It took only seconds after leaving the silo for the missile to reach supersonic speeds, only minutes for it to completely depart Earth's atmosphere. From the missile's vantage point in s.p.a.ce, one wouldn't see anything amiss on the surface, miles below. A ma.s.sive storm front enveloped Kansas; clouds obscured Montana. Independent of GPS reliance, the doomsday warhead's guidance took a star shot of the cosmos, determining its exact position above the Earth before waiting moments in orbit to nose over and drop on its designated target. After reentry, the warhead's inertial system began refining its course; the missile body rotated slightly, aerodynamically adjusting ballistic trajectory to within one inch.

"G.o.d, our radars indicate the Hotel 23 warhead is inbound to this station!"

The Red Pinnacle Klaxon screamed throughout Remote Six, indicating that a nuke was inbound. The compound bustled with activity; technicians and think-tank personnel consulted their checklists for receiving annihilation.

G.o.d's eugenic plans crumbled before him. His genetically superior utopia, ruled by a technocratic elite, would never come to fruition.

"How could those imbeciles have done this?!" he screamed. "How could these mouthbreathing commoners have bested this facility with our minds and all our computing power?!"

G.o.d slammed his balled fist against a nearby metal desk, spilling coffee all over the cla.s.sified papers that sat in a neat stack on top.

A CRT display flickered to life in a bank of screens that typically presented raw quantum computing outputs. A single rectangular green cursor blinked, marking the seconds; text slowly ticked into view.

I AM QUANTUM. QUANTUM DESTROYED C-130. QUANTUM WILL DESTROY YOU.

G.o.d had no time to react.

Exactly twenty-six minutes and twelve seconds post launch, the warhead dropped straight down on its target in surface burst mode. Four feet from the ground, detonators fired simultaneously, crushing the core. The resulting nuclear explosion instantly disintegrated everything in and around the target impact area.

Remote Six was gone.

56.

It had been one year since the first dead human walked in the United States. One year ago that the halls of Bethesda Naval Hospital brimmed with the returning Chinese envoys composed of U.S. doctors and surgeons recalled by the president. One quarantined member of the China crisis-response team had pa.s.sed away in transit, but remained mobile, even after the CDC confirmed death. From the jaws of this single demon spread the contagion that brought the United States to nuclear civil war inside of thirty days.

USS Virginia was now in place upstream and four men boarded the RHIB, bound for the sh.o.r.es that were home to unspeakable technologies and CHANG . . . Patient Zero.

The waves quietly slapped the inflatable hull, pitching the RHIB slightly. As previously planned, Rico would drive the boat while Saien and Kil paddled, beaching it on the riverbank. Rex would keep his carbine at the ready. The submarine arrived at this point on the river after sunset to avoid unwanted attention; it seemed to work. While the boat approached the bank, there were no undead about. Eerily, they met no resistance on the beach and no resistance while hot-wiring a white Hilux diesel truck, left abandoned near the bank, nudged tightly against a guardrail. The diesel fuel was still good and the charged car battery brought from the sub had enough juice to turn over the engine.

Their radios crackled every few minutes with a voice garbled by an oxygen mask worn by a pilot flying seventeen miles overhead. They had been briefed that Aurora would be moving at hypersonic speeds, her cameras slewing all around the team as well as along their intended path over ground.

"Hourgla.s.s, Deep Sea, yellow brick road is clear. Wish you could see downtown Beijing right now. A real party going on down there."

"We'll take your word, Deep Sea," Kil said.

Kil drove the truck with Rex riding shotgun. Saien and Rico provided security for the truck from the back. With the headlights too bright for their goggles, Kil pulled over to smash them, as they could not be switched off. d.a.m.n Chinese. He decided to destroy the brake lights as well, striking them with the b.u.t.t of his rifle.

"Thanks. Every time you hit the brakes, I had to look away," Rico said.

Deep Sea keyed in from overhead, "Hourgla.s.s, I don't recommend that. Your noise just redirected a few to your posit. They are moving slow but advancing, at your truck's nine o'clock. More up ahead on the road."

"Copy that, Deep Sea, thanks for the tipper," Kil acknowledged, moving quickly back to the cab.

Both Saien and Rico were monitoring the radio and began scanning about, looking for the threat in the darkness. Kil rolled forward over broken gla.s.s and downed power lines, pa.s.sing wreckage dating to back before the outbreak hit the United States.

With only two miles left to the facility, they had their first close encounter with the undead. Dark patches of hair still clung to its scalp, advanced stages of decomposition disguising its nationality. Zombies were . . . zombies, just like people, Kil thought. The creature heard the low crank of the diesel engine and charged at the sound, impacting the hood.

"Saien, a little help!" Kil shouted as the creature climbed across the hood to the window, grabbing and biting the wiper blades, punching the gla.s.s.

