Zombies versus Aliens versus Vampires versus Dinosaurs Page 6

  Peyton sat behind the large desk in the Oval Office while a young lady applied his makeup. Technicians set up lights and camera as a small fan blew at the Stars and Stripes behind him to make it proudly wave.

  He had taken several cold showers and drank several pots of black coffee since learning of Michael’s assassination the prior afternoon. He had been whisked back to Washington on Air Force Two whereupon the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court swore him in as the next President of the United States. He had spent the rest of the evening and night conferring and planning and negotiating and strategizing with most of the world’s leaders—many of them as new to their jobs as he.

  He had spoken extensively with Jean-François early that morning, the NASA astrophysicist and sole survivor of the Situation Room murders, and the only man alive who had ever actually known an alien.

  By midmorning, the new President had seized control of all commercial and private airports, commandeered their planes, and issued top secret orders to have manufacturers retrofit the smaller jets as bombers. The crafts would lack the sophisticated technology of the modern era, true, and there would be no time for safety inspections. It all had to happen fast, down and dirty, just an airplane with bombs, a pilot and a bombardier. World War II style.

  And as soon as his speech was done, he would be meeting with his newly appointed Joint Chiefs—none of whom he thought of highly, the best of the best having all been killed.

  His senior staff had spent their time sweating over every word of the critical speech that was soon to be broadcast live to the world. They respected the hell out of their boss, but they knew that public speaking had never been his forte. But if he just stuck to the script he’d be okay.

  With only moments to go, the young Marine Lieutenant who had been by Peyton’s side since the bunker approached him with a small, silver, whiskey flask.

  “Your, uh, medicine, sir,” he offered discreetly.

  Peyton looked at the flask almost salivating, paying no attention to the worried looks of the others. This was his battle alone.

  “No,” he said to the boy with bold conviction. “The next drink I take will be after I win this thing, or after I’m dead.”

  Everyone breathed a quiet sigh of relief, including his staff (who also silently prayed that Peyton didn’t word things like that on camera. Just stick to the script, boss.)

  “In five, four,” began the director. “Three, two.”

  Cue Peyton.

  “My fellow Americans,” the General read from the teleprompter. “It is with great sadness that I address you in my new role as your President. As many of you know, extraterrestrial invaders have murdered President Addison. Michael was a good man, a great American, and a dear friend, and he will be missed.”

  Peyton’s Chief of Staff breathed another sigh of relief. Peyton had fought him on calling Michael “a dear friend,” but the little white lie was crucial for the world to hear. But he said it nonetheless, and he pulled it off. Only those who already knew it was a lie could feel the insincerity. To everyone else, Peyton just seemed rather stiff—a win under the circumstances.

  In homes, offices, bars, restaurants, and institutions of every kind, the world was glued to their sets. They wanted—needed—to know that someone was going to do something.

  “The invaders have destroyed all military bases and facilities across the globe,” the President continued. “They have killed over ninety percent of our planet’s fighting men and women. Their intention is to create mass panic and to exterminate mankind –”

  And with the world on the edge of their seats, the teleprompter went dead.

  “Um, their intention is to create mass panic,” Peyton mumbled as he tried to recall his next line from memory.

  The Chief of Staff began to panic himself. Can he cut off this live broadcast? Right at that point? But can he let Peyton proceed with no script? Which is worse?

  He was about to tell the director to shut down the broadcast when Peyton defiantly raised his hand to stop him. He knew what needed to be said—and he didn’t need someone else’s words to do it. He’s got this, his hand gesture clearly indicated.

  “To create mass panic and exterminate mankind,” he repeated purposely this time, forcefully. “But I—and you—will not let them succeed.”

  Not bad, thought the Chief of Staff. A brief, succinct and powerful line, and one that had not been in the original written speech. Not bad.

  Around the world, a few people even smiled—a glimmer of hope?

