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and other armored vehicles were at sporadic positions around a large perimeter of downtown L.A. fighting scores of the insane ghouls. First responder vehicles were everywhere as well, but instead of trying to rescue people—they fled from downtown—there were too many of the dead attacking anything that moved; ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars had little to no protection from a ravenous mob. A few of those vehicles had been overturned and burned like funeral pyres. There were military drones in the air, too, providing video data.
                The Sea Stallion drifted over empty rooftops or some that weren’t empty, they were full of the dead. The helicopter’s crew chief answered Ardent’s question—
                “It’s total devastation, sir.”
                “Do you think the attack groups can clear the area so you can search more thoroughly for survivors?” Ardent asked.
                “Negative, sir. In my opinion, Los Angeles is lost.”
                “What do you mean, ‘lost?’”
                The crew chief looked down at the tens of thousands that filled the streets below.
                “Captain, the streets are filled with those things. I’m looking at a million of them, at least.”
                Everyone on the bridge was startled by what the pilot said and whispered randomly in shock—
                “—What?”
                “—How can that be?”
                “—Oh my God.”
                “Stand by, Rescue One,” Ardent said and addressed the bridge crew. “Show me some video data from downtown Los Angeles.”
                An operator worked his keyboard and battle images appeared on one of the many video monitors on the bridge. The particular surveillance drone they were using had its cameras aimed at the battles in the suburbs, but the operator engaged the camera controls and it swung around for a view of downtown—it was a wide-angle view and they couldn’t see the streets clearly.
                “Zoom in,” Ardent said.
                The camera image moved in close and they saw it—the streets were jam-packed with the undead, uninfected people could be seen as they ran, but they were quickly taken down and killed. First responder vehicles tried to get away and most of them were overrun and ripped open to get at the occupants. It was biblical carnage.
     
                An Apache attack helicopter flew by the Sea Stallion as it dove down below the skyline of downtown, firing its machine gun into the streets, blowing apart dozens of the dead. It glided next to a building and several fast moving corpses on floors higher than the Apache saw the pilots in the helicopter as it passed by—they broke through the plate-glass and jumped after them, their dead bodies dropped like rocks, but three of them hit the helicopter’s main rotor blade and one hit the rear blade—the collision damaged the helicopter enough to send it out of control. It spiraled down and crashed into the very streets it was firing into. The dead stormed the wreckage.
                “Goddamit!” the Sea Stallion pilot exclaimed.
                “What is it?” Ardent asked.
                “Sir, a group of those things jumped off a building and took down an Apache.”
                “Can you do anything for them?”
                “No, sir, they went down in the thick of it, they’re all dead.”
                Ardent made a decision, “Alright, do one more pass for survivors and then RTB.”
                “Yes, sir. One more pass and then return to base, copy that.”
                “Ronald Reagan out,” Ardent said and turned to his officers, “Bring all of our manned aircraft home, now.”
                “Yes, sir,” an officer said