by Weston Ochse
“It’s a tragic irony. I think you’d feel this way regardless of what you did. Had you killed her when you had the chance, you might even feel worse.”
I finally trusted myself to turn. “Sorry, Dupree.”
He shrugged. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” He stuck his hand out to shake and I took it. Then he sat down.
I sat down on my cot as well.
We sat there facing each other.
I felt too awkward to speak. I’d fought people in the barracks before. Sometimes they’d deserved it. Sometimes they hadn’t. It never really mattered. Soldiers had been fighting amongst themselves since Christ was a corporal. But Dupree wasn’t a soldier. He was a civilian, a doctor. I felt uncomfortable around him. I guessed, when I looked at it, I was afraid of being judged by him. And now look at what I’d done. I’d given him the perfect opportunity to judge me as savage.
“My family survived the alien invasion,” he said. He stared at his right hand in his lap. “A wife and two daughters. Gloria took care of us, feeding us, making sure we’d survive. I was sort of out of it. Stunned, really. It was like I was sleepwalking, those first two weeks. So I never realized that after the first week, our next door neighbor was systematically raping my wife every day. Martin had been a soldier and had more guns than I could count. He told my wife that he wouldn’t kill us if she’d give herself to him. And the bastard was rough. She’d come home with black eyes and bruises on her arms. And you know what I did? Nothing. I really didn’t notice.”
He paused and as the silence widened, I felt the need to say something.
“Doctors call them the Four Fs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” I said. “Flight, Fight, Freeze and Fawn, the last being co-dependent. Freeze is a common option in the reptilian brain when neither flight nor fight is an option. With the alien invasion, we could neither run, nor could the average guy fight the Cray. We at OMBRA could only do it with our EXOs.”
He began speaking as if I hadn’t said a word, and when he did, it was with a voice so wretched it made me want to cry. “What I didn’t know was that he was also threatening to rape my daughters. Jess and Chris were nine and eleven. They deserved a world better than what the Cray had given them. They deserved something better than what Martin represented. It all came to a head one evening when he broke into my house. I’d just begun to come out of my walking stupor when he burst in, a bottle of Jack in one hand, a pistol in the other. He told me what he’d been doing to Gloria, laughing the whole time. Then he told me what he was going to do to my daughters. My wife came at him with a kitchen knife and you know what he did?”
I was afraid that I did, so I didn’t respond.
“He shot her point blank in the head. She fell like that guy Lou did. Straight to the ground. All the life gone from her. I stood there unable to move. Frozen. Fucking frozen. Then Martin laughed at me, grabbed Chris and took her in the other room. It wasn’t her first scream, or her fifth, or her tenth that finally got me moving.”
He looked up and caught me with a vicious stare. “It was her twenty-third scream. Know how I know that? Because I fucking counted them. I remember grabbing the knife from the floor and running into the other room only to find Chris naked and him trying to get his drunken penis into her.”
He made a fist with the hand that had been resting on his lap as if it was around a knife handle. “I stabbed him twenty-three times, once for each of her screams. I killed him, then I threw up. I didn’t hold my daughter. I didn’t try and make her feel better. I didn’t even apologize. Instead, I fell to the ground and cried, rocking myself like I was a five-year-old.”
He blew out. “The next day I buried Gloria in the back yard. Then I took Chris and Jess to my sister’s. She lived about ten miles away. Throughout the walk, no one said anything. When I got there, I turned them over to my sister, who was much more capable of taking care of them than I was. Then without saying a word, I left.”
“You didn’t say anything?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“What was there to say? I’d completely let them down. I was a complete and utter failure as a man, a husband, and a father. Which is why I left. I might be a failure at those things, but by God I will not be a failure at being a scientist. Do you want to know why I smile all the time? Because it takes fewer muscles to smile, and I’m tired of my face fucking hurting all the time.”
The land is sacred. These words are at the core of your being. The land is our mother, the rivers our blood. Take our land away and we die. That is, the Indian in us dies.
Mary Brave Bird, Lakota
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WE ATE LATE and it wasn’t until noon that we were dressed and ready to move out. Mother was definitely everyone’s spiritual leader. The rough, the dirty, and the mean, they all melted in her presence, much like a dog would to its master, no matter how mean the cur. It worried me. Never one to let someone else’s good ideas get in my way, I had no doubt that if she told them to kill us, they’d do it with a joyful alacrity.
Then, of course, there was Dupree. He was back to smiling again. Regret was perhaps the worst emotion one can have. Tie that with the shame of not lifting a finger as your wife was killed in front of you, and you’re living in an abyss of self-hate. I frankly didn’t see how he could live with himself. At least I’d tried to save the eleven men I’d lost in combat before the alien invasion, not to mention everything I’d done to try and save my recon mates at Kilimanjaro. I’d once heard a sergeant tell me, The measure of a man is not how they react when times are good, but how they react in the face of an emergency. It all comes down to fight, flight, or freeze, and I’d always chosen to fight.
