A Year Underfoot Page 10

  Now, that’s what I call good news.

  I pumped my fist in the air and let out a war whoop that scared the birds out of the trees.

  We are fighting back!

  Boo–yaa!

  December 28th, 2033

  The Threak have been landing fresh troops at the air base. Rumor has it they are going to be moving soon on the camps and communes springing up all over the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. Most are of the opinion they are looking for slave labor, and I’m inclined to agree with them. There’s only so much the Threak can rip out of the ground from above, the real work, the grunt work, can only be accomplished by bodies on the ground, and there’s no reason to believe they’ll be the ones getting their hands dirty.

  Not as long as they have us.

  It’s estimated there are four hundred thousand people scattered along the length and width of the range, and if that number is accurate, then more us have survived than I’d thought.

  Four hundred thousand.

  I’m overjoyed at the number, but, it also means four hundred thousand people are in harm’s way. I hope they’re dug in, and dug in well, because, the fuzzies, as Jessie calls them, are coming, and they’re coming soon.

  December 29th, 2033

  I’m getting stronger every day and I’ve even managed put on a pound or two. I made another batch of biscuits this morning and I’ve been snacking on them ever since. Rice, beans and biscuits, – morning, noon and night. I’d better enjoy it while I can, because this gravy train isn’t going to last forever. Soon enough, I’ll be out beating the bush for a dented can of whatever.

  Until then, rice, beans and biscuits it is.

  December 30th, 2033

  If the Threak make a move on the Sierras, then I’ll make a move on the air base. Tit for tat. I’m sure they’ve addressed that scenario and will take the necessary precautions, but the fact remains there will be less of them on site, and that might be something I can exploit.

  December 31st, 2033

  My New Year’s resolution is to blow up a battleship.

  January 1st, 2034

  It’s the first day of the New Year and another day above ground. The warbirds have been lighting up the skies all day, and even if I didn’t know something was brewing, – I’d have known something was brewing. It’s that obvious. They’re buzzing around, flexing their muscles and gearing up for something big.

  It looks as if the Sierra round–up is under way.

  After sunset I’m heading down to the air base to take a look for myself. I’ll be able to tell straight off if something’s shaking by the traffic on the interstate,–if the troop transports are rolling north with a heavy air escort, then it’s game on. It’s that simple. The Threak only have two speeds, on and off.

  I’ll be taking the 2–way radio with me, – at least part of the way. I’ll stash it in a safe place somewhere between the interstate and the cabin. It’s the best I can come up with, I certainly can’t lug the radio and the car battery with me everywhere I go, nor can I run back to the cabin every time I have some information to pass along. I’ll have to find a safe place along the way to hide it and that will be that.

  I’ll keep a little food stashed there as well.

  I’ve done a quick inventory of what firepower I have left and I’m down to a few pounds of C–4, a couple of Molotov cocktails and a few dozen rounds for my .357. Not much to speak of. There’s a crossbow at the cabin, but I would need a lot more practice before I’d ever place my life in the hands of my archery skills.

  January 3rd, 2034

  The round–up is underway. The first group of convoys rolled out of the air base late this morning and headed north under a blanket of air cover. I sat and watched for hours on end as three hundred and thirty troop transports exited the gates and rolled north up the interstate. I followed the progress of the caravan through the flight patterns of the warbirds and I wasn’t at all surprised to find them heading northeast.

  The rumors were right. They’re heading for the Sierras.

  After the last of the transports had left the compound I retraced my steps back and jumped on the radio. Alpha Omega One informed me the Threak had been buzzing around all morning, and was much appreciative of the hard data on the numbers of troopers and transports headed his way. He let us all know this would be his last transmission for the time being, at least until after the Threak had swept through the area.

  I wished him luck and signed off.

  I hope to hear from him again.

  January 4th, 2034

  The air base is quiet and looks like a ghost town.

  Time to strike.

  January 5th, 2034

  I split my time between the air base and the radio. There’s not much happening on either end. Though activity at the base has picked up a bit, – still no returning troopers, but the cargo ships are running as per usual and even the royal shuttle has made an appearance.

  I have to say I’m surprised at the light and loose security protecting the base. It was only a few days ago that hundreds of heavily armed troops stood guard, but now when I look out over the alien installation only a handful of troopers patrol the perimeter, and the outbuildings and tarmac are scarcely guarded at all.

  Inviting, to say the least.

  As far as the radio goes, there’s still some chatter out there, news from the Central Coast area and points north, but there isn’t anything coming out of the Sierras. That’s to be expected. The operators have dug in deep and I don’t suppose we’ll know the true impact of the raids for quite some time.

  January 6th, 2034

  I had a vision early this morning and, mark my words, it may be the most important one I’ll ever receive.

  I found myself wandering through the aisles of a great library. Thousands upon thousands of leather–bound books adorned the shelves and as I reached up to pull a volume from its perch, I caught sight of the Retratti woman from the previous episodes breeze past down an adjacent aisle.

