For Their Own Good: Part 6

((Author's note:  Hey, I wanted to incorporate this chapter with the original thread titled "For Their Own Good, Parts 1 through 3," but it wouldn't load properly.  I think Firefox is acting uppity.  So I had to go ahead and bust out this new thread.  Sorry about that.  Hope the story makes up for it.))

Part 6:  Cut-Off

Xavier tensed.  His fingers opened and closed, as if hungry for a weapon's grip.

Bogie raised a finger quietly.  "Play it cool.  Lay low, don't spaz; it'll probably get bored, moved on, and forget about this neighborhood."

Xavier's fingers stopped flexing.  The probe then veered away from their spot and flew over the street.  Xavier heard no noise except the gentle whispering whoosh of the craft's engine, the crunch of tires on the pavement, and his own pounding heart.

Tires?  A vehicle was here?  Didn't the driver see what was above?  Had the probe seen what was below?

Shak-shak, BLAM! Shak-shak, BLAM! The shotgun blasts made Xavier hop and Bogie turn his head, grimace, and groan, "Aw, man! Our side's starting something!"  And he trotted over to his property's streetside tree line, Xavier following.

BLAM! BLAM!  Two guys in the bed of an older red pickup truck fired buckshot at the probe, which zipped on over the street past the cul-de-sac and its houses, and beyond the trees behind them.

"I think I hit 'em!" exclaimed one shooter.

"See any parts that fell off?" asked the other. 

Bogie dashed up to them.  "Dude!" he snapped.  "What are you jarheads doing?!"

The first shooter glared down at Bogie.  "Brushing our teeth.  What's it look like, ya pinhead? Getting rid of an enemy!"

Xavier pulled up just behind Bogie.  "Even I know better than that!  You just blast at them like that, and they'll be back with something worse!"

"Well, what do you propose we do, Mr. Mahatma Gandhi?" huffed the other shooter with a sneer.  "Hand them the keys to the county courthouse?  Maybe you can throw a tea party and invite their buffalo queen Sumo Matrix." 

"Summa Matrei."

"Whatever."  Then he squinted at Xavier.  "Hey, wait a minute… I seen you before."

Xavier folded his arms.  "Sorry, I don't think you have."

The first shooter furrowed his brow.  "Yeah, we have.  Wasn't you talking to Wes and Gene at the VFW last night?"

Xavier looked back and forth between them.  "Just to return Wes' wallet."

"Well, shoot, then.  Didn't ya hear anything Gene said?" And the first shooter's lip curled in disgust.

Before Xavier could retort, running footfalls drew nearer behind him.  It was Xavier's dad.  "What's all the ruckus?"

"Alien scout pod passed by," Xavier said.  "These guys took pot shots at it."

Xavier's dad's eyebrows shot up.  "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, they went that way."

Xavier's dad turned to the guys in the pickup.  "What are you guys doing here?"

"Volunteers on patrol," the second shooter said.  "Gene Gray organized a neighborhood watch."

Xavier's dad tilted his head unsurely.  "Yeah, well, looks like the threat's passed.  Probably should tell the police or sheriff's office what happened."

The shotgun men looked back lukewarmly.  "Uh, yeah, sure," one said tentatively. "Better move on."  And looking to Bogie and Xavier, he said, "Oh, and you're welcome."  And with that, the driver turned them around and they left.

Xavier stared at the departing pickup with some contempt.  His dad said, "Hey, son, why not come on in and spare your mother the heart palpitations, huh?"

"Hey," Bogie offered, "if y'all need to flake out and run for the hills, don't be scared to come knockin'.  I'm the man with the van."

Dad looked back unsurely.  "Yeah, sure.  Thanks."

Xavier waved more gratefully.  "Stay in touch."  Then as soon as the Francises were out of their earshot, he muttered, "Dad, do we have any firearms?"

"Look, son," his father replied in sotto voice, "I know that Irontree guy seems nice enough, but I think he's a few croutons shy of a salad."

Xavier stopped with a jerk. "Huh? Bogie's short?  Then what does that make Yosemite Sam and Fuzzy Lumpkins in the pickup truck?  At least he wasn't shooting at anything!"

Before his dad could reply, Xavier's mom jogged out.  "You okay, baby?"

"Yes, Mom," Xavier said hurriedly, "just some of the village idiots playing army."

