Overrun Read online

  OVERRUN

  By: Michael Rusch

  Text Copyright © 2004 Michael Rusch

  Also read “Overrun: Project Hideaway”

  by Michael Rusch.

  Available on Kindle.

  Table of Contents

  Ozone Failure in 2201

  Plan Zero Implementation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Ozone Failure in 2201

  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 Implementation

  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.

  Chapter 1

  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 separa
ted. 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.

  Only a few yards ahead, one of the soldiers pitched towards them with his legs flailing thro
ugh the air. His hand clutched at a gaping hole that had opened itself in his left shoulder. His body fell flat across the ground and became still. His weapon dropped next to him in a pile of dust just beyond his reach.

  Kirken forced himself not to move hoping to stay hidden by the flying dust and avoid drawing additional fire upon himself. Ahead, the rest of the soldiers leapt for cover on either side of the street.

  Wagner dove to the ground next to Kirken and crawled through the sand screaming into his transmitter and spitting grit from his teeth.

  In an instant, the street was empty except for Kirken and the wounded soldier lying in a heap at its center. His body shook slightly from shock, and his arm stretched slowly towards his assault rifle. Blood pooled near his shoulder, and bullets screamed from the rooftops.

  Kirken sprinted towards him with his hand on his own weapon hanging at his side. The air exploded with a fresh volley of shots that shredded the ground at his feet forcing him to take cover on the left side of the street.

  He made his way to the back of an ancient telephone booth and threw himself back hard against its glass. Years of caked dust and heat hid him for the moment and offered temporary cover from the ambush.

  He looked up to see small figures dart across the rooftops just above where he stood. Soon faces became visible through the swirls of smoke from discharged weaponry and flying dust. They were faces of young boys holding weapons almost larger than themselves.

  Flame and slugs threw dirt into the air and forced Kirken to remain still. The faces disappeared overhead. Only the bombardment of weapons fire marked their continued presence.

  A few soldiers poked their faces back into the street and returned fire into the rooftops. They pressed their headsets close to their ears listening for Wagner’s instructions. The firing overhead stopped momentarily while their attackers ducked back for cover. The street was suddenly silent except for the weak groans of the wounded soldier sprawled at its center.