Invasion Page 2

  The human race was in a race for its life.

  So many were dead. So, so many.

  Like David. The love of my life who put on his badge and served and protected. I'd always worried about him. Every single shift. This is not how I expected it to end for him. Maybe a stray bullet. A hostage situation out of control. A drive by in the worst part of town. But not this. He hadn't signed up for monsters and mayhem.

  When I was especially tired and the road ahead seemed tireless and bleak, I thought of him. I reflected on our life together. All the happy moments. All the not so happy moments, nonetheless precious in my mind. But there was little place for grief now. My full concentration had to be on my daughters.

  My daughters who were in the back of this van. It was an old piece of junk we'd picked up just inside the North Carolina border because the computer system in my brand new van had given out. It was only a year old. If life had been normal, David would have been up in arms at the dealership. It was funny, because I’d once sworn I’d never drive a minivan. I wasn’t your quintessential carpooler. I wasn’t the mom other moms asked to pick their kids up from school. Yet, somehow once I’d sat in the large vehicle, I’d felt at home. I was a mother it seemed, right down to the very marrow in my bones. Still though, a brand new van going belly up after a year? It made me rethink embracing the soccer mom image.

  No dealerships now though. We'd had to abandon the silver vehicle with the television screens, take what we could carry, and pray another vehicle would present itself. And it had. A shit replacement and the gas mileage sucked, but it drove. And it beat the hell out of walking.

  Two-thirty. The sun is bright and I try to find some comfort in its rays. I am sore, beyond exhausted. Ready to quit.

  We'd been on the road for about nine hours now since my small nap. I'd risked no stops in that time to break up the monotony of the road. But I was nearing desperation point. I had to stop, had to urinate. It was hard for me to pee and drive at the same time. If I could, I would. Sometimes I longed for the convenience of the male genitalia. If I were a man, I could have grabbed an empty water bottle and multi-tasked.

  Water. God, I was thirsty too. But I never drank very much, only enough to keep me fully functioning. Anything else went to my girls.

  "Thanks for calming her, button." Kara had stopped crying. Megan held the pacifier to her sister's mouth.

  "I don't mind." I should have taken the binky away eons ago, but she was so attached to it. After a few moments, Kara batted away Megan's hand and held the pacifier herself. She was starting to be so independent.

  Kara was sucking on her binky loudly, her little mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling for air. She was hungry and I knew her little stomach was probably scrunching with pain. I hated that I didn't have food that I could just open and hand to my daughter.

  I'd pumped breast milk for the first nineteen months of Kara's life. As soon as we'd started life on the run though, my milk had dried up. My body had more important challenges to face; milk production was low on the list. In another situation, I might be harder on myself about it. I'd wanted to make it to the two year mark, like I had with Megan.

  Of course, I'd also wanted to raise both my girls in a stable, happy home. That desire had been shot to shit too.

  A little whine from Kara called my attention back to her. She gave Megan a sideways glance and then intentionally spat out her pacifier. As soon as Megan recognized what had happened, Kara let loose with a high pitched wail.

  Reaching into the patched tote bag beside me, I found the white formula cylinder. I shook it, the sound inside was pathetic. There was very little left. I'd tried so hard to conserve it, giving Kara diluted bottles. That just meant she got hungry sooner though.

  Kara had started transition foods well before the invasion, but she'd proven to be a really picky eater. She enjoyed chicken nuggets (dinosaur shaped, of course) and diced hotdogs. She liked toast too and peanut butter. The only vegetable I could get her to eat was sweet peas. She liked to pick the little green orbs up and smash them with her thumb and pointer finger before putting them in her mouth.

  Unfortunately, once started on 'real' food, Kara had refused to eat most jarred baby food. I'd salvaged several baby jars hunting through the leftovers at abandoned grocery stores, but she wouldn't eat them. That's a bit of a lie; I did get her to eat one jar of pureed mac and cheese. That had been a total fluke though.

