Tuesday, October 8, 2013

15- Resistance

Resistance


 Rampart Division, Los Angeles Police Department

They were dressed out in full kit; body armor, flash bangs, with assault rifles slung, locked and loaded. The black uniforms had always given these men and woman a sense of superiority, but now they were brands marking them for extermination. The Chinese were hunting any form of law enforcement. They were arming the disenfranchised youths that had made up the Occupy Movement with small arms and intelligence and providing air cover as they assaulted the police stations.
The Division Captain was also decked out in full kit as he addressed the people assembled in the briefing room. The smell of whiskey from him as he walked unsteadily down the isle was very strong. The officers looked at each other with raised eyebrows and concern as he passed.
He gained the podium, where he rested his rifle, where he normally discussed a weekly crime blotter that was 75% petty theft and the balance on average of gang crimes and sex assaults. He paused, drunk. A look over the room brought out the insecurities full force; he felt he was not equipped to lead these men and women. A buckling knee lent credibility to the feeling. No one noticed the insect like vehicle stuck in a high corner, as if glued to the wall.
" Men, woman. It has been my pleasure to be your captain. You all know now that the city is swarming with Chinese soldiers. We have no contact or support from Washington..."
He couldn't hardly bear to look at them. This announcement was not sanctioned or authorized. 
"...I am suggesting you, for your own safety, get your normal clothes back on and go home. "
Normally he would have looked out at them with his position suggesting authority and commanding respect. He felt like a neutered dog in a room full of bitches in heat. They wanted to fight, to patrol, to use the armored vehicles they had been given and do their jobs, mostly. The few who placed their families  at a priority got up immediately and stripped their gear where they stood, relieved to be relieved. The rest, some unsure and some determined to be a part of the solution stayed. In the end the result were similar.
The two windows in the briefing room area blew out and small quad rotor drones entered the room, maneuvering aggressively. 
They darted to the ceiling and stuck there. The police had just enough time to register that they were caught before they exploded. 
Other small drones clouded the doorways and machine gunned the retreating officers in civilian clothes as they tried to flee; each cop stepped over the bodies of his and hers comrades and walked into the bullets in calm disbelief and mindless denial that this was happening. This couldn't happen here.
This was America.
Outside the building fires were beginning to rage and the sound of jets overhead began to diminish. The freeways were clogged with cars and trucks and Jeeps tore new paths along side the freeway when there was a lack of fences as all who could began to flee towards Las Vegas and into the Mojave desert.
The invasion was now three days old. 
On a battery powered radio next to a slain receptionist inside the station the president of the United States spoke about trade deficits and Somali pirates. There wasn't one word about the Chinese. Eventually the fires consumed the radio and melted its plastic.  
Chaos reigned; except in the areas occupied by the Chinese troops. They delivered water and food and admonished the citizens to maintain social harmony. Some noticed the irony of men with rifles talking about social harmony with blood stains on the pants, but they took the water anyway because the power was gone and without power Los Angeles had no water from her spigots and the wells not on generators ran dry.

14-The Hollywood Hills Have Eyes

The Hollywood Hills Have Eyes


The pilot of the Lockheed F-117 Nighthawk tried to glide the disabled aircraft to a landing on the Pear Blossom Highway but the angular bird was not particularly aerodynamic and when the controls died she dropped like a kite in a tepid wind. The controls and the electronics were just gone. Even the ejection handles in the cockpit were unresponsive, so Colonel Henry Blake braced for impact as she dropped, glancing at the photograph of his daughter and grandson taped to the only spare area on the control panel.
She clipped some dry pine trees and crested a low rise just missing an outcrop of grey granite. The silent plane skidded down a low hill, bounced over the roadway and nosed over. The glass of the cockpit shattered and the compartment began to fill with dirt and rock and the plane slowed and ground into the parched mountain soil.
It was pitch black and his arms were pinned. He could hear the sound of crackling flames and he tried to pray as he resigned himself to a pilots worst fear; burning alive. They had all imagined death. Combat deaths tended to be quick and painless. Bodies got blown apart by heavy rounds from airplane cannonfire, bodies were disarticulated by bombs and people were vaporized in an instant by incendiary fuel-air bombs. He knew as he had watched through night vision lenses as precision guided munitions rended concrete and steel and any bystanders, some admittedly innocent. Pilots blackout and died oblivious as an airplane flat spun into the ground. But surviving a crash landing and cooking alive was the worst.
He struggled against the harness but the dirt and rock immobilized him. He distantly heard shouts and just as quickly as the crash had happened, sunlight burst into the ruined cockpit and the flames were extinguished. Rough hand grasped at his harness and the dull flash of a sharp blade released him from the safety harness. He was pulled free.
Aside from the left arm with the bone protruding just in front of the elbow everything seemed okay. He gasped for air and was surrounded by a circle of faces with fatigued floppy hats.
He could hear them shouting as if from a great distance and he felt hands shaking him. They bore him up and away from the flaming wreckage, his left arm gracefully silent even though he could feel the bones grinding together. He felt it with his right hand and it felt like a bag of loose gravel below the fracture. Blood jetted from around the white bone and he began to fade into shock.
“Who? Who...are you people.”
One of the men in camouflaged clothing leaned toward him. He had the thick stench of beer on his breath.
“Sir?”  The colonel faded back in briefly.
“Sir? We are the Pasadena Paintball Club. Your plane crashed. “
He managed to look around at them. Behind them, through a thickening black haze of smoke the City of Los Angeles was buzzing with helicopters and the roar of jet planes. He looked over at his burning plane that lay upside down, its belly smooth with the landing gear tucked away. He saw it. It was a magnetic drone attached near the exhaust port. Somehow that thing had brought him down.
“E.M.P.!” he said, waving the unruined arm in a delirious fashion. “They killed my electrical system!” The men gathered around looked at each other in confusion. “Electromagnetic pulse device. See! Stuck to my bird. Brought me down! Ahhhh…”
He unzipped a chest pocket and tossed a tourniquet out. “Bind my arm. Please! Quickly! I am going to bleed out. “
They began to work. The colonel looked past them at the city and watched puffs of smoke spring up in various areas as other planes fell from the sky, the pilots not as lucky as he.
The blood loss overtook him and he passed out.

