Battleground Earth

by Gerry Griffiths

  Which posed a serious problem.

  The spacecraft, Soyuz, was the only means of getting off the International Space Station and returning to Earth.

  9

  Frank followed the military transport through the main entrance and past the gatehouse of Fort Mason, which had once been the San Francisco Port of Embarkation for the U.S. Army years ago before it became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and open to the public for special events.

  He remembered Wanda telling him how excited Ryan and Ally had been when they visited the area a couple years back and attended the Walker Stalker Convention that was being hosted at Fort Mason. They’d been able to see some of their favorite stars from the hit zombie TV series The Walking Dead. Ryan and Ally had been just as excited to see characters on group panels that had been killed off in earlier episodes and were no longer on the show as well as actors still alive and portraying their roles in the upcoming season.

  Everyone on the TV show was always in fear of being attacked by a zombie and turning into one themselves or getting killed by a ruthless, violent person.

  Funny how life could imitate art: as now it was giant insects instead of zombies suddenly appearing, and marauding gunmen, attacking people.

  So, it seemed fitting that Fort Mason had become the central stronghold for Bay Area survivors.

  Four of the whitewashed, red-tiled roofed three-story buildings had been reverted back to barracks to accommodate the influx of civilians wanting to escape the lawlessness that had prevailed over the city.

  Every man and woman was trained to fight.

  There were 600 members from the Nor-Cal and North Bay Militias, 40 six-person-squad Eco-Marines, and 200 children—many of them orphans—residing on the base.

  Frank pulled the Suburban next to Max’s big truck and trailer that took up two stalls.

  He shut off the engine and everyone piled out. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost five in the afternoon. There were maybe thirty vehicles scattered throughout the parking lot, some military trucks and a few humvees, but mostly civilian cars and pickups. At any given time, there could be up to 200 vehicles on the base but that was a rarity as everyone shared shifts out on patrol both night and day.

  “You guys going over to the commissary?” Frank asked Max.

  “As soon as we get the truck squared away for the next team. We’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay,” Frank replied then turned to Wanda. “Hungry?”

  “Yes. Dillon should be waiting for us in his classroom.”

  “We’ll get him on the way.”

  Frank turned to Crandall and Shelly. “How about you two?”

  “No, I think we’ll head over a little later,” Shelly answered for the both of them. “I think we’re going to grab a shower.” She glanced up at Crandall and gave him a wink, making her husband blush.

  The Greens headed toward the entrance door to the barracks in Building C.

  Frank and Wanda walked straight ahead in between the loading docks that ran along the lengths of Building C and Building D.

  Winston ran ahead of them, knowing the routine by heart. The bull terrier scrambled up the steel stairs that led onto the concrete loading dock. He raced up to a side door and scratched at the wood frame.

  “We’re coming, hold your horses,” Wanda said, letting Frank open the door.

  Winston bolted inside and ran off down the hall.

  Frank could hear children laughing and playing as he stepped inside. “Sounds like someone’s having a good time.”

  They followed the gaiety and stood outside the classroom door.

  Twenty kids were huddled around, giggling while Winston stood on his hind legs, licking Wanda’s son’s face.

  “Hey, quit slobbering me,” eight-year-old Dillon protested, wiping away the wet.

  “He loves you,” Wanda smiled.

  “Okay, everyone, class dismissed,” a young woman said, who was acting substitute as this was normally Shelly Green’s students, but like every able body, it had been her rotation to go out on patrol with Frank’s group.

  The children kept laughing and filed out of the classroom.

  “Feel like some food?” Wanda asked Dillon.

  “Can I have chicken nuggets?”

  “Do you even know what a nugget is?” Frank asked.

  “Ah, yeah. It’s a...” Dillon paused to think. “I don’t know. What is a nugget?”

  “Got me.”

  “Come on, let’s—” but then Wanda stopped when she heard children screaming from out in the hall.

  “What the hell?” Frank said. He ran toward the doorway and almost tripped over Winston as the dog bolted out into the corridor.

  Many of the children were running back. Frank stepped aside as they crowded back into the classroom.

  “What is it?” Wanda asked, stopping a frightened young girl.

  “It’s a daddy-longlegs!”

  “You go inside. We’ll handle it.”

  The girl gave her a brave smile and scampered into the classroom.

  “Is this all of them?” Frank asked the substitute teacher.

  The woman did a quick headcount. “No, there’s two missing.”

  Frank and Wanda stormed out and raced down the hallway.

  The little girl had been wrong. There wasn’t one but four spiders creeping down the hall. Their fused-together abdomens and cephalothoraxes were as big as fifty-five gallon drums and were touching the floor. Their gangly legs extended upward almost brushing the ceiling then elbowed downward to the floor.

  One of the giant spiders was actually eating off the end of its own leg, as the appendage had grown too long for it to walk properly.

  A young boy was holding onto Winston’s collar as the dog backed up and barked at the stilt-like creatures scooting across the floor.

  “Over here, over here,” Wanda yelled to the boy.

  As soon as the boy saw Frank and Wanda, he let go of Winston and ran toward them.

  “You’re safe now. Go to the classroom,” Wanda instructed, and the boy did as he was told.

