Surviving Extinction

By Robert Liddycoat

Surviving Extinction

They called themselves the Survivors. And rightly so. They outlasted the year of the Bugs, as cronicled in The Edge of Extinction, when it seemed that no one else in the world had. It ws not an easy existance. They survived a raid by marauders, they survived a tsunami. And they survived a war with Aliens. Now over three years

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Liddycoat
• Release date: Aug 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578740928

Robert Liddycoat

Robert Liddycoat lives in Seaside, Oregon. He is spending his retirement, hiking, visiting historical places, target shooting and writing (hopefully) entertaining stories.

Book preview

1

Alikah

Year Three

At the Survivors’ motel, in January of Year Three, the sky was the color of bruised lead. A stiff wind blew misty vapor up over the eastern tail of the Tillamook Head. The unpredictable winter of the northern Oregon coast was raw and cold.

Terry and John were cutting and splitting the next winter’s store of firewood, working quickly before the rain arrived. Jan was helping Joe stow the latest load of wood in the shed when a muffled sound of pain came from the motel.

That’s Wanda, Jan said to her husband. It’s her time. I have to go.

I’ll get Terry. He’s with John, cutting more firewood across the river.

Yeah. But don’t let him in the birthing room. He’ll just get in the way. Jan smiled. She knew Terry would want to be at the birth, but she also knew he wouldn’t try—unless Wanda called for him.

The sound brought back the memory of her own births a long time ago—a long time before the Bugs. Joe was with her in the hospital.

Over twenty-five years ago, she bore him a son. One year later, a girl. The perfect American family. They were happy. Even now, she still dreamed of that time.

Jan closed her mind to the past. There was no going back.

She and Joe were trying for their own pregnancy. She hadn’t gone through menopause yet. Jan knew that if she did manage to get pregnant, it was going to be hard, and potentially dangerous—not just because she was older. There wouldn’t be any professional medical help. Joe didn’t know how dangerous it could be, and she deliberately hadn’t told him.

But Jan had to try, for the Survivors and herself. She was stronger than before, and contributing to the Survivors’ family—their tribe—would be satisfying. Like the young yet wise Teressa had said, If Adam and Eve could do it, we can, too.

Jan Jones was a fifty-seven-year-old woman. Average in many respects. Extraordinary in others. After three years with the Survivors, her dyed blond hair was long and silver, done up in a modified ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was stronger than she could have imagined in both body and mind.

She wore jeans and a flannel shirt under a long raincoat and hood, heavy work shoes and socks, and a knit cap. Functional clothes had replaced fashion in this new reality.

Before the Bugs, she was a legal secretary. And in that time, she and Joe had raised two beautiful children. She was happy then.

She loved her husband, Joe, with a comfortable, time-tested love. Of course there were problems, but Joe was a good man. Together, they had overcome some rough spots. The petty squabbles about money and raising their children were now meaningless and lost to time.

When the Bugs first emerged, she—along with the others— went through the stages of grief, finally accepting the unbelievable. They may be the last living humans on earth.

Jan could think of no better definition for who or what they were—or what they had become—than Survivors. The name was as close as they could come to their reality. In more ways than one.

After the Bugs had melted, they had explored the possibility of other survivors. They looked in Olympia, Portland, and Salem with no luck.

And now, travel was limited. Gas was becoming stale no matter how much stabilizer they used. The coastal roads were becoming impassible, even for the Jeeps. Slides and washouts were numerous, especially on the Oregon Coast, where the winter storms rolled in one after the other. And the Cascadia earthquake and tsunami sure hadn’t helped.

As far as other survivors, they had only seen the marauders. And that was a tragedy. Of all the people who could’ve survived, Jan thought, it had to be escaped criminals. They’d kidnapped the Midders’ daughters, shooting and wounding their father, John, and another Survivor, Bob. It was Jan who had first called them marauders; it was the first word that came into her mind when it happened.

Joe and Dennis had tracked them down and killed them in a firefight. The Midders’ daughters were saved. But they’d been brutally raped.