Monday, September 16, 2013

13-The Social Worker




He was still on the floor in the hallway when the doorbell rang. The dream had been of her and he together, as they often had done, eating outside. The knocking on the door was incorporated into the dream; she was tapping her glass to get his attention. He finally awoke when Sally began to bark. He stood up a little too quickly and felt the pressure in his arm as his heart again threatened to burst. Breath, he told himself, as his head throbbed. In. Out.
The door glass was clouded, but he could see that the social worker was back. He carried the same clipboard. He pressed himself against the wall and contemplated ignoring him. The revolver was on the floor next to the heater grill. He picked it up and stuffed it into his waistband in the small of his back having only the vaguest idea of intent.
“Hang on. Let me put the dog out. “
He pointed to the garage door and Sally headed there. She looked back to front as if to ask, “Would you like me to hang out? “  but she went out obediently, even nosing the door open as she was inclined to do. “You’re a good dog Sally. Go lay down. “
Returning to the foyer he felt Michelle’s eyes on him from the pictures in the hallway. He felt that she would disapprove and assumed that the guilt came from that knowledge. He could swear he could almost hear her voice, “You are going to shoot him, aren’t you.  “It wasn’t a question, but a tired statement only he could hear, except in the garage Sally’s ears perked up. He hadn’t been fully sure that was plan until Michelle’s voice called to him, and in truth it wasn’t going to be an issue unless he asked to see the bedroom she had died in.
He opened the door. He faintly registered the distant sound of sirens. It seemed like there had been some sort of accident near the city center.
“May I help you?”
The man may have been barely thirty. His dark hair was freshly trimmed and his face was pocked with old acne scars. Charles hated the way government employees always seemed to be better dressed than the normal people; like they never got dirty. That just didn’t seem natural to him, and of course that was why he had a built in resentment for government people like him; they didn’t seem like normal natural people. Takers, not producers. He remembered a picture he had seen once; two men were fishing on opposite sides of a river. One was an average man in fisherman’s garb fishing from the river. The other was a politician in a suit using his fishing pole to try and hook the fisherman’s bucket of caught fish. Michelle had always been his voice of reason, but she was gone now.
“Good afternoon mister Pearl. How are we doing today?”
In the distance, towards town smoke seemed to be rising. The sirens were still distant but there seemed to be more of them.
“Fine.”
He made a pretend gesture over checking his clipboard. “Great. May I…um, come in? “
“Why? Charles eyes were hard and this man seemed more and more like some sort of insect to him. Like a cockroach. They both turned as a car flew past the house on the roadway. It must have been doing eighty miles per hour, away from town.
“Well, sir. I’m here for a welfare check.”
Charles snorted a dry laugh. “Really? Of all the things you people don’t do worth a damn you are going to come here, to my house, every other day and tell me how I should care for my wife? You make me want to vomit.”
He looked stunned. “Please sir. I have a job to do.”
Out of the corner of his eye Charles noticed a man walking down the road about a quarter of a mile off.
“Really.”
The younger man made a pretense of looking at his clipboard again. It reminded Charles of a child’s binky, something to be kept close for comfort. “Yes sir, “he said uncomfortably. “How is Mrs. Pearl? May I come in?”
“Mrs. Pearl is fine. She is right as rain in fact, and no sir, you may not come in. In fact why don’t you fuck off and get off of my property?”
This was a tone the young man had never heard before in his professional capacity and his mouth plopped open in an almost cartoonish fashion. After a few seconds his lips parted as he began to speak but Charles interrupted, “What is your name kid? “
“My name is Mr. Jenkins, and I speak with the authority of, “
Charles interrupted,” you have the authority of a bug kid. And I revoke that. What is your name? Your given name, because you are not worthy of being addressed as mister.”
He looked down. The hands holding the clipboard and his pen fell to his sides and he stood there dejected as if he agreed. “My name is Michael. Michael Hicks. “The man in the street was getting closer now and it caught Charles eye. There was something on his shirt, something brown.
