Starcross

Chapter Two - Part ll

Highway 395

Just past Pearsonville, California

3 March, 2020

      Hot, dry air filled with dust kicked up by the vehicles ahead of his blew in through the open window and stung at Edward Spinnaker’s face. It was still early but the desert heat that was expected from this area of California already sent mirages into the air. He gazed out the open window to his right as the Humvee bounced along the rough road that was supposed to be freshly paved, yet somehow the money disappeared at some point. Dry tumble weeds and random other desert flora filled the area around the road. They just past Pearsonville, a small town near Death Valley and the Druidth colony that was located just outside the national park.

      “Scenic Pearsonville, California,” The driver said over the roar of the wind blowing in through the open windows. “Can you believe people brag about owning property out here?”

      “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Private,” Spinnaker replied. “Though I sure as shit wouldn’t behold this place. Give me trees and a lake any day.”

      “Ah it’s not so bad. Did you know we’re closer to Las Vegas than Camp Pendleton? Well, as the crow flies,” The driver laughed, his helmet bobbing on his head. “So if you don’t like the desert, why’d you join the Corps, sir?”

      “Because some smooth talking recruiter convinced me that Marines only operated in tropical islands with barely dressed women.” Spinnaker, 2nd Lieutenant Spinnaker, U.S. Marine Corps to be exact, checked the dash mounted, military-grade GPS to be sure they were on the right path. Early this morning the company had received orders to deploy to the Death Valley Colony to provide security, aide, and assistance to the survivors of the attack. As he reached for the LCD display he saw spots of white dust that settled on the black skin of his hand; grumbling, he dusted it off and stopped as he considered how much dust would be on his uniform. “You’d think the government could pay to put air conditioners in its vehicles.”

      “Aww, sir, you know that’s not possible. If they did, then we’d all be relaxing in the cool air instead of getting shot,” The driver said sarcastically.

      Spinnaker reached for the radio, “Well I’d prefer not to get shot, Private,” He keyed the transmitter. “King two-five, this is Romeo-nine. We’re just passing Pearsonville, and continuing to head north, over.”

      “Copy that Romeo-nine,” The radioman for Headquarters battalion replied. “Next check in at-“

      A look of confusion spread across Spinnaker’s face. “Say again King two-five, your last transmission cut out, over.” Silence was all that relied. “King two-five do you copy? Over.”

      “Sir…” The Humvee driver said with a bit of confusion.

      Spinnaker turned and was about to ask him what he wanted but he already knew; the familiar roar of the diesel engine had died and they were slowly coasting to a stop, like the engine had just died. Ahead he saw the rest of the convoy slowly rolling to a stop in the middle of the dusty blacktop; across from the road he saw a number of tractor-trailers and regular cars doing the same, no doubt their drivers would have the same looks of confusion as the young Private Benjamin Moore, Spinnaker’s driver.