A Year Underfoot Read online

  April 14th, 2034

  I’m bleeding from my nose and mouth. I don’t think it will be long now. I just wanted to say I don’t regret a thing, and if I had to do it all over again, I would still take out the power core without a second thought.

  April 15th, 2034

  Burn, pain, and peel. Just like a sunburn. My skin is falling off of me. I’m sure to be wasting away on the inside as well.

  I didn’t think I would go out like this.

  April 16th, 2034

  I had a vision this morning. It wasn’t as clear and concise as the previous episodes. It was hazy and violent, chaotic and confusing. I’m still not quite sure what to make of it.

  I found myself staring down at a great wall of fire sweeping its way across a wide swath of forest. The sights and sounds of people, birds and animals running from its path were clear as day and image after image of fear and fire flooded my mind and it was clear the firestorm had come up quickly, and was not of natural origin, but Threak induced.

  The vision lasted a few scant seconds, but the images are seared into my mind. I’ve been replaying the dream, remembering what I can. There has to be a time stamp somewhere in the chaos. Where, and when, does the firestorm crop up? Can I do anything to stop it? Can I warn others of it in time?

  Think, think, the answers are in there somewhere.

  April 17th, 2034

  My stomach has settled and my hands and face are clearing up. I definitely attribute my turnaround to last night’s vision.

  How could she have known?

  April 18th, 2034

  I felt good enough to walk along the beach this afternoon and toss a line in the surf. I caught three rock cod and had all three for dinner tonight. Looks like my appetite is back and I’m well on the road to recovery. If it weren’t for the Retratti and the visions I’m sure I would be dead right now.

  April 19th, 2034

  Spring is kicking in big time and life is coming back to the coast in more ways than one. There’s a feeling in the air, a sense of rebirth and rejuvenation. I believe the raid has everything to do with that.

  April 22nd, 2034

  Chaos. Party of one. Your air base is ready.

  The clouds threaten rain and I’m happily gearing up accordingly. Three hours to darkness, and, if all goes well, by the time I reach the air base the heavy stuff should already be falling from the sky. That ought to help my cause. I’m going after the power core once again, and, trust me, this time around–no exposed skin!

  After I strike, I’m heading south to the Lake Castaic area, and the canyons bordering the eastern flatlands and Edwards Air Force base. I figure on going to ground there for a week, or two, depending on how the fuzzballs react.

  Have blaster, will travel.

  April 24th, 2034

  I dropped the hammer on the power core from a quarter of a mile away and ran like hell. I figured if I missed the fireworks, I’d miss the radiation burns as well. Two days later, so far, so good, – no burns, no blisters, no nausea.

  I think it’s safe to say I’m in the clear.

  The warbirds have been tearing up the skies for the past day and a half, but I couldn’t care less. They’ll never find me. I’m hiding out down in an old root cellar a couple of miles off the beaten path and as long as I stay put, I’ll be just fine.

  April 26th, 2034

  I emerged from the safety of root cellar after sunset and slipped back into the hills above Lake Casitas a full hour before morning broke over the eastern foothills. As risky as it was to leave my bunker so soon after the attack, I didn’t have much of a choice. Once I ran low on water and my calf muscles began to cramp, the decision was made for me. I can’t afford to let myself dehydrate any further. I’m already pushing my body to the brink, and if my legs were to cramp up and seize when I’m running from troopers, well, I would be a dead man, straight up.

  And, dead men can’t destroy battleships.

  Ahab hasn’t forgotten his great white whale.

  May 2nd, 2034

  Bagman Crowe returned from the Southern Sierras today looking a little long in the tooth and obviously taken aback by the unusually heavy Threak presence in the hills above the air base.

  “We’ve got to get out of here”, he says, with more than a hint of concern in his voice, “there’s too many of them furry fellas running around these parts for my liking.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed, “I suppose I really got them going this time.”

