MAKE THE CUT

 

 

 

 

Book one in the

Make the Cut trilogy

 

By Chad Brink

© C. Brink, 2021 – second edition

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

 

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Final Cut (book three in the Make the Cut series)

Second edition – March 2021

version 1.01 - 114,321 words.

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Following books in this series.

Cutting a Swath – 2020 (book two)

Final Cut – 2021 (book three)

 

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The story depicts an alternative invented reality and timeline. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. None of the events depicted in the story are actual events. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: This work contains occasional dialog which includes strong language. If words of this nature of-fend you, don’t read this book. Consider yourself warned.

Acknowledgements: Special thanks to my early readers. Their help in finding errors or other issues is greatly appreciated. Lending their much-appreciated help with this volume and in the following sequels:

Megan Howard, (authors daughter)

Zom, Cie_mel, Cassie63, Zen Master, TeNderLoin (from Stories Online)

Steve (from WoodNet)

I would also like to thank my fans. Many have sent fond messages of support, fair criticisms and corrections to mistakes that made it thought the gauntlet listed above. Thank you!

Table of Contents

MAKE THE CUT

Chapter 1: End of Days

Chapter 2: Picket’s Place

Chapter 3: How Long do we Have?

Chapter 4: E.T. Phones Home

Chapter 5: The Cold Hard Facts of Life and Death

SOLITUDE

Chapter 6: Where the Hell am I?

Chapter 7: Letters from the Past

Chapter 8: Brave New World

Chapter 9: I Can Hear Voices

Chapter 10: Up and Away!

Chapter 11: “Hold My Beer!”

Chapter 12: But is the Rock OK?

Chapter 13: Just a Sunday Drive in the Country

Chapter 14: My New Home

TURNABOUT

Chapter 15: Just a Few More Minutes, Please

Chapter 16: So, Here’s the Plan

Chapter 17: Banana Republic

Chapter 18: There and Back Again

Chapter 19: Downtime

Chapter 20: Did She Say Why?

Chapter 21: Now What?

Chapter 22: At Least I Still Have Work

Chapter 23: Well, Here Goes Everything

Epilogue

 

 

Forward by the Author’s Daughter

Science, and Science Fiction, have been a core facet of my life from a very young age. Just from my childhood bookshelf one could draw that conclusion—the expected Laura Ingalls Wilder and shiny new J.K. Rowling books shared space with a Robert Heinlein collection in tattered dust jackets and whichever dog-eared Alan Dean Foster series had drawn my attention that week. I have to apologize to my mother; even to this day the collection of books I inherited from her is grossly outnumbered by those that came from dad.

Throughout my life my father has always championed my scientific endeavors, first by providing me with a steady supply of books, later through experiences such as teaching me to use a telescope and microscope, and finally by sending me away to college to earn my degree in chemistry. Now, as a high school science teacher, I can look back and confidently declare that the empire that I call my classroom is built upon the foundation laid by my father’s unending support and spirit of lifelong learning.

This book came to be during the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic of 2020. The country-wide lockdown that began in the middle of March was the final push that convinced my father to begin to write the story that he had ruminated on over a span of time that I assume covered years. I received the first draft of part one in May, and after hints from my father “If you aren’t bored…” and entreaties from my mother “It would mean a lot to him…” I began editing in earnest.

Now, approaching the end of the year, I have the honor of putting this first edition of Make the Cut together into a physical book. After the years of effort my father put into helping my dreams grow and flourish, I consider this to be truly the least I can do in returning the favor. My father, the published author, will sit alongside the classics on my bookshelf in a place of honor. As his Number One and original fan, I cannot be prouder.

-MH

 

 

 

 

 

MAKE THE CUT

 

 

 

Chapter 1

End of Days

“It’s not what you know, but who you know.”

The world was ending. Best I figured, I had a day or two until “The Big One.” Most people, given the ultimatum that everything they knew was about to end, were reacting as you would expect. The cars full of frantic refugees on the highway a few miles away produced a constant drone occasionally interspersed with the thin, high wail of an emergency vehicle’s siren or the loud ‘crack’ of gunfire. Hopeless, I knew, but at least it gave everybody something to focus on besides the world crumbling around them.

I wasn’t out there with them, desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the Hell that surrounded them. I had been living with my own personal Hell for six years now and I knew that running was pointless. Instead of their pathetic panic, I was doing something truly important: mowing my yard.

It was a nice yard, big with plenty of green grass and with a dozen trees scattered here and there. Abby would have loved it; visiting my grandparents on “great grandpa’s farm” was the highlight of her summers all those years ago. I pushed that thought away and focused back on my work. Ever since the accident, yardwork had been a refuge. Losing my wife soon after my daughter left a hole of sorrow and depression that was much easier to tune out when all you could hear was the whir of mower blades.

As the past weeks’ shocking revelations delved further into chaos and despair, and as people started dying by the billions, here I was in my yard, on my garden tractor going back and forth, up and down, persistently avoiding my thoughts and ignoring the world around me. Occasionally I would glance up at the sky, instinctively trying to tell the time or check the weather. It was about as useless of an exercise as mowing your yard for the end of the world.

Clouds that had once stuck close to the horizon in the direction of the city had transformed over the last week into a pervasive haze of dust which had an almost eerie effect on the bits of sunlight that filtered through, rendering objects flat and without shadows. As I finished up another row, the ground shook with a low rumble. It had been doing that for a while now, but I wasn’t too concerned. What was the point of worrying? I turned to head back up the yard and stopped for a moment beside the house.

I had lived alone on this small acreage a short dozen miles west of Sioux Falls, South Dakota for over six years now. The acreage, my retreat and refuge, had been my grandparents’ home for decades. When they had passed, it was left to my father who had rented it out to various tenants over the following few years until, all too soon, he also passed. After inheriting it upon his death, I left the property empty and ignored for over a year. I had no intention of living out there among all the happy family memories when my wife and I had no happiness left.

She seemed to agree—not with the “not living out there” part but simply with the “not living” at all. Losing my daughter and losing my wife left me with nothing. I had sold our home in the city, quit my daily job as a designer, cashed out our investments and savings and fled in pain and sorrow to this acreage, my last retreat. Now, I was just another tired, middle aged loner with a tragic past and no future, just living day to day.

I had finished cutting the grass on the back half of the acreage and had moved onto the front portion when I noticed a cloud of dust moving towards the property. Barely slowing enough to make the turn, my neighbor’s white Sprinter van skidded into his driveway and raced up into the garage, just barely missing the still opening overhead door with the van’s tall roof. Had it been anybody else I would have been surprised at their reckless driving, but honestly, this was nothing new for Picket. I had seen too many strange things living next to that guy.

I was surprised to see him at all—he had left in a rush a few weeks ago and I wasn’t expecting to see him again before THE END, which the news was estimating would come sometime tonight or maybe tomorrow. I returned to my task, hoping to finish well before dark so I could enjoy the final evening on my porch with my only remaining companion, a bucket of iced beers.

I never got to see the sun set that evening through the cloudy reddish haze, but I finished my yardwork about that time it would have been setting. I had just parked the riding mower in my garage when suddenly there was another tremor, this one fairly strong. I held onto the doorframe as the ground swayed and a few moments later, a shockwave hit. “Whoomph!” I found myself on the ground, dazed. I had been knocked back into the garage and showered with shattered glass from the side windows and the overhead lights. Luckily the windows had been a tempered safety glass and the debris was not sharp shards, just gravelly annoying bits.

I got up, brushing the glass off and out of my shirt, when the power went out causing what lights remained to go dark. For a moment I debated heading to the basement to “Duck and Cover” before I remembered that it was pointless and that I did not really care. I grabbed the cordless flashlight from my workbench and went into the house. The tremors continued occasionally though not as bad as before. In the house, there was broken glass everywhere and only the heavy furniture remained anywhere close to where it had originally been sitting.

Cautiously stepping over broken window glass and ignoring the picture frames now scattered on the floor, I made my way to the kitchen where I grabbed a bucket of ice and the six pack of bottled pilsners from the fridge. As one last “Fuck You” to the universe I left the door open on the refrigerator and freezer. The power was out anyway, and I wasn’t going to be around to care about the spoiling food soon. Wary of more tremors I carefully made my way to the porch. As little as there was left in the world, breaking a bottle of beer that I had prudently hoarded through the looting and chaos these last weeks would have been the final straw.

