Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

Dave was slammed into the driver’s side window as a long sharp object impaled him. All the girls screamed. Then he was gone, yanked out through the bus front door.

  Sharon grabbed Susanne. “Move. Follow me.” She pulled Susanne down to the bus aisle floor, then began to scramble up until she could peek out the front entrance.

  “Now,” she yelled, and Susanne scrambled with her out of the bus. As they did, something yanked the rear bus emergency door open as the remaining four occupants screamed, tried to run away.

  Sharon and Susanne ran into the darkness as hell continued to unfold. Gunshots resounded, gun flashes lit up parts of the rest area. Odd shapes were seen moving in the darkness, whirring sounds heard as they traversed the parking areas.

  The two sports partners moved as fast as they could through the shifting darkness. Then they saw a small figure run screaming in front of them. There was enough light to see it was one of the redheaded twin girls, either Ruth or Belinda. Then the two young women saw why the child was running and screaming.

  A six-wheeled monstrosity came with an accompanying whirring noise in pursuit. It looked like an overgrown ATV with an oversized volleyball-shaped turret exuding up from the chassis. It clearly had the young twin targeted.

  “No!” screamed Susanne as she saw and picked up a rock. In a series of practiced moves as if was it were a volleyball, she went forward in a vicious spike with her strong right arm. As it hit, it resounded off the side of the ball shaped turret on the mechanical beast, causing the turret to jerk about.

  The six-wheeled apparent robot spun into the direction of the threat, just as Sharon tackled her friend to the ground behind a picnic table and grill. An extreme bright light flashed over where Susanne had been standing only a moment before, the after effects causing the two athletes to see some spots in front of their eyes.

  A large caliber weapon boomed. Then again. And again.

  A male voice yelled over some crackling sounds. “Get up and run! I’ll hold them as long as I can.” The origin of the voice was the scraggly haired ball cap wearer with the thick Alabama accent.

  As Sharon and Susanne jumped up, they saw that the left side of Alabama accent’s face was covered in blood.

  “Mister…” Sharon began to say but was cut off.

  “Just go, goddammit! I’ve got something to finish here.”

  Now it was Susanne’s turn to grab and pull her friend along.

  “Come on. We need to find Karen’s daughter.”

  As the two ran, they saw the six-wheeled threat was sitting smoldering and throwing off sparks, the 12 gauge rounds of the Alabama native having permanently rearranged its gear works.

  “Come on, you motherfuckers!” He yelled as he loaded more rounds into his weapon’s tube magazine. “Come on and get some.”

  Sharon and Susanne ran in the same direction as the little girl twin had run. But they could not catch sight of her. Two loud shotgun blasts from behind them, then a cut off scream. They ran as fast as they could into the night.

  They ran for an hour straight, their excellent physical shape and adrenaline-fueled muscles carrying them along at breakneck speed. They were lucky they did not fall into a ditch, or run into something in the darkness. However, they did not.

  They plunked down alongside an abandoned car in a ditch to catch their breath. For the first minute they just sat there and breathed in oxygen. Sharon began to sob.

  “Sharon?” Susanne said, as she slid over next to her friend.

  “They’re dead. Dave, the other volleyball players, even that guy with the Alabama accent who saved us. Fuck, I don’t even know his name.” Sharon’s voice broke at the end of the last sentence, sobs clawing their way out her throat.

  “Hey, Sharon. You’re the badass one of the two of us, remember? We’ll…”

  “Half the time it’s all a bluff, Susanne. I’m more scared than you are, I just don’t let on.”

  Susanne grabbed and hugged her best friend, tears now running down her cheeks.

  “We have each other, partner. We are two of the baddest beach volleyball players in the U.S.—hell, in the world! We’re not going to let some assholes from wherever they’re from, mess us up. No way.”

  Sharon stopped sobbing, sniffed, and wiped her nose with her arm.

  “Now who is sounding like my survivalist uncle?”

  The two women began to laugh, as the fact they were alive began to sink in. They held onto each other as they laughed. Finally, they stopped and stood up.