  “I had a feeling it was you.” He said, extending a hand and helping me to my feet. “Good to see you haven’t gone soft and given up the fight. So many others have, you know”

  “Well”, I said, trying to keep a straight face, “Mama didn’t raise no quitter.”

  “Amen.” Bagman replied.

  “And, besides”, I continued, “it’s the first job I’ve ever had that I actually like. Killing Threak may not pay well, and the hours, well, quite frankly–they suck, but there is a certain satisfaction in a job well done, don’t you think?”

  Bagman slapped his knee.

  “You, Mr. Mason, are crazier than I am”, he said, drawing me in closer, ...and I’ve had a fifty year head start!”

  We both got a good chuckle out of that one and as I caught my breath I remembered how good it felt to laugh.

  Three hours later we were sitting back at his camp on the eastern slopes of Warm Springs Canyon drinking black coffee and swapping war stories. I told him of my various trips into No Mans Land and of the mysterious installation the Threak had constructed at LAX. I told him of the kids living in the wasteland and how, on an almost daily basis, they attack both the facility and the troopers and how I wished that more of us had their fighting spirit.

  I went on to tell him of the northeast end of the base, and its ill–fitted construction, and of the eighteen inch hole I’d found under the fence, – and of how I slipped inside the base and swiped a blaster.

  “And, you never went back?” He said.

  “After I grabbed the blaster, I got spooked. I didn’t want to push it. I figure I can get in one more time, and when I do I have to make it count. Battleship, or bust.”

  “Battleship, or bust.” He laughed. “I like it. It’s too bad you can’t get T–shirts made.” He howled and slapped his leg at that one. He always did get a big kick out of himself.

  When I’d finished, he settled back against an old oak and told me what he knew of the Threak’s push into the Sierras and of the harvest ships currently stripping the Southern Sierras of its valuable lumber.

  We talked long into the night and came to the conclusion that although the Threak had the upper hand, they weren’t as all–powerful as we’d initially thought. They could be defeated, we just had to keep up the pressure.

  May 3rd, 2034

  We’re heading down to the air base before sun–up to do a little snooping around. Bagman hasn’t set eyes the place for six months and it’s all he can talk about. He’s obsessed with the joint. He figures if the Threak rousted him from his digs in the Southern Sierras during the “big roll out”, as he calls it, then the least he can do is scope their digs out in case he’s ever in a position to repay the favor.

  Sounds reasonable to me.

  It’s nice to have my friend back.

  May 4th, 2034

  We settled into the hills above the air base as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. I had my infrareds on the flight line a few minutes later and I was pleasantly surprised when I spotted a shuttle with royal markings sitting off to one side. The cargo doors were open and the ship was being loaded with a sample of yesterday’s spoils.

  “That’s it. That’s my way up.” I gestured to Bagman, and he knew just what I meant.

  The royal shuttle was my ticket to ride.

  May 5th, 2034

  I must’ve been blind.

  All over the air base, warning signs abound. The enemy’s symbol for danger, the equivalent to our own skull and crossbones, is plastered all over
the place, but no more so than on a large storage shed sitting off by itself at the southern end of the flight line. It houses thousands of cylindrical canisters, but I haven’t a clue as to what they hold.

  Explosives?

  Poisons?

  I told Bagman of my discovery and after the initial buzz of excitement wore off, his enthusiasm waned and he shook his head back and forth.

  “If it’ll kill them, it’ll kill you. Are you sure you want to mess with it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I slipped down to the air base last night to see if I still had access. Long story short–nope, the Threak have sealed the breach.

  I have to find a new way in.

  May 10th, 2034

  It’s been two days since the Threak raided our camp and I haven’t seen Bagman since. I don’t know if he’s dead, or alive. It happened so fast I’m still trying to piece it all together.

  It was early in the morning, just after sunrise, the air was cool and damp and the skies, clear and blue and warbird free. Just the way I like it. It had all the markings of a great day. It really did.

  I suppose I let my guard down.

