by C. E. Martin
"And yet, you ended up in the middle of nowhere at some rinky-dink airport," Johnson said, smirking at him—an odd facial expression when rendered in stone.
"I know you've got a car magazine in the pocket of your vest," Kenji said.
Johnson's stony face seemed surprised, even covered by the oversized goggles and face paint.
"And he has a small, green Gideon's bible in his vest," Kenji said, pointing to Stevens.
Atlas looked at the third stone soldier, and he shrugged. "He's right. I've been carrying it for years."
Atlas looked back to Kenji. "Okay, kid. What do you see? What's going to happen to the staging area?"
"Risers—hundreds of them—are going to attack from the South. They're going to breach the fenceline-"
"That's crazy," Johnson said, snapping the cover shut on the M60 he held in his lap. "If they did attack, it'd be from the North or Northeast."
"I know what I saw," Kenji said. "They breached the fenceline and made it into the base."
Atlas lifted his right arm and touched a small control panel strapped there. "You read that, Command? Kid says that there's a mass of S2Rs heading toward the Staging Area from the South."
When he saw Kenji looking at him, confused, the stone soldier tapped the goggles he wore. "These are augmented reality visors. Everything we see and hear is transmitted to a command center that can send information back to us."
He touched the small control panel on the back of his left arm. "We can input data, activate comms or whatever else we need to do from these control panels."
"And?" Kenji asked.
"They're re-tasking a satellite right now. We'll know before we land if there's any threat or not."
"But it might be too late by then!"
"Relax, kid. Take your seat and enjoy what's left of this flight."
***
Forty five minutes later, the four stone soldiers were hastily donning parachute harnesses. Kenji once more approached them.
"What's going on?" As always, he checked his watch. After years of reliving events over and over, it was second nature to constantly see what time things happened.
"Looks like you were right," Atlas said. "There does appear to be a large body forming south of the staging area. We're going down to check it out."
"Parachuting?" Kenji asked, hoping they didn't mean the whole plane was landing.
"Yes, you and the others will continue on to Florida."
"What's in Florida?"
"Eastern Evacuation Zone," Johnson said. He wasn't so flippant now.
"Command wants to talk to you," Atlas said. "Now go take your seat—and buckle in."
Kenji nodded and went back to his seat beside Carol. All the other survivors were being checked over by the crew, ensuring everyone was belted in. When they were satisfied, the crew gave the thumbs up and the loadmaster cycled the large ramp at the end of the plane open.
"What's happening? Where are they going?" Carol shouted over the wind blowing into the aircraft.
"A cluster of risers on the ground," Kenji answered.
"Did you tell them?" Carol asked, watching as the ramp locked down into position.
"Yeah," Kenji said. He didn't see how four men—even made of living stone—could stop the mass of risers he'd seen in his last life.
One after another, the four soldiers stepped off the end of the ramp and were swallowed by the darkness.
In the distance, behind the plane, bright flashes and thunderous booms could be heard. Explosions on the ground. The soldiers were jumping into a battle zone. That made Kenji feel a little better. Maybe their odds of winning would be better.
CHAPTER SIX
In Detachment 1039's Command Center, Major Robert Campbell watched four glowing gray triangles on one of the room’s many large-screen displays. They marked the four members of Bravo Team as they descended from the rescue plane toward the unlikely mass of S2Rs on the ground.
At first, Campbell had been skeptical of the young psychic's report of an attack on the Central Plains Staging Area. Patrols around the emergency base constantly monitored the terrain fifty miles out, both from the air and on the ground. Occasional S2Rs were sighted, and eliminated. But nothing had yet indicated a mass attack, like in the larger cities.
The CPSA had been purposely put in the panhandle of Texas for the very reason it was in a remote area, far from even moderate population areas. Reached only by air or one lone highway, it was a logical, defensible location for evacuating survivors from the center of the country.
