by Mark Tufo
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Eastern Seaboard Ground Occupation - Southwest of Boston
The Ground Troop Commander came out of his command module in time to see the guards tossing about what looked to be a human, or at least what remained of him.
“Sub Ground Commander!” he yelled. “I thought when you said we had captured a prisoner that you meant a live one.”
The Sub Ground Commander walked out of the module, hoping that his over-zealous guards hadn’t taken matters into their own hands. He was visibly relieved when he noted that it was not the prisoner that he had spoken of.
“No, sir, that is not the hu-man that I spoke of. The guards must have found a dead mammal. And decided to make sport of it.”
“Well, make sure they don’t do too much damage, the flesh will still make a good meal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And bring me the live hu-man. He has much to answer for.”
The Sub Ground Commander motioned over to two of his guards standing over a quivering mass of humanity. Snot and dirt and blood covered the man from head to toe.
One of the guards grabbed the man by the hair and yanked him up. The man shrieked a high-pitched cry.
“He is somehow even more repulsive than the rest,” the Ground Commander stated. “Give him to the Genogerians when I’m done questioning him.”
The Sub Ground Commander merely nodded.
The man shrieked again as he was thrust to the ground in front of the Ground Commander.
“Please,” the man begged. With his hands interlaced and an expression of true horror upon his face. “Please don’t eat me, they forced me to come here. I didn’t even have a weapon.”
“That seems to be true, Ground Commander,” the sub added. “The guards found him cowering in the woods a full fifty yards from the firefight.” The man was nodding vehemently in agreement with every word the sub-commander stated.
“Kill him,” the Ground Commander stated as he began to turn away. “The shrivata (weasel) turns my stomach.”
“Wait, I have information,” the man-thing groveled.
“What kind of information could you possibly possess that would make me want to not kill you?” The Ground Commander snorted and kept heading into his node.
“I know where there are more humans—many more!” the man wailed.
“Get him cleaned up.” The Ground Commander motioned to the guards, “He disgusts me in his present state. And hu-man, if what you tell me isn’t worth the water they pour on you, I will have my guards strip you piece by ragged piece of your flesh while you are alive.”
The man shivered, but his eyes still betrayed a glint. A small smile flashed across his eyes.
'Bennett once again you have saved your ass.' He thought. 'These things might be brutes but I've been able to manipulate brutes all my life, it doesn't matter to me if I betray my people, what have they ever done for me?'
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Mike Journal Entry 12
I pushed the troops hard to put as much distance between us and the attackers. We had been able to slip out the back of the apartment building before the aliens could close their net. The added confusion of the exploding transport aided in our escape. But I'm sure the distress was visible in my face.
“He’ll make it out, Mike,” Tracy said when we stopped to catch our breath, but it had sounded false to me and to her probably as well. Even from a half mile away the explosion nearly ripped us all off our feet. The sky lit up like a summer day, blindness shaded my eyes almost as quickly as the shadow that crept over my heart. If we had felt the explosion from that distance how could anything have survived at the epicenter? I turned and continued moving to put more distance from the new killing fields. I had lost another near to my heart. It was another notch in my ever growing list of people I would eventually avenge.
“Fuck,” I whispered and pushed my pace a little quicker, the squad quickened with me. The aliens were sure to send more raiding parties out to check for survivors and nobody including myself wanted to be present when they showed. And now with the colonel gone I had to add the burden of command, this night had started off great and gone down hill fast.
***
Drababan watched as his friend and the rest of the hu-mans escaped through the rear exit. His heart swelled when he realized they would make it. After living his life in solitude for so many years, he had believed he could never develop feelings for any others. His soul felt good. Reality sunk in as he heard the activity in the front begin to reorganize after the transport had exploded. The Genogerians were more cautious in their approach, but approach they did. Drababan for the first time in a long time decided he was not quite ready to die, but he also knew that having tasted freedom again he would never go back to life on the Progerian ship. He worked fast with a knowledge that was outlawed but one in which he learned just in case of an eventuality along those lines, although what was happening now was well beyond anything in his wildest dreams, he had merely hoped for some sabotage, but this would do just fine. The alien rifle began to whine at an ear piercing shriek the moment Drababan put it back together. He began to sit to say his prayers as the rifle’s crescendo steadily grew. A small pop in Drababan’s neck changed everything, his eyes flew open, “Gropytheon and possibly Michael's God wishes me to live!” he yelled. “They have shown me the way!” The rifle began to vibrate, the oscillations were becoming quicker and quicker. Dee could praise his God later, for now it was time to make a hasty retreat. He bounded down the steps, five at a time, knocking one startled trooper unconscious long before he had been able to raise his weapon. Dee ran straight through two more troopers as he smashed through the rear exit. The first one knocked over got up on one knee and sighted in. He pulled the trigger the same instant the sun landed or so his senses told him. The shot went wide right, another was not forthcoming, Drababan was hurtled through space like a stone from a slingshot. What passed for a smile among his race spread from ear to ear.
