Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga by David Forsyth Page B

figured out how to patch his IPod into the intercom and they were all entertained by Highway to the Danger Zone from the movie “Top Gun”.  That was followed by Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries of Apocalypse Now fame.  After that Scott told Mark to cool it.  They had some serious flying to do.  The Sovereign Spirit was about 120 miles south of Cabo San Lucas when they took off.  The ship would continue steaming towards Cabo at over 25 miles per hour, so the return flight would be shorter, or the rescue mission if it came to that.  In the meantime the 214-ST was heading slightly east of Cabo San Lucas at over 150 miles per hour towards San Jose del Cabo.  The plan was to fly over the larger town and international airport called Los Cabos, then sweep along the coat to their actual destination, observing conditions along the coast as they flew by. 
     
    It was less than 30 minutes into the flight when Mick announced “Land ho!”  Fifteen minutes later they made landfall at San Jose del Cabo and got their first personal look at zombie land.   It was not very encouraging.  Scott wagged the stick to let Mick Williams know that he wanted control of the aircraft.  Then he nosed down to sweep low along the beach.  It was only seven in the morning, but the beaches were already crowded.  Everyone on the beach seemed to notice the helicopter, because they all turned and raised their arms towards it.  But it soon became obvious that these were not normal tourists and they were not waving hello either. 
     
    “Look at them!” exclaimed Mick.  “They’re all fucked up.  Everyone’s reaching up towards us.  Like they want to grab us or something.  Those are all frigging zombies!”
     
    “No shit,” replied Scott.  “Let’s take a look inland.  We’ll make a pass over Los Cabos airport and then swing back up the coast.”
     
    “Roger that,” confirmed Mick.  “You have the aircraft.”
     
    “Can I whack a few of them first?” asked Mark over the intercom.  He was already sighting zombie targets through the scope of the Mini 14.
     
    “No,” replied Scott firmly.  “This is a recon flight, not an assault mission; at least not yet.”  Not quite yet.   But Scott had to admit that the situation looked grim and he understood why Mark wanted to shoot every damned zombie in sight.  They looked unnatural.  Everyone on the beach or streets that they flew over had the same reaction of turn and reach.  They were all zombies.  Scott was certain that there were more, many more, normal people hiding inside their homes and hotel rooms, but the streets were clearly ruled by the zombies.  Not a good situation at all.  But it was nothing he could hope to correct right now.
     
    Scott turned the helicopter inland and increased altitude to get a bird’s eye view of the city.  No cars were moving that he could see.  It became impossible to tell if the human specks were zombies or normals, but most of those below seemed to turn and move towards the sound of the helicopter with raised arms and gaping jaws.  Then they became mere specks on the landscape, some of many little things that would return the haunt his dreams.
     
    Within a few seconds the helicopter was sweeping over the hills that surrounded the Los Cabos airport.  The new view was no less discouraging.  Only a few small private jets remained on the tarmac.  A 737 had obviously crashed at the north end of the field, spreading debris across the highway beyond which was jammed with burned and abandoned vehicles.    In response to the appearance of the helicopter there was movement at the terminals.  Hundreds of figures moved out towards the sound of the helicopter.  Obviously zombies, but not the slow shambling zombies depicted in most movies.  They ran out onto the runway.    This zombie horde was truly scary.  They moved fast.        
     
    Scott had set the radio to the approach control for Los Cabos and attempted