Dead Storm: The Global Zombie Apocalypse

by Nicholas Ryan

  “Okay, Two, VID 747 and the registration is November eight six nine Echo Alpha,” Supa broadcast over the VHF radio, as much for the benefit of the on-board video recorder as he did for Spike in the other Viper. He wanted to ensure he was doing everything by the book.

  He looked over the big jet, struck by how serene and ordinary the airliner appeared. He saw nothing on the outside of the fuselage to suggest the chaos and panic that he assumed was taking place inside the airliner. Supa had the digital camera at the ready. He snapped several shots of the jet – first a wide picture to show the entire airplane, followed by a few zoomed-in detail shots of the airline markings and the national registration.

  “What do you see, One?”

  Supa paused for a second, frowning with concentration. “Nothing, Two,” through the mic his voice sounded bewildered. “This thing looks completely normal to me. I’m gonna move over to the right side and take a look there.”

  Bernard dipped his nimble fighter below the 747’s broad bulging belly and moved to the opposite side of the airliner. Seeing nothing of note, he took more photos, then crept his fighter forward until he was able to stare directly across into the airliner’s cockpit.

  “Two, I have a clear view into the target’s flight deck. There are two people visible. One appears to be a woman.” The faces of the pilots were pale white blobs as they turned to watch the fighter.

  Arnold had begun the process of dropping back into a firing position on the airliner. With a solid radar lock, she cycled through her AMRAAM missiles to ensure each of them was properly connected, functional, and ready to shoot. Then she switched over to her AIM-9X missiles, confirming that they too were functioning properly and could hold their lock on the airliner. She triple-checked that her modes and switches were all correct.

  All that remained for her was to “Master Arm” – effectively unlocking the jet’s weapon safety switch – and to push the red pickle button under her right thumb on the Viper’s control stick.

  “Samurai One, ID hostile. You ready to do this?” Supa asked, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm his nerves. He had returned to the port side of the 747 and was moving further away from the airliner, working his fighter well clear of what was soon to occur.

  “Affirm” replied Arnold. She was in a perfect position, nearly a mile behind the big jet and slightly above it.

  “Arm hot.” Spike reached up with her left hand and flipped the Master Arm switch up. She kept her right thumb off the now-hot pickle button.

  “Cleared to shoot.”

  Spike paused a moment, then her thumb mashed the red button.

  “Fox three!”

  A fraction of a second later, the twelve-foot long missile roared off from where it was mounted under her left wing. Spike only saw a flash of light and a wisp of smoke out of her peripheral vision, the weapon’s solid fuel booster pushing the missile to supersonic speed in just the first few hundred feet after leaving the jet. It only took a handful of seconds for the missile to traverse the mile and a half distance to the airliner. Spike Arnold banked her Viper right and climbing slightly, clearing her aircraft of whatever explosion and airplane parts were about to be unleashed.

  The AMRAAM disappeared behind a thin white smoke trail as it tracked toward the airliner, zipping slightly back and forth as it honed in on its target. Supa watched as the missile slammed into the airliner’s inboard engine on the left side.

  Unlike other conventional missiles that detonate in a destructive burst of shrapnel, the killing power of an AMRAAM’s warhead lies in its ‘continuous expanding rod’ – a cluster of metal rods attached at the ends and folded back upon itself. When the weapon explodes it also creates, for a short instant, a large expanding circle of metal designed to punch through the target.

  The force of the impact sliced the airliner’s engine loose of its mounts, its inertia carrying it up over the front of the wing, shedding high velocity jet engine pieces into the side of the fuselage.

  For a moment the jetliner seemed to travel on as normal, the initial blast from the missile dissipating and the mangled wreckage of the number two engine gently tumbling away below it toward earth as a litter of smaller pieces of metal and debris fluttered and trailed off behind. Spike, from her position aft and to the right, only saw the initial flash of the impact and the subsequent expanding cloud of pieces blasted from the jet, and her kneejerk thought was that this was going to be the “multiple shots required” scenario. She kept the entire scene in the field-of-view of her heads-up-display to ensure the video camera recorded the shoot down for review.

