Ranger Martin and the Alien Invasion Read online

  Minutes flew by before movement began to surface from the caged bodies. Moans drifted from the pile of twisted arms and legs into the ears of the soldiers standing at the ready, gripping their rifles and maintaining their formation.

  Harold heard it and elbowed David, nodding in the direction of the cage. David did the same to Billy, but Billy already had been spying on the sight. A breath of relief poured from Harold after he had thought the crowd was safe again.

  In the cage, arms flung to the surface of the mound and pushed the firstlings to the top. There really was no other way to describe it other than to say they rose. Even though the bodies lifted themselves erect, no life remained in them. Their eyes burst open and they all glowed white. They dragged to the fence, moaned and screeched at the soldiers on the other side, wanting to make food of the living. As more of the dead rose, faces white, flesh torn from the rays that had invaded their souls, green flowed from their parts.

  Once he saw all the dead had raised, the leader of the squad motioned to his men to aim their weapons. As the groans sounded louder and the fence rattled fiercer, the dead peeled their teeth as if they had wanted a bite of an apple.

  Harold shook his head and cried. Not because of his broken jaw wired shut, but because he realized all hope for the former prisoners were lost. The people were all gone, replaced by things that craved human and lusted after the flesh.

  The leader of the squad waved a hand and threw it to his side. The squad opened fire on the caged zombies. Bullets crashed into sinew. Heads exploded, releasing green slime over the eaters. Bodies dropped. Limbs broke. Jaws shattered, and green explosions filled the air. Emerald streams poured on the ground as the bodies piled on top of one another.

  “Now,” the general turned in a quick about-face during the shooting, “can someone please explain to me why no one informed me of your visit.”

  The government suits remained in their seats at the tables trading clueless expressions. Their fingers had stopped tapping, their feet had stopped shuffling, and more as a reflex, they cupped their hands, laying them on their lap. The shootings continued with little hope they would stop. The suits shifted in their chairs, rattled by the gunshots piercing their ears. No one answered the general. They sat in silence imagining the bullets cracking the skulls of the victims.

  “Well?” The general unclasped his hands from behind his back, marched to the front of the tables, took a stance before the suits and crossed his arms giving them a stern look. “I’m waiting.”

  The suits came in the mess hall with the preconceived notion they could walk in on the general’s party and dictate what he could do. This is what they thought, but as the shooting continued and as the general stared at them, they squirmed even more, wanting the distractions to end. One of them opened his mouth but the pops and bangs overshadowed his willingness to speak through the ruckus.

  It stopped. A few errant gunshots here and there, in the end, though, it stopped.

  “General Grayson,” A white-haired man in his sixties spoke for the others. “We’re here to ensure the operation is running smoothly with little interference, and with the full cooperation of the military.”

  Another errant gunshot went off to make the white-haired man jump.

  “I understand that, Mr. Secretary.” Grayson always called them by their title. It was when he was in a foul mood that he would call them by their last name, or other names for that matter. “As long as everyone keeps out of my way, I can do my job. It’s when, if you pardon the expression, Mr. Secretary, suits stick their nose in my affairs that I get agitated.”

  “Which is it general?”

  “Come again.”

  “The expression. Suits or sticking our nose in your affairs.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Secretary Emerton.”

  On cue, one of the other flunkies passed a briefcase to Emerton. Placing it on the table, he opened it with the back popping toward the general. Grayson’s arms fell to his side, his right hand an inch from his gun. For all General Grayson knew, the secretary could have pulled a gun from the case and shot him right there on the spot.

  “My intention was not to patronize you, sir.” He slapped a large file on the table, closed the briefcase and pushed it aside in front of the other suits. He centered the file and opened it. After skimming the first page, he flipped through several others before reaching the one he wanted. Lifting it from the file, he turned it around and placed it on the corner of the table. He placed his finger on one line and stared at Grayson. “Can you please read this for me, sir?”

