There was, however, the air-park too.
Jonah looked across the way to the fenced-off air-field.
A couple of crop-dusters – both with missing engines. A chopper that looked like it had been wrecked.
And at the end of the dock, tarped-up for the season, was a sea-plane.
Boy, Jonah thought, he really didn't like the looks of that contraption.
Naomi, however, had turned away, and Jonah saw her standing out on the dock, her head turned up to the sky.
Jonah turned, following her gaze to the south, and he spotted it.
But for the roar of the beasts, he would have heard it already – the drone of an approaching fighter jet.
A single plane.
And on its tail, was every horror out of hell – a swarm of infected flying dragons.
Even as Jonah watched, one of the beasts nearly closed, making a grab for the fighter with its giant beak. The pilot dodged the strike artfully, twisting into a spiraling spin, as the pterosaur's jaws snapped shut on its jet-wash.
Jonah heard Naomi suck an involuntary breath.
The fighter seemed to engage with them all at once, even as flying beasts swarmed – circling asteroids with wings and teeth.
“Naomi?” Jonah began, but she was not listening. She stood breathless, oblivious to his words – oblivious even to the conflagration of giants erupting just over her shoulder, less than the length of two football fields behind.
She glanced at Jonah, her eyes wide – Jonah didn't know if it was hope or tears.
Naomi would never be able to tell him – the words would choke in her throat – but she knew that particular spin move. It was cocky.
It was just like him.
And as the fighter made its first pass overhead, she recognized the payload as well.
She knew why he was here. His target was all around them.
The infected giants. They were going to burn it all out.
“We've got to get out of here,” Naomi said.
She pushed past Jonah and reached for the keys to the sea-plane docked at the end of the pier, and pressed them firmly in Jonah's reluctant hand.
Jonah frowned but nodded.
The two of them ran for the end of the dock.
Chapter 44
Lucas made one fly-by over the ground-war below.
The exodus of the Carcharodont-led army filled in from the south through the little alleyway created by the ragged coastal highlands, funneling onto the beach.
A smaller force stood them off. The tyrannosaurs were holding ground. And even as the marching army ascended from the south, Lucas could see more of the rex-clan filling in the ranks over the ridge from the north.
For whatever reason, all the beasts in the region were congregating at once.
The General had been right – it was a big bloom, alright.
As he passed above, he could see both factions stretching for miles.
Behind him, the army of flying dragons cut his path off in every direction.
Lucas knew his mission – and he could clearly see the consequences of his failure.
And he could see that Eureka had been clearly destroyed.
The General had admonished him for holding out hope.
If she was alive, she was nowhere near here, Rhodes had said.
But what if he was wrong? What if she was down there somewhere right now, maybe even cussing him for being late – and for damn sure, cussing him for sending her to this monster-infested hell-hole.
What if she was out there right now? Maybe even looking up and seeing him, believing she was seeing the incoming cavalry?
It was doubtful – one in a million.
Just like Mrs. Naomi Walker.
The question was, could he do it anyway? Not knowing?
No one else could.
It was his duty.
Death from above.
The flying dragons had flanked him and he veered back towards the bay, but they were coming in too great of numbers.
One of the largest had locked onto his tail. It had tracked his trajectory, and was heading him off in midair. In another moment, it would be upon him.
He had to make his choice – do or die – right NOW.
Two things happened right then.
First he cooled his heart to ice – and the very same moment, it broke forever.
He begged God to forgive him.
Tears began to run from his eyes.
“Naomi...?” he choked. “Baby. Oh, God, I love you SO much.”
Lucas fired his missiles.
Half-a-moment later, the teeth crashed through the fragile metal of the cockpit.
The last thing Lucas was aware of was a sense of impact, and a blast of cold air.
Then explosion and fire.
But the missiles were away.
Chapter 45
Jonah had flown exactly one sea-plane in his life – he'd had the idea it would be good for remote lakes without landing strips. That was before he'd made his first take-off with the bogged-down pontoons off of water instead of wheels and a nice-sturdy tarmac. Landing had been even worse.
He had bought the chopper shortly thereafter.
And that had been on a nice, easy-flowing river – hardly the conditions that met them today.
Naomi wasn't even looking at him, staring back over her shoulder as the F-16 was now circling back around.
The flying beasts were hard on its tail, and seemed to be congregating to cut off any avenue of retreat.
In another few moments, they might cut off their escape as well.
“Jonah...” Naomi began.
But Jonah had the key in the ignition, lighting the rusty propellers to life and firing-up a coughing engine.
Great, Jonah thought – a jalopy.
As he pulled away from the dock, out over the water, he wondered what might be prowling from below, attracted by the vibrations of the struggling motor.
But it was far past time to worry about the unseen.
Jonah took them up to speed and hit the flaps, launching them into the air, with lurching, wounded-sparrow hops.
He had no direction – just fired them straight up the coast over the northern ridge.
Naomi twisted in her seat, looking anxiously behind.
