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The Fall of Apothecary

By Psion

All Rights Reserved

It was snowing gently in the valley around the small post-apocalyptic town of Apothecary, but then it was almost always snowing after the Rik-Tah invaded. The weather itself was just another tool for the aliens to oppress or subvert the local population into submitting to their rule. Apothecary itself was a relatively nondescript trade town in the fringe area between what used to be Pennsylvania and Ohio, much of it looked pretty typical of settlements after the end. Crude stone and timber houses plopped down next to half-destroyed pre-war suburban homes, brick chimneys belching small plumes of smoke, and rudimentary signs of small industry, all of this surrounded by a reinforced cinderblock wall roughly a foot thick and six feet high. Human guards wrapped in winter clothing nervously walked the walls, hands trembling from something other than the cold as they scanned the horizon. Yet despite all their attention towards watching outside the city walls, they somehow missed the teenage boy and girl trudging through the snow in nothing but shorts, sandals, and t-shirts...

Seer had to admit; astral projection was a pretty useful ability. Especially since it allowed him to look like whatever he wanted regardless of whether or not it was appropriate for the weather. Hence why Catherine and he were dressed for the beach yet walking along in a foot of snow. It allowed them to walk right past the guards as if they weren't really there... which technically they weren't. That was the part the human telepath always had trouble wrapping his head around, being able to be somewhere without physically being there. Still, the how was not as important as the fact that they could do it. Considering what was coming and the part they had in it... someone had to be around to remember.

"Oh God... this is really happening isn't it?" Catherine began, at last, the "awakened" psychic still struggling with her powers after having her body subjected to a number of gene-therapy treatments before becoming mentally linked with Brandon "Seer" White, a process that amplified both of their powers and allowed him to help stabilize her abilities when she was in danger of losing control. At the moment, she was either still disoriented by the sensation of leaving her body behind or struggling with the gravity of what was about to happen. Brandon had a sinking suspicion that a little bit of both was involved.

"Catherine, try to calm down and focus. I know, I know, this isn't the first time I watched something like this happen. Just try to distance yourself... tell me why this town is important?"

The black-haired girl sucked in her breath and nodded. "Apothecary is... Apothecary is a small town named for the drug labs near the south side of the village. Founded by a group of refugees from one of the big pharmacy colleges to the east, it became one of the few reliable sources of penicillin in the area. Over time it also developed a strong foundation in fuel production. Nothing super impressive like petroleum or nuclear fuels, no one's had that since the Rik-Tah invaded, but they managed to do a great job with fuel alcohol, even have some of the regular stuff that's fit for human consumption, and someone here apparently perfected a system for making heating fuel out of... out of..."

"Out of shit, I know. Or to be specific, out of human and animal feces." Seer interjected, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. On one hand Catherine's innocent black and white worldview was sort of endearing, on the other it just drove him crazy. Raised in a fairly conservative family, didn't swear, always said her prayers, and didn't even so much as think about getting involved in "amoral behaviors." Almost had trouble believing Brandon and his brother were with the "good guys." The natural telepath shook his head, now he was the one getting off track. "Anyway moving on. We know it's a major point on several supply lines, produces enough fuel and medicine for about six towns. What we don't know is..." The psychic stopped mid-sentence and looked at his partner suddenly. "You do know who is coming don't you?"

The other psionic looked at the snow-covered ground, unable to look him in the eye. "Columbia's Children. They're the ones that will be attacking this village in a couple hours. Major Drums already has the town surrounded and has been taunting these people since yesterday afternoon. Stood up on that big hill we walked by and shouted down at them, even nearly knocked over a few houses with her condemnations." She explained, gesturing to several pre-Invasion homes that looked like they'd been rattled free of their foundations, one good breeze might be all it took for them to tumble over.

"Christ on a fucking cracker." Brandon exclaimed. "Hasn't anyone been able to kill that bitch yet? Seriously... I thought the ecoterrorist that was too dumb to realize she was trying to burn a green-tech city to the ground was bad enough. So much for hoping someone might survive this. If psycho-kitty has Isotope with her on this run... the nearest bomb shelter built for nuclear fallout is fifty miles away." He sighed and shook his head, looking around at the town one last time.