  Harold, David and Billy had their chains removed from the polls and the MPs escorted them to the brig. On their way, they passed behind a squad of soldiers who wore what looked like air tanks. They stopped. The MPs gave them an opportunity to witness what would happen to the bodies once the firing squad had finished with those in the cage. Five soldiers brandishing flamethrowers waited until the leader waved his hand. Straightway, flames coursed through the fencing and on the pile of corpses lying dead on the ground.

  The three boys hung their heads, unable to watch any more of it.

  The MPs shoved them passed the mess hall to the brig.

  General Grayson stepped forward to the table, scanned the suits, leaving a lingering look on Emerton, then once again cupped his hands behind his back as he bent at the waist to read the file lying on the corner of the desk. He read it to himself, having taken the instructions Emerton gave him literally.

  “Aloud. General.” Emerton squawked.

  He smirked, then read, “Randall Samuel Morrow, fifteen years-old. To be delivered by the end of the month to the Epic Center in Wichita, Kansas.”

  Emerton snatched the paper from the general’s face and placed it back in the file. “Do we have a miscommunication here, general?”

  Grayson stood erect and ground his knuckles together behind his back. “Don’t worry, Emerton. You’ll get your boy.”

  “We’re running out of time, general.”

  “You have my guarantee.”

  Secretary Emerton rose from his seat leading the others to do likewise. He nodded at the guard at the door who quickly left the mess hall. Secretary Emerton stared at General Grayson for what seemed a long time before the guard returned with two other soldiers, each planting themselves on either side of the doorway. The general broke from Emerton’s stare and turned his attention to the entry where the three guards stood stationed, waiting.

  It marched through the doorway to the mess hall and paused, allowing General Grayson to have a good look at it. The general’s mouth opened in awe. He stood motionless, taking in the sight of one of the beings responsible for the zombies and the death of millions at the hands of the military.

  It stood three feet tall, two legs and four arms. Two large eyes covered the top half of its face. Its head was round and oversized in relation to the rest of its body. It didn’t have a nose except for two small holes in the center of its face, same thing for the ears on either side of its head. Two small nodules protruded from the top of its brow, as if it once had antennae but had them removed later in life. Its skin, a pale green, much like the skin of zombies; its body, unlike a bug, one piece; and it wore a uniform of sorts, blue and clingy to its skin. It breathed the air quite fine without aid of an apparatus.

  It strode across the room, passing the general, behind the table yet remained standing.

  The general sized him up from head to toe and wondered how they’d ended up as the dominant species of the planet.

  “General,” It said. “I will speak in the language you are most familiar with, utilizing terms you can understand. In that respect, am I in any way unclear to you?”

  Grayson pushed his cap upward, away from his eyes and raised his brow in surprise. He didn’t know how to react, considering he’d never seen such a being and never thought he’d be talking to one as well. He managed to say one word. “No.”

  “Good.” It clasped all four of its hands behind its back.
“I am Emissary Rodan. It is not my real name. However, the name is equivalent to my real name, which you would not be able to pronounce. I am a he. Do you understand?”

  The general was still grappling with the thought that such a puny being laid claim to his planet. What weapons did they possess that humanity would roll over and play dead in such a hurry?

  “I will take your silence as an affirmative answer. I am not in the habit of repeating myself therefore I will say this once. You need to find the boy and bring him to us, alive. I cannot stress the importance this mission is for the survival of both our species. He holds within himself the power to annihilate us all. Should you fail, we will, in no uncertain terms, take humanity along with us. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” By this time, Grayson came to terms with the bug in his sight and stepped forward to stand face to face with Emissary Rodan. “Since we’re being honest, obviously I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have something I want to say to you.”

  “What is it, general?”

  “General Grayson,” Emerton jumped in, wringing his hands at the thought of the general being candid. “I don’t think now would be the time to speak your mind.”

  “I will listen.” The Emissary said.

