Here we are, deep into the dog days of August. Well. It’s been a busy time for me, both personally and professionally. There are a lot of moving pieces in my life, but I have not neglected writing. No, I have not. I was particularly pleased with this latest chapter that I posted to my paywall site, so I decided to put it here, free of context. BTW, behind the wall, there’s a ton of stuff for those who would do me the honor of shelling out three bucks a month- jump aboard, and we’ll talk!

This piece is from my latest novel, my take on the sci-fi alien invasion trope.

Cheers, J

Hey, all. There’s a lot cooking with me right now, so I thought to push a bit and get this next installment out. Because I’ve got a MS to fire off to my editor.

“So, we have commo?”

“Yes, ma’am, my shit checks out, but so far, I haven’t gotten much back.”

The command team, Anika’s mouth twisted downward as she thought of the phrase, was seated on a picnic table in the clearing. The staff sergeant, an eighteen echo, or a Special Forces-qualified radio dude, sat and messed with his high-end radio set. Above them, the skies glowed a lurid green from the not-so-northern lights.

Cooley spoke. “So, nothing from Cheyenne?”

Bill the Staff Sergeant looked at him. “No, sir.”

Cooley closed his eyes briefly, his face awash in the sickly green light. He spoke.

“Who have you communicated with?”

“No one.”

“You’re sure the set is working?”

“It is. Sir.”

“Then what is the issue? Sergeant, this is of critical importance.”

“Sir, I know. The problem isn’t the radio. The problem is the fill and key.”

“The encryption?”

“Yes. Worldwide, the fill, or the data downloaded to our secure comms, changes daily. It is transmitted via satellite uplink. When you get the fill, it governs both decryption and the key, or the frequency sequence that changes during freq hop. Not only can you not decode the encryption without the fill, but you aren’t even following the correct frequency sequence. A listener, even if their radios aren’t fried, isn’t going to pay any attention to a transmission broadcast in the clear. In fact, we are taught not to trust a single damn thing that arrives via unsecured commo.”

Anika spoke. “Shit.”

Cooley nodded. “Concise, Madam President.” He paused. “Isn’t there a manual system, some kind of workaround?”

“There was, back before I enlisted. Actually, around the time my dad enlisted. It was called an SOI, or signal and operating instructions. It was a big fat book full of codes and challenges, and I guess it was a real pain in the ass to use. Plus, it was a vulnerable point. If the SOI was captured, your commo was compromised. So, it hasn’t been used for ages.” He paused. “I had a fifteen-minute class about it once. Some guy held up this thick-ass thing and said, “You’ll never see one of these in the field. Just a museum.”

Master Sergeant Knowles spat and spoke. “N is for Nowledge.”

Anika laughed. “Good one, Sergeant.”

Cooley furrowed his brow. “This is hardly the time for levity, Sergeant Knowles.”

The NCO regarded the NatSec in the ghostly light, his face blank.

“Sir, I’ve been in some tight spots, and I disagree.” He paused. “This is exactly the time for a joke.”

Cooley looked at him like he had two heads.

The NCO smiled.

“Because otherwise, you’ll curl up in a ball and fucking die.” He paused and spat out brown fluid and a single word.

“Sir.”

***

John panted and sweated at the top of the hill by Anne’s apartment. He was too worn to light up a smoke, and the ghastly green lights in the sky were getting on his nerves. Fuck, he thought. It was as if God put up a beacon that said, “Hey, I’ve decided to totally kick off this End Times thing.” He shook his head. He wished he hadn’t thought of that.

The walk back to the apartment had sucked moose nuts. No two ways about it. At least her housing complex hadn’t caught on fire, which seemed to be a small miracle. From their vantage point, John could see at least a dozen blazes with not a firetruck in sight. The pair hadn’t seen a single functioning vehicle on the two-hour walk along what should have been the busy, divided highway leading toward Athens.

No, they had passed dozens of stranded motorists or guttering wrecks. Some people were in dire need of medical attention. But what were they supposed to do? It wasn’t as if they were EMTs or had a mountain of supplies. They didn’t. So, as much as John would have liked to have helped, they kept walking. In a couple of cases, John had promised to send for help if he saw someone. But even as the words left his mouth, he guessed that he was full of shit. No one was coming.

