by W. J. Lundy
“If we’re not here to get them out, why the hell are we here?” Jacob said.
“Recon, maybe take a head.”
“A head?”
“Sure every enemy has a leader; maybe we can kill or capture one. James, see if you can sneak around that wall; travel east and look for a secondary entrance. I’ll take Jacob to the west. Don’t engage; we need to see what’s in there.”
James nodded, pulling his gear in and stuffing it into pockets on his vest. “Back here in four hours then?”
“Wait no longer than that. If we aren’t here, fall back to the bunker.” Rogers rolled to the right and sat up. He folded the poncho liner then opened a small pack and removed four grenades still in the tubes, handing two to James before placing the other two in pouches on his chest rig. He stuffed the blanket into the small pack and readied his rifle. “Go ahead, James, I’ll give you a five-minute start before we move. If you hear shooting, don’t try to back us up, just bee-line to the bunker.”
James grinned. “Understood, but I can’t make any promises.”
Before Rogers could argue, James was on his feet moving down the hill with the dog close by his side. Jacob watched the man glide down the hill and disappear into heavy vegetation at the base. Soon there was no sign that he’d ever been there. Rogers looked at Jacob. “You ready?”
He nodded and signaled a thumbs up. Jacob stood and fell in line behind Rogers. They moved away from the gate, staying just below the hilltop, careful not to profile themselves against the rising sun. Jacob felt good to be back on his feet, the movement helping to warm his cold and cramped muscles. They passed down a draw and toward a thick batch of vegetation. Rogers set the pace, cutting back and forth over easier-to-travel terrain. They moved around a low, open area, sticking to the shadows of the hill.
Jacob looked back at the high ridge behind him, its high grass now swallowed in shadows. Looking further east, he could see a sloping face that overlooked the west wall. Rogers pointed to it and dropped to his knees then slowly leopard-crawled into a batch of low grass.
Jacob could tell by the growth patterns of the vegetation that this is where the field would have been cut to before the attacks. The grass went from a tall, brushed clean appearance to more wild and mixed with weeds and scrub brush. Looking closer at the high walls as the sun hit the surface, Jacob suddenly could see that it was different. “Rogers, that material, what is it?”
Holding the binoculars, Rogers scanned the fence. “A type of carbon fiber maybe? This has to be a base, why else build a wall?”
Rogers pointed to a batch of playground equipment surrounded by a small walking path that led into an open slot on the wall filled with a narrow gate. Jacob put his rifle to his cheek and scanned the low ground ahead. No movement, the area appeared completely unoccupied. The pedestrian gate hung closed and a broken sapling slapped against the surface of the nearby wall.
On the far side of the walls, shingled rooftops glistened in the morning sun and the shadow of the hills behind them receded. Clouds of smoke in the distance drifted lazily on the horizon. Using the binoculars, they spotted a road that meandered through the small community. Rogers tapped Jacob’s shoulder then indicated an elevated mound near the edge of the clean grass. It was higher than the rest of the nearly flat ground that ringed the fence, but they would have to cross open terrain to reach it.
Jacob nodded a reply and followed his leader toward the position. Wading through high grass, Jacob could feel the pace pick up. He felt the urgency; they needed to get set before the sun completely broke the high ground behind them and washed them in daylight. As the shadows pulled toward them, Jacob instinctively swallowed at a tickle at the back of his neck. His muscles tightened. “Rogers,” he whispered above the labored breath of his movement.
“I feel it too, just keep moving.”
Rogers scrambled ahead and dove into high grass as the vibration intensified. Jacob low-crawled, following Rogers’ boots up the incline of the mound. He could hear the sound of the vehicles; the whooshing their engines made, defying gravity as they forced away from the ground.
He crawled up until the ground leveled out then they turned and pushed their weapons in front of them, faces down in the earth, taking labored breaths from both exhaustion and adrenaline. When he dared, he slowly lifted his head just high enough so that he could peek through the tall grass. They’d closed the distance to the pedestrian gate to less than a football field.
It was in easy firing range now. The sapling no longer swung with the breeze. Beside it stood a tall, red-sleeved soldier. The creature carried a weapon at the low ready, while a larger group of them were forming up inside the wall with the vehicles inside the now open gate.
“You think they know we’re here?” Jacob whispered. “What made them rush out like that?”
“No, if they knew, we’d be dead, just stay cool.”
Jacob’s eyes met Rogers’ stare. “Okay, what do we do now?”
The hardened soldier pressed closer to the earth and dipped his chin. Jacob’s eyes followed the motion and saw them—a large group of people, mostly women and children, walking two by two in a long column on the path. They were flanked on both sides by the red-sleeved aliens. As they got closer, Jacob could see they were being followed by Deltas. Moving differently now, they marched in straight lines, their black eyes locked straight ahead.
Jacob began to speak, but Rogers silenced him with a finger to his lips. The civilians carried no belongings. Women gripped the hands of children; those too young to walk were carried. The Deltas seemed to focus on moving the civilians forward, while the Red Sleeves were on lookout, searching for threats. As the group neared the gate, more Reds exited, these also joined by the smaller, gold-sleeved creatures.