  All the perishable foods had gone bad early on so it wasn't possible to find nuggets and dogs and it was a feat to find preserved goods that Kara would eat. Whenever I stumbled across a can of sweet peas or a jar of peanut butter, I jumped for joy. She might've eaten canned chicken too, but I rarely came across tinned meats. I could have gotten creative if I did find some-claim that the dinosaurs had all been stripped of their 'breading clothes'.

  It would have been a longshot.

  One time I'd found spreadable potted beef... at least it claimed to be beef. It was flesh-colored and so, so nasty. Like the human equivalent of fancy cat food. I ate it anyway, spooning it into my mouth with my index finger. I think just eating my finger would have tasted better. I'd offered it to the girls. They'd looked at me like I'd sprouted a third eyeball.

  My gaze focused on the dash display as I realized that I hadn't been keeping a close eye on our gas level. My heart rate sped up, as it always did, at the sight of the gauge needle hovering just above half a tank. I'd become more efficient at changing vehicles and siphoning gas, but standing exposed, standing still-it wasn't a thing I enjoyed.

  Another hour passed. It felt like there were lead weights attached to my upper eyelids. Stay awake. Keep driving. We'll stop soon.

  I took an exit a couple of hours before dark, when my eyes were so heavy and my body was so achy that I thought I might pass out. We need feed that didn't require cooking. We needed formula. God, I need a nap.

  I drove about five miles from the highway exit. We were lucky. The town was small, but had one sizeable grocery store. The steady sunlight was reassuring, even though I knew that there had been daytime sightings. I had to choose between two evils though and night time pit stops were definitely asking for trouble. At least in the daylight, we had a better chance of not seeing one. A nugget of fear in my belly urged me to accept the truth: nothing was safe now, nothing was a sure thing. Everything was chance.

  Pulling up directly in front of the store entrance, I shifted into park. Before doing anything else, I reached into the van's center console and retrieved the gun. Opening my door, I told Megan to stay put until I got Kara out of the car. Maybe it would have been safer to leave them locked in the vehicle, venture in by myself. But I couldn't leave them. I'd been stuck to them like Velcro these six months. I'd kept them safe.

  The small firearm fit snuggly between my skin and waistband. The safety was on... I never knew when it might be time to switch it off. My fingers twitched, remember the feel of pulling the trigger. My heart thumped, thumped, remembering the aftermath of killing.

  I was changing, in this mad world full of monsters, and I didn't know if it was for better or worse.

  Pushing the girls around in a blue and silver grocery cart, I stuck to the first half of each aisle. I made sure we were always well-lit with plenty of sun pouring in from the huge windows to bathe the ugly linoleum and abandoned cash registers.

  I tried to make it fun, racing through the aisles. It was for the girls though. I could never truly let lose, frolic with abandon in a place that might hold a threat.

  Kara giggled. Megan was a bit harder to convince. Eventually I got her to smile. It was a weak thing, wilted and in need of nourishment. But it was a smile.

  The store was picked pretty clean; most stores along the road have been. I saw a few items further down the aisles, but I dared not venture past the sunlight. Without electricity, the back of the store was semi-dark. Not worth the risk, even with the gun at my disposal.

  I searched above and below each shelving unit.
I found three small cans of sweet potatoes, some beans and weenies, two cardboard boxes of shelf-stable soy milk that were a bit past their expiration date, a couple bottles of mineral water, a small jar of almond butter, and even a can of brown bread.

  My jeans were covered in dust by the time I was done. My palms ached with the memory of being pressed against the floor and shoved under the shelves. But I'd found us some food.

  There was still some dried rice and beans in the van, but they had to be cooked. A long enough stop to boil water was a rare occurrence.

  This would be easier. Open the top, spoon the food out. Good carbs and proteins, not useless junk. I wondered briefly if Kara would eat the sweet potatoes. They would be so good for her growing body. She probably wouldn't, but I could hope.

  My mouth watered thinking of the beans and weenies. Funny how I never craved steak and chocolate anymore. I guess the body learns to adapt and accept. It learns to give us some joy despite hardship.