He looked towards Athens, the scene illuminated by the ghostly light of the Aurora Borealis and fires.

“Ain’t this some shit, Anne.”

“Yeah. What the hell happened?”

He shrugged. His shirt felt cool and clammy. He wiped his forehead with his hat. He shook his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was that solar flare.” He shrugged. “Whatever it was, it whumped the shit out of our electronics.”

Anne looked into the distance, and her educated voice fell back into the cadence of her childhood. She whistled and spoke.

“No lie, Goddammit.”

John’s breathing and heart had calmed a bit. It seemed to be the perfect time for a smoke. A few students were milling around, pointing and exclaiming. John lit up as the youths jabbered away and inhaled a lungful of smoke. He needed this.

Anne coughed and waved.

“Really, dad?”

“Is the smoke getting on you?”

“Yes!”

John shifted positions. “Is this better?”

Anne stood, her arms crossed, her face lit green and flickering orange. She looked into the distance. “I guess.” She paused. “What will we do now?”

John dragged in. “I guess first, maybe grab some food, get some sleep. We’ll figure out tomorrow, tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Should we head up?”

John took another hit. “Lemme finish my smoke.”

“Ok.”

“I wish there was a way of calling your sister.”

“Shit. Yeah.”

“We should have been home by now.”

Anne shrugged.

“Goddammit.” He threw down his smoked-out butt. “Well, let’s go upstairs.” The two walked to the staircase and ascended to the second floor. John feared that he would have to use his lighter to see enough to get the key in the slot, but the green glow from the heavens was sufficient for the task. Anne let them in.

She called out. “Hello! Anyone here?” There was no answer. She spoke. “Well, I guess everyone left.”

“Yeah. Boy, could I use a shower.”

“Have fun taking one in the pitch dark.”

“Good thing you love candles. Hey, why don’t you light a few?” John handed her his lighter, and she put flame to watermelon-acai scented wax. Within seconds, the little shared student room came into gentle view. John snorted. “About time those damn things had a use.”

“I love my candles.”

“Good you have them. Something tells me they’ll be a popular item before long. And not just for the mood lighting.”

Anne just looked at him. “Why don’t you get a shower, stinky?”

“I’ll do that. I haven’t walked so far since I was in the Army.”

Anne walked into the pitch-black bathroom, lighter in hand, and John watched as the space lit up with a comfortable glow. She called out. “Come on, Dad. You can see now. There’s a towel in here somewhere.”

“Ok.” Anne left her room and flopped onto the couch. John went into her suite and closed the door, then he stripped. He wrinkled his brow; would there be any water pressure? He decided to turn on the shower, be doused with cold water for a moment, and get the job done quickly so Anne could get a shower, too.

He did so and almost yelped when the cold water hit him. He lathered as if he was back in basic training, rinsed, and shut off the tap. It could have been his imagination, but it felt as if the pressure had dropped off in the last few seconds. He dried, dressed, and called out.

“You better shower, too, Anne, before the water pressure is gone.”

“Good idea.”

After she was done, they relaxed in the common room and ate snack food by candlelight.

It was almost cheery.

***

What the fuck, Caitriona thought. She looked into the heavens and beheld the pulsing, sickly green glow. She had heard of the Northern Lights but had never seen them. This freaked her out, and random strangers walking by in the dark freaked her out, too. She was somewhere south of Belpre and north of the Parkersburg bridge.

In short, her car had died a couple of miles from anything. She sighed. It could have been worse. She could have been stuck around the Wayne National Forest further north, a very long way from anything. At least here there was…

What? She asked herself. Several dozen confused and aimless travelers, and someone, somewhere, was screaming about something. Maybe they were injured. She was no expert, but it didn’t sound good. And she didn’t like random people walking by her in the dark.

