The Light: The Invasion Trilogy Book 3 (10 page)

Chapter 19

The old man lay tucked into thick grass, his eye glued to the scope with a clear sight of the roadblock. He was in an elevated position and less than five hundred meters from the target; they would take several down before they had to withdraw back into the woods. Even if they did not kill them all, it was enough to slow them down, and that was their main objective—to disrupt the enemy movement.

A single alien vehicle blocked the intersection; two Red Sleeves in front, another behind it, one sticking out of the armored turret. The back of the carrier jostled and a ramp dropped, more alien soldiers exiting and moving into the grass alongside the carrier. The ear tickling vibrations stopped as their vehicle shut down and settled onto the surface of the road. These things were settling in for a long shift.

Clem grinned. Excited at the prospects in front of him, he let his hand move to the top of his scope and turned a dial, illuminating a red dot. He steadied the .308 bolt-action rifle and focused on the alien in the turret. He knew more of Matt’s soldiers would be farther up the trail, setting improvised explosive devices on the road leading back to the alien base. If these called for help, there would be a surprise for any quick reaction force. They were ready to take the fight back to the enemy. Clem turned his wrist and looked at his watch, almost noon. Almost time to begin.

“Hold up,” Masterson whispered.

His spotter was positioned just behind him to his right. He was behind the stock of an M240B machine gun fitted with a long-range scope—a gift from the stores at Emmerson’s ridge. “What is it?” Clem asked.

“We got civvies on the road, moving this way.”

Clem removed his eye from the scope and squinted into the bright sunlight. He spotted a group of refugees, women and children carrying heavy bags, one with a suitcase on rollers. A sight right out of the Third World. He used his scope to get a better view. Panning left and right, he could only see women; two paced out in front of the others—an elderly woman and a short, heavyset woman, wrapped in blankets.

The two red-sleeved soldiers at the front of the convoy spread out on the road, watching the approaching mass. One turned back, signaling the alien in the turret. A short moment later, a Gold Sleeve exited the back of the vehicle and joined them on the road. The creature made its way to the front, anticipating, almost welcoming, the approaching civilians.

“They surrendering?” Clem whispered.

“Looks like it. Your call, what do you want to do?”

“I’m hungry, but I’m not eager to take down friendlies in the crossfire,” Clem said. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

As the civilians drew closer, the Gold Sleeve stopped and allowed the Reds to move into position. Clem watched as the Gold opened its arms in a welcoming gesture, waving the women forward, at the same time signaling for the Reds to back away. The guards complied and took a step back, lowering their battle rifles. The civilians hesitated, but continued their march forward.

The Gold slowly approached, her arms outstretched, palms open. A female at the lead of the group stepped forward and stopped when the alien raised her hand. She approached the female and placed a reflective cap atop her head. Almost instantly, the female knelt down to the surface of the road. The Gold nodded and reached into a pouch, retrieving another bowl. It looked up to the next female and waved her forward—the heavyset woman draped in blankets. Two teenaged girls followed close behind, flanking the blanketed woman on both sides.

“I don’t like this. I think I’ll put a bullet in that little one handing out Yakamas,” Clem whispered, allowing the red dot to pan and settle center on the back of the gold-sleeved alien.

Before Masterson could respond, the large woman threw the blanket aside, revealing a snub-nosed revolver. Time seemed to slow as Clem watched the woman’s arm extend inches from the gold-sleeved alien’s face. The woman pulled the trigger, and the Gold’s helmeted head snapped, a puff of red mist exploding from the back. The teen girls on either side drew small hand guns, each unloading into the guards to their fronts.

“Give them cover!” Clem shouted, finally back to his senses. He pivoted hard on his elbows and centered his optic on the alien in the turret. Before he could pull the trigger, the top of the vehicle exploded in bright yellow flames. The alien flailed, its blue-and-red suit engulfed in flame. Clem exhaled and squeezed the trigger, the round tearing through the alien’s armor. He heard Masterson’s machine gun open up behind him, ripping rounds into the aliens in reserve, cutting them down as they ran forward toward the civilians, making them easy targets in the open, and swallowed in the flames of the burning vehicle.