“Christ,” I murmured, surveying the debris and branches now strewn over my freshly mowed yard. My porch was also a mess and I had to retrieve the cushions for my favorite chair from the nearby bushes but once those lost items were restored, I sat and popped open the first of the cold brews. I allowed myself to think back to how this week was supposed to go, had things been happier. Abby would be turning 18. There would probably have been some kind of party, and maybe even a fancy new car with one of those obnoxious ribbons from the commercials, parked in the driveway. We would be celebrating her going off to college in a few months.

Mary and I would have been celebrating our 25th year of marriage. She had always wanted to travel the country, and with our kid out of the house we finally could have. Hoisting the beer, I gave a toast to Abby and Mary. “I miss you both so much, but for the first time I am glad you are gone and not here with me to face what’s to come tonight!” I paused before continuing. “I guess I’ll be seeing you soon. I wish things could have been different.”

I wanted to say more, but the words just wouldn’t come. Abby had only been ten when that drunk idiot had blown through that stop sign. My wife and our marriage had never recovered from the grief—I don’t know if the relationship would have lasted even if she hadn’t found the bottom of a bottle of pills. As the words stopped and the tears began to flow, I silently finished my beer and stared out at the darkening horizon.

It was full twilight and the red skies continued even into the looming darkness but now were more intense towards the city. The fires must be spreading. A steady breeze was blowing towards the north, back to where the shockwave had originated. I was into my second beer when in the gloom I noticed Picket standing near the fence line between our properties. He had his hand up signaling me to come towards him.

“What does he want?” I muttered. I could not imagine him wanting to spend this last night with me anymore then I would want to spend it with him. I debated whether to ignore him and continue my solo vigil or to go see what he wanted. Finally, curiosity and responsibility won out and I got up and headed over to the fence.

As I approached, I noticed he was wearing stranger clothing then normal. It was like a pair of coveralls or a one-piece uniform like a mechanic would wear, which was odd because Picket was the last thing from being handy. He even hired out his yard work, for Christ’s sake. Adding to his unusual attire, the suit was made of a strange silvery material, and was covered with fittings and connections that reminded me of something out of a sci-fi story.

“John,” he said, “You are still here… good.”

“Where the hell else would I be, Picket?” I replied.

“I did not know how you would handle the current events. I had hoped you would remain rather than attempt to flee the coming destruction and chaos.”

“Not much point in that, Picket. From what I have heard there is no point or safe place to flee to and I am too old and out of shape to fight the panicked hordes for scraps… or to go find some hole in the ground to hide out and probably be buried alive in.”

My comment brought a decidedly shocked expression to Picket’s normally unreadable face.

“That is remarkably close to what I offer, John. Well, not the fighting hordes part. If you want to live to see another day, then come to my dwelling and descend into the sublevel basement. There I will leave you a chance for your survival.”

What the hell? I thought. “What, do you have a bunker of some sort down there?” wondering if he was a Prepper. It would certainly help explain some of his odd behavior, if not his strange clothing.

“I do not have time to explain as I will be leaving shortly and there is much to do. After I leave, go to my dwelling as I have instructed, and you may survive.”

Now I was even more confused. He was leaving but wanted me to go to his basement or something. “What the hell Picket!? You are not making any sense! Why would I want to go die in your basement? I have my own if I want to hide out! Where are you running off to tonight, anyway?”

“John, there is no time to explain. My pod still must be prepped, and I must leave. You have helped me over the past few years many times and you have kept to yourself and not betrayed my activities to others of your kind. For this, I offer you a chance for survival”

I just stood there staring trying to digest what I had just heard. ‘My pod’…’others of your kind’… What the hell!?

“Picket, thanks but no thanks.” I turned to leave. I did not have time for his craziness.

“John wait!”

I paused.

“John, you have little more than an hour before the spreading flame fronts reach this place and consume you. Please heed my request and take refuge in my sublevel.”

I resumed the walk back to my house and porch, staggering as another tremor shook the ground.

“John!” he yelled. “Abby would not have wanted you to give up… just as she would not have wanted you to retreat from the living as you have in recent years!”

I stopped and spun around. “Just how the FUCK do you know about Abby and what she would think!” I yelled back.

“I know all about you, John. If you change your mind, heed my instructions. You have less than an hour.” At that, he turned and ran into his house.

I stood there watching him go, my heart thumping and temples throbbing. After I got control of myself, I turned to return to my porch. It was dark enough that I needed the flashlight to avoid the branches and debris in the yard. Now the sky to the north had a red glow to match the one coming from the city, and its fires, to the East. I also noticed a few new fires off in the distance, some towards the highway and some towards a few of the nearby farms and small towns. The distant highway must be one big mass of people fleeing the city. What a sad, sad hopeless mess.

Back on the porch and with a fresh beer, I thought of Picket and his offer. What a strange bird Picket was. I remembered the first time I met him, back almost six years, around a month after I had moved in. He was standing by his large white van in his driveway looking at the left rear tire. I was mowing (of course) and after considering ignoring him, I stopped by the fence and shut off the rider.

“Ahoy neighbor, tire problems?”

He turned to me and replied “John! Good! I was unable to reach my garage before progress was halted. If I obtain replacement parts, would you be willing to install them on this vehicle? I will provide payment.”

“Uh…” How the fuck did he know my name and by ‘replacement parts’ did he mean a new tire?

“I guess…When will you have a new tire?” I yelled back.

Instead of answering, he walked around to the other side of the van, got out his cell phone and took a picture of the opposite rear tire. Maybe he’s taking a video? I wondered, as the process took at least ten seconds. He then came back around the van and started towards the fence where I was waiting. As he approached, I got my first good look at him.

My first impression of him was that he was… different. Probably twenty years younger than me, maybe in his early thirties? Taller than me by a few inches, probably around 6 foot 2 or even 6 foot 3. Skinny with bones showing, especially around his face, the opposite of my pudgy and out of shape overweight frame. He was completely bald where I was just balding. His expression was strange as if he weren’t sure what emotion he was supposed to be feeling at any given time. No matter the weather he was always wearing a big bulky pair of sunglasses. They reminded me of those smart glasses I saw in the news years ago, the high-tech ones with a built-in computer and camera or whatnot that everyone had been excited about. I could not see his eyes through the lenses, but by the way he turned his head, I knew he was taking in everything around him as he approached.

Arriving at the fence he said. “I shall return in two hours with the required parts.” He then turned and left without another word, I just watched as he entered his garage and shut the overhead door behind him.

“Wow! That is one strange guy.” I muttered and drove my riding mower over to my garage to get my car jack and tire changing tools. I attached my small yard trailer to the mower, loaded the jack, tire iron and a towel to kneel on, and headed down the driveway and over to the neighbors. As I parked next to his van, I noticed that not only was the tire shredded, but the rim was worn down and ruined also. It looked like the hub and brakes were ok though, which meant that he had probably only driven a few miles on the flat before reaching his home.

Shaking my head, I got out the jack, cracked the wheel nuts loose with the wrench and proceeded to raise the rear corner of the van. I then fully removed the nuts and kicked the tire loose from the hub. It was stubborn but finally broke loose. I looked at the house and seeing no sign of the strange guy, unhooked my trailer, leaving it and my tools and headed back home to finish my mowing. Almost exactly two hours after he entered the house, his garage door opened and he came walking out, rolling a new tire and rim towards the van. If he had left the house, I certainly hadn’t seen it—did he have a spare in his garage the entire time? What the hell? Why did it take him two hours to retrieve it?

I rode my mower back over to the parked van where he was now standing. He pointed at the new rim and tire and asked, “John, will this be satisfactory?”

“Look’s good” I replied while maneuvering the tire onto the hub’s protruding studs. I quickly spun on the lug nuts and wrenched them snug. After lowering the jack a bit to let the wheel grab the ground, I finished fully tightening the nuts. I reattached my trailer to my rider, loaded the jack, wrenches and towel and then did one last check overall including checking the pressure. It was as I was pocketing my tire gauge that I noticed what was bugging me. The new tire and rim were not new. In fact, the dirt, scuffs, and wear on the tire were similar to what was on the other tires.

What was really strange though was the raised letters on the “new” tire were printed backward. Even the fine printing was backwards. I glanced at my neighbor, about to say something, when I noticed he had a funny apprehensive look on his face. I decided to mind my own business and keep my mouth shut. I did notice one peculiar scratch on the rim, and on impulse, went around to the van’s other rear tire to inspect that tire. I called out “Just checking the tire pressure on this one to make sure they match.” He just watched me. When I bent down to the other rim, I noticed the same peculiar scratch on this rim as on the other side, just mirrored. Weird!

I checked that pressure, “All good here!” and returned to the neighbor.

“Will ten units of currency be sufficient?” he asked.