Saien checked for a tight seat on his suppressor and angled the rifle over the top of the cab. Careful to avoid damaging the engine block with the powerful 7.62 round, he shot at an awkward outward angle. The round hit the creature's face, splattering its brain of jelly-like consistency onto the hood and road. The corpse relinquished its grip of the wiper blades, and slid off the front of the truck, thudding onto the pavement. Kil hit the wiper fluid, smearing decayed brains all over the windshield, and accelerated over the corpse with a b.u.mp.

Saien's suppressed 7.62 carbine thumped a little more ba.s.s than its M-4 counterpart, prompting another call from Deep Sea.

"More reaction to your noise, Hourgla.s.s. Haul a.s.s to the facility, it's not far from you now."

Kil reached breakneck speeds; the undead vectored into his rearview mirror, chasing the noise signature of the truck. They slung around a dogleg corner at sixty kilometers per hour, back wheels in a power slide.

They were at the facility.

Kil backed the truck into the fence and shut it down. The men tossed their packs and a heavy Halligan bar over before traversing the razor wire. They hit the ground before the dead started to trickle onto the access road in front of the truck.

The courtyard inside surrounding the eight-sided building was clear according to Deep Sea. Kil checked his watch to verify they had four and a half more hours of coverage before making the call.

"Deep Sea, we're headed in, enjoy the view."

"Roger that. I'm not going anywhere, good luck."

Using the Halligan, Rex managed to pull the door from its frame, accessing the lobby area of the facility. The air that rushed from the sealed frame was clean-not a bad sign. The men activated their IR weapon lasers and entered the dusty lobby. Scattered debris, strewn chairs, and fire damage signaled a hurried evacuation. Clearing the lobby, the team encountered a door that would not be strong-armed by any Halligan tool.

C4 breach was the only option.

"We should put on our masks before we blow the door. Don't know what kind of s.h.i.t is crawling around in there," Kil suggested.

"Look at that. See that there?" Rex gestured.

"Yeah, looks bulged or dented, from the inside," Kil said, running his hands over the distressed convex steel shape of the door. "Wonder what that is about."

With the explosives rigged, the men fell back to the lobby and donned their filtration masks.

"Fire in the hole!" Rex yelled before actuating the electronic clacker.

A huge explosion reverberated through the lobby, sending debris pinballing around the room. The ma.s.sive door flew straight out from its frame, slamming into a wall with juggernaut force. White light radiated into the lobby through the dust from the area where the door once stood strong.

"Rico, get that thing ready!" Rex ordered, gesturing at the foam gun hanging at Rico's side.

Rico readied the awkward gun, opening the valves and checking the fuel-pressure gauges. "Ready, man."

Rico took point and the others trailed back, removing their NODs as they rounded the corner and walked into the light. Power remained online inside the facility, probably geothermal or solar. Looking down the corridor they could see nothing but strewn skeletal remains that wore white lab coats with a few Chinese military uniforms mixed in. Kil moved forward, down the bright pa.s.sage.

The world had been in undead control for a year, and it had all begun here, in a nondescript Chinese building hidden in plain view. The hallway was coated in moldy condensation as if the walls were sweating fear and desperation. Kil paged through the handwritten language book Commie had constructed for them. Flipping to the word hangar he saw all the possible words in Chinese that might indicate the location of the hardware they were looking for. The team stopped at the facility map on the wall and Kil traced his finger from the red dot and the text underneath that probably meant You are here in Chinese.

Kil matched the symbols on the map to his language chart. "Here is where we need to go. This is Chinese for hangar or at least something close to it," Kil said to the others.

"What about CHANG?" Rex said, thinking of their stated primary objective.

"What about him? Commie didn't think to write the Chinese word for CHANG on the cheat sheet here," Kil said sarcastically.

"You've gotta be s.h.i.tting me," Rico said, straining under the weight of the foam gun.

"Let's just move to the hangar. It's only two turns from here," said Kil.

Nothing in the facility seemed to be secured or locked. Kil theorized that the Chinese probably thought that if you were allowed to be behind the big doors, you were allowed to go anywhere in the facility. Most of the doors were of the simple swing design and opened as you reached proximity. Old bloodstains lined the pa.s.sage, coating the automatic doors that opened into the hangar.

The lights inside were off until they entered and triggered a sensor that illuminated the vast cavernous s.p.a.ce. In the center of the room sat a large craft the size of a greyhound bus and unlike anything that any of them had ever seen. They were drawn to it, mystified by the design and exotic nature of the shape. It would have had the appearance of a perfect tear drop, if not for the huge hole that pa.s.sed through both sides of the hull, behind what was probably the c.o.c.kpit. As they rounded the front of the vehicle, Rico stopped in his tracks and held up his fist.

"Get down," he whispered, pointing to something standing near the craft opposite the side they had come in.

The thing was clothed in a suit that matched the craft alloy, or perhaps it just appeared that way because the creature was standing so close to the skin of the vehicle; it was difficult to discern.

"That has to be CHANG. The suit design matches the photos. It's not wearing the helmet," Kil whispered to the others. "Blast it with the foam and get this over with."

