Humankind_Saga 1

by Mic Shannon

  “No, what bothers me is what they did to that battleship,” James retorted, “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  The Chief stared at him, then turned his head and spit a wad into the bushes next to him.

  “It’s impervious to bullets,” he said.

  “Yeah, and then, there’s that,” said James, looking over at the Chief and curling his lip.

  “We have to get this information back to HQ,” said the Chief.

  Both men sat there silent for a moment. The Chief spit another brown wad.

  “What time is it?”

  James looked at his watch, “Zero four sixteen.”

  “You tired?”

  “Every minute of every second of every day until we get home,” he replied, sucking an old piece of snake from between his teeth and looking up at him with a warm smile, “but that’s not your concern, that’s mine.”

  “Well, my shift starts in fifteen, so you might as well go ahead and get some sleep now. I’ll wake you up around zero six hundred.”

  “Aw man,” he said jokingly, “the Chief being nice? What did I do to deserve this honor?”

  “Shut up Jim.”

  James put his book back into his cargo pocket and stretched out along the ground. He folded his arm underneath his head as a pillow and closed his eyes. The Chief sat up, alert, continuing to keep watch for both men.

  Sitting there quietly, the Chief started contemplating the past couple of weeks. They had traveled nearly two hundred miles by foot through a thin fog, heading north and ending up in Northern Honduras. They hadn’t run into a friendly unit yet, just abandoned buildings and dismembered bodies. It was like a literal nightmare.

  They were going into their third week and the mental toll of this operation had stretched them near their limits. Their fear kept them from building fires, and so they had instead relied on other forms of foraging food. After days of only eating insects and berries, they decided to risk building a fire to purify water and cook some small animals that they had captured.

  Only a few minutes passed before their paranoia caused them to extinguish it, hearing some leaves rustling in the distance. The atmosphere of the clear fog constantly loomed, surrounding them in every direction, and it kept them in a state of constant delusion and lunacy, fearing that the eight-foot invisible creature might be right there, watching them, ready to attack. It made for cold nights and periods of malnutrition and dehydration, but they never complained. They just dealt with it.

  After a couple of hours of keeping watch and reflecting, the Chief looked at his watch and shook James awake. They both collected their gear and began for another long day of travel and evasion, blending in as best they could and looking for any possible way to signal that they were still alive. As they continued making their way up the coastline, both sweating and sore, they knew that their chances of survival were dwindling. They hadn’t had food or water in more than eighteen hours and their strength was beginning to fade.

  As they came to the edge of the northern coast, they took up a defensive position and scanned the perimeter, hoping to find anything that could help them. Food, water, transportation, or even a friendly face. Looking over the ocean’s tide breaking along the shore line, their optimism was almost non-existent.

  “Wait, I got something,” said the Chief.

  “What is it?” asked James as the Chief handed him the binoculars to look for himself.

  As he scanned the coast, hoping to see a ship, he caught a glimpse of a few objects on the beach. There was a large gray body lying face down dead next to two steaming mounds.

  “Is that…?” said James as he lowered the binoculars and squinted.

  “You know we have to find out,” replied the Chief, referring to the body. If that was what they thought it was, then they needed a closer look.

  Both men looked at each other. They knew they had a job to do.

  “Ok,” said James, “I’ll go check it out, you watch my six.”

  “Hey,” said the Chief, stopping him, “Smooth Operator, right?”

  James smiled, reminiscing on his former SEAL nickname, then took off running toward the shore. He immediately realized that he didn’t have much energy left and quickly ended up in a slow trot. As he approached the body, some fifty or sixty meters away, he could smell the unforgettable stench of death. His first time smelling it was during a night op. They had stumbled upon a mass grave full of twenty-seven Turkish students that had been murdered by an Islamic extremist regime. Despite the immediate accustomed feeling, it suddenly caught him in awe, and he pondered if the smell of a dead body was the same throughout the entire universe. Still, he despised the smell. Without proper nutrition, it made him gag slightly.

  When he finally made it to the body, he first examined the size. Thinking back to the transparent silhouette of the thing that had wiped out his whole reconnaissance team and extinguished their fire, it was instantly apparent that this was it. The body was gray and clammy, with a few flies landing on it to try and taste the rotting flesh. As the high-tide waves washed across the body, he took a moment to wonder if that would affect the planet’s ecosystem, creating a new plague or bio virus that would wipe out the human population. If not that, maybe the clear fog covering everything in sight.

  The creature was vaguely humanoid in stature, although significantly larger and more solid. The chest was wide open, its insides exposed and its guts on the ground leading to the two steaming piles. James squatted down and stared at it, his eyebrows scrunched in frightened curiosity. He blinked twice, then pulled his knife from the sheath, prodding at the creature’s ribs. Instead of a soft layer of skin, it surprised him that the knife was met with a thud as if he had tried to stab a solid piece of metal. He thought about it, figuring it must have been the reason their bullets didn’t work.

