Anthony DeCosmo - Fusion

Nina realized that even Ashley had known this, that’s why she had insisted on Nina being the one to solve the mystery behind the assassination; why she had requested Nina to track Trevor through the wilderness. The Old Man had known it, too-what had he said to her when he had first walked into the room?

“Oh, now, that’s right. You don’t remember a lick, do ya? Probably for the best and all. Yep, definitely for the best. We had a talk once, you and me, about our friend here.”

“Of course,” she said aloud to herself. “He knew me. I must have met him before I lost my memories-he probably told me why…”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. It’s not important now.”

A voice joined the conversation. A shout actually.

“Captain!” Vince Caesar-loaded with gear and helmets and goggles-cupped his hands and yelled from alongside the helicopter. “Is there a problem?”

She waved at him. The type of aggravated wave that told Caesar to get back into the helicopter and wait until Hell freezes over if that’s what it took. He did just that.

“Nina, I’m sorry,” Shep consoled.

“It’s okay,” she actually smiled. “It’s good-it’s good to know. I have to go now.”

“I reckon so, yeah. But, listen here, Nina Forest, you give them hell. Do you hear? If this is it then let’s go out with a bang.”

The obsession of not-knowing faded faster than she thought possible. What came, instead, was a feeling of anger. Anger at the powers of Armageddon for stealing a chance at happiness from her. At putting her and Trevor through so much. At cheating her from what was rightfully hers.

She glanced at Shepherd. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Her body shivered ever-so-slightly and a hint of devilish red glared in her cheeks.

“Hell, Shep? They have no idea. But I’m going to show them, Shep. I’m going to teach it to them.”

She quickly placed a hand on his cheek in a silent goodbye, swiveled around sharply, and marched to the Blackhawk. A moment later the helicopter rose from the destroyed tarmac of McConnell Air Force Base and flew off to the west.

Jerry Shepherd watched her go.

10. Decapitation

Anita Nehru sat in a small chair gazing out a second floor window. Glare from the midday sun cast her in an angelic light. Her dark hair fell lovingly on her shoulders; its luster had returned in the seven days since leaving the Red Rock facility.

A sandwich and a bowl of soup waited for her attention, but her focus remained on something outside.

“You must eat your lunch before it is no longer hot,” Omar encouraged from across the bedroom as he fit a silver watch around his wrist.

“I’m watching the birds.”

Anita raised her hand slowly in an almost mechanical movement, and then traced a solitary finger on the window as if touching something beyond the glass.

“I see. Well I cannot stay. I am going over to talk with Mr. Jon Brewer and his wife. There are things to discuss.”

“You should see these birds, Omar. They are very big.”

He huffed and crossed the room to her. The hardwood floor creaked with his footsteps. When he arrived at his wife’s side he bent over and pecked her cheek.

“Have you taken the pills the doctor gave to you?”

“Yes-no, no,” her eyes did not waver from the window.

“Then you will do that. Before the nurse comes today. Please, Anita. You must.”

“Look at the birds, Omar.”

Omar reluctantly glanced outside. Two big, black birds circled over and over again above the mansion grounds.

“Yes, I see them. They are probably hawks. Very pretty,” but his tone suggested frustration, not awe. “Perhaps you should move away from the window and have your lunch, Anita. You have been sitting there since you woke up hours ago.”

“It’s a lovely view.”

“You will do as you choose, I suppose. But please Anita, take your medication. And eat some lunch.”

“I’m watching the birds. They just keep flying round and round.”

Omar reached the bedroom door, grabbed the knob, and sighed.

“That is what birds do, Anita. They fly.”

“Round and round?”

“Yes. Round and round.”

“Over the same spot?”

He did not answer.

She finally turned away from the window, looked him in the eyes, and said, “For three hours?”

Omar sighed again.

“I must go. I will be back soon.”

He exited the room. Anita watched the door close behind him and then she returned her eyes to the circling birds and traced a finger along the window again.

“Round and round, birdies. Round and round.”

The Greater Pittsburgh International Airport had actually died prior to the end of world, giving way to a shiny new airport in the early 90s. Allegheny County had struggled to find the best use for all that land, including tearing down the main terminal to make way for a cargo center. But it was not until after the end of the world that the old airport truly returned to life.

Brett Stanton resuscitated the old airport when he brought the dreadnought program to that stretch of wide open empty land. However, by Monday, May 25, eleven years after the invasion that program had stalled. Instead of building new dreadnoughts and super cargo carriers, the shipyards at the old Pittsburgh airport served as a triage center for the gigantic wounded warriors.

The Excalibur sat in dry dock. Or, rather, hovered. The rectangular monster lingered above what used to be the main runways of the airport. A series of gantries lined the massive ship from bow to stern and all along the sides. Hoses and walkways extended from those gantries to carry supplies and work crews on and off the ship. Temporary anti-gravity generators-big glowing cases each the size and shape of a football field-augmented the ship’s partially-operating onboard gravity generators, keeping the mammoth afloat.

Most of the ship hid behind those gantries, otherwise the wounds to The Empire’s flagship would be visible: holes in the superstructure, destroyed engine baffles, a massive gash along its topside runway, and an undercarriage riddled with blast holes.

Stanton wondered how the thing remained afloat, let alone managed to fly its way home to Pittsburgh after suffering so many injuries during a battle months ago.

Adjacent to the Excalibur and its circle of scaffolding floated another ship, this one not quite as long and not quite as wide but huge nonetheless. The Hercules presented an oval profile with a flat bottom, like an elongated domed stadium. Unlike its well-armed compatriot, the Hercules was big and empty by design. The vessel served as a gigantic warehouse, capable of transporting large amounts of materials. Even troops could utilize the huge carrier for short durations, although it was not designed to take large numbers of passengers over long distances.

Some gantries surrounded the Hercules, too, but not nearly as many. It did, however, sport two dozen of the temporary anti-gravity generators.

Brett Stanton stood behind the tinted windows in his second-story office and studied the scene while holding a phone to his ear. He saw trucks, tankers, carts, and workers scrambling around the base although in much smaller numbers than before Voggoth’s west coast invasion.

“Now wait, General,” he spoke into the line. “This is still going to take some time. What we’re scavenging from the Hercules isn’t going to fill all the holes-so to speak-in your ship. I’m mostly thinking about those generators. Your baby has first generation anti-gravs and they run with a different polarization than the Herc’s. We’re going to try and make them fit with a little elbow grease and grit, if you catch my meaning.”

Stanton listened, listened some more, and then replied, “I understand that, Jon, but now wait, just hold on, I can only do one or two miracles a day. Considering that this time last week we couldn’t even find replacement parts I think we’ve done a decent job fitting square pegs into round holes. Just don’t tell Omar. He’ll blow his top at us taking liberties with his designs. What’s that? Oh, well, soften the blow for him when he gets there, will you?”