A Year Underfoot Page 11

  My heart was beating a mile a minute and my eyes watered in the dank, foul air.

  I tried to pop open a few of the smaller containers, but I couldn’t do it. They were sealed shut and I hadn’t a clue as to how to open them, and I certainly didn’t have the time to figure it out. I chose a small case, one prominently displaying the EXPLOSIVES symbol and headed back to the vent as quickly and as quietly as I’d come.

  Lying on my belly, I slid the one foot by three foot rectangular case through the hole and gently laid it on the ground below. I followed the case through the hole, sliding my body through the opening, before reaching back up and quietly replacing the grate.

  I left it like I’d never been there at all.

  I checked my compass and retraced my steps. At the six hour mark I was greeted with a blast of fresh air and I knew the opening wasn’t far off. Another few dozen yards and I’d be home free.

  Before exiting the breach, I poked my head under the plasma fence and had a long look around. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary and I pulled myself back inside and got ready for the long run to the tree line a half of a mile due west.

  I had no way of knowing if there were troopers waiting for me, but then again, I would never know, so I took a deep breath, – thanked the Universe for my luck so far and prayed that a little more of it might come my way.

  With the coast clear, I pushed the case out ahead of me and I crawled out from under the super charged fence and made a mad dash for the closest stand of trees and disappeared into the brush without incident. I kept on running for another one hundred yards before stopping and taking a quick look back. There was no one on my tail. I’d made a clean getaway.

  I practically flew back to the cabin in no time at all and immediately went about the business of opening the case. A few twists here, a tug there, a well–placed curse word, and the pressure sealed case finally popped open. My eyes bugged out–sitting inside, secured nicely in its form fitted case, lay a brand new Threak blaster, – an actual Threak blaster.

  It makes my .357 look like a slingshot.

  January 18th, 2034

  I stayed close to the cabin today. I’m too nervous to do much of anything. I can’t shake the feeling I’ve cheated death, and now I’m afraid to stray too far from home.

  Weird, isn’t it?

  I’ve stood toe to toe with the Threak, been held as their prisoner, stowed away and crashed aboard one of their shuttles, snuck onto their air base, and now, safely back at the cabin, without a warbird, or trooper in sight, and now, now is when I feel spooked. Go figure.

  January 19th, 2034

  I fooled around with the blaster today. I’m becoming a pretty good shot with alien weapon and although it’s a bit big and cumbersome, I’m able to tote it around without too much trouble. It sure packs a wallop, no doubt about it. I can’t wait to see the face on the first trooper I lay this baby on.

  It’ll be a Kodak moment, to say the least.

  January 23rd, 2034

  The day has been gray and cold and the temperature has been hovering near the freezing mark since mid–morning. It looks like another snowstorm is on the way and I, for one, couldn’t be happier.

  A heavy snow down here usually translates to a heavy snowfall up in the Sierras, and a good storm would certainly slow down the Threak offensive. So, here’s to wishing for the mother of all snowstorms, may it snow long and hard, – human lives are depending on it.

  January 24th, 2034

  It snowed all day and most of the night, in fact, for a while it came down so heavy, I was able to fire up the cook stove and heat the cabin without the fear of the warbirds spotting the smoke. I took full advantage of the situation and boiled the remaining rice and baked the last batch of biscuits. I’ve got enough food to last another two weeks, after that, I’m back to scrounging.

  Not looking forward to that.

  I haven’t been able to raise anyone on the radio, or even catch a signal, for that matter, too much snow and too many obstructions. I figured as much, but it helps to kill the time.

  All in all, I’m gassed. Another day sitting around the cabin eating rice, beans and biscuits and sipping on hot tea sounds about right to me.

  January 25th, 2034

  I woke from the nap in a panic. I’d dreamt the Threak were standing outside my door. My body sprang up and my mind was already working a mile a minute.

  Go! Go! Go!

  I pulled on my boots and laced them up quickly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, through the dirty four–pane window, I saw a trio bright red lights sweeping slowly across the meadow in front of the cabin.

  It was more than a dream, not only they were coming, they were here.

  I grabbed my bug out bag, the blaster, and my 2–way radio and headed out into the night.

  I ducked behind the cabin and followed a game trail heading west out over the range toward the Pacific Ocean. I kept on it for over a mile before ducking into the underbrush to stash the radio. I hiked another few hundred yards west through the scrub before running into a park service road I had ventured up many times before. From my vantage point at the top of the road I looked back down at the cabin and saw that the place was swarming with troopers. I mean, they were everywhere.

  I knew what came next, so I wasn’t at all surprised when the cabin went up in flames.

  January 26th, 2034

  Whether or not the Threak can trace the stolen blaster remains to be seen. I still have it in my possession and I have seen neither hide, nor hair of the invaders and I’m starting to believe they paid me a visit for another reason entirely.

  I mean, if they were able to track the weapon, they’d be all over me, right?

  January 27th, 2034

  Another day, and I’m still here. Either they can’t track the blaster, or they can and they’re hoping I’ll lead them to greener pastures. Well, I don’t know about greener pastures, but I’m heading back to the coast and let the area cool awhile before I come back for the battleship.

