Strike (13 page)

“Ahh!” Kent screamed and grabbed his hand. “I just got burned.”

“By what?” Tori asked. “Oww!”

She grabbed at her neck.

“It’s raining,” Kent complained. “Acid.”

We ran for the protection of a building to get away from the microburst that had opened over our heads. The mini-squall moved down the street, dropping a light mist that sizzled and spit where it hit the ground.

“Now we know what the umbrellas are for,” Kent said. “That hurt.”

Another mini-squall sprinkled tainted rain on a group of people on the far side of the street. They instantly raised their silver umbrellas to protect themselves.

“You guys okay?” I asked them both.

“Yeah, it didn’t break the skin,” Tori replied. “What a nightmare.”

We rounded a corner and were faced with a building that looked unlike any of the others. It was shaped like a half-dome and took up an entire block. It stood only a few stories high and there was one large door that looked to be made of iron that was shut tight. In front were two armed Retro guards.

“Guess that’s where they keep the good stuff,” Kent said.

Directly across the street from the low dome was a huge building that towered over everything else. It was set back from the street with a large cement-paved courtyard in front. The front doors blew open and a crowd of people flooded out. Like the people on the street, they wore the dark-pants-and-bright-shirt combo. In this case, their shirts were all electric blue. Some raised silver umbrellas, others glanced to the sky for fear of getting dripped on and burned. The one thing that nobody did was talk. At least not to each other. Many had their eyes glued on handheld devices that were probably smart phones. It was a miracle there wasn’t a major pileup of these human drones bumping into one another.

“Looks like a meeting of the blue-club just got out,” Kent said.

“It’s eerie,” Tori said.

“What is?” Kent asked. “Besides everything.”

“All those people and nobody is talking to anyone else. It’s like they’re all operating in their own little world even though they’re part of a crowd.”

“I want to see what they’ve got going on in there,” I said and headed across the street.

Kent and Tori followed, both glancing to the sky for fear of getting burned again.

There was a small group of blue-shirt civilians standing in the courtyard, all staring at handheld devices. One guy spotted us, nudged his friend, and dropped a plastic cup onto the ground.

I ignored him and moved past.

“Hey!” the guy yelled.

“I guess they speak after all,” Kent whispered.

I knew he was talking to me so I stopped. The last thing we needed was to cause a scene and draw attention.

“Pick that up,” the guy ordered.

I wanted to swing the shovel at him, but I grit my teeth, took a few steps back and picked up the cup.

“That’s a good boy,” the guy said, taunting. “Get used to it. It’s your turn to clean up after us.”

I looked the guy in the eye and saw something I didn’t expect. At first I thought he was a typical bully who was showing off for his friends. That’s what bullies did for laughs and to prove their superiority. That’s not what I got from this guy. He wasn’t laughing. His buddies weren’t either. They all glared at me with contempt. Though I was the one being abused and had every right to be angry, it felt as though these guys truly hated me. This wasn’t some dumb prank, it was punishment.

“Say thank you,” the guy said through gritted teeth.

I didn’t get it. Why was I supposed to thank him after I picked up his cup?

“Thank you,” I muttered. It wasn’t worth getting into a fight over and drawing the attention of Retro soldiers.

The guy held up a threatening finger and said, “You’re lucky to still be here. Remember that.”

With that, the group moved on.

I wanted to run after them and ask what he meant, but Tori grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the building.

“Let it go,” she ordered.

“What was that about?” I asked, more confused than angry.

“Yeah,” Kent said. “I’m not feeling all that lucky to be here.”

“Did you see him?” I asked. “He wanted to take my head off.”

“I saw it,” Tori said. “I don’t get it either.”

We continued on toward the building and came face-to-face with a single Retro soldier who stood blocking our way. It was a woman who looked to be my mom’s age, wearing fatigues and a black beret.

“Hold it right there,” she commanded.

We stopped and immediately looked to the ground to show subservience. After all, we were lowly primates.