Miraculously, though, the sisters had healed quickly and completely. After all this time, Jan still marveled at their recovery. She knew such a recovery could not have happened before. The police, doctors, lawyers, and trials would have made the girls’ experience impersonal. Then, the defense lawyers would have attacked the girls relentlessly. The family would not have been able to help during that process.

The rapists would have had representation. Rights. They would have been freed someday, probably to do it again.

Jan set the past aside. Here, now, the girls were safe, happy. A miracle.

None of her past life had prepared Jan for the Bugs. None of it had prepared her for the marauders. None of it had prepared her for the tsunami. And for sure, none of it had prepared her for the Aliens and the loss of the Lakes, their original tribal elders.

Now, she and Joe were the elders.

As she passed Joe and headed to the motel, toward the common room, Jan suddenly felt the satisfaction of knowing the marauders were dead. They were stone dead! Killed by the man she just passed—her husband, her man. So much for the marauders’ rights. The satisfaction warmed her even as the wind blew her hood off.

None of that mattered now, though. She set the musing aside. What mattered now was surviving, and that meant helping Wanda have her baby.

Jan pulled her hood back on and smiled as she climbed the steps.

She entered the common room, shucked her coat, and went down the hall to Terry and Wanda’s room, which had been converted to a bedroom, birthing room, and nursery combined. A birthing chair sat next to the bed, holding Wanda. Her water had broken; she would deliver shortly. Mary and Sally, who was heavy with her own child, were with her. Teressa, Vanessa, and Alima gathered around the door. Dennis, Bob, Bill, and Devon nervously waited in the hall.

Go, tend to your duties, Jan told the men as she passed by. You can’t help here.

The men moved to the common room as the storm’s leading spate of rain blew against the motel. Bob threw another log on the fire. Dennis fired up the generator. The lights came on.

The electric heater in the birthing room buzzed, and the element warmed up. Another cry of pain echoed down the hall. The men looked at each other, helpless. A home birth was new territory for them. Actually, for all the Survivors.

Terry, Joe, and John came in and hung up their rain gear. Terry headed for the birthing room, but Joe stepped in front of him. Not your place, Terry, he said. Wanda made that clear.

It’s my boy, Joe. I got to go.

You’ll just be in the way. Wanda’s been through this before. Jan and Mary know what they’re doing. And Sally needs to see what it’s like. Any more in the room will be too crowded, Joe comforted. And you’re right here. Anything happens, you’re right here. Joe’s eyes began to twinkle. It might be a girl. You ready for that?

Terrence Streck was a big man, a hardened Army veteran made harder by the Los Angeles and Oregon State Police Academies and then even harder by the Bugs, marauders, and Aliens.

He had grown up in South Los Angeles, where his parents had raised him as best they could in a bad time. He had enlisted in the Army as soon as he could to escape the constant temptation of gangs and drugs. After the service he moved back to L.A. where he met and married a childhood sweetheart.

When Terry looked back from inside the structure and order of the service, he wondered why gang life had ever been so tempting. In the service, he had seen how things could be done with respect. He wanted that. So, like many veterans, he joined L.A.’s finest, looking for that order.

Order was not there. Disrespect for the police and veterans was endemic. Racism was rampant on all sides. Most of his police friends became inured, jaded.

Life in L.A. was not what Terry wanted. He wanted something better. So he went looking for a small town to live and work in. He sent out dozens of applications. Then, he was recruited by the Oregon State Police. What he saw on his first trip to Oregon was night-and-day different from L.A.

He accepted the job and moved his family as fast as he could. After attending the academy, he was stationed in Astoria and then Warrenton. His family had a good life there. They still faced racism, of course, but Terry had good support from his fellow Troopers.

He had thrown himself into his work, leaving his wife to fend for herself. She hadn’t liked that, or the wet, dreary climate. She was a sun-loving city girl. The strain on their marriage eventually reached the breaking point. When the kids graduated high school, she had enough.