  January 28th, 2034

  I’m holed up in the underbrush next to a recreational vehicle park overlooking Highway One, otherwise known as the Pacific Coast Highway, or, as the locals called it, the PCH. The night is cold and clear and the stars are out in force. I’ve got a clear view of the two–lane road below and I’ve seen quite a few transports come rolling through in the past few hours.

  I had no idea they had further interests out here. Come morning I’ll start snooping around in earnest.

  In the meantime, I still have the 2–way radio. All I need is a battery and I’m connected once again. There are quite a few “donor cars” littering the PCH, so finding a battery that still has some juice shouldn’t prove to be too difficult.

  January 29th, 2034

  I fired up the radio last night and it seems the Threak are still sweeping through the Sierra Nevada Mountains on the hunt for slave labor. As far as anyone can tell they’re coming up empty handed. Between the bad weather and the prescient warning, the numbers of those captured in the alien campaign has been mercifully low.

  Radio scuttlebutt has the Threak settling in to wait out the winter, but I don’t see that happening. If there’s one thing I take away from watching the Threak up close is that they don’t “settle in” and “wait things out”. When they’re standing still they get spooked, and when they get spooked, they always move.

  There was also news of a raid staged on the air base east of Denver. It was carried out by the same bunch who’d ambushed a convoy a few weeks back, – which, by all accounts, was also a smashing success. They managed to destroy a number of warbirds, or “screeching weasels”, as they call them, but paid a heavy price for it. In all, forty–four men were either killed, or captured and the now entire mid–west is swarming with troopers and warbirds, so many, in fact, other areas in the country are reporting a light enemy presence, and as a result, have stepped up strikes of their own.

  Maybe the Denver Raid is the catal
yst to get an organized and effective resistance movement going.

  I hope so. We’ll have to get organized if we hope to prevail.

  January 30th, 2034

  I’ve been watching the transports roll up and down the PCH for the past two days and whatever it is they’re up to has certainly piqued my interest. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear I was watching Interstate 5 and not this lonely stretch of road.

  This afternoon, for instance, I counted six separate convoys of thirty–three heavy cargo vehicles pass by me in the space of less than two hours. Three heading north, three heading south, and it was quite obvious the northbound transports were riding much lower to the ground than their southbound counterparts.

  The answer to that question lies somewhere south of here.

  So, south it is.

  February 1st, 2034

  I thought I was prepared for what I would find.

  Guess again.

  I knew Los Angeles had been destroyed. I was under no illusion that any part of her had been spared. I had seen the fires, and felt the heat of the flames myself, but I had no idea what destroyed really meant, or really looked like until today. After a full day of wandering through the twisted rubble of my former hometown and gazing out over the flat, gray, ash–strewn landscape, I can only describe destroyed as, well, complete, absolute and surreal.

  There is no vegetation. There are no birds. There are no bugs. There is no life, – non–whatsoever. There’s only quiet desolation, – a deep gray quiet desolation.

  I stuck close to the PCH and followed the transports south and as we neared the rubble of Santa Monica it occurred to me were they were heading, – Los Angeles International Airport.

  LAX, of course, – flat, open tarmac.

  And, a few miles later my suspicions were confirmed when I was greeted by smaller, yet fully functional Threak base rising up from the ashes of LAX.

  What are they doing down here?

  February 2nd, 2034

  I’ve beaten a hasty retreat from the No Mans Land of Los Angeles and now I’m back here in the green hills above Malibu. I’m watching the transports move up and down the PCH, and I’m wondering why they need another base at LAX when they have such a huge spread so close by. The best I can come up with is that maybe it isn’t an air base after all, but something else entirely. What that something else may be, I haven’t a clue.

  February 3rd, 2034

  I walked down to the beach at low tide and dug for sand crabs. Yes, it’s come to that. I dug up a few handfuls of the little critters and boiled them in water. A test batch, so to speak. I ate them whole, shell and all. They weren’t bad, a little salty, but they’ll do in a pinch.

  At least I know I won’t starve to death.

  I’ve got to come up with some fishing gear and get a line in the water. I can already tell those sand crabs are going to get old fast.

  February 4th, 2034

  After a nice feast of rock cod I’m laying back and smoking strips of my catch for later.

  Today was a good day.

  It started off on the right foot when I remembered seeing the fishing gear in one of the overturned trailers at the RV Park. I hightailed it back there and sure enough, laying unbroken inside an overturned Airstream trailer were a couple of twelve foot surf casting poles complete with heavy duty reels.

  I was in business.

  I pulled the rods out of the wreckage and crawled back inside to hunt down the tackle box. I found it straight off, complete with enough line, hooks, weights and leaders to keep me going for a while.

  (Insert sigh of relief here.)

  Down at the beach I dug up a few dozen of the soft–shelled sand crabs and baited my hook with the precious little buggers and cast my line out onto the sea. I said a little prayer to Poseidon and after fifteen minutes reeled in my line.

  I caught a fifteen inch rock cod my first cast out.

  Like I said, today was a good day.

  February 6th, 2034

  I could get used to this routine. Fish, eat, sleep, and repeat. I most certainly could. And, as tempting as it may be, I can’t. I can’t walk away from the fight.