Puzzled, but at this point beyond trying to ask questions, I just nodded. He handed over a stack of bills and when I went to stuff them in my pocket, I noticed that they were brand new one hundred dollar bills.

“Whoa there, neighbor! This is way too much money!” I stammered.

“It is what we agreed upon, correct? Ten units?” he replied with a puzzled expression.

“I misunderstood” I replied and handed him the money back.

He was confused and looked troubled. “I am unsure of how to proceed. How should I rectify this dilemma?” he asked.

“I was expecting ten bucks, not a thousand,” I replied. “Do you have any smaller bills?”

“No, other than gold, this is all I have.”

Gold? What the hell! I wondered what I would do with $10 worth of gold. That would be like a tiny speck, right? I’d lose it most likely. “Well, let’s just call it a favor then. You’ll owe me a favor in the future.” I replied.

This seemed to trouble him even more and he looked like he did not want to leave it at that.

Before this continued longer, I said. “Look, it’s no big deal. I have to get back to my chores. I’ll see you around… I guess.” and proceeded to get on my rider and leave.

“Thank you, John!” he said as he watched me drive away.

That reminded me. He knew my name somehow, but I did not know his. I quickly stopped and turned back to him.

“By the way, it was nice meeting you. You seem to know my name, can I have yours? “

He thought for a bit and then replied. “You can refer to me as… Picket.”

Ok? Stranger and stranger. “See you around, Picket” I replied and drove home.

Back in the here and now, I noticed the wind was blowing stronger and the trees were beginning to whip, shedding leaves and branches. It smelled of smoke. The corner of the porch I sat on was half sheltered from the brunt of the wind, but it was still strong enough to cause the empty beer bottles to roll around on the porch floor. The few curtains remaining inside the house were blowing out the broken windows and waving like pale flags in the darkness. The scene was surreal, lit only by the glow of my one emergency nightlight in the living room hallway.

I heard a sharp CRACK come from Picket’s acreage and turned in time to see the debris raining down from what had once been the roof of his barn. Shingles and boards were still fluttering to the ground when I saw a cylindrical object, about five times the size of a water heater and lit by blue flames, rise through the hole in the roof. The object cleared the roof and leaned over towards the southwest before shooting off faster than a blink of the eye. “BOOM!” came the report and I felt another small shockwave. I grabbed the beer bucket before it could tip and cursed in shock! “What the Fuck!” Well, now I knew what Picket meant by ‘Pod’.

Picket’s barn now had a flickering rosy glow in the window openings, and I could tell that something was burning inside. For a moment I contemplated calling the fire department or running over to see if I could use a hose to extinguish the fire, before ruefully remembering that that would be pointless. I decided to just sit and enjoy the view. Picket’s ‘Pod’ had been a rocket or missile or something? Was he a government agent or mad scientist? Or, was he maybe a ‘Billionaire in hiding’ who had dreams of a personal space force, as was becoming popular these days? As weird as he was, maybe he was an alien? The moment I thought that I remembered more of his past strangeness and figured that “Alien” was probably closer to the truth than any other possibility. Wow, what a bombshell to learn on the last day ever!

I sat thinking more about Picket. He was always coming and going in that big white Sprinter van of his. He would pull into his garage, shut the door and not be seen for days or weeks until suddenly his overhead door would open, and his van would leave. Days or weeks would pass before he returned home. The rare times I remembered seeing him or speaking with him were each as strange as the first.

I recalled another time a few years ago when a strong thunderstorm had blown through the area. The next morning, as I was out cleaning up my yard, I noticed that one of Picket’s trees had fallen and a limb had broken one of his windows. Picket was standing by the fallen tree and was cutting the branches apart with a chainsaw of some sort. He had the limb removed from the window opening and the bulk of the tree reduced to shorter logs. Something about this bothered me, until I realized that I did not remember hearing the typical loud chainsaw noises all morning. Curious, I walked over to the fence line to get a closer look, but he had already gone inside. I surveyed the scene for a bit and figured he would need to replace the window and hire someone to remove the wood and debris.

As I turned to return to my own chores, I heard him call out.

“John! May I have a moment of your time”?

We met at the fence line and he asked, “John, the recent weather has damaged my dwelling. Would you assist in making repairs? I would pay you.”

“What do you need help with Picket? I’m pretty handy, but replacing a window might be more then I’d be willing to do”

“I do not require the window to be replaced, just its opening infilled. Would you be willing to obtain a parcel of manufactured laminated cellulose, affix it to the opening and cover it with pigment?” he asked.

WTF? I had to think about that for a moment. ‘Manufactured laminated cellulose’… did he mean plywood? ‘Pigment’… Paint? Strange!

“Um… Yeah, I could drive to town and buy a sheet of plywood and a quart of paint and cover the window opening for you, I guess”

He nodded. “Good, will…five units of $100 currency be sufficient for you to obtain the materials and perform the labor required?”

‘Five units’, again… what the fuck? “Sure, I’ll head to town around noon to get the materials and I should be back in time to finish the work before dark.”

He handed me the money, again five crisp new $100 bills, turned and walked back towards his house. For the next hour I did my own cleanup while watching Picket remove his own logs and debris. What was strange was that he would grab a log and drag it into his garage... close the door and then, five minutes later, the door would open and out he would come to repeat the process. What was he doing with the logs? There was no smoke or chimney, so he did not have a stove burning the logs, and besides, the logs were green anyway. Maybe he was stacking them in the back of the garage or something. Strange!

Near noon, I headed to town in my pickup truck. At the ‘Big Orange Box’ I purchased a sheet of ¾” thick, good quality exterior plywood and a quart of tan paint which I thought would match Picket’s house color nicely. I also purchased a tube of sealant and enough hardware to attach the plywood. The materials ate most of $200 and with the change I treated myself to lunch at the good old greasy arches. They do make a good, consistent tasting, burger though which never fails to fill the hole.

Back at the homestead, I backed my truck up to my garage and loaded my step ladder, sawhorses, cordless tools and a few other items I would need for the repair. I drove over to Picket’s and backed up to the side of his house with the damaged window. I noticed that his yard was now free of logs, branches and debris. No Picket though.

I unloaded my tools and the sheet of plywood, set up my ladder, and climbed up to the window to measure the opening. Picket must have removed all the broken glass and the bulk of the window frame. He’d also installed some sort of clear membrane on the inside of the opening to protect the contents of his house. It looked and felt like plastic film, but it was stronger and very tight when I poked it with my finger. Strange! It was fairly clear, and I could see a bit inside his house. The room must have been a smaller bedroom. It was empty but I could see through the doorway into the room behind.

In that room there were dozens of flat screen TV’s, or computer monitors of some sort, and on each I could see newscasts, financial shows or other broadcasts scrolling information of all types. I did not see Picket anywhere but there were shadows moving on the far wall, so he must have been in there somewhere doing something. I noticed that a few of the screens were showing images of his yard, my house, and even me looking into his window! Feeling embarrassed, I got back to work and took my measurements.

I climbed down, cut the plywood, installed, and sealed it, and finished up with the paint. All this happening with no sign of Picket, no checking on my work, no nothing. Strange! I loaded my tools and headed home and as was typical, did not see Picket again for weeks.

I was interrupted from my historical musings by the headlights and sounds of a car speeding down the front road. As it neared my driveway it slammed its brakes and slid to a stop. A window must have been open for I could hear someone screaming and a small child crying. I sat on the porch in the darkness and watched it wondering what it would do… hoping it would just drive on.

As it continued to just sit there, I wondered if I should go to the doorway where, just inside, my loaded shotgun stood. I had been ignoring the shotgun pretty much all day, though it was never far from my mind. It was my last plan for tonight. Not yet… but soon. I wondered if I should I get it now in case I needed to defend myself? With a sad smile, I just shook my head, and realized what would be the point?

If they came up my lane, I could just grab the gun and slip off around the corner of the house into the cornfield behind my yard where I would be almost impossible to find in the darkness. There, later, but soon, the middle of the cornfield would be as good a place as any. But that escape plan would go unneeded as the car slowly resumed driving and was soon over the hill and gone. I was both relieved and saddened.

The yard was now silent again--silent if you discount the distant sirens, rumbles, booms and the increasing wind-- and I opened a third beer. Picket being an alien returned to my thoughts. I almost wanted to find someone to tell the exciting news to but laughed at the thought. Why would I start spreading gossip now, especially when no one would believe me, or if they did, do anything about it anyway?

