“I want zero creativity on this point, St. Clair,” the General said. “One volley, then bug out and make a break for the convoy. You’ll reconnoiter with them by following Trafalgar road up to highway seven. We’ll cover your six and ensure you stay ahead of pursuit.”
“Understood, sir,” St. Clair said.
“Jesus,” Marshal said, staring out the open side of the helicopter at the approaching mass. “Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that things could evolve into what I’m seeing today. It’s incredible to think that those creatures are all sculpted out of reconstituted human tissue.”
“I try not to think about it,” the General answered. “Bad enough I had to kill them when they still looked like humans. I don’t want to dwell on how much humanity there is still left to them now that they don’t. I already have enough nightmares.”
“The entire world has become a nightmare,” Marshal said. “Let’s hope that after this is done, we’ve given it a wake-up call.”
“Amen to that,” said a nearby soldier, without looking up.
A silence fell on the interior of the Blackhawk as the occupants watched the forward elements of the horde move into the killing zone.
Sensory detection! Alert! Alert!
Chemical trace detected in multiple vectors: carbon-oxide variants conducive with predator-prey. Methane, sulfur, saltpeter, carbon complex compounds. Faint traces of radioactive emissions conducive with depleted uranium alloy mixture.
Associative implications suggest twenty-four percent odds of impending ambush. Launching counterstrikes on quadrants seventeen, ninety-two and two hundred and three. Institute staggered search patterns of the immediate area to be carried out by one third of the lesser collectives. Dispatching speed-based, octo-pedal collective with second third of the lesser to perform a preemptive and unpredictable forward advance to achieve a positional advantage. Dispatching kinetic-tactical collective to eliminate obfuscating structures obscuring view of southern quadrants. Remainder of lesser collectives dispatched to backtrack travel route, sub-divide into two groups, and resume progress on a wider, sweep pattern. Maximizing chemical and vibratory sensory constructs.
Execute.
Re-integrating vestigial spectrum detection constructs. Augmenting. Analyzing pan-directional spectrum, isolating familiar topographies and profiles, and contrasting them against known predator-prey templates.
Alert! Possible template identified.
“They’re onto us,” General Williams announced.
“How can you tell?” Marshal asked.
“Marlowe’s group open fire!” the General shouted. “And be ready to fly in case we need a speedy evac.”
Alert! Alert! Multiple attack vectors from northern quadrant imminent!
Launch-
Ten soldiers under Captain Marlowe’s command were spread out across the ridge at the top of a rise, only a short distance from where the Blackhawks were hiding. They all stood up at once and fired rocket launchers in ten, blazing spears of light and smoke.
Ten thermo baric missiles arced out across the landscape, crossing three quarters of a kilometer in the span of several seconds. Three of them ripped into the tiger-like giant, knocking it sideways from the sheer force of the concussive explosions in mid-leap forward. One missile struck its monstrous head, ripping it open in a spray of gory chunks and shredded tissue. The next two rockets hit with precision in the chest and hindquarters, nearly ripping it into three, massive pieces. Eight legs scrabbled madly for traction, before the creature toppled over and crashed to the ground, crushing several smaller mutations. There, it thrashed and kicked like a maddened earthquake, striking several more and chewing up the highway.
Two more missiles strafed the ground between the horde and the base of the ridgeline, creating a firestorm of exploding rock and blazing timber. Smaller mutations, which had been in the process of charging towards the ridge, got caught up in the conflagration and were flung backwards like rag dolls, hissing with flames and heat. For a moment, the wall of destruction and confusion blunted their attack.
The remaining five rockets targeted the massive wave-like titan.
Slashing into the towering, undulating mound of tissue, the rockets detonated, blowing out enormous holes from the central mass. Letting out a gurgling howl that shook the ground and deafened the ears, the creature staggered under the impact of each explosion. Balloon-like pseudo pods, as big as buildings, were jarred off course, even as they ejected three large chunks of tissue like cannon-fire in the direction of the Blackhawks parked up on the ridge.
