White Sands

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  When the metal finally came to a stop his face was inches away from the ground. He spat into the sand defiantly, grabbed his pack, and squirmed to his right where the other back tire was still holding up the wing. Michael began wiggling backward when he caught sight of something else.

  His rifles.

  He hesitated as the truck let out a terrible creak; the wing pushed the bed down another inch.

  Don’t, Michael. There’s no time. You don’t need the rifles.

  But what if the country is under attack? How would he protect his family?

  Jeff’s distant voice broke over the whipping wind. “Dad! What are you doing?”

  “Wait there! I’ll be back in a second,” Michael yelled. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself before he crawled forward again. He knew he was taking a stupid risk, but he’d seen enough disaster movies to know that he would regret not having the guns later.

  Two breaths later, he was hugging the rifles against his chest and wiggling backward. When he was halfway out he heard the sound of the second tire pop.

  “No!” he yelled. But it was too late. The right side of the pickup began to crush him into the sand.

  He panicked again, his feet kicking violently outside the wreckage as the wing pushed the vehicle down against his upper body.

  Before the rubble suffocated him, he felt two small hands wrap around his ankles and tug.

  “No! Get out of here!” he screamed.

  They pulled again. Harder this time, nearly taking off his boots. He tucked the rifles closer to his chest and closed his eyes.

  Another yank and he was free. Without hesitation he rolled onto his back, and looked into his boys’ faces. Even through the dense smoke he could see they were both smiling.

  Michael didn’t know what to say. His kids had just saved his life. Part of him wanted to scold the boys for not staying put, and part of him wanted to punish himself.

  The groaning of the metal behind him shocked him to his feet and he finally found the words he was looking for.

  “Move!”

  A minute later Michael collapsed to the ground. He lay there panting on his back with his kids on both sides.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael finally said. “I shouldn’t have taken that risk.” David nudged up against him.

  “Dad, your leg looks really bad,” the boy said. Michael sat up and jerked his chin toward his bag. “Bring me the first aid kit.” He glanced back down at his mechanical leg and saw the wound was worse than he originally thought. The flesh from his ankle to the bottom of his knee was completely gone. The skin around the wound, what was left of it at least, was burned a dark black. There was no use staring at it. When Jeff brought him the pack, he tore into the contents, retrieving the morphine. Gritting his teeth, he took the shot and then wrapped his leg the best he could. Then he had the boys check his back. Just as he suspected, he had suffered a severe burn over half his body. He had the boys help him apply a burn gel.

  Wincing, Michael stood on his mechanical leg. Fortunately the wiring wasn’t too damaged. He could walk. It just hurt like hell to do so.

  Michael looked down the road, wondering how long his body would hold out. They had miles to cover. The morphine would certainly help with the pain, but Michael was going to need more than some Band-Aids and painkillers to make it through the desert. They were going to need luck.

  “Ready?” he asked, faking a smile and exchanging looks with his boys.

  They nodded simultaneously.

  Michael pulled the handkerchief around his mouth and began trekking away from the truck. Smoldering debris covered the path everywhere he looked. Billions in taxpayer money sprinkled across the desert.

  Michael saw what he thought was a helmet tucked under a piece of metal a few feet ahead of him and pushed his boys to his side, shielding them from the view.

  They had walked about half a mile before Jeff stopped in the middle of the road.

  “Let’s go, buddy. We’re almost there. We can rest in a bit. Paula’s going to be worried sick about us,” Michael said.

  “Dad. What is that?” Jeff asked.

  Michael followed the boys’ stares to the skyline. Descending from the cloud cover was the most incredible thing Michael had ever witnessed.

  Dozens.

  No.

  Hundreds of black ships, their sleek bodies reflecting the near-blinding glimmer of the sun. Within seconds, the entire sky was filled with ships. Michael reached for his boys as a series of thunderous blasts broke through the sky. The sound was paralyzing, bringing all three of them to the ground with their hands gripping their ears.

  The shockwave hit a few seconds later, bringing with it a fierce wind full of sand, dirt, and pebbles. Michael pulled his kids toward him and draped himself over them again, wincing as the tornado of debris stung his body.

  Several minutes of agonizing pain and it was all over.

  Michael cracked his eyes open and watched the two remaining ships. At first glance, they seemed to be hovering in place. But how was that possible? The ships had no propellers, no propulsion engines. In fact, he saw no sign of any engines at all. No country had that type of technology.

  As the ships hovered closer he realized these were not of human design. These were . . .

  Alien.

  CHAPTER 7

  TIM studied the holographic interface in front of him before reporting his analysis. “Based upon earlier trajectories, the Organics have likely made landfall, sir.”

  Dr. Hoffman took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He’d done all he could: placing biospheres throughout the planet, procuring the Secundu Casu, the Sun Spot, the Van Allen, and creating a small base on Mars that would sustain a colony. Was it enough?

  While he knew much about the Organics, there were still things he simply didn’t understand. Most important, he still didn’t know exactly what they would do to the human population. He knew they had come for water, this was certain. Dr. Tsui had briefed him on the images his telescopes had captured of the alien ships collecting the icy residue from comets and beneath the ice caps on Europa. There was no doubt they were continuing their quest to gather water throughout the galaxy. But would they leave any on Earth? Or would they simply suck it dry?