  I was tending to the small fire Bagman had started for breakfast while he skinned and prepared a jack rabbit that had wandered into one of his many snares. My thoughts drifted back to the days leading up to the invasion–one second I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard, enjoying the human freak show, – and then the next–Bam! I was knocked back into the here and now, – flying through the air, arms and legs akimbo, smack into the unforgiving trunk of a large oak tree.

  I lost consciousness when I hit the tree. I don’t know how long I was out. A few minutes at least. When I came to I was lying on the ground in the fetal position, coughing uncontrollably, with smoke in my lungs and ashes in my eyes.

  The trees surrounding me were ablaze.

  I reeled to my left side, rolling over my blaster as I did so. I scooped it up and yelled for Bagman, but between the roar of the flames, and the screech of the incoming warbirds, my cries were lost in the din.

  I had to get out of there.

  Another round of plasma shells slammed into ground. The concussion wave they created was great enough to temporarily snuff out a section of flame, allowing me to slip through the fire line and race down the hillside. I ran nearly half a mile before I looked back to find the area I’d just left fully engulfed in flames.

  And, still no sign of Bagman.

  I watched as the three warbirds hovering fired another cadre of plasma shells into the hillside.

  The ground shook under the impact.

  The firestorm was short and sweet. Not a tree was left standing, nor, for that matter, any signs of life left at all. The area is a loss, and with it, the perfect vantage point to keep tabs on the air base.

  But, more importantly, Bagman, where are you?

  It’s been two days, brother.

  Where are you?

  May 13th, 2034

  Bagman is dead.

  I found his charred remains back on the hill not far from camp.

  I don’t know what else to say.

  May 18th, 2034

  I’ve been wandering for days and I’ve ended up back here, in the hills above Malibu.

  I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut.

  My friend is dead.

  May 21st, 2034

  I took a pot shot at a trooper with my .357. I missed him, the bullet struck the pavement next to his feet. You should have seen him scramble when he realized he was under fire. All three of them, for that matter. Pure Keystone Cops.

  Stupid move on my part, no doubt, but I needed that.

  May 22nd, 2034

  Trying to get back on track here. Bagman’s death has knocked me for a loop, but I’ll get over it, I have to. I have no choice. I hope that doesn’t come off sounding cold, or unfeeling, because I do care, I surely do, but, out here, right now, I don’t have time for sorrow, or pity. It’s life or death. It really is.

  I have to recommit.

  I need that battleship.

  May 24th, 2034

  I’ve hiked up the coast and made Oxnard this morning. I’m on the prowl for new gear. All I was able to escape with were my blaster, my side arm, and the clothes on my back. I need a little bit of everything, starting with food and fresh water.

  Oxnard looks the same as I left it a few months ago, destroyed. I’ve been keeping a keen eye out for the dog pack, but I suspect many of them have died off by now. I haven’t seen a trace of them, but I’m keeping my .357 at the ready just the same.

  I filtered through the neighborhoods east of Main Street and worked my way from house to house. Every property had been picked over, naturally, but I did manage to scrounge up some necessary items, most notably, a nearly full tube of toothpaste and a clean pair of socks.

  I’m one step closer to being civilized. Ha!

  I haven’t come across any food, or weapons, – the two commodities I need the most, but I did find a decent pair of hiking boots that’ll come in handy somewhere down the line.

  May 25th, 2034

  Last night I slept on the outdoor balcony of a two–story beach house a stone’s throw from the ocean. I have to say, I slept like a baby. It must’ve been the pounding surf that lulled me into such a sound sleep, – but, I have to take note to never do that again. I was so out of it, so far gone into the land of nod, I wouldn’t have heard a creak, groan or moan if an entire Threak battalion had entered the house, climbed the stairs and stood over me singing show tunes.

  Deep sleep has become a dangerous proposition.

  May 25th, 2034

  (second entry)

  The fishing has been good and if it keeps up I’ll have a couple of weeks worth of fish jerky in no time at all. I’m going to miss Bagman’s cooking, but I’ll miss his friendship even more. I still can’t get over the fact he bought it like that. I thought he was indestructible. I guess none of us are. You’d think I’d know that by now.

