by D G Leigh
--- Seven ---
“NASA's boys stumbled across this message an hour ago bouncing around satellites that should've been silent.”
“My name is Leslie Harris. I'm broadcasting from Keck Observatory - Hawaii. We're at an altitude of four thousand metres. The dead can't survive the night. If you're able to get yourself to high ground. I'm going outside now. Good luck.”
“Is that Leslie's voice?” Hershel asked.
“Yes.” Susan so happy. “Is Jo with him?”
Biehn placed his hand on Susan's head. “He did say we're so he's with somebody?”
“Central have issued new orders. Looks like you've got another crack at this Commander. Secure Harris. Escort him to Bradshaw airfield. There's a plane heading there to pick him up. The landing stripe is at an elevation of just under two thousand metres. Should be clean of any gargantuans. Ferguson is almost finished. Have your men suited and booted. Your SCAR mission is green lit.” Captain Hershel extended his hand. This would probably be the final time the two friends would see each other.
“Any truth in Zak can't survive at that high?”
“The algae hasn't drifted passed the 50o or -80o parallels yet. Don't know if it's the cold or not? Monitoring stations listening to the world have heard chatter about the infected collapsing whilst pursuing survivors into mountainous regions. Everything is sketchy at best. We're only receiving parts of transmissions now. Damn trees.”
Susan interrupted. “Can I go? I miss Jo and Mr.Leslie very much.”
“No, you can't.” Hershel laid down the law.
“You can't give me orders.” Susan defended. “I'm a civilian.”
Hershel somewhat taken aback. “This is my ship young lady and you'll do what you're told.”
“Sir, if it wasn't for Susan we wouldn't have that drone. She risked her life. I consider her part of my SEAL team.”
“Do know what you're asking Commander Biehn?”
“What is there here for her? At least this is a chance.” Biehn smirk. “Gets her out from under your feet!”
“As long as I don't know about it.” Hershel waved his hand brushing over the matter. “Don't get the two muddled up again!”
“Are you really sure you want to come Susan? There might be a lot of strangers there.”
“Don't worry Soldier-Biehn I'll protect you.” It'd been a long time since anybody onboard Endeavour laughed. A mild snigger passed around the room.
The intercom buzzed. “Captain, to the bridge.”
Hershel pressed the talk button. “What is it?”
“Bad news.”
“I wasn't expecting anything less?”
--- Eight ---
Barnstorming Stacy kept the helicopter close to the ground. Air traffic control non-existent didn't want to risk a mid-air collision. Flew over Dalton highway. Tailgated with vehicles. Impatient people hurriedly walking past the gridlock. Fights breaking out among desperate evacuees.
“What's happened?” Ross viewed the skies above, full of aircraft, far too many for sure. “Where's everybody going? Has war broken out? Who's Alice?”
“White Alice not Alice.”
“The cold war listening outposts?”
“You know your history Dr.King.”
“Thought they were all decommissioned?”
“They were. Dangerous materials removed. Antennas taken down. This one was build on a huge breached tectonic slab of slate, no need for runway maintenance. Smooth as ice.
“You still haven't told me what's all this got to do with me?”
“It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Zombies are real. I'm assuming they want you because you're a doctor. Develop a cure.”
“That's not my field!” Zombies weren't any bodies field of expertise. “I'm a dendrologist, used to be. The study trees.”
The soldiers turned to one another. They had the right guy. “Well doc, I reckon you're going to be in your element then.”
--- Nine ---
Using the 20 x 120 Big Eyes cradled binoculars Captain Hershel studied the bad news. The sight drained his face of colour. Gargantuans and their vines had sealed the last portal to freedom.
“Open a fleet wide comm.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hershel straighten his collar. “This is Captain James Hershel of the USS Endeavour. Admiral Finch is dead. I'm assuming control of the fleet. To all those that can hear. We'll launching a counter attack, one drone and a SEAL team. We need your assistance. This is our chance to stab our enemy's heart. Standby for coded coordinates.” Still doing things by the book. Years of drills day in – day out.
--- Ten ---
Briskly without leaving Susan too far behind Biehn crossed the flight deck towards the waiting Blackhawk. His squad gearing up. Their mission had no return leg planned. That didn't bother his men. Better to go out fighting along side your brothers than playing tiddlywinks locked inside this tin can waiting to die or worst.
Susan tugged at Biehn's back pocket. “Excuse me Soldier-Biehn. I don't want Captain Trips to go back to the island.”
“You want to stay here? I understand.” Who could blame her?
“No, Jo sent me away with Eugene's rock because she thought I'd be safe, I'm not. I can't go any further with the sample but Captain Trips can. He doesn't weigh.” Susan threw the stuffed unicorn into the air to demonstrate. “Light as a feather.”