  “We are badasses, Susanne,” Sharon said. “At least together.”

  “And that is the way it will stay. Us together, watching each other’s backs. Like Dave said.”

  With a new found resolve, they both looked around in the night.

  “Need to find a place to sleep, safe, tonight, Susanne,”

  “Yeah. Let’s head down this road, stay on the shoulder. We can dash into the brush if one of those…robot things comes along. Damned things sounded like they ran on electric motors.”

  “They were definitely quieter than something run on gas,” opined Sharon. “Okay. Let’s get going. I hope we find something soon. I don’t feel like staying up all night.”

  The young athletes made their way down the road, keeping an eye peeled for anything moving. From what Dave had said, there were some nasty humans out there also causing problems.

  A half hour later, they came upon a small, former country store that had been modified into a convenience Stop and Rob. As they approached, slow and careful, they saw that a large RV was parked at the gas pumps in front, with the driver’s door open. The only lights on appeared to be small emergency exit lights in the store proper.

  “Is that someone sitting in the driver’s seat?” Sharon whispered.

  “I think so. But nobody is moving,” Susanne answered. The two crept closer to the RV.

  “Hello,” Sharon said in a low voice as she approached. Then she saw why the person was not moving.

  The older and rotund male was leaning on the steering wheel, his blank eyes staring at nothing in death.

  “Damn, he’s dead,” Susanne said. “Heart attack?”

  “Could be. Looks like he was talking on his cell phone. Maybe what he heard sent him over.” Sharon looked at Susanne.

  “Looks like everyone else bugged out. Should we…”

  “Yes, Sharon. We move him. He’s beyond caring and we need to get out of here.”

  The two athletes lifted him out of the RV, set him down as gently as they could. Sharon tried to start the RV, and it surprised her by starting right up.

  “Damn. Gas gauge is almost on ‘E’. It looks like the power is off at the pumps.”

  Susanne patted down the pockets of the dead man, telling herself that the living take precedence over the dead. She pulled a small book of matches out of one pocket, then was surprised what was in another.

  “Hey, a gun.” She handed it to Sharon.

  “Little five shot revolver. My uncle has one.”

  “You shot one?”

  “Yes, once or twice. Point and shoot. Come on, get in. I don’t know how much gas this has in it.”

  “What about food in the store?”

  “No time. Besides, there may be a surprise in there. Get in. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Susanne climbed into the passenger seat and Sharon accelerated the large vehicle on to the road way. About a minute later, the little “ding” and low gas symbol came on at the gas gauge.

  “Well, we’ll run this until it stalls, I guess,” said Sharon.

  “Let’s look for a hiding place first. We’re both exhausted, need some rest, and then we can look to see what is in this RV.”

  “Good idea, Susanne. Start looking.”

  Five minutes later, they found the remains of a closed gas station. Sharon pulled over behind it.

  “We can at least hide here until daylight. Now, let’s see what supplies this thing has.”

  The two women soon made a search of the vehic
le. In the small icebox was some lunch meat, bread, part of a cake and two diet colas. The found a few condiment packages and some crackers in the cupboard, along with a hidden unopened bottle of bourbon and a bottle of wine. Back in the separate sleeping area they found some partial bags of chips and a six pack of beer. In the small bathroom was a twelve ounce bottle of water. The women quickly divided the spoils between their two packs, got everything ready for a quick bug out.

  Susanne took two beers out of the six pack and handed one to Sharon.

  “Nightcap?” Sharon asked.

  “Kind of. It’ll help us calm down, sleep. And, it’s liquid bread, has some food value.”

  “You were always the smart one, Susanne.”

  “Oh, yeah. You were so in danger of flunking out, little Miss Straight A’s.”

  “Hey, I flirted with the teachers.”

  “Sharon D. Wagner, you did not! Oh. You got me again. You are such a smartass!”

  They started to laugh and sipped at their beers. Then they began to get sleepy.

  “Here, you find some blankets, Sharon. I’ll make sure everything is locked up.”

  Five minutes later and the two were preparing for bed.

