“Humanity survives under dictators,” Marshal said, “but it doesn’t thrive. We need government, but that government needs to be more imaginative, intelligent, adaptable, and flawed than the scope of one person. Besides. I never wanted to be a dictator. I just didn’t want to be alone. Humanity’s survival, for me, comes down to that.”
“Fascinating. Well, Marshal, if we-”
“General!” The pilot’s voice came tersely over their headsets. “The organism is reforming!”
“Damn it! Already?”
“Multiple smaller mutations are already taking shape. They… they have wings, sir, or… or something like wings. A half a dozen of them seem to be trying to take to the air. They’re not doing very well.”
“Fucking organism is trying to evolve the flight ability,” the General muttered. “Something that took life on this planet millions of years to figure out, it’s trying to figure it out in just under a day.”
“As smart as it is, sir,” Marshal warned, “I wouldn’t be surprised if it succeeds. Things could go badly for us if it does.”
“Then let’s make sure it doesn’t,” the General said, tapping his communicator. “All Blackhawks pull out. Set your coordinates for the rendezvous site at top speed.”
A chorus of acknowledgements from the five remaining Blackhawks answered him.
“Even if it learns,” the General said, “I’m guessing that it will be a while before it will be able to go very fast. That means it’ll have to put off practice flights for a while or risk letting us get too far ahead. When it finally does catch us, we’ll be set up and ready for the final battle, and it won’t have had the time to develop skilled flyers.”
“Let’s hope so, General,” Marshal said.
The General looked out the window.
“The eagle screams,” he said, “and with pale beak tears corpses. Mountains dash together. Heroes go the way to Hel, and heaven is rent in twain”
“Is that a quote?” Marshal asked.
“Something I remembered,” the General said, looking regretful. “It’s from Ragnarok, the ancient Norse story detailing the end of the world. But it could very well have been written for this day, if this plan of yours works. This will be America’s last battle. We fight the dead. We will lose, but if we die well, we may yet feast with our friends in a new world.”
“I will personally set the platter of steak before you and your men, General,” Marshal promised him.
The General mulled this over. “I don’t suppose,” he wondered, “if it’s not too inappropriate to ask, that I could request a tall, bosomy woman in a metal brassiere to do it instead.”
“I don’t know,” Marshal frowned. “But in the spirit of Norse legend, I’ll see if I can find any. I wouldn’t hold my breath though, if I were you.”
The end of the day was fast approaching over the quiet town of Elora, which was a little over two hundred kilometers northwest of Toronto. The rich and fertile surrounding farmlands, untended since the outbreak, were rampant with wild grass and blossoming wildflowers, rustling under the late, spring winds. As the sun dipped closer to the horizon, the colors of mid-summer deepened, enhancing the peace and beauty of a landscape bursting with life and rebirth.
The local undead had been, with some difficulty, lured away from the area several hours ago, with lookouts posted to watch for any sign of their return. With the area secure, the American soldiers had been given time to work before the main convoy had arrived.
“I must admit,” the General said, sighing as he gazed out over the verdant landscape. “This is beautiful country. Kind of reminds me of the mid-west.”
“It is,” Marshal agreed, “though I’m more of a city boy myself.”
“And this thing your people learned to do,” the General added. “Luring the undead. It works pretty well. Using their predatory impulses against them, manipulating them by exploiting the very tenacity that makes them dangerous. It’s so simple, it’s elegant.”
“I had a lot of time to sit and stew in my apartment,” Marshal explained. “And even then, it wasn’t something that I would have tried if I hadn’t needed to come up with something in order to save Angie. It’s not foolproof, but used properly, the tactic can pretty much empty an area of undead. How long they stay away is less certain.”
“Well, I’ve got three of my men flying surveillance with those two drones you had us bring,” the General said, scratching his chin. “Comes to that, if we survive, I know where we can get military grade drones, the kind that can fly for half a day and drop bombs on people. Not that we’d be dropping any more bombs, obviously, but it could certainly expand your range. You could look in on Buffalo. Ottawa. Maybe Detroit, but like the we said, there’s not much to see there anymore.”
“If we can get them, then yes, that would be very useful,” Marshal said. “I still haven’t completely given up hope on finding other survivors. If there are any still out there, clinging to life, and we can reach them-”
“I’d… temper my expectations, if I were you,” the General said. “Based on what I’ve seen, there’s no one else out there. All the civilians we picked up along the way, they’ve been with us all winter. We haven’t detected any other human life in over two months, though there was plenty of evidence of people, even groups of people, who hung in for a while. But take it from me, there’s no one left. We kept our frequencies open – military grade satellite access, mind you – and there simply weren’t any other operations like ours still our there. You were the first voice we’d heard since December. We used to get some chatter from other places… China and Russia had some traction for a while. Australia, Turkey... Afghanistan, if you can believe it.”
“Afghanistan?”
“Yeah. Our guys and the Taliban made up pretty quick after the outbreak. There are caves all through those mountains, and I guess they were able to take advantage. But even they stopped talking, and we haven’t heard from anyone else for months.”
