"What's the situation?"

"Captain, there's nothing wrong with your periscope . . . those are mobs of creatures on the sh.o.r.eline. It might look like static to those of you not fortunate enough to have twenty-fifteen vision. Looks like thousands of them."

"How could they know we're here?! We came in at the dead of night on a G.o.dd.a.m.ned fast-attack nuclear submarine!" the captain said angrily, addressing the whole conn.

"Captain, I don't think they did."

"Then how can this be?"

Kil stepped up to the grease board and began to ill.u.s.trate.

"Captain, this is a rough representation of Oahu. Although not quite a circle, it is obviously an island. To understand why the dead are on the North Sh.o.r.e is to understand why they move, and the rudimentary way in which they think-so to speak. I, of course, don't mean they think in the same way we do, but in the way one of those automatic robot vacuum cleaners might move, or perhaps a child's toy. Do any of you know the term diaspora?

One of the sailors raised his hand and said, "I'm Jewish-I've read about it."

"Well, then you'll likely know what I'm getting at. In all my travels in and across undead-infested areas, I have learned their priority of movement. The number one influence to undead migration is sound. The number two is visual stimulus from something they identify as alive. If sound is not present, I think they may spread in much the same way as a good break in a game of pool: outward."

The captain had the appearance of a student in a college cla.s.sroom, suddenly interested in the subject matter being presented. "Are you saying that the dead have spread to the sh.o.r.e all the way around?"

"With Oahu being a relatively small landma.s.s with a relatively large population per square mile comparatively, I think what we see on the North Sh.o.r.e is not an anomaly. I'd be willing to bet that if we steamed around the entire island, we'd see creatures on every open beach. They have spread out as far as they can go. There may be inland pockets but the majority of the undead, based on what we've seen, are likely spread out around the edge of the island. Strange that they're not in hibernation like many I've come across, but it could be that the sounds of the waves are keeping them moving."

"All right, Commander, if what you hypothesize is true, what are your tactical a.s.sessments for the incursion?"

Kil answered without much hesitation. "If the SOF team can punch through this belt of undead, they may experience a lighter density as they move closer to the center of the island. This of course a.s.sumes they don't gather too much attention on their way in."

"You're starting to earn your place around here instead of just taking up good bunk s.p.a.ce and drinking our coffee."

The crew in the conn murmured a few laughs again at the captain's humor.

"Yes, sir, I've already started my submarine qualification. Looks like I'll earn my dolphins before we get back to CONUS."

The captain nearly spit out his coffee. "Like h.e.l.l!"

Kil suspected that his respectful banter with the captain might be good for crew morale. The submarine had no executive officer, and the old man had his hands full cracking the whip and managing the health and welfare of his crew.

"COB, order the Scan Eagle crew to unpack their gear and get ready for UAV launch at sunup tomorrow. We'll get a look for ourselves."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Kil took another look through the periscope and adjusted the focus. There was no doubt: the North Sh.o.r.e crawled with creatures forming a dense barrier of death. It reminded him of playing Red Rover as a child.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send the warm bloods right over, he imagined the creatures saying with raspy dead voices while he watched them mill about on the beach.

31.

Arctic North Crusow sat shaking from the blood-freezing cold he had endured at the bottom of the gulch-the place where Bret had met his fate a few hours earlier. Crusow wore insulated long johns while he sipped hot tea. Mark and Kung sat beside him. Larry stared from across the metal research table, wearing a face mask to protect the others from the serious illness he continued to endure. Everyone heard Larry's labored breathing; his lungs sounded as if they were full of rocks.

Coughing violently, he flamed at Crusow. "What the f.u.c.k happened? Were you settling a score down there?"

"No. Why don't you simmer down a minute before you get yourself worked up-it'll just make you worse off than you already are. We can all see the shape you're in."

Larry slammed both fists on the table, leaning over into Crusow's face. Larry was a tough read, as the mask concealed everything but his cold, bloodshot eyes. "I was there when Bret said those things about your wife. I saw how p.i.s.sed you got. You sure some of that didn't come out down there at the bottom?"

"Larry, my wife is gone. And yeah, I hated Bret because he's a military a.s.shole, just like you're a military a.s.shole. That doesn't mean I'd murder him like an animal, no matter what he said about Trish."

Larry leaned back and sat down on the cold bench. Although his face was mostly hidden, everyone noticed him slowly spinning down from his rage over Bret's unexpected death. He's probably delirious, Crusow thought.

"Larry, we're not military like you. I know you guys don't talk much about yourselves, and none of us really know why you are really up here anyway, but I think you're still human despite all that training. For example, if you were a selfish p.r.i.c.k like Bret, you wouldn't be wearing that mask."