  Looking up at the creature’s head, he noticed two pairs of eyes on the front of its face, but also another pair on each side of the head; a fitting replacement for not having ears. He blinked twice. There were no eyelids and no visible pupil, also no visible nose. What he did notice were large razor-sharp teeth lying on the soft sand. Each tooth, he noted, was about the size of his pinky, and protruded from the creature’s mouth and powerful jaw with no lips to cover them.

  Duck-walking down the body to continue his examination, he noted three fingers on the end of the arm, all three opposing, with curved pointed weapons that he could only describe as claws. Outstretched, he figured its claws were about nine or ten inches in length and half of that in diameter. It reminded him of an old movie he hated that his mother would make him watch every Halloween called Edward Scissorhands. Positioning his knife underneath one of the claws, he tried to lift it on the curved edge, but surprisingly, the claw began to slice through the knife with almost no effort, causing him to stop immediately and pull it back before it broke in half. He had never seen anything so sharp as to cut through metal like it was nothing.

  The legs were strong and powerful, with feet as awkward as the hands. The feet had four large claws instead of three, pointing in all four directions, just as sharp as the fingers but instead flat on the bottom for walking. There were no visible reproductive organs.

  James stood up and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, putting the knife back into the sheath. He looked over and stared at the two piles, still steaming, their heat radiating upward into the fog. Walking around the body, he took a few steps closer. It smelled horrible, like something he could never describe. He covered his mouth with his hand and cringed at the smell. As he looked closer, he saw a small, distinct hole at the top of each of the piles. Curious, he leaned in to take a closer look, then stopped and turned around, nervously affirming that the dead body wasn’t moving. Satisfied, he leaned down toward the hole. He frowned at the smell, but leaned in closer to look inside.

  Squinting and covering his mouth with his hand, he peered inside of the hole and noticed a watery pool of foul smelling juices. The pool was a yellow liquid,
collected at the bottom, and there appeared to be some sort of clear film that held the liquid inside of the pile.

  He hopped back up, confused, and approached the dead body. It was frightening, and although he knew it had ceased to live, his unrealistic sense of paranoia kept telling him that the creature would jump up and attack at any moment. He ignored the thought, but it kept plucking his mind.

  He took a moment to look in all directions. He scanned the terrain, looking for any signs of danger. He felt uneasy. His irrational thoughts continued to plague him, and like a light switch, he wished he could turn it off.

  He waved for the Chief to come look. They had found the creature, dead, giving credence to any wildly unbelievable story that they could tell about why everyone had died except them. The Chief emerged from the tree line and started jogging toward the beach to meet him. James looked back at the corpse. It was lying flat on its stomach, the eyes on the side of its head gray from lack of life. He kicked the body twice, and the body started to wiggle.

  He jumped back in shock, pointing his useless rifle at the corpse, then turning it around and pointing the butt end toward the body, ready to strike. After a moment, he kicked it once more, and the body wiggled again. He knew he was going to have to roll it over and see what was nestled inside.

  He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves, but was unsuccessful. He had been through plenty of uneasy situations before; Pakistan, Somalia, Palestine. He knew from experience that he had to just do it without thinking about it. He leaned in reluctantly, butt stock trained on the body, and used it to try to lift the body slowly.

  The body began to shake causing a nervous fit within James that he couldn’t control. His heart was beating out of his chest in frightened anticipation. Stepping back and kicking the heavy body a few times in agitation, he finally managed to roll it onto its back. The chest cavity was completely hollow. His skin crawling with goosebumps, the petrified operative squinted to look closer, noticing movement inside.

  He again shuttered in fear and took a few steps back, looking over to the Chief who was still running toward him. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something flying toward his face out of his peripheral vision. By the time he turned toward the flying object, a small creature had grabbed onto his shirt and gripped his skin, crawling up toward his neck.

  He let a loud yell escape that would have embarrassed anyone. Grabbing the creature as it still latched onto him, he reached for his sidearm and instinctively fired four shots from the hip. The creature fell to the ground, squirming. James pointed the pistol at the squirming yellow creature, but before he could pump it with a few more shots another one jumped out of the chest cavity and latched onto his shoulder, piercing deep into his skin and then crawling down his back. It didn’t click until that very moment what he had encountered. He instantly went into survival mode as he reached and clawed at his back, fighting to get it off.

  Like a flash the Chief came sprinting up with the butt of his rifle, striking the tiny creature with a stunning blow. It fell onto the sand, with the Chief dropping his rifle and falling right on top of the grotesquely creepy, moist, squirming creature, gripping it by its head and squeezing with two hands. James fell onto his butt in disbelief, both caught in a daze and exhausted from the fight. He looked over at the Chief, screaming like a warrior at the top of his lungs and punching the newborn in its head repeatedly. Eventually, the newborn stopped moving. The Chief didn’t finish there. He continued to punch the creature, covered in yellow goo, until it’s head was flat with knuckle imprints. Without stopping, he stood up and began stomping the skull until it started to separate; and then falling to the ground he had no more energy.

  The Chief took a deep breath to collect himself, his lack of energy taking a serious toll on him. Both men laid down onto their backs, breathing heavily, sweating, and attempting to calm their nerves. Neither of them spoke. James had sat up momentarily to look at the bodies and make sure they were still dead, then fell back down. They were temporarily relieved. The Chief looked at the yellow afterbirth on his hands and let out a delighted, maniacal giggle. He had finally lost it.