  The 747 then lurched and rolled suddenly to the left, its long left wing seeming to snap upward as if it had been attached to the fuselage by a large hinge. The wing separated from the fuselage, breeching the plane’s inner wing fuel tank. A glistening misted cloud of clear jet fuel engulfed the left side of the airplane.

  The fuel ignited in a blinding flash; a fireball that expanded out to three times the size of the aircraft itself. By the time Supa had processed what was happening, his tiny fighter was rocked violently by the shock of the blast, flinging it sideways and tossing it onto its back. Spike’s view of the 747 also disappeared in the rapidly-conflagrating orange and white cloud, and she reactively pulled aft on the Viper’s control stick to maneuver her jet up and away from the explosion.

  Out of the belly of the fireball four flaming asteroids of wreckage streaked down the sky. The chain-reaction detonation of the rest of the jet’s fuel tanks had initially split the jet in half, then subsequently in half again as aerodynamic forces continued to rip the remaining chunks of aluminum and steel into shredded, mangled streamers of fire, now plunging toward the sea below.

  The fighter pilots stared in awed wonder at the spectacle, throttling back their engines and descending to follow the destroyed airliner down.

  Spike keyed the radio with her left thumb, leaving the channel open for a moment before saying mechanically, “Splash one.”

  In the White House Situation room, the Vice President, the SECDEF, and the Chairman of the Joint Chief could hear the flat, anguished tone in Lt Col Arnold’s voice through the scratchy SATCOM radio patch.

  Vice President Hallmeyer closed his eyes and dropped his chin onto his chest in a moment of somber prayer.

  ASIA DESK, VEUTERS WIRE SERVICE

  BUSAN

  SOUTH KOREA

  UTC/GMT +9

  Asia on the Edge of Apocalypse

  Nigel Guest (Asia correspondent)

  Veuters Wire Service

  BUSAN, Republic of Korea – Seoul is a city under siege in the wake of an unprecedented biological attack by North Korean military forces who have fired several long-range missiles into the city center.

  Two of the missiles were reportedly armed with an unknown biological agent.

  In the hours since the strike, it is estimated that over one million inhabitants have been afflicted with vicious, irrational behavior. Police have reported thousands of violent attacks, and rioting has broken out in several districts. Gunfire and explosions have been heard around the Itaewon region as emergency authorities struggle to contain the virulent contagion in a series of savage running battles with the infected.

  The missile attack marks the first reported incident of biological weapons being used during the Korean War, which began twenty-two days ago with an armed invasion across the DMZ by North Korean motorized shock troops and armor.

  The South Korean government is yet to make an announcement on the developing humanitarian crisis. There has been no official communication from the ROK Prime Minister or any top-level aides. Unconfirmed sources close to authorities claim the Prime Minister has fled Seoul.

  American and South Korean armed forces sent to confront the infected have been largely overwhelmed in violent street clashes.

  There are growing fears the infection has already been transmitted to Tokyo, Japan, where authorities have reported over fifty similar cases of inexplicab
le violent attacks within the past hour.

  The Taiwanese government has declared a state of martial law and urged all citizens to remain indoors until further notice. Indonesian naval forces have been placed on high alert. A spokesperson for the Indonesian government said the President was locked in urgent meetings and was closely monitoring the crisis.

  Chinese government authorities are reportedly gravely concerned about the danger of the contagion being transmitted across the border the country shares with North Korea. Though there has been no official word yet from Beijing, international watchdog organizations are said to be closely monitoring Chinese troop movements in the Liaoning and Jilin provinces.

