26
INTERLUDE 3
COLE & DRUM
Liberty State Park, Jersey City
1330 Local Time
1.5 miles away from Ground Zero
The day the aliens arrived, the city banded together for solidarity’s sake. They had done so during 9/11. Shouts of promises that they would persevere through this new crisis while fear and paranoia razed through the city as quickly as the fire did.
On the second day, they put up shelter camps for the thousands of refugees who lost their homes to the attacks. There were kissing, crying, and photo ops from a bunch of politicians wearing thousand-dollar suits, standing next to dirty and soot-ridden faces of New Yorkers who would rather get a good night’s rest and maybe a fucking meal instead of standing on a podium. At the same time, a plethora of cameras continued flashing.
But by the third day, Cole Drummich fought a man behind a looted Target for a pack of toilet paper and red vines.
And the only way he won was by flaunting his late grandfather’s revolver, sending the guy fleeing and pissing himself. If he were more observant, he’d realize it had no bullets. Cole spent it during the first day, pulling potshots at the flying aliens (he was drunk, and he was stupid), but it worked as a deterrent for the past couple of days. Picking up his bag filled with loot, he rounded out the corner to find his brother.
Eventually, he found Drum by the shopping cart behind a recycling dumpster, guarding it like a bulldog. A green tarp and a couple of black garbage bags hid the contents inside.
Cole couldn’t believe that three days ago, he used to live in a swanky mid-sized apartment in SOHO with three beds, two baths, and a scenic view of the city from the twenty-fifth floor, which he could barely afford. He used to have a good job serving under two members of Congress for the past decade before the last one torpedoed his career by cheating on his wife with two mistresses, and it leaked to the press. All that law degree only made him a glorified babysitter; worse, he was the scapegoat for the leak even though he didn’t do it. He got blacklisted. No ambitious congressman would hire him across the entire eastern seaboard, So, he got another job at a low-end law firm to feed his hungry bank account.
Now, the firm was gone. Most of his co-workers were dead. He picked a hell of a time to call in sick (because he was drunk). His neighborhood (and everything around it) were just a pile of rubble. It was a miracle Cole got out two minutes before the building split into two, and the upper half (where his apartment was) tilted and fell in the opposite direction, landing on hundreds of people. Now, he looked like just any homeless person in the city. He hadn’t washed for a few days, too.
At least the stench of whiskey was gone.
“You got everything, big guy?” Cole asked, shoving the packed rolls of toilet paper, the red vines, and his backpack underneath the tarp. A gunshot resounded from the front of the Target building, followed by a few screams, so he steered the cart in the opposite direction.
“Home that way,” pointed Drum toward the direction of the parking lot where the gunshot was.
“No, it’s too dangerous,” Cole said.
Drum’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. Long way?”
“Yeah, big guy. We’re taking the long way.”
Drum quickly followed after Cole. He glanced over the giant scar on Drum’s head and frowned. His brother tried to hide it by growing his hair a little longer or wearing a baseball cap (he left it in the tent), but there was still that big patch on the left side.
Eight years ago, Fredrick Drummich used to be an outgoing guy who played football (a huge and talented linebacker) and was popular with the ladies. He often played pranks with his friends and loved horror and action movies. But ever since he joined the Army and served two tours, he came back a shell of his former self. There was an ambush. Many people got hurt, and Fred being Fred, risked his life against an IED to save three brothers-in-arms. A big chunk of shrapnel struck his head, which left him in a coma for two months after the doctors took it out. By the time he woke up, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t remember who he was. He couldn’t even remember who his family. Fortunately, most of his memory lapses disappeared six weeks into treatment. Walking again took eight more months of physical therapy. As for his speech, it was getting there. Little by little.
But the old Fredrick? He’s gone, gone, gone.
Now a husk of a simple man with simple goals inhabited his body. A kind soul who had never known war. Sometimes, Cole felt like the old Fred was still there. The strength. His sense of humor. His protectiveness. How he could disassemble and reassemble a rifle in twenty seconds. How he could tackle a guy that would knock his socks off. Cole got him a simple clerical job at a library and bought him a small apartment close to his so he could keep an eye on him. It had been three years now. He chose the name Drum because he didn’t look like a Fredrick (his words). Cole let him be. It seemed like he was happy with his new name.
“You okay?” Drum asked.
Cole smiled, even though he felt a slight twinge of guilt inside. It wasn’t his fault, but as his older brother, he should have protected him more. Maybe he should have tried harder to convince him not to enlist after college. Fred always chased the dream of being the hero. Look at where that got him. “Let’s go back to Mom and Dad.”