  “We’re missing one,” Wanda said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Frank replied.

  The English bull terrier stopped barking and looked back at Wanda.

  “Go find ‘em.”

  Winston turned and ran toward the spiders, keeping close to the wall so that he could sneak under their legs and avoid being bitten.

  Even as big as they were, the lanky spiders looked fragile. They had short fangs but were just as deadly because of their enormous size. A single bite would be fatal to a child.

  Frank could hear Winston barking farther down the hall.

  “I think he found the student,” Wanda said.

  “Let’s go.” Frank drew his sidearm. He waltzed up to the first spider and shot it between the eyes—all eight of them. Wanda came up from behind and fired a 12-guage round into the next arachnid, creating a gory mess.

  The spider that was gnawing on the end of its leg suddenly realized that it might be in danger and peered up at Frank. He put a bullet in its head and watched it slump to the floor.

  Frank and Wanda stepped around the splatter and rounded a corner.

  Winston had the last spider by a hind leg, grabbing it between his teeth, and was pulling it away from a scared girl cowering under a stairwell. The daddy-longlegs was trying to turn around to defend itself but was having trouble, stumbling over its own feet.

  Wanda shoved the barrel of her shotgun into the spider’s ugly face and pulled the trigger. The separated spider parts twitched on the floor then became still.

  Frank and Wanda rushed over to the little girl.

  “You’re okay,” Wanda said, kneeling down.

  “Did you see that?” the little girl asked. “Dillon’s dog saved me.”

  “Yes, he did.” Wanda looked up at Frank and grinned.

  Winston went up to the girl with his tail wagging, and licked her hand.

&nb
sp; After they had returned the girl back to the classroom, Frank and Wanda took Dillon and Winston and headed over to the Herbst Pavilion. The long, warehouse-like building stretched along Pier 2 and was used for storing supplies and the armory. There was also a triage for the wounded and a crack battlefield-experienced surgical team.

  A nearby heliport had been set up for a medevac team in the event a patient had to be transported to one of the few hospitals still operating in and outside the city limits; each hospital heavily guarded by North Bay Militia to prevent thieves and drug addicts from breaking in and stealing life-saving medicines.

  They entered through the massive main entrance and quickly found Ally talking with Dr. Gemma Tubbs, lead veterinarian in charge of making sure the livestock in the surrounding areas remained healthy. Tick infestation was a major problem, especially the insects that had ingested the alien life forms and had increased to the size of skillets.

  Mutated cow killers were a serious threat, and could get as large as bobcats. The wasps looked like hairy orange ants and would travel in swarms on the ground, attacking the hooves and legs of cattle and horses.

  Ally looked over and smiled at Wanda. “Hi, Mom.”

  Dillon came over and Ally ruffled his hair. She leaned down and patted Winston on the back.

  “We were just about to go over to the Festival Pavilion and have something to eat. Want to come?” Wanda asked.

  “Sure.”

  “How was your patrol?” Gemma asked.

  “We saved some trees,” Frank said.

  “Thank God. I’ve been talking with Ally and she tells me she was studying at UC Davis to become a veterinarian.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Wanda said.

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve been a little short-handed and could really use some help. I talked with Dr. Miner in triage and she said that if it was okay with you, she’d let Ally come and assist me.”

  “You mean go out in the field?”

  “That’s right. Of course, we would always have an escort.”

  “What do you think, Mom? Can I?”

  Wanda looked at Frank hoping to get his input.

  “It’s something she’s trained for. I think she should. Given that you have an Eco-Marine team with you or some of our people accompanying you at all times.”

  “We will,” Gemma responded.

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful out there,” Wanda said.

  “I promise,” Ally replied, and hugged her mother.

  “Okay, then.”

  “Well, now that that’s settled, how bout we go eat?” Frank said.

  10

  Ryan sat in the cabin behind the pilot and copilot of the battle-ready Bell UH-1 Iroquois. The Vietnam War era Huey was one of many reinstated fighting machines taken out of mothballs since the satellites went dark, crippling modern warfare. Even though the chopper was shuttling him to his next assignment and he was a passenger, he was still expected to be an acting member of the flight crew as an emanate attack could happen anytime without warning.

  He was sitting on a small bench and had taken on temporary duty as a side gunner behind a 50-caliber belt-fed machinegun, the long barrel pointing out the open side door.

  The wind felt good on his face as the whirlybird flew low, hugging the rolling hills at a cruising speed of 125 miles an hour.

  Ryan gazed down and saw a black herd marching single file through the rough terrain of manzanita and scrub oaks. The pilot’s voice sounded in Ryan’s headset that he was going to make a sweep around.

  The Huey circled and hovered in position 100 feet above the ground.

  Ryan fired the 50-caliber machinegun. Every fifth bullet was a tracer so he could align the magnesium sulfate trail and pinpoint his targets. The deadly barrage tore up the ground, kicking dust into the air. The high-caliber bullets proceeded up the procession ripping through bodies, annihilating the giant harvest ants. From up in the air, they almost looked like normal-sized ants even though Ryan knew they had to be at least eight feet in length. He continued firing, the steady stream of projectiles cutting them in half.