Due to the impending siege, Apothecary was quiet. Townsfolk stayed in their cellars or the community bunker built below the village square. Yet even then there were still signs of the tragedy yet to come. Brandon counted no less then six snowmen in town, two that had a crudely anthro-shape and looked like the children had fun bombarding them with snowballs, and both psychics walked past a freshly made snow angel on their tour of the small community. The diminutive indentation in the white powder looked out of place next to the parade of militia getting ready for the coming attack. As magazines were checked one last time before that first round was chambered in, the brown-haired telepath found himself wondering about the kid who made the snow angel. Was he in a cellar or the bunker? Did he have any family members currently outside walking past and through Brandon's astral projection as the militia made its final preparations? Did he even realize that this might be the last time he ever heard his parents say good-bye to him? All questions that would never be answered as a crisp bugle ditty could be heard over the howling wind, it had begun.

Taking his partner by the hand, he looked up towards the overcast sky and floated up over the town. Despite the tension and having seen the impending horror occur elsewhere several times before, he couldn't help but laugh.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny? And why aren't you taking us higher, we're still too close to the battle."

Brandon chuckled. "It's just that her name is Major Drums, one of her attacks involves using percussion mallets to generate earthquakes, and her costume was based off an old Army parade uniform. Yet how does she rally Columbia's Children? With a bugle, easily the AK47 of musical instruments." He explained, his face growing cold once more as the jovial outburst faded as quickly as it appeared. "No, Major Drums and her goons can't hurt us when we're like this. Besides, if we go up any higher the people down below start to look like little RTS infantry. Virtual riflemen spawned from a digital barracks, waiting for the mouse pointer of a sadistic god to send them to their doom. No, we need to remember the faces of the people who fought here today..." He replied while concentrating on his psychic senses.

Suddenly, with a touch of clairvoyance and telepathy, the collection of scarves, ski masks, and snow goggles seemed to fade and the faces behind them became as clear as crystal; the ex-military woman hiding on top of the water tower, an Army marksman's rifle in her arms, the boy no older then either of the telepaths with an antique M-16 that probably hadn't been fired in anger since the Vietnam War trembling in his hands, the militia veteran with the shotgun that ignored the sweat forming on his brow, and the traveling arms dealer who arrived just before the town was blockaded. Brandon found himself taken aback by the emotions swirling within the gun merchant's head. For some reason there was a lot of rage bubbling in the man's mind as he cradled an old M-1 Garand. The psychic didn't have any time to nudge deeper as the main event was just appearing over the rise.

Brandon had to hand it to them, Columbia's Children were many things but drab was not one of them. Major Drums' warband was a kaleidoscope of bright colors forming a stark contrast to the white snow and stark grays of leafless trees. The major herself was a lioness dressed in a Civil War officer's uniform dyed Union blue, twin rows of golden buttons shimmered despite the overcast sky. A psychotic smile was worn on her face as she twirled two metallic percussion mallets, the mace-like weapons spinning like a pair of toys in her hands. Seer could see from the twinkle in her eye that she thought this was going to be a good day. A glorious day meting punishment upon the "morally impure" if he remembered her insane blathering correctly. Some philosophy that sounded vaguely like neo-con drivel except not entirely... Brandon's eyes were usually glazed over long before she got to her point if there even was one.

Not like what drove her was going to matter to the people down below either. The feline's body language showed she was even prepared to give one more villainous monolog but the militia didn't bother giving her the chance. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the captain of the town guard shouted his orders. The gates were reinforced and the guards on the walls opened fire. The bark of hunting rifles and other sharpshooter weapons screamed like the lead singer in a rock band, the rata-tat-tat back-up chorus of assault rifles and submachine guns formed the perfect musical rebuttal to Major Drums' opening overture. Seer just hovered above, watching and listening to the chaos unfolding beneath him. In one of the smaller cellars, a female radio operator steeled her nerves and activated the emergency frequencies she hoped she never had to use...

"Mayday, mayday, this is Apothecary! We are under attack by the alien marauders known as Columbia's Children. I repeat, Columbia's Children is attacking Apothecary and will not last long, we need reinforcements. Is there anyone out there?" The operator announced out over the short-wave frequencies, her calm delivery was a stark contrast to her shaking hands. As the radio replied with a silence that seemed to drown out the sounds of battle outside her shelter, Seer watched the brown haired woman mouth a silent prayer. Whether anyone was listening, not even his telepathic powers were enough to tell.