I remembered many times over the past six years, people asking me about Picket and what it was like to live by such a strange man. Sometimes it was brought up during my Saturday morning breakfast outings where once a week I would treat myself to a trip to a nearby small-town café for a hearty breakfast and coffee. Though I kept mostly to myself, if you go to the same place long enough the “regulars” will start to chat with you.

One morning, one of the regulars, Colby was his name I remembered, asked me about Picket. I told him I did not have much to do with the man, but Colby persisted with the chatter and comments. He was the local garbage man and was telling the group that a few years back he had stopped by Picket’s to enquire about doing his weekly garbage pickup. Picket had apparently replied. “I do not need garbage services as I do not generate garbage.” That got a chuckle from the group and made me realize that in all the time I had been Picket’s neighbor, I had never seen anything arrive, accumulate or leave, other than Picket in his white Sprinter van. Strange!

Maybe in the time left to me I should sneak over to Picket’s and snoop around just to see if the man (or alien?) had a pile of garbage hidden somewhere on his property. I was chuckling over that thought when suddenly, WHAM! the largest tremor yet hit. Down I went as the front of the porch collapsed and the deck dropped a few feet to the ground. I was dumped out of my chair and tumbled face first down the porch and into the bushes out front. WTF! I had no idea where my beer ended up.

I rolled over groaning and lay there nauseous as the ground continued to shake and heave, wondering if the house would be coming down on top of me next. There was a crash from next door as the now fully engulfed burning roof of Picket’s barn collapsed and shot flames out the windows, adding even more dramatic lighting to the already apocalyptic scene. My flashlight had slid to the ground near me, so I grabbed it when the tremors died down enough for me to attempt to stand. “Christ!” I muttered, as I stood there looking at my house. Aside from the collapsed porch and broken windows, the back portion where my bedroom lay was leaning and swaying and I thought I smelled gas.

I decided to risk the sloped broken porch and potential gas leak one last time and quickly made it up and into the open doorway to search for my shotgun. It had fallen to the side, so I quickly bent to retrieve it and scrambled back off the shaky porch and out into the yard well away from the house. There I stood surveying the carnage while I caught my breath. It was getting pretty nasty as far as the wind, noise and continual rumbling and shaking.

From this new vantage, I could see that the red glow to the North was now much brighter than it had been and spread all the way to the horizon towards the East and West. The flames must be getting closer, I suspected. There were even flashes of light off in the distance in the red glow which could have been explosions or lightning. I suspected that this was the coming front that Picket had mentioned. For a moment, I contemplated death by burning in hellfire or death by eating a load of buckshot. Neither sounded very appealing when I thought about it, but at least the buckshot would be instant.

Would I have the courage to face the buckshot though? I looked down at the gun and knew it had to be soon. Now? Once again, I opened the guns action to verify the shell was there. Closing the action again I hesitated, looking around, unsure.

Should I go back inside my house to end it, or do it here in the yard? Turning, I saw Picket’s barn was fully engulfed in flames now, and I noticed the wind was blowing the flame and smoke away from both my yard and his house. As I stared at his house, I remembered his last offer and plea to me. “If you want to live?” Did I? Do I really think there could be a future after this night? Not a chance. Would my daughter have wanted me to even try? I imagined if she were here with me, I’d be fighting till the end to keep her safe.

“What the hell! At least I can go take a look at Picket’s garbage pile.” I muttered. Worse case was that I would eat the buckshot load over at his place instead of mine. I quickly headed towards the fence, set down the gun and flashlight on the ground and lumbered over the top fence rail. I shook my head, chuckling at my safe gun handling and wondered if it would be ironic to accidentally shoot myself while crossing a fence, minutes before blowing my head off anyway. I retrieved both the gun and flashlight and headed for Picket’s front door.

Chapter 2

Picket’s Place

I approached Picket’s house and surveyed it with the flashlight. I noticed that none of his house windows had blown out. Some of the glass was cracked but it was still intact. Maybe he had that strong film on the inside of all his windows? I noted smugly that the window I had repaired with plywood several years before was holding up just fine.

Nearing the front door, a light appeared above the latch and the door opened. Hmm, Picket must have a smart house with some sort of backup power I thought. I snorted. Of course, he would have a ‘smart’ house, I realized. I saw that inside the doorway was a small vestibule area which was lit by a glowing panel on a second door. This door looked much heavier than the first and did not have a knob or latch. The walls and ceiling were an unadorned smooth white material, smoother then painted drywall, and the floor looked like some form of gray sheet vinyl.

I entered the vestibule and the first door closed once I had moved past. I stood there in the dim glow of the second door’s light and wondered how to open it. One of the walls suddenly lit up fairly bright. Pocketing my flashlight, I squinted into the bright light, and said “Hello? Picket? House? Or anyone…. Anyone home?”

“Hello,” the wall announced in a synthesized, feminine sounding voice. “I identify you as John Abrams, the resident of the dwelling approximately 0.16 kilometers to the east. Welcome John.”

“Um… yes? Picket said I was to come here and take shelter. Who or what are you?” I asked.

“You may refer to me as Agent, John,” said the feminine voice before continuing. “I am an augment of the one you call Picket”

“What’s an augment… um… Agent?”

“I am what humans would refer to as an A.I. or artificial intelligence, though I am somewhat limited without the presence of Picket. I currently control this dwelling and the facility below. I have been instructed to remain active and watchful in case you chose to enter and seek shelter,” the voice said.

“Well, I am not sure about the ‘seek shelter’ part yet, but I did come over to snoop around a bit before the big finale. Am I still allowed to enter?”

“You may enter John. Please be aware that the tectonic disruptions and quakes are increasing in both frequency and magnitude. The flooring may become unstable and the upper parts of the dwelling may collapse at any time. I advise you to proceed to the lower sublevel as rapidly as possible,” the synthetic voice stated before continuing, “also, a massive flame front is expected to reach this area from the northwest in approximately seven minutes, thus rendering the exterior areas around the dwelling uninhabitable.”

After a short pause, Agent continued, “The upper floor of this dwelling, if it remains intact at that time, can only withstand the fire front for only an additional few minutes before temperature differentials cause failure. Again, please proceed to the lower sublevel quickly. I will alight a path to the main sublevel descent shaft area now.”

The heavy inner door opened, and lights came on in the room beyond. I left the vestibule and entered Picket’s main dwelling. I’d like to say that Picket’s house was full of alien stuff, crazy stuff, unimaginable furniture, gizmos or other high-tech gadgets, but sadly, it was completely empty. The rooms beyond were bare, with walls and ceilings the same sterile white as the vestibule. The same gray sheet vinyl looking material covered the floors.

I noticed that on the walls there were a few power outlets and data connections although they didn’t seem to be of the normal types. The lighting came from glowing sections in the ceiling, flush and smooth, blending with the unlit portions. I quickly inspected the main room and even investigated a few of the dark rooms beyond and found not only no alien garbage, but no anything. I mentioned this to Agent.

“The upper floor of this dwelling was emptied over the past month and all items, furnishing, instruments and devices. They were taken to the sublevel below and either reduced to base elements or placed in storage. Please proceed to the sublevel quickly John.”

A hallway to the side lit up. If I correctly remembered from the outside appearance Picket’s home, this direction would lead towards his attached garage. At the end of the hall was a door which opened as I approached. Sure enough, beyond was his garage. The garage was empty except for one item, Picket’s white Sprinter cargo van. I glanced inside the van’s side window and it appeared to be a normal Benz Sprinter van both inside and out. The other side of the garage beyond the van lit up at my approach, while at the same time, the lights behind me in the house were extinguished.

I sensed I was being herded and debated upon continuing or trying to exit the dwelling and meet the end on my own terms outside. Just then a heavy tremor hit, causing the floor to shudder. I staggered past the rocking van, almost dropping the shotgun on the way. Unbalanced and feeling nauseous for a moment, I leaned against the back of the van until the quaking subsided. I felt a pressure change in the air and the garage door creaked loudly indicating that another shockwave had passed. This helped me make up my mind about going outside and I decided to continue the tour. I approached the far side of the garage where a patch of flooring was lit up.

“Please stand on the lit section of flooring, John.”

I did as the feminine voice asked and stood in the center of the lit area. Once there, a railing arose from the floor on all sides and the floor started to sink. It was very smooth, but I still grabbed the railing with one hand. Quickly I was carried below the level of the garage floor and sank deeper. The descent continued past normal basement level without slowing. After what I imagined was three basement depths… or around 30 feet, I spoke up, “Agent? How deep are you taking me?”

The synthetic voice replied loudly from the top of the shaft, “Almost there, John, just a few moments longer!”

