Critical Dawn (18 page)

Morning broke with a rich purple stain across the sky. An hour later, the color burned away to be replaced by a thick tobacco-orange.

Denver parked the truck at the edge of the broken road, what used to be the New Jersey Turnpike, where it met the Newark Bay Bridge. The structure lay half in the bay. The thick, sludge-like water rolled slowly back and forth across the debris.

From their position, they could see across to Manhattan. The broken shards of hundreds of towers pierced the orange sky like shattered, grey teeth. They spoke of the initial devastation during the first invasion.

Charlie got out of the truck and helped the others. Ethan and Maria had slept for the entire overnight journey. Charlie got a couple of hours when Denver took over driving, but his body could have done with a few more. He needed another intake of root to really feel awake again, but now they were in the city. Root wasn’t so easy to come by.

His current supply would have to last. If things went well, they’d be heading back out by noon anyway. Just a few hours here to get the device and they’d be done.

“Wow,” Maria said, stretching her arms above her head as she stared out toward the city. “That’s incredible. This is the old world?”

“Yeah. Used to be one of the greatest cities on Earth,” Charlie replied.

“This is the place where you worked?” Ethan asked, impressing Charlie that he remembered. “Must be hard to deal with the memories of your colleagues when you come back.”

Charlie shrugged. He’d lost so many over the years it was difficult to still grieve for individuals. Occasionally, he would think back to the young lad he’d tried to save in the sinkhole, Luke, and his supervisor, Steph. That fateful day would always remain with him. How he and Pippa and a single fireman were the only survivors from that day.

“Right. It’s where we’re headed,” Charlie said to break himself from his memories and cut any more inquiry into his grief.

“How are we going to get across?” Maria asked. “It’s not like we were taught to swim.”

“Follow me,” Charlie said.

Leading them across the deserted bridge until they came to the point in the middle of the bay where the concrete road split apart, Charlie leaned over the side and ran his hand along it until his arm was submerged up to his elbow.

It took a moment, but he found it. A rope. He pulled on it, and from within the murk of the water, he pulled up a plastic container with weights on the side. “I need some help over here,” Charlie said.

Ethan and Denver grabbed the rope, and the three of them hauled up the eight-foot by four-foot plastic container and dumped it onto the concrete road.

“What is it?” Maria said.

“Transport,” Charlie said. They unclipped the plastic ties of the container, leaving the lid on the broken road. Inside was a rubber dinghy with a small outboard motor. A compressed-air tank would self-inflate it. They lifted it out and depressed a button on the canister and watched as it took form over the course of a few short minutes.

“Come on,” Charlie said, “Let’s get this in the water.”

The dinghy hit the surface with a wet slap. Charlie sat in the back, manning the outboard. The others sat on the hull with Denver at the front, facing the mainland, his sniper rifle shouldered, scope to his eye. He scanned in slow, sweeping arcs, keeping them protected.

Progress was slow across the bay as the prop struggled to propel the boat through the thick water. They had to stop a number of times to get around dense weeds that had grown up from the bay’s bed. They looked like vines, alien and entirely out of place for the water. But then that’s what those bastards wanted: to turn Earth into their world.

They eventually reached the mainland and pulled the boat up into a wooded area. The weather was getting cooler. Charlie zipped his camouflaged combat jacket. He’d have to get Ethan and Maria some better clothes; their uniforms from the harvester were getting badly torn and damaged, and being blue and orange were standing out too easily for his liking.

“Where now?” Maria said as Pip pointed her nose toward the foliage-strangled city. Her head tipped up as she picked up a scent. Charlie could smell it too. Roasting meat.

Charlie held up his hand. “Okay, listen to me. The city will have pockets of survivors. Some will be friendly, others won’t; don’t do anything stupid. Just follow Denver’s lead and mine. By the smell of it, there’s a group not far from here, and the wind direction is telling me they’re just beyond this copse of trees.”

“So why don’t we just go round and avoid them?” Ethan asked.