But just as the psychic had said, satellite observation had revealed a large gathering of the creatures south of the base, just past the reach of the patrols. For now, they were doing nothing more than gathering. And that was an unlikely behavior for the creatures. They almost never were dormant in darkness.
Worse, on closer inspection, the satellites had revealed a number of tractor trailers nearby. With the engines still warm.
The S2Rs had shown some form of cooperation before, particularly when ambushing, but the idea that they could be operating machinery? That scared Major Campbell. It was far more reassuring to think of the creatures as mindless beasts than calculating, tool-using enemies.
Finally, the flashing markers indicated the team had reached the ground. Hopefully, the air strikes they'd sent in had reduced the numbers of the enemy to more manageable levels.
***
Flames still flickered on the ground—mainly burning bushes and what was left of the trucks at the impromptu rally point. All but one of them anyways.
Atlas signaled to the other men in his squad, using the same hand signals they had all used for silent communication long before they were petrified. Weapons at the ready, they approached the last remaining truck cautiously, watching for any sign of movement from the infected that had been blown up just before their arrival.
Atlas and Stevens took up positions at the rear of the truck, machineguns ready. Johnson and Briones stood on either side of the large, closed doors at the back of the trailer.
Atlas gave the signal. The two stone soldiers flung the rear doors open and stepped back. Atlas and Stevens immediately began firing.
It was just as they'd feared—the trailer was filled with reanimated.
The hail of 7.62mm bullets from the two M60E3s ripped into the one hundred infected standing shoulder to shoulder in the trailer. The bullets tore through their tissue, riddling the first two ranks with lead. But the mass of undead were too many. The pushed forward, spilling out of the trailer like a wave of death and decay.
Stevens and Atlas were knocked off their feet as the mass of reanimated flesh spilled over them. Only their superhuman strength allowed them to keep a grip on their weapons.
Johnson and Briones joined in, backing away from the truck as they sprayed the torrent of monsters emerging from it. The hail of machinegun fire tore into the creatures, splintering bones, rupturing organs and tearing them apart. But kill shots weren't any good against the infected. The creatures continued on, ignoring fatal wounds.
In Detachment 1039's command post, Major Campbell frowned as he spoke into the handset of a phone. "Hit it."
Seconds later, a single missile dropped off a stealth fighter two miles away. A rocket engine flared to life and the missile shot away from the plane, quickly accelerating to over seven hundred miles per hour. Six seconds later, the missile raced down out of the sky and struck the tractor trailer.
The explosion sent out a massive shock wave and fireball, incinerating many of the undead immediately, and blowing apart those closest to the point of impact. The trailer and its tractor were torn apart, hurling shrapnel in every direction.
When the last flaming pieces of metal fell back to the ground, several shapes rose from the flaming carnage. The stone soldiers had survived.
"Clear!" Johnson yelled, checking over his machine gun. He couldn't believe it had survived the blast.
"Clear!" Briones sounded off, also confirming his gear
was basically intact.
"Clear!" Wayne Stevens said, patting out the fire on one sleeve.
"Clear," Atlas announced, snapping the neck of a creature still clinging to him. Shielded from the blast by the bodies of its companions, the undead monster was badly damaged, but still able to feebly claw at the leader of the squad.
Atlas dumped the broken body of his attacker on the ground and looked around at his men. They were lucky. They'd caught this attack before it could mount up and head for the staging area.
The math was frightening. Six tractor trailers, each carrying at least one hundred of the reanimated. They'd have over run the base in minutes.
Johnson was stepping over the wreckage of what used to be the truck that was to have pulled the trailer. "So who was going to drive this?"
He nudged at the debris with one boot, but there wasn't enough left to reveal anything. Bodies were everywhere, most burned beyond recognition. If someone, or something, had been in the cab of the truck, there would be no figuring out who they were now.
"Command," Atlas said, knowing the tactical visor he wore was transmitting his words. "I suggest we evacuate the staging area immediately. There could be others out there like this."
