A Year Underfoot Page 2

  Until then, I’ll sit tight and take stock.

  Besides the obvious staring me in the face, another major concern has reared its ugly head, – I’m almost out of food and water.

  I’ve been living out of my backpack for a week now and the sticks of salami, the cheeses, the power bars and the trail mixes I’d packed away are disappearing faster than I’d expected. Rationing tightly, I have five days max, maybe less.

  Water isn’t a concern, at least, not yet, anyway. There are plenty of freshwater streams, rivers, and lakes in the area to keep me hydrated, and the water purification kit I picked up a week ago is more than up for the challenge to keep me dysentery free.

  I only pray it works as advertised.

  Along with the water purification kit, I also picked up a few other items. Namely a crossbow, a quiver of flights, – the infrared field glasses, a compass, a flashlight, a first aid kit, a pot, a pan, a couple of pocket knives, – including a Swiss army knife and a multi–tool.

  I’d also picked up a warm blanket, an extra pair of long johns and a goose down jacket rated to -20 below. I won’t need them for quite a while, but I’ll gladly pack them away until I do.

  I’m about as prepared as I can be, considering I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But, I do know I’m better off than most, and sitting here whining about what I don’t have isn’t going to help me one damn bit.

  July 12th, 2033

  It’s early morning. The first of the three alien supply ships is preparing to lift off. If the other two follow suit this could be the start of a good day. I’ll have to wait and see.

  Last night I decided to play this nightmare out close to home. I’m going to stay in the general area until I see how this is all going to shake out.

  Fifty miles to the north lay Lake Casitas and the southern end of the Los Padres National Forest. It’s remote with hilly and rugged terrain and there are plenty of canyons to hide in. It offers everything I need as far as shelter and sustenance are concerned, – and, I can be there in less than a week.

  My food situation is getting critical and I’m hoping that after the last of the transports blasts off the troopers will leave the area as well. I can’t see them hanging around Oxnard any longer if there isn’t anything left to guard, or destroy.

  Once they’re gone I’ll make a run into town and sift through the rubble and see what I can find. I’m sure I’ll run across something. Until then I’m going to catch some sleep and dream of better days.

  July 13th, 2033

  This has been the hardest day yet.

  On the road outside of Oxnard, I saw thousands of men, women and children being led south, – single file down the middle of the PCH by a few dozen Threak troopers. Each person was shackled by the wrist, and in turn, shackled to the individual in front of them. Each tragic figure wore the look of the damned.

  Slowly, the procession made its way past me. Tears welled in my eyes and rolled down my face.

  I have never felt so helpless before.

  July 14th, 2033

  I can’t take my mind off the people I saw yesterday.

  What’s to become of them? Have they been kept alive for a reason?

  If so, that can’t be good.

  July 14th, 2033

  (second entry)

  The nightmare continues.

  I saw an even larger group of captives being marched south down the PCH this afternoon. The line looked to be twice as long as yesterday’s column, and like yesterday’s captives, all were shackled at the wrist, and to each other as well.

  I hid in the weeds and stared as they limped past. Whether they were being led to their deaths, or to a fate far worse, I don’t know, but I can only imagine. All I know is that I feel like a coward for not lifting a finger to help them, but there wasn’t anything I could do for them. That’s a fact. No shades of gray.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t look away.

  No, today was the hardest day yet.

  July 15th, 2033

  I was up before the sun and after a quick cup of coffee, I doubled back along the coast to Ventura in the hope of scrounging up much needed supplies. The area was still hot, and would be for quite some time, but I really didn’t have a choice. I’d run out of food late last night and the prospect of starving to death is not an appealing one to me. I’d have to take my chances. It’s not like I had much of a choice.

  I slipped into the north end of the coastal town, not far from the old pier and slipped into the courtyard of a traditional Mexican restaurant and tried the front door. It was locked. A good sign, it hadn’t been ransacked, – at least, that’s what I told myself.

  I went around back and knocked out a small square window and was careful not to cut myself on the broken shards of glass as I crawled inside. I made my way into the kitchen and started gathering up as many tortillas, cans of beans and bags of rice as I could fit into the duffel bag I’d brought along. I also helped myself to a pair of can openers, a half dozen knives and a small frying pan.

  I grabbed cans of anything and everything, I didn’t even look at the labels, I just stuffed the sack.

  I had food. That was my main concern.

  I spent the next hour slipping from shop to shop, starting with an Ace Hardware store and ending up at a thrift shop. Despite the stores having been tossed through many times before I still came away with a few of the items I’d been hoping for. Pants, sweaters and socks from the thrift shop, – and an axe I found in the rubble outside the hardware store.

  A score I knew I’d probably never see again.

  I crammed what I could into the duffel bag and what I couldn’t fit inside, namely, the axe, I fashioned a sling and strapped it across my back and left town with the setting sun. I had a sack of supplies on my back and a spring in my step. Things were looking up. I’d planned on continuing up the coast for a few miles and then I’d be able to disappear into the hills and head back for Lake Casitas.

