The Earth Died Screaming

by Chuck Rogers

  Face sniffed tricorder guy suspiciously and gave her first throaty bark at him.

  Good dog, Face.

  The tricorder device was an armored iPad-looking thing, except it was three times as thick as a normal tablet. I think it contained instrumentation as well communications and data processing. I had the lurking fear that it had a find my phone feature and a very vindictive Man-in-Black with gunships at his command was just waiting for me to start playing with it. I'd powered it off and buried it in the crater vaguely hoping maybe the weird rock energy would throw off anyone looking for it.

  Mar-J went from a pleasing dark chocolate color to green as I removed tricorder guy's right index finger with my buck knife.

  That fingerprint ID reader on the tricorder wasn't the boss of me.

  Fact was, despite our past and current misunderstandings? There might just come a time when Uncle Sam's favorite Misguided Child needed to phone home.

  The finger that would do the walking had been thoroughly cleaned with alcohol and delicately folded into a sandwich bag with cotton balls in the freezer.

  Ted noticed the missing finger and didn't ask.

  We had three suppressed AR's. Mar-J claimed one. Ted surprised me by asking for one as well. Turned out not only had Ted played a scientist on TV, but he'd also played a scientist on a science-fiction show and he'd had studio weapons training.

  The Malibu All Volunteer Militia was growing.

  I kept the carbine with grenade launcher attached.

  The dead were all big men, and between taking a helmet from the grenadier and the suit from tricorder guy I now had a full, working NBC rig and three air supplies.

  Might come in handy some day.

  I also had their tactical radios.

  That was another dicey proposition.

  With men KIA and a hot extraction they would've already rolled over their communication security. I couldn't listen in on them, but somewhere the same vindictive, aforementioned Man-in-Black in charge was very likely actively scanning to see if we were dumb enough to be using their gear to communicate with each other. Triangulating our positions would be a very simple matter after that.

  Then the gunships would come.

  Then again, if the Greater Malibu Volunteers ended up in a full-on battle with the bikers of the apocalypse or whoever was marauding across the 101 freeway? A few working tactical radios would be an advantage beyond price. I just wasn't going to drive off any bridges or burn any. It all depended on how vindictive the Men-In-Black were and how much juice they had to back it up.

  Me?

  I would have come back and napalmed Malibu to put the Deathstar to shame.

  But was this really all the government had left?

  They'd only sent two choppers.

  Maybe the boys in the bunkers were pinching their pennies, rocket rounds and every drop of fuel.

  As it stood?

  Our dark overlords, whoever they might be, had gone into Indian country to steal a moon rock. A few of the poor foolish savages had come out, smiled and waved like those poor bastard Caribs had smiled and waved at Christopher Columbus when the wooden ships had sailed over the horizon. They'd shot us poor bastards up. Then some of us poor benighted savages had shown the gall to shoot back. They got their rock. If we were very lucky they'd had their debriefing, drawn a skull and crossbones on Malibu with a caption that read 'Malibilly assholes! It gets shooty! Don't go there!' The moon was raining on the entire planet. Maybe they'd move on to easier pastures.

  Best of all worlds?

  Maybe cringing and hiding was all the Men-In-Black required of us.

  When they wanted something else they'd let us know.

  Their side arms were Glocks. Then again, aside from atavistic assholes like me, whose weren't these days? I asked Ted and Mar-J if they could think of any worthy recipients and they seemed to think they were perfect candidates. Ted thought Eve needed something bigger than her .38 and Mar-j said it was ' time for Mar-j 3 to learn .'

  I didn't argue.

  I kept the other. Lalli was in love with 'Danny' the Trejo, and, except for Face nothing followed Lalli around the house more closely than the Uzi. But given the state of things a loaded gun in every room wasn't a bad idea.

  They had three pretty sweet personal combat knives. Ted and Mar-J each took one. I took one for trade and kept tricorder guy's tomahawk. Mar-J and Ted went green again as I stripped the assholes, but blood washes out, bullet holes are easy to patch and I wasn't about to throw away three sets of base layers that would fit me, much less socks. We shallow-graved the assholes beside Joran and Damian in a dry gulch down the mountain and got back as the sun was setting.