  – copy ends – NG.VWS. 050820. Immediate

  JAMES S. BRADY BRIEFING ROOM

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  Rita May, the President’s Press Secretary, went into the room first. She moved directly to the lectern and stared out at the faces of the assembled media. She was a blonde-haired woman in her mid-thirties with a ready, confident smile and a quick wit. Today her expression was sober.

  “Ladies and gentlemen – the President of the United States.”

  The world’s media representatives rose respectfully to their feet as Patrick Austin came through the press room door and took three strides to the lectern. In his hand he carried a sheaf of typed notes. The President’s face looked ashen and drawn. Deep lines of stress had been chiseled into the flesh around the corners of his mouth.

  “Thank you all for coming. I am going to make a statement. When I have completed my comments, I will answer some of your questions.

  “A short time ago an airliner on route to Los Angeles from Incheon Airport in South Korea was shot down with the loss of everyone aboard.”

  There was a sudden audible gasp from the assembled press gallery – a sound like the air being sucked from the room. Cameras flashed.

  “The aircraft was Flight 553. Aboard were American diplomats and ambassadorial support staff. The American Ambassador to the Republic of Korea, his wife and his children were also aboard. These were all hard-working, dedicated American citizens who had stayed and continued to work in the chaos and horrors of a war zone. They were shot from the sky by a fighter jet.

  “I gave that order.

  “I ordered one of our F-16 fighters to shoot the plane down over the ocean off northeast Japan because we had learned that one of the people aboard had contracted the contagious biological infection currently burning through the Korean Peninsula.

  “Within an hour of departure from Incheon, everyone aboard the aircraft and all of the cabin crew had been infected. Transcripts of military exchanges with the stricken pilot and co-pilot will be made available after this briefing.

  “After every option had been considered, I made the decision that the aircraft could not be allowed to land in America – nor in any other airport around the world. I gave the order for the aircraft to be shot from the sky.”

  Patrick Austin paused and looked out around the room. His eyes were red-rimmed. A small nerve twitched and tugged at his lips. A blinding strobe of camera flashes dazed him. He let out a long breath and shifted his weight at the lectern to resettle himself.

  “When North Korea fired biological weapons into the heart of Seoul, they set off a chain reaction of diabolical events that have the potential to take mankind to the very brink of extinction. Early analysis suggests this gruesome biological infection is unlike anything the world has ever seen before. It defies all decencies of human nature. This act stands alone as the world’s most heinous atrocity. Potentially, this plague could be an extinction event. Already, preliminary reports from the Korean Peninsula suggest that millions have been infected and that number is growing exponentially by the hour.

  “You’ve all seen the gruesome, terrifying news coverage coming out of Korea. There is no antidote for this infection. There is no known cure. The biological weapon that the terrorist North Korean regime of Kim Jong-un used is completely undocumented.

  “As a result of this crisis, I called an emergency cabinet meeting earlier. Working under the advice of USAMRIID officials and every government department, the following measures have been decided. These steps are designed to isolate America from the spread of the infection throughout Asia, and will come into effect immediately.

  “A National emergency has been declared, and the National Guard is being mobilized. Troops will be positioned at government buildings and essential facilities across the country. They will also be used as a first-defense force along our northern border with Canada and our southern border with Mexico. A wall will also be built along the entire southern border. This work will commence immediately and will be personally overseen by the Secretary for Homeland Security. The wall will be a concrete barrier, paid for by emergency and military budget funds. The Army’s engineers will be responsible for construction, and the barrier will be heavily defended with regular troops and units of the National Guard.

  “All international flights inbound to the United States have been turned around. No international flight will be permitted to land in America until the crisis is over. Domestic flights are not affected – at this stage – although they may soon be. Gas rationing will begin in the next few days and the Stock Market will close and stay closed.

  “I have also given immediate orders to our Navy to enforce a strict blockade of all inbound shipping on the east and west coast. No ship will be permitted to enter a US port until the crisis has passed. Any ship defying the blockade will be immediately sunk.

