The Alien Spider Invasion

[roleplayguy2013]

The Alien Spider Invasion​

The man stepping up to the podium wore an Army uniform decorated with the gold clusters of a Major. He tapped at the microphone to ensure it was on, tapped at the Tablet before him -- causing the giant synched monitor before him to come to life -- and said bluntly, "We have lost control of the country."

A murmur made its way around the room full of men and women in either uniforms or well tailored suits.

"Or, I should say," he clarified, tapping the Tablet again to bring a map up on the monitor, "We have lost control of the countryside. Rural America is ... well, it's gone. To the alien spiders, and at this time there is nothing we can do to get it back."

Behind him, a calendar rapidly moved ahead through the last three months as on the map of North America a couple of dozen masses of red -- all in the more rural areas of Canada, the United States, and Mexico -- spread slowly, linked up, and finally swallowed the whole of the continent except for thousands of variably sized circles representing the cities of the continent.

"Rough estimates put the dead in the United States alone at almost 100 million," the Major continued. "That includes a 95% mortality rate in rural America, with the rest of the dead in urbanized America."

"Why?" a voice called out from near the back of the auditorium.

The Major looked out into the crowd, asking "Why what, sir? And please, identify yourself."

A 30-something man stood in the back row, wearing a sports jacket and jeans and holding a miniature voice recorder in one hand and a Tablet in the other. "Samuel Jackson, Major. Washington Post."

The officer leaned into the microphone with a smirk and joked with the red headed, pale skinned man, "So ... not the actor then."

"That would be Samuel L Jackson, Major, as in Leroy," Sam said, always ready to respond to the too-often made inquiry. "My middle initial is K ... as in keep your stupid jokes in your purdy hat there, and tell us why these frickin' spider are eating up everyone in the countryside but leaving those in the city alone. For weeks we've been looking for answers, and--"

"You're going to get your answers today ... Mister Jackson," the Major cut in. He waited until Sam had returned to his seat, then -- as he continued his presentation -- tapped at the Tablet occasionally to show maps, graphics, photographs, and other visual displays.

The first was of a grainy photograph taken by a ground telescope. "The alien spiders, as you know, originated here, aboard this ship. Despite the wild stories in the press--" The Major peeked up in Sam's direction, causing the reporter to reach up and scratch his forehead ... with his middle finger. "--we do not believe that the ship is being operated by spiders similar to those rampaging across the planet's surface. We believe a second alien species ... possibly humanoid in appearance, possibly not ... is using the spiders--"

An image of one of the spiders appeared on the monitor. "--which are similar in shape and size to the Brazilian Wandering Spider ... we believe the spiders are simply a tool."

"A tool?" a woman asked.

"Yes, a tool," the Major repeated. "They are fast moving, procreate rapidly, laying egg sacs numbering in the tens of thousands every full moon, and are both extremely poisonous and voracious eaters. Three spider bites can kill a full grown man, and a hundred spiders can completely consume a man in a single day--"

"And they don't eat city slickers because...?" Sam called from the back of the auditorium.

The Major scowled for a moment, then answered bluntly, "They don't like pavement."

Looks of confusion abounded, and Sam followed up with a sarcastic tone, "Can I quote you on that, Major? I'm sure that will satisfy my readers."

"Our researchers," the officer clarified, trying to forget Sam's sarcasm, "believe that the spiders have some sort of ... a connection, they call it, to the earth. And I mean dirt, not the planet as a whole. When the spiders are on pavement, they do not attack. We can't fully explain it, we just know it to be true."

In the front row, a woman stood and turned to face the auditorium. Sam recognized her as an assistant to one of the Generals he'd interviewed early in the crisis. "It's true. A few days into the invasion, I was surrounded in a parking lot by dozens ... hundreds of them that had blown in on a sudden wind, and they left me alone. They just ... scurried about, looking for something. I didn't think much about it at the time ... I was scared, obviously ... but they all scurried off to the strip of trees and shrubs in the middle of the parking lot and just ... stayed there."

"In conclusion," the Major said, "We believe--"

"In conclusion...?" Sam interrupted, standing again. "That's it! That's all you're going to tell us? I have a story to get out, and my readers..."

As Sam had been complaining, a General in the front row stood and made his way to the stage and podium. He cleared his throat, looked directly toward Sam, and said bluntly, "With all due respect, Mister Jackson ... fuck your story."

