by Alex Mersey
COPYRIGHT
Salt of Gomorrah
Silvers Invasion Book 1
Published by Alex Mersey
Copyright © 2017 by Alex Mersey
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or resold in any form or by any means without permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations for non-commercial uses. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people, living or otherwise, is purely coincidental. If real, names, places and characters are used fictitiously.
- 1 -
THEY DIDN'T COME IN PEACE
A rippled blur in Orion’s Belt. Like everyone else, Sean McAllister read the early warning all wrong. The usual crack jobs blew up the internet. Tabloids professed doom and talk shows hosted expert panels of scientists, astrologists, professors of philosophy and religion.
Phrases like radioactive storm, a galactic wave and a tear in the fabric of our universe were bandied about.
The president addressed the nation, cautioning calm and rational behavior. The phenomenon was being monitored by NASA and the American Institution of Astrophysics. There was nothing to fear.
That was two days ago.
Today the fleet of star ships dropped their shields and showed themselves.
- 2 -
Sean
The late afternoon sun shimmered over the water, casting a glamor on the Brooklyn skyline across the river. Sean McAllister jogged in place, enjoying the view as he pulsed his heartrate before the home stretch.
A sudden charge prickled the hairs on his arms. His gaze drifted past the white-haired man tapping the pavement with his walking stick, over a pair of teenage lovebirds lounging on a wooden bench, lifted to the skies above. A slice of hot, humid air hung over the promenade, thick enough to taste the heat at the back of his throat, but that wasn't what he'd felt. Then he saw it...well, saw something, a thickening in the clear blue sky was all he could think of to describe it. Wispy streaks of clouds riding invisible lines, swirling closer and closer into a hazy whirlpool like documentary footage of a storm brewing in fast motion. The gray darkened to black and slowly, surely, the peripheral storm cleared around the epicenter.
Sean’s heartrate exploded in his chest.
“Holy shit,” he breathed out, his eyes glued to the skies.
He was a pragmatic man, grounded in reality, and this was…he had no words, none that he could use without feeling like a complete idiot. The words came anyway, pushing into his thoughts as he stood there, heart still pounding in his chest, gazing up at the spaceship that had literally appeared out of thin air.
No, not just a spaceship.
This was the mother of all ships—a goddamn mothership—and it hung high above Brooklyn, a massive obsidian husk that cast its shadow all the way across to Manhattan. A sleek, oval, sleeping giant with an underside of silver concentric ridges that continued rippling like that storm in fast motion.
Sweat and fear dripped over his brow, into his eyes. He lifted a hand, slowly, wiped his forehead as the world around him condensed. It was just him, that mothership hanging there, and the sound of blood rushing between his ears as his heart tried to out-race his thoughts.
I’ve lost my mind.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
As he watched, numerous smaller airships detached to stain the skies. Dozens. Less poetic in design, rectangular and boxy, but they had the same obsidian metallic sheen with the smoky underside. The airships scattered in all directions, most of them shooting out of sight, leaving behind a crisscross pattern of arced silvery trails.
Sean crunched his jaw, shook his head, shook off the fugue. And the world came back online in a rush of horns honking, the crunch of metal on metal on metal—a pile up on FDR Drive? Screams in the distance pierced the general cacophony of people shouting, cursing, panicking. Sean spun about, his gaze sweeping over the elderly man by the railing, the teenage girl frozen on the bench, her boyfriend on his feet with his phone out, snapping photos.
A new kind of dread seized Sean.
He hadn’t lost his mind.
This was real.
He looked again. One of those rectangular airships hovered beneath the silver shadow of the mothership, a demon child cradled to a monstrous breast. A flash of white-blue seared his eyeballs, fisted his heart and jerked it out his chest. Fire power. The fucking bastards are firing shots. Translucent white-blue fire zapping the ground like manufactured lightening. He couldn’t see where the flashes hit, but seconds later the Brooklyn skyline changed, apartment blocks and office towers disappearing beneath a plume of dust.
Another airship swooped into a high arc over the river, firing and hitting Williamsburg Bridge dead center as it passed over. Steel and concrete melted into a swirling epicenter of metal dough around the strike point.
Sean’s gaze darted up, wide, scouring the skies…the airship was headed south toward the bay, but the beam it had fired continued to devour the bridge, a living entity with white-blue veins that spread like a spider web along the suspension bridge. There was no explosion, no blast, just the moaning of steel frames tearing loose, the clang of cables snapping.
The heart of the bridge disintegrated into a gray-white cloud of swirling flurries, as if it had been vaporized at a molecular level. The farther reaches of the bridge broke off and dropped chunks into the river as the web cracked along the support beams and suspension structures. By the time it was done, all that remained of the bridge was ravaged stubs on either side of the river.
The spell broke and Sean spun away from the horrific sight. Later, he’d worry about the impossibility of it all.
For now, it was act or die.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
The noise and chaos from downtown had escalated.
Plumes of smoke billowed from somewhere in the Financial District. Or maybe plumes of flurries. What kind of weapons did that?