Jonah heard a breaking sob in her throat as one of the flying beasts finally closed on the F-16.
She saw the pilot drop his payload, even as the beast's jaws snapped shut over the fragile fuselage.
She hid her eyes as the fighter exploded.
But the missiles were true.
Jonah cranked the throttle, gaining distance, even as seconds evaporated away.
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the basin disappear into light.
The mushroom cloud erupted on the horizon.
Then the blast-wave hit, and blew them out of the sky.
Chapter 46
The plane was blown sideways and Jonah could feel the wings strain, threatening to simply tear away. But instead, it was the pontoons that broke loose – first one, then the other – the abrupt back and forth of dropping ballasts jerked them nearly vertical.
Naomi was gripping her seat, her eyes squeezed shut.
Jonah had a pretty good idea who she had seen in that exploding F-16 – whether it really was or not.
Until that moment, that had been what had kept her going – a single-minded purpose.
That was over now. She was ready to die, and she didn't want to see it coming.
And that loss of faith almost did it for Jonah too.
His own focus had been getting her there. A moot point, now.
Jonah wondered what it must have been like for that fighter-pilot – just the moment before the dragons got him – staying focused – letting your last action on the mortal plane be an act of defiance – to spit past death at the Devil waiting behind.
A higher-grade model, Jonah thought.
For some reason, that set his teeth.
; Well, he decided, you just have to work with what you've got.
They were in near free-fall, riding the blast in a near-vertical launch pose. Jonah flipped the flaps, knocking them forward.
The bulky aircraft immediately threatened to spin, but Jonah pulled hard, using their own momentum to stabilize them.
It was a little like ice-skating backwards – something he hadn't done since he was a kid. You had to lean in exactly the opposite direction it felt like you needed to go.
They were ajar, off-center, but were at least leveling out.
If they could maintain altitude, Jonah was just beginning to believe he could ride it out. Naomi opened her eyes warily – but that was when the motors quit – the propellers on both wings choked and died.
Almost immediately, they began to drop towards the Earth.
Naomi moaned aloud. “Oh my God.”
Below was ocean and a narrow beach – bordered by sheer cliff.
They had no pontoons. There were no wheels. And even if they did, if they landed askew as they were coming in now, they would tumble anyway – rolling and breaking apart.
The blast wave was finally fading with distance. How far back had they left ground-zero? Ten miles? Maybe more?
Riding the blast was like back-draft in a burning building. Jonah wondered what the safe distance for radiation contamination might be – he was very doubtful this particular mission had been flown with over-much concern for collateral damage.
He struggled with the controls – they were coming in too low, too fast.
Naomi's low moan grew louder. Now her eyes were open wide – unable to look away.
“Jonah...”
At barely fifty-feet of altitude, Jonah jerked their nose straight, and as they finally touched down, he sailed them just out past the fast-approaching beach over where the rolling waves met the shore.
The beach was long and flat, extending out into the surf.
They landed not quite fifty-yards offshore. The sea-plane's concave base struck the water, like diving a boat into the rapids.
That, Jonah thought, was something he was actually good at.
For a second, he believed he was really going to pull it off.
But then the starboard wing broke off and they began to tumble anyway.
Naomi screamed aloud in his ear. Jonah finally shut his eyes, as the aircraft pitched and rolled.
The windshield smashed open and ocean water flooded in.
Three full rotations and the sea-plane at last tumbled to a stop.
They had planted nose-first into the surf, their tail sticking up like a flag.
Jonah opened his eyes. The waves rolled past – they had landed in less than three feet of water.
But they were alive.
They sat there for several minutes, as the roar of the nuclear wind faded, like the warm, charcoal-tasting after-breeze from a burning wildfire.
Then they climbed out of the wrecked sea-plane, into the surf, and made their way up to the beach.
They turned to the south where the radioactive incandescence out of the town of Eureka still shined.
The day had reached its late afternoon – and along the southward coast, a second, nuclear sun had joined Sol, and its fading glow colored the horizon.
As the minutes ticked past, the burning cinder began to fade.
Naomi sat down in the sand.
After a moment, Jonah sat down next to her.
Naomi nodded at the crashed sea-plane – pegged into the surf like a javelin.
“You know,” she said, “you really aren't a very good pilot. I've flown with you twice and you've crashed both times.”
And then abruptly, she broke down and began to cry.
It was the broken dam – the cracks Jonah had seen in that private moment he had allowed her back on the mountain, had finally given way.
This time he held her.
But the apocalypse left no allowance for grief.
Now it was the Earth itself that began to rumble beneath them.
Jonah knew in a moment that this was no impact tremor – no footstep of some approaching giant.
This was another level.
Mother Earth herself had joined the party.
Whether triggered by the blast, or perhaps just petulance or boredom, the volcanic range announced its presence beneath their feet.
With tears still drying on her cheeks, Naomi stood, looking around wide-eyed. Her voice was teary and angry – frustrated and helpless.