“Too far,” Denver replied. “Most of the city was totally leveled during the war. Entire buildings and towers were toppled, roads destroyed. It won’t be easy, and the longer we’re out in the open, the longer we’re a target for anyone who doesn’t want us around or wants our supplies.” Denver pointed to the three backpacks of gear, food, and water they had brought with them.

Charlie hefted one onto his back, Maria and Ethan took the other two, leaving Denver free to carry and aim his rifle. As the best shot in the group and with vision that would rival an eagle, it was better to have him free to move.

“Let’s go. Lead the way, Den,” Charlie said.

His son nodded once and turned his back. With two long strides, he moved into the forest, Pip dutifully staying by his side.

It was cooler inside the forest with the thick tree cover blocking out the morning sun. The smell remained though, carried on a breeze. It didn’t take long for them to hear the sound of voices, thankfully human.

Although the problem with that was that it wasn’t always clear what their motivations were. Just because they were human didn’t mean they had the same outlook as Charlie.

All this time under the new alien paradigm had really shifted people’s perception of what it meant to be human and what society should and shouldn’t be. Sure, he had to be selfish at times to ensure his survival, but wherever possible, he sought ways to be inclusive.

It’s why he sent Ben to the farm. There was certainly no love lost between them and Gregor, but Charlie knew that Ben would find a way into their support and would be taken care of. There was no way he’d be able to cope on his own in this kind of environment. He needed a more clear-cut structure and someone strong to lead him.

Despite what Charlie thought of Gregor and his methods, he was certainly a strong leader and would take care of Ben at least long enough that they could get the inside info from him and free those poor bastards trapped on the farm.

Pip stopped and wagged her tail. Denver took a knee and held his hand up. The rest of the group stopped as Charlie walked slowly to kneel beside his son. “What’s up, Den?”

“A group of three, about forty feet away around a fire. One’s armed with a pistol. They’re just eating, chatting. They seem to have set up camp. There’s no obvious way around.”

Denver pointed to the artificial valley caused by two collapsed buildings to either side of the camp. The large, concrete mounds with sheer sides where the towers had fallen directly down meant they had no easy way around.

Going too far around would lead into the busy area of west Manhattan, putting them far out of their way and exposing them too much. Charlie took his monocular from the webbing on his backpack and took a closer look.

He hoped to recognize some of them. Since his time going back and forward to his old office, he had come to know some of the survivors. Most of them were with him in the caverns where many had lived out the ice age, but not this group. Two of them were young, post-ice age. Charlie didn’t recognize the older man.

Weighing up the odds, Charlie thought about going in with firearms and dealing with it quickly, but the two young ones, two girls, looked like they were suffering from malnutrition. The roasting meat smell came from a tiny, charred squirrel over a poorly made spit. These people weren’t surviving particularly well. That catch wouldn’t feed one person let alone three.

“What’s going on?” Ethan said as he clumsily sat by Charlie, knocking a pan from the side of his backpack. The metal vessel struck a rock, ringing out. The three survivors moved with unexpected swiftness to the source of the sound.

The older man raised his pistol and fired twice into the trees, directly at Charlie and the others. They ducked, but the bullets were already going high and wide, striking the thick trunks of the alien redwoods.

“You damned fool,” Charlie said, pushing Ethan away. Charlie shrugged the pack off his shoulders and grabbed his own firearm from the holster around his belt. “Stay down.”

Another two shots whipped through the trees, striking branches and leaves. He was getting closer. Denver raised the rifle and chambered a round. The three survivors were now just a few feet away from the tree line. They’d be instantly killed from that range.

“Wait,” Charlie said, this time speaking loudly so that he could address everyone, including these other three. “We’re human, friends; don’t shoot.” He touched Denver on the shoulder and whispered, “Hold your fire, son.”

“Show yourself,” the older man said, still aiming his pistol into the trees.

Charlie placed his pistol back into the holster, covering it with his jacket. He could still draw it quickly if he needed, having modified the holster so nothing obstructed the gun.

