Planet Genocide II: Galaxies Collide 5: Onslaught

by Andrew McGregor

  The shadow of another vehicle lay ahead through the billowing dust, the outlines of further bodies by the side of the road as Brad lowered his head, glimpsing two male children and their probable father. His eyes strained as he realised the man’s arms were around his prone offspring, attempting to comfort them in their last few seconds, the darkened bloodstained road beneath the bodies indicating they were shot perhaps some time earlier.

  The billowing dust became thicker, a gloved hand rising above the visor as the bodies further ahead disappeared into the murk, the dirt swirling around his lowered frame as he stiffened, drawing a deep breath, two silhouettes stepping towards him slowly. His eyes widened as he glimpsed the weapons, one with an assault rifle raised, the other holding a pistol in two hands menacingly, the barrel pointing towards his helmet.

  The figures approached, both taller and slim, wearing goggles and scarves in protection against the billowing dust, the right one virtually shouting, ‘So another comes…rich pickings from the road today…’

  Brad rose slowly, his hands moving upwards as his athletic frame shook, his voice shaking, ‘I have nothing…just a bike. I need to get north and across country…find the son of my landlady and safety.’ His eyes darted from side to side in fear, ‘I have some money, but not much…’

  Backing away slowly, he moved towards the stationary Honda bike, a low salivating chuckle coming from the man ahead as he realised the younger man’s intent, and slight accent, ‘This world is gone boy…we will all die soon.’ The two figures stepped closer, both men licking their lips from chemical reaction, their day having consisted of a mixture of cocaine and Crystal Methamphetamine and brutal slayings, ‘The only place to survive is the mountains now…the enemy will pass us by. We have stocks of ammunition and an underground bunker…they will never find us.’ The man grinned in relish, looking the athletic biker figure up and down, then indicating to the bodies, ‘We have the younger women and a couple more at our little mountain retreat...’ He hesitated briefly, drawing breath, ‘…we have lots of ice (drugs) and bourbon, beers if you like…we can all see out the end in style…have fun together.’

  Brad swallowed once more, his eyes straining as he stared into the gun barrels, his buttocks coming to rest against the motorcycle seat, the two men stood before him in the centre of the road. Considering the two women in the station wagon behind, the innocent children, tears filled his eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily as the helmet slowly nodded, the man stepping closer as a grin of longing lust formed across his face, his head lowering to stare at Brad’s thighs and crotch, ‘We will treat you good…party for days, that is…until the end comes.’

  The roar of pulsing engines overhead, the men ducking to a crouch as Morgon fighters swept low over the mountain tops, the assault rifle rising in alarm as they reacted. Brad ducked down, lunging round the motorcycle towards the MPV for cover, his body jerking and ducking further at a single loud gunshot.

  Gasping in alarm, his chest heaving, he glanced down across his frame, urgently seeking an injury as he slumped painfully against the side of the wagon, the red helmet cracking against the outer driver’s door. Shaking his head to clear his temporarily blurred vision, he briefly heard the crack of a rifle bolt, the helmet rising cautiously at an angle to see the shadow with the pistol glance round nervously, then lunge away. The second shot was loud and almost deafening as the arms clawed the air, the body slumping forward and cracking against the tarmac, blood pumping from a deep back wound Brad’s head rose further as a figure emerged through the dust from the south, the middle aged man jerking a sniper rifle from side to side, kicking the assault rifle from the clasping hands of the mortally wounded figure to the right of the bike.

  The man glanced round, smiling briefly as he pulled the bolt back, raising the rifle once more, ‘You must be Brad…I’m Benjamin. I believe we will be now travelling together with your distressed lady friends…happy to meet you.’ His boot slipped forward onto the groaning throat below him, applying intense pressure as Brad’s eyes widened in shock, the man glancing round as the mortally wounded body shuddered below, ‘I must be slipping in my old age…I missed his head, caught him in the chest…he will die never the less.’ Benjamin glanced downwards, spitting onto the prone jolting figure, ‘Say nothing of this to the women…scum like these deserve to die, I killed many on active service.’

