Earth Liberation
Audiobook · Earth Liberation: The Novel (Part I)
Chapter 8
Ceremonial county of Eastern Sussex, the United Kingdom of Northern and Southern England
December 3, 2078
The sky was grey and low. The first snowflakes were dancing in the air. But this snow was a rarity for Southern England in this season. And the ash from the fires had overshadowed any sunshine anyway. So, that professor wasn’t raving mad, when he predicted a hard winter.
Unlike Marcus Northon, the professor was smart. But he died so disgracefully, having eaten expired dog food. Well, Marcus didn’t have much time left either. He wouldn’t survive this winter. The cold, hunger, aliens or other tramps - for sure, something would murder him.
It was a bad idea to go to the subway - he’d be killed by the first strike on London, like Janine was. Marcus was bearded and hairy, wearing several layers of coats and trousers. He was sitting in somebody’s forsaken and ravaged home, eating stew straight from the can. His stuffed backpack was standing nearby. The only thing that differentiated him from the classic homeless person was the tommy gun he always kept near.
The stew was cold. But it was too dangerous to make up a fire. The smoke would easily attract drones or other people. During the autumn, Marcus, once a successful customer relationship manager, learned the most important rule of this new life: If you see a client, shoot. In this new wonderful world where trade and agriculture had been destroyed, the only source of food is someone else’s stock.
The new order wasn’t established immediately. In the first days after the strike the remains of the government and the army were trying to function in the old-fashioned way. The state of emergency, rationed food, public works and so on. In that time, Marcus still hoped for something - maybe even that he would find Janine...And then the aliens began landing troops, disposed of the remnants of the army, and everything collapsed.
He remembered vaguely those crazy weeks. Some gangs seized food and weapon depots. Some cranks were trying to cultivate the land. The aliens came and dealt with all of them - killing some and taking others. Settled life became impossible. Only tramps could survive. To find a stock of canned goods, intact by miracle; to put into your backpack as much as you can and to run into the woods as soon as possible - that was the only way to survive. You had to carry all your belongings with you, and you couldn't make any hideouts, because you'd be tracked and hunted for meat - both the meat in the tins as well as that on your bones.
Marcus had decided that he was happy to kill for food. But he hadn't resorted to cannibalism yet. He felt there are some lines that should never be crossed.
Northon licked the tin clean and put it in his backpack, knowing that he couldn't leave any traces of his visit to this house. It was time to move on. It was definitely warmer in the house than out in the open, but that's precisely why the house would attract other people. And there's nothing worse than being caught asleep!
The packs were especially dangerous. Most people are loners , like Marcus, but some wander in packs, families or religious groups. Marcus knew he stood no chance if he met a pack.
It was time to find a sheltered place where he could sleep. Northon shouldered his backpack, picked up his Tommy gun and dragged himself out of the house.
Snow was falling on the roof tiles, lawns and cypresses of an empty, long-abandoned village. Marcus walked without purpose, trying to keep up close to the houses and trees. He had no plans. The stocks in the backpack would last a month.
"Marcus!" Janine's voice came from behind, gentle and surprised. But he didn't even look back. It was simply a familiar auditory hallucination, which is a common occurrence when one hasn't heard another human voice in weeks. This gets him wondering: When did he hear human speech for the last time? Perhaps a month ago...if one can call “speech” the delirium of a dying, choking old man…
"One for you...the other for that person in whom you can confide your life…" muttered the professor. There had been two identical amulets trembling in his hands - made of a matte white metal, diamond shaped with spiked lower corners.
"Take them as my payment for euthanasia… It’s impossible to hold the ceremony according to the rules...but congratulations, brother… You are a Dragon Fighter now…” At that moment the old man was struck by a coughing fit and Marcus had thought the time had come. But the old man had come around again.
“Nagas...Annunaki...basilisks...dragons...They have already come, he knows them...When they come, it will give you force...General Moritz - our brother ... Greg O'Neill - Great Spearman ... the City under glaciers ...arsenal of the ancestors ...That’s all...I can’t go on ... shoot ... "
At a distance, there was the sound of a mechanic humming, and the memories suddenly flew out of his head. Marcus's reaction was instantaneous: he bent down and rushed to the nearest house. Damn snow, damn traces! God, if only they'd be covered up before this humming piece of crap reached him!
He jumped into the house through the doorway and hid in the cupboard under the stairs. He caught his breath. The sound was approaching. At least it wasn't a man! The alien drones learn fast, but they were weak snoops: It was easy to hide from them.
Wait. The amulet didn't react. So this humming isn't from one of their drones. Is this a nasty new trick?
Only when the buzzing machine stopped flying and hovered near the house, did Marcus recognise the sound. It's amazing - it's a quadcopter, an ordinary human quadcopter used by delivery services. What a miracle! How could they survive? Is there some fabulous blessed place left in the world where one can charge them?