Drum grunted, nodding as if he understood. “I got peaches,” Drum raised the tarp a little higher and pointed at the three twenty-eight-ounce cans of peaches inside.
Cole smiled and gently lowered the tarp. He patted his brother on the shoulder. “Very good, Drum.”
Drum smiled cheekily. “You like peaches.”
“I do, and thank you.”
“Home?”
“Yes. We’re going home now.”
“No.” Drum shook his head and pointed toward Manhattan.
“Not there, remember? The aliens destroyed it.”
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Drum’s brows furrowed. “Bad guys.”
“Yes. The bad guys. We’re going to Liberty. To our tent. Mom and Dad are waiting for us.”
“Don’t like it there.”
Cole snorted. “Yeah. Me neither, buddy.” He had been sleeping on the grass with only a flimsy blanket for two nights, and his back muscles were all up in a knot. It was hard waking up in the morning when it felt like his spine was about to break.
At least their mother was okay. She almost got crushed by falling debris in the bank she worked at, which nearly broke her leg. She was in one of the Red Cross tents across Liberty Park. All of the hospitals around the city were filled to the brim.
They walked down an empty street. Hardly anyone walked alone anymore when there was plenty of looting around, and gangs were roving out and about. The police and the National Guard tried to rein them in, but there weren’t enough to cover twenty-three million people. Many families who couldn’t find shelter stayed in abandoned houses or even under highways. Some remained in the destroyed parts of Manhattan, refusing to leave. Most, however, just wandered around. Cole doubted the city would recover by the end of the month. It took a year for New Orleans to recover after Katrina.
A group of six guys passed by, laughing like nothing was wrong in the world. Drum slowed his walk, studying them. He slipped his hand inside the cart, grasping the large can of peaches, ready to strike if these men were trouble. They just passed them by, and Drum relaxed and shot Cole a reassuring smile.
They continued walking, following the line of abandoned cars. A few here and there had been blown away or turned upside down from debris and fire. A couple of them had crashed into other buildings. Cole was surprised some still worked.
As they rounded a corner, they walked past JESSIE’S PUB & GRILL, which was still open. Jersey City wasn’t hit as much as lower Manhattan, so a few businesses were still open. Each staff carried a loaded gun to deter any looters. Cole stopped a cart near the alley. But an unusual amount of people had gathered inside, spilling out to the sidewalk.
“What’s going on?” Cole muttered.
Drum shrugged. “Food?”
They put their cart to the side and approached the front, wading through the crowd to get to the door. Inside, they were all watching the TV in grim silence. Cole’s stomach dropped. At first, he thought the aliens must have returned and were destroying the city again, but this time, it was in San Francisco.
“What happened?” Cole asked a woman in her mid-thirties standing beside him.
She didn’t answer at first. She turned to look at the TV and frowned. “The aliens are back.”
“I see that.”
She shrugged. “You remember that alien ship that showed up? The one that got rid of the other over the city? It’s fighting two more over San Francisco. The Navy got involved, too.”
“Doesn’t look friendly to me,” one guy in the crowd overheard and spat. “They’re bad enough that they’re giving us trouble! They should all leave!”
“Quiet down, you!” The bartender shouted and turned up the volume.
Cole glanced over at the TV. He didn’t spot any headlines or bylines at the bottom of the screen. It didn’t even look like it came from a news station. The shots were too close to the battle itself as if the cameras were mounted on the hull of the smooth metallic silver vessel while it chased the crystalline ship. And then the silver ship fired some energy beam. The other ship slipped behind a building, but it was too late. A bright flash of light followed before the crystalline ship hurtled toward the neighborhood below.
“It hit,” Drum whispered. “Hit the big one!”
A lot of people started cheering and yelling. Others looked unsure.
The footage skipped for a second, and a man in his mid-twenties, neatly dressed in sleek black and silver armor, appeared on the screen. He introduced himself as Staff Sergeant Tony Segerstrom, a US Marine. His hair was cropped short, and he had a handsome, clean-shaven face. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his frame, and the way he carried himself confidently gave off the air of someone who would have no problem taking down three alien ships. Heck, he just did it!
He began his speech with his first contact with the aliens when the spheres descended worldwide. How these aliens he called “The Architects” chose him to lead humanity against what he called “The Quartz.” He took command of the giant floating space stations in orbit, controlled all the alien robots within to build him a fleet to counter the quartz’s attacks, and needed everyone’s help kicking them out of the galaxy. He did this by interspersing various footage of the battle in the cockpit and of him literally flying the damn ship.