The mysterious figure soon took notice of the four and turned to face its intruders.

Every man expected to see what years of pop culture and television brainwashing told them CHANG would be. The creature was no large-headed gray thing with huge, black, almond-shaped eyes. It looked . . . human.

It bellowed from its ancient lungs and sprinted toward them, alloy boots clanging on the floor like a tin man. Rico stepped forward and sprayed it from its waist to the floor with the foam compound. Two chemical streams coated CHANG's torso and legs. They solidified almost instantly, turning the creature into a half statue.

The men encircled the angry creature, examining it at a safe distance as it thrashed about, fused to the deck. Its arms moved like a cyclone, reaching for them; its legs strained against the foam weapon's curing fibercrete.

So this is what ended the world, killed everything dear to me, and everything dear to everyone dear to me, Kil thought.

It became clear to the four onlookers that CHANG looked just like any other undead human Chinese man.

Kil edged closer to the creature, examining the metallic name-plate affixed to its chest. Chinese letters were inscribed finely into the alloy on CHANG's nameplate directly above the words MAJOR CHANG.

"What now, Kil?" Rex asked.

Kil stood silent, his anger visibly building. He fixed his stare at CHANG. This creature had killed the world.

"We do this," Kil said.

He raised his suppressed 7.62 carbine and pulled the trigger. CHANG's head exploded away from the team, ancient brain matter splattering against the strange, sleek craft.

"What the f.u.c.k?!" Rex exclaimed, visibly confused. "You wasted the objective!"

Kil shook his head. "No, I didn't. CHANG was as human as you are right now. CHANG was never the objective. But all this s.h.i.t is." He gestured to the craft and the research tables full of mysterious hardware that surrounded it. "Besides, look down. CHANG is permanently fused to the deck, courtesy of Rico there."

Rex pulled his knife and stabbed at the resin fused to the floor below CHANG's headless body.

"Don't bother, Rex," said Kil. "That stuff is fiber resin. You'll snap your blade before you make a scratch. It would take a week with power tools to free the major. Let's get everything we can and get back to the boat . . . but I'm telling you all right now, that thing was human and you all know it." Kil grabbed a clear plastic tube vault from his pack, scooping bits of CHANG's remains inside for transport.

"Just like a direct-action mission in Afghanistan," said Rex.

"How do you mean?"

"We take weeks, sometimes months to plan a direct-action mission to kill or capture a high-value target, and the mission is over before you know it."

The team filled their packs with what intel had briefed were the data cubes, as well as anything else that appeared useful. Kil stuffed his cargo pockets with two very exotic-looking pistols.

These might come in handy.

His pack was nearly at capacity when he found two large, football-shaped, color-coded containers sitting side-by-side on one of the research tables near the damaged craft. The markings on the containers were not Chinese, and not like anything he'd ever seen, anywhere. The red container had been severely damaged by whatever tore through CHANG's ship. The blue sister container appeared undamaged. Kil decided to bring both of them back to the submarine for future a.n.a.lysis.

The team worked their way back to the lobby and exited the front into the courtyard. As soon as they were visible to the sky, their radio crackled to life.

"Hourgla.s.s, welcome back. I have some news you may want to hear."

"Go ahead, Deep Sea," Kil replied.

"I'm seeing another submarine surfaced near the Virginia. The other sub is a good bit larger than your boat. Looks like a boomer."

"What's it doing?"

"It's signaling. I don't think it's hostile; it's too close to your boat and clearly surfaced, not exactly a textbook tactic for sinking an enemy sub. Besides that, you've got some paparazzi at the gates around your transport."

"Copy that, Deep Sea."

The men closed on the fence where the undead stood waiting.

"Rico, do it," Rex ordered.

Rico approached the fence and sprayed the undead creatures with the fibercrete foam gun. The substance looked like soap suds to Kil. It was frightening how fast it set, freezing the creatures in a tomb of advanced resin. Rico was careful to avoid the truck, as it would be disabled by the substance if even a part of a wheel were to come in contact. With most of the creatures permanently a part of the metal fence, the four safely negotiated over.

They piled into the truck and enjoyed an uneventful trip back to the boat.

When the team was finally onboard, Aurora wished them luck and burned the sky home on her final voyage.

January 1 Happy New Year to me. After a sobering night of fun on the Chinese mainland, I very much look forward to heading east-going home. Our new Chinese friends intend to escort us back east. Although his English is horrible, the Chinese submarine captain was elated to find us. He had been shadowing the Virginia since we entered Chinese waters. Thank goodness he determined that we had no hostile intent, as they definitely had the drop on us. Our new friends have stronger shortwave radios than we do, and once we pa.s.sed them the frequencies and timetables, they were able to send and receive messages to the USS George Washington, now permanently in port at Key West.

I've taken a little time to reflect on the past year, to get my mind right and to think of everything I have to be thankful for.

Tara and our baby are fine.