  A solid plan, I thought, until a trio of warbirds arrived to let me know otherwise.

  They came in low and fast over the destroyed city and dipped their wings as they flew overhead. Had they spotted me? I had no idea, but I operated on the assumption that they had and made a mad dash back toward the downtown area.

  Not the greatest place to hide, I understand, but at least I wasn’t caught out in the open.

  A second wave of warbirds screeched over a minute later.

  Followed by a third.

  And after the third wave made its pass, all nine fighter craft circled low over the city, like buzzards waiting on a body.

  The ground troops, if not already on scene, would be shortly. That was a given. It was time to bail. I readjusted my gear and took off up Olive Street, careful to avoid the warbirds circling overhead. I heard the telltale whine of a troop transport making its way toward the center of town and took pause.

  The walls were closing in all around me.

  I ran as quickly up Olive as I could, stopping now and again to listen for approaching troopers, and to check in on the circling warbirds.

  I ducked inside the shell of a trashed and burnt SUV and looked for a way out. The only air cover separate from the retail district was a stand of eucalyptus trees aligning the southern end of the San Miguelito Oil Fields a mile or so up the road. From there I could cut north through the field and eventually drift west, along the coast.

  The troopers were closing in on my end of the street, and much to my relief, I caught a lucky break. One by one, the warbirds circling above peeled off and shot off to the south.

  Why? I’ll never know. I’m just grateful they did.

  I followed Olive Street to its end, – crossed north over State Road 33 and cut through the oil fields without incident. The warbirds never made a return visit and, as a result, I made good time. Had they turned back, I’m sure I’d have been spotted, but they didn’t and I’m still here.

  Four hour later I was back in camp, rolling a bean and rice burrito and looking
over the gear I’d picked up in Ventura.

  An axe, I have a freaking axe!

  July 16th, 2033

  I had a vision last night.

  I was in a field and there was a woman, a beautiful woman. She was, however, not entirely human. She had human–like features, a human face, two arms, two legs, an identical bone and body structure, but she was not human, or, maybe, I should say, she was not of this earth. For all her similarities there was one glaring exception, her skin.

  She radiated a pure white light.

  She pointed to the skies and I looked up as storm clouds rushed overhead with great speed. The wind picked up considerably, and, – though it was a dream, I felt that very same wind sweep past me. I could smell the sweetness of the air and feel the moisture and the drop in pressure as the skies overhead grew dark.

  This dream was more vivid than all the others before.

  Inside the clouds an image took shape.

  An image of hills, – rolling green hills, stretching out before me for miles and miles in every direction, and, from a hidden valley, a terrific lightning bolt shoots skyward and strikes an enormous alien ship perched high in the sky. The great ship shudders, and a serious of tremendous explosions light up the sky. The alien ship lists heavily to the port side and begins to drop from the sky.

  I looked over to the woman, but she was gone.

  I looked back to the ship, but it was gone as well.

  I awoke with a start, sitting up in my bedroll.

  I was back in camp. It was still dark outside and my heart was racing. Sweat beaded on my brow.

  What was that?

  July 16th, 2033

  (second entry)

  I’ve been on the bounce most of the day.

  After last night’s dream I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I packed up and broke camp, – destination, Lake Casitas.

  I’d only hiked a mile into the brush when the now familiar screech of a warbird echoed throughout the canyons. I hit the deck and rolled to my left, craning my head upward to see where the patrol was coming from. I crawled further back into the brush and waited for the craft to appear overhead, but no warbird came my way. Picking myself up, I drank some water and checked my compass. The southern tip of the lake was due west and with any luck I could make it before sunset.

  Man, was I wrong.

  I hadn’t counted on the heat.

  It was hot, unseasonably hot. Triple digits hot. Hot enough so that I could see the ground cover wilting before my eyes, and hot enough so that I could watch the heat waves rising up off the next set of browning hills ahead. It was no illusion. By eleven o’clock the temperature had risen well above one hundred degrees and was still climbing. Sweat poured from every fiber of my being and I was going through my water way too fast. At this pace I would be out of H2O by early afternoon. My best bet was to find a spot of shade and wait until the late afternoon took hold before pressing on.

  So, that’s what I’ve done.

  I’ve found an old eucalyptus, plopped down underneath it and have called it a day. Simple enough. I may not move until morning.

  God, I’m tired.

  July 18th, 2033

  It’s been fourteen days since the attack and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the last of my kind, i.e., a free roaming human being.

  A bit over dramatic, granted, but it sure feels like it sometimes. Where is everyone? I should’ve run into someone by now. I know others have escaped into the hills. I know I’m not the only one, but, still, – the question remains, where is everyone?

  July 19th, 2033

  I made it to the shores of Lake Casitas early this morning. The trip took a little longer than I’d expected, but I made it here, nonetheless. I’m settling in for the night on the southern side of the lake, a few hundred yards below Casitas Pass Road. Come sun–up, I’ll be moving on once again. I don’t like being wedged between the road and the lake, but I’m safe for now and I’m too tired to move another inch.