  I was pushing the girls towards the exit when a glass cabinet near the cigarette display caught my eye. I didn't see anything inside, but I had to make sure. I tried to slide the door open, but it was locked.

  Wrapping my hand, which now held a can of potatoes, in several paper shopping bags, I punched. My can-holding fist met a brittle resistance and my ears were greeted by the tinkling of glass on linoleum.

  At the very back of the half-height cabinet were two canisters of 0 to 12 month Infa-Grow. Toddler formula would have been better, but I was a beggar here. And I was grateful. Beyond grateful.

  I zoomed towards the exit, actually letting a little happiness seep into my gait.

  My race car sounds were pathetic, but Kara laughed again anyway. Megan rolled her eyes. When I pulled up to the van, I tickled my eldest mercilessly until she relented, laughed, and I was satisfied. Her armpits were especially ticklish and I was cruel enough to exploit that fact. It's a mother's prerogative after all.

  "Stop, mom!" Megan laughed harder. "Stop! I need to pee!"

  I laughed at my little, serious girl with the tiny bladder, then buckled Kara into her car seat so I could stand guard beside Megan as she squatted next to the van and tinkled. The stream of urine was only slightly pungent.

  When Megan was safely in the van, I loaded our spoils into the front passenger's seat for easy access. Then I relieved the ache in my own bladder. My stream was smelly, decayed; I'd held it in too long. An entire day almost. I needed to drink more water, more than the amount it took to stay functioning. But whatever I consumed meant less for my daughters. That wasn't acceptable.

  There were three other cars abandoned at the grocery store. I grabbed the five foot stretch of severed hose and the empty gas can from the back of the van. Better get some fuel now before nightfall. I told Megan what I was doing and then locked the van doors.

  The gun nestled against my waist gave me courage.

  The nearest car was a burgundy coupe. I looked back at the van; Megan waved. I waved and then sighed. This was one of the worst parts of survival-road. I shoved the hose down in the gas reservoir of the coupe and then pulled it back. The hose was several inches wet; there wouldn't be enough fuel in it to fill the plastic, ten gallon gas can.

  I stuck the hose back in the gas tank and then put my mouth on the end I was holding. I quickly sucked in several short bursts of air to get the gas flowing. I wish I had a clear hose so I could see the fuel coming, but I didn't. I sucked one more time and tasted gasoline. I rushed to get the hose into the gas can. My mouth tasted like chemicals and saliva.

  I spit, letting the trail of mucous run down my chin. Liquid wasn't coming out of the hose anymore. The gas can was only a third full. I repeated the process at the next two cars. My eyes constantly looked back at the van, making sure the girls were okay.

  When I got back, Megan unlocked the doors and opened hers to ask if I needed help.

  "No, baby. You just stay in there, okay? I'm almost finished." She re-closed her door with little hesitation. I poured the newly acquired gas into the van tank. When I turned the key in the ignition, I was relieved to watch the gas gauge needle rise steadily and stabilize just shy of the full tank mark. Locking the doors, I leaned over and put the gun back in its resting place. I was thankful that I hadn't had to use it.

  I'd already begun driving again when my stomach gurgled with emptiness. Pulling the can of brown bread out of the tan satchel, I used the crappy opener on my key chain to painstakingly open the bread. Good thing I was a pro at knee-driving.

  I rolled down my window slightly and tossed the jagged lid. We were on the cusp of twilight, but I could still see well enough to watch the dull piece of metal hit the ground and fall lifeless on the blacktop.

  Who'd have thought-bread in a can? But it was really nice to have that dense and sweet taste in my mouth. I gave a chunk to each of the girls, my arm angling awkwardly towards the rear seats.

  Kara had a difficult time chewing it, but it calmed her and occupied her mouth. Megan hated molasses, but food was scarce and she knew to set a good example for her baby sister. I watched her eat the bread dutifully. Her nostril flared slightly.

  "How's it taste, girls?" I watched Megan's expression move from dislike to false cheer. The transition took obvious effort.

