Introducing plot: a thing which you may think I'd forgotten about but no, it's here and it's dark and now I've overthought it too much because I wrote it like three months ago and ahhh. This is a sign that I should probably get some sleep. Shift work is a curse.
All Scott did these days was leave what he loved behind. Thunderbird One now made the list twice. It had hurt badly enough the first time, entrusting her in the protective embrace of Tracy Island but now it was worse, because he was abandoning her in a hangar that would soon be surrounded by infected. And that stung too – thinking of those creatures tearing this ranch to shreds, a place which had been their safe space for so long. It was doubtful whether they'd ever step foot here again, but it still ached to imagine bloodied footprints and smeared gore across walls and floorboards and chunks of rotting flesh drenching the sofa where there'd once been pillow fights and puppy piles and light-hearted conversations. Saving the world had always come at a cost, but this apocalypse kept upping the price and Scott wasn't sure how much they had left to give.
It didn't take long to bleed One dry. Two – scrubbed clean although it didn't escape Scott's notice that John gave the med-bay a wide berth – still glowered red at Virgil above the fuel gauge but it had ticked upwards just enough to get them as far as the airfield. Scott did a final sweep of the ranch while Virgil prepped for take-off. Alan was already in the cockpit, tired from an hour of carting supplies from the ranch down to the hangar and then loading them into Two but hyped on enough adrenaline to sprint a marathon.
The projectors were all wailing. Scott entered his override code on the proximity alerts only for the radiation warnings to blare into life. That strange ghostly snow was once again falling outside. He didn't need to take a closer inspection to know that there was no ice in sight. Something about the radioactive ash was scarier than the actual infected.
"Maybe that's why they're so desperate to get here," John mused aloud, materialising in the doorway and trying not smile as Scott practically launched into orbit. "Be it human instinct or the parasite – either way, they know to find shelter from the ash."
Scott willed away nausea. "Don't call it human instinct," he ground out, screwing his eyes shut against the mental images. "That's not… just don't."
"Why not?"
Clearly John was still fairly out of it because usually he wouldn't have to ask. Scott snuck a sideways glance at his brother.
"Because," he said slowly, as every word cut deep like acid, "I've killed so many of them that I don't think I'll ever truly get their blood off my hands. If there's a part of them that's still human, what does that make me? Self-defence, okay, but that's not… If there's humanity in them, they're just as much a victim as I am."
John, for once in his life, didn't have an answer. He probably did have the words, tucked away in that unknowable mind of his, but he was still teetering on the edge of the precipice provided by the meds. He claimed they were supporting his immune system, but from what Scott had seen all they were doing was tearing him down. He hated to think what it would be like when they finally did.
The ash was falling thicker.
John shivered. "Radiation leaks." He nodded to the alert. "We should go."
"Do you remember?" Scott murmured, not really sure what he was asking. He trailed a hand along the mantelpiece with the painful ache of nostalgia in his heart. "This was Mom's place."
"A place isn't a person," John replied gently. He propped himself against the doorway, hiding his hands in his hoodie pocket as if Scott hadn't already spotted the tremors. "Mom isn't here. She never was. We still see her, all around. She taught me the constellations. She taught Virgil the piano. She introduced Gordon to swimming. I know you have memories too. I know you see her in all of us."
"Alan doesn't remember her."
"And losing this place won't change that. Being here doesn't bring him any closer to her. Only we can do that, in stories, in photographs, in traditions." John pushed himself away from the doorway. "Don't go looking for ghosts where there aren't any," he said quietly. "There are enough walking the Earth already."
Scott turned away from the window. "I've got to grab one last thing."
John followed him, trying not to sound as bemused as he clearly felt. "What? We packed all the supplies already." Laughter seeped into his voice. "Don't tell me you left your boots under the bed again."
"One time, Jay, one time." Scott rounded a corner and spotted a flash of movement. "And it still wasn't as bad as that time Gordon left his entire suitcase here." He stooped down to snatch up the culprit he'd been searching for. "Ah ha. Gotcha."
John stared down at the cleaning bot in Scott's arms. "Why?"