  Brad shuddered as the bones cracked beneath the boot, his voice stammering in relief, ‘But…how did you know?’

  Benjamin grinned, turning his foot to apply pressure to the windpipe beneath, patting the lower part of his sniper rifle, ‘Thermal sights…I could see the bodies and your reaction, their raised guns…the rest was obvious. They are drugged up…’ Grinning, he continued, ‘You are smaller and thinner…the helmet also helped.’ Benjamin glanced round cautiously, ‘Now, let’s get these bodies off the road and move on…their friends may come soon.’

  Brad winced, forcing his weary body upwards against the dust covered paintwork, his head shaking in disbelief as he raised his visor, ‘They…they said they had young women captives, drugged up with others I think…somewhere in the mountains, a retreat or hideaway. Can we…’

  The middle aged man spun round, his eyes almost menacing before softening, spittle falling from his mouth as he shouted at the youngster, ‘Forget them…they are lost. There are casualties in conflict and anarchy…I have seen it all before, you cannot save everyone...or you will die attempting to. Law and order is gone here now…we shoot first, there is only survival left. Collect their weapons…they are yours now.’ Swallowing, he composed himself, speaking more softly, but eyes darkening, ‘You will see many more dead young man…and others killed, some by you if you want to stay alive. A living hell has now arrived on earth…you will have to be strong to survive…it is now only live or let live.’

  Benjamin sniffed in morbid resignation, ‘The enemy seem highly organised and ruthless, were as the human race as is its nature, will only collapse into infighting and attempting to gain temporary benefit at the expense of others. Cowards will emerge to satisfy their perverted urges and we must be ready. Your, the ladies and children’s lives begin here with me…now help me get the bodies away, the women and children cannot see them…they will become traumatised.’

  Then Benjamin’s eyes narrowed, his head rising as if to sense the dust filled billowing air, the pulse of engines above, the craft seeming to circle as other’s swept past, brief flashing lights as the older man grasped the young biker’ shoulder, dragging him round to the back of the MPV, his voice strained in fear, ‘The enemy is here!’

  Area 51, Western United States

  Staff sergeant Louis Estevez’s hand rose to his ear, his eyes widening at one of the covert radio consoles, static and burbled excited words sweeping across the airwaves, muffled explosions in the background as numerous shattered units reported in to what was left of local commands. The remnant stragglers from battles on the western seaboard were fighting hard, but now completely outnumbered and outgunned, many in full desperate retreat eastwards in any vehicle space they could find.

  Sporadic firefights were breaking out throughout the mountains between Las Vegas and the new sea shore, the San Andreas fault line now steaming at high pressure as salt water mixed with churning lava reacted, the remnants of cities and broken land now shattered further westwards. Clouds of highly toxic dust now hung in the atmosphere, the substantial explosions and high pressure clouds throwing heavily polluted particles high into the sky.

  Switching short wave frequencies, the twenty six year old, black haired air force technician listened intently, his deep blue eyes straining to hear as local national guard commanders chattered across short wave radios in Las Vegas, just over one hundred and thirty kilometres to the south east. As one of five listeners, the mixed Puerto Rican was an accomplished engineer, qualifying for an invited secretive assignment at the covert base sometimes nicknamed ‘Dreamland’ or ‘Paradise Ranch’. Then he shook his
head, attempting to distinguish the faint background sound, his hearing heightening as the low siren began to wail behind the radio chatter all across the nearby city.

  Spinning his chair round, the wheels squealed on the linoleum floor before coming to rest against the metal trim bordering his desk boundary, he raised his voice towards the desk set higher in the darkened auditorium, the main screens on the wall opposite now in darkness, ‘Desk five sir…an emergency update.’

