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Authors: David Sakmyster, Rick Chesler
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vapor trails marked its erratic path, but the outcome was inexorable.
Whatever these things were, even if there were undead, they still gave off heat due to muscle activity, and the missile’s one track brain was just as hungry as its prey. Frustrated, the pterodactyl turned and snapped at the pursuing pest. Its wings were outstretched in an angelic pose and for a fleeting instant, Remington admired the creature’s tenacity and poise, but then the missile struck home, detonating in the dinosaur’s jaws, lighting up the sky in a frenetic explosion of blood, guts, fire and bone.
Suppressing a grin, Remington spun around and sought out the other target—the first monster’s mate, flapping up heedlessly toward him.
Have some more , he thought, arming the next missile. Game of chicken? It only took a second, but time seemed to slow down as he felt drawn into the thing’s ancient implacable gaze and had a moment’s wonder at what vistas it had once seen, and the long eons it had perhaps slept, waiting for this day, when it would be destroyed by a technological marvel invented epochs after its birth.
This day, this instant, Remington simultaneously launched the missile and banked upward, then accelerated.
He felt the explosion, the shockwave rocking the rear of the aircraft. He stabilized, checked the radar and saw the blip gone, even as he turned and caught a glimpse of smoking wings fluttering into the sea.
Grimly content, he flew back around, heading for the carrier, which now seemed eerily quiet.
“ Alabama , this is Cessna 1104 ,” came a new voice on his comm. “Anyone out there? We are coming in, low on fuel, and need to land soon.”
Damn it, Remington thought. Forgot about that nut job. He grabbed the radio.
“ Cessna 1104 , do not approach. I repeat, turn back . I am ordered to escort you from U.S. airspace. This is the last place you’d want to be, anyway, take my word.”
“Please,” came the response. “I’m carrying an elderly passenger, and we don’t have fuel enough to make anything but the Florida coast. Unless I can try to land on the Alabama.”
“That’s a big fucking negative,” Remington shouted into the mic, executing another flyby. He saw no activity, just bloodstains and one grouping of those human types who appeared to be feasting on a body. Where were all the others? Inside already?
His heart sunk. Then it was already too late.
Thinking of all his comrades, his friends for the past tour or more, some of them, he could almost hear the screams of terror and pain from below.
The transceiver crackled again. “Did you just shoot down a pterodactyl?”
“Yeah, two of ‘em, and…listen, you might want to turn back unless you want the next one of those birds to crash into you.” He could see the Cessna now, flying low, heading over the cargo ship—that silent interloper—and approaching the carrier.
“Sorry, I can’t, and by the looks of things, the Alabama isn’t a viable return for you either.”
“What do you know about it?”
“More than you would believe. If the zombies are already on board, then the ship is lost, the men already turned.”
Zombies.
“Jesus. Zombies?”
“You believe me, don’t you? You’ve seen it.”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Alex Ramirez. Radio ahead to D.C., or whoever you can get on the line. I need to land, I can help, but I need to be on the deck. Ask for CIA Agent Veronica Winters. She can confirm all this.”
Remington flew under the Cessna, then up and around again, leveling off and doing a pass over the cargo ship.
He checked his missiles. Shit. None left, or I’d take out that freighter, orders or not. He scanned the deck and saw nothing; it looked for all intents and purposes like a ship on autopilot, aiming for a path around the Alabama .
“Goddamn it. All right.” He ascended and caught up to the Cessna, then slowed to keep pace, leveling and looking to his right, into the cockpit where he could see the
Whatever these things were, even if there were undead, they still gave off heat due to muscle activity, and the missile’s one track brain was just as hungry as its prey. Frustrated, the pterodactyl turned and snapped at the pursuing pest. Its wings were outstretched in an angelic pose and for a fleeting instant, Remington admired the creature’s tenacity and poise, but then the missile struck home, detonating in the dinosaur’s jaws, lighting up the sky in a frenetic explosion of blood, guts, fire and bone.
Suppressing a grin, Remington spun around and sought out the other target—the first monster’s mate, flapping up heedlessly toward him.
Have some more , he thought, arming the next missile. Game of chicken? It only took a second, but time seemed to slow down as he felt drawn into the thing’s ancient implacable gaze and had a moment’s wonder at what vistas it had once seen, and the long eons it had perhaps slept, waiting for this day, when it would be destroyed by a technological marvel invented epochs after its birth.
This day, this instant, Remington simultaneously launched the missile and banked upward, then accelerated.
He felt the explosion, the shockwave rocking the rear of the aircraft. He stabilized, checked the radar and saw the blip gone, even as he turned and caught a glimpse of smoking wings fluttering into the sea.
Grimly content, he flew back around, heading for the carrier, which now seemed eerily quiet.
“ Alabama , this is Cessna 1104 ,” came a new voice on his comm. “Anyone out there? We are coming in, low on fuel, and need to land soon.”
Damn it, Remington thought. Forgot about that nut job. He grabbed the radio.
“ Cessna 1104 , do not approach. I repeat, turn back . I am ordered to escort you from U.S. airspace. This is the last place you’d want to be, anyway, take my word.”
“Please,” came the response. “I’m carrying an elderly passenger, and we don’t have fuel enough to make anything but the Florida coast. Unless I can try to land on the Alabama.”
“That’s a big fucking negative,” Remington shouted into the mic, executing another flyby. He saw no activity, just bloodstains and one grouping of those human types who appeared to be feasting on a body. Where were all the others? Inside already?
His heart sunk. Then it was already too late.
Thinking of all his comrades, his friends for the past tour or more, some of them, he could almost hear the screams of terror and pain from below.
The transceiver crackled again. “Did you just shoot down a pterodactyl?”
“Yeah, two of ‘em, and…listen, you might want to turn back unless you want the next one of those birds to crash into you.” He could see the Cessna now, flying low, heading over the cargo ship—that silent interloper—and approaching the carrier.
“Sorry, I can’t, and by the looks of things, the Alabama isn’t a viable return for you either.”
“What do you know about it?”
“More than you would believe. If the zombies are already on board, then the ship is lost, the men already turned.”
Zombies.
“Jesus. Zombies?”
“You believe me, don’t you? You’ve seen it.”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Alex Ramirez. Radio ahead to D.C., or whoever you can get on the line. I need to land, I can help, but I need to be on the deck. Ask for CIA Agent Veronica Winters. She can confirm all this.”
Remington flew under the Cessna, then up and around again, leveling off and doing a pass over the cargo ship.
He checked his missiles. Shit. None left, or I’d take out that freighter, orders or not. He scanned the deck and saw nothing; it looked for all intents and purposes like a ship on autopilot, aiming for a path around the Alabama .
“Goddamn it. All right.” He ascended and caught up to the Cessna, then slowed to keep pace, leveling and looking to his right, into the cockpit where he could see the
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