"This is WALL-E." Scott lofted the cleaning bot higher with a pleased smile. "He has to come with us."
"Do I want to know?"
"Can you be bothered to know?"
John acknowledged this with a loose shrug. "Valid point. Alright, let's get going before you can pick up anything else. Did you want to bring your favourite projector too? Maybe a second cleaning bot?"
"Just the one."
John gave him a fond shoulder pat. "Weirdo."
"Thanks, Johnny."
"Don't call me-"
"Yeah, yeah. I got it." Scott shot him a teasing grin. "Johnny."
There was a sense of finality about leaving the ranch that hadn't been present when they'd launched Three from the island. Perhaps it was because they'd always planned to return home eventually whereas this place hadn't been on the cards from the get-go and now it was scratched from the record once again. Scott would have to retrieve Thunderbird One at some point – hopefully, anyway – but by that point he was under no false pretences about the likely fate of the ranch itself. The hangars would survive behind airtight doors but the walls that housed childhood memories would be just another precious thing lost to the claws of the undead.
But they had to be practical about this. Sentiment kept them human but too much of it could get them killed. This was the reason why Scott didn't look back when he closed the door to the ranch behind them and why, as Thunderbird Two rose into the air, he didn't take a final glance out of the window either.
Radiation spiked as soon as they broke into the low cloud layer. Thunderbird Two didn't need to be connected to Five for her own sensors to announce the danger. A storm of amber warnings lit up across the dash. Scott had never been so glad to be in a Thunderbird in his life. Even in a fully sealed IR-suit, the radiation was strong enough to cause lasting health issues with as little as two minutes of exposure. It was a similar feeling to that which he experienced when flying Three or on board Four – the idea of being surrounded by death on all sides but remaining protected inside this precious space.
"The clouds look weird," Alan murmured. He'd been cradling WALL-E in his lap but set the cleaning bot aside to peer over Scott's shoulder at the sky. Even with lights, the clouds were near impenetrable. "Don't you think?"
Scott tore his gaze away from those alerts to examine the world outside. There was definitely something eerie about it all. The clouds were tainted a strange, unfamiliar shade – some unidentifiable hue between death and decay. He pressed a hand to the glass and felt cold seep into his palm. Just that layer keeping him from all that pain.
Alan crept a little closer to lean between the front seats. For once, Virgil didn't tell him off for breaking launch regulations. Radiation spiked. A faint tremor ran through the ship. Despite knowing it was due to low fuel and trying to run when they could barely walk, it was unnerving.
"This is insane," John whispered, almost reverently cradling a hologram in one palm. The red glow reflected in his eyes. "These readings are off the charts. What the hell has gone up in the atmosphere?"
"A shit ton of global fires?" Virgil suggested, gripping the controls tighter involuntarily.
John shook his head. "No, that's not… It would have contributed, yes, but not on this scale. This is like Chernobyl if no one had ever discovered there was a problem. Possibly worse."
Alan stared at the darkening skies with wide eyes, unblinking, as if shellshocked. Scott lightly touched the kid's shoulder. Alan leant into the touch but didn't look away.
John's voice shifted. It was a minute change that Alan didn't pick up on, but Scott noticed it straight away – that suspicious ridge of tension mixed with uneasy concern – and Virgil's gaze flickered to their brother's reflection too.
"Scott," John said quietly, staring at the readouts in front of him. "You've been in the military most recently. Do you know if there are still nuclear weapons?"
Virgil twisted sharply. "I thought disarmament was a global decision. It was one of the first World Council initiatives, wasn't it?"
A fearful touch, feather-light and cautious, tapped his wrist. Scott released his grip on the armrest and let Alan take his hand.
"Scott," John prompted. His back was to the wall. Shoulders fraught with tension. If it weren't for the gloves of his suit, he'd probably have been biting his nails 'til they bled.
"I don't know," Scott admitted, trying not to cringe as the engines whined and Virgil cast a concerned glance over the VTOL readouts. "I didn't have clearance high enough."
"But if you had to place a bet?"
"If I had to place a bet," he said slowly – and the words tasted bitter – "then I'd say yes. I think it's highly likely there are still some in existence, strictly off the record."