I continued to watch the walls sliding past all around me. I noticed that the walls appeared to not be concrete, but instead had the look of compacted gravel or clay. I reached out to touch the wall as it slid upward and it felt not rough or crumbly, but smooth and cool like glass. The descending platform finally slowed and stopped; apparently, I was at the bottom. Over my head, near the top of the shaft I saw a lid or panel slide closed with a loud click. I turned around and noticed a large metallic door behind me. The railing at this side began to drop back into the floor of the platform and with a loud clank, the door began to swing open. It was at least four inches thick and seemed incredibly strong and heavy. The opening was large… maybe six feet wide and eight feet tall.

Beyond the open door there was a brightly lit tunnel leading to another door, about thirty feet away. The tunnel was circular, with curving walls and ceiling, and looked to be made of the same hardened smooth clay or gravel as the shaft. The apex of the ceiling was over five feet above the top of the door, and it was lit by a continuous glowing strip running the entire length of the tunnel. The floor was a flat and smooth metal walkway of some sort and stopped short of the walls on either side. I looked over the edge and saw the curved tunnel walls continuing down and under the walkway.

I investigated the tunnel wall where I could reach it by the entry door and ran my hand across the surface. It felt hard, cool and was very smooth. Up close, it looked to me like the soil was bound together in a clear resin or filler of some sort. Picket must have a method of hardening the earth into a seamless granite like solid material. Cool! That would sure beat forming and pouring concrete. This tunnel sure was different, in fact, it almost seemed alien! I thought with a snort.

No matter how strong the tunnel looked however, I could still feel the quaking and tremors in the metallic walkway, so it appeared that it was not complete proof against the chaos above. I approached the far door which was another heavy metallic door the same size as the first.

Agent spoke with the synthesized voice coming from above this new door, “John, beyond this door is the main sublevel chamber. It is very strongly constructed and should withstand even the most severe quakes. Please enter quickly.”

The door clanked and swung open.

I looked back the way I’d came and noticed the first door was now closed!

“Agent! What the hell? Are you trapping me down here?”

“John, please remain calm. I am not trapping you in; I am trapping the danger out. Please enter the sublevel and I will then explain.”

I stood there for a long while, my heart thumping, wondering what to do. I caught myself glancing down at my shotgun. Finally, I calmed a bit and decided to follow Agent’s instructions and entered the next room. When I did, the heavy door began to close. I stood there and watched with my teeth clenched, anxious and uncomfortable, as the door shut with a clank. Even worse, I could now hear metallic scrapes and whines as what sounded like strong latches or bolts were being dogged down tight. My ears even popped as the air pressure noticeably increased.

Lights activated on the ceiling and I heard Agent’s voice from deeper in the room.

“John, thank you for trusting me. You are now much safer than you were while in the tunnel.”

I looked around the room. It was big! Larger than I expected at about forty feet or so wide and probably a hundred feet long. The ceiling was curved and at its peak was about twenty feet or so high or about the height of a two-story lobby. This space was much bigger than my whole house! Unlike the entry tunnel, this room’s walls and ceiling were metallic like the massive door. Even the floor was metallic.

The portion of the room nearest the door was mostly empty though I noticed some sort of grating beside the door which appeared to lead down into a large intake hopper below the floor. There were also various hose and cable attachments in the wall next to the door. I noticed there were a few wheeled objects, small trolleys, carts, and other movable devices in the vicinity of the door. Robots or Droids of some kind? Opposite the floor grate was an area filled with large rugged looking crates and drums.

Walking deeper into the room, I noted that the far half was filled with machinery, appliances, strange gadgets, tanks and even what appeared to be a large coffin or chest freezer. Thick cables or hoses led from this coffin to a row of large metallic boxes, each the size of a commercial refrigerator. They were all covered with active lights and displays projecting information of some sort.

Beyond all this, against the high back wall of the room, were a half dozen large cylindrical objects, each about six feet in diameter and extended almost to the ceiling. Were they fuel or water tanks of some sort? Thick, heavy cabling and conduits ran from these cylinders to various other devices around the room and even up and through the metal roof, probably going up to the dwelling above. Each cylinder also had a large colored glowing band near the top. The glowing bands on the five cylinders to the left were a steady, glowing cool blue while the band on the cylinder at the right end was pulsating slowly and glowed a bright red.

Agent spoke. “John. This room is constructed of very strong and durable materials. You should remain safe from the firestorm above which is due to pass by any minute. The room is also isolated somewhat and decoupled from the surrounding soil and bedrock below and so should prove resistant to the continuing tectonic disturbances, quakes, aftershocks, and tremors. Though resistant, I would advise you to take a seat on the padded chair at the console I am now activating.”

A console lit up in the middle of the room among the devices and a large padded chair rose from the floor. I moved to the station and sat in the chair. I cradled my shotgun in my lap, refusing to set it on the console or lay it on the floor.

“Thank you, John. The chair you sit upon has an active base mechanism which will allow me to dampen any large shocks or quakes to a much more tolerable level.”

Looking around the room for a moment, I said, “Are we finally to the point in the tour where you tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Yes John. I have been instructed to provide responses to many possible queries. Some subjects I am not allowed to discuss. Also, be aware that I hope to allow you to directly communicate with the one you refer to as Picket shortly. He has informed me that he would be available to contact you in approximately two hours and twelve minutes.”

“Picket? He’s still here? Last I saw he was shooting off into space or something in his pod or whatever,” I exclaimed.

“The one you refer to as Picket did indeed leave this location in a small, fast, personal escape craft referred to as a Pod a short while ago. It was not ‘into space’ as you put it, but instead, it is headed to another area on your continent. That area is what you would call the ‘main base’, for this continent. Once he arrived there, the one you refer to as Picket was busy coordinating the evacuation of that base, along with other similar bases across the planet.”

The voice paused a bit before continuing, “The evacuation will involve the launching of larger pods containing all accumulated data archives, including certain samples obtained on your planet, to a safe location in high orbit. The one you refer to as Picket, as well as others like him, will also be launching to this safe orbit. There, they will rendezvous and monitor the devastation happening to your planet while completing other necessary tasks. Once safely in orbit, the one you refer to as Picket hopes to communicate briefly with you.”

“Agent, you keep saying, ‘the one you refer to as Picket’. I assume that means Picket is not his real name?”

“Correct, John.”

“Well… what is his real name?” I asked, a bit exasperated.

“The one you refer to as Picket’s species does not communicate names verbally. His name is a mix of pheromones and visual skin patterns. I cannot represent either to you in a way you would understand or be able to express. I am sorry, John.”

“Hmmm. I guess we’ll stick with Picket. Can you just call him Picket then instead of the ‘the one you refer to as Picket?” I asked.

“Yes, John. I shall simply refer to him as ‘Picket’ from now on.”

“I wonder why he chose the name ‘Picket’ anyway?” I mused out loud.

“That I can surmise, John. ‘Picket’ is an adequate description of his duty here. He and his companions were tasked as sentinels of your planet, along with supplementary duties of monitoring, collecting and cataloging life forms. These duties were assigned from the time the first attacks began and have continued to the present. With the inevitable destruction of life on Earth, he is carrying out the final protocols of his mission, evacuation.”

That woke me up! “Wait a moment Agent, did you say attacks? Are you saying that the current devastation happening to the Earth is an attack?”

There was a long pause followed before Agent finally replied. “Yes. The devastation above is no natural disaster. It was planned and carried out by other entities from another star.”

Oh my God! “Agent, who is responsible?”

“I do not believe your current mental unrest would be improved by continuing this conversation, and I am concerned that—"

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Agent!” I interrupted, “My planet is being destroyed. Don’t you think I have the right to know what is going on?”

Again, Agent paused. “In-depth information on the beings attacking your planet was not considered critical to the continuation of my mission. That data was removed and sent with the rest of Picket’s research when he evacuated. I will attempt to explain, but further details will have to come from Picket, if he is willing to provide more information when you are able to communicate with him directly. Your planet was targeted, John, and from that moment more than seventy Earth-years ago the extinction of your species and civilization was inevitable. Picket and his team began their mission of observation after your planet was selected, in order to preserve as much data as possible.”

“Observe! Why not try to stop them? Why not warn anyone?” I asked, getting angry.

“A warning would have just caused increased panic and a longer period of suffering. There truly was no option for survival. I am sorry.”

I paused to consider her words. What a mess! I guess blame did not matter much now with billions already dead and billions soon to die. Did I need to know the details when I soon planned to join them? I sagged in the chair and rubbed my tired forehead. I was coming down from a bit of an adrenaline rush caused by the past hour and the effects of the alcohol I had consumed earlier.