Biehn knelt down. Caught Hershel overseeing from the bridge. “Susan we don't have time.”
Kids are experts at whining to get what they want, wearing down their parents. Susan only a kid in age not stature, looked Biehn straight in the eyes. “I didn't hesitate going into the pipe and nobody asked me to. I did it because it was important. This is important to me.” Turned the unicorn to face Biehn.
Biehn glanced towards the drone, propeller spinning. Ferguson running through the last of the pre-flight checks. Warming the engine. Testing control surfaces. Hershel watched Roy and Susan discussing something. Biehn motioned five minutes to him as they diverted to Ferguson.
“How's it looking?”
“Beautiful piece of kit.” Ferguson lowered the revs so they could talk. “She hasn't shaken to bits as of yet!” Caressed her smooth fuselage. “I'd be done in time to take control of our Blackhawk, she's still my first love. Can't afford Fardip putting a scratch on her.”
“Fuel?”
“All good even allowing for bad weather. Should have enough left over for another twenty minutes worth of flight time.”
“How's the weight?”
“Don't beat about the bush!” Ferguson not fooled. “What's this all about Commander?”
“I've got a passenger for you!”
“Say what?” In disbelief Ferguson stared at Susan. “Are you crazy?”
“Not her, this.” Biehn casually passed him the fluffy unicorn.
“You're kidding right?”
This wasn't a joke. “Nope.”
“You're serious! What are they going to say at the other end?”
“Does it matter?”
“To open the cargo sleeve you'd need an allen key. Like this one.” Placed the tool into Biehn's palm when no one else was watching. Tapped a circular flap, a key cover popped open. “If you had one it would fit right in here.” Ferguson went off to check another part of the drone. “That's how a stowaway would get in if my back was turned.”
--- Eleven ---
Unlike upstairs, a maze of hallways and interconnecting laboratories with two or more entrances, the basement had a central corridor (the coude tunnel) running its whole length. Pipes full of fibre optics sat on top of the floor rather than underneath leaving a narrow path to walk on. Room walls and internal partitions fitted with floor-to-ceiling glass enabling Leslie and Jo to see clearly inside without opening doors. Endless rows of computer banks necessary to crunch a universe worth of zettabytes data hummed and flashed.
“This must look like a candy store to you!” Leslie jibed. Entered a door designated
Combining Room. “Try not smash anything.”
Green arrows pointed to a fire exit, its hatch lead outside the facility. Using the axe head Leslie gently lifted the manhole cover enough to peered through the letterbox size gap. A sea of zombie feet shuffled towards the building unaware of this unlockable access point.
Leslie had seen this before, infected understanding the importance of doors. Placed a finger to his lips and instructed Jo to go back down just as a lone zombie seizes the lip's edge. Fully exposing their sanctuary.
Others nearby sense their kindred's discovery. Converged on the chute. Using the axe Leslie clouted the zombie knocking the creature back. Released its fateful grip on the cover but the support arm had extended, locked in place. Twisting the axe Leslie hooked the pic around the rod, ripped the mechanism apart. Spewing hydraulics fluid the hatch slowly self sealed but not before two ghastly hands grabbed hold. Franticly Leslie shattered the bones turning the zombie's fingers into useless hanging tubes of skin. The heavy circle of metal fell back into place in time as sprinting Zaks flung themselves to enter.
Clawing sounds against the lid above. “Are you done now?” Disapproval on Jo's face. “Perhaps you'd like to try something else to get us killed? Open a window for some fresh air?”
“I'm done. I'm done.” Leslie repeated knowing all too well what almost happened.
--- Twelve ---
Unmistakable bright stock yellow livery of an aerial firefighting Bombardier 415 clearly stood out against the cold grey slate causeway.
A sweet sight. “There's our ride.” Fontaine saluted the aircraft. “She's also capable of landing on a puddle of water. Quite a lady.”
“Ride? I thought this was your base?”
“Don't get any ideas about breaking this one! Need to get you to safety. Another day's journey. We're not out of the woods yet!” The soldiers didn't laugh, Fontaine jokes aren't meant for amusement.
“Why don't you have a military jet?”
“I like to travel incognito.”
Nothing about Fontaine was subtle. “Really? In that!”
“Have you heard of 1475 Broadway?”
“No!”
“It's an empty twenty-five story skyscraper slap bang in the centre of Time Square. Thousands of people look up at it everyday but nobody sees it! It's completely hidden behind billboards. The magician shows you his right hand while the left is doing all the work. The Bombardier gets no more attention than an ambulance on an emergency call.”
“Where're we heading? Area 51?”
“For a man that lives in a forest you watch too much TV.”
“Isn't that where you take the President?”
Paxton clapped his hands. Laughed. “You think you're the head honcho? Cute.”
McCormick shared the gag. “Shall we fetch your slippers?”
