The screeching of banshees filled the crisp, night air, the wails of the undead bouncing through the mountain range as the horde of walking corpses, moving like an enormous tidal wave, marched toward the farmstead. The corpses had once been all manner of creature, man, woman, Sangheili and Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar and Unggoy, all having fallen to the horde.
The larger bipeds walked with unsteady gaits, broken legs being forced to move them along, with sensory tendrils sticking out of broken necks or chest cavities. The smaller creatures shuffled along with huge, bloated backs, all toward the farm, ready to pop and release more of their infectious brethren.
Jerome looked out at the Flood through a set of binoculars.
"I see them, roughly north-northeast of my position." He spoke into a radio. "Initiate airstrike, high-yield ammunition. This is gonna be danger close."
The distant thundering of what sounded like artillery hit his ears, before thunderbolts of explosive shells descended from the air, impacting and exploding in the Flood's tidal wave of corpses, erupting with so much explosive power, it could set off forest fires. The explosion consumed them, and-
"Bullshit!" Douglas called Jerome out, sitting across from him at the table.
No, the seventy-seven were not defending their farm against a horde of zombies. Rather, they were discussing defending their farm against a horde of zombies.
Why? Man, I don't know, kids will talk about anything cause they're bored, soldiers will talk about anything cause they're bored, so by that logic kid soldiers should be EXTRA willing to talk about anything if they're bored.
"No, it's brilliant!" Jerome replied.
"There're a few major flaws with your zombie plan," Douglas pointed out, "Problem one: How the hell are we supposed to get artillery guns and shells for them all the way out here? Second: Even if we could, those things take forever to operate, so we'd either be wasting ammo on a horde too thin to be really advantageous, or too thick for us to break up! Third: If the horde gets too close, we can't fire the guns effectively! And four: They're zombies! Fire's not going to stop them from moving, so at that point you have zombies that're on fire and trying to eat you."
"Look," Jerome leaned forward, gesturing, "The way I see it, any 'zombies' that come for us are going to be some form of virus or parasitic organism, one that hijacks the nervous system of the host, or just makes you feral, you know, kind of like rabies back when that was a thing that killed people, not actual shambling corpses. Airstrikes and guns, therefore: Damn effective!"
Douglas shook his head. "That's assuming you can get ammo. All the major supply chains will start breaking down due to quarantine efforts or by everyone blocking their paths."
"Airdrops." Jerome snapped his fingers, pointing.
"Any production facility is going to be a hotspot for transmission!" Douglas refuted.
"Okay then, brainiac, you still haven't told me what your perfect zombie plan is." Jerome huffed.
"Easy," Douglas leaned back, "Go to ground in a cold environment. Arctic if I need to."
"That's a terrible plan!" Jerome replied. "It won't work for the same reasons mine won't-"
"Actually, it will." Douglas pointed vehemently. "If the zombies we're dealing with are legitimately just shambling corpses, then the cold will freeze them due to lack of body heat. If it's a parasitic organism that turns them feral, like you think, then they won't have enough of their faculties to warm up and die of exposure. I go up into the mountains or something, have a cabin ready, get my water from the snow and other natural sources, and kill all the elk and shit that live there. I already have a spot picked out too in the Tornyosuló Mountains." He outlined. "Home to natural springs, and the hog population's run rampant up there. That's where you go to ground during a zombie outbreak."
"See, that's why it can't work!" Jerome debated. "If whatever's causing zombification crosses species barriers, then you're fucked! You have an army of undead pigs that can chase you down! And even if you kill them, you don't want to be eating tainted meat. The farm's high in the mountains so it's hard to get to, but low enough to live off the land. You're not changing my mind."
Douglas shook his head. "You ain't changing mine either." He turned, looking to the two girls nearby. "What about you, Al?" He asked. "What's your zombie plan?"
Maria, who the question was not directed to, huffed. "Like she has one of those-"
"I procure a ship," Alice answered after a moment, "Take it into space, wait for everything to blow over."
Maria looked at Alice, befuddled, along with Jerome and Douglas.
"That's an awful plan!" Jerome raised his voice. "The spaceports are going to be locked down to stop the spread, you're not getting anywhere near a ship!"
"That's bunk," Alice refuted, pointing, "And I'll tell you why. Every major pandemic of anything, all through human history, there's been warning signs. Spanish flu in the 1920s didn't just hit the whole country at once. COVID-19 in the 2020s didn't hit the whole planet at once. The Red Death in the 2160s didn't hit all of Mars at once. There's been warning signs, early, small-scale outbreaks. Whenever the virus hits, it's going to be a slow, steady process. Enough time to see the writing's on the wall and get the hell to safety."
Douglas nodded in agreement, looking at Jerome. "Hell, she's right. My whole plan goes off that principle too."
"But it's space." Jerome pointed out. "How're you going to get food? Or water?"
"Hydro-recyclers," Alice responded to the question of water first, since all ships had those as a standard feature, "As for food: I'm gonna steal a UNSC ship, something small like a Condor or something. MREs will kept me fed for a few years, at least, but well before I hit that point, I'm gonna crack open the emergency crash survival kit, and use it to set myself up an aeroponics bay."
"Bold strategy." Douglas nodded. "But you'll never pull it off. Not before they could shoot your ass down."
Alice snapped her fingers, pointing. "In-atmosphere slipspace jump."
Jerome snorted. "Now you're just pulling shit out of your ass."
"It's possible." Alice shrugged.
Maria stared at all three of them, befuddled. "You three are insane…"
"What?" Douglas frowned, "You have a problem with our zombie plans? Well, then, I'd like to hear yours, oh venerable and wise Maria."
"I don't have one." She gritted back in response.
Jerome let out a long, wheezing laugh, before he stopped it. "You serious?"
"Yes!" Maria nodded, affronted. "Because the only people who have zombie plans are paranoid fucks!"
The door opened, and Cortana walked in, walking across the rec room to the fridge.
"Yeah, look," Maria turned to the most level-headed of any of them… which was saying something, "C, do you have a 'zombie plan?'"
Cortana snorted, "No." She answered, opening the fridge for… something that came in a brown bottle, might be beer if someone wasn't paying attention.
Maria nodded, smugly turning. "See-"
"I have a hundred and seventy five." Cortana finished, all in the room falling silent.
"Really?" Douglas asked first.
Cortana nodded. "It's only the first hundred that are exclusively for zombies, though. The remaining seventy five covers a wide variety of vampires, werewolves, demons, and ghosts. I've covered all my bases."
"But do you-" Jerome began, only to be cut off by Cortana's swift speech.
"Dude, I have plans for the honest-to-god voodoo kind of zombie." Cortana answered.
Alice tilted her head. "And how do you solve those kinds of zombies?"
"I get a gun," Cortana began, "Find the zombies' master, and make them sell them all to me."
Jerome frowned. "Will that work?"
"Everything is for sale when you have a gun."
Maria groaned, facepalming. "You're all delusional."