Virgil stared dead ahead, but the clouds were so thick and filthy that all he could see were his own eyes reflected back at him, emotion mirrored by a soulless sky. "Tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying."
"Depends on what you think I'm saying."
Two shuddered violently as though something had impacted her hull. John's hand shot out to support himself against the bulkhead. Alan's grip on Scott's hand tightened. Virgil steadied them in an instant, but the shockwaves seemed more than merely physical. Alan sank down to crouch between the seats, audibly grinding his teeth. Scott took a deep breath. Virgil caught his eye in the reflections across the glass. Behind them, John held his console in a death grip.
"Someone's nuking cities."
John's voice seemed to echo around the cockpit. Not quite emotionless but detached, as if this were a mere fact for a mission that would be over and done with by the day's end. But it wasn't. It was real and it was their lives. Scott glanced over his shoulder. John met his gaze without hesitation.
"It's the only logical conclusion." His eyes were natural blue – honest – not hiding behind uncanny green and for some reason that was what hit Scott the hardest. "Makes sense, too. Cities have the highest population density and so by default they now have the highest density of infected."
Scott tipped forwards slightly to lean against the dash, closing his eyes against the swimming sky. He wanted to be sick. Alan's death grip on his hand was an anchor.
"We were in a city," Alan whispered, voice splintering as he spoke. He swallowed. "It could have been us. What about other people with immunity?"
"Maybe that's why they're heading upstate," John considered aloud. He looked faintly grey in the dull light although Scott couldn't be sure whether this was down to side-effects from the meds or the possible fate that could have befallen his siblings.
Only – now that Alan had mentioned it, Scott couldn't stop thinking about it. A direct hit, meant for the creatures plaguing the streets, taking innocent lives along with them. What if it had impacted that city whilst he and Alan were still there? On that rooftop, with the Hood? A single impact, a bright flash, one blast and it would have been lights-out. Their existences erased from the timeline in a single second. Just like that. And worse – there was no guarantee that anyone would have ever known. Vaporised lives left no trace.
"Are you okay?" Alan whispered. "Scotty? You look like you're about to puke."
And there would have been no way to save Alan from that. Nothing he could have done. Would they have seen it coming? A bright streak across the sky, like a meteor only carrying death rather than wishes? Would they have realised? Would they have had time to be afraid? To regret? To offer comfort? The thought was terrifying. There was danger all around, but that…
"Scott," Alan murmured, tugging at his wrist. "You're kinda hurting my hand."
"What?" Scott released his grip as if he'd been burnt. "Shit. I'm sorry, Al." He dug his nails into the seat cushion. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
Fear prickled under his skin. His lungs were tight. It could have been them, it could have been Alan. Alan was sixteen and he could have been… And it would have been Scott's fault. Anything that happened from this point onwards, from the moment he'd made that call, that decision to board the satellite, hell, that decision to follow Maya – it was all his fault. And now they were here. There was radiation smothering the globe and eating away at Thunderbird Two's shielding and the planet was dying, only Gordon was out there and so were Penelope and Kayo and oh god, what if- what if- what if, if, if-
"Scott," Virgil snapped at the exact same moment as John, perfectly synchronised. Alan looked between them, unspeaking. John sat back in his chair, observing, running a thousand calculations in his mind or possibly thinking nothing at all. It was hard to tell.
"Remember to breathe," Virgil said at last. He rested his head against the steering column for a moment and inhaled deeply. "That goes for everyone."
Feeble sunlight filtered through the thinner clouds as they finally broke through the upper layer. Thunderbird Two settled into a smooth flight. The dotted lines blended into a smooth blue curve as they ticked miles off the map. Scott braced himself against the dash and observed the faint sun, turning his cheek to the glass to examine the darker blues above.
"What about the others?" Alan murmured. He rose to his feet to peer out of the window, at the thick mass of cloud that stretched as far as the eye could see and further still. "They could be…"
John closed his eyes for a split second. "Kayo and Penelope are most likely on the other side of the world. Given the distribution of radiation readings, as far as I can tell, the impacts have been on US cities, nowhere else."
