A Year Underfoot Read online

  I figure to be eight miles west of the interstate and I’ll have eyes on the base early tomorrow morning. I’m hoping it’s still business as usual, – the busier they are, the better off for me.

  I haven’t figured out how I’ll get on the base, but I’ll get on it just the same.

  June 4th, 2034

  The going was slow, but I finally reached the base before sun up and I’ve found a spot in the hills that affords me a decent view of the installation. As I was hoping, the place is in full swing and not expecting my arrival.

  June 4th 2034

  (second entry)

  I snuck along the interstate for a quarter of a mile in either direction. Unabated, the weeds have grown thick along the road offering many places to hide, watch, and wait as the transports whisk by. I’m beginning to think my best shot to get inside the base will be via the transports. I’m going to have to stop one, or at least slow it down long enough that I can catch a ride.

  June 5th, 2034

  Every day is an adventure, and today was no different.

  I sometimes forget the Threak aren’t the only going concern out here. Case in point, early this morning I had a small black bear poking around my camp, at first take, innocent enough, a fifty–pound little bundle of fur and mischief, – no worries. But, as soon as I spotted the little guy, – and promptly, his two siblings, I had a much bigger problem on my hands.

  Momma had spotted me.

  Five hundred and fifty plus pounds of snarling motherly love reared up on her hind legs, gnashed her teeth and bared her claws. I stood still, but it was too late. Her mind was made up the second she saw me and she dropped on all fours and charged.

  I raised my blaster to have at it, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t kill her. If I did so, I knew I’d be killing the cubs as well and there’s been too much killing over too long a time, to both human and animal alike. A protective instinct rose inside of me, much like the mother bear’s, I suppose. I couldn’t kill her, no more than I could kill myself. Not today, not ever.

  I fired off a warning shot into a cluster of oaks next to the charging bear and it stopped Momma dead in her tracks. She rose back up on her hind legs, curiously craning her head to make sense of the exploding tree beside her. When none came, she let out a great roar, all three of her cubs scampered quickly to her side and she dropped back down to all fours, turned tail and slowly ushered her clan back into the brush.

  Au revoir,–aufwedesein,–see ya!

  Thirty seconds later, and we both were long gone.

  Crisis averted.

  Well, – almost.

  In all the excitement I’d fired my blaster. Not good. Not good at all. I knew that I’d have every trooper within fifty miles on my butt in half a heartbeat. I had to run, I had to leave the area, – my location had been compromised. I had no choice. I had to flee. I packed what I could and hit the road.

  The air base would have to wait.

  So, here I sit, eighteen hours and eleven miles later, blaster in hand, catching my breath under a lofty oak, thirty miles from the air base, chewing on some extremely dry fish jerky and wondering how long I can operate on borrowed time.

  Come morning, I’ll start the trip back. Ahab wants his whale, now more than ever.

  June 6th, 2034

  I wandered into the business district of Santa Clarita this afternoon and poked around a bit. I had a couple of hours of daylight left and, although I’d picked the place clean over the past few months, I figured another sweep couldn’t hurt and, what the deuce, I had the time. After all, most of my scrounge runs had been conducted at night, maybe I had missed something. So, I figured, why not? I’m here, the sun’s up and the air base isn’t going anywhere.

  I was working the strip malls on the west side of the interstate, slipping silently from one burnt shell of a building to another when I saw a troop transport coming up the frontage road paralleling the interstate. I ducked behind a pile of debris and laid low, waiting for the transport to pass, but instead it slowed and came to a grinding halt no more than one hundred feet away from me, close enough so that I could hear the troopers conversing and the crunch of their heavy footsteps stomping through the rubble as they fanned out around me.

  Was it a routine patrol, or had the Threak tracked the stolen weapon?

  I was about to find out.

  I pressed deeper into the debris and pulled the blaster up to my chest. I didn’t want to power up, not just yet, but if I had to, I would.

  Their voices grew louder and my trigger finger became itchy, any closer and I’d have to make a move.

  Carefully, I peered out to see what I was up against and was relieved to find that it wasn’t me they were interested in, but the transport itself. Strange as it may seem, the vehicle had simply broken down. I didn’t know that could happen.

  A line of sweat fell ran from my temple and I happily wiped it away. As long as they weren’t here for me, I was all right. All I had to do was keep still and they’d go away soon enough.

  No worries, or so I thought.

  No more than five minutes had passed when the first of the dog pack made itself known. A large German Shepherd, more skin and bones than meat and muscle popped his head out from the rubble and his eyes locked in on me. In quick fashion I picked up on two more, snarling and starved dogs, one a Husky mix, the other a Dobie, coming my way and I reached for my .357. I didn’t want to alert the troopers to my presence, but I wasn’t going to be a dog’s dinner either.

  The three former house pets, now driven nearly mad with starvation crept forward. Any second now they would spring and attack.

  I aimed my weapon and sighted up the Shepherd and squeezed the trigger. A loud yelp and he fell to the ground.

