Gardens of Destruction

Helicopters circled for landing, Captain Mark Davidson at the helm of the special forces team. They were the first to face any potential threat, having been alerted just an hour ago. Their mission, as vaguely defined, was to head to the nearby town of Lindon Town following reports of a serious issue.

“Captain, listen to the 911 recording!” General Patterson had ordered, summoning him urgently to his office.

The recording played, a voice filled with terror: “Help, they’re here, herding us like cattle somewhere, oh no, they’re coming, Lord save us, what have we done, no, help....”

The general turned off the recording, his jaw clenched tight.

“We received this seventeen minutes ago. The local police are unresponsive. Davidson, I want you to assemble your team and head there now! We’re fortifying security here too. Arm yourselves heavily; we don’t know what you’ll encounter. Move out!”

A sense of urgency tinged with panic resonated in General Patterson’s voice, hinting at the situation’s uncontrollable nature. Mark, although facing potentially unprecedented adversaries, was not afraid; he had long accepted his fate, having only confronted humans before. This time, it might be something beyond his imagination.

From above, the lit-up town appeared silent. The streets, typically bustling even in a small town of a thousand residents, were eerily deserted. Fires and smoke obscured the view below. Mark instructed a cautious descent at the outskirts, wary of the uncanny silence. His team, looking rather frightened as if expecting a scene from “Alien,” contrasted with his calm demeanor. He reasoned that if something was alive, it could be killed. His hope was to find an effective way to do so, unless the persistent tune in his head exhausted him first, incessantly playing, “I wish you would stay with me...”

The helicopter lowered the team by rope, avoiding a landing. Mark had ordered them to stay close together. Initially, he thought of dispersing the squad in small groups around the town, but reconsidered, deeming it unwise to split their formation.

Touching down without incident, they advanced cautiously. Helicopters provided cover, with aerial reconnaissance relaying information. Satellite imagery showed no movement in the entire spectrum, something Mark hoped was accurate.

They moved slowly, mostly crawling. Mark expanded the formation as they approached the town. Several houses they passed were empty, dinner still warm on tables, but no people. Evidence of struggle was present in a few places, and spent firearms scattered around – shots had been fired, but no bodies, alive or dead, were found. It was as if everyone had vanished into thin air.

“Captain Davidson!” a voice crackled in his helmet radio. “Head to the town center, we’re seeing strange formations and numerous bodies from above. Proceed there, you’re unlikely to meet resistance. The regular troops are en route and will join you in fifteen minutes. Don’t do anything rash in case of... contact.”

Recognizing General Patterson’s voice, Mark relayed the order, picking up pace while maintaining caution.

“Captain, do you think they’re still here?” one of the soldiers asked nervously.

“I believe whatever was here has long gone. No battle today,” Mark responded, a hint of disappointment in his voice at his own conclusion.

“Ha, look who’s scared, gonna soil his pants soon!” another more seasoned soldier teased the anxious young one.

“Quiet!” Mark hissed angrily. “We’re not in a bar! We have a mission.”

The team pressed forward, navigating through the silent streets of Lindon Town, under the somber shadow of uncertainty and the weight of an unseen, potentially lethal adversary.

They reached the town square, finding cover behind cars and buildings. Captain Mark Davidson commanded caution. The scene was eerily still.

“You two, with me,” he gestured to his seasoned soldiers. “The rest, prepare a defensive perimeter, ready for covering fire if needed.”

Emerging from cover, they were confronted by a sight beyond words. In the square’s center, a massive hole gaped, as if something had burrowed through the concrete, upturning the earth beneath. Surrounding the hole, bodies lay scattered, all facing the sky.

“This can’t be real, damn it!” exclaimed one of the soldiers.

Mark’s attention wasn’t on the bodies but on the bizarre growths protruding from them. Ribcages were flung open, and from within sprouted what he could only think of as a plant. But not just any plant – this one shimmered with countless crystal-like tendrils, changing colors and casting prismatic lights. Inside these crystalline branches, strange filaments wove through the entire structure, akin to amber.

“General, I know you’re listening. This is the most damn strange thing anyone’s ever seen!” Mark reported over his helmet’s microphone.

“Don’t vocalize, Captain. Frequencies may be tapped. I’ll be there shortly,” came the response.

“Yes, Sir!”

Though unnerved, Mark wasn’t frightened. The scene was both beautiful and horrifying. The ornate crystal growths, like a monstrous jewel, emerged from the corpses, utterly still. He nudged one with his weapon’s barrel, surprised to find it malleable, almost liquid.

As the military convoy arrived, Mark felt relieved. Whoever created this mess had gone. No attacks came as they investigated the site, suggesting the culprit had left.

General Patterson soon arrived, briskly walking toward the center of the bizarre formations.

“Sir!” Mark acknowledged him with a nod.

“Davidson, any survivors?”

Mark shook his head.

“Nothing. People seemed to have left in a hurry, leaving their homes, their meals on the tables. These are the only ones we found, with... ‘bushes’ growing out of them.”

Patterson sighed heavily. “We’re too late, whatever happened here...”

He turned to inspect the formations closely. Soon, the square filled with people, including a filming crew and a team of scientists in protective gear, examining the bodies and the growths.

Mark felt irritated by the crowd, marring the eerie tableau. Patterson, arms crossed and frowning, caught his attention.

“Sir, I think our job here is done.”

As Patterson was about to reply, a hoarse voice called out.

“Kill me!”

Mark turned swiftly and located the source of the pitiful plea. A victim with a crystal growth was pleading with large, sorrowful eyes.

“The child!” whispered the victim.

“What child? Speak!”

“Protect her, she is...”

The man’s gaze fixed on a distant point, eyes wide open yet lifeless. Then, suddenly, he implored again.

“It hurts terribly, please kill me... the child... important is...” he continued to groan.

Mark knew what he had to do. Patterson shouted, “NO,” but Mark’s trained hand had already made the swift, merciful shot, the pistol’s flash piercing the night’s darkness.

In the distance, a shadow draped in a purple cloak disappeared into the darkness. The ethereal figure, almost like a wraith from another world, melded with the shadows as if it were part of them.