The Infinity Affliction

by Evan Currie

  “That is upside - down and halfway up the wall, how the hell do you think I’m going to climb up… Hey! Put me down!”

  Sandra’s protests went ignored as she was picked up bodily and flipped over. She was momentarily stunned by how easily he managed to do what he was doing, lifting her up to the seat and pushing her in. The padded bars on either side closed over her shoulders and locked her into place a moment later.

  “This is such a bad idea. Shouldn’t we wait for rescue instead?” She asked plaintively as Ben hefted himself into another bolstered seat and let the bars roll into place around his arms.

  “I doubt they’d get to us in time,” He said. “The blast wave will have taken the chopper down, and they’ll spend the next few hours just looking for survivors from that. By the time they get to us, well these things don’t have unlimited air and I’ve already been hanging out in this one for almost four days.”

  “So, we’re almost out of air?”

  “Not really,” Ben shrugged awkwardly upside down. “But there’s something else to worry about.”

  “What else could there be?”

  Ben shook his head, “We call them the scourge, and it’d take too long to explain. Just hold on and get ready to take a deep breath.”

  Sandra shot him a wide eyed, shocked looking.

  “Deep breath?? Why would I need to -”

  Ben set off the explosive charges and the whole pod rocked violently, smoke backfilling into the pod as it jumped and rolled. Water rushed in through the now blown open hatch, splashing across the pair as the world seemed to twist and bounce around them.

  Sandra sputtered and swore, her head spinning as she felt like she’d been struck by a hammer blow from the concussion alone. She felt the water filling up over her chest as a hand reached her and shoved her back as she felt the braces around her snap loose.

  Ben pulled her clear into the water, up to the air bubble above their head.

  “Deep breath now,” He ordered, taking one himself.

  After she sucked it in, he dove, pulling her with him. Sandra was a good swimmer, with considerable experience in the water of the glades, and as it wrapped around her and the darkness gave way to murky light, she started to feel more herself. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, and they popped to the surface a few seconds later.

  Treading water, Sandra looked around. She could see smoke rising in the distance, but more importantly in the immediate future, her aluminum skiff was just a short swim away.

  “Come on,” She ordered, setting out toward it, “I’ll need help to get it upright.”

  She felt more than heard the powerful strokes just behind her, but at least he was listening. She knew the trick of righting an upended skiff but couldn’t do it on her own. With help, and a lot of coaching on her part, they got the skiff flipped back over without sinking it entirely.

  That left a lot of water to bail out, and a badly waterlogged engine to see to. She slogged through the boat, scowling at all the gear she’d lost, including the damned poacher’s pots.

  At least my rifle is still here, She thought grimly, pulling the weapon from the rifle sheath that had been strapped to the gunnels, a little shocked that it hadn’t been blown clear by the force that flipped the little craft.

  “Can you fix the engine?” Ben asked from where he was still floating alongside.

  “Yeah, I think so,” She grumbled, re-sheathing the rifle and making her way to the rear. “It’ll take a while, but I can probably get it started.”

  “Good. I’ll be back.”

  “What? Where are you…?” Sandra threw up her hands as he’d already pushed off and was swimming back where they’d came. “Of all the crazy bastards to be stuck with, I get the one who wants to be the man from Atlantis. Great.”

  Sandra sighed, unbuckling the tool case that was secured to the side of the skiff, grimacing as she looked at the mess the shockwave had made of the inside of it. But it was intact, which was all that counted, so she got to work on the engine.

  *****

  The pod had done its job, keeping him alive through reentry and all that, but it was in poor shape for having done that. Ben made his way to the survival kit that was belted into the inside, getting it loose and lugging it along as he also secured his sidearm.

  The rest of it, well the locals were welcome to it. There wasn’t much in there too far above the tech level of the times, if his memory severed. Perhaps a couple decades improvement in computer tech once they spent fifteen years or so reverse engineering it.

  The drive would be of interest, and the more power to them for it. Ben had no use for it anymore, it wasn’t capable of getting the pod back into orbit even if everything was intact and fully powered.

  Besides, with the Scourge on world, well it might be good if the locals got a leg up in some level of technology.

  With a last look cast around the battered pod, Ben dove back into the water, dragging his salvage behind him by straps clipped to his uniform suit.

  It’s going to be a rough time, if I’m right about what happened.

  *****

  White House Situation Room, DC

  “How bad is it?”

  The Admiral looked up from the reports that had come straight to him, eyes locking with the President’s. They shared a grim expression. He knew the numbers, but the President didn’t really have to in order to understand how bad it really was.

  “Bad,” He confirmed. “Casualty figures are a few hours out, and they’re going to be reporting low for days, probably, anyway. But whatever the hell that was slammed down near the north shore of the bay. The fireball fried entire blocks of the city. My people are likening it to old photos of Hiroshima. It, paradoxically, also threw up a tsunami that crossed the bay in seconds and hammered into the city there, and wiped several blocks right off the map, then went on to drown even more. Right now, all we know for sure, is that the Lake Champlain went down with all hands while in the bay.”

  James Strand lowered his head in silence.