Clem pulled his eye back from the scope, working the bolt as he searched for more targets. He saw the women now scattered across the road front. The rolling suitcase was open, revealing bottles stuffed with rags; the women were showering the vehicle with Molotov cocktails. The heavyset woman stopped over each downed creature, finishing them with a single shot to the head from the revolver while the teen girls swarmed over the dead, removing equipment.

With all of the aliens down, Clem eased off the trigger. He looked to Masterson, who was already on his feet and bounding ahead toward the ambush site. Clem pushed himself to his knees and gathered his equipment. He made another quick scan of the area before moving down, watching the crumpled alien forms as he approached.

The women on the road took notice of the approaching men. The heavyset woman drew a second handgun from her belt and leveled it at Masterson, who quickly put up his hands and slowed his approach. “All on the same side here,” Clem shouted, closing the distance. “I’m Clem; this is my buddy, Matt. Mind telling me who you all are?”

The woman lowered her weapon and grabbed the gold-sleeved body by a wrist, straightening its arm. Another female stepped from the back and, using a long blade, slashed down, removing the dead alien’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Clem asked.

The woman turned to face him. She stopped and opened what looked like a velvet bag attached to the gold-sleeved creature’s hip. She dumped its contents onto the road, the saucer-shaped devices clanging as they spilled out. “These are some type of mind-control devices. Only a guide’s hand can remove it once it’s in place.” She pointed as another woman used the dead alien’s hand to remove the saucer from the elderly woman’s head.

“Guides?” Masterson asked.

The women quickly circled back around the blanketed woman, the teen girls holding bags stuffed with goods, the roller suitcase now re-filled with the alien rifles. She looked at Clem and Masterson then down at a stopwatch hanging around her neck. “I’d be happy to speak to you, but we have to get off the road. They’ll have called for backup by now.”

An explosion roared from the north. Clem turned to see a mushroom cloud forming over the distant trees. “We were ready for their back up,” Clem said. “Mind telling me who you all are now?”

Before she could answer, an open-backed pickup truck raced onto the road from somewhere in the woods. The women quickly tossed their goods into the back and piled in.

“You can call me Ruth,” she said, tossing her blankets into the truck and pulling herself into the back.

“Now, you all coming or just going to stand here with your thumbs up your ass?” the woman shouted.

Chapter 20

The man’s heart still raced in a panicked frenzy; he stood by the window, looking out into a street filled with soldiers. Transports roared over the surface, surrounded by scores of the witnesses; no longer apathetic, they were now active and enraged.
The high council will not stand for this. They will be out for vengeance and looking for someone to punish.
He looked at the defiant woman he had been assigned.
Why this one?
he thought, dropping his head.
Why not one of the more subservient wives from the refugee camps, who were eager for a fresh bed and comfort?

“What have your people done?” Francis said, eyeing the woman standing stoically behind a kitchen counter. He saw the smug expression on her face, the lack of understanding in her eyes.

Laura laughed defiantly. “
My people
? Are you no longer part of the human race?”

“What was it you said when the Messenger was killed?” he asked.

She pursed her lips and looked away.

“It was something about rejection; do you know what this act of defiance will mean to the community?” Francis turned away, pulling the heavy drapes closed. “There is so much you don’t understand; so much that
your people
don’t understand. If they only knew, they would stop these senseless attacks.”

She ignored him, moved to the refrigerator, retrieving a pitcher of water, and filled a plastic cup, slowly locking eyes on the locked front door. He caught her gaze and followed it.
What is wrong with this woman? Why can she not see the comfort and safety the community provides?

“Don’t even think about running, especially not now. They would kill you for sure. They won’t be able to hold back the soldiers. The entire council will be out for blood tonight,” he said.
And my blood with it when they discover my failure with this one.

“Why are you here, Francis? Why us? Why can’t you take a different family of prisoners?”

Oh my dear, how I wish I had a choice
. Francis shook his head and moved away from the window. Walking around the sofa, he sighed and sat heavily on the overstuffed cushions. He shrugged before leaning his head back. “Again, I am not a guard and you are not a prisoner.”