Outside the town gates, the battle at first appeared to be going in the defenders favor. Out of the fifty-some attackers, most of them were the CeeCee's equivalent of comic book minions. Anthro storm troopers dressed in a Pulp-like wardrobe of steel helmets, gasmasks, and heavy armored overcoats marched ahead of their lady. While Major Drums seemed to have an aversion to anything developed after the invention of the transistor, her mooks were still relatively well armed and armored. That being said, the militia managed to hold their own against furry psychopaths firing Thompsons, BARs, and 1919 Brownings. At least until things started going downhill faster then a greased car on top of the world's tallest roller coaster.

First came the shield, a glowing blue energy barrier projected by one of Drums' super friends. Within seconds the barricade engulfed the attackers, the militia's bullets bouncing harmlessly off the radiant wall. Behind this cover, the lioness briskly rearranged her forces as her fellow supers either healed the wounded or readied their counter-attack. Once the attack was renewed, the barrier went down and the gates of Hell were figuratively thrown open upon the town of Apothecary.

Once the Children's supers got involved, the tide quickly turned. First the female sugar glider Helldiver took flight and soared up over the town. The pyrokinetic flyer strafed the defenders on the wall with a rain of fireballs. Militia scattered and tried to find cover behind something that wasn't flammable, Brandon felt his stomach start to churn as several unlucky fighters didn't dodge in time and were set ablaze by the flyer's attack. Screams of unbelievable agony echoed in his ears as burning victims tried in vain to put out the flames before falling over into the snow. Whether they were dead or unconscious, the psychic wasn't sure he wanted to know. In any case, despite her lack of formal military experience, Drums was quick to follow up on her initial air strike.

The gate was the next to go, the wood and scrap metal barrier buckling under the combined super-strong assault of War Mare and the brutish porcine maiden Pershing, two vaguely feminine mountains of super dense muscle that served as Drums' right and left hands. Their wall breached, the surviving defenders took cover in whatever buildings weren't on fire, attacking the invaders from the fleeting safety of windows and doorways. The Children of Columbia were gaining ground but the locals were making them fight for every inch. Everywhere the psychics looked, the militia proved that real heroes didn't wear Halloween costumes.

The sniper hiding on the water tower was firing her rifle so fast Brandon could have sworn the barrel was glowing. Even though her position had been revealed several minutes ago, the markswoman kept firing obvious to the bullets whizzing past her head. Body shots, even a few headshots, the crew-cut woman kept fighting like a machine. Her mind was affixed on one reoccurring image, a little black-haired boy hiding in the community bunker, her son. Sweat dripping down her face, her right shoulder in pain from a glancing bullet, the woman kept fighting on, a living testament to the power of the mind over the body. Even as Major Drums slammed her hammers into the ground and brought the sharpshooter's perch tumbling down in an avalanche of metal and frigid water, the mother's final scream was unmistakably defiant.

Brandon could tell the teenage rifleman was thinking of running, the only thing stopping him from fleeing was knowing that there was nowhere to run to. Grabbing an ax from a nearby woodshed, the young man forced his way into one burning home after another. Children and the elderly scrambled to the safety of the communal shelter while the nameless rifleman provided covering fire. Unfortunately, the trembling militiaman only had one magazine for his M-16. As his gun went dry, he left the relative safety of the parked truck he was hiding behind to make an ill-fated grab for a fallen Thompson. He made three steps before he was gunned down and left bleeding in the street. His wounds looked survivable from the psychic's perspective... if someone could get to him before he finished bleeding out.

The veteran knew there was no winning this fight; the battle had gone on for too long in the Children's favor for them to have any hope of turning things around. Still, he was not the type to simply lie down and die. Rallying the last of the militia into a desperate last stand around the entrance to the public shelter, he dug deep into their reserves. While the militia lacked any heavy or light machine guns, the amount of fuel alcohol the town produced meant they made up for it with Molotov cocktails and other improvised fuel bombs. And then the wizened warrior saw her just before Brandon did...

"Everyone, focus on the tabby cat in the neon yellow jumpsuit!" He shouted, pointing at Isotope before tossing a Molotov cocktail with his free hand.

The feline radcaster might as well been hit with a cup of beer thrown by an unruly frat boy for all the good it did the town guards. As they made their final push, the Columbians were wreathed in that same blue halo from before. A quick scan of the attackers revealed the wielder, a red-furred vixen holding up her hand with a bored look on her face, her eyes glowing the same cerulean light of her shield. The radicals marched onward and fired back, the vulpine's screen was quite clearly a one-way affair.

