A Year Underfoot Read online

  They wouldn’t leave the transport out here overnight, that much I knew, so, it stood to reason, at some point they’d have it towed back to the base. A golden opportunity if ever there was one.

  If I could just get close enough.

  I was all set to move on it when the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. It was a trap. Oh, my God, it was a trap. As soon as the thought flashed through my mind, I knew it to be true.

  It was a trap.

  I kept low and brought my infrareds back up and looked through them with new eyes. I paid close attention to the sides of the interstate, particularly the areas where the land rushed up to meet and support the road.

  And, come to think of it, where were the warbirds?

  I kept the glasses trained on the shoulder of the road and in due time my suspicions were proven right. I picked up movement along the interstate and spotted a shard of light reflecting off of a highly polished helmet. That sealed the deal. The Threak were out in force.

  The disabled transport was a plant and I had almost fallen for it.

  I lay still and got to thinking. If they were playing this game up here, then traffic is backing up somewhere else. It had to be. The transports had been rolling up and down the interstate like clockwork, – six per hour, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.

  There had to be a massive backup somewhere down the line.

  I slowly backed away from my position and made a large loop to the south. I knew the Threak wouldn’t keep the road closed for too long, so I broke into a easy run following a route I’d scouted on the way in.

  If they were indeed holding traffic, I was betting they’d do so at a particular spot over the next rise. It was a logical place for them to do so, – and low and behold, when I crested an adjoining hill, there they were, a line of transports stretching out for miles.

  I had no time to waste.

  I dropped to one knee and reached into my pack. I pulled out the three pounds of C–4 and set the watch timer. Three hours, plenty of time, I hoped, for the transport to clear the roadblock and return to the air base.

  I placed the C–4 back in my pack and fell into a steady run.

  The end of the line lay two miles south and I had to stick the C–4 on the last of the transports to avoid being seen.

  Twenty minutes later, I crawled up to within fifty yards of the end of the procession and pulled the C–4 out of my pack. The charge itself had been hand–dyed jet–black and shaped like a thin brick with the watch/timer pressed securely into the center.

  With the setting sun behind me masking my advance, I began creeping forward in earnest. The last golden rays of the day were peeking over the western hills and, beaming in at eye level, they proved to be both strong enough and harsh enough, to effectively blind the troopers to my approach.

  I crawled up to the last transport in the line sight unseen and stuck the C–4 to the underbelly of the vehicle.

  Package delivered.

  Exit stage left. I crawled back the same way I came in, careful not to draw any attention, but fast enough to get out of harm’s way.

  I had less than three hours to put as much distance between the air base, and myself as possible. Either way, if they found the charge, or if it went off, the place would be flooded with warbirds and troopers. That much was certain.

  Three hours wasn’t much time.

  I figured returning to the hills around Point Magu was my best bet. I knew my way around the area and I had a few places I could revisit for supplies along the way.

  Night fell and I trudged on. Clouds had long rolled in and it made for an especially dark night. I walked on in silence, keeping one eye on the skies and the other on the road ahead. I grew tired as the night drew on and I found myself thinking about the very first vision I’d received from the Retratti.

  It seems so long ago.

  I was shown the Earth, and then an alien race, one that I came to know as the Threak. And, I was shown what would happen when they arrive. I saw the battle plans. I saw them massing their forces. I saw their incredible armada slicing it’s way through the stars toward our innocent and defenseless planet.

  I saw it all. But, I didn’t know what I was seeing. What was the context? Was it an epic dream, or a prophetic warning? I was so confused.

  It all makes sense to me now.

  KA–BOOM!

  At my back, a great explosion tore through the night and snapped me back into the here and now. A fireball shot a thousand feet into the air and I heard secondary explosions as well.

  Had my C–4 yielded unexpected dividends?

  Another terrific explosion rocked the night, and I let out a war whoop loud enough to wake the dead.

  Apparently so!

  My celebration was short–lived. I had to find cover, and I had to find it fast. The skies would be filled with warbirds soon enough and here I was stuck out in the open.

  I broke into a light sprint and after cutting across a small pasture I came upon an old farmhouse.

  I stopped and had a look around.

  The house itself had seen better days. The windows had been busted out long ago, and it was evident that the damage done to the century old, off–white abode had taken place well before the invasion. I took a cursory look inside, nothing but graffiti, broken glass and feces. Pass.

  I slipped past the place and kept moving.

  Further back on the neglected property sat an old pole barn. I made a break for it, and had almost reached the warped wooden door when the first of the warbirds screamed overhead.

  I ducked inside and was drawn to the loft. I scrambled up a wooden ladder and nestled into a pile of rotted hay and hoped for the best.

  One hour later the door burst open and a trio of troopers filled the doorway.

  How did they get here so fast?

  I was torn between leaping out of the second story window, or laying low in the hay and hoping they’d move on.

  I dug deeper into the loose hay and prayed for the best. Making a run for it now would be suicide. I had no choice but to wait them out.

  Down below, I heard the troopers falling about the place. The sounds of glass lanterns shattering on the dirt floor, and of stall doors being ripped from their hinges filled the dilapidated barn. Nothing was left unturned.