  I lit out after her, but I couldn’t catch up, she was always a few lengths ahead of me, always just out of reach, – leading me through the unmarked aisles, before disappearing around a corner.

  A split second later I swept around the very same corner, but she was gone. There wasn’t a sign of her anywhere. Not a scent in the air, nor a flutter in the wind.

  She had led me to a section marked, THREAK–EARTH CONFLICT.

  I reached up and drew an elegantly bound volume from the shelf.

  It was a history book, a history of the war, related from a third party perspective, starting with the invasion. I flipped through the massive tome, and once I saw that it read chronologically, I skipped on through to the end.

  The final entry was written yesterday.

  Today had yet to be written.

  I closed the book and placed it back up on the shelf. Instead of pulling back my hand, I ran it along the row of books before stopping at one and pulling it down. I cracked open the binding and turned to the table of contents.

  It too proved to be another volume on the Threak–Earth Conflict, but it wasn’t a history book, nor was it any sort of military dissertation. It was more than important than that. It was an anthropological analysis of the conflicting cultures, – and a breakdown of both combatants respective languages.

  A complete breakdown of the Threak language.

  I’d struck gold.

  I held the key to the Threak alphabet in my hands. The meanings behind the eighteen hieroglyphs and twenty–one star symbols that comprise their written language were no longer foreign to me. I had the primer.

  I took it all in, my mind and memory were supercharged and I would have memorized it all had I not been disconnected from the vision by the nerve jarring screech of a warbird coming in low over the trees, – precariously close to where I lay.

  I woke and held still. They hadn’t seen me. I rolled my head to the side and looked up at the warbird hovering fifty feet up and a few hundred yards to the e
ast. It was close enough that I could see the outline of the alien pilot through the tinted windscreen. He was looking for something. Was it me? Or, could there be someone, or something else out here I should also be concerned with?

  The seconds ticked off slowly. The alien fighter hovered for nearly a full minute, drifting ever closer to my position before peeling off as quickly as it had come.

  I spent the rest of the morning jotting down the hieroglyphs and star symbols in my notepad. Tonight, I’m heading back to the air base and taking a closer look. I know I’ve seen these characters before. It’s time to place the names with the faces, so to speak.

  Yet, another layer of their invincibility has been stripped away.

  January 6th, 2034

  (second entry)

  The visions never steer me wrong.

  The hieroglyphs and symbols I learned at the library are indeed the real deal. I cross checked them with the markings on the transports I’d detailed a few months back when I first started monitoring the interstate. It’s all making sense.

  They are what they say they are.

  January 8th, 2034

  Winter has come in earnest to the Tejon Pass.

  The first flakes of snow hit the ground around four this morning and have been falling ever since. It’s now coming up on nine a.m., and judging by the thick gray day that’s shaping up around me, there isn’t going to be a break in the action any time soon.

  This storm could last all day, if not longer.

  That being the case, I’m bugging out. I’m hitting the bricks for one simple reason, the more it snows, the easier it’ll be for the warbirds to pick up my trail. An aerial patrol would have no problem spotting my tracks out here, and I’ve no doubt I’d be looking at the business end of a blaster shortly thereafter.

  It’s best I get moving while there’s plenty of storm left to cover my exit.

  That said, I’m out of here.

  January 10th, 2034

  I picked up the 2–way radio and made it back to the cabin late last night. The snow’s still coming down hard and heavy, and for the coastal range, this is a once–in–a–century event. There must be nearly a foot of the white stuff on the ground already, and the promise of more on the way.

  Looks like I’m going to be indoors for a while.

  No worries here, I can use the rest. I still have enough biscuits, rice and beans to keep me going for another couple of weeks and all the water I can drink is coming down right outside my door. I’ll be all right for a while.

  January 11th, 2034

  I set up the radio in a corner of the room and searched the dial for any signs of life. All I got for my effort was an earful of static and the makings of a migraine. Between the snowstorm and the cabin’s obscured location I knew pulling in a signal was a long shot at best, but I was hoping just the same.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  The skies have cleared up and warbirds are back up in the air. The sun is out and shining bright, and if the temperature continues to climb the snow should start melting at a pretty good clip.

  I’m hoping that’s the case. I’d like to check on the air base without leaving a trail.

  January 15th, 2034

  I had just about talked myself into heading south to Santa Clarita to begin scrounging for explosive materials, – gas, gunpowder, fertilizer, propane tanks, etc…, when it struck me that everything I need is already waiting for me on the air base. All the ordinance I’d need to accomplish my mission is already conveniently stored a few hundred yards from the flight line, and that includes the pineapple–sized explosives they are so fond of clearing houses with.

  A dozen of those ought to do the job nicely.

  If I can get in, I’ll have everything I need.

  January 16th, 2034

  I’ve been poking around the base the past two days and I believe I’ve found a way in.

