Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

"Woooweeeeee! Woooweeeeee!"

Trevor Stone watched the day begin from atop the second mountain knowing that in this new world each new day brought another fight for survival.

He sighed and took stock of his forces: one-hundred survivors from the first mountain’s defense line, another fifty who had been in reserve, and forty remaining from Stonewall’s cavalry. Forty more followed Jon Brewer from the eastern front to the southern one, but the majority of those fighters had suffered injuries during the Roachbot encounter.

The sum of the equation totaled two hundred and thirty-less than a quarter being trained, pre-Armageddon military-plus fifty K9s. Trevor left the remainder of his surviving dogs back on Route 11 to hunt Red Hand stragglers.

Overall, he felt Shep had done a fine job preparing the ground for war. Nonetheless, Trevor had other preparations to make.

It had not taken him long to realize the Vikings held the advantage in every way except terrain. They outnumbered the humans (Stonewall’s reconnaissance suggested three hundred aliens occupied the first hill), the quality of their soldiers exceeded Trevor’s own, and the Vikings showed no signs of ammunition shortage, unlike his own dwindling supply of ordnance.

Yes, he would make a last stand in those mountains. If the second defense line fell then they would retreat to the third, and there they would hold to the grand conclusion. However, Trevor would not let humanity die. He had sent Omar to the estate to form an escape party. If all else failed, the eccentric engineer would round up everyone who remained-including Anita Nehru and Lori Brewer-and run.

Trevor watched a beautiful new day dawn and wondered if he would ever see another.

– Three deuce and a half trucks, the Abrams tank atop a flat bed, and one Bradley fighting vehicle comprised the convoy which parked on the shoulder of I-81 far behind the front lines and beyond the estimated range of the Viking catapults.

The drivers disembarked from their cabs. Most wore camouflage jackets to chase away the morning chill but soon the day would warm considerably.

Tolbert commanded the convoy and while the tank may have been the most striking of the vehicles, the supplies inside the cargo trucks were the most important.

He radioed, "Base this is Hungry Hippo, you guys awake?"

After a moment, he received an answer: "Ah, roger that, Hippo-who thought that one up? What can we do for you?"

"For me? Brother, I got the goodies you crave. Send some strong backs down here."

Blam.

The grenade detonated on Tolbert’s left. Its crystal-like shrapnel tore one of the drivers to shreds. More hit Tolbert’s leg, knocking him to the ground.

Thwoosh…bam!

The Bradley erupted into flames from an anti-armor projectile.

Tolbert, on the hard pavement of the Interstate, saw six hooded alien fighters-a commando unit, no doubt-emerge from the heavy brush on the far side of the highway. They rushed forward with their guns shooting.

The human drivers scrambled behind the trucks and returned fire with pistols. One panicked but lucky shot felled a commando.

Tolbert crawled under a supply truck and grabbed his radio.

"Jesus Christ! They were waiting for us!"

"Say again, who is this?"

"This is Hungry-screw it; this is Tolbert with the supplies. We’re getting ambushed here! Need help!"

"Roger that," came a female voice. "Death from above."

Tolbert glanced north and saw an Apache chopper rise from the Wyoming Valley river basin. It drifted across the skyline toward the mountainside highway.

He glanced around and realized only one of the drivers remained alive: a teenage boy dressed up like a soldier standing on the side of the road looking shell-shocked.

"Get out of here!" Tolbert yelled.

The shout shook the kid from his trance. He ran wildly toward the dense woods. Either the aliens did not see or did not care; the kid disappeared into the forest.

Tolbert propped himself against a truck tire and stayed hidden as he heard the enemy race frantically around the convoy, perhaps searching for him.

The thump-thump of helicopter blades grew louder.

Tolbert, emboldened by the arrival of air cover, peered around the front end of the truck in time to see the commandos disappear into the brush from whence they had come.

Shrapnel in his leg sent sharp pain from his knee to his neck, but he managed to stand.

He hobbled into the clear, waved to Nina’s approaching chopper, and pointed toward the brush. The Apache veered in that direction.

Tolbert noticed an open rear gate on one of the trucks. He limped over and surveyed the cargo inside. The crates of precious ammunition remained intact.

"Hold on a sec, what do we have here?"

A humming silver box with a flickering electronic display caught his eye.

"Oh shit."

The silver boxes in the army trucks and under the Abrams exploded in a brilliant red flash, vaporizing the supplies, the tank, and Tolbert.

– "Oh, now that’s just friggin’ great," Jon Brewer stormed around the small clearing in knee-deep damp grass. "They sneak into our rear area, take out our supply column, blow the piss out of the Abrams, then get away without a scratch? Wow, just great."

"Another convoy?" Shep floated the idea in a hushed tone so as to keep the conversation within the confines of the small meadow away from the ears of the front line defenders.

"There’s nothing left," Trevor shared the grim news.

Jon said, "Wow, we’re in bad shape then. Some of the guys got pistols, hunting rifles, and shotguns. The army guys have carbines. There are few of the Redcoat and platypus rifles but they're running dry. I don’t see how this is going to get things done."

Shepherd said, "There has to be more than that."

Brewer answered, "A couple of shoulder-fired anti-tank missiles, a grenade here and there, Johnny has got a few toys left and Stonewall’s guys got swords but…but…"

Sharp reports of gunfire blasted into the clearing.

"They’re coming again," Shep stated the obvious.

The three jogged from the meadow, up a short rise, and approached the trenches and barricades of the second mountain. The cleared field of fire in front of the lines showed no sign of attackers, but the clap of shots reverberated through the dense woodland.

Reverend Johnny frantically dispatched groups to his left and right while K9s raced behind the battlements, yapping an alert.

"Hurry now! Run like the devil is biting at your ass!"

Johnny faced Trevor and told him, "The fiends are striking at our flanks. If not for the acute noses of our canine companions they would have overrun us on either end!"

Trevor translated and realized that the Grenadiers had sniffed out a sneak attack.

"Jon, take the right. Shep, take the left. Johnny, you keep hold right here."

"Like the rock of Gibraltar!"

Trevor followed Shep toward the eastern flank. The roar of battle intensified.

The eastern edge of the summit ended in a sharp bluff that dropped to a valley of rocks. The human lines anchored against that precipice. The Vikings stormed toward them.

Bullets answered but not in a quantity equal to the task. The Vikings made it half way across the clearing and appeared poised to overrun the position. If they did, the aliens could sweep into the rear area and effectively strangle the ragtag army.

"Keep shooting! Keep shooting!"

Trevor followed the advice Shepherd yelled to the defenders. He leaned against a Maple tree and fired a trio of shots into the approaching force. The added bullets from his gun seemed little more than extra pebbles thrown into a tidal surge.

Something whizzed near his head. A chunk of bark exploded from the tree. Trevor dropped to the ground pinned by heavy enemy fire that…suddenly…stopped.