  Then silence. Had they left?

  The first wisps of black smoke told me all I needed to know.

  The barn was on fire.

  From the safety of the shadows, I peered out the loft window and watched the troopers retreat to the half–track parked at the end of the driveway.

  The crackling of dry hay meeting hungry flame drew my attention away from the window and back onto more immediate concerns. All around me, angry flames were licking their way up the rotted wooded walls and the temperature in the room soared exponentially. I could feel the heat of the inferno searing through the creaky, dry boards beneath my feet. I had no choice but to jump.

  I leapt out of the top window and hit the ground hard, rolling in a ball until I found my feet and broke into a sprint. Behind me, the barn was fully engulfed and the main house was ablaze as well. The troopers had left no stone unturned. I’d jostled their hive and now they were out for revenge.

  Whether or not they had a bead on me, or were just out torching the countryside, I hadn’t a clue. I just ran, and when I heard the now familiar whine of an approaching wardbird, I dove into a thicket bordering the property and burrowed in as best I could.

  I hadn’t been spotted.

  Minutes turned to hours. The area was locked down, no two ways about it. Troopers on the ground, warbirds in the sky, and I was stuck in the middle. I wasn’t about to move a muscle. I had already done the best thing I could do, crawl into a hole and pull it in over me. I had a couple granola bars, a can of stew and enough water to last a couple of days. I wasn’t worried. Maybe it was the adrenaline talking. Whatever the reason, I knew I’d be fine as long as I kept out of sight.

  That was three days a
go.

  So, here I sit. It’s the second time I’ve gone to ground in the past week and a half and I’m hoping this doesn’t become a habit. It’s been three days of laying on my back, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the enemy to clear the area. It could be worse. I could be dead. I’m not complaining.

  I’ve had Bagman on my mind and hoped he got wind of the explosions. I wonder how he’s getting along. I’m sure the Threak are all over him as well. I hope two days was enough time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  September 13th, 2033

  After sunset last night, I left my spot in the thicket and I’ve been on the move ever since. The warbirds are still out and about, but I’m steering clear of roads, and therefore, steering clear of the troopers.

  I’m heading back to the coast and I figure on gazing upon the Pacific sometime tomorrow afternoon.

  I miss my friend.

  September 14th, 2033

  I had another vision last night.

  The Threak know who I am, and they know where I am.

  I woke up and broke camp immediately and made myself scarce.

  Fifteen minutes later, a barrage of plasma shells rained down on my former campsite. Had I still been there I certainly would have been killed.

  And, although I’m grateful for the warning, and, for that matter, all the information the Retratti have given to me, I still wonder what’s in it for them?

  Call me cynical, but I have too many questions. Among them, why are you helping us?

  September 15th, 2033

  I ran into a pack of dogs today, feral as they come and as hungry as the rest of us.

  It happened outside of Ventura. It was getting late in the afternoon and my scrounge run downtown had been a bust. I was heading toward State 126 when I caught some movement out of the corner of my right eye. Something was following alongside me.

  I cut behind what was left of a tire shop and drew out my .357. I ducked behind a pile of broken concrete and waited for whomever, or whatever was stalking me.

  It turns out it was a dog.

  I dropped my guard, and the mutt, a Roteweiler mix of some sort, showed me his teeth. This wasn’t Lassie, not by a long shot. I raised the gun back up and reached over for a suitable chunk of concrete to scare it off. I threw the rock and it skipped past within a foot of the Rotty, but the canine didn’t move a muscle. That’s when I realized, it wasn’t just facing “a” dog, I was up against a pack of dogs. I counted nine, all large, all hungry, and all surrounding me.

  At this point, I wasn’t overly concerned. I had a .357, after all.

  The baying started and that was enough for me. Time to show man’s former best friend who was boss. The Threak may have claimed the top of the food chain for the moment, but last time I checked, canine still ranked below human.

  I fired a shot in the air, but it had no effect.

  The largest of the dogs, the Roteweiler mix, lunged at me from the left and I was forced to drop him on the spot. He fell at my feet and bled out quickly. The rest of the pack edged back slightly, realizing something in their plan had gone terribly awry.

  I fired another shot in the air. This time it had the desired effect and the pack fled.

  September 18th, 2033

  I woke this morning to a threatening orange glow on the southern horizon. I’m not one hundred per cent sure, but it looks like a wildfire is heading my way. My best guess puts it five to seven miles out, which is too close for comfort.

  With the wind gusting up from the south, it’s a no–brainer. I’ve got to pick up and move on once again.

  September 19th, 2033

  The fire drove me north along the coast and I happened upon the sleepy beach town of Carpinteria. Unlike all the other cities I’ve come across, this place remains eerily untouched. There’s not one demolished building, or glass–strewn street; there aren’t any burnt shells of cars littering the landscape, nor are there any roads that have suffered damage under the weight of the transports.

  Everything appears absolutely normal, – which is decidedly not normal.

  Is it a trap? Absolutely.