Larry adjusted his mask, tightening the straps. "Well, if we lose your sorry a.s.s, we're all dead anyway."

Mark jumped in to defuse the situation. "Larry, that's the most I've ever heard you talk to anybody here, except your military buddies. They're all gone now, pal, so you're going to have to start opening up some if you want to work together."

Even though none of them could see Larry's face, his eyes acknowledged that Mark was onto something.

"What were you guys looking for out there before all this s.h.i.t happened?" Mark asked.

Larry looked down at his hands, tracking them as they reached for the teacup. "Ice cores. We were drilling G.o.dd.a.m.ned ice cores. We have a rig set up a few klicks southwest."

"What's so d.a.m.n Secret Squirrel about that?"

"I haven't spoken about this to anyone because I signed an agreement that would put me in prison if I did," Larry said, coughing heavily into his mask. "Remember back before all this s.h.i.t, some a.s.shole on that watchdog site leaked those government doc.u.ments? He got his, but not before the economy started coming apart. I don't know exactly why we were drilling for the cores, but I do know a few things. I suppose since I've confirmed that the whole world is f.u.c.ked, there is no reason why I can't talk." Larry was pale, looking as if he might need an IV bag, and twenty hours in his bunk.

"So what the h.e.l.l are you waiting for? Go on," said Mark.

"Me, Bret, and the others weren't told much, just that there might be something of national security interest in the ice. Not just anywhere though." Larry hesitated for a moment, standing up and limping to the other side of the room to remove his mask and take a sip of tea.

He put his mask firmly back in place and walked back to the table. "Me and the other military folks were here for security and to make sure there were no leaks if we found something strange down here. We were told to expect anything. We were also informed that the core drillers were ordered to take the bit down twenty thousand years into the ice.

"Our chain-of-command was pretty specific. They wanted the ice from twenty thousand years back. Give or take a few hundred. The orders came down from the White House NSC, directly from the intelligence community. Apparently they were searching for something there right before all this s.h.i.t went down. I got nothing linking any of this together, but me and the other cleared people suspected there was some sort of link. The timing was too suspicious. Half of this facility's military and civilian crew jumped ship last spring. I think a few of them knew more about all this than I did. That's all I know."

"d.a.m.n," Crusow said, spitting a stale sunflower seed sh.e.l.l into an empty Solo cup. "You don't think that something out of that ice did this?"

"I don't see how-the world was crawling with undead and we didn't drill anything out of that ice but a few core samples. We didn't have time, everything happened so quickly. Those useless cores are locked in that shipping container, ready for transport. That'll never happen. I'm not saying that anything we were after caused all this s.h.i.t, I'm just saying that the timing is strange. I've never seen orders like this." Larry's cough was getting worse.

"You sound bad, like cat with hairball," Kung remarked. "Get rest. I take you."

Larry nodded in agreement. Kung led him back to his quarters and made sure he was settled in as Crusow and Mark finished up the conversation.

"What about this ship business?" asked Crusow.

"Well, while we were pulling up those bodies, Larry was monitoring the shortwave and wrote down a request received from the ship. They want us to help them relay information to one of their boats on a rescue mission in the Pacific."

"That's good for us, Mark. I think we should play ball. They're the only lifeline we've been able to reach. They may be the only game in town with the effective transmit power to reach us all the way up here."

"Yeah, I was thinkin' the same thing. They'll be pa.s.sing us another frequency schedule next comms cycle, and the relays could start soon," Mark said.

"This is good news all around, man. If the navy is running rescue operations, that means the whole world isn't totally gone."

Mark came back with his standard negativity. "No, not the whole world-just us poor f.u.c.ks trapped well inside the Arctic circle and in darkness."

"I can always count on you, Mark. Keep it up, and I'll nominate you to help me with the corpse fuel."

"f.u.c.k that noise."

"Hey, it's either you or Kung."

"Kung will do it. He's lucky he's not part of a Bodies exhibit somewhere anyway, being as where he's from."

"d.a.m.n, that was bad even for you."

"I try."

One kilometer off the north sh.o.r.e of Oahu The final planning phase is underway. The target is over nine miles inland and roughly south. Saien and I will be standing by to support via the SOF team voice net. We should at least be able to provide some insight even though we're stuck back here in the rear with the gear. Knowing what I know about the creatures, I do not envy those men. They are going in at night but because of the distance this will likely be a two-day round trip. Another factor is the radiation. Before they head out, I'll formally introduce myself and brief them on the radiated creatures-if they'll listen. They haven't spoken ten words to me or Saien since we arrived on the helicopter.