Alan gnawed on his thumbnail. The skin was raw and angry, but his voice was small and deeply afraid on a very human level. "What about Gordon?"
John always had an answer – not necessarily a truthful one at times, admittedly, but he would still reply – but this time he remained silent. There had been a time - before all of this but after they'd lost Dad and when Alan had been relatively new to IR - that Scott had feared his youngest brother had lost all his youthful innocence, but now he knew that hadn't been true because he was witnessing Alan lose those final precious traces of naivety in this very moment.
There were many words. A hundred different replies. But Alan chose none of them. Instead, he slipped the too-long sleeves of Gordon's hoodie over his hands and sank back into his seat without speaking until, finally, very faintly, he whispered simply, "Oh."
Virgil glanced instinctively to the co-pilot's chair, but Scott knew his brother wasn't seeing him at all in that moment because this wasn't his place.
"Gordon has his suit," John ventured. "He'll be protected from the worst of the fallout provided that he keeps it on."
"Not if he's in the heart of a city and they drop a fucking nuke on his head."
"Alan," Scott snapped. He tried again, softer. "That's not going to happen, alright? For one thing, Gordon's not immune, so he's going to steer clear of any zombie hotspots. He won't go into the heart of any cities. He'll be fine. We'll find him, okay?"
"Who's they?" Virgil let the silence settle before continuing. "I'm just wondering. We keep referring to them, but… What are we saying here? US military? Global Defence Force?"
John gave a weary sigh. "Does it really matter?" He didn't give Virgil the chance to reply. "Scott, better get suited up."
Scott stared at him. Then stared some more. "Sorry, what?"
"Your suit," John said slowly, enunciating each word as if Scott were struggling with his hearing rather than just the concept of stepping back into a uniform that constantly nudged flashbacks towards his waking mind. "In the module. We brought Alan's spare too. Probably a good idea for you both to suit up, actually, just in case."
Alan curled into his chair. "Am I- I mean, I'm not-?"
"No, you're not going outside at the airfield." Virgil, ever the mind-reader, shot him a reassuring smile. It didn't run deep enough to appear truthful, but it was the thought which counted. "You'll be staying right here, with John."
John looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"
Virgil returned his focus to the controls as the guidance system reported they were on final approach to the airfield. "Don't even go there."
"I'm going with Scott."
"You are not."
"Who else is going to crack the security system?"
Virgil repressed a long-suffering sigh. "You can do that remotely, from right here."
"Not without my contacts." John leant forwards in his chair, seeking Virgil's gaze in the reflection but meeting Scott's instead. "I'm serious." He lifted his hands in surrender. "I know I'm a liability in the field right now. I get that. But I genuinely can't crack it from here without using my contacts, so either you lift your ban on those or you let me go." He played his final card, plucking it from up his sleeve where it had been marinating in manipulation. "Scott won't let anything happen to me."
Alan cringed into his seat, the argument from the other day still fresh enough to sting at any reminder. He tapped against the cushion. S.O.R.R.Y. Scott translated from the morse code and felt something vulnerable ache in his chest when Alan ducked his head, shoulders hunched with the ghost of self-loathing.
Virgil let out a breath between gritted teeth. "Scott?"
Scott fixed his sights on the map to avoid John's pleading look.
"There shouldn't be any personnel around," he admitted, albeit grudgingly. "It's a small base – I seriously doubt it's being used as any safehouse or for defensive measures at all, really. There shouldn't be many infected if any. I can take them out quickly. Once John cracks the security on the hangar I can link up Two to the fuel tanks and it'll be a solo job from there on out. Jay can head back here while I finish up. In and out. Easy as pie."
Virgil gave him the look. Typically this look was saved for when Scott was being particularly reckless/overconfident and needed a warning that he was only mortal.
"It should be simple, but I'll be very careful," he amended. "And I'll keep an eye on John."
"I'm right here," John muttered, sounding for all the world like a sulky teenager rather than someone who could literally be addressed as Doctor Tracy. "Anyway, I have the suit."
"You had the suit last time," Virgil snapped.