“The President right now is in charge of a nicely carpeted underground bunker surrounded by his lapdog administration. Campaigning for re-election. There won't be a politic system when he resurfaces decades from now. What good is a suit when you need to get balls deep in shit to grew your future? Nations are collapsing. Terrified masses surge across enemy borders desperate for a safe haven. Zak is everywhere. Inevitable mankind would eventually wipe itself out. Personally I thought self-aware machines would've taken us all down.” Fontaine scratched his head. “I say down but unfortunately you get back up again. . . . dead but up! Do you really think kings and queens send out personal invites to peasants We're being invaded. Please join us behind the castle walls.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Dr.King you're talented enough to have an invitation from ordinary folk that had foresight to prepare for this day or one much like it. The portcullis has been raised for you.” Fontaine tapped Ross' knee.
“What people?”
“There's individuals wealthier than some countries and while politicians got horny folding hundred dollar bills into pole dancers panties elastic The group funded and implicated necessary measures.”
Paxton cheered at the mention of pole dancers.
“The group? What measures?”
“Over the years the internet has given opportunity for fresh thinking young ultrapreneurs to have a voice.” Fontaine too long in the tooth to understand all this on-line crap. “No power agenda or descended from an established breeding line of pompous bureaucrats. In a country where anybody can become President both father and son have! The Group come from everyday families and homes. Recognized social imbalances, sought to change them using their own found wealth. They what a better world instead of repeating the past.”
“That's noble.” Ross not buying it. “How much are they paying you?”
“Haven't you heard? Money means diddle squat now. Upside, you can take whatever your soul desires from main street USA. Downside, you'll have to queue up behind four hundred thousands zombies at checkout. I work for UPS Undead Protection Services. You're the brain and I'm the fist. I deal with the here and now, Zak knocking at the door. Your task is to formulate a solution to eradicate the other six billion standing behind that first one. The Group sees opportunity rather than apocalypse and can facilitates the means.”
--- Thirteen ---
“You must wear this Susan.” Biehn tightened the straps of the bio-weapon chemical mask. Didn't have sizes to fit children. Wrapped a wet towel over her head to cover the edges of the breathing apparatus, at least it would damper down the noise of the coming explosions. “Sorry if this feels uncomfortable.” She raised a thumbs-up. “It's just until we've cleared the wall.” The Blackhawk took-off. On the ground she's an overweight lump of metal but once in the air with the right touch she's an agile hunter.
Biehn plugged the comms leads into his gas-mask. A direct channel linked the harboured fleet together. Only three vessels from a possible sixteen battle group confirmed the ability to strike. Communication with four others went down in the past hour. Red algae smothered their desks. Canopy stalks harpooned from above.
“This is Biehn. We're wheels up.”
“Good luck Commander.” Hershel coordinating the attack from the flag bridge. “Fleet, call the ball.”
On the primary flight bridge above Ensign Wilbur at station. “Drone ready on your mark.”
“USS Iowa, standing-by.”
“USS Rayleigh, standing-by.”
“USS Rochester, standing----” The sound of gunfire echoed in the background. Multiple shouting voices. “---They're in here--- fall back to the stateroom.” The connection ended with an electrical high pitch.
Hershel had heard enough. Couldn't afford to lose more artillery support, needed every ounce of explosive. “TSC execute.”
The composed tone of TTWCS mariner answered. “Strike mission packaged uploaded.” His weapon's panel beeped an acknowledgement. “Update received. Missiles ready.” All other officers confirmed.
“Armed approved. Six-eight.”
“Aye, sir. Caps off. Armed approved. Verify. Ready six-eight”
“Command approved. Six-eight. Engage.”
Simultaneously five plumes of white exhaust flames flared three metres from the launch tubes onboard the Iowa and Rayleigh. A split-second of nothing than the distinct whoosh of supersonic Tomahawk missiles vertically left both warships. Arcing they pitch horizontally, torn towards the lattice branches that encaged Pearl Harbour's port entrance. White heat lit the induced gargantuan night sky. Never before had this type of missile been used against a target so close.
“Fox-one, two, three, four and five away.” Lieutenant Dorkins read aloud the monitor display. “Twenty seconds to impact.
There wasn't a need for an audio countdown, the missiles visible from every ship. The brightest objects inside the dome. Zak and survivors alike mesmerised by the sudden burst of light. Five super comets streaked towards their targets leaving contort trails from their point of origin.
“Ten seconds to impact.” They'd all seen video footage of Tomahawks strikes but nobody knew ho
w much devastation to expect against the algae's gargantuans. “Five ... four … three … two ...”
Detonation. A blinding flash of burning light. Huge chunks of bio-mortar sent flying other sections vaporized completely. The blast wave rattled the Blackhawk. As the red haze dissipated weak evening light from the setting sun filtered through, a sight to behold.