"We're already diverting more flights to the CPSA now," Major Campbell said back over the channel. "And a helo's inbound to pick you boys up."
"This isn't right," Briones announced. "How are we supposed to fight these things if they can think?"
"Ha!" Johnson said, dropping an empty ammo box on the ground. He pulled a fresh one from his belt and attached it to the side of the M60. "If this is the best these bastards can do, all we need is more ammo."
CHAPTER SEVEN
This was definitely the longest he'd lived through this apocalypse yet. Two weeks and no deaths yet. And now he was in Florida, landing at Homestead Air Force Base, just south of Miami. He was afraid to look for something to read. He didn't want this to be a vision.
The Air Base itself was deep within the heart of the Eastern Evacuation Zone. The Military had hastily set up a battle zone right across the heart of the State, from Withlacochee Bay on the Gulf Coast, northwest, through Ocala, all the way to the east coast city of Bunnell.
Highways all had massive checkpoints, and helicopters patrolled up and down the line, the military relying on lakes and rivers and the terrain itself to help form a barrier the undead would not be able to cross.
Survivors poured into South Florida by the hour—evacuees from all over the eastern United States. They travelled by car, by train, by plane and even by boat. All fleeing the rapidly spreading infection that was killing millions, then bringing them back to life as ravenous flesh eaters.
Homestead was the furthest south of all the military encampments spread across southern Florida. It and the Miami-Dade International airport were seeing massive numbers of flights into and out of the region. It was a chaotic exodus that was just beginning as America realized the undead apocalypse could not be stopped.
Kenji wondered what that meant for the future. For his future.
When his C-130 at last taxied to a stop near a nondescript hangar at the south west corner of the base, several vehicles were waiting for it. The plane's ramp lowered and military personnel helped the survivors on board to waiting vans.
A young girl with long black hair, wearing the same black BDUs as the stone soldiers, waited patiently at the end of the ramp, holding a large 8x10 photo up as she watched the survivors disembark.
"You!" Josie said when Kenji and Carol came down the plane's cargo ramp. "You're the psychic, right?"
Beside Josie a thin, young man wearing only black pants and t-shirt tapped an ear piece clipped over one ear. "We have him."
"Who are you?" Carol asked, gripping Kenji's arm tighter.
"C'mon, you're headed for the Command Center," Josie Winters said. She folded up the 8x10 and tucked it inside a pocket of her vest. Kenji noticed she too wore the oversized, augmented reality goggles the stone men had—but hers were pushed up on her forehead.
"Kenji. Kenji Nakayama," he said, extending his hand.
Josie took the hand and shook it lightly. "Josie Winters. This is Jimmy. And you are?"
"Carol. Carol McKinley.
"Okay, let's get going," Josie said. "Colonel wants to see you ASAP."
With that, she turned and walked away. Jimmy gestured for them to follow, then fell into step behind Jimmy and Carol.
"Good luck, you two," Shane said as he and the others were led off to the vans. He was smiling broadly, pulling off his warm jacket.
Kenji waved to his friend as he followed Josie toward the hangar. She led them up to a man-sized door built into the hangar's closed aircraft doors.
"Are we prisoners?" Carol asked as they walked past two Airmen standing guard outside the door.
"This way," Josie said, opening and stepping through the door into the hangar.
Kenji and Carol both were surprised at what they saw when they followed her inside.
The large hangar was bustling with activity—all of it centered around two black, triangular aircraft parked side by side. The huge planes vaguely resembled SR-71 Blackbirds Kenji had seen on TV. Ground crews were feverishly working on them.
Josie led Kenji and Carol past the two planes, to a small elevator in the rear of the Hangar—again flanked by two armed Airmen. Kenji was surprised to see it was a large freight elevator that could easily hold all four of them.
"Do you turn to stone?" Kenji asked as the elevator began descending.
"What?" Josie asked.