  That was three hundred and thirty men and women to start off the casualty list. It was enough. More than enough. But he knew it was going to go so much higher.

  “What do we have out of Florida?” He asked painfully a short moment later.

  “Not much, the strike took out all the immediate response teams, and the rest are still working up,” The Admiral admitted tiredly. “The Philippine Sea is moving south, but they’re hours out of even the keys and no way they’re getting that far into the glades even if the Captain were crazy enough to try.”

  “We do have Marine units working up from the panhandle,” A General spoke up, “They’ll be in the air in less than ten, but that puts them some time out just the same. F-35s are inbound, they’ll be over the crash site in a few minutes.”

  “Well that’s something,” Strand said, “I want video as soon as we have it.”

  “Yes, Sir, Mr. President.”

  Strand knew that he had to start working on a speech, the American People… hell, the world, would want to know what the hell had happened.

  If only we knew ourselves.

  *****

  Glades

  Ben tossed the survival kit over the side of the skiff before heaving himself up and into the skiff himself. He splashed down into water that more than half filled the interior, spitting the unexpected wash out as he sat up.

  “Make yourself useful,” Sandra called from where she was working inside the open engine of the skiff, “And start bailing. We’ll run aground all over the place if we try the normal routes with this much water aboard.”

  Ben snorted, but dutifully looked around for something to do just that. There wasn’t much, but he finally grabbed some old canvas that was tied down in the front and used it to cup water up and over the side.

  “How’s the engine?” He asked while he worked.

  “Waterlogged,” Sandra answered without looking up. “I need to dry the tips and clear out the oil. It’s shit now. Hop
efully, the gas tank didn’t get compromised, but it looks that it’s still good.”

  “Will it start?”

  “Ask me after I try it,” She snorted. “You’ll know when I know.”

  Ben nodded, continuing to dump water using the canvas as a makeshift bailing rig. He looked to the south and could see black smoke filtering up in a thin thread. He expected that was the local soldiers who’d arrived to investigate his pod, and hoped they’d made it but wasn’t giving up much hope.

  Had to come down hard, a blast wave like that one an old rotary airfoil rig? Damn.

  To the North there was a thicker plume, though not as black. He knew that was the result of a pod at terminal acceleration. It had to be to hit that hard, and it fit with the scourge’s SOP. He didn’t need to wonder now who had followed him from the orbit of Jupiter.

  Only the scourge would slam into the planet like that. Not like they give a damn about whatever poor bastards they’re riding with.

  Lost in thought, Ben missed the sound of the engine being closed up, but not the sound of it stuttering over a few times before roaring to life.

  He turned, eyes wide at the sheer sound as Sandra swung herself up into the seat ahead of the fan.

  “Hold on!” She advised him, pushing the throttle forward.

  The still slightly waterlogged skiff spun a bit in place as it got to moving, sloshing the water around and spilling more out in a moment than he’d managed in the past several minutes. He hung on as they turned south, steering for the thin line of smoke.

  Ben almost objected, but a glance over his shoulder made him reconsider.

  There probably wasn’t a weapon on the planet that could do shit to the scourge, aside from his sidearm… and, frankly, even it couldn’t do much. The Marine in him wanted to go North and try to pick off the scourge before they could spread out.

  The rational side of his mind, normally silenced by the Marine, knew that was an idea that was already long past its ‘use by’ date.

  The scourge was a plague, and like all plagues of note, they spread fast.

  *****

  Corporal Griss groaned and sputtered as he floundered in the water that was deeper than it seemed. At any given moment, his feet would feel like they’d found purchase, only to slog through the dense roots and rotting debris that made up the fake bottom below.

  The Marine Super Stallion was a mess, but it seemed to have stopped sinking with the top of the engine compartment and what was left of the rotors clear of the water.

  The shock had knocked him out, and by the time he’d come to, they were already sinking.

  He and a couple others were awake, and they got the rest unstrapped and out the doors in a hurry as the big bird slowly rolled over in the water and started going down quicker.

  He made his way around to the cockpit, grimacing as he saw the glass canopy blown inward. The mess inside was not to be spoken of, and he backpedaled away with a green tinge to his face.

  “Hey, is Iron Man and…”

  Griss held up a hand, shaking his head, “Just… don’t look.”

  “Damn,” Sergeant Kirth swore, “You sure?”

  “Nothing gets up from that, Sarge,” Griss said. “There’s nothing left to get up.”

  “Damn,” The Sergeant said again. “Already, head check Marines!”

  The fireteam called out one by one, and miraculously… or, more likely, through the results of Iron Man’s piloting, they were all intact and mobile, if nursing some nasty headaches among other injuries of varying severity.

  “Did anyone keep their weapons?” Private First - Class Driscoll asked.

  “We’re treading water, Private. How long can you do that with a rifle in your arms?” Kirth demanded, sounding irritated.

  “I’m hoping long enough to shoot the gator heading this way, Sarge.”

  “What? Fuck!”

  Griss turned to see where they were pointing and quickly gulped down some nervous air.

  “That’s a big gator,” He pointed out needlessly.

  “No shit,” Kirth snapped, his hand appearing from under the water, a 1911 filling his fist.