  “We have seized control of the airlines,” Peyton continued off book. “If you live in Florida, flee to the nearest airport to be flown to safety. Tickets are not necessary, this one’s on us.

  “To date, Florida is the only land on which the aliens have appeared, but the other nations of the Earth prepare for their fight, as do we. I have been in close communication with the other world leaders, and we prepare as one.

  “American reserves have been called to active duty. Survivors of our armed forces are to report to the nearest recruitment offices for new orders.

  “Veterans are urged to volunteer for active duty recall. American military personnel abroad are ordered to support the militaries of their host nations. There is no time for all the nations of the world to deploy their remaining soldiers home, and the chaos that would ensue is exactly what our alien invaders are counting on—and the aliens get what they want no longer.

  “But if you’re here, if you’re nearby, and if you’ve ever worn a uniform—be it ours or another nation’s—we need you.

  “For there are no countries anymore. Just us, and them.

  “Too many of the world’s soldiers are gone, and we need you!

  “Veterans in prison will be granted full pardons if you fight with us.”

  In prisons and penitentiaries across the country, former soldiers in orange jumpsuits cheered loudly. Many stood and saluted the screen.

  “Civilians, untrained adventurers who have ever fantasized of battle, we will give you the tools you need. Hippies, peaceniks, pacifists of all stripes—this is a war like none before it. If you’re willing to take the life of monsters that strive to end you, if you’re willing to risk your own life to save humankind, we need your help.

  “Burglars, gangsters, organized crime, it’s time to do your part,” Peyton went on. “Give us your weapons. Donate your guns and pistols and whatnots. You have them, and we need them. It’s time to step up, boys.”

  The Chief of Staff thought that part a little weird but, judging by the looks on the faces of the people in the room, it didn’t seem to matter. In both the Oval Office and around the world, the mood was shifting. The General was on a roll.

  “My fellow North Americans,” Peyton continued to ad-lib as he exponentially grew into the role that had fallen upon him. “Tourists, immigrants legal or otherwise, we can win this, but it will take all of us. For more than ever before, it is clear that we people of the Earth are one family. The rivalries of our past must be forgiven, if not forgotten. For we embark upon the most important battle our world has ever known. The stakes have never been so high, the consequences of defeat never so final. Extermination. Extinction.

  “Well, not on my watch!

  “We will come together because we must! We will stay together because we are one people, one race, one planet, one family! And we shall be victorious because we are good! Damn those bugs, and God bless the human race!!!!”

  In homes, offices, bars, restaurants, institutions of all kind all around the world, people clapped, cheered, whooped and hollered. Many shed a tear or two.

  And in one small coffee shop in a sleepy town in South Dakota, Harve shed a tear as well.

  PART TWO

  WAR

  INTERLUDE #2

  Three of the Deinonychus eggs had already hatched, but Dinah’s focus remained on the one that hadn’t. She nudged her giant snout against the egg with concern, hoping the jolt would awaken the life within. Why is this taking so l
ong?

  Only a few feet away, the three hatchlings waited impatiently. Let’s call them Donald, Daffy and Dizzy—Donald, the first hatched, being the precocious one. They made small, chirpy sounds as they whined at their mother to hurry, brushing softly yet persistently against her large, feathered haunches.

  So much to do, so much to learn, come on, Ma! their gestures insisted.

  Dinah knew they were right. The last egg would hatch in its own time, when it was ready, whether she watched it or not. It wasn’t fair to deny the others the life lessons they so needed and deserved.

  She looked down upon them then uttered a soft shriek. “Follow me,” it meant. “Single file.”

  This not being the first lesson, the hatchlings were expected to know what to do. Dizzy, the only daughter, fell in line right behind her mother, with Daffy behind her, and Donald bringing up the rear.

  It’s a good line, thought Dinah. Straight and ordered with no stragglers.

  It was a simple exercise, of course, but a crucial part of a Deinonychus hatchlings’ training because the Deinonychus hunted in packs with many complex maneuvers and strategies, each dinosaur utterly reliant on the other. The first lesson of teamwork was to learn to walk as a team.