The ground beneath his feet rumbled like a damn earthquake. Another cloud of ash and dust, this one over Lower Manhattan; a third aircraft he couldn’t see had just brought the fight a hell of a lot closer.
The teenage couple had fled.
The white-haired man hadn’t moved. He stood petrified to the spot, face turned up to the Alien enemy.
“Sir!” Sean shouted as he jogged up to the man. “We have to go.”
The man took his time bringing his gaze down to Sean, clear blue eyes that indicated a sharp mind. “Go where?”
Sean looked around at the increasing coverage of smoke, ash and concrete dust. They were being attacked from all fronts. No doubt the Jersey side of the Hudson was being hit hard, too. There wasn’t anywhere to run, but staying wasn’t an option either.
“Anywhere,” he told the man. “We need to find shelter.”
“You do that, son.” A grimace crept over the man’s bearded face as he turned his attention on the skies again. “I’d prefer to see my end coming.”
Sean hesitated. But the man wasn’t as old as he’d originally assumed. Early sixties, maybe. He wasn’t senile or delirious. He wasn’t suffering from shock or stricken with panic.
“Okay,” Sean said, giving the man another second to change his mind. He didn’t. “Take care,” he called and sprinted for the pedestrian walkway that bridged FDR Drive.
When he got there, he saw he didn’t have to bother with the ramp or the walkway. FDR Drive was a car park of stalled, mangled and deserted cars. A delivery van had careened over the center barrier and lay on its side. A BMW had gone off the road right below the ramp and taken out a huge chunk of
the wrought iron fence.
Hysterical people ran, screamed, called for help to no one in particular, pulled loved ones out of cars, streamed up FDR Drive like a tidal wave. They were heading north, away from the sounds of buildings collapsing and the billowing dust clouds.
The ground trembled with relentless constancy from the onslaught. The air thickened with the remains, powdered concrete and smashed brick and cremated bones.
Sean hurtled the iron wrought fence between him and the road and weaved a path through the chaos. An Asian woman stood out, a lone stationary figure amongst the tide. A red gash cut her forehead, blood dripping into one eye.
Concussed?
He paused, then changed direction, crawling over the hood of a crashed car to get to her. As he slid down on the other side, a man clutching a small girl to his chest ran up to the woman, “I’ve got her! I’ve got her!” and grabbed her hand, pulling her along.
Relief hit Sean hard. He wasn’t a natural hero and it wasn’t as if he had a survival plan. Any help or advice he dished out now would probably just get everyone involved killed.
He continued across the road and jumped the barrier, heading down a side street of brownstones, searching for a less congested route. People poured out from the apartment blocks, streamed over the jammed cars and fractured through the green space between buildings.
Fleeing the war zone.
As if they could outrun the pulverizing army.
Sean slammed to a halt when he realized where his instincts had been leading him. Home. Even if his block still stood, it wouldn’t be for long.
The crowd was thinning, but someone still managed to clip his shoulder, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, backed up onto the pavement to give the stragglers their space while he caught his breath and thought this through.
Nothing much had changed.
Run.
Find shelter.
Maybe he could make it to a subway station, get below ground, hide in the tunnels. The nearest station was in the wrong direction. He’d have to try for 1st Avenue. The odds were long, the tunnels could collapse, half of Manhattan probably had the same idea, but what else was there?
Before he could put that plan into action, some idiot in a silver Ford revved out of a parked spot, smashing the cars front and back, and shot onto the pavement.
Sean jumped out of the way, connected with something small and soft from behind and went sprawling backward. He flung a hand out to break his fall, tried to roll before he landed and squashed whatever had toppled him, but it wasn’t enough. He heard the cry of pain as he scrambled to his knees and turned to see a scrawny kid curled into a ball.
“Johnnie!” A woman dropped to the ground beside the kid. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Sean said, drawing the glare of her scowling green eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“Just go.” Her gaze lowered as she pulled the boy, maybe six or seven years old, into her arms. “Where are you hurt?”
“Mommy,” he whimpered, unfolding a little, both hands still cradled around his left ankle. “My ankle…”
“Let me take a look.” Sean hunched closer. He noticed the thick coils of rope looped over the woman’s shoulder, but decided he didn’t want to know. “It’s probably sprained or twisted.”
“Are you a medic?” she barked.
He shook his head. “I just want to help.”
“You’ve done enough.” She reached awkwardly to ply the kid’s fingers free so she could examine the ankle.
Sean watched her struggle with one hand, an arm still wrapped around the boy. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore.” She’d finally gotten the pants rolled up, the sock rolled down, revealing a bony ankle that had already started puffing up.
Sean ripped his t-shirt over his head and folded it lengthwise. “We can use this to bind it. That should help.” He gave her a sharp look. Around them, the ground trembled. Dust tickled his throat. “We don’t have time to argue about whether you want my help or not.”
Without waiting for an answer, he bound the boy’s ankle firmly. “How’s that, kiddo? Too tight?”
