The Mini-burger

FanFic in the Birmoverse

A measure of salvation Sparty



Kolhammer watched the Clintons last and only Raptor catapult of the deck and arc into the sky on full afterburner. Normally the flight deck would now be a hive of activity as sailors reset the ‘cat’ and readied the next aircraft for launch or prepped for recovery. But not this time.

Phillip wondered how it had got to this. Had the Zombie plague been some man-made, Nazi experiment fuelled by uptimer technology, some weird product of the transition or a result of the chemical biological and nuclear spasm that had seized what had been the central front in Europe. He didn’t know, and neither had the most intelligent uneaten brains in the Western hemisphere.

He winced as the Clintons point defences barked, turning a group of gulls closing on a deckhand, into bloody mush.

Once the only significant threat to his ship had been the very latest Chinese nuclear tipped, albatros cruise missile, now even a seabird posed a threat. How did things turn to shit so quickly he thought. At first man-kind had held its own, using strategy and technology that only humanity could. Fighting withdrawals – he smiled at the thought of Winston Churchill making good on his old promise, fighting on the beaches of Brighton, his webley service pistol firing alongside veterans of Dunkirk. At least he went out the way he would have wanted. Kolhammers smile faded as he remembered that they had lost the Trident that day, Halabi’s humanity overwhelming her instinct to choose the right course of action , just once she had let her heart rule her head, the delay to get the as many of the refugees aboard as possible, had been fatal.

Mike had cried when he told Philip of the last conversation he had with his wife, the sounds of gunfire in a confined bridge, and the deadly countdown of Posh, as Halabi initiated the Tridents auto-destruct sequence.

His bridge was clear of that chaos, although he knew that was only because they had systematically entombed sailors on decks below.

Visions lingered in his mind, the long shot from the CNN helicopter as Julia Duffy waved it away from the helipad atop the Empire State building. How she has used her K-bar to hold off the hoard long after she had taken a bite that had even penetrated her neoprene Kevlar body armour. That was how he wished he remembered her, rather than the soulless, frenzied face he had seen through a camera lens as some latent impulse within the zombie that she had become, had turned then lens on herself.

At a historic moment like today Kolhammer would have expected to have conferenced with Lonesome, but he knew he was almost certainly dead, within the steel and concrete coffin that was the Whitehouse bunker. Lonesomes last fight had been to get the President to its relative safety, but with 10 million former residents of Washington gathered on the rose garden, it had just given the Commander in chief the opportunity to choose the manner and exact timing of how he left life.

Had there been any good news? There were rumours that Brasch had established a community in the freezing north of Canada. But the lack of food for Zombies there also hit both ways, surely Brasches people must have starved.

Kolhammer remembered saluting Harry as he boarded the Osprey that dropped him by parachute into Balmoral. Windsor had known it was a one way trip, that this time there was no extraction even considered but had gone anyway. The Royal Standard still blew there, but sadly it was no longer taken down at sunset any longer.

So many good people. Humanity should have stood a chance. Until the plague crossed the species barrier, and even a scratch from a rat or a  bird spread the contagion.

 Kolhammer listened to the radio as major brooks announced that the modified anti satellite missile had left his Raptor and fired its booster. The small satellite it carried orbit would transmit for a thousand years. Its warning to anyone who might come by this planet devised by the young graduate Carl Sagen.

Kolhammer made a last address to what remained of his crew while looking at  a picture of his wife Marie. Please God let this plague be unique to this world  he thought as he turned the key that turned the Clintons reactor  into a measure of salvation.


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