A Year Underfoot


July 10th, 2033

They’ve landed.

I’d been on the bounce for two hours when I spotted three enormous gray transport ships descending south of Oxnard. The sight of the massive vessels stopped me cold. Each alien ship ate up the sky. They looked like the purpose they serve, – giant storage sheds, one quarter of a mile long by one quarter of a mile wide and upwards of a half of a mile in height. The trio easily dwarved their warbird escorts and the thought of each behemoth stuffed full of troopers, gear and ordinance makes my stomach crawl.

If they could afford to drop this on Oxnard, what was going on in the rest of the world?

They set down on the south side of the former naval base, putting them only three miles to the north, – too close for comfort, – way too close for comfort. I had to get off the coast and get away from the PCH. I knew they’d soon be running ground patrols, and being that the PCH is the only road slicing through the area, it would certainly be one of the first pieces of real estate the invaders would secure.

I was on the move once again.

I took to the hills just a few hundred yards south of Point Mugu State Park and kept hiking north through the Santa Monica Mountains. I knew as long as I kept to my plan and kept my head down and my footprint light I’d skirt through the area just fine. Sprawling sycamore and oak trees doted the canyon floor and provided me excellent air cover and the well-kept park’s trail system helped me move quickly and quietly through the night.

You see, in my shock I thought I still had a chance of passing through Oxnard.

That all changed when I saw the first of the ground patrols after midnight. Three distinct red and blue lights cutting south down the PCH. They moved slowly and methodically, scouring every inch of the road. At times they moved so slowly I thought they would stop, but they didn’t, and in due time passed by me and continued on down the road.

With the ground patrol safely moving south I continued north, finally cresting a ridge where the sycamores had given way to acres of purple-flowered wild brush and an elevated view of the southern end of the naval air station.

The air station, however, was not there. It had been completely destroyed. Small fires still burned here and there around the perimeter of the facility, but for all intended purposes, the naval air station was not there. Not anymore.

What stood in its place were three gargantuan supply transports. Each one reached a half of a mile into the night sky and the sight of these ships sent a chill down my spine. I’d seen them landing, but this was entirely different. They were laid out before me and all I could do was stare a their enormity.

Dumbstruck is the word that pops to mind.

I crouched low among the wild brush and shucked off my backpack. I drew it before me and fished out my infrared field glasses and zeroed in on the three monsters lined neatly together a half a mile away, – and then to the flurry of activity on the ground as troops and machinery were being off-loaded and staged for deployment.

As I dialed in the distance on the glasses, I got my first real glimpse of the invaders themselves, – and they were exactly as they appeared in the visions.


The Threak stand fifteen feet tall and their barrel-shaped bodies are covered entirely in a thick, shiny black fur. They have two arms and two legs, and a singular head, – presently covered in an elaborate helmet of sorts, – a breathing apparatus, no doubt. They look to weigh in the neighborhood of a thousand pounds, and even from a distance, they signal to the soul a new devil incarnate.

From what I understand, the troopers, the everyday grunt, operate in cells of three, and either due to their size, or the gravity of our planet, are sluggish and slow, as if they’re walking chest deep through rushing water. Their movements are forced and unnatural. Whether or not they can adapt to the gravity of our planet remains to be seen. I’m praying their issues with our mother will only worsen.

From where I sat, I spent the rest of the night watching the troopers unload the supply transports. Hundreds of vehicles and thousands of troopers disembarked from the three alien ships and rolled off into the darkness, some heading east, while others rolled past my position, heading south down the PCH toward Malibu, Santa Monica and points south.

The occupation has begun.



About paul nevins

Fiction writer, reader and baseball fan.
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2 Responses to A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #8

  1. Linda says:

    This is a great story, I like

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