Alan cringed even further into his seat. If he curled in on himself any more he'd implode to form a human black hole. John waited silently.
"Sorry," Virgil said quietly, as the VTOLs burnt up the last of the fuel. "I didn't mean-" He massaged his temples with a pained smile. "I'm just worried."
"No high stakes. Just in and out," John reminded him, clapping a hand to Scott's bicep. "Easy as pie, right, Scott? C'mon. Suit-up." He shot Scott a knowing look. "Let's get this over with."
As it turned out, getting back into the suit for the first time in weeks wasn't as bad as Scott had expected. There was an undeniable sense of security that came with it. Admittedly, he'd have preferred to be in IR blues rather than the ebony material that flickered crimson in his mind's eye whenever he glimpsed it in his peripheral vision but wearing it didn't send him into a spiral. This was probably helped by the fact that John was right there.
The airfield stood empty and desolate. A Lockheed jet was abandoned on the tarmac. An old Jeep sat nearby, doors still ajar, keys in the ignition. Clearly the personnel here had left in a hurry. Scott had never seen an air base this quiet or still before. It was eerie. Wind whistled across the flat grass. Scorch marks blended the tarmac with soot from a long-burnt out fire.
"I thought the military got the heads-up to evacuate?" John queried, eyeing the motheaten helicopter which would never be airworthy again. Blood coated the propellers. Tacky fluids smothered the landing struts.
Scott double-tapped his console to confirm his own memories. The fuel reserves were stored a short distance away. "So did I," he acknowledged at last, John's words finally registering. He examined the collection of lonely aircraft scattered across the tarmac. "But I guess not everyone got the memo."
"You know in horror movies when everything goes silent?" Alan's sudden voice over the radio made them both jump. Scott exchanged a wry look with John. "And then there's immediately a jump-scare? That's what this feels like."
Virgil made an exasperated sound. "Why would you say that?"
"It's just an observation!"
There were no immediate signs of life. The only movements remained the bobbing grasses that had grown tall and wild without maintenance. Sealed hangar doors were coated in a congealed substance that looked a blend between old blood and tar. John was clearly itching to take a sample for later analysis, but self-control won out and he gave it a wide berth.
Distantly, metal clanged. A faint roar, like an engine, rumbled on the wind. Scott slowed to a halt without realising until John shot him a questioning look.
"What is it?"
Scott spun in a wide circle. "I don't know…"
"No movements."
"Yeah."
"Just… feels off?"
"Alan's jump-scare theory sounds more plausible than it should."
John scoffed. "Scott. The creatures aren't that clever. They don't hunt in packs. They're not inventing strategies to herd us into the open so they can attack from all sides without anywhere for us to run."
Scott stared at him incredulously. "Why would you say that?"
"I'm saying that's not what they're doing."
"John. Now I'm thinking about it."
"Well, stop thinking about it because like I said, that's not what will happen."
Virgil gave a meaningful cough. "Stay on task, remember?"
"Yeah, John," Scott muttered, going to elbow his brother only to falter upon remembering that John was liable to actually collapse from something like that at the moment. "Stay on task," he finished lamely, earning an undignified snort over the radio as Virgil continued to listen in.
The hangar was sealed, as expected. The physical padlocks took very little effort, but the electronic security was more of a challenge. John clapped his hands together, eyes gleaming, elated at the sight of a real puzzle.
Scott kept an eye on the surrounding airfield whilst his brother got to work. Thunderbird Two was tucked out of sight, obscured by another hangar, but the desolate runways were in full view, as were a collection of disused vehicles. One of them had a shattered windshield. Dried blood caked the wheels. He tapped a finger against the gun at his hip, just to reassure himself that it was there, and ignored the shiver of revulsion that followed that realisation – that having a gun on his person now offered relief.
"Ash fall inbound," Virgil reported, clinical, as if announcing a diagnosis. "Better get a move on."
"Eh." Scott propped himself against the wall. "Radiation's an old friend nowadays."
"You concern me," Virgil informed him.
Scott grinned. "Relax, I'm like a cat. Nine lives and all that."