There was even footage of his fight against one of the quartz in hand-to-hand combat. It was the first time Cole had seen them, brutish and ugly, like something from the deepest depths of a nightmare. They had big arms and a thick armored hide. Their shrimp-like faces were almost hidden behind their helmets, but enough of it showed to make you cringe. How could one small man defeat a behemoth with his bare hands? Their fight ended with Tony Segerstrom decapitating the alien on top of a taxi.
Coupled with the videos and Segerstrom’s speech, Cole felt the room grow with anticipation and excitement. For three days, everyone thought they couldn’t fight back against them. That Earth stood no chance. Many had wondered if this would be the end. But now, a human (a Marine!) stood before them and said there was hope.
Hope.
It was a lot more than Cole could swallow. He didn’t know whether to believe it or not. It could be bullshit.
A second video began on the screen showing more dogfights over San Francisco and New York as if to let Segerstrom’s speech sink in. There was even a snippet of the construction of an enormous ship, larger than the silver vessel that fought the quartz.
A human controlling aliens? What?
Even some of the others in the bar shook their heads. Many were transfixed on the screen, holding on to the Marine’s every word. Tony Segerstrom was a storyteller, alright. His speech was compelling and concise. Cole reckoned he probably had years of media training. The man oozed charisma and assertiveness, promising to leave no stone unturned as he dealt with the invaders. The way he commanded everyone’s attention and had them hanging on his every word made him seem larger than life. The man sure knew how to captivate an audience, even as young as him. Usually, Cole would see it on a seasoned politician, not on a grunt.
A full-blooded natural. Cole listened intently to his words as well.
“The Old Earth as we know it is gone. We are entering a new frontier. We stand here now in a moment of crisis and doubt. We don’t know their motives yet, but if we do nothing, then they will destroy us. They attacked our cities and killed millions. These invaders are a menace to our planet. They must be stopped. Now is the time for the United States government and the rest of the world to act decisively! To join me.”
“We have seen these alien vessels up close and fought them face-to-face. They can be killed. But I need men and women who are brave enough to face them on the battlefield. Scientists who will push our knowledge of the universe to new, greater heights. Ordinary folks who will learn and study this advanced tech and build a better world for our people and our children. We need your help. Earth needs you.”
He followed it with a list of coordinates all over the world. Areas where he will pick people up and send them to the space stations, where he’ll train them in space! Murmurs rolled across the bar like a sweeping tide.
Then, the video ended, and the screen flashed back to its regular programming. Two news anchors sat behind the table, stunned by what they had just witnessed. It seemed this Segerstrom hijacked the airwaves to broadcast his little ad for his army. Even the bar patrons stared at the screen for a long moment, pondering what he just said.
Okay. That’s enough for today. Cole tugged on Drum’s arm. “Come on, big guy. Mom and Dad are probably waiting for us.”
But Drum wasn’t listening. He was still staring at the TV. “I’ll join,” Drum said quietly.
Cole froze. “Er, what? Are you crazy? It's probably not real, Drum.”
“I’m a soldier.” He drove his thumb on his chest. “Once.”
“That was a long time ago, buddy, and look what happened to you.” Cole gestured over the scar on Drum's head.
Drum glanced over the screen again. “Mom, Dad. Got hurt.”
“Mom's getting treated by the doctors. They're fine now.”
“For how long?”
Cole paused. He couldn’t answer him. “You want to go up there?”
Drum nodded. “Took our home.” He said lowly. “Hurt Mom badly.”
“Drum, I—”
“Bad guys, remember?” Drum’s eyes darkened. “Bad guys hurt Mom.”
Cole heaved a sigh. “Alright, buddy. Alright. If you wanna join, I'm not gonna stop you.”
“You’ll come? With me?”
“Only if you want me to.”
Drum looked him up and down. "Really?"
"Okay, big man, I'm not that skinny for a fight, alright? I can beat someone up just fine."
"Okay. Cole." Drum shook his head.
"Hey! Maybe they'll have another job for me up there that doesn't involve shooting." And I might need another job after losing the firm. The Marine did mention some kind of support staff.
"Okay. You come with me." Drum smiled wide and clapped his hands together, so happy he could burst. He stared at the TV screen, mesmerized by the images and the voice of Staff Sergeant Tony Segerstrom, the man of the hour, as various news stations repeated the broadcast and asking who the fuck was that guy?
It felt like his brother was staring at another IED, ready to jump. But this time, Cole would stand by his side to protect him.