  Now that I have access to fresh water, my situation doesn’t seem as dire as it did twenty–four hours ago. I’m still worried about food though. I’ll run out of the canned stuff soon enough and if I can’t pull fish out of this lake on a need–be–basis, I’m going to waste away. I’ve never hunted a day in my life, and I have no idea how to start now. I suppose when I get hungry enough I’ll figure it out and embrace my inner caveman.

  July 20th, 2033

  I came across two dozen charred bodies on Casitas Pass Road near Oak View this afternoon.

  They were all lined neatly in a row, still shackled together.

  I tried to pull them off the road and give them a decent burial, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move them. They weighed too much, and the area was still too hot,–too many troopers rolling around and far too many warbirds in the air. I had no choice but to leave them there.

  July 21st, 2033

  I made a supply run into Oak View last night and it was almost my last. As I was heading out of town I got caught in the blinding searchlight of a troop transport heading up State Road 33. It found me as I was cutting across a small meadow and, although I hit the deck as soon as it flashed, it was too late. The transport slammed to a halt, its massive tracks grinding into the asphalt road and I quickly crawled down into a dry creek bed bordering the far edge of the pasture and lay flat.

  It was more of a shallow depression than a full blown creek, – the banks were only eighteen inches high, – high enough to water cows, and hide me, – if my luck were to hold out.

  I slipped off my backpack and lay it flat beside me. I dug my chin into the ground and willed every inch of my being to remain perfectly still.

  Had they seen me? How could they have not?

  The searchlight danced about the open pasture and I saw that the troopers had not only left their vehicle, but were crossing the meadow and walking toward me. As they came closer, I heard their alien voices for the first time.

  Unnerving, to say the least.

  They spoke in deep, guttural tones, – falling somewhere between a snarl and a growl and when they spoke their deep resonant voices carried a long way in the still night air.

  They continued to talk as they came closer and I forced myself lower into the earth. My heart threatened to pound out of my chest with each emphatic beat and I was sure I had been spotted. How could they not see me? I was right in front of them.

  And, if they couldn’t see me, I was certain they could hear my throbbing heartbeat. I held motionless for what seemed like an eternity and my heart sank even lower into my stomach as I heard their voices grow louder still.

  I waited for the end, but thankfully, it never came.

  Further along the edge of the pasture I heard a cow low in the darkness. As the sound filled the night, the troopers stopped and wheeled around and trained their weapons on the innocent animal. One of the troopers barked an order and an electric crackle soon filled the night.

  I dropped my head and lay still. Was I was next? Had they really seen me? Do I make a break for it, or wait it out?

  In the end, I held still.

  A few moments passed and I heard the troopers snarling and growling once again, but the voices were further away now, and as they continued with the back and forth, their voices became even more distant. They were leaving. I had dodged a bullet.

  After a good long while I rose from the creek bed and walked over to where the cow lay dead. A perfect circle, the size of a baseball, had been burned cleanly through its skull.

  There but for the Grace of God go I.

  July 25th, 2033

  Ever since my close call with the troopers the other night I’ve stuck close to camp and kept a low profile. Not exactly a noble way to live, I understand that, but I don’t really know what else to do.

  I have absolutely no idea what is going on outside of my protective little bubble and the visions, as promising as they are, provide me with nothing more than flashes of random images without any real context.r />
  The lack of solid information is driving me mad.

  So, I’ve decided to seek out the answers I so desperately need. To do so I’m going to have to keep on the move, – keeping this camp as a base of operations and strike out for a couple of days at a time and see what I can find.

  I’d like to hide away, but I can’t. I can’t forget the people on the road.

  So, where to start?

  Since the invasion I’ve watched a steady stream of warbirds and cargo ships moving north and south to the east of my location. They seem to be using Interstate 5, the freeway that effectively splits California in half, as a marker of sorts and I’ve come to the conclusion their interest in this particular highway is more than just that of a landmark.

  By this time tomorrow I’ll have a better idea if my assumptions are correct.

  July 27th, 2033

  I was right.

  For the past day and a half I’ve been hiking through the scrub toward Interstate 5. Once again the temperatures have been hovering in the low 100’s, but despite the oppressive heat, the persistent bugs and the warbirds buzzing overhead, I’ve managed to work myself into a position north of Pyramid Lake that affords me a clear view of the interstate.

  I spent the morning watching huge alien vehicles ramble up and down the interstate at will. Whether or not the transports are filled with people, I don’t know. I’m praying that they not.

  I watched the road for twelve hours and in that time over three hundred vehicles rolled passed my position. The transports ran in convoys of six to nine strong and after watching them lumber over the steep grade for a few hours it dawned on me just how vulnerable the slow moving machines are out here on this lonely stretch of the road.

  And, a smile crept across my face when I thought about what a few sticks of dynamite could do. One well placed charge, and I could bring the convoys to a halt.