“You government people can’t live in the real world, the one you have regulated to death. The one you have created. Congratulations. You wouldn’t last a week out there in the economy that you have helped create. All you do is take from those that produce so do us both a favor and turn around and get the…”
The guy coming down the middle of the street was turning into his driveway. They both turned to look. He was in tan shirt and pants but his torso was covered in what looked like brown vomit. His eyes were black. Not just the pupils either, the whole thing. He picked up speed as he came at them. He made a gurgling accusatory sound as he came towards them.
“Kaa. Kaa. Kaa! “
“What the hell? “ Charles asked nobody in particular but closed the door just in time. As the puke covered man got close he coughed right at Michael and sprayed him with fluid. Charles had moved to the window, so he could see.
“Oh my God! My God! What is this?” Michael backed off the porch trying to brush away the slime and made a hasty retreat to his car and sped away. Inside the pen the dogs were going nuts. Charles didn’t have any idea why this man was on his porch but he made his way to the back of the house as quickly as his legs would carry him, went outside and opened the gates to the dogs enclosure. They ran snarling around the house. He heard barking and growls. The man kept yelling the same snotty sounding ugly sound, “Kaa! Kaa! “Charles went around, now with the revolver in his hand. The dogs were surrounding him, going berserk, and ripping his flesh from his arms. He had never seen them act so vicious. The man never looked at Charles who calmly leveled the gun and blew most of his brains out the side of his head with a single shot. The 44 slug didn’t just make a clean hole in the man’s skull; it blew it apart and he dropped in a free fall. The dogs sniffed at him, their tails tucked. They were licking at the ground around him; not at the gore from his head. Charles went closer and looked.
A mass of black maggots was streaming from his mouth, and the dogs seemed to be eating them greedily. The part of his brain still inside the skull was a glossy black, the same color and sheen as the maggots. Some of them seemed to be scattering but one made for his leg.
“Jesus! “ He jumped back.
He ran to the shed and grabbed some charcoal fluid and doused the bugs and the body. The fire whoofed up and the body seemed to burn with an unusual gusto.
He looked back towards the city where the smoke seemed to be getting thicker. His phone line wasn’t working. That was disturbing. He wanted to call 911. He could hear the sirens wailing and then it came; not the usual aching in his left hand but a violent muscle spasm as his aorta burst and his heart suddenly stopped beating. He staggered back to the porch and made it just inside the doorway and into the hallway before falling. He faded out staring at a picture of Michelle, hanging in the hallway. Sally came through the dog door from the garage. She licked his face.
He had been nice and she loved him. She was a good dog. He had told her so and she understood.
Charles died there, in the hallway. Outside, the body burned vigorously.
Sally went outside and was drawn to the squirming forms on the ground not burning. She licked them up, and the pups inside her belly absorbed the nutrition. Through her eyes, the sky took on a new color she had never experienced before.
It was all happening so quickly.


Friday, September 13, 2013

12-News

News


Channel Four Eye Witness News, Dallas Texas

“Good evening, I am Diane Walker. “

“And I am Stephen Mills. Good evening.”

“We have a large number of reports of assault and fatalities related, authorities say to the street drug known as ‘bath salts. “

“At least 37 people have been killed in the last twenty four hours alone in just the greater Dallas Fort Worth area. Horrific traffic camera footage, and we have to warn you, it’s extremely graphic, shows an attack on a school bus in the down town area. We advise you to remove any young people from the room and we are giving a five second warning starting in five, four…”

The blue screen behind the anchors displayed the footage and even though the victims were blurred it was still disturbing. Two naked men smashed the windows out and dragged victims onto the street. The little arms flailed and then were still as the assailants held them down and then bent down over them. The men went to the bus again and again and the driver fled. The anchors had sterile lifeless eyes, conditioned to real life horror.

The male held his hand to his left ear, “wait, we have new information. Let’s go now to our traffic copter.  Mike Nolan, what are you seeing? “

The blue screen switched to a close up of their aerial reporter. He had thick ear phones on and the obligatory bushy mustache that motorcycle cops and traffic reports seemed to have to have.