“What’s your number?” she asked.

For a second I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“He’s Zero Three One One,” Tori said for me.

I saw the outline of the baton weapon up Tori’s sleeve. She was ready to bring it out the second things went south.

The Retro soldier frowned. Something was wrong. It seemed as though she knew we weren’t supposed to be there, but how could she? She raised her handheld device and quickly input something.

Tori grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the curious woman.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Tori said. “We’ve got orders to report inside and we’re very late.”

“No, wait!” she called out.

We didn’t.

I expected the soldier to pull out a baton and start firing at us. Or sound an alarm. I stole a quick look back to see she was watching us, but more with curiosity and confusion than with disdain. For some reason she was having trouble processing our existence.

“Are you crazy?” Kent whispered urgently to Tori.

“Crazier to stay there,” Tori said back. “I’m not gonna just sit still and let them grab us.”

Kent glanced back and said, “She’s not coming after us.”

“Just keep moving,” Tori commanded.

We picked up the pace, and seconds later we entered through the swinging doors of the large building. Once safely inside, we stopped in what was a huge atrium-like lobby.

“Did you know her?” Tori asked me.

“No. How would I know her?”

“She sure seemed to know you,” Kent said. “I’ll bet she’s texting Bova right now. Or Feit.”

“All the more reason to keep moving,” I said and walked on, moving deeper into the building.

“Pretend like you’re sweeping,” I said to Kent.

He dropped the broom to the floor and gave it a few half-hearted pushes.

The place was bustling with people moving quickly as if late for appointments. There were a few soldiers in uniform scattered through the crowd, but mostly everyone wore the dark-pants-colorful-shirt combo. There were both men and women, and all sorts of ethnic groups represented as well. What I didn’t see were any kids or elderly folks. It was an evenly mixed, racially diverse group. The only thing they had in common, besides their outfits, was their total disdain for us. People blew by us like we were air. A few threw angry glares at us, but there was no more contact than that.

As with the group of people outside, none of them spoke to one another. There was no socializing. No chatter. No laughter. These people were all business.

A long, wide corridor stretched out from the far end of the lobby. A group of people all wearing red shirts hurried through as if they had just been released from a meeting. Nobody spoke. Nobody laughed. Nobody communicated in any way other than to look at their handheld devices.

They all seemed as emotionless and drone-like as their black fighter planes.

“I want to see what’s going on back there,” I said and made my way through the busy lobby.

To either side of the corridor were large rooms that appeared to be lecture halls. Each room was filled with people, all wearing the same colored shirt, all facing someone behind a lectern giving a speech. The rooms were open so it was easy to hear what each speaker was saying.

The speaker in the first room was a gray-haired guy who could have been a college professor. He wore the black-and-gray camouflage fatigues of the Retros. Floating in space behind him was a 3-D hologram of some sort of device with pipes and gauges.

“. . . continuing the supply of safe, clean drinking water is crucial. You will each be assigned to a critical filtration plant where your principal duty will be to keep the water flowing. If there are native survivors you can press into service to take advantage of their expertise, all the better, but our goal here will be to educate you on how to maintain and repair these systems without the need for native support.”

As he turned to refer to his floating diagram I motioned for the others to follow me to the next speech. We passed a wall that separated the two groups to find another lecture hall packed with people who all wore the same forest-green-colored shirts. On the stage was a woman in fatigues who was backed by the 3-D image of what looked like a massive herd of cows.

“. . . this feedlot in Greely, Colorado, was left intact. We have sent in operatives to ensure the continued health of the herd, but the effort to feed the colonies will be a great one that will require massive manpower. There are feedlots similar to this one all over the globe. They will be the principal source of our meat. Our protein. Refer to your tablets to learn of your assignments and the farms where you will be assigned.”

We moved on to the next lecture to find the audience was filled with uniformed Retro soldiers. My heart started to beat faster. Tori clutched my hand.

Giving this lecture was a heavyset guy with a buzz cut and golden eagles on his shoulders.