  The two others ran off and the troopers picked up their flight from the area and leveled their blasters at the fleeing canines, however, they did not fire, nor did they come closer to investigate. I would imagine they’ve had to deal with the packs before.

  How could they have not heard the gunshot?

  June 7th, 2034

  The mothership in low earth orbit weighs heavily on my mind and I spent hours last night laying on my back, staring up at the stars, trying to spot the beast among the thousands upon thousands pin pricks of light.

  June 9th, 2034

  Still holed up in Santa Clarita. The skies are chock full of patrols and I can imagine the ground troops are stirred up as well. Something has yanked their chain.

  June 9th, 2034

  (second entry)

  I’m bored sitting around. Something’s going down at the air base, but here I am fifteen miles south sitting on my butt. I’m afraid the frustration of being off the front line, and out of radio contact is getting the better of me. They say patience is a virtue, but I’m finding patience to be nothing more than a colossal waste of time and a huge pain in the ass.

  June 10th, 2034

  I broke camp ten hours ago and have been on the move ever since. I passed through the north end of Santa Clarita without incident and made Lake Castaic by mid–afternoon. The warbirds are still buzzing around and I’ve seen more troop transports in the last few hours than I’ve seen in the past few weeks.

  Come nightfall, I’m going in for a closer look.

  June 11th, 2034

  Every time I look down upon the air base I feel so small.

  The only way I see of hurting them, of really sticking it to them is to take out the mothership. A battleship simply won’t do.

  You kill a snake by cutting off its head.

  June 14th, 2034

  Spit, shine and polish down at the air base today. It looks like royalty will be paying the place a visit shortly. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and my blaster ready.

  June 14th, 2034

  (second entry)

  My hunch was right.

  A royal shuttle touched down on the northern end of the base this evening and was greeted with the pomp and pageantry one would expec
t when the circus comes to town, and judging by the level of reverence shown, the creature that exited the ship and filled my binocular lens was someone of great importance, – which would’ve made him an inviting target if I could’ve gotten close enough to squeeze off a couple of rounds.

  June 15th, 2034

  The royal shuttle ascended early this morning. It was on the ground a total of twelve hours. I’m not sure if this was a missed opportunity, or simply a preview of things to come, but I’m hoping and preparing for the latter. If the shuttle comes back, and I have a strong feeling it will, it might just be my ride to the mothership.

  June 16th, 2034

  I’m back on the western side of Interstate 5, laying low in the hills above the air base and despite the fact the sun has been up for a couple of hours, there has been absolutely no activity inside the alien installation.

  Nothing, none, nada, zip–not one warbird has taken flight, nor has a ground vehicle left the base. In fact, I haven’t seen a single fuzzy all morning. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the place has been abandoned, but, of course, no such luck. They’re still in there, but what they’re up to is anyone’s guess.

  Stay tuned...

  June 18th, 2034

  (second entry)

  Eighteen hours later, and nothing but crickets.

  June 19th, 2034

  Day two. Total lockdown. Not an alien in sight.

  June 20th, 2034

  A lone fighter craft lifted off of the tarmac early this morning and shot off to the west, – one warbird, not the customary three, – just the one. One single fighter. Quite out of character for this bunch. Strange.

  As for the rest of the base, silence.

  June 21st, 2034

  I woke up before sunrise to the sound of a single gunshot ringing across the hills. I sprang to my feet, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I did so, and as I gathered my wits about me, the unmistakable rapid–fire report of automatic weapons shattered the still of the predawn hour. Short bursts, followed by long bursts, followed by short bursts, – and then every manner in between echoed far and wide across the lonely landscape. A real haymaker was taking place somewhere to the south, but exactly where, I couldn’t put my finger on it. All I knew for sure, it was automatic weapon fire, and only automatic weapon fire, not a Threak blaster to be heard amongst the cacophony.

  My heart sank, – are people fighting people?

  Please, God, no.

  I secured my area and turned my attention to the south. I stowed the supplies I’d gathered up over the past few days and struck camp to investigate.

  By the time I left camp it was silent. Twenty minutes had passed since the last of the gunplay had rattled my nerves and as I was about to turn tail and head back to camp I heard voices coming over the next rise.

  People!

  One by one, they stepped out of the darkness and strode into view. I recognized them straight off, it was the kids from No Mans Land, – still alive and well, and armed to the teeth.

  I called out to them and they called back, and after we’d spent a few minutes catching up they told me what they were doing so far north.

  They’d come to attack the air base.

  I listened as they began to lay out their plan and I took it all in, all the while wondering how to dovetail my plans along side theirs. When Saunders, the leader of the bunch, described how they were targeting the power core, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. If they succeeded in taking the power core, I was in. No two ways about it.

  After I’d chipped in my two cents about the layout of the air base, I let them in on what I had in store.

  I told them everything, from the earliest visions, – down to my plans for the mothership.

  Their support was immediate.

  I couldn’t be more grateful. I now had my diversion.

  I’m really going to get a shot at the mothership.

  I really am.