“What's happening!?” she screamed aloud.
Around them, rocks began to tumble down from the cliffs. The ground shook in ever-increasing tremors.
And while Jonah would never know it, his thoughts mirrored those of Doctor Rosa Holland – Earthquake: check – sun black as sackcloth: check – the moon as blood.
Had to admit, the description matched.
Jonah grabbed Naomi's hand and began to run up the beach, dragging her with him, ignoring her gasping breaths, yanking her along when she began to trip – simply fleeing blind, with no greater destination than away.
The avalanche seemed to follow right behind as the cliffside collapsed over the sand into the surf.
And somewhere in the middle, there was nothing left but to hide.
Below the highway, emptying out onto the beach, Jonah found a drainage pipe cut into the rock.
Four-feet wide – steel reinforced by concrete.
They scrambled inside, even as the rocks began to break away, tumbling down from the crumbling cliff wall.
The mouth of the pipe was quickly covered by falling debris. Jonah worried for perhaps half-a-second that their entrance would be buried – but as the tremors continued to build with each passing moment, he realized that was at best, a secondary priority.
It was already too late anyway.
They were trapped in the dark as the world destroyed itself around them.
Clinging to each other like the tiniest of mice, they hunkered down together to somehow wait it out until the end.
Chapter 47
In the wake of the blast, the rex lay on the hillside, Carcharodont-flesh still in its teeth.
The Tyrant King had finally found a power greater than itself.
It had not identified the approaching fighter-jet as a threat – but apparently Otto had, because at the sound of the war-bird's engine, the great Carcharodont that saddled them on its back, had suddenly turned and run.
The rex had no idea why – it simply saw its opponent retreat, prompting the instinctual reaction of pursuit.
And if it hadn't, the screaming caterwauling of the Ottos swarming over the retreating carnosaur's back would have been enough.
It was battery-acid on its senses – the physic poke of a needle – and in the mob of already-rampaging beasts, the warbling cry seemed to trigger a near-epileptic rage.
It was also gas on a fire – the muddying of the water – a smoke cloud to provide cover for a strategic retreat.
The big rex itself was actually staggered – the screeching pin-prick combining with its own deteriorating mental faculties induced momentary vertigo.
It blinked, refocusing on its target.
It pursued.
The Carcharodont's retreat was headlong. The rex made no connection with the F-16 flying over – nor did it give more than cursory notice when the fighter itself exploded in the jaws of one of the flying dragons, high above its head.
It paid no attention to the payload that had been released, that was even at that moment zeroing in on the battlefield behind.
All the rex knew, as it ran down the retreating Carcharodont, was that here, finally, it had caught that psychic-stench – that foulness – and would now stamp it out forever.
The big carnosaur turned to face the rex as it closed – the razor-toothed jaws spread wide.
And while a Carcharodont wasn't a bulldog like a rex, the big carnosaur's jaws were evolved to take out the largest prey animals that ever existed – a gian
t saw-blade that would cleave entire slabs of flesh off the sides of giant sauropods.
These bladed jaws slipped past the rex's charging strike, catching the tyrannosaur off-guard, slashing a long, deep wound across its torso and neck.
The rex bellowed in outrage and pain, snapping in retaliation, even as the carnosaur quickly withdrew. The Carcharodont circled, jaws agape, waiting for another opening.
For a moment, the rex staggered.
At this point, the sum total of its wounds was probably already fatal – even as its eyes glowed ever-brighter with the chemical that was already killing it.
But it was a rex, and so it stood in defiance.
And something in its posture activated a similar impulse in the Carcharodont.
The big carnosaur had fought tyrannosaurs before – T. rex was as vulnerable as a sauropod to a long, hemorrhaging bite – even more so, as the rex was much smaller. The Carcharodont had learned to treat the pugnacious tyrannosaurs no different than prey – to simply bite and retreat.
But the rex wanted to fight.
And for just a moment, in the face of the belligerent display, the Carcharodont did too. As an animal of instincts, instead of waiting for inattentive prey, it moved forward as if to attack a rival.
The big carnosaur likely never realized its mistake.
But Otto obviously did – as the monster’s jaws locked, a flood of scaly little beasts began to scatter off the big Carcharodont's back – rats deserting the ship.
The rex, however, wasn't having it.
It had the Carcharodont in its grip now, but the big carnosaur didn't quite yet realize it, feeling only its own superior weight.
But after another moment, it realized its own jaws were simply being bitten into – just a moment before the rex began to thrash back and forth, torqueing the bigger carnosaur's slender neck, twisting and snapping the vertebra, even as it bore the larger beast to the ground.
The retreating Ottos made for the brush as the still-kicking carcass collapsed.
It wasn't even close. The rex stamped them out like ants.
With single-minded precision, guided by its unfailing nose, the big tyrannosaur stomped the foliage flat, until every last one of the scaly little rats was bloody-paste, smashed into the dirt beneath its feet.
Age of Monsters Page 20