His mind froze as it took in the magnificent sight. The most fundamental force of the Earth, pouring out of the mountain and flowing like blood draining from a wound.
Then he turned and ran.
13
A pair of EA-18G Growlers descended from altitude with the tiny island of Tioga in their sights.
The jets had started life as Super Hornets but were then equipped with all manner of electronic warfare gear, the perfect choice for investigating an island where communications had been seemingly blocked off.
Each of the sleek aircraft wore insignia depicting a stylized Eagle's head with four red stripes, marking them as members of the "Shadowhawks" electronic attack squadron from the decks of the USS George Washington.
The planes approached Tioga at high speed, sending strands of smoke curling as they blew through a stream of dirt and smoke rising from the volcano on the north end and billowing to the east.
Leader and wingman climbed again, banked, and circled the target zone.
"Grizzly to Warfighter, we have eyes on the target zone."
A voice traveled from the carrier's bridge hundreds of miles away and answered, "Roger that, Grizzly. Let's have it."
"Warfighter, no sign of any activity in the sky or on the ground. Looks like some kind of big fire down there. Check that, ahhh, what we can see here, looks like you better get SAR inbound ASAP. The, um, land mass is about 60 percent covered in what looks like, um yeah, that looks like lava down there. I'd say you've got an eruption down there."
"Warfighter to Grizzly, roger that. What are you seeing at altitude?"
"Warfighter, um, got some smoke drifting up about ten thousand feet or so, nothing major, airspace is just about CAVU. Still, I wouldn't want to be boots on the ground down there; nowhere to go. Looks like a lot of structure fires, too. Anyone down there will need evac real fast."
The jets continued to circle above.
"Grizzly, check your gear. Any sign of interference?"
The electronic warfare officer who shared the cockpit in the lead Growler answered, "No sign of any hostile activity. We're getting a clear signal in and out. Looks good."
"Roger that, Grizzly," the carrier radioed. "Um, Grizzly, we have reports of friendlies on the ground down there. Give it a good eyeball and tell us what you see."
"Roger that. Grizzly to Little Bear, you stay up top, we'll hit the deck."
The wingman replied, "Understood. We'll keep you covered."
At that point the lead Growler banked hard and dove down from the sky like a hawk speeding for prey. But its sharp dive softened as the waters of the Pacific neared, then finally flattened to level flight as the high-tech winged warrior skimmed the water and raced for Tioga.
It passed over just above treetop level, scattering plumes of smoke, shaking what buildings still stood, and sending a rumble across the ground.
The pilot and his EW officer saw multiple streams of yellow and red rolling across the island, leaving charred black paths in their wake. Embers carried on the wind as fires consumed trees; gray and black columns rose lazily into the afternoon sky.
"Ahhh, Warfighter, this is Grizzly. I took her in real close but it's a mess down there. Lots of tree cover; lots of fires. We didn't see anything but that doesn't mean no one is home."
"Copy that, Grizzly. Anything painted on your scopes? Any contacts?"
"Negative, no joy, clear scopes."
Silence followed for nearly a full minute while the lead Growler gained altitude and partnered with his wingman again, high above Tioga Island.
"Grizzly, Warfighter here. Best guess on survivability down there."
"Coin flip, Warfighter. Still some land left but it's going to run out fast. To be honest … ahh, never mind."
"Go ahead, Grizzly, don’t leave us hanging."
The pilot considered his words and then radioed, "To be honest, it looks like Dante's Inferno down there."
Jupiter Wells first heard and then saw the jets, but unless he made it out from beneath the canopy of banyan trees he knew they would not see him. So he did what he had been doing for the last hour; he ran east, knowing that lines of burning liquid followed him across the island at a pace that suggested the devilish streams knew they did not need to hurry: he had nowhere to go.
Smoke from fires lit by both the long-gone intruders and the flow of encroaching magma crowded out much of the good oxygen. His lungs and skin both felt ready to melt from the heat, while amber embers settled on his shoulders as if taunting his fate.
He stumbled out from a path and onto what passed for a main road and glanced up, hoping to see daylight and possibly the circling planes. Instead he saw a cloud of smoke that had outraced him.
Jupiter paused for a moment and placed his hands on his knees. Despite the carnage everywhere, his stomach growled to remind him it had been a long while since his last meal. At the same time, every joint in his body throbbed.
Neither were new sensations. He had been on plenty of missions that lacked food, water, and rest. As he had done all those other times before, he took a deep breath of resolve and continued his flight, telling himself that he would have plenty of time for food and rest when the job was done.
Problem is, the job today has changed into staying alive.
Reporting in was no longer an option; he had tried to get to his satellite gear on the beach, only to find it long gone, most likely confiscated by an enemy patrol. Furthermore, a branch of the lava flow was headed in that direction and would soon cover the rocks and sand there. For all of that, any transmission might still be jammed anyway.
If he could find open — possibly even high — ground he might be able to raise someone on his tactical radio, if the interference had passed.
A whole lot of ifs, Jupiter.
He followed the road east as it passed a burning building that once might have been somebody's house. It had been ablaze for a while; only a front fascia remained, the rest consumed by golden flames that seemed poised to complete the destruction.
As he neared, two figures came staggering out from a gaping hole where a wall had once stood. Flames completely covered one of the people, while the second one suffered a fire on his arm, although he seemed oblivious to that fact.
Wells stopped moving, but it was too late. The pair of reanimated corpses saw him and approached.
He raised his SCAR-H and waited, using the confrontation as another excuse to rest his legs. From behind, the sound of crackling flames and falling trees grew louder as the lava streams continued their slow but steady march.
These marked the first moving zombies he had seen since the showdown by the bungalows in the dark the night before. That left two possibilities. Either whatever agent the plane had used to immobilize the creatures had worn off, or these two had been protected inside the house, released only now that the flames had knocked over most of the walls.
Whatever the reason, they closed to attack through a light fog of ash and smoke, one wearing a suit of fire that completely hid any features, making it resemble a human torch. Just as Jupiter wondered exactly how anything living—dead? — could soldier on while covered in an inferno, the thing dropped, finally succumbing to the fire.
The other remained oblivious to the spreading flames on its arm. At one point this one had been a fat old man and, from what Wells could see, he had been struck by the undead plague while in his bathrobe. While most of his skin had already suffered second- and third-degree burns, some kind of wound was visible on his right shoulder, and the cheek above had been clawed raw. Wells could envision an attacker approaching from behind, taking the potbellied fellow by surprise.