27. Sky Water and Land
The bald eagle dove as the giant spiders buzzed toward it. The sight had it baffled, almost making its wings go limp. A flying spider? As it sliced through the smog filled air, its binocular vision took in the crumbled ground nests of the featherless predators. It screeched and launched itself back into a higher altitude as fiery rain swept down on the ground. Giant turtles were torn to shred as they ran over the motionless intertwined serpents.
With its heart racing faster than the beat of its wings, the eagle propelled itself into a sideways dive. It narrowly flew out of the path of a flying side winder. What strange creatures were these? It was accustomed to the running turtles and the occasional giant, featherless bird, but not these buzzing spiders and flying snakes.
The eagle shrieked as the hornets spit out more rain. The sounds were louder than the screams of the sky during a storm and made the eagle's vision. In disarray, it flew at angels, beating its wings at an unnatural rhythm. The eagle slowed down, sensing it. But it before it could maneuver out of the way the hornet slammed into it. It's flight ended with blackness.
****************************
“American moron,” the pilot of the Arachnid attack helicopter said. He scowled at the mess of feathers and gore sticking to the windshield. It wasn't obscuring much of his vision, but he still didn't want to look at the filth for the entire flight. He flicked a switch and a pair of massive shutters shut over the window like a pair of jaws.
“I can't see a thing!” the co-pilot said.
The pilot turned the switch again and the cover opened, scraping away most of the obliterated eagle. Slicks of blood and stray pieces of feather still clung to the glass.
“Better? He said.
The co-pilot said nothing as he stared out the window. A formation of Arachnids soaring past. The crackle of their guns blasting like the American's ridiculous Fourth of July fireworks.
The pilot laughed. He couldn't believe that he was slaughtering them, and it was perfectly fine. No matter how many towns he flew the chopper over, the people behind the attack wouldn't raise their fists and call him a terrorist. To them, he was taking part in what had to be done.
But somehow, this felt wrong. The people below were not blood thirst soldiers, but civilians. Old men and women who have seen how the world gradually descended deeper into madness. Young adults with their sights set on their dreams, only to be shot down when in the sights of the gunners.
The children. Oh how every time he saw a school in the distance. He always flew around them, but there was no telling what the others did. Just the thought of it sickened him. He clenched his fist, throwing the chopper into a bouncing course.
What was happening to him? Was he growing sympathetic to the people who invaded his country and mocked his people? He swallowed, the sweat on his neck sliding down his chest. The orders going through his head were like dog barks. Everything added to his confusion.
Then it came back to him. He was no more than a gardener, getting rid of weeds. Or so, that's what they told him. They? He squinted into the distance, wishing the answer would just fly out to him. But it didn't.
The pilot held his breath, realizing how lost he was. Here he was, piloting a slaughter machine over towns that posed no threat to anybody. But why? Why? Why was this happening? Why was he a part of this? Why was he willingly being manipulated.
Manipulated. He could taste the phantom smell of the word on his tongue. He was just a puppet. All of them were. They were being played with by mad men.
****************************
The great white shark sliced through the dark waters, like a torpedo. It grinned, knowing it was the most feared creature of these waters. A school of fish scattered at its approach. The shark didn't care, it wasn't even hungry. Its stomach was still satisfied by the blubber-less seal it devoured three days ago.
A blubber-less seal with a belly that tasted like dry bone. How it craved to sink its mouth into fresh fat healthy specimens. But throughout the past eight years, it had no luck. All he saw swimming on the surface was mostly giant, hard stomached whales. Whales with spinning tails that shrieked like crazed dolphins.
The shark shut his jaw, its stomach was tingling again. While the blubber-less seals filled it, they tasted revolting and caused him suffering. Unable to bear it any longer, it let its stomach muscles contract. It opened its mouth and spit out the contents. A gold ring, two shriveled, blue flippers, a piece of green skin, and a pair of strange eyes floated in front of it, before they were pushed by the waves its powerful body generated.
Feeling better, it swung its tail quicker, increasing its speed. The water around it was vacant. Empty nothingness. What was wrong? Even though it was a feared predator its surroundings were never this lifeless. Then it sensed them.
They were far away, but the violent vibrations signaled that they were catch up fast. The shark took in the water, smelling them, but got nothing but salt, algae and the sour stench that it had grown accustomed to. What could they be?
For once in its life, the predator was experiencing fear. Was this how prey felt as it pursued them? No. It wasn't like them. This wasn't fear of being hunted, it was fear of the unknown.
It heard them. It was the shrieks of the crazed dolphins. There were so many, and traveling so fast. The shark bent its back and whipped its tail madly, bubbles exploding around its hulk as it shot through the water. It wasn't until the water became murky that it realized that was heading toward Water's End.
But it was too late, there was no heading back. It would just have to hope that the shallowness would make them stop. Then it stopped and took a sharp right when it almost bumped into a motionless giant hard stomached whale. They were everywhere, it saw.
Although it was not a creature accustomed to the thought of hiding, the shark decided to use the motionless creatures as cover. It dove beneath one of the larger specimens and swam circles. To its relief, the speeding pursuers flashed by, so fast that all the shark saw was black blurs and the swooshing wakes.
It was about to swim back to the open when a more of the creatures poured in. There were even some swimming beneath the surface! The shark slapped the water with its fins as it fled from the advancing, faceless abominations. Its gills ferociously pumped water in and out as it made its escape. But the disturbances in the water told it that they were gaining.
And then, everything just stopped. The water going still again. Still not contempt, the shark swam toward Water's End before turning. There they were, floating motionless, there featureless heads undecipherable. Several more gill breaths past and it could sense crabs peeking out form holes on the seafloor, and small fish coming out from behind clumps of seaweed.
Were they afraid of it? Of course they were. They realized that they were dealing with the most powerful fish in these waters. Pulling back its gums, the shark smiled at the petrified creatures before going for the surface. It was going to give one of the black screamers a piece of its furry. So close, the shark knew, and it could sink its teeth into a fresh belly.
A burst of bubbles erupted all around it and its body was tossed around and it spun as if caught in a whirlpool. It tasted blooded. With a jolt of fear that tasted of electricity, it realized that the blood was its own. The shark thrashed its tail like a fish on land, trying to regain balance.
Another tremor was sweeping toward it, but before it reached it, everything faded.
****************************
“Suicidal fish,” the man peering at the sonar screen said. “It just swam to the surface, right where one of the targets was.”
“It's just a little fish,” the man next to him said, petting the heat-seeker launcher that he was holding.
“No,” he said, “Not just a fish. One of the rarest sea critters alive.”
“You know what? Just shut your mouth! There's no time for this now. We all have orders and are expected to carry them out.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don't like them either. I mean, we're not killing enemy forces we're-”
Explosions shook the walls and red dots sprouted all over the radar screen. “My God. All direct hits.”
“I'm missing out on the fireworks,” the man with the missile launcher said.
The radar man ran his nails over the wall beside him as he walked out, still petting his missile launcher. A spasm went through his body with every set of flashes indicating another hit. Unable to take anymore, he shut his eyes.
The strike zones still burned in his mind. Eyes opened or closed, he would still see visions of the dead. So he opened them, facing the horror with face to face. But it was still cowardly. Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and made his way to the deck. Every step an echo of his past. But he knew that the present was more horrendous than the ghosts of yesterday.
The moment his face met with the sea breeze, the heat lapped at him. He turned around and took in the smoking city of fire. Through dead eyes, he watched as the world died.
