Battle- Earth

by Mark Harrison

  When Rick heard the story, he immediately took a liking to Tuck. The man was old enough to be his father, but Rick liked the way Tuck handled situations. He knew Tuck would be a valuable asset in their trek to Mission Control.

  The caravan of survivors drove along the interstate toward Las Vegas with renewed optimism. Rick was happy he could drive finally alone. Patricia, Jose and Manuel joined up with other survivors in the campers. Rick wasn’t big on small talk. He also didn’t want anyone to cast him a weary look when he casually sipped on a bottle of Jack Daniels he found in the grocery store.

  Chapter 18

  “Why, Miss Connor, that was a mighty fine shot! A mighty fine shot indeed.”

  Sandra thanked Quinton and made her way to the dead squirrel she’d shot. She picked it up and placed it in her backpack. She’d skin it when she got back to camp.

  “We should head back,” she said. “It’s getting late and I want to see my children. They’ve had a rough couple of days.”

  It was pitch black in the woods. The only light came from the moon’s glow shining through the branches overhead. Only three nights before, she had slept out here with Bobby in her arms while they were searching for Claire. The world had changed a lot since then. Thinking of it made her shudder.

  “Why, yes,” Quinton said. “We should get back. Your children need you. The camp will be most eager to see our faces again. Perhaps almost as eager as I am to see theres. Yes, perhaps.”

  He’d been talking like this the whole hunt. At first, Sandra thought it was cute, but it was starting to wear on her. Why the hell did this weirdo have to survive the apocalypse? His survival skills were great, his strength and conditioning were top notch, but his odd behavior was not something she liked. She could see Quinton in the dark staring at her. His eyes seemed to glow.

  “We should have enough to last us a few days,” Sandra said. “Next time I head out, I’ll take a couple of the other people at the camp. I’ll teach them what I know.”

  Quinton had walked up to her. He stepped on every branch he could. He wasn’t afraid of making noise. He let himself be known. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “The more skilled hunters in our group, the more formidable we will be. The more capable we will be in defending ourselves from attack.”

  Sandra let out a cautious laugh. “Defend ourselves?” she said. “I don’t think we will ever be able to defend ourselves from those alien ships.”

  Quinton put his arm over her, his fingers squeezed into her shoulder. She felt uncomfortable. “I’m not talking about defending ourselves from the aliens,” he said. “I’m talking about other groups of survivors.” He looked around the woods, as if looking to see if anyone could hear him. Then, he whispered to her ear, “ The world was already a dark place, Miss Connor. A dark, dark place, indeed. These aliens are nothing more than the flood to wipe all the darkness clean.”

  Sandra walked away from Quinton, brushing aside his arm. “We should head back to the camp,” she said. “I am feeling tired.”

  “Ah, yes,” Quinton replied. “To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, There’s the rub. Have you ever read Shakespeare, Miss. Connor?”

  “Yes,” said Sandra. “I am a history professor. I’ve read quite a bit of Shakespeare.” She was confused. She couldn’t read Quinton, she didn’t understand his methods. She was beginning to think that she and her children had a better chance at survival on their own. Far away from this Shakespeare quoting weirdo. Once she’d got back to the cabins, she’d think it over.

  “Ah,” Quinton said. “You are a professor? Funny that. I’m a professor, too. I taught English and Drama at Cornell University. I studied the arts. I had a predilection for the finer things in life.”

  “I could tell by your vocabulary,” Sandra said. “It’s very ornate.” She started to walk back toward the camp, but Quinton moved toward her, not letting her create any distance between the two of them. He put his arm around her, pressing his fingers into her shoulder again.

  “This world could be ours,” Quinton said.

  “Excuse me,” said Sandra, she backed away from him.

  “Ever since I pulled up to the park and I saw your face and your children,” Quinton said. “I knew you were a fighter. I knew we were chosen to be together.”

  “We barely know each other,” said Sandra. “And you’re married?”

  “What was of the old world, does not matter now,” said Quinton. “Did you see the way I got the camp working? They follow my instruction because I lead by example. With you at my side, we could convert everyone who is left to fight on our side.”

  “We shouldn’t be fighting anybody,” said Sandra. “We should be helping others learn how to survive.”

  Quinton looked up to the stars, he smiled. “No,” he said. “I don’t think we should be doing that. Hamlet asked in his famous soliloquy: ‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?’”

  Sandra was uneasy, she didn’t know what Quinton was getting at, she wanted this conversation over. “Do you have a point?” she said.

  “It’s time for humanity to sleep,” he said. “It’s time to dream. And these aliens, they are our gods now. They are who we should protect.”

  “Protect?” said Sandra. “They destroyed my home town. They killed my parents. If I get the chance, I’ll kill them. Listen, I’m not liking this conversation. I want to get back to the camp.”

  “You will learn to see the error of your ways, Miss Connor,” he said. “Whether it be willingly or by force.” He grabbed hold of her again.

  Sandra tried to brush off his grip, but he was holding her tight. He pushed her against the tree. Her back hurt. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he deflected it.