“It is as his God has promised,” he tried to say but the wind ripped the words from his mouth. Drababan landed with an impact that would have made a small meteor jealous, consciousness nearly slipped from his grasp.
“Move or die,” he muttered. “Move or die.” He pushed himself off the wet turf. “So much like home,” he mused and grabbed tufts of the wet sod between his claws. Dee shakily got to his feet and never looked back as he managed a staggering walk away from the devastation of the feedback exploded rifle, now wishing that he had remembered to grab the radio before escaping.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Beth moved a quarter mile through the woods, always traveling south, but the going was slow and she was becoming fatigued quickly. Lack of sleep, food, water, and the constant stress of pursuit were taking their toll. If she didn’t find help soon, she would not be able to make good on her threat to Pegged. She wanted to get back on the highway as soon as possible, but somehow instinctually knew that only death waited there. She had to break through the woods and find a neighborhood where she could take refuge for the night, the thought of a tall glass of ice cold water spurred her on.
***
Pegged knew that Beth had gone farther into the woods, but he was not of the mind to follow her in there, in case she had set another trap. He slowly trodded on the highway, confident that she would have to come out eventually and then the chase would begin again in earnest. Thirst scorched his throat and hunger gnawed at his stomach, but hatred spurred him on. He was confident that he could ride the hate out until the end.
CHAPTER FORTY
Frank was at the observation room when he noticed the three enemy transports pull into the super market parking lot.
“Oh shit,” was all he could manage as he slammed his cup of coffee down on the desk in front of him. He depressed the silent alarm and all the lights in the complex went to a red glow.
Paul was in the room almost before Frank had the chance to pull his hand off of the alarm. His face drawn, his
skin a little pale, although in the present light it was difficult to tell.
“Something must have gone wrong with the scouting party,” Frank stated, never looking away from the screen as dozens of well-armed troops began streaming from the cargo holds of the transports. “Either the gunney or Dennis have given our whereabouts away,” Frank said, running his hand through his hair.
“No, it’s not that,” Paul stated. “It’s something different.”
“How can you be so sure?” Frank asked. “Dennis and the gunney don’t come back, but the enemy does.”
“If Dennis or the gunney had been tortured enough to finally give our position away, why would they give them that point of attack? If they had been broken they would have gave up everything. No, this is something different. Look how they’re standing around waiting for direction—they know we’re around here but they don’t exactly know where.”
Frank wasn’t so sure, but now was not the time to argue. They were here and they weren’t going to leave without some convincing.
“Should I send some troops out to greet them?” Frank asked.
“No,” Paul answered flatly.
“No? If they breach The Hill we’ll be like fish in a barrel,” Frank answered with a little too much vehemence.
“No, Frank,” Paul said as he finally pulled his gaze from the screens and looked Frank dead in the eye. “They don’t know exactly where we are. They may or may not wait for us to show ourselves. You can bet that if we engage them in a firefight, we’ll have half the alien nation down here for a tailgating party.”
“We can’t just sit here waiting for them to decide the next course of action,” Frank stated, understanding Paul’s words but not liking them any more now that he understood.
“We’ll let them sit for a while, let them stew in their own juices for a bit,” Paul said as he walked away.
“I’m sitting here stewing in my own damn juices,” Frank said to Paul’s back.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Well, I guess ice is out of the question,” Beth said as she stepped through the shattered door and into the lightless kitchen of a quaint Victorian style house, now reduced in grandeur by graffiti stating this was the end.
Pretty prophetic, Beth thought to herself. Her heart picked up a beat or two as she noticed the kitchen sink and the still existent faucet although the majority of the cabinets and a good portion of the countertop were gone. She felt her heart might break if she lifted the handle and nothing happened. She was almost ready to resign herself to the luck that had been following her for the last couple of years of her life. So sure she was of a dry rattle coming from the hidden piping that she began to turn back to the door, not ready to have another disappointment heaped on her plate. Thirst won out, she half-ran, half-leaped to the faucet, fearful that it might be some kind of illusion like in the old desert war movies that her father used to watch. A pang of remorse crossed through her midriff, more likely it was the beginnings of dehydration. She lifted the handle—nothing happened and then like an awakening monster she heard creaks and pinging from below and then cool cool water came out, although no color of water she had seen. She half shrieked as the blood-red water spewed forth from the faucet. Beth couldn’t help but picture a reservoir full of dead bodies releasing the last drops of their life’s blood into the now tainted water supply. Slowly, but surely, the water began to clear up. Beth’s heart, in proportion, began to slow when she realized it had only been rust churned up from the bottom of unused pipes. Beth bent her head under the spigot and drank heavily from the near clear water. The metallic taste somehow comforting as the cool liquid coursed down her throat and spread its goodness into her stomach. The water was almost a shock to her body which had been getting used to a steady diet of dust.