John chuckled, not taking his eyes off the codes running wild in front of him. "You're not Kayo. Now she's got nine lives." The first of the lights on the lock flickered green. He moved onto the next one systematically, running numbers quicker than Scott could count them. "Nearly done."
"You'd better be," Virgil muttered, the first weeds of tension setting root in his voice. "Ten minutes before that ash starts falling. I don't want you out there when it does."
"We're wearing suits," John pointed out, distracted as another reel of code popped up.
"John," Virgil said.
As simple as that, but John finally looked up, glancing over his shoulder instinctively to spy Two only the aircraft was hidden out of sight, so this was fairly redundant. But there was something genuine and open in his eyes. When Virgil had filled Scott in on that week, he'd focussed on Gordon, but now Scott had to wonder exactly what had gone down between Virgil and John at the same time.
John put a hand to the radio. "Three minutes, Virg. That's all I need." He plunged back into the holographic display, adding, faintly, "I promise."
There was a pause.
"Three minutes," Virgil echoed. "FAB."
Scott eyed those vehicles. Instinct whispered that something was amiss, a tiny detail not quite fitting with the bigger picture. He couldn't quite figure out what. Maybe he was just on edge. He rolled his shoulders, feeling that sharp ridge of metal plating dig into his upper back where the suit didn't fit as well as it had done when Brains had first designed it. Metallic light flashed from between the vehicles. He tilted his head, squinting. There was definitely something moving over there.
"Nearly done?" He kept his tone casual, and John was too caught up in his work to pick out the underlying tension.
"Nearly."
Scott didn't reply. He reached for his console to run a thermal scan. No life signatures showed up. Whatever was scuttling between the vehicles, it wasn't an animal. He reached for the radio.
"You closed the hatch behind us, right?"
"Yes." Virgil shifted from confused to concerned. "Why? Is there something out there?"
"What?" Alan interjected before Scott could answer, all high-pitched, fraught with dread. "There's zombies out there? I thought this place was empty. Are you okay? What's going on?"
The wind was picking up. Great gusts sent dust billowing across the airfield. Glass crunched, faintly, just audible above another distant howl. Scott straightened, switching the safety off his gun. John didn't take his eyes off the lock but noticeably tensed.
"You'd better be watching my back," he murmured.
Scott kept his gaze on those vehicles. "I've gotcha."
"Hmm."
The horizon bled shadows as ash skulked ever closer. Scott switched hands on the gun, flexing his fingers before they could cramp. Unease made him nauseous. A very primal instinct assured him that something was watching them. Danger stalked nearby. He took a step nearer to John until his brother smacked his knee.
"What was that for?"
John shot him a frustrated glare. "You're blocking the light."
Clearly it wasn't a major issue as ten seconds later John rose to his feet with a satisfied smirk. The lock flashed green twice, thrice, then the door began rolling back on its hinges.
"Am I good?" John asked smugly. "Or am I great?"
"You're not bad."
John swatted him. Scott didn't bother dodging. He gestured vaguely behind them, around the concrete corner, where Thunderbird Two waited patiently. John raised an unimpressed brow.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Are you serious?" Scott didn't have time to argue. He scanned the hangar for any unwanted arrivals then made his way towards the fuel pumps. "John, we had an agreement. Go back to Two."
"Something's out here. You need someone to watch your back."
"Someone who can actually defend themselves, sure, but you can barely stand upright at the moment."
Silence rang loudly. Scott paused, one hand on the pressure gauge, stealing a sideways glance at his brother. He couldn't make out John's expression as he was silhouetted against the open doorway, but he didn't need to. John somehow managed to convey a sense of offended disapproval through body language alone.
Scott relented. "That came out wrong."
"You don't say."
He yanked at the fuel pump. "Look, if you insist on staying here, at least give me a hand, would you?"
It didn't take too long to hook up the fuel reserves to Thunderbird Two. That ashfall seemed to be picking up the pace and radiation levels steadily ticked into the amber. John paused by the hatch, back pressed to Two's green hull, gaze fixed on the open stretch of grassland.
"There's no animals," he noted. "No life whatsoever."
Scott scuffed his boots in the dust. "There's grass."