The day was one of those Southern California fall days, with a bright blue sky that seemed to go on forever. It was somewhere near eighty degrees. The air was cleaner than I ever remembered it, probably because the four million residents weren’t stuck in vehicular Sargasso Seas on the 10, 405, and 5. It was the sort of day that would find me kayaking the Port of L.A. Harbor or biking in Rancho Palos Verdes; maybe finish it off with a cold beer and a few slices of pizza while looking down at the ocean.
Then I turned to Los Angeles and beheld the change the aliens had already wrought. The Twin Hives rose like daggers thrown through the heart of the once great city. For all of its disparagers, Los Angeles had been the cultural and social heartbeat of the world. No other city had as much effect on the hearts and minds of the citizens of Earth as Los Angeles. And all down to the electronic successor of the Stone Age campfire.
My eyes were drawn to the southern extremes of the horizon. Somewhere over there was the Vincent Thomas Bridge, where my journey with OMBRA began. I’d chosen that bridge to jump from because my favorite movie director had jumped from it.
Movies.
Television.
Hollywood.
Just when 3D movies and surround sound were the norm, it was all ripped away, replaced by a reality far uglier than even Tony Scott could have produced with his directorial genius.
Back at the Twin Hives, a black blanket of growth spread in all directions, all the way to El Monte and Montebello nearest the 605. The alien plant.
“What makes it black?” I mused.
“There are a couple of things that could contribute to that,” Dupree told me. “Black plants are extremely rare in the natural environment. They’ve demonstrated lower maximum CO2 assimilation rates, higher light saturation points, and higher quantum efficiencies of photosystem II than green plants—that’s the first protein complex in the light-dependent reactions of oxygenic photosynthesis.”
I think I almost understood what he said. Certainly enough to ask, “If they’re more efficient, then why aren’t there more black plants?”
“Black plants normally grow slower than green plants, which makes the rapid growth rate of this very interesting. I also wonder if it’s using oxygenic photosynthesis, or something else.”
“Whatever you said, it sounds bad.”
“Oh, it is. It means that the plant isn’t producing oxygen, but something else... something necessary for an alien species to exist... something that might be toxic to us.”
I shook my head. “I’m used to seeing a problem, then shooting it or blowing it up. We can rebuild our electric grid. We can make new toasters. But now they’re messing with the planet on a chemical level. How can we ever hope to deal with this—this terraforming?”
“I think once we find the interrelation between the various species being used to terraform, it will point to what we should expect from the master species that’s coordinating this. Like the Sirens and the Cray, this fungus was either engineered or curated. The Sirens reported; the Cray ruined our defenses. Now the fungus is causing the human race to turn on themselves.”
“And the plant?”
“It could have multiple functions, but the one that scares me the most is its ability to alter the oxygenation of the atmosphere.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to go down there in order to find out.”
“Mother figured that’s what you’d want.” Sandi joined us, with Phil close behind. She pointed to where the route cut south, through Los Angeles all the way to Seal Beach. “I know you’ve been traveling at night, but it’s more dangerous then. We’ve gotten reports of infected animals, like those coyotes you killed last night, as well as infected persons.”
“Interesting,” Dupree said. “It could be caused by the pollination cycle of the plant. It could be nocturnal rather than diurnal.”
I’d never heard of night blooming plants. “Why would it bloom at night?”
“It would depend on the relationship with the pollinator. I suspect that whatever pollinates the flowers does so only at night. If so, it would explain why there is more activity then.”
“That’s not why we’re concerned about it being more dangerous at night,” Sandi said. When we turned to her, she explained. “We just can’t see the dangers at night. Between the fungees and the spikers, this fungus is spreading quickly. We’ve noted that they don’t attack each other, but will attack the uninfected.”
Dupree nodded. “That makes sense.”
I turned to look at him. Of course, he was grinning. “No, it doesn’t. It’s fucked up.”
He looked at me like one of my sergeants had when I’d said something stupid as a brand-new-doesn’t-know-shit private. Then he spoke. “It could be a variance in light absorption. Fungi react to light in various ways. Light has long been known to be a source of information as well as illumination. Light causes adaptation in metabolic pathways, but it can also cause the onset of reproduction. If the fungi were to somehow affect the optical acuity of the host, it could possibly tell which biological organisms are infected by the nature of light absorption.” He spread his hands. “Or not. Just a guess, I suppose.”
He turned to me. “We’re going to need environmental suits. We don’t want to be anywhere near these plants without one. I don’t know how far the fungus spores can travel.”
Sandi tapped me on the shoulder. “We have a shipping container full of them we lifted from a dive shop. They’re Viking HDS Dry Suits, which are hazmat rated. We also have oxygen tanks and an oxygen generator, so we can fill them if needed.”
Dupree and I exchanged glances.
“You all seem to have thought of everything,” I said.
“Mother gave us a list several weeks ago. She said we’d be needing them.” Sandi paused to make sure I was paying attention. Then she added, “She knew you were coming.”
