PreWar Earth_Volume 1 Read online

  She turned to Travonte, who stood behind her. “How do you make your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

  Travonte shifted his stunned eyes from the police to her. “What?!”

  “Your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, how do you make them?”

  He whispered in a high pitch. “I throw the shit into a bowl and mix it up. What the fuck you talkin’ about?!”

  She shook her head. “My goodness, what a silly arrangement.” She felt like an island. Always had.

  Zyeasha turned, stepped from the building, and raising her shotgun, fired a single shot. The shot boomed down the streets and off the buildings, taking the cop’s head clean off his shoulders.

  From behind her, a volley of fire was too fast for the other policemen, peppering them before they could draw their weapons up.

  “Forward,” she said. “Down this street. Fan out. Remember the plan—no heroes.”

  They swarmed across the street, heading south on Bailey until hitting East 1st, then turning west and scouring up the onramp of the 101. They’d had roadblocks put up so there was no traffic. As they came upon the freeway, she saw two parked Army Humvees. They swung their spotlight around onto the advancing crowd, only this would have been a larger group than they had seen previously.

  The soldiers were dispatched and the line continued north along the freeway, occupying all the westbound lanes. Zyeasha put her hand up to slow the excited advance; they had a mile and a quarter to go yet along the freeway, and they’d need their energy.

  The boots seemed to somehow develop a rhythm without need for a cadence. The road curved towards the left, and for a few moments the world was peaceful.

  “Whacha think?” Pop said, his breathing heavy.

  “Hey, Pop,” Zyeasha said, “you’re going to keel over if you don’t take it easy.”

  He put his hand up. “Ah, I’ll be fine. She’s quiet tonight.”

  “It is.” Zyeasha didn’t like it when things got quiet.

  She started to tell Pop to hang back when up ahead, she caught the flickering of a small light. It flickered three times, fast, and she knew.

  “Into the underpass!” Zyeasha said at a high whisper.

  She led her people down into shelter. They crouched close to one another, heavy breaths echoing off the sides of the walls.

  Lucy came up to Zyeasha and knelt. “Glad to see you made it.”

  “Thanks,” Zyeasha said, retying her right bootlace. “What news?”

  Lucy turned to face west, out of the underpass, then back to Zyeasha. “Trouble. Big trouble.”

  “Wait, please.” Zyeasha turned and motioned for Travonte to come up. He knelt next to her. “I wanted you to hear this.” She turned back to Lucy. “Go ahead.”

  “There’s a lot of cops up ahead.”

  “Where?”

  “Ahead. On Mission Road.”

  “How far up?”

  “Four hundred and fifty feet.”

  Zyeasha nodded, placing her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Good.”

  “There’s a lot of cops there, Zyeasha.” She could feel Lucy shaking.

  Zyeasha considered. “Did you bring the food?”

  “Yeah.” Lucy pointed to the side of the road just outside the underpass.

  “Good. Why don’t you pass it out to everybody?”

  It kept Lucy busy.

  Zyeasha turned to Travonte. “Whatchu think?” he said.

  “That’s a lot of them. I think they are probably planning an ambush.”

  He nodded. “So that info we planted, it worked?”

  “It did.”

  “So then, we rollin’?” He was eager.

  Lucy came up and knelt next to them. “So, is it happening?”

  Zyeasha scratched the side of her neck. “It’s happening. Lucy. Your people have done more than enough for us already. You all should head back.”

  She looked insulted. “We are here ready to fight, same as you.”

  Zyeasha nodded. “Alright. Come on.”

  Travonte and Lucy followed her to the outside edge of the underpass, where she climbed over the guardrail and grabbed a stick, beginning to construct a map. Everyone formed a semicircle around her, watching as they ate chickpea and garlic rice patties wrapped in Vitamin Green leaves. Some passed a bottle of Tabasco sauce amongst them. Pop lit candles and handed them out amongst the crowd.

  “Okay, people.” Zyeasha had a powerful whisper. “We have a large group of police up ahead. They are gathered on Mission Road, just underneath the toll road.” Their eyes lit up when they realized how close they were. She continued. “Travonte, you will take ten people and the munitions bags. Head up to the merge with the toll road, cut back, and take positions on either side of this bridge. I’ll radio you when we’re ready.” She drew into the dirt, Pop’s flashlight following the tip of her stick. “You wait there, Travonte. I will call you on the radio when we’re ready to start. You will hit them with everything you have.

  “Now, their vehicles are parked facing south, so that’s the way they’ll head, which makes sense, since that’s the direction of City Hall. Our main group will be just ahead on the interstate, across from Travonte, and we will pepper them with gunfire as they leave. I want fifty cals on the south side to tag them as they run. Once they’re gone, we head towards downtown. Everyone knows their jobs from there. We meet at City Hall.”

  She stood up, looking at their faces in the flickering candlelight. They believed in her. If tonight did not go well, they would blame her.

  She looked to Pop. “Put the candles out,” she said. “Pop, you’re up front with Travonte and me.”

