Brian just looked at the rifle, then reached up and straightened his glasses. Wearing that arrogant smirk that was so typical to him, he pointed at the aliens: “They’ll figure it out. I know they will.”
While those two bickered about which side we should side with, I knew we had to find another vehicle, one in better shape than the dilapidated Lincoln. “We need to get out of here,” I said, “before we get caught in the crossfire of this mess.”
Isabella opened the trunk of our wrecked car and picked up her small cardboard box of irreplaceable treasures, all those pictures of her family, her parents, her children, her treasured pets from over the years, and her wedding album.
The dead moved quickly over the grass, fighting the aliens while the beings in the ships looked on. Dennis held his rifle steady on Brian; at any moment, I expected to hear the loud retort of it. Isabella just stood behind me, nodding in agreement that we should leave that place of death, that we should escape the conflict, that we should desert the broken car and take off in a better one we saw several hundred feet away. Whether any of them agreed with me or not, though, I had to flee, even if it meant leaving them behind. It was no longer a matter of doing what was right; for me, it was about surviving, about living even when most around me were dead. I did not want to take care of anyone but me.
“If you kill me, I’ll come back through that rift over there and find you! After that, I’ll go after your wife. It’s up to you what happens next,” Brian said.
Finally, with a huge sigh of indecision, Dennis lowered his rifle. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t go turnin’ us in to them damn spacemen!”
Under the saucers, more dead were enveloped in violet flames, licking up and down their bodies. Some exploded, but others were seemingly not affected at all. What are they pulling through the portals now? I thought.
The dead female in front of us changed form and darkened. For one heartbeat, she was in front of us, but she was gone in the next, perhaps rejoining the fight under the flying disc.
I ran, slowly at first, like a drunken man, with my feet flailing ahead of me. I eventually picked up speed, happy to get away from the group behind me, happy to feel the air on my face and see the grass under my feet. I was happy to move away from the destruction, away from the madness, thankful that I was doing something, anything but hanging around those three confused people. I kept the safety in place on the shotgun in my hand, but I felt reassured by the cold, hard metal as I neared the closest car, an empty station wagon with all its doors wide open.
It was a sleek vehicle, probably only a year or two old, its burgundy sides unmarred. The keys were not in it, so I couldn’t check the gas level. I began searching around the car in ever-widening circles, casting occasional glances over my shoulder. The alien ships were unmoving in the sky, just hanging in the air, the ground beneath them still erupting in bouts of flame and earth. My three companions were still hundreds of yards off but slowly walking my way.
I increased my search, moving through the grass, looking for bodies. When I found a mess of blood, meat, crimson-stained clothing, and a shock of long, blonde hair, I realized it was a teenager, just a girl. Her body was ripped apart, and I had to look away from the bloody grass where her life had bubbled out. Resisting the urge to vomit, I shoved my hand in the mess, trying not to think about the fact that something that had been human hours ago was now lying there on the side of the highway with broken trees, trash, and old plastic bags. Unfortunately, I only found an assortment of change, a small teddy bear, and a crucifix pendant, none of which would help me start that car.
I stood and waved off my companions, motioning them toward the next vehicle down the highway, since I was unable to find the keys. Then, I broadened my search, moving into the brush on the edge of the highway. I found a shallow spot, filled with brackish water and cottontails. It had obviously seen violence, because much of the vegetation was torn down or ripped up by its roots. Among the flattened foliage was another body, severed in two. It was a grotesque sight, because the torso had crawled for several feet, pulling along with the arms until the blood loss was too much or something got to it. I again turned my head and searched the body, the pockets, and the surrounding ground, but again, I found no keys. In the closed fist of the right hand was a small-caliber pistol, with no safety, and several rounds had been discharged.
A few feet away from that body, there was another, that of an older female. It appeared that she was caught while running, beset by an attacker from the rear. Near one of her hands was a key ring containing a fob with a Chevy logo on it, a few small keys, store discount cards, and small pictures of the family in faded plastic frames. I looked at the dead faces, then placed it in my pocket.
The car did not seem damaged, so I assumed it would still run. As I made my way back to the station wagon, I wondered, Why did they stop here? Did someone have to go to the bathroom? Did they think it was safe? Did they run out of gas? God, I hope not.
The day was cooling as the sun was swallowed by the horizon, its feeble rays growing powerless. In another hour, it would be dark, and I needed to head south, to get to Ann Arbor to find my wife. I needed to know if any of our children had survived. Of course I knew all that was hopeless, that I would only find a destroyed city, consumed by fire and with little or no life left in it, but I had to try. I was sure Dennis, Isabella, and Brian would find another car eventually. They would be safe, but I needed to be alone, to have no other worry but my own survival, till I found the ones I loved.
Walking to the station wagon, I saw the two saucers burning in the sky, while the ground beneath them smoldered in a heatless glow that was brighter than the fading sun. The square piece of metal that had been the broken ship was gone. I saw no aliens on the ground; they were all slain or somehow escaped to their vessels. The rift still glowed, but nothing more emerged from it. Do the rifts have a specific range? I thought. I did not know, but all the dead already pulled in were gathered beneath the saucers. Above them, the ships seemed to shudder, pushing against some invisible force, shaking and trembling as if they wanted to move but could not maneuver away. I couldn’t blame them; the massive fight between the two was still ongoing, and I also wanted to move as far away from it as I could.