***

Later that evening, he saw his brother by the iMac.  "Hey, Hogan, have we got any firearms?"

Hogan stared up at him.  "Well, I think we still have Granddad's old shotgun, and the .22 rifle from Keith's Boy Scout days," he said hesitantly.  "What, you're not thinking of joining the Gray Shirts, are you?"

"NO," Xavier said testily, "I just want to… be ready if the aliens come after someone I DO give a freep about."

Hogan grunted softly and drummed his fingers once.  "Well," he said, "let's not jump off that bridge until we get to it."  Then he clicked around some more, monitoring the skies with the telescope.  "Wanna check to see what's beyond our skies?"

"Thanks anyway, getting drowsy.  Good night."

And Xavier doddered off to bed, more hoping than trusting that the world wouldn't blow up while he slept.

***

Thankfully, it didn't.  And though the occasional overhead jet woke him, he gathered enough sleep, waking a little before 6 AM.  And after staggering up to his shower and shave, he saw his Dad at the iMac at 6:30.  "Anything develop?"

"Hard to tell," was his father's grim reply.  "Download speed's much slower than even at prime time.  Almost dial-up slow."

Xavier grunted with a frown as he went over to the TV and tuned in WNN.

"– a scene repeated from down in the Louisiana Bayous all the way up north to all branches of the Mississippi River, as far north as Iowa and Wisconsin." 

The reporter stood in front of a jungle.  Big, tall, broad green leaves and hopelessly tangled vines spread out behind him and his flatboat like a curtain.  "All this vegetation has sprouted up literally overnight, completely choking the waterways and rendering them impassable to all vessels and craft."

And the camera turned to show a bridge totally overgrown, blocking out traffic.  A casino riverboat rested precariously in some boughs ten feet up.

"East-west interstates and other highways or roads crossing the river are also completely blocked as the foliage has covered and engulfed the bridges. Effectively, the East and West Coasts are cut off from entry on the ground."

The screen cut to a black-and-white night-visioned amateur video trailing three Eugenian scout pods.  As the commentator droned on, each pod released a trail of dust or smoke which settled in the river.  After the pods disappeared over the horizon, the picture shook, then jerkily spun left to the river surface, which bubbled like a rolling boil.  After a few seconds, vines and tendrils sprouted out of the water, growing, sprouting and spreading leaves like a flag caught in the wind.  then the water displaced by the undergrowth formed waves and washed toward the viewers.  The newscast then cut to a full-color live shot.  Some rescue workers hurried and and laid down sandbags to keep the new flood waters back.

The network then broke to an Eurasian "-istan" former Soviet socialist republic that Xavier didn't recognize.  Another civilian's camera recorded from within the refuge of a hilltop park.  Some children gathered in a line along a slope and hunkered down while their teacher/den mother called to them to get away from there.  But the kids were too engrossed by the battle down below in the town.  The cameraperson hurried over for a better view.

Flying Eugenian vessels swarmed over and around the buildings' rooftops.  An Mi-24 Hind assault helicopter unleashed its rockets at a couple of skiffs with warriors' shields lining the gunwales.  The warheads detonated in its deadly orange, yellow and black blossoms, but the Eugenian craft emerge from the smoke unharmed and descended into the streets. 

A ZSU 23-4 armored vehicle rolled on its treads toward the invaders, who didn't even stop.  An archer leveled her bow over the skiff's side, reached and grabbed the energy "string," pulled back, and shot a sizzling bolt into the metal machine's turret.  WHA-BAM!  The autocannons twisted and were ruined on impact.

Landing the skiff, the troops swung the bay door down to make a ramp, got their shields, bows, spears and swords ready, formed a protective flank, and quickly trotted out.  The archers sought the nearest bits of cover on the sidewalk, while the shielded warriors ducked and blocked the bullets flying their way.  Some desperate civilian gunmen sped up in a Japanese 4×4 SUV and torpedoed right at two Eugenians for a hit-and-run attack.  Seeing this,the warriors didn't sidestep or make way. 

Instead, they crouched a little, braced their legs, and caught the vehicle's front end and pushed back.  And while their faces grimaced, their teeth clenched, their veins surfaced and throbbed along their swelling biceps, thighs, and calves, and their boots' soles scraped and slid on the pavement as the machine pushed them back… the warriors still stood and didn't topple. 

