Read Online Z-Volution by David Sakmyster, Rick Chesler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Sakmyster, Rick Chesler
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young man, and confirmed the elderly woman sitting next to him.
“I’m your escort. Don’t leave my side until we land. If you deviate one inch, I’ll blow your ass out of the sky.”
“Gotcha.”
“I will be calling ahead, verifying your story with that Agent Winters, and ordering a quarantine team and a squad of soldiers to greet you. You don’t exit the plane until ordered to do so, and when you do you come out with your hands up. Both of you. Again, if you deviate…”
“Yes yes, you’ll blow us to smithereens. Got it.”
“Great. Welcome to America, kid.”
He leaned back, shut off the channel and tried to raise HQ. One last glance at the smoking wreckage of the Alabama’s control tower, then back to the freighter, continuing now unabated.
He had some really bad news to deliver, and if this was just the first wave of the attack, they had a lot to do to get ready.
9.
Fifteen minutes after the two planes left the smoking ruin of the USS Alabama , the freighter, as if remote-controlled, arced around the immense defender and its now undead crew. On the carrier, a row of zombies stood along the deck’s edge, ex-marines and others, rocking slowly as they sniffed the salty, humid wind, staring off toward the Florida coast.
The freighter continued for a few more miles, reaching within twenty miles of the shoreline where Miami glittered in the sun’s sinking rays. The ship traversed the serene waves, until the first drone aircraft zipped overhead and dropped its payload.
A second later the warhead detonated right on target—slightly off the freighter’s bow, at a sufficient distance calculated to tear apart its aft hull, shattering its engine compartment and leaving it dead it the water, where it would sink with its cargo hold exposed and visible…for the second drone which passed overhead moments later.
The Reaper drone gathered its visual data and relayed them back to Washington, then veered slightly southeast—and readied its own payload.
Two warheads, launched with inhuman precision and cold indifference.
The missiles separated and streaked toward their shared target—the center of the USS Alabama .
The silent figures stood impassively on the immense dock, uncomprehending, unaware of their fate. Just watching with dead eyes and ravenous hunger that would never be sated.
10.
Langley, Virginia
After two tense hours of reviewing evidence, scouring satellite feeds, disseminating mission information and reviewing her former debriefing with the joint chiefs, military planners and the president’s chief of staff, Veronica finally took a seat, along with the rest of the room as they watched the drone mission unfold in real time.
The smoke was still clearing from the bombing of the freighter, but on the split screen she watched with a numbness spreading throughout her body as the missiles took out one of their own—the majestic USS Alabama , sinking one the greatest assets of their own navy.
She watched in what should have been abject horror as the carrier split and the fiery halves tilted and sunk, extinguishing the billowing flames.
“Two hundred sixty lives lost,” someone said, and Veronica knew that at last they all realized the extent of the contagion, of what they were up against. Those figures on the deck…nothing remained of what they were or had ever been. Their families would be told the truth: that they had died valiantly defending the homeland, and their bodies could not be recovered.
Veronica shook her head. “I still don’t understand the enemy’s tactic,” she said, breaking the silence as she shifted her attention to the other screen and the debris field around the sinking freighter.
The Chief of Staff cleared the obviously large lump in his throat. “They got us to take out one of our own largest defenders, and opened up a path right now that we’ll need to seal in. I’d say that was pretty fucking brilliant, as far as tactics go.”
“Yes, but those
“I’m your escort. Don’t leave my side until we land. If you deviate one inch, I’ll blow your ass out of the sky.”
“Gotcha.”
“I will be calling ahead, verifying your story with that Agent Winters, and ordering a quarantine team and a squad of soldiers to greet you. You don’t exit the plane until ordered to do so, and when you do you come out with your hands up. Both of you. Again, if you deviate…”
“Yes yes, you’ll blow us to smithereens. Got it.”
“Great. Welcome to America, kid.”
He leaned back, shut off the channel and tried to raise HQ. One last glance at the smoking wreckage of the Alabama’s control tower, then back to the freighter, continuing now unabated.
He had some really bad news to deliver, and if this was just the first wave of the attack, they had a lot to do to get ready.
9.
Fifteen minutes after the two planes left the smoking ruin of the USS Alabama , the freighter, as if remote-controlled, arced around the immense defender and its now undead crew. On the carrier, a row of zombies stood along the deck’s edge, ex-marines and others, rocking slowly as they sniffed the salty, humid wind, staring off toward the Florida coast.
The freighter continued for a few more miles, reaching within twenty miles of the shoreline where Miami glittered in the sun’s sinking rays. The ship traversed the serene waves, until the first drone aircraft zipped overhead and dropped its payload.
A second later the warhead detonated right on target—slightly off the freighter’s bow, at a sufficient distance calculated to tear apart its aft hull, shattering its engine compartment and leaving it dead it the water, where it would sink with its cargo hold exposed and visible…for the second drone which passed overhead moments later.
The Reaper drone gathered its visual data and relayed them back to Washington, then veered slightly southeast—and readied its own payload.
Two warheads, launched with inhuman precision and cold indifference.
The missiles separated and streaked toward their shared target—the center of the USS Alabama .
The silent figures stood impassively on the immense dock, uncomprehending, unaware of their fate. Just watching with dead eyes and ravenous hunger that would never be sated.
10.
Langley, Virginia
After two tense hours of reviewing evidence, scouring satellite feeds, disseminating mission information and reviewing her former debriefing with the joint chiefs, military planners and the president’s chief of staff, Veronica finally took a seat, along with the rest of the room as they watched the drone mission unfold in real time.
The smoke was still clearing from the bombing of the freighter, but on the split screen she watched with a numbness spreading throughout her body as the missiles took out one of their own—the majestic USS Alabama , sinking one the greatest assets of their own navy.
She watched in what should have been abject horror as the carrier split and the fiery halves tilted and sunk, extinguishing the billowing flames.
“Two hundred sixty lives lost,” someone said, and Veronica knew that at last they all realized the extent of the contagion, of what they were up against. Those figures on the deck…nothing remained of what they were or had ever been. Their families would be told the truth: that they had died valiantly defending the homeland, and their bodies could not be recovered.
Veronica shook her head. “I still don’t understand the enemy’s tactic,” she said, breaking the silence as she shifted her attention to the other screen and the debris field around the sinking freighter.
The Chief of Staff cleared the obviously large lump in his throat. “They got us to take out one of our own largest defenders, and opened up a path right now that we’ll need to seal in. I’d say that was pretty fucking brilliant, as far as tactics go.”
“Yes, but those
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