As a former radioman, I have found my way into the radio shack and also back into the groove of setting up rudimentary radio networks. They are very understaffed in the shack so it wasn't hard to convince the acting COMMO, a LTJG, that my help might be needed. We had the HF circuit up in no time and were communicating with a station I hadn't expected to be a functioning relay.

An Arctic outpost, a man named Crusow, was providing a.s.sistance in the form of comms relay from the carrier to our boat. The carrier had not been lucky with direct communication and the outpost to the far north seemed happy to provide a.s.sistance. Aside from the normal communications that I expected relayed from the carrier (general operating area, etc.), I also received some personal communication from John. He'd asked to start a chess game and offered his first move over the relay. I wrote the move down and will set up the game board and send my move out with the next transmission. It's good to hear from home.

32.

North Sh.o.r.e of Oahu "COB, sun?" asked La.r.s.en.

"Low on the horizon, sir, won't be long now," Master Chief Rowe replied.

"Very well, bring us up."

The USS Virginia quickly surfaced, half a nautical mile from the beautiful Hawaiian beaches of the Oahu North Sh.o.r.e. There was no question about the situation on the sh.o.r.e from this distance.

The hatch was opened, allowing the sea air to rush in. The Hawaiian undead were now more than an image on the boat's sensors. Their moans traveled the distance, fighting through the surf to the ears of the crew. The submarine seemed to amplify the noise like a soup can on the other end of a piece of string.

The sound was beyond unsettling.

"Shut it, shut the d.a.m.n thing!" a sailor yelled, holding his hands over his ears.

"You secure that mouth!" La.r.s.en barked.

The moans were unrelenting. Kil and the captain climbed up the ladder, through the sail, into the sea air above. They used binoculars to survey the situation, taking advantage of the last remaining rays of light shooting in from the west.

"Think they know we're here?" asked La.r.s.en.

"Probably. They can see-I don't know how well, but they can. That's probably not what gave us away though. They can hear pretty d.a.m.n well, don't ask me how I know. I imagine that we made some noise surfacing, right?" Kil said.

"Not much, but some."

"Pa.s.s those over please," Kil said, reaching for the binoculars.

Kil scanned the beach slowly, watching the creatures. Although not funny at the moment, if he concentrated long enough and squinted a little he thought he might be able to see a few Hawaiian shirts in the crowd. Suppressing a laugh, he pa.s.sed the binoculars back to La.r.s.en.

"Well, as a consultant I am counting on you to actually consult," La.r.s.en jabbed.

"Captain, I've expressed my position. It's about ten miles in a straight line to the cave entrance, a few hours at the facility for setup, and ten miles back. There is no way that I can tell you that a twenty-mile round trip to secure an underground facility that may not help the mission is worth the potential loss. The Virginia has sensors that can provide what we need."

La.r.s.en weighed that for a moment, and said, "Wheeler Air Base and Kunia are not what I consider near the coast. You said yourself that those things might spread out away from the center of the island, with more of them congregating along the beaches."

"Might," said Kil. "If I'm wrong, then our SOF team might have their hands full with a few thousand radiated creatures. I have been wrong before."

"Noted."

"Were you briefed on exactly how many nukes slammed down here nearly a year ago?"

"The reports say one. Air burst over Honolulu. Fallout should be moderate. Because of today's sea state we were unable to surface and launch the Scan Eagles. We'll launch the IR-capable bird tonight when the team reaches sh.o.r.e."

"I'm going out on a limb and a.s.suming that they will be wearing suits, right?"

"Correct. They'll also be wearing dosimeters and checking their exposure regularly. The nuke detonated on the south side about thirty miles southeast of here, over city center at five hundred feet. The wind likely scattered most of the radiation eastward, out to sea."

"The EMP from that air burst is going to make it tough trying to secure transportation. Might have fried some car electronics," Kil said.

"You are a negative son of a b.i.t.c.h, Kil."

"Maybe, but I survived on the United States mainland for nearly a year while you were sitting safe on this boat."

"I'll give you that," said La.r.s.en.

"I don't want anything given, Captain-I ask for no quarter and I give none."

The four-man team stood on the rocking deck of the surfaced submarine, looking out over the moonlit Hawaiian waters. The waves were typically higher this time of year; they were fortunate that the night's sea state was manageable. Also on deck was the UAV crew setting up the equipment for launch.

Rex, Huck, Griff, and Rico were their names. Not their real ones per se, but some military customs never went away, even during Armageddon. Names didn't matter much these days, and even so, they'd still hail each other by their call signs.