“I remember it as
if it was yesterday. I was in the cab of my combine and saw it myself
– the saucer wobbling through the sky like one of those
unconvincing ones in films from a hundred years ago and disappearing
south. It was trailing smoke; I assumed it was a contrail, but I
think it was damage. I turned on the cab radio and within minutes
programs were interrupted by announcements and greetings from the
governments of the world.
“Within a few hours the reports became panicky, talking about nuclear attacks on dams, power-plants, road and rail junctions, military installations. I heard one or two reports that the saucer had gone down in the Midwest, and that the army and air force were attacking it. Soon after that the radio went dead, along with everything else electrical. I suppose they were fried by an EMP or something. I was pretty cut off in the farm but first thing the next day I set off into New Plymouth. Everything was in confusion. I went back every day, and after a couple of days some shell-shocked refugees turned up. They were all from the Boise - Nampa - Meridian area and had walked. They said that the city had been attacked with missiles – apparently conventional, non-nuclear ones – and pretty much levelled. A few days later a few more straggled in from further away. These ones did not look well, and I think it was them that brought the plague with them.
“Within a few hours the reports became panicky, talking about nuclear attacks on dams, power-plants, road and rail junctions, military installations. I heard one or two reports that the saucer had gone down in the Midwest, and that the army and air force were attacking it. Soon after that the radio went dead, along with everything else electrical. I suppose they were fried by an EMP or something. I was pretty cut off in the farm but first thing the next day I set off into New Plymouth. Everything was in confusion. I went back every day, and after a couple of days some shell-shocked refugees turned up. They were all from the Boise - Nampa - Meridian area and had walked. They said that the city had been attacked with missiles – apparently conventional, non-nuclear ones – and pretty much levelled. A few days later a few more straggled in from further away. These ones did not look well, and I think it was them that brought the plague with them.
“The
symptoms were mild at first, with occasional nose-bleeds and any cuts
bleeding heavily. But within a week or so of infection blood began to
trickle from their nose, their ears, and sometimes there was bleeding
in the eyes so that their eyes went red. Another week or so and they
were coughing, clots and wads of blood. A few days later they were
dead. Nothing seemed to help, although the hospital dosed the first
victims with every antibiotic and coagulant they had. It spread like
crazy too, apparently through the air, and everyone got it. I did. I
felt burning hot, so I went home, went to bed with all the bottled
water I could get, and lay down, expecting never to wake. After a
couple of days I woke up, stuck to the sheets and pillows by crusted
blood from every orifice, weak as a day-old lamb, but otherwise okay.
“After another few days I felt strong enough to walk into town. It was awful. Maybe ninety percent of the people were dead. The rest of us must’ve been immune. One of the survivors was Cally Munroe, whose family had run the gas station. She’d been away at college in Boise and had survived the attacks then set off to walk home, sleeping off the plague in a barn on the way. She told us that another saucer, this one no bigger than a bus she said, had landed in the ruins of Boise. She had seen with her own eyes strange machines or creatures or tanks or robots, whichever they were, emerging from the saucer and moving through the ruins, apparently floating a few centimetres above the debris. She’d seen how they dealt with survivors – there weren’t any once they’d passed – and had been told by someone she’d met that the invaders were known as Daleks.
“After another few days I felt strong enough to walk into town. It was awful. Maybe ninety percent of the people were dead. The rest of us must’ve been immune. One of the survivors was Cally Munroe, whose family had run the gas station. She’d been away at college in Boise and had survived the attacks then set off to walk home, sleeping off the plague in a barn on the way. She told us that another saucer, this one no bigger than a bus she said, had landed in the ruins of Boise. She had seen with her own eyes strange machines or creatures or tanks or robots, whichever they were, emerging from the saucer and moving through the ruins, apparently floating a few centimetres above the debris. She’d seen how they dealt with survivors – there weren’t any once they’d passed – and had been told by someone she’d met that the invaders were known as Daleks.
“The
months that followed were chaos – no government, no market for my
grain, which luckily I had mostly already harvested and dried. There
was the occasional refugee in flight from the cities or from the
invaders’ expanding area of control. We quarantined them in an
empty house but none of them showed signs of the plague. They had
already had it and proved to be immune, I guess. Over the winter we
survived. Those who were left moved into a few houses close together.
We rallied round; I shared out my store of wheat and rigged up a
hand-powered pump to raise water from my well and after a while I
found myself, Maxwell Schmidt, who’d always kept myself to myself
and minded my own business, and my farm the focus of the new
community.