She was thirsty and hungry. She planned earlier to grab a bite at a burger joint in Marietta, but as far as she could tell, the power was out everywhere, and Marietta was about twenty miles away. She had half a bottle of soda but kept from drinking from it. Who knew when she’d come across something else to drink? The sky was clear. It wouldn’t rain anytime soon, and she didn’t feel like drinking from a ditch or something.

Could she even do that? She had always heard you could get sick from drinking untreated water, but she knew that dogs always did it.

Shit! Dogs! Who would let Bowser out? There was no way she would make it home tonight. He would lose his mind and tear shit apart. She frowned. He’d shit on the floor, too.

This weird power outage had killed every car in sight. What the hell would do that, she wondered. Growing up in the Ohio Valley, she lived through dozens of power outages, which never affected vehicles. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. She felt like screaming or crying, maybe both.

Instead, she set her jaw. It was clear that no one would bail her out. She’d have to do that herself.

There was nothing that she needed in her car. Her purse held her few possessions. She had a small can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, the bottle of Coke, a hairbrush, a few maxi pads, and her wallet with fourteen bucks in cash and two cards. She sighed. It would have to do.

Caitriona wrapped her light jacket around her waist, tied a knot with the sleeves, and started walking north.

***

It was 2:30 in the afternoon, and Aurora was hungry. The staff was making some sandwiches from the stuff in the refrigerators in the kitchen. They were chill about it because it had to be eaten anyway. The power was definitely out. On everything.

Deaglan bitched. “There goes my pint back at the Prairie tonight.”

“Oh, quit it, will you? I’m sure someone will be out to check on us when we don’t return this afternoon.”

“Yeah, if this weird power outage hasn’t hit Parachilna, too.”

Aurora shivered. It was a cool day, but he voiced her nagging concern. What if no one came for them? It was a long walk to Parachilna, let alone to Adelaide. Their parents would be worried sick, she knew. She spoke.

“Don’t say that.”

“Well, why not, Aurora? This isn’t some magical thinking rubbish; it’s not as if I manifest this problem if we speak of it.”

“I’m sure the authorities will send a new bus. We will surely be missed.”

Both of them looked at Sausage Roll man, whose name was Chad. The thin man who had clashed earlier with him spoke as well. His name was Nigel.

“They’ll send a new bus if they can. If they can’t, we gather as much water as we can, then walk.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Gentlemen.” Laura the tour guide looked at them then spoke. “Our utes aren’t working. We have checked. As you know, nothing electric or electronic is, either. Nigel may have a point, but let’s wait until tomorrow before we do something rash.” She paused. “The Outback does not reward hasty decisions.”

The local guide, seated upon his haunches, spoke. “No, you’re right, Laura. The yarta doesn’t forgive. If you choose bad, you choose real bad.”

Chad grimaced and looked away from the local man with coal-black eyes. The Admyamathantha man ignored him and spoke to Aurora.

“You don’t worry. Plenty of food and water for now, and if we walk, we walk.” He shrugged.

Chad looked back at the man. “Stupid. There will be a bus.”

The guide, who went by Ira, regarded the Sausage Roll Man with his pool-deep eyes and spoke.

“Sure, mate.”

***

Bill Slocum was pissed. For years he had planned for just this moment. Since forever, he had predicted this. The day that the modern age would come screeching to a halt, and he would finally have his shot at being king.

He had done everything. Everything. He bought a place in the mountains and stocked it with rations, gear, and weapons. He had a stack of gold and cash. He had placed all his electronics and commo gear in a Faraday cage, which proved worthless, and his bug-out vehicle was EMP-proof. It was a well-maintained four-wheel drive 1971 Chevrolet truck with a points ignition system and zero electronics, and it was staged with a full tank and carefully selected equipment.

It mattered not.

He swore as he stared at the slagged mess of the fuse block in the Chevy. This shit Should. Not. Have. Happened. A fucking truck was going exactly nowhere with a melted fuse block. To change it, you needed almost to rewire the truck, and he didn’t have a spare fuse block. Fuses, yes. But who ever heard of a voltage load that melted the Goddamn block?

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

The neighbors across the way in his shitty subdivision of Boise, Idaho, looked at him from the windows. When they made eye contact from afar, their curtains closed. For a brief moment, Bill almost grabbed the AK from his seat to teach those cucks a lesson.