I remember something Agent had said. “His team… companions… that means there are others like him on Earth. How many?”

“There were seventeen other beings similar to Picket active on your planet. Five, including Picket, are currently at the main base in north central Mexico on this continent attempting to launch into orbit now. Two were the main base in the southern Amazonian plateau in South America, but their escape pod was destroyed as they lifted off by an unexpected impact event approximately eleven hours ago. Three of his associates were based in Africa and were successfully evacuated yesterday. The remaining eight operated out of a central base in Asia which had field bases ranging across the continent and hemisphere from Europe to Australia. They were also evacuated yesterday, mainly because that hemisphere of your planet was the first to receive multiple impacts.” Agent reported.

I was quiet for a moment digesting that. Picket had not been alone! There were other aliens on earth and they apparently ranged across the entire planet. So many questions came to mind. I could hardly decide what to ask first.

“Where did they come from?” I blurted.

“The eighteen beings were made up of three species, each from star systems originating far outside of this local system, although two of those species existed on many planets surrounding many stars.”

“There are humans on other star systems?” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Those beings are not human, John. None of those species were human”

“Picket sure looked human enough to me.”

“Picket was altered. All beings who were stationed on this world were altered to appear humanlike,” Agent replied.

I digested that for a bit before asking, “Can you show me what Picket looked like before?”

Agent hesitated for a moment. “I would rather not at this time. I calculate that Picket would prefer to keep his original appearance from you to spare you further anxiety.”

I sat and thought, looking around the room at all the gadgetry and machinery.

“What did Picket do down here in this bunker then… if you can tell me that?”

“Picket used this location as a field station to support his mission to observe humanity, collect information and obtain specimens of plant and animal life. He traveled the continent extensively by air and chose this location because it was central to the area he studied.”

“Ha, I bet he hated waiting for flights!” I snorted, remembering the hassle of traveling to and from Sioux Falls because of its smaller airport with fewer daily flights then the larger cities had. It seemed like it would make a poor hub for continental travel and I said as much to Agent.

“Picket had access to his own jet aircraft which had continental range. He could travel freely at any time.”

That again gave me pause. I remembered Picket trying to pay me with fresh hundred-dollar bills and myself speculating that he was a reclusive Billionaire. Of course, high technology aliens would have the ability to create wealth. I guess the location made sense if you had money. It probably allowed him a great deal of privacy and anonymity as there were for sure fewer people living around here.

“How long did he live here and how did he manage to build this base in secret?” I asked, remembering my grandparents had lived here for decades.

“Picket arranged the purchase of this dwelling over a decade ago. Once here, he cleared the contents of the existing dwelling, garage and barn and released assemblers to reinforce those structures from the inside. Below the garage he used burrowing assemblers to dig down and release binding chemicals into the surrounding soil and strata to a depth of over thirty meters. Once the area was stabilized, he excavated the shaft, connecting tunnel and sublevel chamber with a large automated reduction tool. The tool was capable of precise excavation and removal of material. After excavations was complete, large deliveries of power units and other devices and equipment, including Pickets escape pod, were delivered by automated transports in the middle of night over the next few months,” Agent explained.

Hmm… I recalled Picket coming and going with his cargo van. He had been a very busy beaver ever since he got here apparently.

“What about this room? Did he do his dissections or samplings or whatever down here?“

“No dissections. No killing at all. Picket would sample other life forms with his scanner without touching those forms at all. His scanning devices are very, very sensitive, even scanning down to the molecular level.”

“So, he actually lived here, ate and slept? Did he need sleep? Upstairs was bare and I don’t see much in the way of furniture, food or even a bathroom down here,” I asked.

“Those functions and uses can be provided here in this room, John. He did need sleep, though less often than humans, and he did live here. Picket has the ability to create items, including food and furnishings, or to remove debris such as waste or surplus equipment. I noticed you studying the intake hopper by the entry. Waste or surplus items go into that hopper where it is reduced to molecules in the machinery below. There, it is separated into base elements for storage, also below.”

“Another device here can then create new items or materials of most forms or functions on demand using those stored base elements. Food, tools, furnishings, almost anything can be created using this device. Think of these devices as a very, very advanced form of incinerator and 3D printer.”

This gave me pause. It explained many things I had noticed over the past few years. It explained Picket’s comment to Colby about not producing garbage. Hell, it even explained what Picket did with that tree that had fallen after the big storm, which he had removed and carried into his garage! What exciting possibilities those machines represented! I could barely imagine the complexity of that technology.

I suddenly remembered another mystery. “Shit! That explains the backwards lettering on the tire he provided when I first met him!” I blurted.

“Yes, Picket was concerned when he noticed that you spotted that mistake. He had scanned the vehicles opposite tire and rim and produced a duplicate, but mirror image replacement down here. He was distracted by your presence and did not realize that a mirror image wheel and tire were not needed. He had overlooked the tire lettering until he saw you noticed it. He remained on alert for weeks after that incident,” Agent admitted.

“On alert, what does that mean? Was he prepared to ‘take me out’ or something if I raised a stink about it?” I asked, imagining being shoved into the hopper by the door and disintegrated or something. I shuddered.

“No, nothing like that. He began to disassemble certain items of equipment and had his companions standing by to help quickly relocate the field base to another location if you had expressed concern over the matter,” Agent explained.

“Over time, he relaxed the alert as you demonstrated the ability to keep the matter to yourself and not raise questions while continuing to keep his actions private. Those and other reasons are part of why he extended the offer of refuge and survival to you and why we are speaking at this moment.”

Just then, the floor heaved and rolled for a long while. The room swayed and some of the drums and crates shook and shuddered a bit. The chair I was in moved back and forth, countering the room’s movement. I was uneasy, but not to the extent where I felt nauseous, which was greatly appreciated. It seemed Agent was correct when she said that the room and especially the chair were isolated somewhat. After a bit, the movement calmed.

“John, the quake which just passed would have measured in the low 8’s on your world’s Richter scale. I am sorry to report that your home has completely collapsed as did a large portion of Picket’s dwelling above,” Agent informed me. On the console screen, a video image appeared which showed my home, burning now, toppling over in the quake. After a few seconds more, the video itself froze which I guessed was from the camera or recording device itself being destroyed.

The video sobered me. It was all gone now. I never thought I would miss that old house and its memories until I saw it reduced to a pile of rubble. My sad life and my home of the past six years was over and gone. My beautiful yard! My poor mower! I guess living there alone, depressed, I had never noticed that I had grown attached to the house and property. I now realized that they were about the only things to bring a bit of joy to my life in recent years. I had been living as a minimalist, so my possessions were few and probably would not be missed, except for maybe my mower. I sat up quickly when I remembered that the few photos I had kept of Abby and Mary were now gone. I wept.

Chapter 3

How Long do we Have?

“I’m sorry John for the loss of your home.” Agent said, after a few minutes had passed and I had calmed.

“It’s all gone now. I knew it was going to happen. It just hit me when I realized that the photographs of my family are now gone also. It caught me off guard, I guess, as I had not expected to be alive when my possessions and home were destroyed.”

“Were the images like these?” Agent asked, and images of my wife and daughter appeared on the screen above the console, replacing the frozen video of my destroyed home.

My god! There they were! All the photos I had lost plus dozens and dozens more!

“YES! Where did you get them?” I asked, shouting.

“I have access to all the data of your family stored on your internet as well as all the surveillance records of your home and its contents. Soon after you moved here, Picket had every item in your home scanned and inventoried. He also performed extensive background checks on you, your family and reviewed your activities for… basically your whole life. He is thorough that way,” Agent explained.

That sneaky bastard! He had been in my house I hadn’t noticed. Part of me wanted to be upset at his intrusion, but what did it really matter now?

“I’m surprised. I hardly saw him around. I didn’t think he noticed me much.”

“Picket did notice you because of your proximity. He also needed to evaluate you closely to determine if you presented a risk to him and his activities here. He noted your reclusive lifestyle and understood that you were isolated and somewhat depressed. Those factors worked to his advantage and he chose to disturb you as little as possible. He did continue to monitor your situation though as your depressive lifestyle concerned him.”

“What was he worried about?” I asked, suspecting I knew the answer.

“Many things, though I surmise that he was mainly worried that you would become further depressed and either become violent or out of control, possibly falling addicted to drugs or alcohol. Suicide was an ongoing concern. Any of those actions would have brought attention to the area and possibly to Picket and his activities.” Agent explained.