"You’re wearing the same gear as the stone guys from the plane," Kenji said. "I was just wondering-"
The doors to the elevator opened. Kenji guessed they had only gone down one level. He wondered if that was normal for a military hangar. But when he saw what was beyond the elevator, he knew it wasn't.
Beneath the hangar and its strange planes was a large, artificial cavern—filled with water. Like a lagoon, the cavern had two docks with moored speed boats tied up. Again, two Airmen stood on guard just inside the cavern.
"Over here," Josie said, leading the way down one dock. She helped Kenji and Carol into one of the boats while Jimmy untied the bow and stern lines. Once he and Josie were in the boat, he pushed it away from the dock and took the controls.
"I want to know where we're going," Carol said. She had been nervous when they were first led underground, but she was getting a little impatient now by the silent treatment.
"You're going to see my boss," Josie said.
Jimmy eased the throttle forward on the boat, heading it away from the dock. The far wall of the cavern had a large opening, twice as wide as the boat. Lights began flickering on past the opening, revealing a long, water-filled tunnel that stretched out into the distance.
"Why?"
The boat picked up speed as they entered the tunnel. It was surprisingly quiet for such a fast boat.
Josie held her hand up. "We're very interested in people with paranormal abilities here."
Her hand began to smoke, then frost began to form around it. The frost thickened into a thin layer of ice. She made a fist and the ice cracked and fell away.
"How'd you do that?" Carol asked.
"You're a parahuman," Kenji said, surprised. He wondered how many different kinds there were.
"We're part of a special military unit," Josie explained. "We fight the kind of stuff most people would be glad to never know about. But this zombie thing is getting out of control. We need help."
"I'm just a psychic," Kenji said. "I can't fight."
"No, but you were dead on—pardon the pun—about those S2Rs in Texas."
"S2Rs?" Carol asked.
"Stage Two, Rage Infected," Josie explained. "The bulk of these reanimated fall into that classification. Fast, aggressive, but killable."
"Stage Two?" Carol asked. "There's more than that?"
"Stage One is exposure and infection. When someone has been exposed to the sp
ores."
"Spores?" Kenji asked. This was all definitely new. He'd lived and died so many times during this apocalypse of the undead. It seemed to have been going on for months from his point of view.
"They're caused by a fungal spore. It bonds to the human nervous system, replacing tissue as it feeds on the host. Eventually, the infection reaches the brain and the host dies, then reanimates. That's a Stage Two."
"Then what happens?" Carol asked. She was scared again.
"Stage Three. S3Zs, we call them. Zombies. They're slower moving. Some of them can barely move at all. All the internal organs have been replaced with this kind of mold-like fungal growth. They're almost impossible to stop when they reach that stage. Walking corpses."
"But they burn nice," Jimmy said, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Final stage is Four. The body ceases to move and becomes just one big fungal colony. They sprout these growths that release spores into the air."
"I've seen those!" Kenji said.
"It can happen slowly, or if you kill a Stage Two, they seem to bypass Stage Three and just turn into one big mold colony."
"You've been studying them?" Carol said, surprised. "So you know how to stop them?"
"Oh, sure, lots of ways. They don't like sunlight—ultra violet light, specifically. It inhibits, even kills spores. Saltwater is lethal to them as well, but they need fresh water to reproduce. There's whole floating masses of them in the Mississippi now. "
"So you can beat them?" Kenji said, hopefully. He was ready for this nightmare to end.
"No," Josie said, shaking her head from side to side. "There's too many of them. You kill them, they just release more spores. It's worse than nuclear fallout. Most of the Midwest has been exposed to spores now. People are turning miles from any S2R."
"So what can I do?"
"I don't know," Josie said. "I know the Colonel wants to hear what you have to say."
"The Colonel?"
The boat finally slowed, and they eased into another artificial cavern-lagoon. This one was guarded by at least ten men in hazmat suits—several of whom seemed to be armed with what looked like flamethrowers.