Authors: Michael Rusch
Overrun
OVERRUN
By: Michael Rusch
Text Copyright © 2004
Michael Rusch
In 2201, Earth’s ozone layer finally fails. Giant structures were developed to
protect the masses…the selected masses. Many still lived on the outside. Others
fled for protection underground.
The world becomes divided between two countries. Each struggles to protect its
own. In secret, a plan was developed. While the sun continued to shine
mercilessly down.
PLAN ZERO.
Administration Land Defense Strategy #21436. Allow for invasion
and occupation of old world cities by opposing ground military. Release of
Vulture troops to wire and destroy cities.
Primary objectives: Destroy invading armies. Greatly diminish overall attacking
force.
Secondary objectives: Clear land for construction of artificial ozone
technology. Complete regeneration of domestic population by elimination of the
dying and diseased.
Implemented as official presidential response protocol in 2226.
As of 2306…yet to be put into use.
October 2306
...105 years after final ozone depletion
"This is really something.
Wouldn't you say, Commander?" asked Lieutenant Alan Wagner, squad leader
of the dome scout troop out on routine patrol of another decaying region on the
outside.
"What's that,
Lieutenant?" Dome Military Commander John Kirken asked plodding listlessly
along next to him. Twelve fresh dome soldier recruits marched ahead of them
down the center of the solar-battered street.
People of the dying town walked
on either side of their formation keeping close to the sides of the crumbling
buildings.
Kirken averted his eyes to avoid
their stares. All of them looked sick - dying from the radiation poisoning that
came from living on the outside.
"I mean look at these
people," Wagner said pointing his arms at the people around them, some
watching them curiously.
Many had long since lost their
hair and looked skinny, tired and weak. Their skin seemed to sink into their
bones giving Kirken a queasy feeling like he was walking among the dead.
"Do you think these people
out here are still devoted citizens?"
"I'm afraid I don't
understand, Lieutenant,” Kirken’s voice was mostly drowned out by the revving
of the transport truck rolling slowly behind them. “Devoted to what?"
This search patrol was routine -
detect and eliminate anyone or anything that might pose a threat to the cloaked
military dome not more than thirty miles away. Local problems in outside towns
like this had caused dome officials some alarm bringing an increase of the
patrols like the one Kirken was supervising.
"These people don't even
want us here," Kirken said. He held his hands over the top of his black
solar-shielded glasses trying to block the sun’s intense glare and better see
the troops ahead. "They wouldn't care if we all died right here."
"I quite agree,"
Wagner nodded and followed his stare. "But, I’m curious what you think. We
may not be here for their good, but in the long run, it will be their children
or their children's children that we helped to survive here."
Kirken turned back and cast his
gaze across the people lining the streets.
"I don't think many of them
would agree with your philosophy. If you ever preached it on the streets or in
front of a crowd of ‘em, I don't think you would live long enough to completely
explain it."
"That's what I'm getting
at, Commander. If someone planted a United States flag right here, would people
stop and declare their allegiance? They should. We're all citizens of the same
goddamn country. We're all living and dying for the same common good."
"We're not citizens of the
same country," Kirken said slowly. "We’ve been separated for more
than ten years. And we're not all dying for the same common good."
"No we're not," Wagner
said turning to face him. Kirken kept his gaze straight ahead. "Our men
die because of them. They can't see past their own selfishness to view it
clearly. It disgusts me."
Kirken ignored the lump rising
in his throat and the sudden urge to strike the man next to him in the face.
"I mean look at this,
Commander." Wagner raised his fist and pointed again at the people passing
by on the street.
A woman to their left turned her
back and entered a storefront. A rip along the length of her dress revealed
exposed skin along her back. Her flesh was a dark leathery tan reminding Kirken
of cooked meat that had been left on the fire too long.
He wondered how long before his
two children living on the outside would come to look like this. He wondered if
they already did.
"They all know they're
dying," Wagner continued. "They spend each day coping with the fact
their children are in pain. And there is not one damn thing they can do about
it. Why waste what energy they have trying to fight us?"