  I arrived home to find I had a primo RV.

  Keith, his wife and his two daughters were there.

  Lalli invited everyone to stay for dinner and told Ted and Mar-J to bring their families. I shot her a private look but she just smiled and shrugged. Apparently with the Guftasons gone Lalli felt more neighborly, and I had a suspicion she wanted the world to know that she was a matriarch rather than a maid now.

  I got to meet Mar-J's family. He'd fallen in love with a local Puerto Rican beauty queen on an MLB all-star promotional tour of the island. He had five kids, Four boys and one girl ranging from thirteen to four with Mar-J 3 leading the pack.

  Nice family.

  Mar-J was a local fixture and a couple of other families had sent their kids along to get fed.

  If Lalli didn't care about the expenditure I didn't either.

  Face had a mob of kids cooing about how pretty her eyes were and fawning all over her. She ascended directly to puppy heaven.

  She may have gotten more food than some of the humans.

  I had a feeling Mar-J, Keith and Ted would be dropping by Cecilia's ranch tomorrow.

  Lalli broke into our supply of dry rations and whipped up a Kraft Macaroni & Cheese topped with baked tortilla strips and crayfish meat. It was something. She made two roasting pans of it and sent everyone home with leftovers. We filled the dining room and had to set a kid's table.

  It was the first post apocalypse holiday meal and I have to admit I liked carving the casseroles and dispensing the goodness.

  Lalli made a flan with powdered milk that inspired the kids to spontaneously invent a praise to Lalli song. After dinner I turned off all the lights, Lalli brought out a couple of magnums of North Bay Beaujolais, made Kool-Ade for the kids and we all watched the nightly light show from the patio.

  The moon was waning. That meant there were less rocks raining down on us but it was still the most spectacular meteor shower you ever saw outside of a Hollywood CGI special effects orgy. With less reflective stuff in the sky the California Borealis was even more spectacular.

  Most people had stayed buttoned up at night since the beam. We all relaxed and there was well-deserved oohing and aahing at the show. One massive meteor came rustling down out of the sky and broke into three screaming, fire erupting pieces.

  That was pretty spectacular.

  The pieces hit the mountainside east of us like an artillery strike. The entire canyon lit up. One chunk must have hit an abandoned house because it started a fire that lasted several hours. The kids whoah'ed! and wowed! until they and the redlining into over-attention puppy reluctantly fell asleep.

  The adults finished their wine and were reminded that oblivion was just one random lunar bombardment away. We scooped up kids and loaded them into cars.

  Lalli wanted a whiskey. Then she changed her mind and wanted tequila. Then she started crying. We did some shots. I put Bobby's iTunes on rando and we slow danced to a good bit of it.

  I was leaving tomorrow.

  Lalli and I made love with urgency.

  * * *

  WE GOT THE INVITATION THE NEXT DAY.

  I stayed an extra day.

  Lalli trimmed my hair and I put on a suit for the first time since the world ended. She put on a knockout black dress and we went out in public for the first time as
a couple.

  We went and saw Sophina and Tom go in the ground.

  They buried her and the old chief together on a bit of their beloved Malibu Creek State Park that hadn't burned. Malibu had been a city of about 13,000. According to Ted there were barely a thousand now. The super rich and the super famous had mostly fled. Then a whole lot of people had died. Those who had stayed were the old guard, those with nowhere else to go and those who had decided to make a go of it.

  Hundreds of people came out.

  Sophina had been well loved.

  Clarice was in ruins, but she was well loved too and surrounded not just by well-wishers but scores of people she had personally treated, so the sympathy was heartfelt and the love genuine.

  Mar-J was an ordained minister and that man could deliver a moving eulogy.

  A former teen pop princess you might remember who went on to do a few SyFy original films did an impassioned "Amazing Grace" that even brought tears to my eyes.