  “Good.” Grayson said, then smiled at Emerton and soon after laid his attention on the creature. “I don’t know what rat hole you crawled out of, and quite frankly, I don’t care. Had I known what we were dealing with in the beginning, I would have squashed the whole damn lot of you myself. But we’re stuck with each other, unfortunately, and we now need each other to survive. All I care about is that island promised to me in the middle of the Pacific with not even a hint of alien or zombie life on it. I expect you to fulfill your end of the deal, as I’m sure you’re expecting me to do likewise by delivering the minerals you need. Until then, I don’t want to see your ugly faces in my camp again. Have I in any way made myself unclear?”

  The emissary unclasped his hands from his back and marched to the door leaving Grayson and the suits behind. Before leaving, he faced Grayson one last time. “Should we not have the boy in our hands by the end of the month, we will ensure, general, you will no longer command this camp, and you and your officers will become part of the conversion process.”

  The bug left along with its guards.

  Secretary Emerton gathered the contents of the file, including the page he had taken earlier from the briefcase, closed it and handed it to one of the suits next to him. “I don’t think I need to explain myself further.”

  The six of them walked out on the general without saying another word.

  Outside, the convoy left the camp as General Grayson came from the mess hall.

  “Orders, general?” one of the soldiers stood at attention with a group of other soldiers.

  “Get Sergeant Baskins on the radio. I need a status on his location. I also need a map of Provo, access points, highways leading in and out from the area. I want a full report even if an ant overturns a grain of sand.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get me Baskins, now!”

  The soldiers left him, and Grayson marched from the mess hall across the courtyard until he reached the cage. The soldiers kept pouring flames on the mound of dead bones and sinew. He stood and watched for a time until he noticed movement in the pile, despite the flames and bullets that had taken the lives of the prisoners. From where he stood along the side, he trudged to the cage where the soldiers had to stop throwing their flames in order to allow the general to pass between them and the fence. When Grayson came to where he had noticed the movement, he whipped his gun from the holster and pointed it at the zombie attempting to free itself from the pile. He shot it once in the head, blasting a hole in the side of its face. Green flowed freely. General Grayson then turned to the commander of the squad, his gun still smoldered in his hand, “Do it right or don’t do it at all.”

  Chapter 13

  From Center Street the replacement black SUV with the red Camaro hitched to its back rolled into Perry Park. It travelled on a footpath southwest to the middle, next to the bronze monument where Ranger and the boys greeted the vehicles. Once the truck stopped and Ranger saw the Camaro, his smile vanished. Randy jumped from the driver side while Matty emerged from the passenger seat. They planted themselves in the zombie hunter’s path, several feet away from the cherry red car.

  The welcoming smiles Charlie and Jon had worn for the returning teens left them after they noticed how Ranger’s jaw had clenched.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Randy said, “Listen first. Okay?”

  “I’m listenin’.” Ranger placed his hands on his waist.

  “The military showed up at McDover Motors. At first, we thought they were in the area for a rest stop, maybe even to grab one of the luxury cars in the showroom. They weren’t. They were there looking for me. They knew me by my full name, Ranger.”

  “Why would they have stopped there? Is it because they saw you?”

  “They had spotted the disabled trucks in the lot. We overheard them talk and some officer—”

  “Sergeant Baskins.” Matty said.

  “Right. A Sergeant Baskins said something about heading to Oak Ridges.”

  “How would he have known we were at Oak Ridges? We left that truck clean.”

  “The mud on the zombie’s shoes was still fresh.” Randy expected Ranger to put the ending to his story together himself.

  “We’ve got ourselves a bloodhound on our tail.” He dropped his hands to his side and Ranger brushed past them to inspect the Camaro.

  “I’m not going back to Katlyn County Jail, Ranger. I won’t do it. I’d rather die first.”

  “Relax, you’re not goin’ anywhere. I’m more interested in this Camaro.”