Maria gave him a concerned look. Ethan looked scared but in control. This was progress. They were getting used to life out of the harvester. “Wait here,” Charlie said, “and watch. Keep me covered if the shit hits the fan.”

With that, Charlie tapped Denver twice on the shoulder and stepped out with his arms up. The three survivors stepped back to give him room. The older man, his face craggy and white hair tied back in a ponytail, kept the weapon trained on him. He squinted his eyes, scrutinizing Charlie. “Who are you? What do you want?” he said, a noticeable shake making his weapon judder within his grip.

“We mean you no harm,” Charlie said. “We’re just passing through. If you let us, we’ll be gone right away. We don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Who are you?” He asked again.

“My name’s Charlie Jackson; I’m like you, a survivor.”

“They all say they’re like us, but then they always say something.” The old man looked to the young girls. Up close, Charlie could see the resemblance now; they were clearly his daughters, and he could just imagine what some of the other people would want with them. They both looked to the ground, unable to hold Charlie’s eye.

“How many of you are there?” The man asked.

“Three others beside me,” Charlie said. “I suggest you put that weapon down. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt, is there? Listen, you don’t look well. Why don’t you let us go about our business, and I’ll leave you something to help.”

One of the young girls looked up then, her dirty face hiding a pretty personality. Her blonde hair was matted and covered with twigs and debris. They looked as though they’d been living in the ground, which made no real sense given the number of dwellings and buildings they could choose, but then he’d known people like this before, people who would refuse to go back into the cities and preferred to stay outside with nature. There was something comforting about being around trees, animals, and bugs.

It reminded people they were still on Earth. Day by day, things were getting more and more removed from the Earth they used to know, but it was slow enough that most people didn’t really notice, like a slow-growing cancer tumor.

“What’s your name?” Charlie asked the man, making sure he didn’t look at the girls for too long. He didn’t want to give the old guy any reason to shoot.

“Jan,” he said. “I used to work here before …well, before everything. They’ve left us to die out. They don’t care.”

“Who?”

“The croatoans. For a while, we thought they’d help us, take us to their colonies.”

“They’re not colonies,” Charlie said. “They’re farms. You don’t want to go there unless you have something you can offer them.”

Jan looked to his girls and back to Charlie. “I know. It’s why we stay out here. You said you could help?”

“We can if you put the weapon down.”

Jan hesitated for a moment before eventually lowering his gun. Charlie thought it was more likely through exhaustion than anything else. The old guy slumped to an old wooden crate he was using as a seat.

Charlie turned to the trees and beckoned the others out. Denver kept his rifle pointing to the ground so as not to spook them. Ethan and Maria came through carrying Charlie’s pack between them. From that pack, Charlie took three days’ worth of dried ration packs—foil-wrapped, just-add-water soups that he had recovered from the Army base. They’d last a century apparently.

In addition to the rations, he took out his supply of root contained within an old tin and cut off a third.

“Here, for your daughters.” Charlie handed him the root and the ration packs. “It’s not a lot, but they look like they need it. It’ll give them something to get them by for a while until you can find something more substantial.”

Tears welled up in Jan’s eyes as he took them. He bowed. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say … I …”

“Don’t say anything,” Charlie said. “Just have yourselves a meal and share the root. It’ll give you enough energy to move. Go north, upstate, away from the trouble.”

“What trouble?” Jan asked.

“The trouble I’m going to be giving to the alien scum. Trust me, go north.”

With that, Charlie motioned goodbye to them. The two girls smiled and thanked him with quiet, whispering voices.

They headed through the camp and came out onto a road that hadn’t quite succumbed to the encroaching forest.

Here, humanity, in the form of concrete and steel and glass, remained defiantly. Charlie navigated his way through the ghost town of Manhattan until he came to the Quaternary headquarters. Though the building was charred on the outside and pitted from various munitions, it remained standing.

But it wasn’t the upper floors he wanted.

He led his group through a pile of debris, a maze of corrugated metal doors and wooden obstructions, until a dark hole greeted him. At the end of the tunnel was a metal door with a heavy lock. He took a key from his pocket and opened it.