  Not surprisingly the post-funerary activities turned into a tailgate flea and farmers market. We'd taken the Cadillac and Lalli had filled the trunk with things Ted and I had looted. Practical clothes and sensible shoes were hot ticket items. Lalli had asked if there was another gun we could spare. I'd pulled the teen gangsters' guns out of the pool and cleaned and lubed them. Ted and I had tossed the mansion, but Joran Guftason's palace had three safes, a palatial safe room and a very suspicious steel security door to the basement. All of which were currently defying me.

  I needed a shipwright's cutting torch, tungsten-carbide drill bits and probably a 20mm canon.

  Nevertheless the house had been a treasure trove.

  Brock's Glock was .40 caliber and I let Lalli have it. She came back with a 1960's vintage Singer hand crank sewing machine and an IOU for a sewing table and cabinet that would be delivered tomorrow. She'd already brought a Janome mechanical with her to the house, but clearly she was thinking ahead.

  I liked the way she thought.

  I pressed the flesh and met a lot of folk. Everyone agreed it was strange and nice to see people wearing suits and ties and dresses and makeup again. Everyone talked ad naseam about how the shorter days and shorter nights were screwing up everything from sleep cycles to getting anything done to doing Yoga.

  Some of these people still had Yoga practices.

  I was impressed.

  Everyone seemed to know that I was going on a recon. Someone at the beer summit had blabbed.

  Not cool.

  Then Jeff and Colin drove the family flat bed into the middle of the affair. They climbed up and announced that they were going to be fencing off some flat sections of the park. It seemed since the rains had stopped those Hauser cowboys had been riding deep through the canyons. There were designer farm animals wandering the mountains of Malibu. Most had not made it through the winter but some had. A surprising number of dizzy pet parents had even set their animals free. The Hauser boys had found cows, horses, sheep, goats and even some pet pigs. There were too many animals for their boutique ranch so they were going to start digging postholes, stringing wire and pasturing them. If someone needed an animal they should apply directly and terms could be negotiated. Anyone who wanted a job in fencing or livestock tending that paid in square meals should apply directly. No experience necessary. Ability to ride and shoot straight was a plus. On the job training was available.

  As of today's announcement?

  Poachers would be shot.

  Rustlers would hang.

  That was met with a deafening silence.

  I grinned so wide I felt the wounds in my face move.

  The Hauser boys announced they recognized no government, local or otherwise. Particularly after yesterday's events. They had like-minded friends and the posse comitatus domini Malibu was in full effect.

  Goddamn cowboys speaking Latin.

  I liked it.

  Then Colin grinned straight at me. "Ain't that right, Frame?"

  Fuck you, Colin. You had to go and ruin it.

  Jeff nodded. "Frame? Would you like to say something?"

  No, I fucking wouldn't, Jeff.

  People started applauding and looking at me expectantly.

  Lalli squeezed my arm. Huge dark eyes shining up at you in pride are something.

  Ted leaned in as I walked past him. "Maybe just say something about what happened yesterday."

  You want me to choke you out now or later, Ted?

  God damn it.

  I leaned in. "Did you tell everyone I was going for a walk?"

  "Well . . ."

  God damn it.

  Keith Braun applauded and grinned at me shamelessly in passing. "Give 'em hell, Frame."

  Fuck you too, Keith.

  I'm actually quite a good public speaker. I'd given lots of speeches. In my line of work, my number one goal is to persuade people to see reason. By the same token my clients are often in blind panics and need to talked down and pepped back up. I'd made sergeant in my beloved Corps. I knew all about yelling at people and motivating men.

  So I told them about the battle with the bear. I told them about the battle with the Men-In-Black. I kept it pithy with a few pertinent flourishes reflective of my awesomeness.

  The responding looks of awe were pleasing.

  I told them the day the government wanted to help us the helicopters would drop leaflets, field posts would be established, and advisors if not relief columns sent. The representatives of the Republic would be wearing tan, gray or green. Until then? If you saw the Men-In-Black? Your best bet was to run and hide or whimper in place.