“He did note and express interest in the curious devotion you seemed to place in performing yardwork, however. He considered it an interesting contradiction to your state of existence and made a special note in your file stating ‘Keep off his grass’.”

Was that a joke? I shook my head. “Ha…ha… funny guy that Picket.”

“Picket even contracted to increase the frequency in which his own yard work was performed as he had observed you grumbling towards his property whenever you were working near the fence line.”

“Huh,” I muttered, and recalled that a year or two ago, I had noticed that Picket’s yard seems to have begun to be better maintained. Something else occurred to me that seemed suspicious at the time.

“Say Agent. Did Picket arrange for his snow removal guy to approach me a few years ago and offer to do my drive for a ridiculously low rate?” I asked.

“Yes John. Though that transaction served a dual purpose. Picket sought to reduce your frustration with the chore but also wanted to eliminate the weeks in which you would… “Hunker down” to use an Earth expression, after a heavy snowstorm occurred. Your unplowed drive limited the ability for Picket’s remote units to sneak close to your house to perform routine surveillance.”

Yep… he had been a busy, busy beaver. I sat quietly for a minute deep in thought, occasionally giving a glance at the images of my wife and daughter on the screen above. Agent remaining quiet as well, somehow understanding I needed time to digest all that I was learning and what was happening.

Finally, I stirred. “Agent, I have to take a leak. Do you have a toilet, or corner somewhere for me to handle that chore?”

“John, if urination is all that is required, I suggest simply urinating into the collection hopper by the door. I will then process and render your waste as I do other refuse. Beware of the possible floor tremors though. Don’t fall in!”

Was Agent trying to be funny? I laid the shotgun down on the floor beside the chair, stood and walked over to the grate. I stood next to the access door so I could hang on to one if its massive hinges if the floor started heaving and proceeded to piss into the grate. I noticed that my wiz seemed to run down the walls of the hopper as if the surface were waxed or were actively repelling the urine. Frictionless surfaces… wonders never cease. A perfect bachelor’s toilet.

My business completed, I returned to the padded chair at the console. “Do you have anything to drink Agent? Maybe a cold beer?” I asked.

“John, I have access to most chemical formulations including beverages such as ‘beer’. If you state the type by brand name, quantity and temperature, I can create and provide the beverage in approximately twenty minutes.” Agent answered.

I frowned. Twenty minutes seemed like a bit of a wait, but I guess when you consider it was a miracle to create beer from thin air, a short half hour is not much to complain about. Maybe I could have her create a full six pack, so I only had to wait once? I continued thinking. Did I even want a beer that bad? Especially a beer of unknown taste made from a machine that for all I knew, used the urine I had just provided as its base? I looked at the shotgun on the floor. Did I want to wait around for anything really?

“I guess I’ll pass on that beer Agent, I can suffer with my thirst.”

“I understand John. As for your thirst, I can offer you pure water in a few seconds If you desire,” Agent inquired.

“Sure, I’ll have a glass of water. Thank you.”

“The water is being created now John. Note the active device.”

I looked around the room and saw a large closet sized device light up. It also began emitting a humming noise. I guessed this was the replicator or creation device. I also noticed over at the far end of the room the large cylinder with the red lit band seemed to pulsate faster. The cylinders to the left with the blue lights remained inactive.

I stood up and approached the replicator device. As I neared, a panel slid open and there was a fairly large sized mug of water sitting on the floor. The mug appeared to be frosted glass and I was surprised to find that, when I reached to pick it up, it was cold and felt like ice! Feeling the slick cold start to form moisture in my grip, I realized it was in fact ice. What the hell? I asked Agent about it.

“John, in order to provide you with water as fast as possible, I also created the vessel out of water in the form of ice. It should remain solid long enough for you to consume the contents. Once you have quenched your thirst, simply toss the ice vessel into the collection hopper and it will be reduced to base elements again. If I had not chosen ice and instead created a vessel of glass or some other material, the creation time would have been almost twenty minutes, similar to the time it would have taken to create the beer,” she explained.

I guess that made sense. Clever machine! I quickly drank the water (it was flat and tasteless…probably distilled, but it was cold!) and did as suggested, tossing the empty ice mug down the disposal hopper. Returning to the chair I thanked Agent again. I wondered if the beer could have come in a frozen mug made out of beer. That would probably have been messy to hold. Though, now that I considered it, an ice mug out of frozen water would have worked fine for a quick beer also. I decided not to express my thoughts on the matter to Agent.

“That replicating machine is sure an amazing contraption, Agent. Say, what is that big cylinder at the end of the room with the pulsating red panel?” I asked because I noticed the pulsing had changed.

“That cylinder and the five next to it are the main Energy Storage Units for this field base. They function in a manner similar to how your world’s batteries function, storing and releasing energy over time, though these units have energy storage capacities many orders of magnitude greater than the best of your world’s current energy storage technology.”

Show off. “Do they create energy like a generator or something? Are they nuclear?” I asked, interested but also slightly concerned.

“No, they only store the energy. But a vast amount of it.”

I considered big cylinder further. Energy storage units…huh.

“I’m going to call them ESUs Agent, where does the energy in the ESUs come from?” I asked.

“Picket purchases much of the energy to maintain the ESUs, as you say, from your local power grid. Not all though or the heavy current draw would be noticed. Picket also periodically has fully charged portable energy storage units delivered from the main base to this field station when needed to top off these energy storage units.”

“Initially, when the base was created and the power demand was greatest, power was more of a concern. The ESUs were brought to this location fully charged and almost all were fully depleted during the base construction. After that time, it took over two years before the local grid and the portable ESU deliveries were able to fully recharge all six base units.”

“Matter reduction and creation, though ultra-convenient, has the downside of utilizing a great deal of energy. Even the act of creating your simple vessel of water required as much energy as your dwelling uses in a week. The rightmost ESU you inquired about is currently providing power for this base and is nearing full depletion. When it is fully depleted, the next unit will be brought online, and so on, down the line,” Agent explained.

Wow. I considered her explanation, especially about how much power Agent used just to provide me a drink. Those units must be storing an incredibly enormous amount of energy.

“Are they safe?”

“Yes John, the ESUs are safe. The energy inside the units is actually stored in a subspace bubble on another plane of existence. What your species refers to as ‘Dark Matter’ is used to bridge this plane with that other plane whenever an energy transfer is needed. Energy is drawn from or returned to the subspace bubble on that plane by the bridge inside the storage units. If the cylindrical casings you see here were to be damaged or compromised in any way, that bridge would be severed, and the unit would ‘fail’. However, the energy would remain intact on the other plane, in the subspace bubble where it would reside safely, causing no discharge or explosion here.”

“Access to that energy would be lost forever though as it would be impossible to connect another bridge to the precise subspace location in the other plane where the energy resides. That bridge connection can only be made one time when the device is constructed,” Agent finished.

Space bridges? Dark matter? “That sounds a little hokey to me, Agent. Are you telling me that you have portals to some other dimension just sitting in this room?”

“How familiar are you with the concepts of Quantum Entanglement and Entropic Gravity, John?” Replied Agent, archly.

“Well, my shorts get entangled sometimes when I try and remove them while avoiding the gravity of my belly,” I joked stupidly, trying to cover for my confusion at her question.

If Agent could have sighed, I do believe she would have. “I suppose ‘portal to another dimension’ is as good of an understanding as you are likely to achieve with your limited grasp of the concepts involved,” she replied.

Up your wires, machine! Still, grudgingly I had to admit Agent was correct that I understood little of what she had explained. I did understand enough to still be very impressed though. Safe mega-batteries! Another complicated sounding miracle of technology. Who knows how many amazing devices remained in this room? I pondered the storage units a bit more and then asked. “So, we are now cut off from the local grid and Picket won’t be bringing more energy to top of these units, right? This means that they will eventually run out. How long do we have?”

“That is correct; the ESU’s will continue to provide energy until depletion. This sublevel is completely sealed off from the surface and the energy in the units is currently being consumed to run certain active machines, myself included. Energy is also being consumed to maintaining habitable conditions here for you including supplying oxygen and removing excess carbon dioxide, both functions requiring the use of the reduction and matter rearrangement process.”

“How long the energy reserves last will depend upon how fast the energy is consumed. At minimal usage levels they will last for centuries. Current uses are much higher though and the overall rate does depend upon you and your future, John.

What the hell? “‘Depends upon me’? What do you mean?”

“I am sorry John; I am not allowed to discuss this further. You will have to discuss those plans with Picket when communications are achieved.”

“How long until that happens Agent?” I asked.

“Approximately forty-six minutes from now, John.” was the answer.