“Good evening, Diane and Steve.

“We are witnessing National Guard troops in armored vehicles pouring into the city. We just seen Apache gunships and I can’t even believe I am saying this, firing into the crowds on 5th and Cheshire where the bus attack happened.”

He panned the camera out and it focused on a tank on the street. Flashes of light flickered from the turret silently in a surreal burst of fire.

“Things seem to be accelerating at a disturbing pace. We are now being ordered out of the airspace. This is Mike Nolan, Eye Witness in the Sky. “

“Okay Mike, “Diane said, now betraying a hint of personal angst and concern. “Please get back home safely. “

But, as they watched on live television, in the background through the cockpit window they saw an A10 Warthog airplane swooping in, the tooth painted nose clearly visible belching cannon fire at the news helicopter. There was a flash of smoke and fire and the screen faded to static.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

They went to commercial, still completely oblivious to the war that was beginning to rage in Los Angeles.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

11-The Dead Awake

The Dead Awake

 

Young Danny Fulbright lay on the table in The Center for Disease Control. He was now strapped down because over the last few days he had become restless and violent, which made no sense to the attending physicians, as he had no heart beat that they could detect.
Not that it mattered now.
Something had gone wrong and despite the full body bio-hazard suits they all wore and the decontamination procedures whatever was eating Danny alive was in them too. Doctor Jorn coughed inside his bio-suit, and one of the black maggots they had been chasing around the operating theater ejected from his mouth and impacted on the clear face shield along with some bloody chunks of tissue. He looked at it and he slumped in a dejected manner. It promptly began to inch across the facemask into the dark interior of his sweaty suit leaving a trail of his blood.
He unzipped it and stepped out.
The Colonel had been unable to contain the threat. A digital map on the wall showed flashing blots of red light where known out breaks were occurring, but it had not been updated in three days so surely the problem was much bigger by now. Three days was when most of the staff had fled; one of the cleaning staff had propped open the main door so that it couldn’t automatically lock as intended in case of a bio-hazard breach. Aside from the bodies of the suicides and Danny, he was all that was left.
The boy had by now lost all of his normal teeth, and his face was now mostly a gaping hole. The nose cavity was gone. The new orifice was lined with suckerfish like lips and inside his new mouth rows of needle sharp teeth were growing in.
The brain scan images had shown the organism wrapped around and fused with his cerebral cortex. Apparently when the strongest of the creatures succeeded in reaching the brain the other smaller maggot-like creatures abandoned the host and went looking for a new one. As far as the medical staff had been able to tell the parasites had pushed fluids through the veins, maybe to keep the limbs from becoming necrotic.
Now the boys were open and looking clearly at him. They were black.
He was calm. Jorn was trembling. One of his fascinations as a young doctor had been lethal injections and executions, and he had served a stint in the Texas state prison system where he had been physician in charge in twenty three lethal injections.
He was now gripped with the same anxiety many of those facing execution had shown, because the black maggots meant death. He remembered that there had been a large difference between the inmates that had “found Christ “and those who were just garden variety rapist and murders; The Christ believers had gone to the chambers calm, and in many cases had spoken kindly to the guards. The others had often times had to be drugged in order to be compliant or had messed themselves at the door to the execution room. Many had screamed and and grasped the door frame and pushed away the table only to end their stint on Earth begging to fade to black in terror.
He himself had never believed in God. It was trendy not to for the science and medical crowd. He knew that he was going to die and he was terrified. Except…
Danny Fulbright wasn’t dead.
He was maimed. His face was a gaping hole lined with teeth and he had no heart beat but his eyes were alive and looking at him as a child might gaze lovingly at a parent.
He unstrapped his arms and legs and helped him down from the table. His blue hospital gown was filthy with gore and feces and the boy was helpful as he changed him into the clothes he had been brought in wearing; all the while gazing at Jorn.
“There, “he said. Tears now flowed down his face. He was nearly paralyzed with fear but at the same time he felt an almost overwhelming love for this poor ruined child. He didn’t understand that. “I am going to take care of you. “
The boy didn’t reply, but he rubbed his belly in the universal language of hunger.
They made their way out of the Center for Disease Control. It was after two in the morning and for now, the streets were deserted. They passed some homeless men around a barrel of burning trash and as he pressed the boy’s face into his side to hide his strange new features, he almost thought of him as “it “for a second. They hurried on.
They finally came to an open gas station and the boy hurried inside. The man working the counter screamed like a dog caught in a trap as Danny Fulbright leapt on him with amazing speed and filled his belly.
Overhead, a full moon leered down and Doctor Jorn covered his ears. He spat on the sidewalk and moaned as saw a molar in the fluid.