  The four senior figures above were virtually in darkness, low lighters shining onto the desks before them as the hushed talking ceased, Louis straining his eyes into the darkness and glimpsing the numerous medal ribbons turning to stare down on him. A low unperturbed voice urged him to continue, his hands shaking as he rubbed them against his dark blue standard issue trousers, ‘S-sir…air raid warning sirens sounding in Las Vegas…numerous locations from what I can determine. I must report that the enemy is probably attacking the city from the air and potentially with dropships…’

  The hushed voices seemed to recommence, a startled increase in behaviours as Louis saw hands gesturing and a couple of the supervising generals lean forward to talk across each other.

  Another nervous voice then spoke up from further along the line of five ‘listeners’, Louis’s chair squealing once more as he glanced round, smiling faintly as his closest friend spoke up, the black male engineer a regular overnight secretive visitor to his room, ‘Sir…desk nine…I have heard one ground unit reporting to their local commander. They are cut off and have requested rescue…they don’t expect to hold out much longer. They are in a remote location in the Death Valley National Park…near the charcoal kilns…’

  The engineer’s voice tailed off as one of the General’s above interrupted curtly, ‘Get to the point, ‘listener’, we need the facts…’

  Louis’s head turned to glare upwards, his hatred of the arrogance and deliberate suppression of subordinates rising intensely as his friend swallowed hard, coughing with embarrassment, ‘T-The cut off soldiers report incursions at a high level…black fighters escorting grey dropships, some with camouflage markings…they advise this is clearly identified as an enemy formation…’

  Louis concealed a grin as he sensed the uneasy movement of the generals above, several voicing subdued concerns to each other, the voice replying from one, ‘Trajectory? Did they mention a possible direction?’

  The engineer’s patience was obviously strained, his voice rising in overwhelming anger and frustration, ‘Sir…these men are under fire…the alien enemy have killed many of this unit. They are cut off and virtually condemned to death…’

  The general interrupted again, this time more forcefully, ‘Staff sergeant…I will have you relieved of your command if this continues. Please advise us of the route of this newly identified unit.’

  Louis rose to his feet in anger, further radio chatter in his ear as he tuned to his friend’s frequency, ‘Generals…I have the predicted target for you…’ His body spun round, a clenched fist slamming down on the alarm button next to his flashing inoperative console, red lights immediately glowing and pulsing across the darkened control centre, his voice rising in almost distasteful relish, ‘Generals…I have to report, the enemy is targeting this compound…we are now all under direct threat.’ His head turned towards the black engineer he admired and adored so much briefly, then spun back as he heard the figures above begin to rise upwards and shuffle out of the control centre, ‘I am initiating all armed personnel to the surface, but to remain inside the blast doors…’ His voice twisted in sarcasm, smiling grimly as the senior commanders left the wide room, ‘It seems pointless to throw away any more lives if we can hold them at the entrances…we have over twenty subterranean floors and back up defences with control pillboxes on each one…’ He hesitated, believing the senior officer had all left before grinning widely, ‘I believe you are reconvening to the deepest floor for conference?’

  Ironic titters and subdued giggles sounded around him, then a stern voice from above silenced everyone, one senior officer remaining, ‘This is General Denton…I am not leaving, the fight continues here…get me CCTV of all the entrances on the main screens. We fight them inside, in narrow corridors and force them into ambush points…they want a victory? They will pay in whatever coloured blood that courses through the veins of these creatures.’ The commander sat back, turning the light below him slightly upwards so the engineers could see his defined frame and lined black and scarred face, numerous medal ribbons displayed across his chest, ‘I want defensive positions set up at corners...heavy machine guns and flamethrowers as well as our current devices to be activated once our troops retreat. Activate the mines outside once our men and women are safely inside…and place trip wires…this will be a slaughterhouse for them.’