Kirken picked up his legs and
dragged his feet through the hot sand blowing across the jagged rocky pavement.
Like most days, bitterness rather than body-produced energy seemed to power his
limbs.
He cupped his hands over the
dark glasses covering most of his upper face. Even with the protective eyewear,
he could still feel the heat blasting at his skin and ripping at his eyes. He
didn't know if it was trying to focus through the heavy plastic or listening to
Wagner that gave him more of a headache.
Most of the people seemed to
ignore the troops. Some looked at them through the corner of their eyes. Others
glared with bitter intense hate. You could almost reach out and touch the
animosity and abhorrence Kirken sometimes thought. Their rage had become a
tangible entity in the dying world in which they lived.
"Are you saying because
their situation is bleak, people will start standing in the way of the
government?" Kirken questioned tiredly.
He would be glad when he no
longer had to oversee these scout missions on the outside and represent
something he could barely stomach. He looked forward to what was about to
happen in the next two days when he would relinquish his rank and escape the
bureaucracy he despised.
When he was officially cleared
from military service, he planned to leave the domes forever and live the rest
of his life on the outside. He wanted to be with his two stepchildren when life
out here became too much for their sickened bodies to endure.
"That is what I'm saying,
Commander,” Wagner intruded again on his thoughts. “I don't agree that we’ve
been completely separated. We all live here and are governed by the United
States. What I fear is what happens when all these people just start becoming
loyal to themselves. And to hell with what we are trying to accomplish."
Kirken didn't answer him right
away. He just continued to walk lost in a flurry of his own thoughts.
Wagner mumbled into a small
black transmitter that curved around his mouth. When he did, the soldiers
stopped ahead. A few turned their heads cautiously around scanning weapon
sights across the empty storefront windows. Others looked across the building
rooftops on either side.
"What's going on,
Lieutenant?" Kirken asked. He wasn't wearing a headset or any
communications gear. Wagner slowed his pace almost to a stop next to him.
Kirken held up a balled fist
signaling the truck behind them to also wait. He coughed once when the mammoth
vehicle rolled to a halt and kicked up searing hot dirt at their backs.
"Roger that," Wagner
said quietly into his transmitter. He thumbed through a miniature map he
carried in his palm. "Nothing's going on. Our point just transmitted back
that there aren't too many more people up ahead on the street. Everyone seems
to be clearing out."
"We’re here to make sure
they don’t know where the domes are," Kirken said coolly while straining
his eyes to see what was ahead. "And we represent a safe world they're not
allowed to join. That taken into consideration, it could just mean they might
not want to watch us pass through.”
As always, this patrol was lasting
too long. The heat was starting to get to him. Kirken's temper was becoming
evident by his words and the force in which he spit them out.
"Or it could mean something
else entirely,” Wagner answered back.
He refolded his map and resumed
his pace alongside Kirken down the center of the street. He spoke again into
his transmitter to the troops now a block further up. Occasionally, he stole a
scrutinizing glance at Kirken and pondered the guiding intentions of the
commander he was with.
Slowly, they trudged along the
burning gravel of the street. Both remained silent for a few minutes listening
to the hot wind force itself upon the town. Another five minutes later, Wagner
began to speak again.
"I don't mean to offend
you, Commander. But look at yourself. How you're sounding. And you live in the
domes. I just can't imagine what these people are thinking about us right now,
out here."
"These people are working
toward a common good, just like we are," Kirken said lowering his tone. He
stopped and raised a dark gloved hand over his eyes trying to see the squad.
"Those that are able work
in the factories and try to raise their families the best they can. They are
doing what needs to be done."
"Those people also breed
resistance. We should just let them die. Build domes over the factories and
protect only the active workers. Those that become too sick or weak to work
lose their focus. And they conspire and try to turn others against us. How can
we become strong when we're fighting the people we are working hard to
protect?"
"We're only working to
protect ourselves," Kirken answered and kept walking.