  Before Randy could say another word, Matty jumped in. “It was my idea. If we’re doing another one of your cross-country jaunts, I want to do it in style.”

  Charlie left Jon and made his way to stand next to Ranger. The teen ran his hand along the side allowing the smooth finish to soak into his pores. “It sure looks like a great car. Can I ride in it?”

  “Do you know how to drive?” Ranger asked.

  “I sure do.”

  “All right, you can ride with Randy. Matty and Jon will be with me. Now, we’re—”

  “Wait a minute,” Matty nudged Charlie aside and faced Ranger. “We don’t have a say in any of this? Where are we going? What are we doing? Why can’t we go back to the silo? We have plenty of supplies there and we can live for a long time without worrying about those maggot bags. Why is it that you’re the one who makes all the decisions? And another thing, we’re keeping the Camaro.”

  “I thought we had already agreed to keep the car.” Charlie said, then joined Randy and Jon who had wandered between the truck and the car to ogle their latest catch.

  “I did, too.” Randy said.

  “C’mon, Matty.” Jon kicked the tire to the sports car. “You didn’t even give Ranger a chance to tell us what was on his mind.”

  “Jon.” She pointed her finger at him as if she had said, “Speak when spoken to.”

  His shoulders shrunk at the fact she still was his big sister.

  “Now, hold it.” Ranger waved his hands as if he had called a baseball runner in safe. “If it makes you feel better, we did what we came here to do and now we’re headin’ back home to the silo. Is that okay with you, Matty?”

  Confusion scrambled her face. “Wait. What? What did you say?”

  Ranger repeated his words, “We’re goin’ home. Is that okay with you?”

  She dug her hands in her pockets, lowered her head and mumbled, “Okay.”

  “Good. Randy, unhitch the car from the truck. Jon, grab the small stuff and load the trunks. Matty? Do you think you can help Jon?”

  She nodded her head, then walked with Jon through the grass to the monument where all the supplies lay.

  “Charlie, you’re with me. We need food and the gro
cer is past that restaurant. Are you good with coming?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Wait here. I have something to do first.” Ranger said to him, then trotted to Matty who carried two knapsacks. He ripped one from her hand, opened it as he crouched, and pulled a black handgun and a new clip from the bottom. He loaded it from the handle and cocked it loading the chamber. Then he rose and helped her carry the knapsack to the back of the truck as he held the gun in the other hand.

  For a brief moment, Ranger and Matty exchanged glances as if they had said to each other, “Nothing to worry about. Everything will work as expected.” Yet, as quickly as the thought had taken hold, a sound began to build. It escalated to a roar. Ranger, Matty, Jon and Randy knew it well. They had seen how the saucers work in the desert. The lights were their weapon.

  The shiny saucer appeared in the sky about half-a-mile away. It drew closer, panning back and forth on a dedicated path. The path would cross the truck in a matter of minutes.

  “Everyone away from the vehicles and into the trees,” Ranger waved to follow him.

  Charlie ran without looking back. He’d heard the sound before, and he wasn’t interested in finding out what it was. Matty and Jon kept pace with Ranger. When they arrived at the perimeter of the trees, Ranger pushed the kids into the bush as he glanced over his shoulder. Where did Randy go? He should have been right behind them. Ranger didn’t see him.

  Ranger couldn’t see Randy because the teen had caught his foot in the chain assembly that had hitched the car to the truck. Matty noticed it too and began a sprint until Ranger caught her and carried her back into the trees.

  “Find cover. Don’t leave until I call you.” Ranger set her on her feet.

  “No, not without Randy.” Matty squirmed in his arms.

  “Charlie, Jon. Take Matty. I’ll help Randy.” He passed the gun to Charlie and handed Matty to the boys.

  “Ranger,” Matty clenched his shirt. “Don’t let Randy die. Don’t let Randy die!”

  He froze, dropping his eyes on Matty. “I won’t let anything happen to Randy. I promise.”