“But we can still hope,” Marshal said, not liking what he was hearing. “I’ve been saying all along that we might be the last, but… there has to be somebody else alive who figured out it was better to hide than fight.”
“It’s not that simple,” the General said. “Hiding doesn’t work out very well, Marshal. People need to be able to go out and get food. People need water and warm clothes and protection from the animals. How do you stay warm and safe in a world without doors and windows? And even when you find a human culture that can survive without light during the night or electricity during the day, they still need to go out to forage. How are they supposed to do that? The rivers and lakes and oceans are deathtraps. The undead are still everywhere, and as you’ve established, just the stink of unwashed human is enough to draw zombies for miles around.”
Marshal sighed. “How are the preparations coming?” he asked, changing the subject.
“As well as can be expected,” the General answered. “I just got word that the trucks should be rolling into Elora in about twenty minutes. Recon reports that the horde is hot on their tail with only about a half an hour of grace. Apparently, the organism stopped experimenting with flight and instead grew into a one-mile long snake with makeshift arms and legs like a newt. Combining its snake wriggle with the boost from its appendages, its moving along at the blistering speed of ninety miles an hour. That’s much faster than the convoy.”
“And the explosives?”
“Everything we got,” the General answered grimly. “Hope you got a good look at Elora, because it’s going to be a smoking crater by the time we’re finished with it. Detonations are staggered, like you requested, so that the explosions should keep going for almost an hour. And there should be plenty of smoke, like you requested, thick, oily, black smoke, coming from everywhere.”
“Good. And the remaining Blackhawks?”
“Stripped down to their underpants,” the General said. “That means fifteen passengers each at a stretch.”
“Is
it enough?”
“Not really. The loss of that Blackhawk left us with an extra fifteen bodies or so to carry. To compensate, we’ll be rigging longline cables to the Apaches so they can haul containers. We’ve had to take similar measures before when the situation called for it. It won’t be comfortable, but we can fit as many as five soldiers each. Not easy, and not fun, but since the alternative is to leave them behind, it’s not negotiable.”
“Very inventive,” Marshal said, “they should survive. You might want to strap them down though. And they’ll still need oxygen masks, and maybe goggles too. It’s going to get pretty toxic.”
“We’re way ahead of you. Just leave it to us. You just keep focused helping wire the automated fire for the artillery and weapons mounts. I’ll be assigning our remaining engineers to help you. The more of those you finish, the more believable your plan will be.”
A little under a half hour later, the trucks started arriving. Hollow-eyed drivers, looking exhausted, were met by the helicopter pilots and given directions to various locations all over Elora where they were to park their rigs. Sometimes, the drivers themselves were combat engineers, drafted into driving duty to minimize personnel, and Marshal would meet with them for a short conversation and hand over some parts and wiring. One by one, the trucks were processed, positioned, and adapted, with special attention paid to the mobile artillery.
With the sun dangling just over the horizon and the last truck in position, the American soldiers fled to the makeshift airfield on the western edge of Elora. Here, on a risen hill overlooking the town, the remaining Blackhawks and Apaches were at rest, preparing themselves for the final battle. The super-organism had reached the eastern outskirts of the small, Ontario town and had slowed to a cautious twenty-kilometers per hour. Soldiers were already being boarded. Some were even being strapped into whatever containers could be found that were to be cargo for the Apache longlines.
The rest of them, those soldiers forced to wait in line to be boarded, had turned to stare into the distance.
Marshal squinted into the deepening twilight. The creature was so large that he could just faintly make it out as it wormed its way through the tiny dots of houses. Its massive head was eyeless and blind with long sensitive tentacles stretching out from it like a star-headed mole. As it moved, huge chunks of flesh exploded outwards all along its length like they were shot out of a cannon, crashing through walls and open windows of buildings as it passed. Each blob would search the interior of its target, ripping through the supports until the entire structure would collapse on top of it. Then, oozing out of the rubble, it would wriggle its way back to the giant worm and rejoin it.
Ten, then twenty, then hundreds of these smaller flesh missiles exploded from the central mass as it continued its hunt through the streets of Elora. Building after building collapsed as it moved, each thoroughly searched and sifted by the smaller blobs. All the while, stretching out behind it, the back end of the worm had yet to even enter town.
“Captain Marlowe!” the General called out, sounding annoyed.
“Yes sir!”
“That thing isn’t walking into our trap,” he snapped. “I think it has far too much time to think, don’t you? Please open fire on it with tertiary guns.”
“Yes sir!”
He signaled the group of combat engineers who were seated at a collection of picnic tables, gazing into their laptops.
Far across the city, a pair of 50mm gun mounts, positioned on the high elevations of rooftops, swiveled around and started firing at range at what could be called the worm’s head. Incendiary bullets ripped into its central mass, chewing great gaping holes into the surface and spilling gore.
The head didn’t even look up under the assault. From what might be called the creature’s ‘shoulders’, two blobs shot out like ejector seats, arcing across the open space and crashing into the 50mm guns. Organism strengthened flesh engulfed each weapon, ignoring the bullets firing into it, and with one convulsive squeeze, the gun crumpled like a tinfoil hat.
“Captain,” the General said again, his annoyance growing.