  Quinton leaned in close to Sandra and licked her neck. “If you accept the aliens, then we can run this camp together,” he said. “We can dominate every other living thing on this planet. I know it.”

  “Let go,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

  Quinton held her tighter. He wasn’t going to let her go. Not until she accepted the aliens as the true saviors of the planet. Not until she submitted to his will. Not until she accepted his offer of partnership.

  “Let me go,” she repeated. He didn’t listen. He leaned in closer, licking her again.

  “You taste mighty fine,” he said. “If you don’t agree to work with me, I will kill you. There can be no weak links in the chain.”

  Sandra needed to act now. She tried to push away but he was too strong. But she had one appendage left that she could use. When Quinton pulled his head back, Sandra threw her head forward, hitting Quinton square in the nose. He loosened his grip and dropped her. He fell to the ground with his hands on his nose.

  “You bitch,” he said. “You deny your gods?”

  “I deny your fucked up version of the world,” she said. She stood up and walked up to the crouching Quinton and kicked him in the head, knocking him out. He fell back onto the forest floor with a thud. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to cut him open right there and then, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d never killed a man before and didn’t want to start now. She’d need to get back to her children. They’d need to find another place to stay. Somewhere far away from Quinton and his camp.

  Chapter 19

  Like the exit from Los Angeles, not much happened on their drive to Vegas. Everything was too easy. Rick knew their luck was about to change. He could feel it. They were due for some bad news.

  The car dealership at the Nevada border had everything they needed. There were three vehicles in the parking lot. Rick left the fixed up van in the lot and replaced it with a 2059 Charger. It was impractical and only sat two, but fuck it. This was the apocalypse. Plus, once he got to Mission Control, it would only be him and Domino. He’d only need two seats.

  They left the car dealership and made their way down the interstate. They were only a couple hours from their destination. Rick was getting impatient. He was leading the caravan. They ha
dn’t seen any other survivors since they left Los Angeles county and the heat was intense. He was glad it was quiet. The more people they picked up, the more baggage. He looked back at the other cars in his rearview mirror. Hopeful fools. He rolled down the windows and let the breeze cool him down.

  The long, flat plains of the Mojave desert stretched out. They could see for miles in each direction. This made the trip take a lot longer than expected. In a normal scenario, the drive from Los Angeles to Vegas would only take a few hours, but this wasn’t a normal scenario. Every building, house, or vehicle they spotted they checked. The whole caravan would pull over and they would all look for supplies and survivors. So far, they hadn’t found much. All they found were a few odds and ends that could be crafted into something worthwhile, but nothing more.

  As they got closer to Vegas, Rick saw shapes that had to be motherships out on the horizon. It made his stomach churn. Maybe Sam’s radio wasn’t broken? Maybe Mission Control was the problem? He shook his head. It was not the time to think about that. He had to think positive thoughts. He took a swig of whiskey.

  If Mission Control was gone, than none of these people in the caravan would make it far. Most of the survivors they’d picked up were elderly. That’s not to say they couldn’t help, but that is to say they’d be seen as easy targets. In other words, they’d attract some bad attention. Mission Control would be the best place for these people to stay. It needed to still be standing. If not, Rick would have to rethink everything.

  But Mission Control would have to wait. A mile up the road, there was a sign. It said: Dirk’s Supplies and Moonshine. Rick put his hand out the driver seat window, signalling to the other cars in the caravan to pull over. Out in the distance, there was a building, about a mile off the road. He wanted to check it out. If it had some supplies they could use, that would be great. If it had moonshine, that would be better.

  Rick pulled his Charger over and got out. Tuck was already out of his trailer.

  “What is it!?” said Tuck.

  “Not sure,” said Rick. “I want to check that place out. Look.” Rick pointed to the sign on the side of the road.

  Tuck smiled. “Moonshine, eh?”

  “And supplies,” said Rick. “You crazy drunk.” Both he and Tuck laughed.

  Rick pulled out his binoculars and looked to the structure that was out in the distance. He studied it. Fuck. He knew it. They were due for some bad news and this was it.

  “We should walk from here,” Rick said.

  “What?” said Tuck. “We’ve got vehicles. Why should we walk?

  “It looks like we’ve got a group of hostiles ahead.” Rick continued to look through his binoculars as he spoke. He counted six people surrounding the building. They were holding weapons. They were talking to someone inside.

  Tuck pulled out his pair of binoculars and looked through them.“Yep, you’re right,” he said. “They look like hooligans.” He put his binoculars down and ran back to his truck, grabbing a shotgun he stored under his seat.

  “Fuckers,” said Rick. “Let’s head up. Anyone else want to join?”

  Out of Tuck’s trailer, Jose and Manuel emerged. They were holding rifles and were wrapped in ammo like Rambo. They looked badass. The others were too old or too scared to fight. Rick didn’t care. He wasn’t going to risk anyones life aside from his own.

  “Alright,” Rick said. “Follow me.”

  Tuck, Manuel and Jose followed Rick. They walked slowly up the desert. They were one mile away from the building that was surrounded. They would be there soon.