Then a third Eugenian soldier dashed up with a glowing javelin and thrust it lowly.  POW screaunch POW!  The energized point and shaft punctured through the SUV's back tires, and wheels, and apparently poked through the axle, too.  The machine's rear crashed to the street.

The occupants inside stirred hurriedly, and the forward passenger pulled out a submachine gun, while the driver chambered a round into his pistol.  But they never got to shoot:  the warriors had grabbed the massive vehicle on each end, hefted it up, and with three swings and a shout hurled it out of their way, sending it to roll side over side.

Then something exploded overhead.  The camera's view swung up to show the assault copter's tail get blasted off.  The aircraft spun around crazily and dropped right towards the park.  Screaming, the children ran away from the floundering craft as it smashed, rolled, and exploded.  One straggling girl got knocked down face first by the blast's force.  She lay still for a moment.  The camera neared the child, but then got pushed back by a gust of wind from another vessel.

It was a hovering Eugenian skiff, followed by two landing escort chariots.  The small girl was pinned down by the skiff's engine exhaust.  The cameraperson shouted out to her, but couldn't go to her.  After the skiff touched down, some alien soldiers jumped off the skiff to check the copter wreckage.  One of them spotted the prone child and stepped over to her.

As the trooper stooped down to scoop her up, the girl screamed, kicked, and flailed her arms.  The camera person cried out again.  Then suddenly a teacher shouted out after a small seven-year-old boy, who charged right up and threw rocks at the colossal captor, screaming at her to let his friend go.

Disregarding him just then, the warrior turned and called over one of her compatriots, who had white cloth hemmed over and around her bronze metallic skirt and breastplate.  This trooper had no weapons, but she did have a set of pouches on her belt.  Reaching into one, she fished out and opened a small vial with a grey cream in it.  Taking no note of the stone smacking her in the neck, the white-clad amazon dipped her finger into the vial, brought out a dab of the stuff, snaked her hand between the flailing little arms and legs, and simply drew a hyphen across the little girl's forehead.  The child kept swinging her limbs about for two more seconds… and then she slowed down… and stopped.

And then she tilted her head as if she'd heard something way off in the distance.  Then she turned and gave the Eugenian in white a lost look, as if she'd forgotten her lines and needed a cue.  The huge woman then smiled gently, benevolently, and reassuringly. 

Meanwhile down below, the boy shouted and smacked her repeatedly and uselessly in the shins and knees with a broken tree branch.  At last, the cream woman glanced down at her assailant, then to her fellow troops.  Then she held a forearm across her forehead and tilted backward a little, as if to pantomime, "Oh! He got me!"  Then she quickly dropped to her knees, flopped forward with her hardy arms out, let her torso plop down on the kid like a falling mattress, and flattened him.  As he shouted and fought back beneath her, she reached under, grabbed him and pressed him close with one arm, and brought in the still-greasy creamed finger and drew a line. 

A few moments later, the scuffle under her massive chest slowed, and at last stopped.  Then the large linen lady wrapped her other arm around the boy, hugged him close, rose, and brought him up as she stood up straight.  The boy, now with a grey-smeared forehead, stared right into her eyes with wonder, and asked her something in his native tongue.  The caption read, "You can speak my language?"  The trooper spoke back, and there was no translation.  Her words weren't any language that Xavier could identify.  The white warrior's forehead wrinkled apparently with concern, like she was a toy store manager and the boy had lost his mother and father. 

That's when a spearwoman spotted the camera, pointed and said something.  At that point, the video shot swung around and blurred as the videographer turned tail and fled.  And that's where the footage ended.

As WNN switched over to the anchor and a patriotic stars-and-stripes themed bumper to the commercial break, Xavier tuned to his dad.  "So, any local news on the web?"

"Just cold temperatures and clear skies," was the answer.  "But we've got a bunch of troops heading down to southern Georgia, where the nearest flying saucer is.  Also a lot of shooting and attacks east of Norfolk, Virgina.  And from what little I can tell, Redd Howard's sending jets to both areas."

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.  As if on cue, three more fighters roared overhead in passing, followed by what sounded like a refueling jet.  Xavier glanced up and muttered, "Pardon our noise…."

"…it's the sound of freedom," his dad finished.  "What's on your agenda today?"