“Just the beginning, sir.”
A pair of guided rockets launched from pads near the center of town, just as another half-dozen more guns began to open up. More explosions erupted, rocking the head of the beast and hitting it hard.
This time, the head reared up, even as more flesh pods were launched in multiple directions. More of the back end of the snake slithered into town, even as these new threats were quickly neutralized.
More guns fired, and from the north end of town, one of the heavy artillery mounts opened fire, raining down more rockets. This time, the rockets targeted the middle of the creature, and in a series of blinding flashes of light, the enormous worm was carved in half.
Without hesitation, the rear half of the monster worm slithered into town, angling north to close onto the artillery truck that had just struck.
“Nice work, Captain,” the General said, his voice rising over the growing volume of the combat. “You and your engineers will be riding with me on the last ticket out of hell. I want operational control for as long as we can maintain it. In the meantime, let’s double the intensity.”
“You heard the General,” the Captain shouted. “Let’s show this thing our teeth!”
Suddenly, guns were firing from multiple rooftops and two more of the heavy artillery trucks were opening fire. Now, almost as many buildings were collapsing from the concentrated fire as were from the actions of the organism. Explosions and crashes, crumpling equipment and spasming organism, all of it was sewing devastation as far as the eye could see. Soldiers had to be tugged at the elbow when their turn to board came, so engrossing had the battle below become.
“Mobile artillery truck one is down,” the Captain shouted, barely audible. “Weapon platforms ten through thirty are destroyed! The enemy is fully engaged and is quickly moving across town to our position! Recommend immediate evac, sir!”
“Not yet, Captain,” the General shouted over the thunderous crashing. “Have your people fire off every last gadget they have and then get on board. But we can’t leave yet! Not until we’ve been spotted up on this ridge! We have to time this perfectly.”
“Understood, sir!” the Captain shouted back, turning back to his group. “Everybody! Finish up and move out!”
Faces pale, the combat engineers did not have to be told twice. They punched buttons on their laptops, setting off a whole new wave of destruction below, then spun around and ran for the final Blackhawk.
“General!” Marshal shouted, tugging at the man’s sleeve to be sure of being heard. “I think it’s spotted us, sir. Look!”
He pointed at a chain of collapsing buildings that seemed to be heading directly their way. Obscured by dust and noise and clouds of smoke, faint glimpses of a broken section of the serpentine monster could be seen wriggling its way towards them.
“I think you may be right, Mr. Einarsson,” the General shouted, grinning viciously. “And either way, I think it’s time we gave them a real reason to look. Climb aboard, sir, and we’ll move into our endgame.”
He turned around, raised an arm over his head to signal the Apaches. Then, with Marshal scampering ahead, the two of them followed Marlowe’s crew to the last, waiting Blackhawk.
Even as they boarded, the four Apaches, the last battle-helicopters of First Cavalry Division, arose like dragons to a height of roughly thirty feet and unleashed all their remaining hellfire missiles into the approaching organism.
Alert! Alert! Assault from the north neutralized. Prey not found. Projectiles from structural mounts crushed. Prey not found.
Alert! Kinetic and plasmic eruptions striking from southern positions. Intercepting. Prey not found.
Alert! Alert! Dissociating central mass into additional colonies to support beleaguered northern positions. Massive damage to external layers. Prey not found.
Update! Central mass already broken to five sectionals by
concussive bursts from predator-prey assaults. Three hundred and sixty-seven structures destroyed and sifted by proto-drones. Prey not found.
Alert! Major alert! Multiple prey detected! Remnants of complex carbon-based accelerant wafting from elevated position on other side of structure collective. Vestigial spectrum detections confirms imaging match. Chemical traces in atmosphere confirm presence of prey biochemistry. Gravity resistant structures noted. Preparing to launch flying collectives.
Advancing broken mid-section at top speed. Disengaging all colonies to join in-
Shudder!
ALERT! Assaults from the rear! Uncertainty. The rear was confirmed secure. Alert! Fresh assaults from the north and south! Flying constructs launching assaults! Initiating multi-faceted prong defense. Seeking new threats.
Alert! Alert! Alert!
Buried charges started erupting all across the town of Elora, sending up showers of rubble, flame, and oily, black smoke. Pieces of the organism caught in the explosions were vaporized while massive globs of smoking flesh were flung like shrapnel in places all over town.
The hellfires, meanwhile, had hit their targets, shredding all kinds of hell through the advancing section of the main mass. Chunks of organism flew as the hovering Apaches pumped missile after missile into the writhing mass.
All over the rest of town, chaos had dominion.
“First wave of explosives were successful, sir,” the Captain declared as the Blackhawk was readying for takeoff. “Consensus is that the second through eighth wave should still be intact due to their positioning.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the General said, surveying the devastation below. “My compliments to you and your team. The organism knows where we are, but with explosions hurting it all over town, it doesn’t know where to attack.”
He clicked his radio.
“All Blackhawks be ready to launch at my command,” he said.
Conflict assessment. Sixty-four percent damage to collective’s cohesive structure. Multidirectional threat vectors. Continuing failure to locate and capture predator-prey.
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 93