“Incoming!” shouted the pilot in a terrified voice.
“Oh shit,” Marshal breathed, as he watched the fast approaching chunk slowly arcing its way towards them.
“Captain Marlowe!” the General bellowed. “Our position is exposed. Return at once to…”
Silence took over as one of the fleshy projectiles, twice size of the helicopter, sailed three feet overtop of the helicopter blades and struck a large maple tree fifty meters behind them with an earsplitting crash of splintered wood and flying leaves. The other two blobs of flesh landed wide, barely missing two more Blackhawks.
“The rocket strikes messed up its aim,” Marshal said in amazement.
“Captain Marlowe!” the General screamed, as undead, proto-flesh hissed and undulated its way back towards the helicopter. “We are under threat! Back to the choppers! NOW!”
“Almost there, sir!” Captain Marlowe’s voice shouted, faint over the radio, even as the Blackhawks prepared to take to the air.
“All Blackhawk pilots,” the General shouted. “I want us airborne the second we’re boarded.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stevens! Launch your offensive. Let’s give them something else to worry about.”
“With pleasure, sir,” Stevens replied.
On the other side of the highway, a rectangular, thirty-story apartment building was crushed under the charge of the bull-like titan. Thousands of tons of rubble plummeted to the ground, creating a vast cloud of dust and debris. Even as the collapse occurred, however, the bull-like titan was turning around to address the attack from the ridge that had created such chaos. Without even hesitating to see the final part of the building fall to the ground, it seemed to be bunching its four legs to spring.
Then, rising up from behind the cloud of dust, the Apaches appeared.
Hellfire missiles fired in rapid succession, hitting the creature unexpectedly from behind and at nearly point blank range. Volley after volley punched into the creature, catching it in mid-spring and ripping it to pieces, bathing it in an ocean of fire. Disintegrating under the onslaught, huge fragments spilled out across the highway in an avalanche of flesh. Again, the smaller mutations were caught up in the catastrophe, burnt and battered in the firestorm of pieces.
“Good work, Stevens,” the General said. Two soldiers who, only moments ago had been firing their rocket launders into the horde, scrambled desperately to get on board. The blob of protoplasm trying to close the distance between them was now only a scant twenty meters away.
“Marlowe! Is everyone on board?”
“Touch and go, sir,” came the answer, “but we’re all in.”
“All Blackhawks and Apache withdraw out of range immediately! Be prepared to dodge those projectile blobs, if they throw any more of them. St. Clair, you’re up! Show these monsters who the real gods of thunder are!”
“Yes sir! Firing missiles, sir.”
Five kilometers down the expressway, four mobile artillery trucks unleashed their barrage. Each of them fired a series of six, ten-foot long ballistic missiles in rapid succession at their preprogrammed coordinates. Each missile was powerful in its own right, capable of shattering a cracking open mountain bunkers like walnuts. Thirty-two of them hit the horde dead center, filling the visual and audio spectrums with a cacophony of light and noise.
Struck repeatedly, the giant wave was blown to pieces, creating a giant corona of smoking ruin, cooked
in a maelstrom of fire and heat. The tiger mutation, caught while struggling to regain its feet, was likewise reduced to a wriggling, blazing ocean of slurry and lumpen bits. The bull, already smashed into smaller pieces by the Apache assault, was swept up in the hurricane of forces and further pulverized.
“Holy crap,” Marshal muttered as he scanned the ruined flesh that had once been the horde.
But the General was more alert.
“Blackhawk four!” he bellowed. “You’re too low! The organism is… elevate! Elevate, god damn you!”
But it was too late. One of the three flesh projectiles that had been fired off by the Wave-titan had crawled its way to just underneath one of the Blackhawks. Even though a distance of thirty to forty feet separated it from the ground, the blob elongated, reaching upward like a beanstalk and getting a firm grip around the helicopter’s landing gear.