Laura forced a smug laugh. “So I can leave then? You won’t try to stop me?”

“You’re safe here.” He clenched his fist, letting it rest on his thigh. She was lucky he did not believe in the practices of some of the other mentors. It was probably his French upbringing, his reluctance to violence, and maybe the distant thoughts of his own mother long gone. Besides, she was a strong woman, and Francis knew that barbaric methods would not work to win her over.

“I’m a prisoner. And you didn’t answer my question. Why us?” Laura asked, her tone changing.

“I was assigned to you. I am your mentor.”

“Who assigned you?”

“The Creators, of course. We never know why; it is just the way.”
I wish I knew. What did I do to deserve this?

Laura looked away and left the room, taking the water and walking the hallway to a small bedroom. Francis followed her, keeping his distance. Katy was asleep. He watched as she lifted the blankets around the girl and tucked them in, leaving the cup on a nightstand. He turned to the window and saw the ominous shadows moving past the drawn curtains. He watched as Laura moved to the glass and drew back the curtain, then pulled back upon seeing the witnesses walking a silent sentry around the homes in the neighborhood.

He stiffened his jaw. “They are for our protection,” Francis said quietly from behind her, trying to sound reassuring.

“Protection? Or to keep me from leaving or from talking to the neighbors,” Laura protested. She turned and edged past him back into the living room, stopping in front of the door. Francis sighed and followed close behind her. He watched as she put her hand on the knob. “What would happen if I walked outside and went next door?”

Francis shrugged, knowing she would be killed before she reached the street. Maybe he should let her; end this struggle and take his chances with the council. “And why would you want to do that?”

She shook her head at him in frustration. He could see tears welling at the corners of her eyes—she was breaking.

“I don’t know… to borrow a cup of sugar. What does it matter?!” she said, her voice rising.

“I can send for anything you need; within reason, of course.”

With that, Laura finally burst into tears, her frustration peaking. He approached her, but she turned away and put up a hand. “Don’t even,” she shouted.

Francis backed away with his hands at his sides, his face showing sympathy but his mind smiling; this woman that put up the strong front was finally breaking. “You just don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” she shouted. “Why are they here?”

Francis frowned and turned his back to her, smiling when she could not see. He took several steps before pausing to look back. “They may kill us all for what happened today. That’s the law if a community turns against a Messenger,” Francis said wearily before moving to the dining table and sitting. He folded his hands in front of him and looked down. It was the first time he had allowed Laura to see real emotion from him, and not the optimistic look of an infomercial sales clerk. He would have to use this opportunity to bring her into the fold.

“If that’s the law, then why are we still alive?” she asked.

He would have to plan every word. Every bit would have to draw her in to convince her that their path was the only way, and anything else would mean death or a life of suffering. “They are in session. Our only hope is that the elders consider this an outside attack and not from within the walls of the communal,” Francis said in a low voice while looking down at his hands. “Might I bother you for some tea? You’ll find it in the pantry.” A simple request, would she oblige him?

Laura nodded and opened the cabinet door, removing a covered tin filled with tea bags. As she retrieved the kettle from the stove and filled it, she asked, “Who are the council?”

Francis sighed and looked up at her with serious eyes. “They are everything,” he said, the pitch of the salesman gone from his voice. “I’ve never seen them. I never will. They never come down.” He was not lying; in all the years he had been in the community, he’d never been allowed an audience with the Creators.

As far as Francis knew, they never visited the terrestrial planet and always stayed hidden from human eyes. He looked at her and pondered if she was ready and would be able to accept the truth should he tell her. There were arguments among the council that only children should be taken. It had been their way for centuries. Adults were deemed incompatible with the knowledge and would not accept the message; they were too old, too stubborn even, and their world views already coded.

But this was a migration and if the communities were to succeed, they would have to take in everyone. At some point an agreement was made; a worker class would be needed, and they couldn’t wait for a generation of children to come of age. The compromise was to accept women, mothers, with the reasoning that they would sacrifice for their offspring and willingly join the community.

“To Earth, you mean?” Laura asked.