  They had their own agenda.

  They had gunships.

  They did not wish to be disturbed.

  This shock and awe dovetailed nicely into the old we all have to work together now speech. I told them that I'd been to Iceland, and they'd ruled themselves for a thousand years with this thing called the All Thing where pretty much everyone met in a field, aired their grievances and generally celebrated a modified form of Festivus.

  I left out the beheadings and blood feuds that lasted for centuries.

  Those would be coming soon enough.

  Despite the sadness of the occasion I told them today was a good start. I suggested a flea market, game-feed and general assembly here once a month for starters. This was met with resounding cheers. I was benevolent. I told everyone who still had their laptops, phones or tablets to find someone with solar, charge them up and go to Ted's house.

  Ted blinked.

  Fuck you and your fat mouth, Ted.

  Got a job for you.

  I told the crowd I had a large number of field manuals, survival books and non-internet dependent apps and was happy to share them. Meanwhile, think about what skills you might have, organize and put them to work. If you were useless as bird shit on a pump handle? The Hauser boys had shovels and would be more than happy to put some callouses on those pillow-soft Hollywood hands of yours.

  I told them to talk to Mar-J about volunteering for the neighborhood watch.

  The militia would have to wait until I got back.

  I told everyone I was going for a walk tomorrow. I would come back with news of the world.

  Until then?

  Play nice.

  Take care of each other.

  I know you will.

  Thank you for welcoming me into the community.

  It wasn't my best.

  No time to prepare.

  Thunderous ovation.

  They cheered wildly for something for the first time since the world ended and that dangerous thing called hope shined in people's eyes.

  They would have elected me mayor on the spot.

  Lalli glowed at me.

  First Lady of Malibu suited her just fine.

  To the Hauser boys came up to me, told me they appreciated what I had done and said and come trouble I could call on them.

  They knew some good old boys back in the canyons who I should meet.

  The militia wa
s growing.

  I was getting to know the neighbors.

  Kingship was within my grasp.

  The urge to grab Lalli, Face and extract was overpowering.

  But where?

  The answer was still the same.

  There were no answers, and the only way to get any was to lace my boots up tight and go find them.

  The only place to go was walkabout.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Gone Walkabout.

  I TRIED TO PACK LIGHT.

  Lalli splurged and fried me up fresh eggs and freshly cured Hauser Ranch wild boar bacon. Face slobbered uncontrollably. I frowned at my Table Of Equipment.

  Once you pack an assault rifle with a sound suppressor, an optical sight, a laser designator and grenade launcher attached the idea of packing light kinda goes out the window. So I tried to pack sensibly. Malibu Canyon Road was a lovely, winding, twenty-five minute drive from sea to freeway but I was walking most of the way to the 101, staying off the roads, and a lot of the intervening landscape was vertical.

  I wasn't worried about shelter. There were abandoned houses all over the landscape. Water didn't concern me. Southern CA is notoriously dry but it was spring, and like any mountain chain the Santa Monica Mountains were loaded with creeks. We even had waterfalls. Plus, there were abandoned houses everywhere and that meant toilet tanks. Bobby's bomb shelter came with a crate of personal water filtration straws.

  Food didn't concern me too much either but I needed to pack a little.

  I broke into a few of the shelter's Meals Ready to Eat and played mix-and match.

  God I hate the veggie burger in BBQ sauce.

  Face loved it.

  Dumb dog.

  I went heavy on the Soldier Fuel energy bars, meat entrees and a few of the wet and dry fruit packs. I took all the coffee and creamer packets and stole more. The assorted crackers, wheat breads, cookies and sauce packets left over I set aside for Lalli to work her culinary wonders.

  Except for fry-bread?

  I tend to lean Paleo.

  Speaking of which, an AR with an optical sight firing subsonic bullets through a suppressor is a pretty sweet small game rifle. Quiet, clean, deadly accurate at short range and no sonic boom alerting the rest of the varmints down range. (Don't ever let them tell you they serve no sporting purposes.)