The approaching civilians stopped short of the gate. They were quickly grouped together and formed into a long line with the Deltas directly behind them and to the side, effectively fencing them off. One by one, a Gold Sleeve would leave the gate and approach a family unit. Dividing a parent and children from the others, the alien would then escort these small groups through the gates, a new gold member replacing it before identifying a new batch of civilians.
On more than one occasion, a civilian would hesitate or resist instructions to follow; these would somehow be dropped to the ground then carried by a Red. Soon the entire group of civilians was inside the walls. The Deltas turned and began moving back down the path into the direction they’d come from with the Red Sleeves forming up to follow them.
The pedestrian gate was now closed; the Reds inside the wall vanished.
“What just happened?” Jacob whispered, seeing the last of the marching Deltas fade from sight.
“They’re herding us; using the Deltas as sheep dogs, and those damn Reds as shepherds. That explains what we found. They killed off all the men, gathered the women and children, and took them here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but I think they’re safe. Why take them and go to all of this trouble just to kill them?”
“Why do any of this? What are we going to do?”
Before Rogers could answer, the snapping of distant gunfire echoed through the valley, a single gunshot quickly followed by two more.
Rogers grunted and pushed away. “And that would be James. It’s time to move.”
Chapter 16
Clem rolled his shoulders, forcing aches and cramps from his weary muscles. His pack and rifle lay at his feet. So far he’d managed to keep up with the younger men, but at over sixty years old, he knew his days were catching up with him. It took them all night to make the climb to the top of Emmerson’s Ridge, and now they were all paying for it. Exhausted and pushed to the limits, the stress of moving through the enemy territory had worn heavily on him. Looking around, for the first time, Clem began to regret having joined up with this group.
He was doing fine on his own. Surviving the initial attacks then living quietly in a secluded cabin between the
American lines to the west and the Canadian forces behind him to the east. He’d managed to stay hidden from the waves of refugees, and even score a way to trade goods with the passing patrols. The American soldiers were always willing to give up a few rounds of ammunition or a ration pack for a portion of his homemade wine and spirits. Masterson and his instructors had become some of his best customers—probably why he allowed them near his place after the big bomb dropped, and then allowed himself to be convinced to go with them.
The old man lowered himself to the ground and leaned back against his pack. He was no stranger to this life. Not so much a soldier, but having spent a career working with the intelligence service, Clem had paid his dues on the ground and in the bush. Still, he was no infantry commander, and he felt at odds in his current situation. Surrounded by the grunts and their leaders, he felt exposed and vulnerable. His trade had called for being alone or in a small group, hidden in plain sight. Clem knew he didn’t belong; he was used to working with a scalpel, whereas the tool of choice for these men was a chainsaw.
There were caches of food and ammunition hidden along the ridge and Masterson had his men moving up and down it, securing the goods. Men stacked bundles of stockpiled weapons and ammunition, all makes and model of military arms hidden there weeks ago.
Clem watched as the veteran soldier approached him. He waved a hand, inviting the tired soldier to sit. Masterson nodded in recognition of the gesture and turned to look back down the valley before slowly lowering himself to a knee. The man was breathing hard and sweat lined his brow. Clem extended a hand and tossed the man a canteen filled with cold water. The soldier put it to his lips and drank thirstily.
Masterson dropped to the ground and let the canteen fall by his side. “You know, I thought we were winning again; maybe had the black-eyed bastards pushed back. After everything we went through, the numbers we’ve lost, I thought we were finally gaining ground again.
“But this—whatever this is—Clem, you know in the last forty-eight hours we’ve lost everything we’ve gained? I don’t know what we have left to fight for. For the first time, I don’t know what in the hell to do, or how in the hell to do it.”
Clem nodded, looking along the cluster of men hidden in the rocks and stumps along the ridgeline, most of them now asleep under ponchos while a small working party was reloading magazines and sorting through supplies. He reached across the ground and retrieved the canteen, returning it to his belt. He sighed and leaned farther into his pack. “You need to cut them loose,” Clem said.
“Loose?!” Masterson said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.
The old man dipped his chin and used a hand to rub his wrinkled brow. “You had what? Two hundred men three days ago; a hundred yesterday and now down to forty, maybe fifty, still able to fight. You need to create a smaller footprint, and you need to do it fast before they are all gone. Send them to ground.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“It’s the best I got for you, Matt,” Clem said, using the old soldier’s nickname. “Divide them up, pick a leader, give them instructions to go out and raise hell for the enemy. Or send them east to see if the lines are still holding there. Hell, just tell them to hide and wait it out; better than losing the lot of them on some empty country road.
“This isn’t giving up; it’s what defending armies do when confronted by a greater force. We can’t face this head on. They have the weapons and they have the numbers. It’s time for the Republican Guard to fade back into the population, preserve their numbers, and prepare for the resistance.”
Not missing the reference to the invasion of Iraq, Masterson looked back at Clem. “I know you said you were some sort of cop at one time, but really, who the hell are you?”
“I’m just a tired old man with too many scars.”