He breathed out. The sun would rise soon, and he needed to get a grip. But how would he evac to the redoubt if he couldn’t drive? He knew damn well he wouldn’t make it far if he walked and would have to leave ninety-nine percent of his carefully hoarded shit behind.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair.

Motherfucker!

***

“Sir, every single fucking vehicle in the battalion is deadlined. We have no commo with the rear or Range Control. We are short on water and rations. This is my plan.”

Lieutenant Colonel Bates shook his head and spoke.

“Your plan sucks, Major Muzby. We can’t just leave all of these sensitive items and vehicles sitting out here on the range. I, personally, am signed for millions of dollars worth of shit in the property book, which these vehicles, no matter how FUBAR, are entered into. Millions.” He paused. “Millions of dollars. Of shit. Under my name. Not to mention the ordnance and other supplies. The weapons. Good God, the weapons!” LTC Bates threw up his hands. “Muzby, you are proposing to just leave this shit sit!”

Having survived a wire-brushing or two from higher over the years, the Major stood impassively.

The Colonel glowered at him.

Daniel didn’t care. He was supposed to be in bed with his wife, with the prospect of a couple of days off. Instead, he had spent the night in a GP Tiny and shaved from a crusty canteen cup at the crack of dawn. Fuck this guy, Daniel thought.

“Well, Major? What do you say to that?”

“Sir, I say that we have heard nothing from Range Control since yesterday at about 1710. No one has driven to this location, no aircraft have been spotted, and we were alerted for some damn good reason shortly before our vehicles burned, along with our phones and everything else electronic. Something big and fucked up is going on, sir.” He paused. “What does the Army always say? “Our people are our greatest asset.” Sir, we are running short on water and food. Throw the shit we can’t carry into the vehicles, lock the damn trucks, and start walking toward cantonment. It’ll take about three hours to get there with a full combat load and individual and man-portable crew-served weapons.”

The LTC closed his eyes. Major Muzby steeled himself for what he was about to receive. It wouldn’t be pretty.

The Battalion Sergeant Major cleared his throat.

LTC Bates looked over at him. “Sergeant Major?”

“If I may, sir.”

“Go.”

“Sir, he’s right. I don’t like leaving this shit sitting on the range any more than you, and Brigade will own my ass, too. But if we have a medical thing with no medevac, we have a problem. Rather leave a bunch of burned-out shit sitting to rust than to lose a soldier because of the fucking property book. Sir.”

The Colonel just looked at him. “Anything else, Sergeant Major?”

“We’ll lock everything down tight, sir. We need to get moving before the sun starts to bake our guys.” He paused. “Water, sir. There’s none out here.”

Lieutenant Colonel Bates rubbed his face.

“Fuck.” He paused and looked at the lightening sky. “Fuck! Get ‘em moving, Sergeant Major. I want to step in an hour.” He paused and looked at Daniel. “Alert my commanders, Major.”

Major Muzby closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Yes, sir.”

***

The machine spoke through the Chief Decider’s interface.

“Chief Decider. The electronic emissions from our planet have reached the approved threshold.”

She knew that number was a 99.9 percent reduction. She spoke.

“Excellent.”

“The next phase of this operation is ready, Chief Decider.”

“Then I decide, in the name of the Queen.”

“And your order?”

“A time on target simple bombardment of all settlements exceeding the standard parameter.”

“Millilustre?”

“Effect immediate. No lustre gap desired.”

“It is done.” The ship didn’t so much as shudder as it rained down ruin.

The Chief Decider thought a simple graphic into being. It appeared upon her ommatidia. There were a series of stylized tracks from the Queen’s ships to the planet below, along with data available upon focus and desire.

She had no desire. She had seen this before in other places, other times. The results were always the same.

Ruin for the savages, glory for the Queen.

Every settlement exceeding the standard mortality parameter of 103,673 lifeforms would receive a large iron projectile from space traveling approximately 30 kilometers per second.

The Chief Decider began to chant, and the clutch joined in.