  Dr. Hoffman shook the questions from his mind. He had deployed other “measures” to observe the invasion. In time he would have all the answers. And in time he would be restoring humanity’s greatness on Mars.

  * * *

  A series of sand dunes separated Michael from the civilian barracks. He couldn’t see over them, but the dense cloud of smoke bellowing into the air gave him a sinking feeling.

  I’m too late.

  “Stay here,” he said sternly, exchanging glances with Jeff and David.

  Slowly, Michael trekked up the closest dune and dropped to his stomach. Sand seeped into his open wounds, stinging like hundreds of little bees. He grimaced but crawled farther. He had to know what lay beyond.

  When he saw the smoking crater that had been the civilian and staff barracks he flipped over onto his back and looked down at his boys. Paula, his friends, everyone. They were all dead.

  He tried to speak, tried to move, but his body was numb.

  He’d broken his promise. Everything wasn’t fine. Everything was totally fucked.

  When he saw Jeff and David looking up at him, he knew he had to get it together. For their sake. Whoever was piloting the black ships didn’t care about civilian casualties, which meant his boys weren’t safe.

  Michael lay there for several moments, blinking rapidly. He had to think. Where could they go? Where would they be safe?

  Over the wind he heard the distinct cough of a diesel engine. He knew the sound well. His father had been a truck driver after serving in the infantry.

  But how did that make any sense? Diesel trucks hadn’t been used in years. Unless . . . he thought of his own pickup and the X90s. Something had knocked out their modern systems; maybe only the old tech worked.

/>   He peeked back over the edge of the dune and saw two Humvees racing across the eastern perimeter of the smoking crater. A helmet with flaming-orange goggles bobbed up and down in one of the truck’s gun turrets as they raced through the desert.

  Without hesitation, Michael brought himself to one knee and then pushed himself up. Waving his arms he shouted, “Over here!”

  The guard tilted his helmet and locked onto Michael’s location. The man tapped the top of the truck and a moment later they had changed course toward his position.

  “Boys, stay put,” Michael said, gesturing with his hand before starting the trek down the opposite side of the dune.

  “Stay where you are!” one of the guards yelled.

  Michael froze and raised his hands in the air. “I’m Michael Fitz with NTC Unit 5, second watch, Bunker 14, at the spaceport.”

  The two soldiers exchanged looks and then one of them hunched over his turret to get a better view. “What the hell are you doing out here, man?”

  Michael stuttered before he spoke. “I took my boys shooting at a range a few miles back.”

  “You chose one hell of a lucky day to do that,” one of the men replied. “The base is under attack. We’ve lost contact with everyone. The only vehicles that work are the Humvees that were stored in a bunker underground.”

  Michael didn’t know what to say. He had more questions than he had time to ask, so he simply said, “Hold on.” Limping back up the sand dune he motioned his boys up with his chin. “Come on guys.”

  When they got to the top of the hill and could see the wreckage of the base, David let out a cry. “Was that?”

  Michael grabbed him and pulled him close. He could feel the boy shaking in his arms. The worst feeling he had ever experienced as a father was not being able to take away the pain of losing their biological mother. Now he had to find the courage to explain their stepmother was gone too.

  Letting go of David, he dropped down on one knee and locked eyes with the boy. “Son. Paula is gone.”

  Tears raced down the child’s dirt-caked face, forming tiny trails where the drops washed away the grime. Michael bit his lip and scrunched his eyebrows together to hold off his own tears before pulling the boy back to his chest. He embraced him there for a minute, letting David cry into his shirt. When the boy finally stopped shaking, Michael stood and glanced over at Jeff. His arms were crossed and he was staring at the smoking crater behind the trucks.

  “Listen boys. I need you guys to be strong. The country is under attack. I’m telling you this because I know you’re both strong enough to understand. These soldiers are going to help us find someplace safe. Okay?” Michael patted David’s head and made sure Jeff had heard him.

  Another tear dropped from David’s eye, but Michael quickly brushed it away. “Be strong now. Paula would have wanted that.”

  Jeff grabbed David’s hand. “Dad’s right.”

  Michael could hear the two guards talking across their turrets. He knew they wouldn’t wait forever.

  “Time to go,” Michael said, reaching for Jeff’s other hand. He led the boys cautiously down the hill and toward the trucks.

  “Sir, we better get someone to look at your injuries,” one of the soldiers said as Michael stumbled forward.

  “Get my boys somewhere safe first,” Michael replied. “I can wait.”

  * * *

  The inside of the truck was musty. It had been locked away in a bunker, so that wasn’t surprising. But the smell certainly beat the stench of Michael’s burnt skin.

  Michael sat uncomfortably in the backseat. His arms wrapped around both Jeff and David. He was shielding them from his agony, trying not to show them how much pain he was in. At the same time he was trying to suppress his mental anguish. The pain of knowing he would never see Paula again was far worse than the pain of his physical injuries, but Michael also knew that he didn’t have time to grieve. He had to focus on saving his boys.