  But little Donald didn’t like being in the back. He was the oldest by several minutes, and instinctively knew that he should be the one to lead the brigade. He could even lead Ma—boy, wouldn’t she be proud to see that!

  He stepped out of line and briskly waddled ahead of Daffy, then Dizzy, and then Ma herself. Dinah instantly bit down on the feathery scruff of his neck, picked him up and dropped him back down in the back of the line.

  “No!” meant her loud shriek, and Donald got the message loud and clear—at least for most of the day.

  For several more hours Dinah led her hatchlings in a perfect formation in a large circle around the nest. When she at last spotted two lizards by a tree several yards ahead, she decided that it was time to ratchet things up a notch.

  She breathed a barely perceptible chirp, then crouched down low to demonstrate how to stalk prey. Daffy and Dizzy followed suit, but Donald was confident that he already knew how to kill a lizard, and he was eager to prove it.

  With a bolt, he charged out toward the lizards. The lizards heard him easily and whipped off in opposite directions. Donald chose the closer one and leapt straight at it, missing completely, crashing headfirst into a tree.

  The dazed little dinosaur stood up in a fog. He took a few staggered steps like a drunken hobo, and then fell down again.

  The edges of Dinah’s mouth curled upward as she exhaled a series of gaspy squeaks, a repugnant facsimile of fond laughter, a horrid nasal sound to human ears but one that fully conveyed her undying love for her hatchlings.

  Little did she know that only a few yards behind them, lurking in the brush near the nest, an adolescent Tyrannosaurus rex was scoping out the unhatched egg. Certain that the Deinonychus mother was preoccupied, the young T. rex made a beeline for the nest, crushed the egg open with his powerful claws, then gobbled up the soon-to-be-born hatchling inside!

  Dinah heard it, turned to it, saw it—but only while it was happening and thus too late. She shrieked loudly and charged.

  The T. rex tore off in a snap. Claw heard the cries from the woods and bolted to chase after the T. rex as well, but to no avail. Even a teenage T. rex can outrun an adult Deinonychus, and he and his mate both knew it.

  Helpless, defeated, the parents howled. They nestled against each other to offer comfort, but there was no comfort to be had.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The patrons of the small coffee shop were still clapping, cheering and whistling at the TV the on the wall. The new President had concluded his awe-inspiring speech only moments before, and one could barely hear the cable-news pundits who praised and criticized him. But no one was as moved as Harve who sat at a booth with Frank and Johnny, once again in handcuffs.

  They had spent much of the prior day walking to the town. By the time their cell phones had reception there was nobody to call. No one was answering anywhere, which Harve had thought quite strange at the time. He got them a single room in a cheap motel to hole up for the night and figured he’d make more calls in the morning. It was from the motel room TV that the threesome learned about the horrors in Key West, the aliens, the assassinations, the military facilities, everything.

  By morning, Harve’s plan was for the three of them to simply wait it out in the town until he could figure out what to do next, who to contact, where to go. Be it days, weeks, whatever, the bottom line was that he still had a prisoner to bring in. He just didn’t know where to bring him.

  So they went to breakfast, and they saw the new President’s speech.

  “You cryin’?” Frank asked Harve, noticing the tear in his eye.

  “No.”

  “Oh my God,” Frank teased. “Harve! You been crying!”

  “Shut up.”

  “Harve is a crybaby,” Johnny sang like a schoolkid. “Harve is a crybaby.”

  “Whatever,” Harve replied, having wasted too much time on this particular point already. “Gimme your hands.”

  “Why?” asked Johnny.

  By way of answer, Harve forcefully grabbed hold of Johnny’s wrists, then unlocked his handcuffs. “Like the Commander in Chief said, you’ve been pardoned. Now let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To get our new orders, obviously,” Frank answered on his Sergeant’s behalf. “Let’s go kick some alien butt!”