  So, what am I to do?

  I’ve been giving it some thought and what I’m thinking is to spend the next couple of days fishing, – pull up as many cod as I can, filet them, cut them into strips, smoke them and head back to the air base and take another swipe at the enemy.

  Simple enough. When I run out of grub, I’ll head back here and repeat the process. What else can I do? There’s no life, there’s no rest as long as the Threak remain.

  Fish, eat, sleep, hike, and fight.

  February 7th, 2034

  My curiosity has gotten the best of me and come nightfall I’m heading back into No Mans Land and taking a closer look at the installation at LAX. I’ve got a very bad feeling about that place.

  February 8th, 2034

  The installation at LAX is a production plant.

  That’s my best guess.

  From a distance, the facility has all the outward appearances of a refining plant and whatever it is they’re processing inside needs seawater, and lots of it. Whether it’s as a component, or a coolant, I’m not quite sure. What I am sure of,–the twelve large pipes,–all at least thirty feet in diameter, leading from the western edge of the plant and extending into San Pedro Bay almost a quarter of a mile away, are necessary to keep the operation running.

  Knock out the pipes, knock out the plant. Simple enough.

  I snuck in for a closer look and my worst fears were confirmed. The Threak were using human slave labor. I watched work gangs of destitute men chained together, loading and unloading transports. All were emaciated and moving slow and I had no doubt their living conditions were squalid at best. How many toiled inside I hadn’t a clue.

  The battleship may just have to wait.

  February 8th, 2034

  (second entry)

  I’m not the only one out here in No Mans Land. I caught sight of a figure darting through the rubble and gave chase, but whomever, or whatever, was long gone.

  Still, I’m sure I saw something. I’ll have to keep a sharper eye out, if that’s even possible.

  February 9th, 2034

  While watching a transport pull out of the front gate this afternoon I was shocked to see a long–haired teenage kid pop up from behind a pile of debris and throw a Molotov cocktail at the lumbering vehicle. The glass bottle shattered on the side of the alien vehicle and the transport erupted in flames.

  Then up ahead on the road, another kid, who couldn’t have been any more than nine, or ten, popped out of the rubble and let himself be seen by the troopers before running off. And, of course, the troopers gave chase. A trio of troopers bounded from the vehicle, lined up side by side and raised their weapons, and as they were about to fire upon the kid, a barrage of rocks, cans and bottles came raining down upon their backs. The troopers were more stunned than hurt. Slowly, they turned, raised their blasters and fired, but it was too late, the gang of kids had disappeared.

  And, although the damage to the transport had been superficial, the underlying act of resistance burned much deeper.

  This is a gutsy bunch, no doubt about it.

  February 11th, 2034

  I left out of No Mans Land early this morning and by sunset I was back in Malibu overlooking the PCH. I had to get out of that gray and barren wasteland. Too much death and destruction staring me in the face, too many reminders, I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m certain I would go crazy living in the ashes, – as I suspect that’s what’s happening to those kids down there.

  February 11th, 2034

  (second entry)

  I hooked up the radio and caught up on the news of the past few days. The Threak are still roaming about the Sierras, but not nearly in the same numbers, nor with the same zeal as they’d possessed only a few weeks back. They’ve scaled down their operation considerably, but they haven’t left for good. Most likely, they’re regr
ouping and will be back in a couple of months when the snows melt and large numbers of people are more apt to be outdoors.

  As to what’s happening elsewhere, reports coming out of Denver are sketchy at best and no one has heard from anyone on the eastern seaboard since the invasion went down.

  I would imagine this invasion is playing out differently for all of us.

  I took to the airwaves and let everyone know about the facility at LAX. No one had heard of the installation before, but with the particulars now out over the wire, I’m sure the answer will come back to me soon. I’m sure this isn’t the only plant of its kind. No doubt someone else has already cracked this beast and lived to tell the tale. Maybe I’ll get some answers in the morning.

  I signed off near midnight and laid back, staring up at the stars as I drifted off to sleep.

  How differently I look at them now.

  February 12th, 2034

  There was a lot of activity in the skies this morning. The warbirds were out in force and looked to be doing a grid search thirty miles due east of my location. That would put them on the other side of the hill in the Northern San Fernando Valley, I’m guessing the Pacomia–Sylmar area, – somewhere in the north San Fernando Valley along Interstate 5.

  More acts of defiance, perhaps?

  One can only hope.

  As for myself, I spent the early morning fishing. I caught three more cod and called it a day. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, and as much as I’d like to keep my line in the water, I have more pressing issues. Namely, finding out what is going on at the LAX plant.

  To wit, I fired up the radio early today. There is still no information as to what the facility might be, nor has anyone heard of such a place springing up in their own backyard. I’m going to keep broadcasting my information request for as long as it takes, I’m convinced this facility isn’t a stand–alone operation.

  February 13th, 2034

  Mixed among the traffic headed south on the PCH today were a half dozen of the sleeker mid–sized assault vehicles. They rolled past early this morning and I’m afraid their deployment means trouble for someone, somewhere down the line.