  “If these measures prove insufficient, then a state of martial law will be declared until such time that the world is once again safe, and the plague is no longer a threat.”

  It was everything Patrick Austin had to say. He set down his notes and stared out at the sea of shocked faces. Everyone’s hands were in the air, calling, “Mr. President! Mr. President!” desperate to get his attention.

  He saw the slim poised figure of Carly Clementine standing near the back of the room amongst the forest of TV cameras. Most of the big networks were interrupting their regularly scheduled programming to televise the briefing live. He pointed her out for the first question and called her name.

  “Carly. Go ahead, please.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Carly glanced down at her notes. “America has many thousands of military servicemen and women currently on the Korean Peninsula, working behind the scenes with our South Korean allies during the war with the North. What will happen to them? Are there plans to evacuate our troops from the epicenter of this plague?”

  The President shook his head. “Carly, evacuating so many thousands of personnel and equipment is logistically impossible. The plague is moving far too quickly. I can tell you – proudly – that the American troops in and around Seoul happened to be amongst the first responders to fight the spread of the plague. While millions of citizens fled for their lives, our heroic soldiers went into the face of danger and are fighting still to hold back the spread of the infection. That’s what they do; they run towards the threat. They’re heroes.”

  As soon as the President finished his reply a journalist from CMN, sitting in the front row thrust up his hand. He was a veteran of the Washington news scene; a man with a carefully manicured head of snow-white hair and craggy good-looking features.

  “Jack. Go ahead.”

  The man stood up, notebook in hand. “Thank you Mr. President. My question is about the proposed wall you plan to build along our southern border with Mexico. As we all know, this has been an issue – tied to the immigration debate – that has festered throughout Washington politics for several years. I’m wondering how you feel the voting public and your political opponents will react to this emergency declaration? Do you anticipate legal challenges, or a backlash at the polls?”

  President Austin took a moment – not because he wasn’t ready with his answer – but because he wanted to imply an added measure of gravity to his words. After a dramatic pause, he s
miled thinly.

  “Jack – you’re right. The immigration debate, and the issue of a wall along the Mexican border has been a political hot-potato. I see validity in both sides of the debate, and I believe the point of contention has always been about trying to define how we see ourselves as Americans. Are we isolationists who want to keep foreigners out for our own protection and safety, or are we a benevolent society that welcomes those in need? But that is a separate issue. The wall we will build is not due to an ideological decision one way or the other. It’s not a statement of belief. It’s a measure to protect Americans from the spread of a contagion that could threaten our very existence. It’s a measure for our immediate survival as a nation against a very specific, very real threat.

  “Hopefully – one day in the near future when the scourge of this horrible plague has been eradicated, we can continue the debate about immigration and the merits of a wall. And if, in the course of that conversation, America’s will is to pull down the wall, then I’ll happily take up tools to help. But for now – for right now – that wall is an essential physical defense against a singular, terrifying danger.”

  Someone called out a question without being invited. It was a strident anonymous voice amongst thirty clamoring others.

  “Mr. President. Are these measures an over-reaction?”

  Patrick Austin’s lips pressed into a cold thin line. He held up his hand and the room fell obediently silent.

  “Someone just asked whether the measures I have announced are an over-reaction,” he felt his deep sense of despair slowly coalesce into simmering outrage. His mood affected the timbre of his voice. His words carried clearly and levelly to every corner of the room. “Let me answer that right now, on the record. I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. But I don’t have the luxury of being wrong on this matter. Being wrong means people – Americans – will die. Being wrong means all of America could become infected. I can’t just apologize after that kind of an error. Every one of you has to live with the consequences of my decisions. So you’re damned-right,” his voice shook with deep passion. “Perhaps I am over-reacting. And if the plague burns itself out in the next twenty-four hours, then I’ll apologize. But I’m not going to take chances with the lives of America’s sons and daughters. You don’t pay me to take risks and make mistakes we can’t recover from.”