Battered and beaten, huddling behind the snow-covered wall of sandbags ringing the tunnel leading down to the underground refuge, the militia kept fighting. Unfortunately Major Drums had finally gotten bored with their distraction. Drawing her percussion mallets and working up a steady rhythm, the lioness collapsed both the underground shelter and the pitched garrison guarding it. A snow and dirt-filled crater remained, the ground jostling where survivors were trying in vain to dig themselves out.

The anthro radical smiled as she surveyed the devastation around her. The rest of the village was beginning to slowly catch fire. Dive Bomber was flying around, quelling the last few pockets of resistance while a fuel still off in the distance exploded in a massive fireball. "Another day, another battle won against those filthy tree-hugging socialists. Let's finish this, Isotope get ready to irradiate the town." The lioness ordered with a twirl of her index finger.

"But ma'am, there are children here." A brown bear argued suddenly, causing both unseen psychics to stop and stare at her. Standing near the back of Drums' procession was a pair of brown-furred she-bears clad in white jumpsuits unadorned except for a medic armband each of them wore on the right arm, their nearly identical appearance made it hard to figure out which one spoke up. Brandon blinked as he focused a mental scan on the two of them; twin sisters, medics with some sort of supernatural healing ability, and something... stirring inside their psyches. Quickly replaying events in his head, he realized why he didn't notice them before; neither of them partook in any of the actual fighting.

"So? They're humans, they'll only grow up to be the same disgusting creatures their parents are." The lioness replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, her tone implying that there was no further discussion of the matter. With a smile the telepaths could see was forced, the twins nodded their heads and stepped back. Isotope ignored the exchange, instead focusing her energies and wreathing her hands in a sickly green glow. Snow began to melt as the crater was slowly awash with gamma radiation, Brandon could just imagine the haunting crackle that would be echoing from this place by the time the tabby cat was finished with her grisly work. He didn't even want to think about what her ghastly energies were doing to the people trapped in the collapsed earthworks. All he knew for certain was that if something didn't happen in the next five minutes, there wouldn't be any hope of saving anyone.

Shaking his head and wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye, the psychic looked up and scanned the rest of the ruined town. In the span of half an hour, it was all gone. The fuel plants were engulfed in a massive blaze of ethanol and methane that would burn for hours. The penicillin lab was obliterated, whether by Helldiver's rampage or the resulting firestorm that was consuming the entire town was something he couldn't tell. Who was he kidding? Even if someone arrived for a dramatic rescue in the next few minutes, the battle for this area was already lost. Several hundred people were going to be without heating fuel in a winter that never seemed to end and one of the few sources of relief from the Rik-Tah's genetically engineered plagues was reduced to so much ash. This was it; there was nothing that could be done...

What happened next was as unexpected as it was sudden. One minute the Children were uncontested, the next eight anthros appeared in a bright flash of light and were suppressing the marauders with the practiced skill of trained commandos. Seer felt the familiar glow of arcane power flowing through the newcomers as they beat back the Columbians with magic spells and enchanted assault weapons. Catherine's eyes went wide as they watched the warrior-mages work. Arcane rifles screamed with a volley of homing bolts of purple eldritch energy while the strangers shouted words of power and channeled bolts of magical lightning at their enemies.

"Who are these people?" The psychic woman asked at last. The squad of magi in camouflage robes below quickly wounded Isotope with several bursts of magic missiles while the Columbian shieldbearer buckled under the weight of their combined fire.

"They're Arcanians, the wizard peoples of a world where magic basically went industrial then digital." He explained with a chuckle, smiling as he recognized their uniforms. "And judging by their outfits, this particular group's from the Elysium Confederation. I don't know who would be a more ironic foe for the Children, the Confeds or the ice warriors of the Khazak Collective."

"The Collective? Are they..."

"Yes Catherine, they're Russian Space Wizards. And the Elysians are American ones. And they're both capable of kicking Drums' ass... shame neither of them could get here quicker." Brandon lamented as Major Drums ordered her forces into a full retreat. The lioness was fanatical, spiteful, and psychotic yet she knew when to not get greedy. Knowing full well that she had won this day, the feline radical ordered her forces to retreat as the vixen's protective shield covered their withdrawal. Some of her soldiers fell in the street and joined the bodies of the wounded and dying, but the bulk of her forces would escape the ruined village unscathed....

The leader of the Elysian commando-mages was a gruff middle-aged stoat that certainly looked the part of a veteran field commander. As his soldiers swept the village for survivors and lingering Columbians, the mustelid touched a sapphire amulet around his neck and uttered a short spell before speaking.

