[ WP ] Your outpost , in the canopy of the redwoods , is one of the last colonies on the American west coast .

The wooden platform sways in the breeze, brushing the canopy of the tallest conifers in the world. A ladder descends from a hole in the center, my only protection against what I am watching for. 
 
 We left the West Coast twenty-six years ago, in 2243, when the Colmillos came. Massive, muscular winged creatures with horrifying fangs and powerful claws, flying in flocks so large they could blot out the sun, descended upon Los Angeles and San Diego, killing thousands. The cities were ravaged and it did not take long for them to be nearly completely abandoned. The Colmillos returned soon after, bringing even more destruction. People all across the southern parts of the state fled. Of the thirty-four million people in Southern California before the attacks, only seven million remained a few months later. 
 
 The Colmillos disappeared for a while, and the dwindled population of Southern California began to rise again. Slowly, but surely. Then, out of the blue, the Colmillos returned. They attacked nearly two dozen cities along the Pacific, from Vancouver to Seattle, Portland to Sacramento, San Francisco to Santa Barbara, Tijuana to Ensenada. None of the birds were slain, despite the heavy artillery thrown at them. They seemed impenetrable, invincible. 
 
 It did not take much for the government to convince people to flee the West Coast. 
 
 Much to the country's relief, the Colmillos did not seem interested in extending beyond the borders of Oregon, Washington, and California. They roosted in those three states for a few years, before vanishing again. Missing the climate of the West Coast, people began to return. However, the government led them back in with a plan. Along the coast, five gargantuan domes were built to encase the cities. These biodomes were incredible works of technology, capable of emulating the surrounding weather but still keeping the cities contained. Los Angeles, San Diego, Seattle, San Francisco, and Portland began to rejuvenate. 
 
 The Colmillos attempted to attack Portland, but the biodome kept them out. A few of the defense mechanisms captured a handful of the birds and scientists eagerly took them to study. After several years of research, they got a grasp on the biology of the monsters and, more importantly, developed weaponry do destroy them. Comforted by this news, Sacramento, Olympia, and several other cities sprung up under biodomes. 
 
 Then, twenty-six years ago, the Colmillos descended upon Sacramento. There must have been a fluke, architects are still unsure, but the Colmillos shattered the dome. The combination of carnivorous, airborne predators and showers of thousand-ton shards of glass killed over three-fourths of the population. The people of the West Coast were finished. Almost everyone fled, aside from a few thousand in each San Francisco, San Diego, and Seattle. Years of research, billions of dollars of government funding wasted. 
 
 That's where I come in. For twenty-six years, soldiers like me have protected these biodomes. The Colmillos always attack from the north, so stations have been set up north of these cities. Mine, a base constructed over nearly a dozen redwoods, has three lookout stations and a plethora of warning devices to alert the citizens of San Francisco. All forty-eight of the soldiers here are armed with guns that fire special bullets, bullets that manage to penetrate the adamant feathers of the Colmillos. 
 
 It's up to men and bases like me to defend the remaining people of the West Coast, and through them, the people of America. The United States are falling apart, driven down by decades of debt and depression, apathy and ignorance. The nation simply can not compete with the world. Our borders have shrunk, shipping has declined, and no one wants to be involved with us. We're alone, our West Coast biodomes being three of the only ways left to interact with the world. 
 
 I snap out of my reverie, startled by the cawing of a bird in the distance. My heart beats fast as I rise, gripping my gun tightly. I glance to the distance, observe for a moment, and then exhale. Nothing there other than a few crows fighting over something or other. The sea of pines shifts and bobs, oblivious to the danger its human coexistors face. With a shaky sigh, I sit back into my seat. 
 
 `` It's nothing,'' I tell myself. `` Just come crows.'' 
 
 But is it nothing? Something else catches my eyes. Far to the north, a black blur flickers and undulates, growing in size with each passing minute. My heart stops in my throat and I freeze. I yelp and stumble back, sliding down the ladder ungracefully. I rush across a walkway and over a bridge, banging open a door. A few of my comrades glance at me with curiosity, and then fear. I stand in the doorway, panting. 
 
 `` The Colmillos,'' I whisper, barely audible. `` They're coming.'' 
 
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 *Read my novel and other writings at /r/penofigilix/. * 
 
 
 