  January 17th, 2034

  I waited until dusk on the 16th and slipped down to the western edge of the base. The night was cold and crisp and small patches of snow still dotted the landscape around the low–lying base. A fine mist had enveloped the area, making the red glow of the plasma charged fence appear all the more eerie. But it wasn’t the sight of the fence that had me on edge, no, what worried me were the lack of troopers patrolling the perimeter of the base. That had me spooked. It smelled of a trap, but it was a chance I was going to have to take.

  I crept north along the fence line looking for the breach I’d spotted the previous afternoon. At the far northwestern corner of the base, I found a small opening in the prefabricated tarmac the enemy had assembled over the farmland. An eighteen inch gap in the installation’s hastily assembled sub–frame where the western wall meets its northern counterpart.

  Eighteen inches, I can squeeze through that.

  I lay on my back and carefully squirmed between the synthetic brace framework and the crackling plasma fence. In spite of the near freezing night, I was sweating profusely and a paralyzing fear shot through my body.

  What if I can’t get out?

  I switched on my flashlight and had a look around. What I found was a labyrinth of bulky framework sunk into the soft farm soil. The pilings were spaced thirty feet apart and the support bracing was such that I could crawl through the arch work quite easily. In fact, I saw nothing at all which would impede my progress and I felt emboldened by my discovery.

  I checked and rechecked my bearings on the compass I’d brought along for just this purpose and mapped out a course for the warehouses along the flight line. My best guess puts the ordinance warehouse a few thousand yards to the southeast of my current position, and the flight line where the shuttles are serviced would be another five hundred yards due east of that.

  I crawled forward on my hands and knees and found out rather quickly it was going to take much longer than I’d expected to reach the warehouse. I’d miss the morning shuttle, that was a given. I had no idea how long it would take me to get there, or even if I could, for that matter. I had no way to gauge my progress,–but I was making progress just the same, right under their noses, and I took a whole lot of comfort in that. So, onward I went, arm over arm, dragging my body forward.

  Hours passed, and after I’d negotiated countless trestles, and ate enough dirt to last a lifetime, I came upon the area where I believed the warehouse to be. I turned off my light and hoped to find a shard of light shining down through the tarmac. A shard of light meant an ill–fitting section and a possible way to the surface. I turned a slow circle and found what I was looking for.

  A minute later and I lay at the edge of the light. The separation between the sections above may have been only six inches wide, but it ran for well over fifty feet in length. It wasn’t large enough for me to crawl through, but it did help me understand where I was on the base.

  And, judging by the noise, and the activity overhead, I had to be close to the flight line.

  I followed the length of the crack and found it ran longer than I had previously thought. While the light no longer shone through the tarmac at the fifty foot mark, it wasn’t because the adjoining section was properly sealed, no, it fell dark because it was covered by the floor of a building. A building set parallel to the flight line, perhaps even the ordinance warehouse itself.

  I looked around and was surprised to see another singular source of light poking through off to my left. Intriguing, to say the least.

  What could it be?

  I crawled to the edge of the light and gazed upward. It was a grated air vent and it had been cut through the floor, and, obviously, through the tarmac as well.

  Explosives need to be kept cool, don’t they?

  The shaft was large enough for me to fit through and after listening for any movement up top, – and finding none, I crouched underneath the grate and strained upward to have a look. Craning my head back, I rose up slowly.

  As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I found myself focusing on shipping containers of
various shapes and sizes. The symbols on the freight translated to, EXPLOSIVES, and I knew I’d hit pay dirt.

  Yes!

  However, my celebration was short–lived. Something brushed up against my right leg and I jerked upwards, smacking my head up on the grate before I collapsed to the ground and rolled off to one side. I drew my flashlight and my gun, and was relieved beyond belief when I saw the tail end of a field mouse scurrying off into the darkness.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The grate moved. When I hit my head, the grate moved. I felt it.

  I propped myself up on my elbows and drew my knees in. I raised my arms above my head and grabbed hold of the grate. Gradually, I applied pressure and found the grate was not secured to the floor. It was merely sitting on top.

  Was it a design flaw? A fabrication error? Lazy assembly?

  I didn’t matter, either way I was in.

  I waited a full five minutes before I dared to move the grate once more. I huddled in the darkness, listening for any movement up top. It was quiet and I knew I’d have to make my move before I lost my nerve.

  I slipped my fingers through the openings of the grate and let out a deep breath. This was it. I stood and the circular piece came up with the aforementioned ease. I slid it off to one side and poked my head up.

  It was a warehouse, all right. Rows and rows of shipping containers sat staged for distribution, but it wasn’t just ordinance containers laid out before me, but every conceivable item needed to support an occupying army. This had to be the main shipping dock.

  I slid the grate back over my head and lay back down in the darkness. The enormity of what I had come across had begun to dawn on me. Not only had I found a way to slip inside the base, I had a direct route to the main loading dock. I had access to their gear. I had access to their weapons. I had access to it all.

  I had to have another look around.

  I stood up once more and slid the grate back off to the side and pulled myself up and onto the warehouse floor. I crouched low and ran as fast as I could toward a line of crates labeled EXPLOSIVES, and ducked between a pair of the oversized gray containers.