  Both kids were quiet, staring out through the filthy window into the desert, watching the sun slowly set on the horizon. Michael took comfort in their peacefulness and closed his eyes as they drove deeper into the desert.

  Behind the wheel was Jeff Oakley. Michael had switched shifts with him a few times. He didn’t know the man well but had heard that he’d seen action in Indonesia before he was hired by NTC. His small, shaved head had a nasty scar running down the backside. His face was a bit more respectable with a thick jawline, dark brown eyes, and a nose that was missing the tip.

  They had been on the empty road for a couple minutes. Oakley hadn’t said more than a few words.

  The suspension under the Humvee flexed as the tires sped over a pothole. Michael gritted his teeth. The jolt sent a sharp pain up his spine. The drugs were wearing off. He needed medical attention fast.

  “Any idea where we’re going?” Michael finally asked.

  Oakley nodded. “Nelson and Connor both said the spaceport is the safest place right now. We lost radio contact with the base, but there are a few tunnels there as well. Even if the port has been vaporized we can still hide out underground until it’s safe. That’s the plan at least.”

  “Do you know anything about those black ships?”

  “Alien, sir.” Oakley’s words were fast and sharp.

  The word alien sunk in faster than Michael thought it would. Perhaps it was because he already knew on some level. No country had the technology to build the ships he saw, especially not that many of them.

  David grabbed Michael’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Dad, is Paula really gone?”

  “Yes, bud, she’s gone.”

  “Where did she go?” he asked.

  “To the same place as your mom,” Michael said, pointing out the front window toward the skyline. The crimson tip of the sun was still visible over the horizon. Soon they would be shrouded by darkness.

  Oakley slipped his helmet on just as the automatic head beams shot over the road. He switched them off manually with the flick of a finger.

  Damn.

  Michael cursed under his breath. He had left his armor back in his quarters. Without his helmet, he was going to be blind once they got to the port. Especially if the power had been cut. He tightened his grip on David’s hand and looked over at Jeff. The older boy had been mostly quiet.

  “You okay?” Michael asked.

  Jeff pulled his gaze from the window and looked his father directly in the eyes. “This has been one heck of a birthday,” he said sourly.

  Michael couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. A drop welled up in the corner of his right eye. He brushed it away before anyone could see. Jeff was right. What should have been one of the best days of his young life had turned out to be a nightmare. And as the vague shapes of the spaceport crept into view Michael knew the nightmare had only begun.

  CHAPTER 8

  OAKLEY parked their truck behind an abandoned building a quarter mile from the NTC spaceport. Several strange orbs glowed blue in the darkness, faintly illuminating the crumbling base.

  Michael took another shot of morphine and crawled to the top of a mound of dirt where Connor and Oakley were scouting out the base. He’d left Jeff and David with Nelson, who was still perched in the other Humvee’s gun nest watching their six.

  “What are those . . .” Michael couldn’t find the words to describe the large blue objects.

  “Shhh,” Oakley replied.

  Michael opened his mouth to respond just as the morphine kicked in. A current of numbness rushed through his body. He let his chin rest on the dirt and stared at the orbs. The dazzling blue light swam across his vision.

  “What the hell is that?” Connor asked, his voice still muffled by his breathing apparatus.

  Oakley didn’t respond. He scooted closer to the soldier and followed the man’s finger past the air traffic control tower and to a cluster of hangars on the eastern edge of the spaceport.

  “Those buildings are the closest access to the tunnels that I’m aware of,” O
akley said.

  “But what about those ball things?” Connor replied.

  Oakley shrugged. “They don’t seem to be moving. What other choice do we have?”

  For several minutes they watched in silence, the wind whipping against them. Without his helmet, Michael was essentially blind. If it weren’t for the mysterious glowing balls, his vision would be limited to the intermittent moonlight.

  Near the aviation tower, several silhouettes crept past the glowing spheres. Michael squinted, trying desperately to get a better look as the outlines moved throughout the spaceport. Three luminous creatures stalked them from behind.

  “What the hell . . .” Oakley said, pausing. “Are those people?”

  “What’s that following them?” Connor asked quietly.

  The answer came in the sound of automatic gunfire. Blue beams from plasma rifles cut through the night. The human shapes began to move swiftly. Michael watched them retreat into one of the hangars, the blue creatures just behind them.

  “What the fuck are those things?” Connor shouted.

  Oakley smacked him on the helmet. “Keep it down, man.”

  Michael didn’t need the night vision or advanced optics of his helmet to see what was chasing the group. The thought was still incredible to him, but he knew what the creatures were.

  Aliens.

  Desperate screams broke out as the three glowing aliens closed in on the humans. The gunfire suddenly stopped and the shouting faded away in the wind.

  “Fuck, we need to get out of here,” Connor whispered. He turned to slide back down the hill when Oakley reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Sit tight, man. We aren’t going anywhere yet.”

  “Who the fuck put you in charge?” Connor replied. “We’re all guards. And until the watch commander shows up, I’ll do whatever the hell I . . .”

  Michael knew exactly what the pause meant. He grabbed his rifle. Connor had seen something else—something behind him.