Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

Trevor laid a hand on his shoulder. "How are you with solar power arrays?"

He did not wait for an answer. Trevor told all the newcomers what he had told the police officers from Philadelphia: "I take it Jon filled you in on the way over about how things work around here. We have supplies, security, and medicines but we also have a purpose. This is not a refugee camp, and it's not a democracy, either. If you accept that, then you are welcome to stay."

Omar and his wife nodded. Trevor turned to Danny who stroked his beard.

Jon said, "Washburn here is from Washington. He worked for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."

Danny waved his empty Glock. "I brought my own gun. Ran out of bullets, though. I was up here visiting my mother in a nursing home. Anyway, her heart gave out when this all started and I was kind of stranded."

"Okay, Danny," Trevor repeated his question. "Are you willing to take orders from me?"

"Well, like your man said, I worked for the Federal Government so I've spent my life taking orders from some pretty big assholes. You can't possibly be worse."

– Shepherd moved into one of the guest rooms, joining Trevor, Sheila and the Brewers already staying at the main house. Sal claimed one of the apartments above the garage as did Danny Washburn whose appearance changed from grizzly to clean-cut after a shave and a shower. Omar and his family occupied the A-Frame house beyond the northern fence of the estate. The A-Frame's garage had a tiny second-floor apartment that Nina called home. Or, rather, she considered it a place to stay. Omar connected a portable generator to provide electricity for his family and Nina.

As for Sheila Evans, the more people joined the estate, the more she withdrew.

The calendar came to October 6 ^ th.

– Trevor Stone, Nina Forest, and Danny Washburn undertook the glamorous mission of siphoning gas from abandoned vehicles. They drove a Humvee filled with fuel containers as well as the obligatory rubber hose. Trevor also brought a healthy dose of fuel stabilizer.

Despite Nina’s grumbling, their mission bore fruit: nearly fifty gallons of gasoline crammed into the cargo hold of the Hummer even before they arrived at the crowded parking lot of a small strip mall.

That mall sat dead center in a convoluted starfish-shaped intersection in Shavertown, with each fin a different rural road. In between those fins rested a handful of country homes, a wide-open field, and the modern "Shavertown" high school (home of the "Mountaineers!"). In the distance stretched rolling, forested hills.

Twenty-plus cars sat dormant in the parking lot. Trevor pitied the poor bastards who, on the day of reckoning, met their fate running errands to the drug store, Radio Shack, or the bank that sat on its own island away from the other shops. Of course, he sympathized with those caught at "Gertrude Hawke Chocolates."

They parked the Humvee amidst the derelict vehicles and exited, each armed with an assault rifle and an empty gas can.

Trevor had not brought any K9s; he wanted cargo space for gas containers. Besides, at only three miles from the estate, long-range K9 patrols went through that area every other day.

The trio crossed the parking lot unfazed by a charred chunk of human body or the skeletal remains of a horse-sized alien animal. Either the smell of death and decay had faded or their noses grew accustomed.

"This is what saving humanity is all about?" Washburn asked with both hands in the pockets of a denim jacket to keep a cold breeze at bay. While still underweight, Danny no longer looked emaciated after spending most of his first day gorging. "What do you guys do for fun?"

For the first time, Trevor heard Nina joke and she did it perfectly deadpan.

"Today’s Tuesday, right? Tuesday is orgy night."

"It’s Wednesday," Danny sounded unduly optimistic.

"Oh well, you missed it."

"Shit. Just my luck."

Trevor rolled his eyes. He would have been happy to hear Nina make with the sarcasm except he sensed her tone: she belittled. She was not making a joke; she felt it all was a joke.

Washburn, on the other hand, jumped into the spirit of things right off the bat. Trevor believed Danny a solid addition to the group despite his warped sense of humor.

Of course, when he thought about "solid additions" he also thought of the opposite. In the last day, Trevor had seen Sheila Evans once: sitting in a dark corner of the dining room eating breakfast. He did not know how she would cope when Sal opened his kitchen in the basement of a nearby Methodist church. She would actually need to leave the mansion in order to eat.

The three scavengers approached an overturned Dodge Ram truck. Trevor opened a gas can while Washburn prepared the rubber hose.

Without warning, the under carriage of the vehicle erupted into flames. A crackling sound accompanied a wave of intense heat. Trevor stumbled away from the surprise inferno.

A burst of weapons fire from his left.

Nina…Nina is firing toward the strip mall.

Trevor shook his head to clear the spots from his eyes. Shell casings flew from Nina’s gun; Danny dropped to a knee with a hand on his head where the flash fire had singed his scalp.

We are under attack.

He un-slung his M4 and followed Nina’s aim.

As his mind re-focused, he realized his error: they should have secured the shopping area first. Aliens charged from the stores there. They were organized and armed.

Trevor’s reeling mind thought of them as platypuses because of big duckbills. They also sported two muscular arms and wobbled on three legs. They would have been humorous looking, like some bad cartoon aliens on Space Ghost… would have been funny if not for balls of plasma spitting from weapons resembling a cross between a musket and a Super Soaker squirt gun.

He hoisted Danny to his feet with one arm and ordered, "Fall back, fall back!"

They knew ‘fall back’ did not mean run for the Humvee. The right flank of the platypus-things cut off that avenue of escape.

Plasma flew over their heads. Nina’s marksmanship knocked down two of the attackers but more appeared. There must have been a dozen in the stores.

They retreated into the bank building through a smashed plate glass window. Nina flipped over a desk for cover.

"This is just great," she moaned and squeezed a three-round burst toward the enemy.

The attackers did not pursue into the building. Instead, they formed a line outside, firing pot shots from behind parked cars.

"I don’t get it," Trevor said. "This area has been empty. The patrols didn’t find anything."

"Look, your patrols screwed up!" Nina's angry roar bellied her meek demeanor.

A chaotic hail of enemy bolts blasted into the lobby smashing what remained of the windows and leaving smoking black holes wherever they hit. The heat from the fiery plasma warmed the lobby, threatening to ignite a fire.

Danny Washburn mumbled curses as he dealt with a second-degree burn on his forehead. However, he could still fight despite the pain.

Trevor produced a radio from his utility belt. He had to shout above the firefight.

"Home plate, come in, this is left field!"

"Oh man," Washburn grinned. "Did you think that one up?"

"We need assistance!" Trevor radioed. "We’re at the Shavertown mall by the high school! Need immediate assistance! Under fire!"

Static.

Nina observed the platypus’ lack of assault with the frustration of a trapped animal awaiting the predator’s pounce: "Why aren’t they moving in? What are they waiting for?"

Another bolt, then another, whizzed by. A framed picture above the vacant loan officer’s desk fell and shattered.

"Wait a second," Trevor said. "I've got a bad feeling. Let me check something."