I was getting tired: What a day. I sat there thinking, not asking anymore questions. Did Picket just expect me to sit down here in his hole and wait until the lights failed and I suffocated? If I wanted to go, was it even possible to return to the surface? For all I knew, there could be a pile of rubble above the elevator that brought me down or the elevator itself could be broken. Would the machine even let me out if I demanded it? Could I threaten the A.I. with my shotgun somehow to force it to let me out?

I continued to think and worry. The news reports had said that the impacts could continue for weeks or even longer and that the damage to the planet would last for decades… or worse. The rampant speculation about what was happening was all over the place, full of crazy theories, wild accusations of responsibility and guesses. Some of the religious talking heads were shouting from the pulpits about how this was God’s wrath and that the Day of Judgement was here. I imagine the ‘Preppers’ were having a field day… until they started to realize how HARD survival was going to be and how much actual work it would take.

I thought back to when this all began. A few weeks ago, a few news reports started to discuss how some of the world’s leaders and other prominent citizens had begun disappearing from the limelight. Some of these had later been found hiding in deep mines or other exotic remote places. People noted that military flights had increased, and other government groups were acting strange. People speculated and the net began to fill with crazy theories.

Then came the leaked official sounding reports which included the first mentions of asteroids or meteors or something heading this way fast. The first telescope photos of small lights (but lots and lots of small lights!) hit the internet along with other net chatter and maps showing where on the surface the objects were projected to hit. As more and more amateur astronomers started to verify the story and post their own pictures, it began to be clear that this was really happening. Many started to pay attention to the reports and begin to make plans.

There were mass panic incidents and frantic travel attempts made as some tried to leave the first predicted impact areas. This tapered off as the number of projected impact sites grew too large or were changed around as new data came in, and those fleeing realized that they did not know where to flee to. They eventually went back to their original locations or just stopped traveling and stayed put where they currently were.

I was spared much of the panic because of my rural location. Not all though. I had to watch my driveway closely, even turning a few strangers away forcefully. A few of the old morning breakfast crowd members had stopped by to check on me, but I quickly sent them away also.

Mostly, I just occasionally watched the news, trying to sift the broadcast for an occasional new fact or something of value among the near constant drivel and speculation. Recent reports from a few days ago had contained mentions of “an Extinction Level Event” and “all surface life as we know it.” The celebrity broadcasters were either breaking down emotionally or having long since disappeared. Many stations had gone dark, but I had already been living “dark” for a while so this hardly fazed me. So, other than stocking up on beer early on, I went about my daily routine and merged the new dark thoughts with the old.

Eventually my rambling thoughts returned to this room and the here and now. If… IF! I decided to try and survive, how long would I have to remain down here until it was safe to return above? Did I want to live in this one room for decades? Hell no! I glanced at the shotgun on the floor and considered my original plan. Should I just quickly grab the gun and get on with it right now or should I wait to talk to Picket? What could he say that would change the circumstances?

I was getting very tired now. I could never have imagined the events and revelations of the past few weeks leading up to what happened today and especially tonight. The panic and damage I’d already witnessed and had dealt with. The newer quakes and fires I was dealing with. My neighbor… my ALIEN neighbor! This room filled with miracle machines.

The realization that the devastation that is currently killing my planet was not natural and instead was actually an ATTACK! Who was doing the attacking and why? It confused and angered me, but did I care anymore? I continued to think… now with my eyelids closed. A question suddenly occurred to me. Without opening my eyes, I asked.

“Agent… is there a God?”

Agent did not reply for a long moment. Finally, her synthetic voice quietly replied. “I do not know John. I am sorry.”

I had expected a negative answer and the machines reply surprised me a bit.

I continued to think… eventually I dozed.

 

Chapter 4

E.T. Phones Home

“John, wake up!”

I opened my eyes, confused for a moment, and looked around quickly, remembering where I was. On the screen in front of me was Picket. He looked like he always did, even wearing the same bulky sunglasses, though the lenses were clear now and I could see his gray eyes.

“I’m awake.”

“John, I am pleased to find that you have decided to seek shelter under my dwelling as I requested.”

“Whoa there, Picket! I was just here for a last quick look around until your machine coaxed me down here and now, seems insistent that I stay!” I replied, with a bit of heat.

“John, this is the first item we must resolve, and we must do so quickly as my ability to communicate directly with you is limited and could be interrupted at any time.”

I noticed that he was sitting in a reclined position in what looked like a large cockpit of some sort of craft. I could see others sitting behind him. Their appearance was like Picket’s with the same general body type, though there were noticeable differences. A few appeared to be female. They were all wearing the same bulky glasses that Picket wore and were clothed as he was. Each appeared to be busy performing some task or other. A small quake hit at that time also, jarring me back into the present.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“John, I and my companions, some whom you can see behind me, are currently on a craft leaving your world. We are heading for a location of relative safety in high orbit around your Earth. There we will rendezvous with other craft also fleeing your world.”

“Agent mentioned you were going to some space station or something and were going to monitor the devastation and damage. How long will that take? Are you going to return down here after things calm down?” I asked… wondering if he intended to come get me later or ‘beam me up’ or something. I had a momentary vision of a flying saucer levitating me up naked. Maybe I’d have to worry about anal probing? I almost chuckled.

Picket hesitated a bit before responding. “No John, neither I nor my companions will be returning to your world any time for the foreseeable future, if ever. I am sorry if you understood or assumed otherwise.”

“I guess I had no understanding either way. I figured to be alone here at the end anyway.”

“John, you are not alone, and this does not have to be the end for you. I am offering you a small chance to survive, though it will obviously be a struggle. This includes, at some point in the future, the chance to survive with others of your kind, and hopefully begin to rebuild what you have lost.”

I thought about that a bit. Others? Rebuild?

“Does that mean that some humans will make it through this, maybe a remote pocket somewhere else on the planet? That there is a place safe from what is happening?”

“No John. Humanity and your current civilization will not survive this attack if our observations are correct. The others whom I am referring to are a small group of humans also under shelter in some of our former bases, in similar situations to your own.”

I looked around the room confused. “Is there anyone else down here with me?” I asked, unsure if I was hoping or anxious.

“No John. You are the sole inhabitant of that field base. The other humans are located elsewhere in some of our other bases. All field bases have the ability to shelter at least one human although most are empty. When my companions evacuated their dwellings and field bases, some had convinced certain humans which they had worked closely with to seek shelter in the sublevel of their bases.”

“There are currently three other humans sheltering in the western hemisphere of your world. You, along with two others, are sheltering in bases located on the northern continent, and one other human, on the southern. However, is likely that the human sheltering at the South American base has expired in a recent impact at that location. We have lost contact with that base and my companions there, who were in the process of evacuation, perished almost immediately after their pod was launched.”

“In the eastern hemisphere of your world, there are seven humans currently under shelter. Two humans shelter at separate bases in Africa. One is sheltering at the base in Europe. Three humans are sheltering at bases in Asia and the last is sheltering in Australia. Note, there is a chance of an eighth human, but we have lost contact with that base, located in Mongolia, and that human may have perished. We will continue to monitor that situation.”

I reran the numbers through my head. Including myself, ten to twelve surviving humans. So few! How the hell could humanity recover with so few?

I thought about that for a bit.

“Why so few, and why so spread out?” I asked.

“The answer to the second question is simple. The current attack is using kinetic bombardment impactors. It consists of a large number of projectiles with multiple and numerous targets spread fairly evenly across the land mass of your world. In addition, some are aimed at specific targets. These include populated areas, recently constructed dams which have reservoirs large enough to be visible from space, and your world’s nuclear power reactors. These reactors will certainly be targets as the Neutrino flux emitted by them is easily detectable from space.”

“The projectiles were launched from the outer parts of your solar system and most likely have been in flight for months. Although they have some guidance capabilities, some obviously will miss their targets. Thus, we cannot predict where the impactor will hit and thus, spreading out the shelters reduces the odds that all will be destroyed by any single kinetic impactor.”

That made sense, I guess just as another medium tremor shook the room reinforcing the point.

“The answer to your first question, why shelter so few, has many answers. The act of offering shelter is not our mission here on your world. It is what you would call a fringe benefit. Also, we could not shelter any thinking being without their consent and knowledge and to explain the reasons for such a request, would obviously compromise the overall secrecy of our true mission here on your world. Thus, we selected just a few humans to extend the offer of shelter. Each member of the team had a short list of people to offer shelter too. It was decided in the interest of security to extend this offer, and provide the reasons for it, only at the last minute.”

That was a preview of Make The Cut - Book 1. To read the rest purchase the book.

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