"This is Captain Barrett of 5th Company, we have secured the town. Request immediate medical and engineering support." The weasel-like anthro reported briskly.

As swiftly as the first group appeared, a second team arrived consisting of several medics of mixed species and a tall, muscular equine female accompanied by a stone golem arrived in a flash of light. The healers hit the ground running the instant they teleported in, trying to stabilize the wounded as the soldiers dug militia out of the rubble. Meanwhile the engineer pulled a canvas bag from her backpack. With one flick of her wrists, the canvas unfurled and turned into a prefabricated shelter that looked like it was hammered out of thick plastic sheets. With a single word of power escaping from her lips, the military tent started humming with what Seer could have sworn was electricity as a little white flag with a red cross on it unfurled and began to flap in the breeze. Preparations complete, she turned towards the task of digging out the trapped survivors.

The engineer then stepped towards the collapsed bunker, stopping short as something caused her to suddenly rub a ring worn beneath her gloved hand. Sighing, she took a step back then drew a brown metal rod and tapped it against the ground. Almost immediately the soil parted and inch-by-inch the crumpled sanctuary was excavated. The golem went ahead into the localized hot zone and pulled out one body after another. High above, the psychics felt their hearts sink in time with the engineer's. The mana-powered robot was only bringing up corpses, no one had survived Isotope's onslaught. Performing her task with military stoicism, the magi focused on her geomancy and continued to unearth the shelter. But then the golem found the children, just as crushed and radiation burnt as the others. This proved to be the equine's breaking point. Dropping to one knee, the excavations ceased as the warlock engineer began to cry. Like a phantom appearing out of the ether, Barrett appeared next to her. Looking at the bodies being dug up, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "There will be time for tears when the job is done sapper. Until then, just finish digging so we can start counting the cost." He ordered sympathetically. The equine mage nodded and resumed her grisly task as the medics quickly whisked anyone who could possibly still be saved back into the tent for emergency treatment. Barrett joined the other commandos as they finished sweeping the ruins for survivors and seeing what, if anything, could be salvaged from the rubble.

In the end, the only survivors were the sniper, the teenage soldier, the gunrunner, the radio operator, and ten villagers that hid with the operator when the attack came; thirteen survivors and a transient out of a town that numbered at over a hundred. The fuel plant and the penicillin lab were gone and any hope of rebuilding them was either burnt to ash or died with the majority of the townsfolk. As the markswoman identified the body of her son, Brandon and Catherine nodded their heads and began to return to their physical bodies. The last thing they would hear before returning to their flesh was the sound of the sharpshooter sobbing...

Epilogue...

"Tell me what it is you need Captain Drums and I will very carefully explain to you what I want in return." The Rik-Tah handler began as the two beings sat in his office, mischievously tapping his fingers together. Columbia's Children were a powerful but extremely temperamental group that rarely did exactly what they asked. Their tendency to get into fights with other mercenaries on a regular basis and general shunning of the aliens' high technology only further compounded the headache they've become to the saurian overlords. Needless to say, he enjoyed watching the feline squirm.

Major Drums hated when she had to deal with the three-legged dinosaurs, especially when she needed a favor that no one else could provide like right now. "That's MAJOR Drums, and I need one of your psychics to tell me where my two medics disappeared to."

"Ah yes, the ursine twins Rebecca and Bethany. I suppose that could be arranged... for a modest fee of course." The alien reptile mused while stroking his chin, clearly savoring this as much as he could.

"Wasn't I promised a line of credit for coming to this commie wasteland?" The lioness fumed as the negotiations continued...

Elsewhere, miles away from the Rik-Tah's territories and deep within the lawless tundra of the Ohio wastes, a pair of cloaked figures slowly trudged through the snow towards a small village. It had been a few very long weeks since the massacre at Apothecary for the two mutant healers. Rebecca and Bethany had spent several sleepless nights planning and wrestling with the guilt of what happened that day. When the opportunity finally presented itself, they took it and fled eastward towards several settlements hit with a bioweapon strike. Posing as wandering nomads, the two ursine maidens traveled from town to town, providing healing to everyone they could. Not every community was happy to receive them, more then once they were nearly killed by armed guards that believed they were advance scouts for an alien raiding party. But as their travels took them closer to the territory "claimed" by the various expeditions from other worlds, people became more receptive to their help. And in the fertile ground provided by these settlements the girls planted the seeds for a new American legend, the story of The Healers...