Possibilities of viral origin: 90.3% Possibilities of other origin: 9.7% **Error of +/- 2.4%** lack of data input.

Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N - INPUT US population: 320,520,068 INPUT infection Rate: 100% OUTPUT based on infrastructure conditions, national supply inventories and archived weather data.

Possibility of undead majority within thirty days: 100% Possibility of undead majority within fifteen days: 94.3% Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N - INPUT US population by city

top fifty INPUT interrogative: How many cities in order of high population will need to be destroyed to hold undead minority at day thirty?

OUTPUT based on 55.2% conversion day twenty.

Cities destroyed to maintain undead minority at day thirty: 276 OUTPUT based on undead density in vicinity of city center and accurate deployment of thermonuclear weapon(s).

Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N G.o.d had his calculations-the quantums were never wrong. Every time they went against the automated output, it bit them in the a.s.s, hard. Even in situations when dissenting against the quantums seemed the only viable choice, time eventually proved the computer's AI prescience. At the first decade of the twenty-first century, the quantums advised against going to war with Iraq, and later, warned against any stimulus injection into the collapsing economy.

The twin b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were tied into the Internet, SIPr, JWICS, VORTEX, NSAnet, and every foreign network on Earth, even if brute force decryption on the fly was required. They crawled information in real time and could make frightening a.s.sessments on problems that no one knew existed. The quantums even tied into the RF spectrum, a.n.a.lyzing cellular and other radio traffic. They were designed to understand human speech and output based on normal speaking syntax. It was rumored by some inside Remote Six that the two quantums working in tandem might accurately predict the future out to six months by crawling the various nodes, connecting key subconscious phrases in high numbers of Internet user text input.

Another report would soon arrive on G.o.d's desk, subject line Horizon. Oh, yes, G.o.d knew everything about this little skeleton. His directorate had been in contact with the Mingyong scientists via encrypted correspondence. All Horizon Program intelligence would later be a.n.a.lyzed and a.s.similated into the quantums despite the best efforts of Chinese Central Military Commission cyber-defense agents. Not now, though. He had cities to destroy, by proxy.

One klick off Hawaii It's go time. The special operations team just departed. The Scan Eagle UAVs are airborne, and Saien and I are monitoring the IR feed. Although gyro stabilized, the picture isn't even close to the quality of Predator. The upside is that these little UAVs can be launched from the deck of a submarine with little maintenance and fuel required to keep them running.

I received a relay from Tara earlier today with some updates regarding the goings-on onboard the ship. She was also nice enough to send John's chess moves along with her message.

I love her, and I realize it now more than ever. I wish I could get over whatever it is that keeps me from expressing it more outwardly, even on this piece of paper.

Being away this long only magnifies my feelings, as there is a gaping hole in my chest where I left a piece of myself back on the carrier. I will be doing everything I can to make it back in one uninfected piece so that I may hold her again.

Although I'm not typically the emotional type, seeing those men leave for the mainland made me feel for them. They might not be as lucky as I've been. I almost feel guilty, as if there is a finite amount of luck in the world, and I used it all up. To clear my mind, I'm going to sneak back to my quarters and enter John's chess move and strategize my next move until I'm needed. His most recent chess move looks strange. I'll have to try and figure out what John meant. In his other moves he would send something like: John to Kil: K to 3C His latest move was a series of combinations that looked like: John to Kil: W&I p34 w34 BT p34 w55-and the combination goes on for quite some length.

I'll need to spend some time looking at the board to see what he meant. He sent too many combinations to be only one chess move. Maybe something was garbled.

Maximum pull-ups: 10 Push-ups: 90 1.5 mile treadmill run: 10:58 Ninety thousand feet over Chinese airs.p.a.ce High above the Earth, a triangle-shaped aircraft was moving at Mach 6, its sensors tuned to the situation on the ground in the People's Republic of China.

"This is Deep Sea checking on station, Bohai, over."

The transmission sounded mechanical and m.u.f.fled as the pilot spoke into his oxygen mask.

"Say angels, Deep Sea."

"Deep Sea is angels ninety, Mach six point one."

"Roger that, Deep Sea, moving a little slow today. How's the view?"