“A couple of people moved into the farm-house with me. One was Bernard – never Bernie – Moses. He was a quiet, thoughtful sort of guy, an academic from Boise who had been in his weekend cabin when the attacks happened. His specialty had been philology. That was no immediate use but he was reliable and observant and came to be a particular friend of mine. The other was Bryant Lynch. He had been a rich lawyer from the West Coast and had been on a case in Boise when the attacks happened. He had narrowly escaped from the city in some way he never discussed and applied himself with a will to making the community work. Lynch never lost his detached, amused, superior air which he had cultivated while a lawyer. That did not endear him to others but he was a useful man to have around and was always able to sort out any dispute calmly and reasonably. Cally had first moved into the gas station – someone else had scouted it first to be sure her parents hadn’t died in there – but later moved to the farmhouse too. She was a changed woman. She had picked up a gun on her way from Boise and practiced at every opportunity. She seemed to me too eager to get revenge on the invaders.
“Away on the Oregon side of New Plymouth a group of bikers had been passing through when the EMP or whatever had hit and knocked out their bikes along with everything else with an electrical component. A dozen or so of them had survived and they’d set up a protection racket over other groups of survivors in the area. Bernard was quite interested in them, and often suggested to me that they were an embryonic feudal system. He had even walked over to visit them and I think the bikers had not known what to make of him. Over the months our group and the bikers, through Bernard, had grown cautiously polite and we exchanged food for equipment and news as the bikers appeared to have quite a widespread network of contacts as well as an excess of guns and ammo which we were able to get from them in exchange for far too much foodstuffs.
“A couple of people moved into the farm-house with me. One was Bernard – never Bernie – Moses. He was a quiet, thoughtful sort of guy, an academic from Boise who had been in his weekend cabin when the attacks happened. His specialty had been philology. That was no immediate use but he was reliable and observant and came to be a particular friend of mine. The other was Bryant Lynch. He had been a rich lawyer from the West Coast and had been on a case in Boise when the attacks happened. He had narrowly escaped from the city in some way he never discussed and applied himself with a will to making the community work. Lynch never lost his detached, amused, superior air which he had cultivated while a lawyer. That did not endear him to others but he was a useful man to have around and was always able to sort out any dispute calmly and reasonably. Cally had first moved into the gas station – someone else had scouted it first to be sure her parents hadn’t died in there – but later moved to the farmhouse too. She was a changed woman. She had picked up a gun on her way from Boise and practiced at every opportunity. She seemed to me too eager to get revenge on the invaders.
“Away on the Oregon side of New Plymouth a group of bikers had been passing through when the EMP or whatever had hit and knocked out their bikes along with everything else with an electrical component. A dozen or so of them had survived and they’d set up a protection racket over other groups of survivors in the area. Bernard was quite interested in them, and often suggested to me that they were an embryonic feudal system. He had even walked over to visit them and I think the bikers had not known what to make of him. Over the months our group and the bikers, through Bernard, had grown cautiously polite and we exchanged food for equipment and news as the bikers appeared to have quite a widespread network of contacts as well as an excess of guns and ammo which we were able to get from them in exchange for far too much foodstuffs.
“In spring there was a real problem. No machinery to plow and plant seed for next year. In the barn was an old horse plow left there from my grandpa’s time. We’d no horses though. By a stroke of luck Jim Stuckmeyer, a young lad who had worked at the car repair shop, had survived. He was able to rig up from chains and scrap metal and wood harnesses based on pictures from books we retrieved from the library. We put that onto four of my cattle and made an attempt at plowing. It was difficult and slow but it did work, and I got the feeling that maybe there would be a crop to harvest in fall. I also was able to trade for some turnip seed and planned to sow that.
“Then one day early in May a messenger from the bikers arrived at the farm unannounced. He brought news that an alien shuttle had been seen landing in Boise and requested a meeting to discuss what we should do. I was nominated to be our representative and cycled to the middle of New Plymouth, now empty except for the occasional forager into the houses and shops there, to meet Butch Murchison, who half-ironically referred to himself as the liaison officer for the bikers. Murchison confirmed the news, and cycling home I mulled over what to do. By the time I was home it was dark and I had a plan. Next day I started to organise a scouting party from those able to set off at once. I was keen to see a Dalek at first hand and also wanted to work out what the invaders might want from the ruins of Boise. According to Butch the shuttle, which he described as a boxy, home-made looking thing, had landed in an open area not far from where the Telefon factory had been. Were they looking for something there? Were they a threat to our little community? Was there a way we could hurt them?
“As soon as I came home Cally met me, keen to head out and attack the Daleks. She was excited and, in my opinion, much too eager, but would not be left behind. Even though it was dark she set out to find a friend of hers who was with a group who had set up house on the Davis’s farm along the road. Lynch and Bernard were also both keen to see the invaders and maybe deal them a blow. I thought Bernard was too valuable to risk, but he wanted to come and as persuasion he produced two hand grenades. He would not say where he had got them from. I did manage to persuade Lynch to stay behind at the farm.