A round of surprise and laughter made its way about the auditorium, ceasing when the General began again. "The United States is on the brink of collapse. Our rural population has been devastated. Now, most of you here today probably don't know the difference between a Holstein and a Hereford, and when asked "Where does milk come from?" would probably answer "The grocery store" and not "A cow." But I come from Kansas. And I know that without the rural portions of America, the urban areas die. Where do you think your food comes from...? Farms, either here or overseas. Where do you think your water comes from...? Ninety-six percent of this city's fresh water is pumped in from out side of the city, and we no longer have control over the reservoirs, pumping stations, and piping systems. Without rural America ... there is no America."

Looking again in Sam's direction, the General said, "And as far as writing your story goes, Mister Jackson ... if I were you, I would start thinking about something more important than a byline on a story that no one will be around to read six weeks from now."

Another murmur -- highlighted by the repeating of the General's time frame -- moved about the crowd. The General looked to the Major, then stepped away. The Major stepped up to the podium again and clarified, "Our most liberal estimates put the end of the city's food resources at six weeks from today. Riots in the streets, over food, water, weapons ... everything ... are claiming more than a hundred lives a day. Disease, starvation, sickness, and of course the spider bites are killing another thousand a day already. This city is dying, ladies and gentlemen."

 

[AcerbusX]

Jake turns off his TV and throws the remote across the room in anger. This is the moment in time he's been preparing for. All those years of hoarding food and ammo, begging, borrowing, stealing every size weapon he could find. But all the pepping in the world is for nothing without some kind of relief. But these damn spiders made all this pep useless.

He leans back in his over sized chair and thinks, The main problem is the fact that the spiders have effectively cut off the food source and waiting them out is not an option. So, how does one break a siege? The answer is simple enough. attack and destroy the enemy. But how do you wipe out a horde of deadly spiders. That he couldn't answer. since he knew very little about them.

A grin grows on his face as he an idea comes to mind "Know thy enemy"

he jumps on the internet and googles "Alien Spiders" "Spiders" and "Best method for killing Spiders"

 

[roleplayguy2013]

Sam stepped out of the building with caution, as did everyone these days. The spiders may have a thing about concrete, as the Major explained, but they still occasionally appeared, sometimes brought in on a wind, sometimes following the maze of parks and ditches and storm drains and ditches that cut this way and that through the City.

He made his way quickly across the Square toward the Griffin Hotel, where he'd had a room for the past couple of weeks while covering the story of the spiders. As he walked, he took in the changes to the urban landscape caused by the rural invasion. There was no one outside who didn't need to be outside. Here, in the heart of the City's commercial and governmental district, Sam would typically have been able to count five hundred or more people on a sunny afternoon such as this. But today, the open air cafes were closed and the sidewalk food vendors were absent, as neither of them had any food to sell; and the pathways between the buildings were nearly vacant, as the normal business of life had ground to a halt.

Sam came to a stop and counted heads: twenty six, and most of those were wearing uniforms, including soldiers, cops, and teams of exterminators, hurrying about killing and collecting the occasion random urban arachnid.

"You need to be indoors, sir," a voice said from behind.

Sam turned to find a cop hurrying him along. With a polite smile, Sam did as he was told and hurried ahead to the Griffin. He checked for messages at the desk and was handed several print outs, then went to the lounge, only to find a note that said Closed until further notice. The elevators had been shut down, so he used the stairs to reach his sixth floor room, panting by the time he reached the door ... only to find it open.

He pushed into the room and found it practically empty, causing him to scream out in anger, "What the fuck!"

He hurried around the room, searching through scattered boxes to see what had been left behind. For weeks, Sam had been hording away food, bottled water and other drinks, first aid equipment, batteries and solar energy equipment, weapons, and more; he'd spent almost $22,000 in just the last month, his entire savings, and would have spent more except that most of the businesses in the City had stopped taking credit and debit cards for payments.

The thieves hadn't taken everything, but they'd taken most of it. He spent the next hour inventorying, and determined that he had perhaps enough food to last him four or five days, enough water to last a couple of weeks. One of the semi-automatic pistols had been overlooked, but the ammunition for it -- save the 14 rounds already in it -- was gone. The solar equipment had been passed over, but all the batteries had been thieved.

He dropped onto the bed, one hand holding the Glock, the other holding an energy bar, and just stared at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to survive when the City fell into total anarchy...