  “Yeah, right,” Johnny laughed. “Count me out, thanks.”

  “It’s the condition of your pardon, moron,” Harve said firmly.

  “Don’t care.”

  It wasn’t so much that Johnny was afraid of the aliens—which he was, everyone was whether they admitted it or not—but fear wasn’t what was stopping him. Mission after mission in the Middle East, it never had. This was simply a matter of there being no way in hell that he would ever go to battle for an army capable of the things for which he knew them responsible.

  “Buddy,” Frank explained softly. “You only get the pardon if you fight.”

  Johnny turned his hands palms-up and offered them to Harve. “Then take me to jail.”

  “Wouldn’t know what jail to take you to if I wanted to,” said Harve. “Which I don’t. Now let’s go.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Listen, Private,” Harve said as he grabbed Johnny by his collar and stared coldly into his eyes. “You’re going to fight . . . and possibly die . . . or I’ll kill you myself.”

  “That’d be murder,” Johnny stared back. “You’d end up the one in jail.”

  “I’ll be pardoned.”

  *****

  Adeline McGibbons had spent the morning glued to her TV. She couldn’t tear herself away from the endless replays of Peyton’s speech, particularly enjoying the channels that juxtaposed the images from the tragedy in Key West with the sound of the President’s promise of victory and a new world order.

  She was surprised when she realized that it was almost eleven. She had to be at Alma’s Bar & Grill in half an hour to work the lunch shift, but she was also dying to watch one more replay with her sons. She felt a little irresponsible for letting them sleep this late, but it was summer.

  “Marcus! Jeb! Rise ’n shine!” shouted the single mom as she butted out her cigarette and marched up the rickety stairs and into their bedroom.

  “Up ’n at ’em, boys. President Willis made a speech last night and the whole world’s gonna change. You’ll be tellin’ your grandchil’n ’bout today someday.”

  But neither of them budged.

  “Come on, sleepyheads!” she shouted as she yanked the covers off their shared double bed.

  They looked bad. Something was wrong with them. There were blotches on their face. Their teeth were rotted. Their fingernails had grown inches overnight. And their newly opened eyes looked dead.

  “Oh my God!” she shouted.
“What happened to you?!”

  They reached up their arms as if to hug her. She wrapped her arms around them, physically assuring them that their ailments would somehow be mended.

  “Awwww, my babies,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

  Marcus slowly reached his hands to her cheeks then chomped down hard on her nose, biting the skin clean off her face, leaving only exposed bone in its stead. Jeb tore his rotted teeth into the back of her neck and gouged out a mound of her flesh. Adeline screamed in shock and pain as she fell to the ground. The young zombies dropped on top of her, gnawing away at her entire body with disgusting drools and ghastly smacks of their lips, ultimately devouring their mother like the starving little cannibals that they had become.

  *****

  A beat-up old Chevrolet Silverado sped along the country road at breakneck speed. Joey’s father was at the wheel while Joey’s mother sat in the backseat with her son, who looked just as bad as his friends Jeb and Marcus.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joey’s mother said soothingly. “We’ll get you to Doc Brady, and he’ll fix you right up.”

  “Almost there,” said Joey’s dad. “You hang in there, sport.”

  Joey looked up at his mother with his sad, dead eyes. He sputtered a little sound, trying desperately to speak.

  “What is it, snookums?” asked the mom as she leaned in, putting her ear to his mouth to listen closely, then the son bit the ear clean off. She jerked back and screamed in pain, when Joey took hold of her face and began to eat away at that too.

  Joey’s dad turned to see the horror that was transpiring. He reached back to yank his son from his wife, but Joey merely bit off his finger.

  The father screamed. The Silverado careened out of control and crashed full speed into a large sugarberry tree. The hood squashed like an accordion, and no one came out of that car for a very long time.

  *****

  Laurel sat on the floor of her bedroom in the East Wing of the White House. She held a framed photograph of the former President, and she was crying.