
Laura’s eyes focused on Katy at the table. Again she went to speak, but the creature stopped her with an uplifted six-fingered hand. Laura’s gaze found the table where a notepad and pen lay just in front of her.
“The food is safe. It meets all of your nutritional needs,” the alien said.
“Why am I here? What do you want with us?” Laura sat up. Leaning forward, she let her hand pass over the notepad and palmed the pen. She pulled it into her grip and slipped her hand to her thigh.
“Why are you here?” the thing responded in turn.
“I don’t understand; you brought me here.”
“Then you concede that we were here first?” The thing nodded and crossed its hands into its lap. “Understanding will be the key to our partnership.”
Laura shifted in position. Sitting up further, she looked the alien in the eye, squeezing the pen in her grip, emboldened by the firmness of it. “Partnership? Who are you?”
“I am Thera, your guide.”
“What do you want?”
“I am but one of many. I don’t want anything.”
Laura, not waiting any longer, lunged at the creature, arms outstretched, stabbing down with the tip of the pen. It did no good. Before she cleared half the distance, the alien shifted to the side smoothly and opened its hand, freezing her. She fell back into the cushions. Her legs still bent, she tilted to the side awkwardly, her eyes now fixed on the ceiling.
“Your knowledge plate gives away your intentions. You have shown strong restraint characteristics, Mrs. Laura Anderson; your peers were not so cordial in our first meeting.” The alien paced across the room to the exit and turned the knob. The creature looked back to Laura and flashed six fingers. Laura felt immediate relief, the feeling returning to her muscles, her heart rapidly beating in her chest.
“When you have rested, we will have more to discuss.”
Laura’s head panned to Katy, who was still sitting at the table, unaware of the tension in the room. The door opened and two men entered, both dressed in dark-blue coveralls. The taller of the two carried a clipboard and a bundle of folded, yellow clothing. The shorter man stepped forward, smiling. He wore a close-cropped beard, the rest of his head nearly bald. She noticed that both men were wearing the gold discs on their heads. The tall man waved to Katy as he passed the alien that was leaving the room, the door closing behind it.
“Mrs. Anderson?” the short man said in a thick French accent. “It is good to see you awake. Are you finding everything you need?”
Laura stretched her back, numbness fading as blood rushed to her muscles. Her hand moved up to squeeze the pained muscles in her neck. She pushed forward and quickly got to her feet, edging away from the visitors and standing between them and Katy. “Who are you?”
The shorter man smiled and dropped his hands, showing palms in a submissive stance. “My name is Francis; this is Ernesto. We’re friends; you have nothing to fear from us.”
“Am I… am I a prisoner?” Laura asked, her head spinning in confusion.
The men laughed patronizingly. “No, of course not; no more than we are. You’ve been rescued.” The man focused on Laura’s shocked expression. “Does this look like a prison? You’re safe now.”
Laura stepped back and allowed herself time to survey the space. She noticed a covered window on the far wall. The short man caught her gaze and followed it. He waved a hand toward the thick drapes. “Yes, it’s okay,” he said. “Please, have a look.”
Laura backed away then slowly stepped to the wall, casting a wide berth around the two strangers. She put her fingertips to the heavy drapes and pulled back the fabric.
Bright sunlight bled into the room as she peeled back the curtain. Laura moved and pressed against the glass. She was in a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. In front was a lawn of thick uncut grass and a car in the driveway on flat tires. Along the blacktop surface sat a row of cookie-cutter homes, garbage stacked along the curbs. Beyond them, she could see a tall fence. It didn’t look natural, its material smooth and out of place; not metallic, but not wood or stone either. “We have some work to do, but this community will do nicely. We have full support from the Creators.”
Pressing close, in the distance she could see people walking the tree-lined street—all women and children. More of the figures in gold sleeves wandered among them, all being watched over by the large, more stout creatures. She was in a community, but she didn’t recognize any of it. She looked back at the men. “What is this place?”
“It’s a start.”
Chapter 15
Jacob, Rogers, and James now lay shivering in damp grass, a dense fog rolling into the valley out of the surrounding hills. Fire glowed in the distance, the woods fully engulfed and no teams of fire fighters to battle them. Through the warm tones of the fire, Jacob could see the glistening frost on the grass. He wished he’d taken the time to wear warmer gear, the dirt and blood-covered blouse and armor doing little against the chilled morning air. His food was gone, and only a tiny bit of water sloshed around in a near-empty canteen.
Their packs had been left back in the thick of the woods. All they carried now were their rifles and ammunition. They’d spent the night in the foundation of a burned-out gas station, cautiously moving to their current spot long before dawn. This bit of real estate was on the approach to a small village. They’d seen lights there from the high ground and, from markings on the trails and vehicle traffic, believed that’s where the captives were taken.
James was on watch, and Jacob knew he should sleep, but between the shivering, ache in his belly, and the restless thoughts, he found it impossible. He lifted his head and looked to the western horizon; there was still no sun. He forced a roll and felt the dog move anxiously behind his calves. No pause in the big man’s heavy breathing beneath his poncho liner, Rogers ignored his movements.
Cautiously working to his side, he pulled up the binoculars from the grass to his front and surveyed the terrain. James positioned them on the slope of a ridge, distant from the village. They lined up so that a far off streetlight was directly ahead, like a beacon, guessing at what the terrain would bring in the daylight. With the coming of dawn, Jacob could just barely make out the manmade shapes of walls and peaked roofs. A lone street lamp illuminated an iron gate maybe a half mile from their hide.
Suspiciously, there were neither people nor the Deltas—or more deadly Red Sleeves—in sight. Several vehicles had moved down the road in both directions, both entering and exiting the gate. Jacob wanted to get closer, attempt to enter the gate or climb the wall, but Rogers wouldn’t allow it. The plan was to lie in overwatch and develop a strategy. They were on their own, and no help would come if they were compromised.
James edged closer and looked over the same space. “If they have sentries out, they must be behind the walls.”
“Can this be done?”
James furrowed his brow as he focused on the far off gate. “I guess that depen
ds on what we plan to do.”
“If you all aren’t talking about coffee then shut the hell up,” Rogers mumbled, moving under the poncho liner. He pulled back the blanket and tussled to his side before propping up on his elbows.
The sun was slowly breaking the horizon. Jacob watched as the black shapes became a large, gated community. A tall fence moved out to the left and right. A well maintained blacktop road met the gate. He was punched on the shoulder and caught Rogers handing him a small hunk of jerky. Jacob grabbed it and stuffed it in his cheek before putting his eyes back on the binoculars. “When do we go down?” Jacob whispered.
“Pssst,” James hissed. “We got movement.”
Jacob saw a vehicle convoy approaching the gate; the tickle in his ear let him know it was their vehicles. Four personnel carriers in a straight line, they slowed and stopped just short of the gate. A red-sleeved beast exited the first carrier and bound to the gate, pushing it back, allowing the convoy to enter, and closing it behind the last vehicle.
“Strange… they opened the gate themselves, no guard posted,” Rogers whispered.
Within minutes the tickle was gone, and they were again alone in the high grass.
James sighed and backed away, catching Jacob’s stare. “What?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Jacob, but this isn’t going to work,” James whispered.
“Now hold—”
Rogers tilted his wrist, looking down. “He’s right, best case we get everyone killed. They’re running some sort of base out of there. We can’t take it alone.”
Jacob turned to Rogers. “Like you said… no guard.”
Rogers grimaced. “That just means they are confident.”
“Or they have an inner perimeter,” James added.