  The general rose to his feet, staring at the darkened screens, ‘Open the outside doors briefly for any retreating troops and the garrison above, then close and reinforce them. Seal this lower subterranean control room with the outer doors, but only once we secure the last of all our fleeing soldiers…we will stand or die in here!’

  Chapter Eight: Eastern United States

  A World in Peril

  Outer Manhattan, New York, Eastern United States

  NYPD Officer Davis Michaels was running, the female national guard corporal and his partner behind, his ears still ringing from the shouts and screams at One World Trade Centre, his body shaking as he spun round between the stationary vehicles to look back, adrenalin surging through his chest. Drenched pedestrians and residents ran past him as he slowed, bile rising from his churning stomach painfully as he retched, his thoughts blurred as he recalled the earlier encounter.

  The national guard major at the remembrance building had shouted at him directly, spittle splashing across the black officer’s face as the army commander pushed him forcefully away. He was ordered under martial law powers to leave the site and progress northwards immediately…to get as many civilians and residents across the river as possible, then to leave New York…that the city would soon be lost. Further wary and nervous soldiers were arriving, Humvees and a scorched lorry slewing to a halt as the troopers jumped from the vehicles, lunging forward with assault rifles and ammunition canisters to man the barricades around One World Trade Centre, the powerful automatic spotlights suddenly flickering on, shining upwards in defiance of hatred and aggression as his frame shuddered with emotion.

  Davis Michael’s eyes widened as the glass shattered on the upper stories of the memorial tower, snipers and heavy machine gunners smashing the reinforced windows to provide firing points, barrels pushed through the openings to face east and south. Two black helicopters hovered over the city blocks further east, flashes coming from their underbellies as flaming streams swept into the streets further south, billowing smoke and fire searing skywards into the heavy drizzle as explosions tore through stationary vehicles, shops and apartments.

  Davis blinked, rainwater running into his eyes as he stared in awe towards the darkening southern horizon of Manhattan Island, heavy black smoke plumes rising upwards, flames flickering across the dull wet buildings and dusk laden sky, the crump of explosions and dust as heavy muffled gunfire resounded northwards. Buildings and vehicles were burning out of control in his beloved city, the populace he had pledged to protect now obliviously streaming past his uniformed figure, the NYPD motto, ‘Fidelis ad mortem’ (Faithful unto Death) seeming now impotent and worthless.

  With eyes strained and head shaking in disbelief, he turned slowly as his breathing became shorter and painfully sharpened, the scene repeated to the east and then north, jet streams sweeping across the sky as dogfights continued over Central Park. His mind seemed to swirl, panic beginning to possess his inner being as his head jerked from side to side in desperation. A gasp came from his lips as a wide flash erupted further north, a dull grey American jet disintegrating as burning debris and flames fell downwards into the city streets below, further eruptions as exclusive apart
ment blocks burned out of control along the park edges.

  Rough hands grabbed his sodden shoulders and pushed him forwards, his partner’s breathless voice ringing in his ears as the older sergeant shouted in near panic, ‘Get control of yourself! We are leaving! Holland tunnel…run! It’s not far!’

  He spun round once more as his colleague stumbled past, the man half dragging the female marine as she whimpered in shock, Davis turning away to stare back towards the south once more in rising fear. A jet of flame shot upwards from the streets, the nearest black helicopter shuddering as the explosion rocked its underbelly, the stunned pilot clawing at his controls as the craft spun round, beginning to lose control and spinning more dramatically before twisting round in the air, the police vessel turning sharply over onto its back before plummeting downwards onto fleeing civilians below, a wide fireball and acrid smoke surging outwards and into the air as further screams of terror rang out around him.

  Davis glanced back up at the prominent tall glass building, rising high above the surrounding offices, shadowed figures running past, several knocking his shoulders as tears filled his eyes, thin wisped streams of green slime surging upwards briefly before falling around the structure. Several of the crude shells smacked against the sturdy sides of the memorial building, the detonations spattering green smouldering acid sideways and downwards towards the defenders.