Terry didn’t fight the divorce. He knew he was to blame. He always held his emotions in check, even from the woman he loved. Even from the children he raised. He hadn’t learned this from the service or the academies. It was something he was born with.

Terry’s wife left, taking the kids—who were teenagers by then—and returning to L.A. and her family. Terry became stoic. He was alone, but he told himself he was content.

None of his past had prepared him for being a Survivor. For sure, not this—his child being home-born right in the next room. He was nervous.

Terry loved Wanda. It was a different love than he had for his previous wife. Wanda didn’t try to change him. She didn’t try to pull emotion out of him. She let him be who he was. She was beautiful that way.

Terry wondered if Wanda wanted his help and then realized she sure didn’t need him for this. He also knew that if he wanted to go into the birthing room, he could force it. Joe would not try to stop him physically. Aw, hell. But if I hear something wrong… he smiled back at Joe. And I’m happy no matter what it is, Joe.

As it should be. You remember when you first brought Wanda to the motel? How scared she was? Well, look at her now. She’s one hell of a woman. And what would you do if something went wrong, anyway?

Yeah. She’s something, all right. Don’t know what I’d do. But I’d need to be there.

Yeah. Joe knew the feeling.

We all took our losses back during the Bugs. She did it alone for a while. Her husband and children were lost. Yet, she lived. I’m not going to let her do this alone if—

She lived in no small part because of you, butted in Joe. We all lost our families, friends. Everyone else. And she’s not alone.

And here we are, Dennis stepped in. You’re about to have a child of your own.

Our own, Dennis, Terry said.

Yeah. We’re the Survivors.

You want something to drink? Wine, whiskey, beer? offered Dennis.

Yeah. Whiskey. We could all use some.

Dennis opened the bar. Neat? Nods around. He poured a shot of Jameson for each and handed them out. Devon demurred.

Not for me, said Devon. I need to go to my room.

You gonna pray for my boy? asked Terry.

Yes. But privately. As Jesus taught. I will ask God to protect your wife and child during birth. Over the last year, Devon and his wife, Alima, had become the Survivors’ de facto spiritual guides. But overt praying was still not liked by some. A couple of confrontations had grown into a mutual understanding, and an easy truce was in effect. Devon would not openly ask God for favors. I will not beg, he smiled.

Thank you, Terry said. Appreciate that.

Another cry of effort and pain came from the birthing room. Terry winced but sat heavily. Tossed back the whiskey like it was water. Held out the tumbler for another.

You’re right here, Terry, said Joe.

Wanda Patronis was saved from the Oregon State Police building by Terry and brought to the motel early in the Bug siege. She’d spent the first nine days of the siege alone, locked in her dispatch room at the building in Warrenton, with Bugs endlessly pounding on the walls, seeking her death. Her food and water ran out. Just before she gave up, Terry Streck came and brought her back to the motel. She barely remembered the trip.

It took a long time for Wanda to heal from that nightmare; she was a traumatized, nervous wreck. The transformation was finally complete years later during the tsunami. When she and Terry managed to outrace the massive wave up the road from Cannon Beach, something inside her had shifted. Fear left; courage remained.

Wanda remembered how she was back then and reveled in who she was now. Yes, Terry had saved her, but she was the one who survived. She was the one who persevered alone in the dispatch room, without food or water. She was strong. She was a Survivor.

Now, she was trying to give birth to this baby. The birthing chair was chosen by consensus, and Wanda approved. In her past life, she had delivered two healthy babies in the Astoria Hospital. With the help of these Survivor women, her doulas, this felt decidedly more intimate, more comfortable. Now, if only the baby would cooperate.

She felt Jan and Mary holding her hands. Both had also born children in the past. Still, this was a new thing. Yet, it felt right to Wanda—despite her pain.

Come on, child, she muttered.

Just a little more, said Mary.

Ugh, replied Wanda. Is this an elephant? Fear bloomed in her. Why was it taking so long? Was there a problem?

Mary watched the doubt flash in Wanda’s eyes. Just a little more, she coaxed.

