HERETIC

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟕

The deafening hum of the C-5M air craft has become the background noise for those on board. Men and women sit in tactical gear, their faces blank from them being lost in their minds, minds they are preparing to lose when they land and enter the first couple of Zones.

Examining them, their resolve, their absolute fear they are hiding with every fiber of their being, Ezra blinks and slowly looks to Hera in the seat next to him. Her head leans back on the uncomfortable seats affixed to the walls of the plane, the buckles of straps that criss cross over all of her rattling in her ears. She stares at the metal frame of the ceiling, the rails of machines that moved the jeeps and supplies on board.

About to open his mouth, Hera beats him to it, asking his own question of him, "Are you alright?"

Taken aback, he answers in haste, "Yeah," then snaps out of it. "Uh, no." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Are you?"

"...No."

Hera is one with calm resolve, one who sheds no expression when she fights, but ever since Michael's plan, there is a quiet nervousness to her, something Ezra senses from deep inside her. it doesn't suit her.

Coming to the seat at the end of the row, Raphael sits down next to Hera. "Michael is prepping everyone, apparently we're almost there."

"It surprises me you chose to come along with any of this," Hera glances his way. "You gave up on Aamon being alive inside his own head how many centuries ago?"

His bland bedside manner shows a glint of sadness. "In honesty I'm not hear for him." Ezra awaits the doctor to clarify his feelings while Hera sits watching him, knowing that will be the warmest sentiment he will give her.

The rumble of the plane suddenly changes, making Ezra panic. "It's okay Kid," Michael grabs a loose strap hanging from the wall, giving the small crew of three a white smile. "We're landing."

"Probably should have asked this before," Raphael panders. "But where exactly are we landing this massive craft in the Florida Everglades?"

Michael chuckles at the Doc's dry wit. "Site HM-69, the Hole in the Donut." He laughs to himself at human nicknames. "It's a military base."

"What's a donut?" Ezra, the modern human asks.

The huge planes begins its approach to the trangle shaped base of landing strips. The pulse of the engines roar as the wings rock, the enormous hunk of metal nearly dropping its belly out of itself when the wheels hit the longest runway. Rubber burns and smokes, the brakes making their ditch effort to stop the craft on a landing pad far from what's meant for it. The engines wail at their strain, the man made machine's spirit nearly broken.

Finally, the yawls of the craft start to calm and quiet, the turbines now moving to the easier task of taxing towards the buildings. The cargo door hydraulics whine as they open the back of the plane. Driving out the jeeps and hoisting the crates of supplies, the special unit is assisted by the soldiers currently occupying the base as they come out to rendezvous .

Michael exchanges discussions of restocking the base of its much needed supplies as the cars move behind him, the base having a hum of life and movement it usually lacks. Moving on to Hera and her group, Michael puffs his chest, feeling a finality to the plan he's been building for a hundred years soon coming to be. "Hera." Ezra ceases his gawking at the military presence, turning Hera's way with Raphael. "We're close now." He tosses his head over his shoulder at the buildings kept in somewhat good shape. "This base was strategically chosen. It's close enough to the storm that we can launch regular recon missions, but it's also 5 miles from Zone 9, which keeps us in a somewhat safe and comfy spot."