When she had her fill, Beth stood up, water sloshing in her belly, and turned the faucet off, it looked like she had more on the floor than she had drank. Now Beth was ready to investigate her surroundings. Her thirst slaked, the edge of her hunger dulled for a moment from the mineral rich water. Rifle raised, safety off, and hopefully live ammunition in the chamber, Beth stepped over the dismantled cabinet into the living room and into a nightmare.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - Mike Journal Entry 13
“Damn it,” I whispered, as I put my binoculars down. I hadn’t really needed them to see what was going on, it was more by habit after crossing into Walpole. I had decided we should stick to backstreets and cut through yards as opposed to waltzing down Main Street. It panged me more than I cared to admit that not one barking dog or irate neighbor came out to yell at us for tearing up their azaleas. But even if anybody had been watching us from their darkened windows, nobody wanted to give a heavily armed column the slightest bit of lip. Danger was all around, whether from an invading alien race or bands of marauders desperate to keep themselves alive in the dark days. And 911 wasn’t an option; there was no one on the other end of the line to pick up even if the phone lines still worked. Occasionally, we would see a half-starved near feral dog slink away from our advance but nothing more.
“They can’t all be dead,” I said to Tracy.
“They’re not. I‘ve seen a few window shades rustle as we go by,” she answered. “You can’t blame them, they have no idea which side of the line we fall on. Right now everyone looks like the enemy.” Echoing my thoughts.
“Great minds think alike. Unfortunately,” I answered.
She looked at me to gauge what exactly my response meant, then shrugged her shoulders and moved up the column to give some additional orders to our point man. Who knows, maybe she was telling him to be less mean-looking so some old lady might come out and offer us some lemonade. When we finally arrived at the street I grew up on, I couldn’t help but feel like the returning prodigal son. It wasn’t justified, but I felt it all the same. And then my already rock bottom heart dug a little deeper. My house was gone, not so much as a wall stood, it was just gone. In the twilight, it was difficult to tell what had happened, whether my neighbors who felt I had brought this upon them needed to strike out at something that belonged to me or the aliens had made sure I could never go home again I couldn’t tell. I walked over to the devastation with steely determination, lucky for me that my emotions did not make it to the forefront or I would have begun to cry like an infant. Tracy kept the column moving past as I was rooted to the spot, maybe for some much needed privacy or to give me incentive to get my ass moving.
“What’s done is done,” I said, sadness in every syllable. In a few moments I had caught up to the rear guard.
“That your house, sir?” A soldier asked, condolence in his tone.
“Not any more, private.” I tried my best to not show how much it had rattled me. I didn’t stay with him for what was to come next, I was sure it would be some sort of apology that I had no desire to hear.
My street ended in a cul-de-sac that abutted Cobb’s pond, which was directly across from the S&S parking lot. In the winter the pond froze over and became our personal skating rink—the Bruins would be proud—but in the summer it was a haven for nesting mosquitoes, they were a blight but nothing like what I had just seen through my binoculars.
“How many?” Tracy whispered as she crawled to my position.
“At least fifty from what I can see but I can’t tell if any more of them are behind the store or in it for that matter,” I answered.
“Has The Hill been compromised?” she asked, fear creeping around the edges of her question. She knew as well as I did that if Indian Hill was gone we would become a roving band of marauders with no base and no supplies.
“No, they wouldn’t have gone so quietly, but it scares the living shit out of me that they’re this close, this quick. Something or someone gave us up. But if they knew the true strength of the hill and its armaments they would have sent ten times the amount of soldiers they’ve got here now.” Truth was in my words but also hope, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of what I said but I would have been willin
g to bet on it.
“Do we skirt around and come in from the back?” Her words surprised me until I realized that she had probably seen the schematic of Indian Hill and would know as well as anyone its many exits and entries.
“No,” I answered matter-of-factly. Even if I thought that my plan didn’t involve some folly, I was ready to exact some small amount of revenge for the hole that had once been 2 Cobb Terrace. “This is what I want you to tell the men.” I picked up the binoculars as I laid the plan out for her. Guns would be blazing soon, but for now I was content to shoot my wrath through the curved glass I was staring through.
***
Dennis’ breaths came in short ragged little bursts as he hunched over to catch his wind. He didn’t see how he could possibly beat the aliens to the Hill but he would die before he gave up trying. He had been in the throes of his fourth big attempt to gulp air when he heard small arms fire erupt about a half mile from his location.