Wanda pushed hard. Maybe the baby wasn’t coming. Maybe she needed help. She almost called out to Terry, then steeled herself. She would not panic. She was not helpless. She would do this.

In the chair, Wanda set her shoulders back. She straightened. She was the one having this baby. She, by damn, was having this baby!

She leaned forward, pushed again.

Mary saw the change in Wanda’s body, the pursed lips, the look of determination that replaced the look of fear. She smiled. Wanda smiled back through tear-stained eyes. Just a little more, she encouraged Wanda.

Come on, child.

In the common room, Terry began pacing.

The common room was silent, except for the sound of the heavy rain that began to fall. The wind whipped it into sheets that beat against the motel’s windows.

Wanda didn’t cry out again. Terry became even more nervous. He looked down the hall. Teenage sisters Teressa and Vanessa looked back at him and smiled.

She’s here, said Teressa.

Terry heard a long, low, guttural moan split by a high-pitched cry. A baby’s cry. He juddered around the room like a windup toy. After what seemed like an eternity, Jan, Mary, and Sally came out. It’s a healthy girl, Jan said to Terry. You can see her now.

Terry was down the hall and into the room before she finished talking. The men laughed and toasted with the whiskey. Jan, Sally, and Mary joined in, Jan and Sally with some blackberry juice. They were going to be careful with their babies. Jan with her trying.

Hey, we should have those cigars, Joe said.

No, we shouldn’t, countered Jan. We don’t need that around the baby.

Terry came out, a proud father, holding his newborn daughter like she was the most precious thing on earth. Say hello to Alikah.

Beautiful name. Where’s it from? asked Joe.

My aunt. I always thought it was special. Means ‘pure’ in Hausa.

Well, you got a beautiful girl. I still want my cigar, said Dennis.

Get out of here if you have to, ordered Jan.

The men started for the door, then stopped. But not because it was raining.

2

                                                   Mutants

At the end of the hall, the flap on the dog door rattled. The dog burst in, barking at the door while backing away from it. She was wet—and scared. She needed to protect her pack. Danger was close. But she was afraid.

These were like the things that had nearly killed her before, when the two-paw with the noise-maker saved her. She could not fight and kill these things. They were too many and too strong. She need to warn the pack. She barked furiously. She must protect her pack.

She smelled the new two-paw. It was prey to the things outside. She barked and growled at the flap.

What’s up, dog? asked Joe. What’s the matter? He went over to her. She was shaking and cowering. She looked up at him with fear and warning in her eyes. Joe drew his sidearm. The men all drew theirs.

Their new reality brought danger. Aliens and marauders. And who knows what else. The Survivors were close to arms at all times.

Check the front door, Joe said, to no one in particular. Go inside and close the birthing room door, he directed the sisters. I’m going to check the dog door. He started down the hall.

Terry took Alikah into the birthing room and returned with Jan. The girls went in. What’s happening? asked Terry as he drew his sidearm, shut the birthing door, and found out.

The dog door flipped up, and a fanged nightmare scrambled in.

The dog charged it. She could not let it inside. Her fear for the pack and the new two-paw drove her forward. The noisemakers sounded loud in her ears. The nightmare collapsed.

Another squeezed through, scrabbling, gouging the wood floor. She lunged for its throat, but it grabbed her head in its powerful jaws, shaking her and tossing her aside. She struggled to her feet, blood running in her eyes, and started forward again. Then the noisemakers sounded, and the second one dropped. The dog savaged the corpse.

Outside, more shots sounded. Bob and Dennis stood on the deck, firing at a retreating band of coyotes. But not just coyotes. These were larger, with bigger heads and jaws.

Jan stood in the field, squinting against the blowing rain, searching for another target. She had run halfway across the field, firing randomly. The wind blew in another sideways round of rain. The band of coyotes disappeared into the scrub across the road.

What the hell? exclaimed Terry. What is that thing? He held his smoking pistol ready as he looked carefully at the things they’d shot in the motel. Their wedge-shaped heads