  June 24th, 2034

  We attack at midnight. That’s the call. Two squads of forty will strike the power grid while another crew of twenty will attack the south gates. Once the grid goes down, I’m slipping onto the base and my mission begins.

  I’ve got a lot to go over, so I’m going to have to leave it here.

  I’ll catch you on the flip side.

  June 25th, 2034

  We kicked over a beehive, that’s as best as I can describe it. We kicked over a beehive. One minute we were swooping down out of the hills, one hundred strong, full of fight and fury, and the next, it was every man for himself, running for our lives.

  Once the power grid was hit, all bets were off. The fuzzies “woke” up. Either we’d spurned them into action, or the hibernation–the festivities–the observance, whatever it was keeping them locked away, was over. And here we were, presenting ourselves to a blood hungry and revitalized enemy looking to get back in the game. Our timing couldn’t have been worse.

  But, how were we to know?

  Thousands of troopers poured from the base like angry wasps from a disturbed hive and the skies filled with warbirds too thick and too numerous to detail. It looked as if every ship they could muster hung in the air over the base and the snap and crackle of Threak blasters filled the night and sealed our fate.

  The attack was over before it had even begun. There was no way I could breach the base, not now.

  I cut west across the interstate and ran for a stand of trees bordering a small dry creek bed and followed it for a few hundred yards before it rose up and disappeared into a clump of manzanita bushes grown wild over its banks. From this point on the small creek ran beneath a dirt farm road for a mere twenty feet and emerged on the other side in an equally obscure manner. Rather than risk making a break for it across open fields, I chose to hunker down inside the narrow pipe and wait it out, – a routine that’s become all too familiar.

  Two days and a half of a dozen close calls later, I slipped out of the creek bed and headed west. I didn’t stop moving until I’d dug myself deep into the brush on the Pacific side of the Coastal Range and let the events of the past few days wash over me. I’d escaped the fuzzies by the skin of my teeth once again, but this time around I feel differently about surviving the close call. Rather than being elated, I feel as if the luck the Universe has graciously extended to me over the past year has finally been exhausted and that my next skirmish with the Threak may be my last.

  If that’s the case, then I’d better make it count.

  June 26th, 2034

  Nearly one year since the invasion. One year in and I’m still here. I’m still alive. Not many can say that.

  Not anymore.

  June 27th, 2034

  I had another vision last night.

  The Threak intend to colonize the planet.

  That was the message, short and sweet.

  Look out, they’re coming.

  I also learned in this morning’s “briefing” that an entire fleet of Threak ships have been trailing battle group and are only weeks away from arriving and setting up shop.

  Phase two of the invasion.

  Families, farms, factories, – a colony.

  They intend to stay.

  June 28th, 2034

  I’m disturbed by yesterday’s vision and in the cold way the information was presented to me. I’m beginning to think the Retratti have lost faith in our ability to fight back.

  Disheartening, to say the least.

  June 29th, 2034

  I forced myself up this morning and crawled out of the scrub just after first light. I feel a bit out of sorts and even after hiking nearly twelve miles I’m still half asleep. I’ve come down with something or another. I’m feeling every inch of this hike like I never have before. Each step is a struggle and the weight of my pack is almost more than I can take. I’m hoping that after I grab a bite to eat I’ll snap out of it.

  June 30th, 2034

  It’s business as usual at the air base, but knowing what I know sheds a whole new light on the
operation. On the northern edge of the base they’ve begun staging building materials in anticipation of the colonist’s arrival, and on the eastern side of the base vast stretches of flat, arid land are being prepped and quartered for development.

  They’re raising a city. This has to stop.

  July 1st, 2034

  As of yesterday, the Threak have begun deploying troopers outside the air base. They line either side of the interstate, – stretching out for six miles in each direction, and the sight of the troopers standing in the sun, safe and smug, makes me want to charge out of the hills, blaster set on high, and take out as many of them out as I can, but reason and reality set in and all I can do for now is sit and wait.

  My time will come.

  July 2nd, 2034

  Preparations for the next Threak offensive are well under way, just as the vision warned. I’ve been watching troop and cargo transports dropping into the base every fifteen minutes, coming in heavy and lifting out light. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say the trooper population at the air base has grown three fold since morning alone, and the number of ground transports off–loaded to accommodate the growing number of bodies on the ground has grown accordingly.

  Is it already too late?

  July 18th, 2034

  It’s been fourteen days since the great quake struck the southern end of the Central Valley in the early morning hours of the fourth, – and fourteen days since I finally bagged my cursed white whale.

  And, yes, the two do go hand in hand.

  It was 4:45 a.m., and the sun had yet to rise when the early morning breeze slowed and stood still. I was already up and on the move when I heard, – but, more so, felt, a crack in the air and an immediate and violent shift of the ground beneath my feet.

  Earthquake!

  I’d been through enough tremblers to know what was going on, but this one was different. This one was huge. This one knocked me to the ground and held me tight. Try as I might, I couldn’t stand. This one was epic. This was one for the books.