  Only one day ago he’d been fighting aliens, now he was fighting humans.

  Chapter 20

  “Get the fuck down!” Rick shouted to Tuck and Jose.

  The two men dove behind a rock, dodging the incoming bullets. The hooligans surrounding the building out in the desert weren’t playing nice.

  Rick knew it was only a matter of time before he ran into a group of hostile survivors. But he was hoping it would be under a different circumstance. One that would be more in his favor. He didn’t like their odds of getting out of this one alive. But they couldn’t turn back now. If they did, the hooligans would pick them off.

  Puffs of sand shot up as the bullets sprayed across the desert plain. Tuck and Jose were cowering behind a big rock. They were safe. Rick and Manuel were lying behind a mound of dirt that gave them enough cover. Rick peaked above the mound with his binoculars. The six looters were pointing their guns toward him. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he had an idea.

  He pulled the AR-99 rifle off his shoulder and put down his binoculars.

  “You’re going to pick them off from here?” Manuel asked. “There’s too many of them. They’ll kill us all before you even get a shot off.”

  “Just watch me,” Rick said.

  He looked through the rifle’s scope. Outside the trailer were a series of barrels and tubes. If Rick was correct, those barrels were used to distill the moonshine the sign advertised. With any luck, those barrels would be full of alcoholic vapor. In other words, they were explodable. If he could hit one of those barrels with a bullet, it’d cause a vapor leak and an explosion. Rick called out to Tuck. “Get ready, Tuck. On my signal, charge.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  Rick looked down the scope once more and lined up one of the barrels outside the trailer. He pulled the trigger. As soon as he heard the click, the barrels outside the trailer exploded. The six looters surrounding it fell to the ground. Some of them were dead. They had to act now. He got up from the ground and ran toward the trailer. Manuel, Tuck and Jose followed.

  As they got close, the looters who had survived the explosion started to fire their weapons. They fired back. Tuck let off round after round from his shotgun. Manuel and Jose fired their rifles.

  When they were twenty feet from the trailer, Jose’s rifle jammed. He stopped running and began hitting the body of his gun, trying to dislodge the bullet stuck in the chamber. That’s when he fell to the ground. A bullet struck him in the chest.

  Manuel screamed, “No!” and ran to to his friend’s side.

  As Manuel ran to Jose, Rick lifted up his rifle, knelt on one knee, looked through his scope, and fired two quick shots into a looter’s head. A splash of blood from the looters skull painted the building red.

  Rick was ten feet from the building, there was a shed outside of it. He needed to get there. He was going to use it as cover. There were only two looters left.

  Tuck made it to the shed first. He gave Rick some cover fire, while Manuel pulled Jose’s limp body behind a rock.

  The two remaining looters hid behind the shell of a broken down jeep. Every now and then, they’d lift their guns above the jeep’s hood and blindly fire. They weren’t skilled marksman. Each bullet they fired missed.

  Rick called out to the looters. “If you drop your weapons, we’ll let you live.” He was close enough that they would’ve heard him.

  He peaked around the corner of the shed to see if the looters heard his plea but had to duck when two bullets rang off the shed’s metal siding. They had and they didn’t give a shit.

  “Motherfuckers,” he said. “Tuck, give me some cover.”

  Tuck nodded, then stepped around the shed’s corner and fired three shotgun blasts. The spray from the shotgun lit up the jeep’s plastic shell. With Tuck providing cover Rick ran toward the jeep. As Tuck stopped firing, one of the looters jumped out from behind the jeep and took aim at Rick. Rick was faster on the trigger, though, and dropped the looter with an accurate shot to the head.

  The final looter fired back at Tuck, who had to duck back behind the shed. Rick was now out in the open. Far enough away from the trailer and jeep that he wouldn’t be able to use either as cover. The looter noticed this and took aim at Rick.

  Rick knelt to one knee, aimed down the scope and pulled the trigger. But his rifle didn’t fire. He was out of ammo. Rick closed h
is eyes waiting for it. His luck had run out.

  He heard a gunshot. He waited. He wasn’t dead. He opened his eyes.

  The final looter fell to the ground, blood oozing from his body, staining the yellow sand. Rick turned toward the trailer. The door was open. Standing at the doorway was a man with long straight hair. He was skinny. He was holding an old mid-twentieth century hunting rifle. He pointed the gun at Rick.

  “Are you the son of a bitch that blew up my distillery!?”

  Chapter 21

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

  Dirk looked down the barrel of his rifle. He didn’t like the look of this guy. He looked like some action-movie star. His hair was too slicked back. His jaw too square. And after his last group of guests, he didn’t feel like taking anymore customers today. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “We were trying to help,” Rick said.

  Dirk looked around. Alongside the pieces of exploded barrel were the bodies of the six looters that had held him up in his trailer. He lowered his rifle. “I don’t see why you had to blow up my whole god damn house,” he said. His moonshine distillery was located about ten feet from his house. When Rick shot one of the distillery barrels, the shockwave from the explosion had broken all his windows. Fragments of the exploded metal had created large holes in his house’s siding.