"Hello, friend!" a voice was heard through the sound of the wind sticks outside. "The information service of the Resistance Army of general Mauritz is speaking to you. Today from 2 to 3 p.m. in the harbour of Newhaven, a gathering of volunteers will be held. Hold on the route A27 to the East up to Beddingam, then turn to the South on A26 up to Newhaven. In the harbour, the submarine will take you. Good luck, friend! We haven’t given up. We go on fighting".
The humming began to move away. Marcus was still sitting in the cupboard. Tears were running down his dirty, bearded face.
The mechanical clock that Northon had taken in a looted shop said 7 p.m. The destination was within a rather short walking distance: about 15 km. He knew he had to arrive in time.
He needed to go. Even if it is an alien trap, he must go. Even if he dies, the last hours of his life will have meaning and purpose.
Marcus was walking along the roadside, ready to jump and hide in the bushes if something happened. It was already dark. Far to the north, low clouds were lit up by a blue flashing glow - a big pyramid of the aliens was working somewhere in the Crawlie district.
Marcus didn’t see the human, but heard him first. The crackle of new snow underfoot, gave him away. Some instinct made Northon stay put. That man also stopped - he must have heard Northon’s steps. He was walking along the same side of the roadway. He might have been headed to Newhaven as well, but Marcus didn't know this for sure. IS it possible to trust this guy? Northon was gripping the tommy gun in his arms, holding a finger on the safety lock and he had no idea what to do.
Snow dropped from the nearest tree, the branches made noise. A bird hummed... No, it’s the aliens’ drone.
They set up for birds, and the more they did it, the better they pretended. But the professor’s amulet didn’t lie. Every time the pangolins or their machines were nearby, it seemed to stick to the skin, and Marcus felt some heat that came through the skin and ran through the veins. The professor wasn’t raving. The amulet really gave its wearer force.
A biomechanical creature looking like a pterodactyl flew along the roadway toward to the South, rather low above the ground. The drone didn’t aim at Marcus or the other man. It seemed to be destined for Newhaven. So, the aliens had found out that something is going to happen there, and they've sent a scout.
Marcus gripped his gun tighter. The right tactic is to not shoot, and not give himself away to the other human; to let the drone pass and then dash out. Not to go to Newhaven where the drone will soon call the pangolins and to win one more month of life…
Marcus clicked the safety lock and shot faster than the drone could react to the sound. The mechanic pterodactyl fell down on the new snow and flapped its wings.
Since he had the amulet, he always shot without missing. But before the invasion, he'd never held a weapon. Marcus finished the wounded creature with the second shot. The hot essence ran back to the amulet, it unstuck from the skin and became deactivated - the danger has passed.
Well, now there was no need to hide away. Marcus revealed his location. The other guy would be a fool not to shoot him and take his food.
He heard a noise from the bushes. A black shadow appeared against the dark grey sky. The other man was coming to the roadway with his hands up.
"A perfect shot, sir," he said loud. As judged by the quality of his voice, he was a black man. "Are you going to Newhaven? I'm going there too.. I’m Riley Dillon. Damn, I’ll have somebody to talk with at last!".
The smart move would be to shoot the jerk and take his food. But Marcus locked the gun, raised his hands and came up to Dillon.
When they reached the sea, it was already late. The only light in the darkness was the blue glow of the pyramids, which were concealed by the skyline of the French shore. People were waiting, sitting in silence on the pier branching from the barrier mole. There were several dozen of them. Northon hadn’t seen such flock since summer.
What if the submarine didn't come? For sure, everybody would jump down each other’s throats… No, he was guessing that they wouldn’t. They are united by a common goal. Maybe, not everyone has realised it yet, but they are one common troop.
Only when the black waters bubbled up and something enormous began to break the surface of the water, filling the whole harbour, Marcus relaxed. It had arrived. At least, there is hope.
A spotlight came on and blinded eyes that were accustomed to darkness.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Resistance Army," sounded a voice from the loudspeaker. "Now the ramp will be dropped. Join the queue and come one by one. Take off all your clothes and get ready for disinfection. We don’t need any lice on board. Hand over your provisions - everything will go to the common pool. The same goes for your weapons".
A distrustful grumble was heard among the audience. "You don’t like the conditions? Well, general Mauritz doesn’t force anybody. Everyone who's ready to go to our underwater base will take basic training and will destroy the damned pangolins. Those who don’t want to go may stay here and do their dash,".
The ramp was dropped to the pier with metal clatter. "Those who are with us, go ahead one by one".
An hour later the submarine submerged in the waters of the channel, having left just heaps of dirty clothes and empty backpacks on the shore. Snow was falling, covering them slowly.