“Of course she did.” I made a mental note to watch our six. The best-meaning people followed David Koresh and Jim Jones right up until they went completely bat shit crazy. Mother might be no different. If she or her followers were going to construct their own version of the End Times, I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
Ever notice that these alien vines look a lot like kudzu? It used to be that alien vine was something that grew down South, covering anything that stayed in the same place for more than a minute. Now it looks like this alien version has been engineered to be something terrible. Stay away from the alien vines. Stay as far away as you can. For those who go in never come out.
Conspiracy Theory Talk Radio,
Night Stalker Monologue #1371
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TWO HOURS LATER we were ready to go. But before we did, I took a moment to pull Dupree aside. I felt it was important to acknowledge his importance to the mission. I also felt it was my duty to make sure we had a connection. So while Phil, Steve and Sandi prepared the truck, I had a private moment with the smiling man who was busy readying his own equipment.
“This is it.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Like no one else. To think that in a few hours I’ll be able to touch an alien organism.”
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I imagine there’s going to be forces at work to keep us from engaging.”
The smile didn’t budge. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Not only do I need to take samples, but I’m curious to see what the portable gas chromatograph detects beneath the canopy.” He held up a nozzle, at the end of a small hose. “This is the sniffer here. That OMBRA has them already built is a nod to their dedication to the project. Something like this must have cost them billions.”
I shrugged. “What’s money when civilization ceases to exist?”
This made him laugh.
“Seriously, though, I want to thank you for opening up. We’ve all had it bad. Some of us have had it worse. But to have you here now, with me, on this mission, makes me feel like I have the absolute best and brightest with me.”
His smile slipped. “You trying to give me a pep talk?”
“I’m a little out of practice. How’d it sound?”
“Contrived.”
“Okay, then how’s this.” I put an arm on his shoulder and stared into his eyes. “Don’t fucking get killed out there, because we need you.”
I let go of his shoulder and stood back, raising my eyebrows as I gauged his reaction.
“Much better. I almost believed it that time.” His smile slowly returned, like armor to be put on or taken off. “What do you think of Mother?”
I glanced over to where the other three were loading the oxygen tanks, to make sure they couldn’t hear. “I didn’t feel threatened and I didn’t feel scared or worried, but that actually worries me. She has some sort of crazy charisma.” I shook my head. “There’s really no telling what she’s capable of doing.”
“Or willing to do. I’ve read about cult leaders before. What if she makes us drink some cyanide Kool-Aid?”
I nodded. “My thoughts exactly. But at least she thought ahead enough to get hazmat suits. Last thing I want is to turn into one of the fungees. That stuff has made our world into one scary place.”
“The problem is that you never knew how scary a place it was before. Parasitic species live all over the world. Ever hear of the Leishmania parasite spread through the bite of the Phlebotominae sand fly, which can affect the spleen, or liver, or even your bone marrow?”
I could swear his grin got wider as my frown deepened.
“And then there’s Chagas Disease, and Granulomatous Amoebic Encephalitis, and the African Eye Worm, and the Tse Tse fly that spreads African sleeping sickness. Or worse, Nodding Disease, which kicks off ever increasing waves of epileptic seizures. Ever seen that? Parents have to chain their children to poles so they won’t hurt themselves or someone else. Ever been into a village where children are chained to poles? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s a sight you can’t unsee. Or even the simple botfly, which hatches and comes to term beneath human skin, climbing out of a rupture so it can find someone to do it all over again.”
I was overwhelmed by information. I’d been happy to have been just a grunt, never having known any of this. “You. Have. Got. To. Stop.”
He shrugged. “Just trying to let you know what you’ve bee
n missing. Trust me, I can go on for days.”
“Please, no.”
We were interrupted by Sandi, who declared they were ready to go. They had loaded our gear into a black four-by-four pickup truck rigged for urban survival.
As we strode to the truck, I turned to see Mother standing on the front porch, smoking a corncob pipe, her eyes tracking us, her face blank. Smoke coiled in front of her face, but she made no move to blow it away. Her hair was set in old fashioned curlers. Finally she nodded imperceptibly towards me.
I returned her nod.
The truck looked like something out of Mad Max. Extra metal was welded everywhere to deter anyone trying to climb aboard, including a corrugated metal canopy with three inch holes. The holes, in turn, were covered with a fine screen mesh. The same metal and mesh covered the front and side windows. To enter, one had to either slide through the missing partition window or climb through a locked entrance at the tailgate.
“What’s that for? Bird protection?” I asked in jest.
Phil stubbed out a cigarette and gave me a cold stare. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”
I felt my grin tighten. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Steve reached out to grab Phil’s shoulder, but Phil shrugged it off. He glared at me. “I know you’re a soldier,” he said, “and you have all this great equipment and eat three squares a day and project outside the wire every now and then, but there are those of us who have been fighting every day since the invasion. While you’ve been in your mess halls and playing video games, we’ve been struggling to survive—street level, with the everyday promise of death.”
He paused to light another cigarette.
I stood there, striving for patience I rarely had.
He sucked in smoke, then exhaled violently and gestured to the tire guards. “These are to protect us against the spiker plants, which can take out tires as easy as anything.”
