literature

The Last Minute

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Literature Text

“This is President Harper,” a dark haired woman states from the flickering screen of a television, “and we are losing this war.”

A group of men and women are crowded around the screen, all of them dressed in dusty, unwashed clothing. Heavy bags plague their eyes, their hands clutch at empty stomachs, and the bunker they’ve called a home for months has grown rank with the smell of desperation. The concrete ceiling above them trembles occasionally after a resounding boom echoes from the earth above. None of them flinch, all except for one child, who stares the screen wide-eyed and clutching an action figure tightly in his hands.

“Our armies fall by the minute,” says President Harper, her expression stoic behind the thin frames of her glasses. “Our cities, by the day.”

A massive roar sounds from the warzone above, followed by an enormous crash. A splinter forms in the thick concrete above, and the bunker’s denizens stare at it in silence. The child yelps and crumples onto the cold floor, brings his knees to his chest and holds his figure closer; a toy garbed in a tattered black cape and decorated hat known as the Last Captain. He presses the button on its chest down, and the character’s catch phrase crackles out cheerily into the bunker: The last minute is the only one I need! One of the adults cracks a smile, and in the next instant breaks down into tears and dashes from the room. The rest take in solemn breaths, and focus on the television.

“But one thing is not falling,” the President says, now with more conviction. She removes her glasses, moves a hand through her hair. A single streak of gray mars its dark waves. “Our hope.”

Across the bunker, something slams heavily at its steel doors. The patrons all turn to stare, paralyzed in fear like animals in headlights. Upon hearing the familiar sound of muffled speech, their fear turns into perplexity. Sparks begin to fly up the middle of the threshold as someone from outside works to cut it open.

“As of now,” the President continued, “Project Asteroid has been put into effect.”

More earth-shaking collisions sound from above, but to the people, they sound different. They are not accompanied by the awful roars of the invading beasts, or the systematic explosions of their deadly weaponry. What they hear now is rhythmic, calculated.

Footsteps.

“Our resources may not be infinite,” Harper says, “but our will to survive is tenfold. With this plan enacted, this war is being turned around.”

The door is finally sliced open, and men geared up in military armor flood the room. Several of them lug in trunks full of supplies; food, blankets, soap. Others uniformed with red crosses demand to know if anyone in the bunker are in need of attention. A final man walks steps into the bunker, this one dressed in a uniform studded with medals, golden pauldrons on broad shoulders, a hat with a single word to define his rank: Radmiral.

“This area is now secured by our forces,” the leader calls out, his voice like thunder. Everyone in the bunker that is able to stands immediately, either our of curiosity or sheer respect for the Radmiral’s authority. He peers around at the awed bunker denizens, catches the eye of the child clutching his action figure. A warm smile spreads across his lips, and he says, “I believe you’ll all want to see what our ‘forces’ are made of.”

He gestures for the group to move toward him, and, when joined by several encouraging troops, they comply. The child stares at the Radmiral with a grin he can’t hide, and squeals when he’s given a stalwart salute on the group’s way out into the open world. The harsh glare of sunlight blinds them all for a moment, and when they regain their vision, President Harper’s words feel genuine. Real.

The miles-wide battlefield is ridden with the colossal, fizzling carcasses of several Dinozorgs, the weapon-ridden reptilian forces that have made Earth’s obliteration their race’s sole mission. Their cybernetic corpses pop and spark while their neon green blood pours, staining the dusty earth they rest on. In the distance, putting an end to one last Dinozorg’s life with a deafening laser blast, stands the first step of Project Asteroid:

A giant robot.

The child lets go of his action figure, and it clatters to the ground with another utterance of its catch phrase. The words fall on deaf ears, and the child whispers, “It’s him.”

The enormous machine, made to resemble the Last Captain himself, cape and all, turns to face the crowd. Its arm rises slowly, bringing its hand up to its forehead in a clunky salute while the Dinozorg at its feet explodes into bloody flames.

The crowd ruins their throats in cheering, hugging one another, kissing the soldiers, wildly saluting them and the laser-laden beacon of mechanized hope in the distance. Stepping away from the celebration, the Radmiral holds a finger to the communicator in his ear.

“Sector Nine B is secure, Miss President,” he says, and consults a holographic display that pops out from processors in his pauldrons. “And I am getting similar reports from all other test Sectors.” He smiles. “And I bet you’re feeling damned proud, if I may speak openly.”

President Harper remains silent for a moment, letting the Radmiral feel his own embarrassment for speaking candidly sink in before speaking. “I am aware of our success,” she says, “but I will not have it go to our heads, Radmiral.” She pauses for another moment of effect, then finishes, “Take care of any other hostiles in your Sector, and proceed to Nine C with caution. Over.”

The officer slants his lips, silently curses himself and turns back to the crowd, who have all calmed down to help themselves to their load of supplies. All except for the child, who stands timidly before the Radmiral. His toy is once again clutched in his hands. With a lick of his lips, the boy asks,

“Is this the last minute?”

The Radmiral smiles, ruffles the child’s hair. “You better believe it, kid,” he says, scooping him up onto his shoulders. The enormous Last Captain stomps his way slowly back to the bunker, occasionally splattering a Dinozorg under its foot to raise more cheers from the people.

“‘Cause it’s the only one we have left.”
Oh, what could this be teasing?

Surely not a giant robot tournament of any sort, how preposterous.
© 2014 - 2024 DeadGP
Comments1
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Toto-vT's avatar
I really, really like the turnaround in the middle of the story and I absolutely adore the term Radmiral, but for my tastes it gets just a little too cheesy after that. Nonetheless, I imagine teenage boys and pre-adults (in addition to geeks of all ages, of course) would just love reading this.