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Further down the beach, you straddle outgrowths of rock and use them for cover should anyone or anything jump out but clear the last section of beach and reach the helicopter unscathed. "Be careful," Emma whispers from behind. Drawing back the tarp, you reveal a slender black craft, its thin tail and stubbly legs giving it the appearance of an alien insect. Twin rotors sit atop the metal frame, and the glass windows show the empty belly of the cockpit. You press the door and find no handle or lock.

"Rezo," Heather calls out. Circling the vehicle, you stop at the sight of a figure lying a few feet away—a soldier in a camouflage jumpsuit, his face tilted up and eyes in a hazy stare at the sky.

You crouch beside the man, clutching your pistol. His skin is wet and shiny, a cold pale white. His blue lips are cracked and match his fingernails. You scan his body and find neither bite nor scratch. He simply looks dead—a natural death. "Shoot him," Heather says.

"I'm pretty sure he's dead," Mindy states, rolling her eyes.