Masterson looked Clem in the eye, frustration showing on his face. “That’s it then? I tell them to hide and wait it out?”
Clem shook off the comment and reached into a side pocket of his oilskin jacket. He pulled out a stainless steel flask and removed the cap, putting the neck to his nose before taking a long sip. He pursed his lips and grinned before passing the flask to Masterson.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about this since day one. The meteorites, the Day of the Darkness; that was just to soften us up, make us weak and destroy our defenses, get us to tighten up behind walls. Hell… and that’s exactly what we did, just like they expected us to. We consolidated our forces, our people.”
Masterson took a sip and held back a burning cough. He nodded. “That’s what we did at Meaford and similar places across the globe, barricaded behind walls.”
Clem pointed at him. “And you know what else? Look at the way we abandoned our conventional weapons, tanks, and fighter aircraft when we lost the airfields and oil reserves. That’s all gone now with the waves of those Deltas. We settled in for a long war with them, and now look.
“Then came the first of those damn balloons soaring overhead, positioning themselves like landing craft in the English Channel. The way they hit the ground with the bombs, destroying population centers and bases, once again softening us up before landing their troops. And look at them now, the lack of aircraft, not a single drone. Why is that?”
Masterson shrugged as he drank again this time more heavily, straining to keep up with the old man’s thoughts. He held in the liquid and shrugged before passing back the flask.
“Because they don’t have any, that’s why. I think they’re stuck here. These aren’t Viking raiders, these are Roman conquerors; hell, pilgrims even, and we’re the Indians this time. I don’t think they’re much different from us, maybe some new gadgets and tricks to kill us, but I’d imagine their tech is nothing outrageous; if it was, we’d already be dead.
“Those were drop ships, and—I believe—on a one-way trip at that. Those things aren’t here to steal shit from our planet and leave. Nope, that’d be too simple. They’re here for the planet. They’re here to colonize. They want it all, and best I figure, they aren’t leaving.”
Masterson laughed. “And what do you plan to do about it?”
“I sure as hell won’t surrender, and we’re dead if we all stay bunched up like this. Maybe in small teams we’ve got a chance.” Clem chuckled. “I’ve been watching their movements, and they’ve all come from and returned to the same direction. I think one of those drop ships landed close to here and set up a base. I’m going to see if I can find it.”
“And if you do?”
Clem smiled. “Well, hopefully kill a bunch of them and live long enough to brag about it over a jar of homemade shine,” he said, taking another long sip and passing the flask back. “How about you, Matt? You think you got another war left in you?”
The old soldier grinned. “You know, Clem, I’ve been fighting on the other side my entire life; guess it’s time to see how the gorillas do it.”
Chapter 17
Laura tried to remain calm; she put on a strong face for Katy, who was completely unaware of their situation and enjoying the new surroundings. The home was warm and clean, she found the kitchen lightly stocked with food, the refrigerator held a metallic pitcher of water, and there was even bread on the counter. All the drawers and cupboards were empty of china or glass, supplied instead with a set of plastic plates and cups.
Laura searched the old house, finding closets cleaned out, dresser drawers empty. Moving from room to room, every window was sealed shut, and every door locked from the outside. She entered the small bathroom and tried the faucets, finding the water hot. “How can this be? What is this place?”
A knock at the front door, followed by the clunk of the lock, frightened her. She rushed from the bathroom and took a position between Katy and the entrance. The door slowly opened, revealing the smiling face of the short Frenchman. “Sorry to alarm you, Mrs. Anderson, it is time for reception.”
Laura backed away, lifting an arm to shield Katy behind her. “Francis, I don’t understand
why you are doing this. Just let us go.”
The man looked at her with a shocked expression. “Go? Why would you wish to leave? Where would you go, the camps? Would you prefer that over a warm home and the food you have been provided? Is that what you would prefer for your child?”
“I had that before—”
“And you have it now. Please, Mrs. Anderson, it would be unwise to decline reception. It is required, and not attending will have consequences.”
Laura backed away, getting closer to Katy.
“They would take her from you,” the man said, looking to Katy. “Please, just do as they ask. You’ll see; it gets easier.”
“How do you know, Francis? Why do you trust them?”
“What’s not to trust? They feed us, they provide us shelter, and they protect us from the martyrs.”
“The martyrs?”
“Those who preceded the Messenger.”
“You mean the Deltas?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But they made them,” Laura said. “They created those monsters!”
“They made everything; they are the Creators. Please, we cannot be late,” the man pleaded.
Laura ignored him. “Why did they attack us?”
The man turned and looked at the open door. Laura could see people moving past it, all dressed in the dark-blue and the soft-yellow gowns. “You mustn’t speak this way; you shouldn’t even think it. Blasphemy is not tolerated among them. Please, just come; all will be explained.”
Laura could tell by his words that the man was worried; not only for her, but for himself as well. She turned and held Katy’s hand before looking back at him. He smiled eagerly and waved a hand, ushering them ahead of him. She took a deep breath and told herself to relax, this wasn’t submission, she was just learning about them; she would find what she needed to know and look for a way out.
“Okay,” she said softly and stepped through the doorway and onto a narrow sidewalk.