  His body shook along with the powerful weapon as though he and the metal were fused together. Brass casings ejected out onto the deck and piled up all around his boots.

  Ryan ceased firing. He counted close to twenty dead.

  He remembered the adrenaline rush he used to get as a kid, shooting at fake monsters in a video game. This was way, way beyond that. Instead of earning game points, his satisfaction was knowing he had eradicated another mutated horde from the planet.

  The pilot gave him the thumbs up and pushed forward on the stick, once again, heading the Huey toward the crimson horizon.

  With dusk approaching, the helicopter soared over sprawling suburban neighborhoods on the outskirts of metropolitan areas. Many of the houses were scorched and complete blocks had been burned to the ground due to fractured underground gas pipes that had been ruptured by giant burrowing insects.

  The Huey flew over the Benicia refinery surrounded by scores of oil storage tanks. Ryan didn’t see any smoke belching out of the stacks and wondered how long it had been since the facility stopped producing petroleum. He could see the channel and counted three oil tankers run aground.

  Turning south, the pilot skirted the banks of San Pablo Bay and took them over Richmond. Ryan gazed at the old shipyards below as they passed over what looked equally deserted as every other location he had witnessed from the air.

  As they flew over the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, Ryan could see multiple wrecks and abandoned bumper-to-bumper vehicles that had been there for a long period of time, left by stranded motorists that had to set out on foot in order to cross the span.

  Flying low over the choppy waters of the San Francisco Bay, Ryan got his first glimpse of the mayhem. He had heard stories and seen video coverage of the devastation but none of it had really prepared him for what he saw.

  The waterway was congested with hundreds of sailboats that had once been moored at the marina but were now either capsized or had gone adrift with their masts snapped off. He saw two cargo container ships that had collided into one another and spilled thousands of twenty-foot long sea vans, most of them floating in the bay.

  As it grew dark and they got closer, Ryan could see the cityscape but not many lights. Many of the big power plants in the area had gone off-line when the satellites designed to regulate the energy usage caused the overloaded grids to crash when the meteors destroyed the orbiting computer systems. Without power, the pumping stations throughout the region had shut down and drinkable water was no longer available to businesses and residents.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, there wasn’t any cell phone or Internet services, as most of the communication satellites were no longer operational, which meant that survivors had to rely on alternative methods like CB radios, walkie-talkies, and landline phones.

  He gazed past the landing skid and looked for signs of life as the Huey flew through the high-rise canyons of glass and steel.

  A group of people was on the rooftop of a tall building. They were all armed with rifles, and looked up when they heard the drone of the Huey overhead. Ryan expected them to wave as they flew by, but instead one of them raised his weapon and aimed up at the helicopter. Ryan pointed the muzzle of the 50-caliber at the rooftop. The man quickly lowered his gun once he saw he was seriously outmatched.

  Normally, San Francisco’s streets would be bustling with traffic and pedestrians flocking the sidewalks, but not anymore. It was too dangerous to venture out even to scavenge for water, food, and supplies because the city would be crawling with mutated insects and roaming gangs of pillagers.

  It was inconceivable to think, that only half a year ago, the population of the Bay Area had been upward of over 8 million people. There was no telling how many had died of thirst or starved to death behind bolted doors rather than face the atrocities outside.

  Ryan saw a few vehicles maneuvering between the buildings.
It was difficult from this height to tell if they were friendly or hostiles.

  It wouldn’t be long before the nocturnal predators would be coming out of their hidey-holes in search of food.

  “We’re setting down,” the pilot called out.

  Ryan could see a halo of bright lights surrounding the heavily fortified camp and the three piers jutting out into the bay, which had managed to restore power tapping into a still working electrical grid.

  He was anxious to celebrate and finally reunite with his mom, sister, and little brother after not seeing them for almost six months.

  The Huey came down on the heliport and the engine wound down. Ryan could hear wailing sirens. A combat-ready army of militia and Eco-Marines began to pour out of the nearby barracks to take up defenses.

  The happy reunion would have to wait.

  Fort Mason was under attack.

  11

  Frank, Wanda, Ally, and Dillon had just finished eating at the mess hall in Festival Pavilion and were heading to their cottage that had once been an officer’s quarters when the sirens began blaring. Winston was trotting beside Wanda. His ears perked up at the irritating sound.

  “Ally, take Dillon and Winston over to the hostel,” Wanda said, which was the nearest safe place to get them out of harm’s way. The hostel was set up for sleeping quarters, recreation rooms, and had a cafeteria and dining room. There were large rooms, which were more ideal for families unlike the barracks that were meant for single individuals or married couples without children who didn’t mind living with large groups of people and sleeping in a double bunk.

  Floodlights were coming on, lighting up Fort Mason like a football stadium ready for a night game.

  They ran to the concrete retainer wall that separated parts of the park. Frank helped Ally up first then Dillon. He lifted Winston and handed the dog up to Ally.

  “Hurry!” Frank said.

  “And be careful,” Wanda added.

  “We will,” Ally promised and took off with Dillon and Winston. They quickly disappeared in the trees in search of the path that would take them to the hostel.