  May 26th, 2034

  The warbirds are buzzing up and down the coast more so than normal, which leads me to believe the fuzzies are up to something. But what that something might be, I haven’t a clue. I can only speculate. My 2–way radio was destroyed in the raid and, consequently, I’m out of the loop, – and barring a miracle, I will be for quite some time.

  May 26th, 2034

  (second entry)

  I left Oxnard this evening and followed the Pacific Coast Highway south. At a certain point outside the city limits, the road meets the coastline and hugs it tightly for as far as the eye can see. Here, squeezed between the wind–swept ocean and the rolling green hills of the coastal range, I set up camp and called it a night.

  I slept soundly throughout the night, but when the sun came up, so did another vision.

  Images flashed by, slow and disjointed…

  ... The outside of a battleship... Threak royalty on the bridge of the ship... a flurry of activity; troopers and officers scurrying about, a grave problem has arisen. The ship is losing power.

  Then, the slideshow ended and real–time began.

  Back on the bridge, chaos rules the day. Multicolored warning lights flash on and off while klaxons sound loudly and relentlessly in the close quarters. Fear is etched on the faces of the enemy and judging from their panic–stricken eyes, there is no coming back from this one. Officers grunt orders and their obedient minions run to and fro, all in an effort to keep the ship alive, but it is too late, – the die has been cast, the seed has been sown. The ship is dying, and there is nothing they can do to stop it.

  A smile spreads across my face, – I did this. I brought this ship down. I’m the chaos, – thanks to a little nugget of information the Retratti have shared with me, – namely, how to contaminate a battleship’s power core. I can do this over and over again. It’s simple, really.

  And, just like that, I’m back in the hope business.

  May 27th, 2034

  Battleship, or bust.
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br />   It’s like the old story, when the cops finally caught up with infamous bank robber Willie Sutton they asked him why he robbed banks and he told them, “... because, that’s where the money is.”

  May 28th, 2034

  I’m off to the air base, but I’ve got a couple of stops to make before I get there. There are still a few things I have to pick up beforehand, so, I’m going to stop in Simi Valley and try my luck there. The chances are slim, I know, but there are things I desperately need, like food and water, a flashlight, batteries, rope, duct tape, and whatever else I can find that’ll help me get onto the base.

  May 29th, 2034

  I made Simi Valley just after midnight and scoped the place out from a distance as best I could. Neighborhood after neighborhood lay stretched out before me, and while most lay flattened and burned, a few blocks on the southern end of town appeared to have emerged relatively unscathed.

  Going house to house I found most everything I was looking for, namely, a little food, a few knives, ropes and an old refillable Zippo lighter. There was so much more I could have gathered if I were heading back to the hills, but I’ve got things to do. I’m traveling light and traveling light means just that. Every extra ounce wears heavy when you’re walking twenty, thirty miles a pop. If I can’t eat it, drink it, wear it, or fight with it, I don’t need it. Simple stuff.

  May 30th, 2034

  I’ve cut through the canyons north of town and I’m walking east along State Highway 126 on my way back to the interstate. The air base lies to the north and I should have eyes back on it in two days time.

  June 1st, 2034

  The closer I get to the air base, the tighter the security becomes. They certainly have stepped up their game since the last time I’ve been here. There are more warbirds patrolling closer to the base, and there’s certainly more boots on the ground.

  I suppose I should feel flattered.

  Doesn’t matter, though, I’m getting on that base.

  I’m getting my battleship. That’s a fact.

  June 2nd, 2034

  Not much going on today. I’m laying low and giving my body a rest.

  June 3rd, 2034

  I passed through the west end of Frazier Park last night on my way north. I kept on for another three miles along Cold Springs Canyon before turning east and heading back in the direction of the interstate. It was steep and rough and I didn’t make much progress, but there’s plenty of tree cover, which is why I feel reasonably safe at the moment. If they can’t see me, they can’t kill me.