  “Here, Sharon. Something else you might need.” She handed her a long and sharp carving knife. “I’ve got the butcher knife. They’re both very sharp, so watch it. We’ll have to make some sheaths to keep from cutting what we don’t want to cut.”

  Sharon looked at the knife, than then at Susanne.

  “Do you think our families…”

  “I don’t want to think about that right now. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “Okay.” They laid down next to each other, then hugged.

  “I love you, Susanne.”

  “I love you, too. We’ll get through this.”

  “I know…By the way, you smell all nice and sweaty. You must drive men wild with your funkiness.”

  “You are so cruising for a bruising.”

  “Promises, promises. Good night.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  Then they were both out like lights.

  COASTIE

  The young female Coast Guardsman pulled herself up and out of the surf on a stretch of south Miami beach. Both her floatation gear and physical conditioning had helped her swim against a current about a mile after her Coast Guard cutter had sunk.

  Heidi Faust squished up from the surf, took a few more steps, and then sat down to catch her breath. She thanked her parents for owning that gym/martial arts dojo in Palm Beach that which kept her in excellent physical shape. Otherwise, she might have been floating outside Miami Bay, dying.

  She shook the negative thoughts out of her head. She was the only one who seemed to have survived the massive explosion that had spilt her boat in half. Heidi would mourn her ship mates later. She had tried to question the Chief’s idea of trying to make a run for it outside Miami Bay, in an attempt to hook up with any surviving U.S. Navy units a week and a half after the first rock strike. Years later, Heidi knew, the question would be “where were you when the rocks hit?” At that moment, as she sat on the beach, the question was, how was she going to survive and not be eaten by the alien Tschaaa?

  She had regained her breath back so she and stripped off her floatation gear. Her issued pistol was still in its holster, as was her armed forces knife. In her front pocket was her personal butterfly knife, a present from her fiancé, also Coast Guard, location and status unknown.

  Heidi walked up and off the deserted beach, carrying her floatation gear. She stashed it on a bench on the paved beach road, figuring she would come back and get it later. She had no plans for another swim, as she knew the Tschaaa owned the ocean. Plus she felt, and probably looked like, a drowned rat.

  They had barely made it a hundred yards from Government Cut, when their cutter blew in half, throwing her out into the Atlantic Ocean. Stunned, she had floated for a while, the current carrying her from Miami Bay. Based on what little intelligence she and her fellow Coasties had received, anything over fifteen feet was fair game for the cephalopod monstrosity that humans—at least the military—cursed as Squids. They were a true ocean-based lifeform, putting paid to the myth that the Navy ruled the sea. Humans were just rubber duckies out there, floating around until the Tschaaa became irritated by their presence and threw a mine or a torpedo at them.

  Heidi took a deep breath, looked, and listened. No sounds other than seagulls. The harvester robots must have swept through already, any survivors either fled or were in hiding. Which she also needed to find, a place to hide. She got her bearings and made her way to the MacArthur Causeway and bridge to cross into Miami city proper. She wanted to be as far from the actual Atlantic Ocean as possible right now.

  Heidi shifted her body armor on her five foot six buxom frame. There was a female MMA fighter who had once said that a large chest often got in the way of physical activities. Heidi knew from experience that she had only known the half of it. Trying to get body armor that fit and didn’t rub your breasts wrong was always a challenge. She seemed a bit solid because of her excellent shape, but not steroided out. She was strong, capable, a woman not to be trifled with, especially with her martial arts background in Jiu Jitsu. But many men still said she was smoking hot when she dressed up.

  She kept a sharp lookout with her hazel eyes, letting her brown hair down so that it would dry. Heidi didn’t think anyone would worry about uniform regulations right then.

  It took her about an hour of jogging and walking to make it into Miami City. Still, no sign of anything or anyone.

  “Biggest ghost town in the U.S.,” Heidi said to herself. She knew a couple of harvester arks had landed nearby, which was a reason why the Chief had wanted to get underway, so that he and his personnel were not picked off. Now they were all dead anyway. Heidi worked her way south on the shore front, past apartments, condos, and office buildings not far from the water.