"Not sure if I have one."

"Well, how about this?  What say you give me a ride in the hatchback to the bank at 8:00.  Then I'll spot you the Visa and you can get the thing's oil changed, tires rotated, fluids inspected and what not, see the museum, library, and whatever downtown.  Then you can pick up lunch for us and we eat together.  Sound good?"

"Yes, sir."

"And if I have a free moment, I can show you around the wild world of loans, stocks, and finance."

"Woo-hoo," Xavier smirked.

"So, did you use up all the hot water?"

Xavier shook his head no.  "Still got some.  Going for a quickie bike ride.  Be back to chauffeur you soon."  And tossing on a coat and his New Zealand All-Blacks ball cap, he headed out the door.

***

It was still fairly early.  The chilly morning hung in a gray twilight.  Flipping up the hood to cover his neck better, Xavier mounted the bike.  No way he'd had tried this with the traffic of Taiwan.  Pumping the pedals, he exhaled, and let his warm breath make its dragon-like "smoke."  He was thankful it wasn't cold enough for sleet, ice, or snow.  Riding past the houses, he rode to the street that led to the local U.S. highway.  Stopping at a corner, he looked down the four-lane road and the Interstate overpass.  It seemed as peaceful as before the war.

But then he heard trucks coming.  And heavy vehicles. 

Squinting toward the overpass, he made out a long procession of forest green trucks and other vehicles coming and looping around the Interstate's off-ramp, and curving around onto the U.S. highway.  Trucks with soldiers in them, tanker trucks with gasoline, Hum-Vees, a few armored personell carriers… even a set of flatbeds with treaded big tank-like machines with missiles and autocannons sprouting out.  And they were all going off toward the air base forty miles away.

He exhaled again.  He remembered as a young boy how cool it seemed for something like this to happen, but when it was his own state, his own county, his own neighborhood…

He wondered where his brother Keith was.

Just then, off in the distance, he saws something like a missile head on in toward the horizon.  Xavier guessed it was headed right at Reed Howard.  And just before it dropped below the horizon, there was an instant, blinking flash.  Horrified, Xavier dropped, covered his eyes, and feared that the blast had blinded him.  He waited for the coming shockwave, blast and the horrible, lingering death by radiation.

It never came, though.  Gradually, he gathered himself up and reluctantly turned his eyes toward Redd Howard.  In the sky was a giant bubble of pulsing energy, with electric arcs all around it.  It looked a lot like someone had put the film Akira's opening blast of Tokyo, pressed pause, filled the half-sphere with a cross of colored static, and put it between a bunch of Tesla coils. 

Down the road, he saw the troops had stopped, and were pointing and exclaiming their own mix of epithets and declarations of awe.  And then they got back into the vehicles and zipped over there as fast as they could.

Getting back on the bike, Xavier followed suit, and set some new personal speed records back home.

***

He burst into the foyer.  "Dad! DAD!" 

His mother caught him from the kitchen.  "Xavier Francis, what is WRONG with you?! And close the door, we can't afford to heat the whole town!"

Xavier caught his breath.  "Mom, Mom… they just hit Redd Howard!"

His mother flinched.  "What?!"

"Yeah, I just went out to U.S. 103, looked and saw an army convoy coming off the Interstate… and a missile or something flew in towards Redd Howard!  There's a giant electric blast or something that way!"

Mom gasped. Hogan staggered into the room, just waking up. "Hey, what's all the racket?" 

"We've been attacked! 

Dad came in, wearing a bath robe.  "Son, son, son, calm down.  What happened?"

"Something just hit out Redd Howard's way!  I saw something like a rocket or a missile, I don't know, off in the distance, and then I saw a flash, all this energy crackling, and it looks like… looks like… I don't know how to describe it."

Just then, another flash struck.  And a loud PLACK! just like a big firecracker going off in the middle of town.

And then there was a steady sizzling and buzzing.  It sounded like a cross between cicadas and live high tension wires. 

Hogan turned to the front door that was still open.  He jogged outside and looked up.  And he stared for a while.  Then he turned back to the others.  "Uh, Xave?" he asked, pointing outside.  "Did it look anything like… that?"

Xavier, Mom, and Dad stepped outside and looked up at the sky.  No clouds.  No sun.  No blue.  It was one big swath of pulsing energy. 

To Be Continued…