“Next morning our little band was gathered. We all had bicycles, backpacks, and our guns. There was me, Bernard Moses, Jim Stuckmeyer, Cally Munroe, and her friend. I didn’t know him at all – surprising as there were so few of us left. He was a tough-looking guy who had freshly shaved his head into a scary-looking Mohawk for the occasion. She called him Rice, and I don’t know if that was a first name or a last name or a nickname. Rice also brought with him Crista Kennedy, who also lived at the old Davis place and who I knew. She was another refugee from the east who’d washed up in New Plymouth, and she was able to vouch for Rice as a good guy. After introducing Rice Crista headed home. The rest of us set off and I fully expected to find nothing when we got to Boice, as our information had been days old even when we first got it. We spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse then left early. It was still cold in the morning but quite warm once the sun was up. By mid-morning we were in the outskirts of Boise, and the place really had been levelled. Most buildings were flattened, and there were big craters in several places. In places it was hard to travel as there was so much rubble strewn about that you could barely tell where the streets had been. I had some idea where the Telefon factory had been, but navigation was difficult with no landmarks remaining. At about mid-day we parked our bikes, as we had been carrying them more often than riding them, and went on. Shortly after that Rice and Cally, who were some way ahead, suddenly ducked down and pointed urgently. I crept to the edge of a patch of rubble and caught my first sight of a Dalek. It was bright red and taller than a person, and it was prodding at an area of rubble with one of its three appendages. I was soon to discover that one of these was its eye, one its manipulator, and the third a very deadly gun of some sort. I quietly alerted the others and prepared for a fight. "
Go to chapter 2 - http://www.spodilicious.com/dalek-invasion---chapter-2.html
“Then one day early in May a messenger from the bikers arrived at the farm unannounced. He brought news that an alien shuttle had been seen landing in Boise and requested a meeting to discuss what we should do. I was nominated to be our representative and cycled to the middle of New Plymouth, now empty except for the occasional forager into the houses and shops there, to meet Butch Murchison, who half-ironically referred to himself as the liaison officer for the bikers. Murchison confirmed the news, and cycling home I mulled over what to do. By the time I was home it was dark and I had a plan. Next day I started to organise a scouting party from those able to set off at once. I was keen to see a Dalek at first hand and also wanted to work out what the invaders might want from the ruins of Boise. According to Butch the shuttle, which he described as a boxy, home-made looking thing, had landed in an open area not far from where the Telefon factory had been. Were they looking for something there? Were they a threat to our little community? Was there a way we could hurt them?
“As soon as I came home Cally met me, keen to head out and attack the Daleks. She was excited and, in my opinion, much too eager, but would not be left behind. Even though it was dark she set out to find a friend of hers who was with a group who had set up house on the Davis’s farm along the road. Lynch and Bernard were also both keen to see the invaders and maybe deal them a blow. I thought Bernard was too valuable to risk, but he wanted to come and as persuasion he produced two hand grenades. He would not say where he had got them from. I did manage to persuade Lynch to stay behind at the farm.
“Next morning our little band was gathered. We all had bicycles, backpacks, and our guns. There was me, Bernard Moses, Jim Stuckmeyer, Cally Munroe, and her friend. I didn’t know him at all – surprising as there were so few of us left. He was a tough-looking guy who had freshly shaved his head into a scary-looking Mohawk for the occasion. She called him Rice, and I don’t know if that was a first name or a last name or a nickname. Rice also brought with him Crista Kennedy, who also lived at the old Davis place and who I knew. She was another refugee from the east who’d washed up in New Plymouth, and she was able to vouch for Rice as a good guy. After introducing Rice Crista headed home. The rest of us set off and I fully expected to find nothing when we got to Boice, as our information had been days old even when we first got it. We spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse then left early. It was still cold in the morning but quite warm once the sun was up. By mid-morning we were in the outskirts of Boise, and the place really had been levelled. Most buildings were flattened, and there were big craters in several places. In places it was hard to travel as there was so much rubble strewn about that you could barely tell where the streets had been. I had some idea where the Telefon factory had been, but navigation was difficult with no landmarks remaining. At about mid-day we parked our bikes, as we had been carrying them more often than riding them, and went on. Shortly after that Rice and Cally, who were some way ahead, suddenly ducked down and pointed urgently. I crept to the edge of a patch of rubble and caught my first sight of a Dalek. It was bright red and taller than a person, and it was prodding at an area of rubble with one of its three appendages. I was soon to discover that one of these was its eye, one its manipulator, and the third a very deadly gun of some sort. I quietly alerted the others and prepared for a fight. "
Go to chapter 2 - http://www.spodilicious.com/dalek-invasion---chapter-2.html