Shouting could be heard over the radio as, using it’s tenuous grip on the landing gear, a portion of the blob of human tissue separated from the mass and pulled itself up and in through the open door.
Instantly, the chopper lurched sideway and shouts became screams. In a few more seconds, the sideways lurch turned into a downward spiral, once, twice… Through the window cockpit, Marshal could see the pilot being engulfed by the amorphous zombie blob, sucked into it at odd angles and crushed.
And then, in a loud crashing of screeching metal, the Blackhawk slammed into the ground tail first, crumpled, and then exploded into flames.
“God damn it!” the General shouted. Down below, the organism smothered the flames as quickly as it exploded, crushing and twisting the broken shell in its efforts to slurp up every last shred of human tissue from the wreckage.
For a few seconds, the General glared at Marshal, as if trying to remember why he was here. And then, he looked out the open door, very much an old man. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Instead he just shook his head wearily.
“All Blackhawks,” he called out, “move to a two kilometer distance, maintain a proper watch on the battlefield. I want to know the second the organism looks ready to pull itself together to chase after us. St. Clair, your group had better already be on the move, or so help me-”
“We are, sir,” St. Clair radioed. “How did we do?”
“How do you think, Captain? You decimated the place. Good work.” He paused. “We lost one of the Blackhawks. Matheson. And Bernofsky and Walters, I think. Haven’t had a chance to find out everyone who was on board.”
There was a silence that lasted several seconds.
“Understood, sir. They were good soldiers. Good people.”
“They were,” the General said. “Keep the frequency open and be safe. We’ll keep you posted. You focus on getting to that convoy on time. Any trouble with the local undead?”
“Keegan’s been using his Apache to lure a path for us, sir, but he’s getting pretty full. It won’t be long before he has to fly off road to get rid of them. If that happens, we’ll be pretty exposed, sir.”
“I’ll dispatch Stevens to help your group and Dorfman to help with the convoy, making it all the more important that you catch up with them so that you can share resources. The Blackhawks will only stick around until the monsters recover, and then we’re heading directly to the rendez-vous point. We should get there before you, so if you have any trouble reading the map, call us and we’ll talk you in.”
“Are you sure this is going to work, sir?”
“Officially?” The General scowled. “My answer, St. Clair, is that you shut your mouth, don’t ask stupid questions, and follow your orders. Unofficially?”
He hesitated, and then his voice softened.
“Have faith, Captain. It’s simply not our time to die yet. Tonight, we dine in New Toronto… and not the other place.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Stevens!”
“Yes sir. We heard all that, sir. Dorfman’s off to join the Convoy. I’m off to help cover St. Clair.”
“Good. And remember… we’re not shooting up the little ones anymore.” The General’s attention once again fell on Marshal. “We’re playing New Toronto’s game of lure and misdirect. Lure them away, fly upwards until they lose you, return and repeat. Alternate with the other Apache. Never leave your ground mission without at least one piece of air support to help break trail.”
“Yes sir. See you at the rendez-vous point.”
The General removed his headset again.
“I sure hope this plan of yours works, Mr. Einarsson,” he said. “This was the first time we initiated an attack on the horde instead of fighting and running from them. We caught them off guard this time; we’re not likely to do that again. I’d hate to think we gave up those lives for nothing.”
“Have faith, General,” Marshal answered.
The General laughed bitterly.
“The things that I say, son, are not the things that I believe. My faith - faith in a higher power, faith in humanity, faith in my country, or even myself - my faith died in a zombie apocalypse long ago. To be perfectly honest, Marshal, back at the airport when I thought I was going to have to lead the horde away, I knew that it meant my death.”
He smiled sadly. “And I was relieved.”
Marshal nodded, unsurprised, and gazed out the window at the landscape below, taking in the fresh, beautiful timber beyond the fringes of the twitching battlefield. The fresh air caressed his face with the smells and fragrances of spring.