  “I thought you didn’t have your weapon?”

  Sergeant Kirth snorted, “Private, two things. First, this isn’t a weapon, it’s a badge of office and a way of life. Second, if your sidearm isn’t in its holster, where the fuck is it?”

  The Private flushed slightly, looking back at the chopper. “Umm…”

  “Oh, you better hope that gator eats us, because your ass is mine if we get out of here.”

  *****

  Shots rang out, just barely audible about the roar of the fan, making Ben move to the front of the skiff and point up ahead.

  “I see the chopper! Looks like survivors!”

  “Tell them not to shoot us!” Sandra called over the noise, turning them in toward the smoke.

  “Would be nice,” Ben mumbled under his breath, one hand on his sidearm as his eyes scanned the water and thick vegetation ahead. He was still trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

  Every previous plan he’d had was out the airlock now that he knew the scourge had survived the destruction of the slip ships. An uncontacted Earth was pure fodder for the bastards, and the destruction they would wreak was simply sickening to think about.

  The smoke grew closer at fairly - high speed, and he could hear more shots ringing out through the clear air between them.

  “Hey,” Sandra called, “Grab the rifle and pick off a couple of the gators if they get too close to the men in the water!”

  Ben shook himself but nodded. He could have gone for his own weapon, but for the moment decided that the antique would be more suitable. He pulled it from the leather sheath tied to the side of the boat, checking the breach automatically to ensure that a round was loaded, and dropped to a knee at the front of the skiff with the butt of the weapon seated firmly in his shoulder.

  He could see men flailing in the water, a couple flashes that coincided with gunshots, but didn’t see anything that looked threatening too close to them.

  “What are they shooting at!?” He called over his shoulder, “I don’t see anything!”

  “Gators!” Sandra called again, “Look for a log in the water, but don’t shoot unless it’s close! A gator isn’t likely to attack a man in the water like this anyway, they’re ambush predators.”

  That tells me damn near nothing, but he dutifully looked for any logs in the water that might be too close to the men who were flailing around the downed chopper as Sandra guided them in.

  Sandra brought them in close before turning the skiff about in a flat spin, skimming to a stop a few dozen feet from the men in the water and hopped out of the pilot’s seat with practiced grace.

  Ben was surprised to find the rifle lifted from his hands, his shock keeping him from objecting as he stared. She fit the buttstock to her shoulder while scanning the water, shifting aim, and fired off a single round as the men in the water started swimming toward them.

  “You missed, lady!” Called the closest to the gator as it twisted away from the bullet that sliced through the water, swimming off after easier prey.

  Sandra snorted, “I hit exactly what I was aiming at, jarhead! I wasn’t going let him eat you, but only cause it’d probably give the poor thing indigestion. Now get over here so we can keep moving!”

  The Marines didn’t have to be told twice.

  *****

  Chapter 8

  Lone Pine Lodge, South FL

  Thick smoke was rolling in from the explosion when Cynthia Hull stumbled out of her cabin and looked over the scene. Everything in the immediate area seemed fine, but the smell of burning was everywhere in the air, stinging her eyes and nose, bringing her to tears as she looked around.

  People were milling around, confused and worried.

  “What happened,” She asked the closest person she could find, Old Phil Cally.

  “Not sure, there,” He admitted, looking
off in the distance. “Looks like some kind of explosion up North of here, but that don’t make no sense at all. Ain’t nothin there to blow, not that big anyway. Might be an still or some such, but that’s something else.”

  Cynthia stared in the direction he was looking, and indeed that seemed to be the source of the smoke. There were plumes of it reaching to the sky, along with a massive cloud mushrooming out. She felt a chill run down her spine at that thought, but surely it couldn’t be nuclear… who would nuke the backwoods swamp of Florida?

  “Hey, it’s already on Youtube!”

  She didn’t know who shouted that, but automatically pulled her phone out, “What’s it called?”

  “Look for Florida meteor strike!” The excited teenager said, not looking up from his phone.

  “Meteor?” She blinked. “Really?”

  “Well that would be one explanation, I expect.” Phil said, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Never seen anything like it, though, not outside the movies.”

  That was something she wasn’t going to disagree with him on.

  She quickly found the video on the net, however, and put it on play while holding the phone out so Phil could get a look too.

  “Well look at that,” He breathed out, watching the fiery plume of smoke as it traced across the sky on the video.

  The camera had been some distance off, near the coast from the looks of the scenery in the foreground, but the line of fire across the sky was still clear as day in the video.

  “Wow,” She whispered. “If that had been closer…”

  “We’d never have even known what hit us,” Phil snorted. “Ain’t that something.”

  “There’s more news,” She said, checking the portal for south Florida she used. “Looks like there was cluster of them, oh God…”

  “What is it?”

  “One of them hit San Francisco,” She said in a sick voice, “They’re trying to get help in, but it doesn’t look good.”

  Phil shook his head, but there wasn’t much to be said about that.

  “Are we in any danger here from the fire?” She asked, looking around.

  “I doubt it, miss,” He said, “It’s all wetland between us and that, take more than a fire to cross that much water-soaked turf. Need some serious accelerant to even think about it.”