  Then she saw him. A slender Cuban boy, medium complexion, about nine or ten years of age, who stepped out from hiding in a building entrance. Heidi knew that she must look like a like a drowned rat, wet uniform and all, as he approached her in a cautious manner.

  “Hey, guy. How you’re doing?” Heidi called.

  “Okay, I guess,” Pablo answered. He kept looking her over. “Are you a soldier, lady?”

  “Coast Guardsman, my good man. Better than a soldier in my estimation. Why are you looking for a soldier?” Pablo paused for a long time, as Heidi slowly walked along. He finally answered.

  “I need some help. My mom left yesterday, but never came back. She said she was going to my uncle’s place. The phone doesn’t work, so I can’t get ahold of anyone.” Heidi saw he was trying to hold it all together, not to cry.

  “Tell you what. How about you take me to your place so I can at least get out of this soaked uniform? Then, as part of the deal, we go look for your mom. Okay?”

  “Okay… Is that a gun?” He pointed at her sidearm that somehow made it through the dunking.

  “Yes, it is. I was trained how to use it, so don’t worry, it won’t go off by accident.”

  Pablo inched closer, then put out his hand. “Here, take my hand. I’ll lead you.”

  “Okay. How about my left hand? I need to keep my right free for my pistol. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He took her hand. Pablo shivered a bit, from fear, Heidi believed. Mother gone, aliens trying to kill and eat everyone, Hell, she was scared! They made their way along a street about a block inland from the shoreline. After walking for about fifteen minutes and seeing no one, they arrived at an apartment complex that had seen better days as a hotel, a couple of blocks from the beach.

  “This is my home,” Pablo said. “We live on the third floor. I can only find Mrs. Melendez and Mrs. Kleinman in their apartments. Every else is gone—even the Super, Mr. Hernandez.”

  Heidi made a quick glance up and down the street to see if anyone was watching. She did not see a single human, or anything else. />
  “Let’s go in, my man. After I’m a little dried off, we’ll see about rustling’ up some grub, like the say in the westerns. Okay?”

  “Okay.” The boy started walking, then stopped. “What’s your name?”

  It dawned on Heidi that no names had been exchanged.

  “Well, since I know we will be friends, you can call me Heidi. What’s yours?”

  “You can call be Pablo. But not late for dinner.” He smiled at her for the first time. “That’s what my Uncle Manny says.”

  Heidi chuckled. “I can agree with that. Let’s go in, shall we?”

  In the apartment, Heidi asked for permission to put on a pair of sweats that were clearly his mother’s, with a promise that she would clean them up after she used them.

  “Alright. Mi casa es su casa.” Pablo had been taught some manners by his mother.

  Heidi went into the bathroom, stripped off her wet uniform and underwear, her ballistic vest, placing them on the shower curtain rack to dry. After changing into the sweats, Heidi took her pistol to the front room and asked Pablo if he had any rags and oil of any kind. He quickly produced a bunch of rags and a small container of household lubricant. With practice ease Heidi cleared, then stripped her M-9 pistol, wiped it off, and stripped the ammo from the magazine. She found a pencil and used it to push small pieces of rags she had ripped up to dry out the barrel, then put just a smidgen of oil on a rag and swabbed it again. She lubed the pistol frame rails, then wiped them dry. Heidi dried each and every bullet, then disassembled the magazine, dried and lubed it. She repeated the process with her two spare magazines that she somehow had kept from losing in the Bay. Thank God her floatation equipment was top of the line in the load bearing department. Otherwise, all the stuff she had on would have sunk her.

  All the while, Pablo was watching her intently. Heidi smiled at him. “A penny for your thoughts, Pablo—like my mom used to say.”

  He gave a hint of a smile. “My mom said, ‘A centavo for your thoughts.’” Heidi saw that he was hurting.

  “Hey, my man! This lady could sure use a hug.” Pablo quickly closed the distance and hugged her. He tried not to cry.