I slid into the station wagon. The seats were covered with empty water bottles, old paper maps, discharged shell casings, and food packages. I pressed the brake pedal and pushed on the start button. The car came to life, the music already blaring and the lights already on. I closed the door and looked out to see my companions in the distance, but Dennis and Isabella had stopped walking and were simply waving at me. Brian, for some reason, was moving to the opposite side of the highway with uncharacteristic speed.
I pulled the car back onto the highway and sped toward them. As much as I wanted to keep going, to finish my journey solo so there would be nothing to hold me back or delay me, but the looks and their faces and the splotches, stains, and tears on their bloodied clothing pulled me back to them. I knew it would be night soon, and I just couldn’t leave them; that wasn’t who I was, especially after they’d risked so much to help me and my father, even given him a final resting place in a world gone haywire.
“I’m heading to Ann Arbor to try to find my wife and family,” I said through the rolled-down window as soon as I approached them. “If you want, I’ll give you a lift to a working automobile, so you can go wherever you want.”
Isabella opened the door and slid in, offering me a nod of gratitude. She looked tired, completely wiped out. The stress of the day, coupled with walking a great distance while carrying her precious memories and trinkets, had taken a major toll on the old farmer’s wife.
“He’s a fake,” Dennis intoned, “nothin’ but a big fake!”
“What are you talking about? He already confessed.”
“What do you mean?” I queried, assuming they were talking about Mr. Wilson. I didn’t think of him as any sort of fraud. To me, he just seemed like a waste of a
human life, someone too smart for his own good but very stupid in most other aspects.
“He was staying at the veterans’ home because he’s broke, and nobody in his family wants to take care of him. He faked Alzheimer’s so the State would pick up the tab for him, give ‘im three hots and a cot, without a jail sentence. I knew it, but he didn’t fess up till Isabella confronted him about it. Imagine, a man just lyin’ around in a place like that, takin’ up a bed a real wounded veteran coulda used. The nerve!”
“Why’s he running though?” I asked. “We already know his big secret, and it doesn’t look like anything’s chasing him.”
“He’s going to try to take that alien’s rod and armor. He thinks he can use them,” Isabella said. “Me? I wouldn’t touch it, not for all the money in the world. Who knows what kind of space germs that thing had?” she said, still breathing heavily from all the excitement and overexertion.
Finally, Dennis climbed into the passenger seat and slammed his door, still mumbling complaints. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a freeloader,” he said, grimacing with the pain of his wounds. He craned his neck to peer at the gas gauge on the station wagon. “Three-quarters of a tank. That oughtta get you wherever you wanna go, buddy,” he said.
“Yeah, but what about Brian? Shall I pick him up or just leave him?” I asked the two.
We all glanced over at Brian, who was no longer running. He was stopped over, looking at something in the grass, presumably the alien corpse. We lost sight of him when he knelt down, obscured behind the tall brush.
Dennis looked through the rifle scope, and I saw his fingers ease off the safety.
“There’s been enough death today. Leave him be, Dennis,” Isabella said from behind us, so softly that I had to strain to hear it.
She’s right, I thought. There are probably only a few million left, maybe less. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but I had to make a decision, and my head filled with a debate: What’s the range on that alien rod anyway? Will we have a clear path if we move away from this hill, away from those saucers and the rift and the dead? How does the rod work? Maybe it gathers up all the information from the dead and relays it back to the ships.
Behind us, another alien ship was pulled from the sky, its shiny, metallic body smoking as it silently plummeted to the ground. When it hit, it shattered, and large pieces of soil and rock rose noiselessly into the air.
I wheeled the car around and stopped near the alien body. Brian was just sitting there, lotus like, on the ground, staring at the remains of the creature, nothing more than ripped meat. Its armor lay next to it, and strange, vibrant fluid was leaking out of the shredded flesh. Brian’s wounds seemed forgotten as he stared at the looted rod in his hand. Wearing that familiar smirk, he held it at eye level, turning it over and over. The rod, black and seamless, pulsed with power. It was no longer than three feet, and the violet glow emitted from the ends was the same as the one I noticed below the saucers.
“Brian! Hey, Mr. Wilson!” I yelled from the car, mere feet from him.
He barely moved and didn’t bother replying.
“We’re leaving, heading to Ann Arbor. Are you coming or staying? Personally, I don’t think it’s safe. They’re still fighting,” I said with a shudder.
Whatever came through the right then was something powerful, something terrible and ancient, nothing close to us. A shockwave pulsed through the air, shaking the car and stunning us. That was followed almost immediately by a loud booming sound that made it impossible to hear for a few seconds. I was too afraid to turn around and see what was happening, so I just shook my head from side to side, trying to regain my composure.
Brian finally stood and stumbled over to us, with fresh blood gushing from his ears. He placed his hand on the side of the car for support for a second, then opened the door and collapsed into the seat, with the rod in his other hand.