“. . . these are not your friends. They are not your brothers. When you look at the natives, there is only one thing that you should be thinking: You reap what you sow. Feel no pity for them. They have brought this on themselves. They are culpable and now they have paid the price. Do not form emotional bonds or friendships in any way, shape, or form. Do not deviate from the mission. Treating the natives like humans is a treasonable offense. Let me repeat that: a treasonable offense. Are there any questions?”

Nobody raised a hand.

“I’m guessing we’re the natives they’re talking about,” Kent whispered.

“They’re being brainwashed to hate us,” Tori added softly.

We continued down the long corridor of lecture halls hearing talks on topics like waste removal, housing, future dome construction, electrical power, and the proper use and administration of the Ruby to the natives. Us.

The three of us made it to the far end of the corridor after hearing an earful. A door led out of the hallway and into a stairwell where we could talk freely. We stood there for a long while, trying to get our minds around what we had just witnessed.

“It’s an invasion all right,” Kent finally said. “They’re training people to run the world.
Our
world. I’m telling you, they’re aliens.”

“I just can’t believe that,” I said.

“Really?” Kent shot back, exasperated. “Then what makes sense to you? That thousands of crazies from all over the world left their normal lives, got together to build this crappy city, and convinced the United States Air Force to wipe out most of the rest of the world’s population so that they could step in and run things their way? Oh yeah, and along the way they invented freaking mad technology and figured out how to manufacture it all without anybody knowing they were up to no good until it was too late? Is that what works for you?”

I wanted to argue and offer a reasonable counter-theory, but I had nothing.

“I think maybe Kent’s right,” Tori said meekly.

“Damn right I am!” Kent shouted, pacing anxiously. “We were invaded by aliens. They could be robots for all we know. They sure act like it. They studied us, they know how everything works, they think we’re no better than bugs, and they are about to overrun the planet. It’s over, Tucker. We lost. Get used to that orange suit because you’ll be spending the rest of your life in it. Or what’s left of it.”

“Suppose it is aliens,” Tori said. “That still doesn’t explain how they were able to construct this city and take over the United States Air Force.”

“I don’t think we’re on Earth, that’s how,” Kent said. “That transport thing shot us to the other side of the universe and this is planet Torchyourbutt.”

“No,” I said bluntly. “That isn’t it.”

“Why not?” Kent said. “Because it’s too hard to believe? I’ll believe just about anything right now.”

“Because there’s something odd about this place,” I said. “I can’t put my finger on it but there’s something wrong here.”

“Gee, you think?” Kent said sarcastically.

“I want a better look at this city,” I said and went for a flight of stairs that led up.

I took the stairs two at a time, climbing higher through multiple floors until I reached a dead end and a door that I didn’t hesitate to push open. We were hit with a rush of stinking hot air as we stepped out onto the vast, flat roof of the huge building.

We were higher than any of the surrounding buildings and now we could see for miles. The city before us was an extensive, clogged mass of similarly ugly structures. The hideous sprawl went on for mile after mile. There were no parks, no ball fields, and no green spaces whatsoever. None of the buildings had any character. It was one squat, sand-colored cube after another.

Again, the chemical smell hit hard.

“That’s where it’s coming from,” I said, pointing to my right.

Far in the distance, one end of the city was taken up by what looked to be factories. Soaring stacks belched dark, colorful smoke that joined to form massive clouds of industrial particles that hung over the city like a filthy rainbow.

“That’s what we’re smelling,” I said. “It must be where they’re building the planes.”

The only other structure that stood out was the giant steel dome that loomed high, not far from us. The rest of the city was a crowded, filthy dump.

“We really did come through the gate to hell,” Kent said, soberly.

“This is . . . this is wrong,” Tori said, stunned. “I’ve never heard of any city that looks like this and rains acid.”

“I don’t think anybody has,” I said. “This place must have been built secretly to prepare for the invasion. This is where the Retros have come to live and prepare to take over the world.”