  I steered clear and climbed a small hill overlooking the seaside community. I trained my field glasses down on the untouched town and scoped the empty city streets. At first glance, the city appeared deserted, true enough, but it had a black cloud hanging over it. It was all too neat, all too convenient. Confirmation came when the metallic whine of a half–track assault vehicle could be heard off in the distance. There were troopers down there, no doubt about it.

  Then I spotted movement on the north end of town.

  From a half of a mile away, the silhouettes of nearly a dozen people filled my lens. To my surprise they were human. They were coming up off the beach and heading toward a row of formerly expensive homes lining the beach. They stopped short of the first one they encountered and bunched together, – almost if they were discussing whether or not to proceed any further.

  Two streets to the east another flash of movement caught my eye. A squad of six heavily armed troopers emerged from the old fire station and headed for the unsuspecting group. The troopers moved slowly, but would still be on top of the group in no time at all.

  I had to warn them.

  For the third time in the past few days, I squeezed off a warning shot. It echoed throughout the night, catching the attention of both humans and Threak alike. Both parties reacted quite differently. The troopers stop dead in their tracks, while my fellow survivors scattered back to the beach and disappeared into the night.

  I looked back over at the troopers, who were now scanning the hills for the source of the shot. And, for reasons I still can’t explain, I squeezed off another round.

  Yeah, I’m up here! What of it!

  September 21, 2033

  The fires still burn in the south, but their advance seems to have slowed considerably. In fact, it seems to have stalled out altogether. The thick cloud of black smoke hanging overhead has grayed a bit and it looks much less menacing than before. Come nightfall it’ll be easier to gauge the fire’s condition by the intensity of its glow. With any luck there won’t be one at all.

  But, why would the fire stall?

  The conditions are perfect for an epic blaze.

  If it has indeed, stalled, I suspect the Threak have something to do with it. It’s the only scenario I can imagine which makes any sense. The days have been windy and dry and there’s certainly no shortage of fuel in the forest to feed the beast. I can’t see any other way. There’s not a cloud in the sky, nor a firefighter on the ground, what could be standing in its way?

  The Threak.

  They have a stake in this too. The soot from the fires can’t be good for the warbirds, and who knows what the increased carbon levels are doing to their respiratory systems. Maybe, it’s effecting them adversely. Maybe this is the planet’s way of fighting back.

  Go Earth!

  September 22, 2033

  I hiked a few miles down the coast tonight, keeping a keen eye out should the fires flare up once again.

  I’d gone about as far as I could go, – saw what I had come to see and was about to turn around and head back when a solitary figure emerged from a stand of fog–shrouded eucalyptus trees and crossed road in front of me.

  It was a man, a much older man, dirty and disheveled, half–dead really, trudging ahead, his stride hampered by the ash and mud clumped to his shoes. As he shuffled forth I called out to him, but he didn’t answer.

  I called out again.

  He stopped momentarily and looked my way. His face was expressionless, his eyes locked in a thousand yard stare.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He never answered and his expression never changed. A moment passed and he turned away and resumed his solemn march north.

  Soon, others followed. In groups of three, four and five they emerged from the trees and fog. Men, women and children, of all ages, shapes and sizes followed solemnly in the wake of the old man.
Some held out crosses, but most shuffled forward with their heads bowed to the ground, mumbling pleas and prayers as they passed by me.

  Where they had come from I hadn’t a clue, but they passed by without acknowledging my presence. A parade of thirty in all and each wore a look similar to the other, the look of surrender, the look of defeat. These folks had given up. They had no fight left in them. They looked like they were waiting to die.

  When the last of the broken slipped across the road and disappeared back into the coastal fog, I dropped my head and sighed.

  It’s only going to get worse from here.

  September 27th, 2033

  I’ve been moping around the past couple of days. I haven’t even left camp. Just sitting around feeling numb. The encounter of the other night hangs heavy. It’s a hard memory to process and I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out why, other than the obvious, it has hit me so hard.

  I think I have an answer.

  This is the start of the second die–off.

  Winter’s coming, – not so much here in Southern California, but in the north, the mid–west, Europe, Canada.... How many of us will make it through to spring?

  Is that part of the Threak’s plan? Wait us out. No need to hunt down the rest of us, just let nature take its course.

  No food. No shelter. No hope.

  Is that what’s going on here?

  September 30th, 2033

  I had the most vivid vision yet.

  In it I saw a woman, a beautiful woman with long jet–black hair. She was wrapped in flowing white linens and her skin radiated a misty white light. She appeared to me for only a moment, but her message was quite clear. She was here to help, and I gladly accepted her offer

  October 1st, 2033

  I’ve been racking my brain for a plan, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. To get back to the air base I’ve got a week’s worth of hard miles staring me in the face, and I always do my best thinking while I’m on the move, so I figure I’ll come up with something along the way.

  Right now, I’m a little east of Carpinteria, about a half mile north of the furthest tip of the burn area. I’m at the western edge of the Los Padres National Forest facing the Santa Ynez Mountains to the east. The air base lays another forty miles south by southeast past the mountains. The terrain between the two is rough and varied, running the gamut from steep, wooded canyons, – thick with underbrush and obstacles, to wide open expanses of scrub and manzanita with few places to hide should a warbird appear overhead.