John heaved a sigh. "Barely." He plucked a strand from the fractured concrete and let it crumble to dust between his fingertips. "See? It's dying too." He shifted his gaze to the horizon. Poisonous light reflected off his visor, concealing his expression, but his voice grew softer, wistful. "Everything is."
Scott's breath caught in his throat. He coughed, searching for the correct words, a phrase to put everything right or provide the necessary reassurance that they all needed, but he couldn't think past the piercing scream that shattered his thoughts. Except- it wasn't just in his head. His ears were ringing. The radio spat feedback over the comms.
John jolted upright, reaching instinctively for a gun.
Virgil's shout overtook the static on the comms. "What the fuck was that?"
"Guys!" Scott spotted a shadow in the cockpit. Alan skidded over to the window, hands pressed to the glass as he gestured wildly across the airfield. "You've got incoming!"
John backed up until he knocked into Scott. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
"Get inside."
"Fuel's still pumping."
"I know," Scott growled. "But I can handle it. Get inside, or so help me, I will drag you."
Virgil's shout twisted into a panicked creature. "They've rushed the fences on the far side."
John squared his shoulders. "Something's wrong."
"Oh, really?" Scott snapped. "You don't say?"
"No, I mean…" John frowned. He lowered his gun. "Their behaviour. It's erratic. They're not running at us, they're running from something."
Alan was quicker on the uptake. "Radiation," he realised aloud. "It's the ashfall. Remember, Scott? We didn't see any when we drove though it before. And at the ranch they were trying to flee it again. It's the ash. They're running away."
"We just happen to be in the firing line," Scott concluded. He exchanged a look with John. "Virg, get ready for a quick exit."
Virgil hesitated just long enough to check the fuel status. "Scott, I can't take off with fuel still pumping. The second that line ruptures, we'll have exposed fuel all over the tarmac. If I use VTOLs, I'll blow us all sky high."
The creatures were swarming the end of the runway now. The lone infected that had been flitting between the vehicles darted into the open, jaw gaping wide and inhuman, brittle bones dripping with rotting flesh. It tipped back its head and screeched.
John flinched before he could catch himself. Scott gripped his brother's shoulder.
"I can't concentrate if I'm trying to keep you safe at the same time. You have to get inside. I'll handle this, alright?"
"By yourself?"
"John," Scott told him, gently, as if those two years between them were more like six. "You're just going to have to trust me."
John looked him dead in the eyes. "Come back," he urged. "Or I'll burn the world to hell a second time."
Scott offered him a grin. "FAB."
The infected were everywhere. They surged across the grass until muted green paled beneath layers of tarnished red and oozing gore. The last time Scott had seen so many all packed together was back in Jerusalem when they'd overwhelmed the Salvation Gates. There were so many that it was impossible to pick them apart, like a swarm of ants – all tangled limbs and a blur of staggered motion. The stench was already tangible even through his rebreather.
"Scott," Virgil choked out, spying the full extent of the horde from his higher vantage point in Two's cockpit. "Not to rush you or anything, but…"
Scott reached back to activate the lock on the hatch before John could change his mind and attempt to sneak outside again.
"Reading you, Virg. I've got it."
"Ashfall's inbound in four minutes."
Scott took a deep breath. "Right. Four minutes. I hear that." He eyed the approaching monsters. "Good job I'll only need two."
Virgil had linked him into the fuel gauge. Tanks were showing at seventy-five percent which would have to do. They could always make a pitstop elsewhere and top up. Scott made short work of disconnecting and let Virgil takeover sealing the filler cap remotely from the cockpit. The pressure wasn't looking too promising but it wasn't as if they hadn't already broken every safety regulation in the book so he ignored this and hoped against fate that the entire tank wouldn't explode in his face.
"Can we use the laser to scatter the infected?" Alan wondered over the open comms link.
Scott slammed a hand into his radio so violently that his palm smarted. "Do not use a laser near fuel."
"It was just a suggestion," Alan muttered sulkily. "I'm trying to help."
"Don't," Virgil cut in. "Let him get on with it."
Alan didn't say another word.