“Just hang in there, General,” he said. “One way or another, it’ll all end today. Either we’ll die like the majority of the planet, or you and your brave soldiers will be enjoying a hot, cooked meal tonight. Roast beef, potatoes – we grew them over the winter – fried chicken, pork chops and ham… the veggies aren’t so fresh yet, but Brian, our hydroponics guy, says that we’ll have our first crop in a couple of weeks.”
“You have hydroponics?” the General asked incredulously.
“Yes, and we hope to expand it. Of course, now that we’ve cleared most of the downtown area, and with plenty of fertilizer, we’re thinking of simply planting crops in the lawns, gardens, and planters. It’s safe now to walk around outside downtown, so there isn’t any reason not to. Root vegetables, at the very least, should grow rather well.”
“How do you irrigate?” the General asked. “Or do you rely on rainfall.”
“No. Water was a real problem for a while, especially in winter. We set up a number of external collection pipes and reservoirs, but most of them froze. With five hundred people and a lot of livestock needing drinking water, to say nothing of the hydroponics and the need for showers, water shortages became our number one concern. Fortunately, we have a citizen named Jimmy McEwen who used to work for Toronto utilities, and now runs our water and sanitation department. He knew which valves to turn and what sluices to lock in order to direct all the water flow from the Cherry Beach pumping station exclusively to the already insulated pipes in the downtown area. Then, we used this lone wind turbine that was erected years ago down by the Skydome to get just one of the 6500 horsepower pumps to start pumping. And just like that, we had running water again.”
“Just like that?” the General repeated, amazed.
“Well, no. There was actually a lot more to it. Toronto gets most of its water from Lake Ontario. There’s a series of pipes that go out a few kilometers where it’s clean and then pumps it into the treatment plants and reservoirs. We had to bypass the treatment plants. They required too much manpower, and anyway, we don’t need to provide for a city of four million. Then there were all the pipes that got exposed from damage done by the zombies, and the fact that the water coming in now ran the risk of being contaminated with pollution or bacteria, and that’s without the zombie organism that’s swimming around out there. No, it wasn’t ‘just like that’, but we dealt with the problems as they arose. We now have our own filtration plant. Building one wasn’t as difficult as it sounds, actually. M
ostly, we just had to adapt existing structures. And all of the exposed pipes or leaks got insulated and repaired one by one. Overall, it was the hardest challenge we had to deal with over the winter, but the reward of limitless water, flush toilets and hot showers has made it all worth it.”
“I imagine,” the General said enviously. “Food, shelter, power, and running water. How in God’s creation did you manage it all? It’s absolutely incredible.”
“Honest truth, General? We were lucky.”
“Oh, I suspect there’s a little more than luck to it,” the General said. “Seems to me they had some pretty damn fine leadership. You’ve got ice water in your veins, son. I half-expected you to piss yourself when you saw the giants for the first time. And when the Captain tried to push you around back on the tarmac, you not only called his bluff, you showed him who held all the cards. Hah! That was funny! You didn’t get angry or take any of Marlowe’s provocations. You just verbally grabbed us by the balls and threatened to squeeze.”
Marshal laughed. “I appreciate the compliment, but a lot of that was Peter’s doing. And just wait. When you see the quality of people I had to work with, you won’t try to pin it all on me. Well, okay, we did find a serial killer, but he’s gone now. But setting him aside, we really lucked out with the people we rescued. This close to extinction, it could have been so much worse.”
“I think I’m beginning to see why they accept you as their leader,” the General said, looking thoughtful. “A bit surprised also, I admit. People don’t normally follow their common sense. That’s why strongmen have been in charge since the beginning of time.”
“Well,” Marshal shrugged. “I won’t lie. I’m pretty good with a gun, too. And then there’s Luca, who’s always had my back. But as things get better and better, I expect to become obsolete. It’s my hope that my last official act as dictator will be to ensure that the act that follows mine doesn’t ruin everything we’ve built.”
“You plan for your own overthrow?” the General said, raising his eyebrows. “Now that’s something new.”
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 92