"Cameras are slewed, no changes since last mission. About twenty percent of Beijing is still on fire, no sign of unconventional detonation in sensor range. She's still intact, Home Base."

"Roger that, think you'll have time to make a Moscow run today, Deep Sea?"

"Home Base, that's thirty-two hundred nautical miles as the crow flies. I can be there in thirty-eight minutes. Priority one?"

"No, Deep Sea, not pri one at this time."

"Roger Home Base, I'll stay on COG pri one tasking here."

"Understood, Deep Sea, just seeing if you had the time."

The black aircraft continued its hypersonic patrol of the Bohai regions of China. The pilot pointed the multispectral camera at Tiananmen Square for optic calibration and began to switch from electro optic to thermal. The hundreds of thousands of moving and walking undead registered cold. The pilot then began to enter the pa.s.skey on his multi-function display to access the coordinates of the facility-a place known by the pilot to hold something deep in its bowels so cla.s.sified that the mere unauthorized knowledge could get him killed-even pre-anomaly.

Soon, perhaps in a week, Task Force Hourgla.s.s would be entering the Bohai, and subsequently Chinese waters. The pilot would be tasked with one final priority, one mission in this area during the incursion, in support of Hourgla.s.s. After that it wouldn't be safe, considering what he knew might be planned for their exfiltration.

Continuing on its reconnaissance track, the bird took thousands of digital photographs and high-resolution video that would be a.n.a.lyzed and transferred to the remaining COG. That in turn would be trickled down through military leadership to Joint Task Force Hourgla.s.s for mission planning. Knowledge of this aircraft's existence and even its capabilities was buried away inside its multi-trillion-dollar black-budgeted special-access program, from a time when government acronyms and codenames mattered.

34.

USS George Washington Dr. Dennis Bricker wiped the sweat from his face with his smock, adding another st.i.tch to the child's elbow. Jan a.s.sisted, as she knew the patient well.

"Danny, you need to be more careful. The ship is a dangerous place. You could have just as easily split your head open."

Danny wouldn't meet Jan's eyes. Jan had become an aunt to him during their months of survival together at Hotel 23. "I'm sorry, Ms. Jan. I was just havin' fun and playin' zombie."

"Playing what? Why would you do that?" Jan asked as Dr. Bricker looped another st.i.tch, causing Danny to wince in pain.

"Ouch!" Danny jerked a little. "Well, we play it because it's fun. Makes my friends not as scared at night." Bricker listened, a.n.a.lyzing Danny's words and mannerisms.

"Scared of what, Danny?"

"Scared of the zombies on the ship."

"Danny, honey . . . look, they're not here. They're far away, on sh.o.r.e."

Bricker looped the last st.i.tch and said, "Okay, young man, we're all done. I don't want to see you down here for st.i.tches again; we're almost out of thread and I'll be using staples on you next time. Got it?"

Danny's eyes widened at the thought.

"Thanks, Dr. Bricker. Thanks, Ms. Jan. Can I leave now?"

"Yes, honey, we're all done," Jan said rea.s.suringly.

Danny hopped off the table and pulled his T-shirt back over his head before walking out the door. The rhythm of his feet indicated he was running as soon as the door closed.

"He'll be back," Bricker predicted.

Jan sighed. "Yes, I know."

"You know, Jan, that's not the first talk I've heard of those things aboard. This ship is over a thousand feet long, over two hundred and fifty feet wide, and goes nearly seven stories underwater. Lots of room. There are places I've never even seen."

"You don't seriously believe that the military is keeping them here? For what purpose?"

Bricker removed his face shield and gla.s.ses, looking over at Jan. "Every now and again, before you arrived, I received strange requests to do abnormal things, and then shut up about them. You've been here working for me long enough so I don't feel remiss in telling you. Every once in a while, one of the crew might bring brain samples down and ask me to a.n.a.lyze them. I have some of the samples in storage. I told them I had destroyed them, post-a.n.a.lysis. I can't do much beyond normal cellular study as we're not equipped with a transmission electron microscope, but we're working on that. They only ordered a cursory medical examination, but I completed tests beyond that."