The creatures slammed into the vehicles as if the obstacle didn't exist at all. Scott trailed to a halt by the corner of the first hangar, scarcely able to believe his own eyes. The trucks were swept up in the flood of bodies as if they weighed nothing. A few of the infected were crushed. Fresh blood leaked across the tarmac.
Scott's console lit up. Radiation had hit the red. He wiped a hand across his visor as the first few flakes of ash began to trickle from the sky. The infected erupted in a screaming chorus of howls. They didn't just sound fearful, they sounded agonised. Which didn't make sense, because from the state of them, they didn't clearly feel pain. How could they sprint on splintered bones and yet a mere radioactive particle could cause them to wail? Some even collapsed.
Liquid splashed onto the concrete. An infected had torn through the pipe. At least it was far enough away from Two to still take-off without an explosion. Scott didn't bother to hold back a curse – it wasn't as if Alan hadn't heard worse – and ducked into the main hangar to close the valve. At least shutting off the fuel at the source would prevent any more from pumping onto the open tarmac.
An infected staggered to a halt in the entrance. Its nostrils flared. A strip of rotten tongue lolled between peeling gums. Drool dripped down the tattered remains of its chest. It took another step into the hangar, head cocked. It was so decomposed that there couldn't have been much left for the parasite to take – which made it dangerous, because the parasite would then be looking for a new host.
"Good luck, asshole," Scott muttered, reaching for his gun. "I'm immune anyway."
"Scott, what the actual fuck?" John's sudden shout made him jolt. "Is there one in the hangar? Just get the hell outta there."
"Sounds fantastic, but it's in my way."
John sounded mildly exasperated. "Then shoot it."
Radiation warnings lit up above his console. Scott ducked down behind the tank with a biting curse as the bright glare attracted the zombie. He kept low to the ground and shuffled along the hidden side, out of sight, until he reached the far wall. The infected remained frozen.
Scott hesitated. There was something off about it. Tacky green leaked from exposed bone as if the parasite had consumed the very marrow itself. And yet- Yellowed eyes rolled back. The creature collapsed to its knees with a low, desperate howl.
His heart was pounding. Not with fear, but some other strange emotion that he couldn't identify. He clenched his hand on the grip of the gun. The metal seemed cold even through his gloves. He rose cautiously to his full height and took a few steps forwards. The creature didn't react. Parasitic green swarmed across the floor like a spreading pool of spilled treacle, dripping from every pore.
Scott stepped into the open. The infected still didn't react. Its pupils had ruptured. There was no feasible way it could be seeing him, and yet, for the first time in months, Scott swore he could sense a very human trait of desperation in the creature. When he raised his gun, it didn't move, simply stared at him with those sightless eyes, unblinking, unbreathing, just waiting patiently for an end to its suffering.
The gunshot seemed impossibly loud.
Scott avoided the parasite and made a mad dash back to Two. His boots splashed in the spilt fuel, leaving wet footprints across the tarmac. Ash was consuming the end of the runway now. He didn't need to let the scanner recognise his retinas as Virgil opened the door remotely. He'd barely set foot over the threshold when the VTOLs activated. John grabbed his wrist and yanked him firmly inside, slamming the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary. There was a merciful hiss as it sealed, protecting them from the hell descending outside.
Scott slid down to the floor. The wall was the only thing keeping him upright. He tore off his helmet and buried his head in his hands, breathing heavily.
John cautiously took a seat opposite. "What happened out there?"
Scott switched off the radio so that only John could hear him. For a moment, he simply studied his brother's face, expression open and soul-searching.
"There's a part of them that's still human," he ground out at last, sickened by the words all the more now that they were out in the open. He bit down on his lip, hard, until he could taste copper. His hands were resting on his knees, shaking with the adrenaline crash and the realisation that they were human, deep down, they were lost, and he had murdered them, murdered people. He choked back a sob. "They're human, Johnny."
John stared at him wordlessly for a second. Then, slowly, he reached out and caught Scott's hands.
"Then you've been putting them out of their misery. You know what that makes you?"
"A murderer?"
John shook his head. "No. Not in the slightest." He squeezed Scott's hands. "That makes you a hero."