  "Yum." Megan said with forced enthusiasm. Kara wide-grinned in response; her teeth were darkened by small, sticky pieces of the bread. My 'Kara approved' food list was growing: canned peas, canned bread. Now if only I could add sweet potatoes to the list... maybe she'd like the almond butter too. It was almost like peanut butter, right?

  It was late enough now that Kara began to doze. Her little fist rested in her lap, still clutching a chunk of food. Her pink stuffed animal was nestled in her car seat beside her. It was so dirty, months and months with no washing. There was no way she'd give it up though.

  David had bought it for her the day she was born, in that small hospital gift shop. Maybe I was the one who couldn't let it go?

  I knew I'd need a real stop for some actual rest soon, but not now. I'd push through till morning when it was safest. I had enough gas for that. I hoped.

  Opening the small change drawer nestled below the radio dials, I pulled out a small white bottle inscribed Stay Awake. I took two of the pills with a small gulp of mineral water.

  The sun falling behind the forest seemed angelic, even in the context of these awful days. The trees weren't withered and decayed here, but tall and proud. Not all groves were so lucky.

  Dead trees.

  They were one of our first indications that something was really wrong. Whole groves withered and grayed. The trees showed no above-ground signs of disease or trauma. It was as if... as if the trees had given up on living.

  But we knew now that there was another reason.

  Without foraging in the upper world, the humanoids had very few material types to work with to fabricate weapons against us. What our ancestors would have made for hunting and protection in early America-bows, arrows, spears-were constructed of dried-out root wood and bones harvested from long decayed carcasses.

  Their curved claws were weapons themselves, but not as effective at range as a spear or bow and arrow.

  It had inexplicably happened before-a crop of trees dying. A forest withering. A small, localized event explained away by science. That had been small potatoes though. The undergrounders were just taking what they needed to exist.

  But when they were ready to make themselves known, to invade on a large scale, they needed more.

  Trees. Trees that used to give us oxygen and life, died so that we might die; their water-gathering limbs severed and bastardized. It was a cruel turn of fate.

  It was ten. The girls slept soundly. I wonder if they dream and, if they do, what their minds show them. Do I really want to know? I hoped for unicorns and fairies. I feared they saw the monsters when they closed their eyes. Like I did.

  So damn tired. I was having trouble focusing. Blinking, I pushed my body, squeezed it
a little more to pry out every last drop of energy that it contained. I slapped myself across the face. It stung, but it woke me up.

  In a flash, a flash so quick I thought it an illusion, I saw the body of a dark snake slither off the pavement and into the tall roadside grass.

  Midnight now. The headlights made a tunnel-like dent in the inky blackness. I began to whistle, a sorry sound in the black. The whistle altered of its own choice into a hum. The hum changed into words.

  The lyrics talked about ghouls coming out to play. About darkness and dawning. It was about keeping some things private. But then it was about shaking life off.

  How can you shake off something like this?

  The end of the world.

  Monsters.

  Constant fear.

  The van lights illuminated a small, brick structure several yards from the road. Metallic legs shone in the light... a cell tower on its side. I glanced at the useless mobile phone sitting on the front passenger seat. I don't know why I kept it. It was a common mistake we humans made-to think that advances made us smarter.

  They didn't have our technological advances and they didn't need them to be effective in their dominance.

  Popular science fiction certainly had it wrong.

  The end was beneath our feet, not above our heads.

  Our world had become so reliant on the ease of things that we were crippled by convenience. We were the babes in the woods. We were blind... and scared. And now we were a species on the run.

  "Mom?" A tired voice from the back seat.

  "Yeah?" I could only see the outline of Megan; the rear seats were so shadowed.

  "What time is it?" The question was slurred with sleepiness.

  "Very late. Go back to bed, button."

  Megan shifted a little and fell silent.

  Silence always gave me too much time to think.

  When the undergrounders came up in full force, we hadn't stood a chance. The government had set the full force of our military upon them. Everything we had in the way of defense. And it hadn't been enough.