Francis nodded; he would try. “Yes. Laura, I know this all sounds strange to you, unbelievable even, but they have been here long before any of us. Your indigenous people probably felt the same when they saw the first white man. But, you shouldn’t fear them; they don’t consider themselves guests or invaders. In their eyes, this is not our planet. It is theirs. They have invested in it, and
we
are the guests.”

“Guests?” Laura asked, moving to the table with the kettle and two small cups.

Francis thought for a moment. “Guest is the wrong word. Children, maybe … or extended family left to occupy a residence. But they’re back now, and they aren’t happy with the way we’ve taken care of their home, the path we have taken. This was their planet and meant to be their home.”

She poured the hot water over a tea bag, filling the mug, and slid it across the table. Francis lifted it and teased the string, dunking the bag into the steaming liquid. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip before setting it back in front of him. “They’ve been here many times—many, many times over the ages. They planted the seeds, passively guided us, kick-started our development, and tracked our progress. All the signs of their visits were there if people had bothered to look. They are much older than us, you know. Their written history dates back to before the dinosaurs.

“When they first visited, they found a place that is only a shell of what it is today. Over a thousand years ago they started the exodus plan with hopes that when their planet died, ours would be ready for their arrival; that our people and technology would be ready for them.”

“A thousand years ago?” Laura asked.

“That was what they call ‘the beginning’. The first time a Messenger stepped foot on our planet and chose to intervene in our development, they formed their first outpost in the depths of a cave and used it to explore and examine our ways. The Messengers found us to be violent and disgusting creatures. Earth was rejected by the council, and it was determined the planet was not ready for their arrival.

“This is why they first came to live among us. It was a small presence then; only a Messenger and a few guides to show us the way. A small human tribe was chosen and their leader given the truth. The first time they shared their message, they started a following that grew and spread quickly. That should have put us on the correct path to paradise; instead, our species resisted and failed to come together. Most of the populous rejected the message, and it led to wars with the tribes that failed to follow us.

“Don’t you understand? The Messengers guided us in the hope we would build a great society that they could one day join. They did not want to destroy us. However, we failed to evolve in time; we are still living as hundreds, even thousands, of tribes under many banners. The Creators have run out of time. Their planet is dying, and they can no longer wait for us to grow into a harmonious society. Now they have come to correct the wrongs of our way, and they will not stop until it is complete. Those that have taken witness have ensured this.”

“Witness? Why do you call them that?”

“They have been given the truth; it shows them the way and has made them genetically superior—”

“It kills them. I’ve seen what it does, it took away my friends and neighbors,” she blurted out.

“The truth saves them, improves everything about them, and brings them into the communal in a way we could never comprehend.”

Laura looked away, clenching a fist and watching the shadows pass by the kitchen windows. “Then why were we spared from it?”

“Every civilization must make sacrifices to advance; the witnesses made that sacrifice for us. They have been granted the true potential of our race. You think of them as dead, but they aren’t… they now live in full connection with the Creator,” Francis said, looking up at the ceiling. “One day, they will be far greater than any of us.”

Laura scowled. “Is this just religious indoctrination, an interstellar cult? All of this is sounding more and more like a galactic holy war.”

Maybe she wasn’t ready,
he thought. “You mustn’t speak that way. It’s blasphemy.”

“Blasphemy? You know we won’t stop, that we won’t stop fighting—wait, of course, you do know, don’t you? That’s why you’ve separated us from our men.”

“The soldiers have declared your men dangerous. Your men attacked us,” Francis said with sincerity.

“Attacked? Who are you, Francis? How did they get you?”

Thunder cracked in the distance and rain began to tap against the roof. Francis grinned and leaned back in his chair.
Maybe she understands more than she lets on.
“I am not important. You shouldn’t think in the ways of individuals. It will only prevent you from seeing the truth. We are a community; we must do what’s good for the community.”

Laura bit her lower lip, ignoring his statement. “Where the hell are you from? They’ve been here less than a week, yet you talk like you’ve known them your entire life.”

Francis grinned, thinking to his first days in the community as a child; a day when he was extracted from the burning rubble of a bombed city, tanks rumbling in the distance. How the Messengers took him in and showed him the way. His face broke into a smile. “Because I have been with them my entire life.”