(no subject)
He's mad. He's got to be. Van Zant's survived long enough to get across the ocean, yeah, Quinn's got to give him that, but that doesn't change the fact that the man is absolutely bloody insane-
The old military men had fought the dragons from fighter planes, but their weapons hadn't been able to match the beasts' maneuverability. Van Zant's men jumped out of the bloody helicopter to net the things so they'd be vulnerable to the one guaranteed kill shot: an explosive charge straight down the throat. That was a sort of madness, to be sure, but these days just going outside was a sort of madness. The men leaping out of the helicopter (they had a working helicopter!) was just one more case of taking your life into your own hands. Fine. He could see that.
But-
We've run the epidemiology on these things, their pilot- Alex? Was that her name?- had said. Ronnie says they breed like reef fish. There's only a handful of males in the world- one male, one big territory. He passes through the nesting grounds and fertilizes all the females. Kill him, and you take out the next generation. The European male's in London. We think he's the first, and the oldest.
Quinn didn't have to think. He knew. He'd seen- oh, yeah, so had the people who'd made it out of Pembry, they'd gone to London hunting and something had tracked them back to their fortress. He'd told the Americans as much, that not a one of them knew a damned thing about destruction until they'd seen that happen, but half his mind had been back at twelve years old in a dank dripping void that the geological surveys had missed. Van Zant would've laughed, if he'd been capable of laughter. He'd even turned to call out to the other castlefolk-
But the American's words never came, because somewhere high overhead the castle's hawk cried out. The alarms began sounding before he could even speak. "Dragon!" shouted Eddie, who'd not once let go of his blaster since his own horror in the tomato field. "To the shelters, everyone-"
Van Zant's eyes gleamed. "Not us," he said. "Alvarez! Jefferson! Piscatella! Get your packs on! Alex, get that bird in the air! I want those beacons up before she's more than a hundred yards off the ground! Man the fifty cal-" He turned to Quinn and though he didn't quite smile he came oh so very close as he said, "You stay out here. You need to see this. I don't know how your people used to do it, but this is how my people roll."
The old military men had fought the dragons from fighter planes, but their weapons hadn't been able to match the beasts' maneuverability. Van Zant's men jumped out of the bloody helicopter to net the things so they'd be vulnerable to the one guaranteed kill shot: an explosive charge straight down the throat. That was a sort of madness, to be sure, but these days just going outside was a sort of madness. The men leaping out of the helicopter (they had a working helicopter!) was just one more case of taking your life into your own hands. Fine. He could see that.
But-
We've run the epidemiology on these things, their pilot- Alex? Was that her name?- had said. Ronnie says they breed like reef fish. There's only a handful of males in the world- one male, one big territory. He passes through the nesting grounds and fertilizes all the females. Kill him, and you take out the next generation. The European male's in London. We think he's the first, and the oldest.
Quinn didn't have to think. He knew. He'd seen- oh, yeah, so had the people who'd made it out of Pembry, they'd gone to London hunting and something had tracked them back to their fortress. He'd told the Americans as much, that not a one of them knew a damned thing about destruction until they'd seen that happen, but half his mind had been back at twelve years old in a dank dripping void that the geological surveys had missed. Van Zant would've laughed, if he'd been capable of laughter. He'd even turned to call out to the other castlefolk-
But the American's words never came, because somewhere high overhead the castle's hawk cried out. The alarms began sounding before he could even speak. "Dragon!" shouted Eddie, who'd not once let go of his blaster since his own horror in the tomato field. "To the shelters, everyone-"
Van Zant's eyes gleamed. "Not us," he said. "Alvarez! Jefferson! Piscatella! Get your packs on! Alex, get that bird in the air! I want those beacons up before she's more than a hundred yards off the ground! Man the fifty cal-" He turned to Quinn and though he didn't quite smile he came oh so very close as he said, "You stay out here. You need to see this. I don't know how your people used to do it, but this is how my people roll."