  Zyeasha climbed back over the guardrail and walked to stand at the front of the group at the end of the tunnel. It was a quiet night; perhaps that was a good omen.

  To her left, Pop labored to steady his breathing. She patted him on the back. To her right, she could hear Travonte kicking his boot onto the pavement in excitement.

  “Go.” Zyeasha gave the order in her powerful whisper, and they vaulted out of the underpass. They were less than a minute’s jog from where the toll road merged with the interstate. Zyeasha and Pop set up along the edge of the overpass while Travonte and his group cut back. Their silhouettes soon faded into the black night.

  Everyone was in position and silent. Leaning forward and listening intently, Zyeasha could hear voices down below canyoning off the overpass columns.

  Zyeasha whispered into the radio, “Travonte, are you in position?”

  He came straight back. “Yep, we good.”

  She looked to her left, to her right. All nods.

  “Do it.” She was not long off the radio before the first blast hit. Then another, and another, and another. Gunfire rang out along the far edge of the toll road ahead. Spotlights beamed down, shining onto the fleeing police, some on foot and some in vehicles.

  As the cops passed underneath the interstate, gunfire rained down on them from all around Zyeasha. She pulled her pistol and fired six rounds into a fat one as he tried to put his hat back on his head. The hunters became the hunted.

  The police began returning fire upwards as chaos ensued below. The bridge shook as a police cruiser struck an overpass column. Zyeasha and her group ran to the other side of the interstate. They fired relentlessly at the police, who were now in fast retreat. There was no doubt where they were heading.

  Travonte called her on the radio. “Yo, Zy, they gone! Those motherfuckers runnin’ for the hills!”

  “Good job, Travonte. Pick your gear up and catch up with us.” She motioned for everyone to gather around her. “They’re on the run. Grab all of your things and come with me, now. We end this tonight.”

  They cheered as they ran towards the city. Zyeasha and P
op ran over to the north end of the interstate, which was getting louder with excited voices. She and Pop slowed as they crossed over the Los Angeles River. Looking down to her right, Zyeasha saw the Army vehicles parked at the bottom.

  Looking back to the interstate, something caught her eye. Just out from underneath the bridge sat a strange vehicle, its bolted steel box in the back opened, ramps leading from the rear to the ground. It had carried something, but what?

  She continued on, bothered by the puzzle. She would not be long getting an answer.

  Zyeasha’s large contingent ran west along the interstate. They headed up the onramp towards West Los Angeles Street. Blue and red flashing lights sat at the intersection ahead, and a volley of gunfire forced the group to their knees. They returned fire, dispersing the police.

  Two of Zyeasha’s people had been hit, one holding his leg and the other lying face down on the road, blood pooling at her head.

  Zyeasha loaded her shotgun. “We push forward!”

  They reached the intersection, and half the group split off left, with the rest continuing straight.

  Zyeasha grabbed Pop by the shoulder. “If anything happens to me, look after Damian.”

  He nodded. “I will. But nothing’s going to happen.”

  He believed that, and so did she.

  Shouts and gunfire from the other group indicated they had dispersed more police. Zyeasha’s front runners dispatched six officers at the next intersection ahead. They turned left. Up ahead, they could see that Travonte and his people had caught up with the other group, who also had the Asians with them and were forcing a large host of police to retreat into City Hall.

  Zyeasha caught up with them, and together, the group turned right. They formed in front of the north face of City Hall. Travonte and several gunmen fired round after round through a window on the third floor, screams from inside indicating that at least some of the bullets had found their marks.

  Zyeasha held her arm up, and the gunfire stopped. Tall spotlights shone down onto the group. Police officers scampered up the steps and stood behind a police barricade. Zyeasha began to speak, then a host of soldiers in freshly pressed camouflage fatigues rushed out to line the front of the barricade.

  “Nobody wants this!” Zyeasha shouted. An Army captain signaled for the soldiers to lower their rifles fixed on the group. She continued. “We don’t want to kill anyone else. We just want you to surrender and step aside. We are here to relieve the city’s management of their duties.”

  The captain shook his head. “Y’all should leave. Now.”

  “You think I won’t give the order?”

  The captain said nothing.

  Zyeasha raised her left arm. “One.” Guns raised and aimed at the soldiers. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Captain.”

  He nodded. “I agree. Leave. Now.”

  “You are standing in our way, and we’ve come too far to turn back now. You know this.”

  He said nothing. His confidence in the face of death was troubling.

  She had no choice; tonight was the maker of widows and widowers. “Two.”

  The panels of the barrier turned and the soldiers stepped back behind them, the panels turning back to reform solid walls. Zyeasha opened her mouth to give the order to storm the building, then her heart sank in her chest.

  From inside the building, a tall box-like structure covered in a camouflage tarp rolled out, past the barrier, and stopped just at the top of the steps. A soldier on each side pulled the tarp off to reveal a sleek metal device of some type, its hardened and bolted sides of unknown composition form-fitted into place.