The boy wiped a hand under his nose, stared at him with wide eyes, said nothing.
“Johnnie?” his mother said. “Is that better? Do you think you can stand? Walk?”
He sniffed. Nodded.
They got the boy to his feet, holding onto his mom’s arm for support, but the first step he took ended in a yelp and collapsing into her side.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ll carry you. We’ll make it.”
Sean took all of two seconds to assess the situation. The boy was small and scrawny, sure, but the woman’s skinny jeans and strappy shirt showed exactly how little flesh padded her petite bones. She already looked weighed down by that length of rope coiled over her shoulder.
He scooped the boy up and over his shoulder, slung like a bag of potatoes.
“I was headed for the 1st Avenue subway station, but we’re out of time.” He nudged his chin at her coil of rope. “Did you have someplace in mind?”
She looked like she’d protest his mishandling of the kid, or maybe she seriously did not want his help, but then her gaze flittered toward the river. “The water.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. Swim out a bit, wait offshore until…” Her weak plan ran off the rails.
Sean coughed, slapped the back of his hand over his nose and mouth to filter the worst of the dust. “We’re being blown apart from all sides. Brooklyn got hit first. The bridge went down, Williamsburg, God knows how many other bridges. You’ll be tossed in the current with all that debris.”
“I don’t know, okay?” The first hint of emotion other than cold anger quivered her voice. “I saw some of it from my apartment. They destroyed an entire block with one strike. You can’t outrun that.”
“You can’t outswim it, either.”
The boy wiggled, thumping a knee into his ribs. “Let me down.”
“You can’t walk,” Sean grunted. He let the kid slither to the ground, though, before his ribs took anymore punishment.
“It doesn’t matter now,” the woman sighed. “Johnnie’s a good swimmer, but I can’t put him in the water with a sprained ankle.”
Just then, the ground shook violently, trembling the bones in his skin. Dust filled his lungs and eyes. He coughed, gagged. Grit coated his tongue, making swallowing a dry, unpleasant task. His eyes watered, blurring his vision.
The kid grabbed his legs, and Sean’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close as the world ripped apart at their feet. He heard nothing over the rumble of buildings toppling nearby, concrete chunks thudding, glass splintering, metal creaking like ungreased hinges.
The frontline had crept up on them.
Long minutes later, a lull cleared the worst of it and he could think straight. He was still alive. His chest felt heavy, clogged. His throat scraped raw.
He went down to his knees, his hands skimming over Johnnie, also alive. He could hear the kid hacking up a lung. He grabbed the edges of Johnnie’s t-shirt and tugged it over the kid’s mouth, nose, tied it behind his head.
Then he held Johnnie at an arm’s length to take a good look at him. “You okay?” he said hoarsely.
Johnnie was too busy coughing to answer, but he wasn’t dead and that was about as okay as Sean could hope for.
The dust was settling and he looked around for the mother. She’d fallen face down a couple of yards away. Probably a good thing. Better to eat dirt than swallow dust.
Along with the coiled rope, he saw she also had a backpack strapped on. She hadn’t just fled from her apartment in a rush of panic. She’d taken the time to think two steps ahead, to prepare. Maybe she would have made it to the water if he hadn’t bounced off the kid. Maybe she would have survived.
He left Johnnie and ran over, every other breath resolving into a spurt of coughing. There was some rubble on the ground.
Not much. The buildings around them still stood. A few had chunks missing, as if rattled loose from the hard tremors.
The woman stirred before he reached her.
“Hey,” Sean called out. He didn’t even know her name. “Over here.”
She pulled herself around and into a sitting position, pushed a hand through her short hair and kept it there, her head cocked, squinting at him.
Suddenly her brain snapped on.
“Johnnie!” She jumped up and immediately staggered sideways.
“I’ve got Johnnie.” Sean caught her by the arm. “Steady there.”
Johnnie’s coughing drew her focus.
She tried to rip her arm free, but Sean held on, leading her over to the kid. “We don’t need another twisted ankle. I can’t carry both of you. What happened? How did you get flung so far out?”
“Something hit me on the back of the head and knocked me down,” she said, surprising him by answering. “I couldn’t see a thing. I thought I was crawling toward you and Johnnie. Obviously not. Then, I don’t know, I must have blacked out for a second.”
“More than a second.”
She shot him a sour look. “How long?”
“Not long enough for the shit storm to pass,” he said. “We need to get moving.”
While she assured herself that Johnnie was fine, Sean looked around. The brownstones around them had been shaken, but hadn’t taken a direct hit. That was the reason they were still alive.
The real damage, however, was only one block down. The apartment complexes were built in a U around thin strips of grass that formed a central walkway. The U he currently looked down had a gaping hole at the curve. That put them the length of two brownstones from the last strike.
Too close
He glanced skyward, couldn’t see the airship. Maybe it was sweeping east to west with each pass.
How much time does that give us?
Not nearly enough.
He cleared his throat, which ended in a raucous cough.