Jan slid off her stainless metal stool and stood up. "Like what?"

"Well, for one, I used the medical Geiger. The brain material registered significant spikes of radiation. Not enough to harm anyone, as the brain sample was too small, but it was enough to let me know a few things. Enough to let me know that the piece of brain was a part of a frontal lobe that likely belonged to one of those creatures. Not the ones that move like a sloth-one of the radiated. The most alarming thing was that no one had conducted a mainland reconnaissance or salvage operation in the two weeks prior to me receiving the sample. It was very cold when I took possession-refrigerated. Much cooler than room temperature; I remember doc.u.menting that."

"Well, what do we do?"

"Nothing, Jan. We do nothing and go on about our business. There's no point in rocking the boat."

Disgusted, Jan walked out of the infirmary without taking off her lab coat or saying good-bye.

Bricker shouted down the pa.s.sageway, "Jan, that's between us. Okay?"

Jan thought for a moment that she might put up her hand and flip Bricker the bird on the way, but her better judgment told her that wouldn't help anything either way.

35.

Task Force Hourgla.s.s-Hawaii The RHIB hit the Oahu sand at twenty knots, jarring the operators from their positions...o...b..ard the small craft. Rico wiped the water spray from his hood and NODs and took the shot. Other suppressed carbines followed. Shooting accurately proved difficult through the hood's distorted view, but the undead didn't know the difference, dropping to the sand, surf washing over them.

They fought inland, using darkness to avoid many of the creatures. They used weapon-mounted IR lasers to designate targets, avoiding the engagement of the same creature twice. The men systematically killed in teams. Commie reloaded magazines when he could.

Slogging inland, they saw the wreckage of a large sailboat sitting in their path, the victim of a tsunami or rogue wave. Badly decomposed creatures hung from doors, hatches, and torn sail rigging. They still moved.

The UAV above their heads reported that there were no hordes in wait behind the boat, but the concentration of undead remained high. Not quite as Gucci as Predator, but it would have to do. Even if they did have Predator, it required ma.s.sive manpower and a full-up airfield for launch and recovery-not something they enjoyed on the stern yardage of a fast-attack nuclear submarine. The Scan Eagle flew low, and the men could hear the comforting hum of the small engine. So could the undead.

Griff called out the heading: "One-five-one degrees to target. Nine miles."

"Roger that, Griff, keep us on track line," Rex said.

Another transmission keyed in-Kil's voice came through. "Scan Eagle has you one mile inland. High density for another two miles until you break through the creature belt. We see only four glint tabs. Anyone have glint covered up?"

Rex stopped the group, forcing an instinctive defensive formation where all operators faced outward, backs to one another, protecting their high-value a.s.set: Commie. "Okay, guys, you heard the boat. Check your glint. They need to see us to mark the threat."

All five men hit their IR weapon lights, and green light filled their NODs. They looked for a one-by-one-inch piece of IR reflective tape that each wore to indicate their positions to the UAV orbiting above.

"s.h.i.t, man, it was me. Sorry." Huck ripped the velcro American flag patch off his protective suit sleeve, revealing the glint tab beneath.

"Karma for being a p.r.i.c.k, man," Rico replied, never missing a chance to put Huck in his place.

"Virginia, how many do you see now?" Rex asked over the radio.

"That's it, I see all five now, break."

"Be advised, recommend you move heading one-eight-zero for a klick. Ma.s.sive group up ahead at one-five-zero, three hundred meters your position."

"Roger, avoiding," Rex replied.

The men adjusted their course farther to the south to steer clear of the ma.s.s of undead. Rex looked down to the portable radiation sensor on his belt. The levels were high, but not outside the protection capabilities of their suits. Kunia was less than nine miles inland and, according to the blast modeling, should be within radiation survivability parameters as long as suit integrity held.

Hopefully.

"Tangoes thirty meters, engaging," Rico said to the others. Rex shot a round, dispatching an undead child. He forced this fragment of horror out of his head to kill the next in line.

Click.