As the door opened, I got a better look at the destroyed armor. The alien-constructed protection was shredded and ripped, full of huge, gaping holes. I knew that whatever force was sufficient to rend it, it was something unearthly, something none of us had ever seen before the aliens arrived. With that in mind, I punched the accelerator and was thankful the car surged ahead, grateful to leave the area where a battle waged between two forces.
We drove for miles, and I eventually had to turn on the headlights. Everyone was silent, drained and still hurting from all we’d experienced and seen. It was equally silent outside; nothing moved around us on the road, and no life forms of any kind seemed to inhabit the fields and weeds we passed. We saw plenty of annihilated cars and trucks and even a downed helicopter. There were also masses of bodies, and we were thankful for any long stretches of respite between the gory carnage. There were no lights in the sky, no black tears in the cosmos, no loping figures haunting us with that strange, ominous, relentless gait.
Occasionally, we stopped at abandoned cars and recreational vehicles to take whatever we could find. It was easy enough to find food and water, and most of the cars that had fled the cities were treasure troves of groceries and weapons. We didn’t stop in any place for too long, as there was an eeriness all around us. Nothing moved. No crickets chirped, no birds or bats flew, and no field mice scurried about in the underbrush. We felt like the only living things around.
Five miles outside Lansing, I stopped among a few hills and turned off the ignition. It was dusk, and we could see the city skyline from our vantage point. One by one, we took turns relieving ourselves behind the car, cleaned our hands on some pillaged sanitary wipes, and filled our bellies with food. That pit stop also gave Isabella a chance to look at everyone’s injuries, to apply antiseptic cream and bandages, courtesy of a few looted first-aid kits, to our deep gouges left over from the dead attacking our car.
After Isabella applied a thick coat of antibiotic salve to Brian and replaced his bloody bandages with some fresh ones, he said, “Just think… All their information, how they lived and die and what happened to them after, is all right here in this stick. I don’t know how they planned to do it, but those things were going to use all that, coupled with all the dead, to create an afterlife.” With that he raised the rod a bit, and both ends were still spitting out violet light.
“Do you think you can use it on the dead again if we get in trouble?” Dennis asked, peering into the darkness through his gun scope, his eyes flickering with the reflection of the burning fires in the city and the blinking saucers whirring about above it.
“No,” Brian said straightforwardly. “This is even beyond me. It bet it’s keyed in to the alien’s DNA, so I’m sure I can’t use it. I wonder how much knowledge it holds. Thousands of terabytes, I bet.”
I could not bear to turn around and look at him. Even in that low light, I did not want to look into the eyes of a man who faked an illness, a man who benefited from a lie and took the place of a real veteran who deserved that food, shelter, and medical attention.
Perhaps he could read my mind or perhaps he just sensed my cold shoulder, but he suddenly blurted, “I served, you know! Three damn years, with general discharge. After that, I had no place to go. I was depressed and lost everything to my greedy wives. The VA hospital diagnosed me with dementia. At the time….” His voice trailed off, and the car was silent again.
Minutes ticked by before Dennis broke that silence. “A lot of activity in Lansing,” he said, changing the subject. “Things are movin’ there, hobbling about like them dead things, and there are three or four saucers overhead. There might be some aliens on the ground, but it’s hard to make it out. There don’t seem to be any lights, ‘cept from the fires and an explosion now and then.”
More time went by, and the dark closed in on us, as if to remind us that we were nearing the end of everything we knew. It was a process, a cycle, and life, death, and the afterlife were certainties that none of us were going to escape.
I had to say something, to take our minds off the disaster, off the holocaust we all
found ourselves in the middle of. “Well, if you guys want out now, I’m sure there are plenty of cars up ahead. I’m going to skirt Lansing and head south, to Ann Arbor.”
“Out!?” Isabella said with a gasp. “Of course we don’t want out. We’re going with you. I can’t… I won’t go back home. I don’t feel safe there, so our only option is to keep moving. I hope your family is alive and well, but if they’re not, we can head south. We can’t stay in Michigan during winter with no electricity or heat or…”
Even as her voice trailed off, because she was too overcome with fear and emotion to continue that thought, Brian had nothing to say. He just cradled the alien device on his lap and kept rubbing his wounds and staring out the window.
I, on the other hand, heard the pain in Isabella’s voice, and I understood her completely. She longed for closeness, for some sense of normalcy and humanity. She knew if she went back, she might find her beloved farmhouse burned down, her dogs slain. She knew her neighbors were probably gone. Isabella knew all our lives were forever changed, and she wanted to cling to her husband and anyone else she could find. As sad as she was for all she’d lost, she was a tough old lady, and I was sure the couple had been through a lot back on their farm. They were resilient enough to make it to their advanced ages, not quitters by any stretch, and I could not fault them for wanting to stay with me, at least until we had a better plan. At least we had a future, some idea of what to do, even if it was to last only a day. They wouldn’t be a burden after all, and deep down, I wanted to cling to someone too.
They came for our dead Page 8
