“Does this mean we don’t have to go back to school next week?” Tina asked her mom when the grown-ups finally insisted the television go off.
Charlotte elbowed her. “Dingbat!”
Ret Balclass="underline" My God! Did you hear the President’s speech tonight? It would appear that we had the Truth here first before the rest of the world. There really is something going on with Mars and there really is an alien threat. We have exclusively online tonight our friend Megiddo who first turned us on to this. Megiddo, what is your take on the President’s speech?
Megiddo: I told you so is about all I can say, Ret. The CIA and these right-wing conspirators just couldn’t keep the Truth from us any longer. I suspect they tried to cut a deal with their alien masters and when that didn’t work, they decided to go to war.
Ret Balclass="underline" Indeed, Megiddo. What do you propose that our listeners do?
Megiddo: I’m not sure just yet. We don’t really know what these aliens want, except that they seem to have moved in on Mars and took it. What is to say they do not have the same plans for Earth?
Ret Balclass="underline" Indeed!
Megiddo: Me, personally, I have moved to a remote and secure location. Perhaps, these things will hit civilization first. That would only make sense, as that is where the resistance will come from.
Ret Balclass="underline" Ah, you think we can put up resistance?
Megiddo: Absolutely not! These aliens have traveled across the deep void of interstellar space and terraformed an entire planet in a very short time. What could we do against a power like that?
Richard Horton had been driving through and around the suburbs of the old town in northwestern South Carolina for weeks looking for the ideal spot. His real estate agent — himself — had found an old abandoned copper mine on sixty acres bordering North Carolina on Interstate 26, about twenty-five miles west of Spartanburg. After checking the satellite imagery of the region and reading up on the history of the area, he thought it was worth checking out.
Richard drove up the old mining-road-turned-logging-road. There was evidence that some of the timber along the old road had been harvested, but that must have been years ago because the road was overgrown. Without the four-wheel drive Ford F-250 pickup it would have been difficult navigating the old rocky and overgrown road. Richard crested the peak of the mountainside and the road widened slightly, leading up to an old dilapidated and rusted gate with a “no trespassing” sign on it. Richard had a hard time imagining who would be trespassing up this old road, except perhaps mountain bikers and folks on dirtbikes and all-terrain vehicles.
He stopped the truck and walked to the gate to examine its lock more closely. It was a number two MasterLock. He grinned to himself and pulled out the key the real-estate office had given him. It would not have been a problem anyway since number twos were quite easy to circumvent.
Inside the gate and at the top of the hill the road split into two different directions. The map he had gotten from the real-estate office selling the property showed that the right fork went up a few hundred yards more to the old cabin and the left fork went down the hill a few hundred yards to the old copper mine entrance. He took the right fork up the hill to the cabin.
The cabin was run down and had most of the windows busted out. The wood had turned dark gray from weathering. Weeds and briars had grown up on the east side of the cabin around the front porch and would make entering the cabin difficult, but Richard had brought a machete and had every intention of closely examining the building. A few swings of the blade and he had made a clear path to the steps.
The front door was locked and sturdy. The framing of the porch and the post holding up the roof of the porch was in good shape; old, but in good shape. He unlocked the door and stepped into the living room of the little cabin. There was a small kitchen and dining area open to the room and a bedroom and bathroom off to the back of the house. There was also a closed-in porch on the back, but most of the screen had been torn away by weather and varmints.
Richard turned the sink faucet on; there were some odd sounds but no water. He had expected that. The realtors had warned him that the plumbing was old and the well pump was shot. Richard didn’t really care about those details. Things like that could be fixed.
Out the back of the cabin was another grown-up area and it took a few swings of the machete to get through the back door. A few feet away from the back steps the underbrush stopped and rocks took over. The well pump for the house was in a small concrete block housing about ten feet from the cabin. Richard pulled off the cover of the housing and looked inside. The pump was gone and there was only an old handpump attached to the cap of the well.
“What the hell.” He gave the pump a few strokes. On the seventh stroke clear, very cold water gushed out of the spigot. Richard cupped his hand under it and tasted the water but was careful not to swallow any of it. The water tasted clean and good, but he would check it out for alkalinity, microbes, and other pollutants later. He spat the water out and rubbed his mouth dry on his sleeve.
There were several trees surrounding the cabin, most of which were hardwoods. But there was a small grove of trees that looked a little out of place. They were evenly spaced and obviously had been planted by a previous owner at least two or three decades before. There were three pecan trees, a persimmon tree, two plum trees, a pair of apple trees, and a pear tree, all of which appeared to be thriving and healthy. The trees were a plus — a naturally replenishing source of food. The realtors had said nothing about the small orchard. Richard didn’t plan on telling them when he made his offer either.
“Not bad.” He looked around at the cabin and the little orchard from the outside. He pulled a persimmon from one of the trees and bit into it. The tangy tart sweet fruit squirted in his mouth, making him pucker from the taste. He spit the fruit out. “Still a little green. Too early I guess. This will do nicely. Helena will love it.”
Chapter 10
Roger Reynolds, Alan Davis, and Tom Powell sat at their usual table for their Tuesday after-work meeting. This time they were joined by John Fisher, Alice Pike, Major Shane Gries, and one of Gries’s noncoms, Master Sergeant Thomas Cady. When Shane had been told he could “have anything or anyone he wanted” to help with the program, the first thing he asked for was Cady. Traci was sitting in as well, this time letting herself be served instead of serving — for Traci, that took some getting used to.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting in a Hooters in Huntsville, Alabama, discussing the end of the world,” Alice said, shaking her head and picking at her salad.
“Can you think of a better place?” the master sergeant asked, taking a sip of beer.
“Spazos?” Alice asked. “Marsel’s in Paris? The French Riviera?”
Roger did his wing trick and dipped the meat in ranch dressing.
“Been there,” Gries grunted. “Nothing there you can’t get here and with more friendly service.”
“Poulet au vin et herbs?” Alice insisted.
“Garcia’ll fry you up some chicken breast in wine in a flash,” Traci said primly. “I mean, it’ll be Sutter Home White Zinfandel, but it adds a touch of extra caramelizing to the onions, anyway.”
Alice just sighed in desperation.