  “What is it?” said James as he looked over at him, disturbed by his delight.

  “Heh,” he replied with psychotic laughter, “there’s something for you to write in your little book.”

  FRI, JUN 23rd, 2034

  700 mi Northeast of Alexandria

  7:14 am

  C ynthia lie in her bed, wide awake in the darkness, counting the weeks since her last period. Everything had happened so fast, and she had spent so much time sulking at being ripped from her family and worrying about the group home boys that she didn’t even think about her cycle. Counting the days, she was supposed to get a visit more than a week ago, and at this point, without Gianna to comfort her, she was starting to freak out. Gianna would have inevitably given alternate theories, saying maybe the stress had thrown off her cycle or the sex had pushed it back a week. Gianna was the quote-unquote expert on sex, at least in Cynthia’s eyes, but in this case, she felt different. Her body felt different.

  It was already hotter than usual when Cynthia emerged from her SWA hut, the sun not yet up, but already giving a forecast. When she went to check on the boys, Nat surprisingly came over to help her. She had started to look out for her recently, lending an ear and providing a few comforting words, or even helping her check the National Registry at the Comm Center to look up her father and brother’s addresses. It was nice having someone like Nat to lean on and show her the ropes, especially since she had been there since the beginning.

  They began to make their way toward the square, everyone gathering to head to the café on the other side by the front gate. The general mood was shifty; robbery and assault kept rising and rising, and the State Police were not only overwhelmed, but increasingly unconcerned. Today, however, there were police in the square handing out flyers, dressed in their best, creased uniform, their badges and boots shimmering in the morning sunlight. Curious, Cynthia jogged over to one of the officers, grabbing a flyer and immediately jogging back over to the boys.

  “What is it?” asked Manny, grabbing her arm and craning his neck to see.

  She unfolded the sheet of paper, staring at the message. PRESIDENT VISITS TODAY AT NOON.

  “Bureaucratic bullshit,” said Nat, looking away, “Look at us. This isn’t freedom!”

  “Maybe we can plead our case,” retorted Cynthia, “I mean, like, it’s the President.”

  Nat smiled, then looked down, “you still believe, huh?”

  Cynthia pondered for a moment, “Well, yeah. Don’t you?!”

  Nat laughed for the first time that Cynthia had ever seen, “I guess we’ll see.”

  The rest of the morning after breakfast was agonizingly boring. Cynthia wanted to go for a jog around the square as she had done every morning since she got her running shoes, but they were confined to their SWA huts while the State Police cleaned the common areas in preparation. Supervising the cleanup was Headquarters, the political arm of the system. And overseeing it all, she had come to discover, was Christie McDonald, easily one of the most disliked Senators that she could remember; not because she had been into politics, but because the internet had told her all the reasons why she should be outraged.

  Christie McDonald, with her dark hair, gray eyes, and small, petite frame, was your everyday slimy politician, only with no compassion and the uncanny ability to get caught doing the worst and not show a shred of remorse by backing it up with BS reasons. She was known for being a New York Mayor with the worst imprisonment rate in history, almost turning her city into a full police-state. Before running for Senator, she had been slandered by the media for everything from corruption to bribery a total of forty-seven times, but ultimately the publicity paid off. She used the platform to push her ‘tough-on-crime’ agenda, leaning on the G.O.P.’s most hardcore fanatics, and the people, protesting it in the streets, just made for even better publicity.

&
nbsp; When the SWA hut doors swung open, the occupants emerged to rows of folding chairs in the square, all pointing toward the front gate. They filed in and sat down, the rest without chairs standing in the back, and Cynthia keeping an eye on the boys who sat twenty or so people down the row away from her. She saw Manny goofing off, plucking the ears of the other boys from behind and pretending it was someone else.

  It felt like at least forty-five minutes before the front gates began to open. First came the military vehicles, several Humvees pulling in and National Guard disembarking with their rifles and standing to the sides of the crowd. Once the area was deemed “secure”, the President arrived.

  A large green military flatbed pulled into the compound. On top of the bed, there was a twelve-foot square bulletproof cube completely enclosing the first lady and her podium. Instantly, Cynthia was confused.

  “I guess we’re the threat,” said Nat, leaning over and whispering to her.

  Cynthia didn’t respond. It was strange. I mean, last time she checked, she was a United States citizen and that was their President, not a target. It never bothered her so much as it did now that she no longer had been treated as one. From being held in a government facility, to being spit on, to being belittled by the State Police as less than human. It began to plague her mind.

  The flatbed came to a stop and hit the airbrakes, leaving the President inside of the bulletproof cube as two Secret Servicemen to the sides of the cube pressed a button on two pairs of speakers.

  “My fellow Americans,” began President Oliver, using her best political voice and her well-thought and much-practiced Presidential body language, “I know that times have been hard for all of us…”

  Cynthia immediately scoffed. Natalie watched her out of the corner of her eye with delight.

  --- 12:11 pm ---