The soldiers ahead of them
continued at a lazy but wary pace up the street. Most looked uninterestedly
about past the deformed and the dying. Their eyes moved furtively across the
crumbling shops, the disintegrating vehicles in the road and the nightmare the
world had become.
Their weapons rested loosely in
their grips.
The smell of gas from the
transport truck filled Kirken's nostrils as the wind shifted again sending more
searing dust across the thick material covering their skin. Kirken could still
feel the heat. And he was even more well-layered than the rest of the troops
for the walk.
He couldn't stand people like
Wagner.
"I guess what I'm trying to
say is this," Wagner continued. "Our current system of society, the
whole setup, military and the brains on inside, workers left to rot on the out.
It doesn't work. How can you live and work like these people do to create
technology that does save lives, but then don't get to use it? You don't get to
use it, and you and your family are dying. Tell me what you think Commander,
because I hear that you still have some family living on the outside."
Kirken stopped. Sand floated up
from the ground from his last step. The transport rolling behind them also came
to a halt.
Wagner turned to look at him
while Kirken's thoughts rested on the holstered weapon hanging at his waist.
They stood facing each other for a moment, and then Kirken continued his
stride.
"I guess that's why we're
out here today," Kirken said pulling a vial from his black vest. "To
figure that one out."
He placed its thin metal between
his teeth, pulled off its cap and sucked two of its contents down his scratchy
throat.
"Better call ahead to the
men. Tell them to take the last dosage. We're heading back shortly, and I want
them to get good and used to it."
"They're going to love you
for that. A lot of them have leave tonight."
"It'll wear off soon
enough," Kirken sighed and wondered when exactly it was that he became
required to justify taking measures for the protection of his men. Justifying
to the men he was protecting.
He raised his hand and wiped the
sweat from the top of his forehead. The material from his glove burned at his
skin. He couldn't imagine living out here on a daily basis. Living like his own
family did trying to make a life outside the domes among the dead and dying.
The lump he felt in his throat
had grown larger and risen further up. Any bigger he thought it might make him
choke.
Kirken stepped along slowly next
to Wagner and listened to him speak softly again into his transmitter. The
troops had begun to move faster. They were only a few blocks from the edge of
the town where they could declare the scouting mission complete and board the
transport back.
They hurried to finish up and
forget the death around them. Some slowed a little to dose themselves while
they walked.
Kirken kept walking letting
himself sink into the depths of the medication. He enjoyed the feeling of it
tapping into his body's stored energy and blasting out the heightened
biological defense that further protected against the sun.
The sensation seemed to have a
numbing effect on everything else. He closed his eyes and tried to rest his
mind while he walked. Aided by the medication, he pushed away at the bitterness
and anger that tried to consume him, like they always did, when he was out
here.
He didn't believe in too many
things anymore. Walking through these towns, seeing the world through the eyes
of these people, made his spirit sick. He couldn't look at the families
anymore, especially those with children in varying degrees of the radiation
sickness.
More times than ever before, he
contemplated taking his own life. But that in itself did not guarantee salvation,
only a chance of rest. And by leaving his children still out here alive, he
didn't think his soul would even be guaranteed of that.
Next to them, two women strolled
down the sidewalk. One was a teenage girl holding the hand of her frail mother.
The girl's skin was charred and blistered. Her face was burned, and most of her
hair was gone. Spots of brown and green speckled her flesh.
Kirken could see she was further
along in the sickness than most girls her age. Her mother moved slowly next to
her. Both seemed oblivious to their presence.
The troop formation reached the
edge of town and waited for Kirken, Wagner and the transport to catch up.
Kirken's head swum. Even with the medication, his body did not react well to
long exposures outside.
A haze rose from the ground in
front of them partially obscuring the troops ahead. Their figures were further
distorted by the hot air that beat itself to the ground. They waited to board
the truck. The revving sound of its engine behind him was becoming ever more pleasing
to Kirken's ear.
He was about to signal the
driver to open the doors when two loud "kathump", "kathump"
sounds echoed through the still air. Kirken's head jerked forward. Wagner
ripped his weapon from its heavy strap across his back.