G.o.dd.a.m.ned double feed, he thought. Rex dropped the mag, yanking the bolt back, and jammed his fingers inside the magazine well. He fumbled with his radiation gloves for a bit before the two dented rounds fell from the weapon to the ground. Rex slammed in another magazine right before Rico blasted, spraying radioactive fragments of flesh over the face of Rex's hood. Rex pa.s.sed Rico a nod as he wiped the material from his mask. Better to be filthy and alive.

The ammunition weight alone in their packs was staggering, but lessened by the minute as they engaged viciously and broke contact. The theme was rinsed and repeated most of the night. They slogged over the hilly, warm Hawaiian terrain for hours-killing when they had to, evading most other times.

Not wanting to risk a suit breach, they were careful not to touch their rifles' front sight posts; the barrels were blazing hot when they punched through the two-mile belt of undead that circled the island.

At midnight, they reached the home stretch of the nearly ten-mile march to the tunnel facility. Only the speed and maneuverability of their short, suppressed carbines and the security of the night saved them from being torn apart. The UAV support also saved their lives half a dozen times along the way. Rex marveled at the speed and ferocity of the creatures, flinching at every sprint attack attempted against the team. Weary with fatigue and sweating inside their exposure suits, they finally arrived at Kunia.

The tunnel parking lot was as packed as any typical workday, another lost relic of a dead world. The dusty cars sat unevenly on the paved parking surface. Some of them had burned down to the ground long ago, the intense heat melting paint and rubber and cracking the gla.s.s on nearby cars. The parking area was fairly clear of undead, except for a few stragglers that wandered around the steps leading up to the cave.

The team formed up near one of the boulders that marked the parking boundaries, preparing to make an a.s.sault on the tunnel.

"Okay, Commie, go over it again," Rex demanded.

"Yes, sir. Those doors at the top of the stairs there lead to a one-quarter-mile tunnel that goes under that hill there. At the end of the tunnel, there are sets of turnstiles to the right. We'll need a way to get through those; they are full-body revolving doors. If the place were still under power, my IC badge would get us through. After we make it through the turnstiles, the generators are right up from the target. Bottom line: quarter mile into the tunnel, take a right, take a left. The place we need is on the left. Generators are farther down on the right."

They consulted their hand-drawn maps and compared target locations. They all had laminated copies provided to them on-board the Virginia. A suppressed shot interrupted the silence-it was Commie.

A creature hit the parking lot with a thump a few meters away behind a parked car.

The radio crackled with the Virginia crypto sync tone: "Hourgla.s.s, be advised, we see movement outside the gates. Small flow of creatures, strength fifty, stirring. I'll let you know if they become a factor. Check in before you enter the tunnel, we'll be lost comms while you're inside."

"Roger that, Virginia," Rex replied. "Commie, we're gonna move on the tunnel right now. Stay between us, and for Christ's sake don't die. La.r.s.en will crush us all if you do."

"Aye, sir."

The men moved to the long staircase that led up to the guard shack. Bodies littered the steps on the way up, some of them still writhing about, disabled. The Geiger was giving a low audible alarm. The stairs were covered with metal roofing, likely absorbing large amounts of radiation in the Honolulu blast event. The five ran quickly up the stairs to escape the radioactivity cooking their suits.

Reaching the top, Commie pointed over a few meters to a small building in front of the tunnel doors. "That's the guard shack."

An undead sentry stood inside with an a.s.sault rifle still slung across its chest. Its lips had long since rotted away from its mouth. It seemed to grin at the men through the ballistic gla.s.s, but it was only an illusion; the creature could see nothing and had no hint of their presence. They could barely see the thing through the layer of death sludge caked on the guard-shack window. The Hawaiian heat had been slow-cooking the creature over the months.

Commie looked through the gla.s.s and said quietly, "Visitor IC badges. A whole stack of them in the corner over there. The visitor badges had full access and I doubt they changed the four-digit visitor codes. I had to escort VIPs inside this facility-senators, generals, admirals, everyone. You'd be surprised at how many couldn't work the security doors and just gave me their visitor codes and badges so that I could badge them in and out. The even badges use codes 1952 and the odd badges use codes 1949. The power is no doubt off inside but we may need a couple of them for when we restore limited power, if only to prop some of the security doors open."