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?”
Stanton listened again before saying, “I’m going over to the works right now to see for myself. We’ve already started loading ordnance and filling the fuel tanks for your fighters. Worst comes to worst she can be one heck of a weapons platform and flight deck. Give me a few more days and we’ll have it worked out-if you think so, yes-okay, I’ll see you out here this afternoon.”
Stanton hung up the receiver and gazed across the tarmac at the two air ships.
“One of these days I’m going to catch a break. But not today.”
The Director slid open a drawer in a metallic desk and found a flask. Even he could not be sure exactly what the stuff was, but he knew it came from a bunch of hillbillies living in the Appalachians, therefore it must be good.
He removed the black cap, took a deep swig, and then re-sealed the bottle and returned it to its hiding place.
“Now that’s what I call aviation fuel.”
A moment later he exited the building alongside a middle-aged woman and one very fat man, two of his advisors. They carried blueprints and books while struggling to keep pace with their boss. The trio commandeered a golf cart and buzzed across the open space toward the ships.
“What did the general say?” the woman asked.
“Can he send us more workers?” the man asked.
“Put that to him yourself. He’s coming out this way later.”
A line of black marked the difference between the open pavement under the May sun and nearly a mile’s worth of shade beneath the docked ships.
“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Stanton switched his attention from his driving to the sky just before that sky disappeared behind the airship.
The fat man said, “Geez yeah. They kinda look like hawks.”
The woman said, “I didn’t think they traveled in flocks.”
The older man with the prosthetic hand led Ashley along the hall of the lakeside cottage to the rear room that served as Gordon’s nerve center.
“Thank you, Charles,” she said to Gordon’s assistant and he smiled in return as a sign of welcome.
One of the computer printers ran furiously; line after line of type coming off the inkjet at maximum speed. Voices on two different radios filled the room with conflicting sounds, one seemingly the local Internal Security band and the other a news broadcast decrying something about the military abandoning Little Rock.