  The spotlights behind the barrier turned off, and the moonlight glistening off the object revealed further detail. The object—for lack of a better term, because Zyeasha wasn’t at all certain of what it was she was looking at—leaned, if that was even the correct term, slightly forward, a collar of some type of metal around where each of its shoulders would be. By nature, she kept trying to imagine it as some type of human thing, but the more she looked at it, the more she realized it was far from human. It did have a bulge that she could faintly imagine to be a head crouched into its chest.

  Her group was getting restless, and even Zyeasha’s curiosity was piqued. She turned to Travonte. “Fifty cal. Single shot, right to that bulge in the center.”

  He nodded, then turning to a gunman, gave the order.

  The shot boomed across the street and struck the object near square center. The bullet pinged off the object uneventfully.

  “This is not good,” Zyeasha whispered to herself.

  Just then, a pole protruded from the rear top of the object, reaching maybe fifty feet up. From near the top, a green laser cascaded down upon them, blanketing them in a mesh of small green squares that rotated as they scanned the group. The event lasted hardly thirty seconds; then at once, the green grid turned off and the pole collapsed back into the object.

  The head of the object reared up, revealing a screen of some sort.

  Travonte took a step forward, then turned to the group. “Take that motherfucker down!”

  Before Zyeasha could protest, four hundred guns were battering the object with bullets. Ammunition ricocheted off it, some pelting the barrier behind, but the object remained unanimated and unmoving. After a few seconds, Zyeasha ordered them to stop firing.

  “Hit it with fire!” Travonte yelled. A couple of women stepped forward, lit the rags in their gas bottles, and hurled them forward. They struck the object and smattered it with fire.

  Then the fire rose. The object reared forward, standing vertically tripedal upon strong, flexible steel legs. From each side a steel curved bar jutted out, and along the length of the bars Zyeasha could see, by way of the group’s flashlights illuminating the object, were guns. From the screen on the head, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of red lasers took aim at various members of the group.

  Zyeasha screamed, “Run!”

  As the thing began firing, she could see the red laser on her face, then felt a hard shove from her right, and a white-hot piercing pain along the right side of her forehead. She hit the ground hard, her head thudding against the road. She felt a cold trickle along the right side of her face.

  Looking up, she saw the thing lurching down the steps towards the fallen group, maneuvering on some type of strange treads. To one side, she saw a lifeless body flung to the ground, its grey Oakland Raiders shirt stained with blood. Behind her, she heard Pop cry out, then nothing.

  ***

  Pop ran over and pushed Zyeasha as that fuckin’ thing started firing rounds. Zyeasha got shot in the right side of her face and went down hard. Pop took a bullet in his left shoulder and yelled out in pain. A whole lot of people started going down. Some poor bastard in front of Travonte got popped right in the head. Blood and brain and shit got all over Travonte, and he fell down from shock the same time that brother did.

  The firing stopped, and some of those fuckin’ soldiers came down the steps, fuckin’ cowards hiding behind their big goddamn machine as it crept forward. They grabbed Zyeasha’s lifeless body and Pop, kicking and screaming, and took ‘em back up the steps. Pop yelled out again, and one of the soldiers put the butt of his rifle into Pop’s face.

  Travonte crawled back over bodies until he hit the courthouse. His hands and legs wouldn’t stop shaking. He kept low and fast and made his way around to the side of the building, then ran at full sprint. The spotlights came back on behind him, but he never slowed down.

  The movement was dead, and so was Zyeasha.

  ***

  December, 2025

  He was amazing to watch as he worked. Professor Arthur Browning was surprisingly engaged with what he was doing, rather than with the fact that he was watching a black Basotho worm farmer in Maseru named George Washington go
through his nightly routine.

  “You see?” George said, scooping out a handful of castings into his hand. He brought it over to Arthur. “It is strange the first time you touch it, believe me, I know. Here, you must feel it for yourself, my friend.”

  The professor grabbed the castings, and as he did, a bit fell to the ground. George held a passive hand up, bent down, and picked up the loose bits. The professor had to admit, it was strange, but not what he had expected. They were moist, but not wet. Dry enough to not drip liquid onto his hands, but he felt sure that if he squeezed them, dark grey water would seep out. He held them to his nose and was surprised. It smelled like earth. Rich, black, healthy earth.

  George took the castings from the professor and continued his work. He scooped the worm castings out onto a terracotta plate, their texture appearing to be much like coffee grounds. He used a small tea spoon to put a small plop of castings onto each plant in the garden bed at the back of the building. Then he took his water bottle and one by one, watered the castings into the ground.

  “These castings will hold the water in,” George said as he watered. “They will go down into the soil and hold the water in. And when you put manure down, the microbes from the worms break that down, making it food for the plants.” He managed to squat-waddle along the garden bed in a manner the professor found painful to watch. “The castings have nutrients in them, and they make the plants stronger. They build the soil.” George watered the last of the plants on the far end of the bed and stood. “So you see, Professor, this truly is black gold. And this, this is going to save the world one day.” Professor Browning watched him point to the worm castings in his hand as he spoke enthusiastically, and he knew that one day, George Washington would be a big deal.