Free Dawn of the Dead by George A. Romero

did, that it was a punishment for the sins of modern living.
    They had flown over the lush Lebanon and Cumberland Valleys, which the mighty Susquehanna River nourished and which surrounded the state capital of Harrisburg. Now, as far as Peter could tell from his high school geography, they were passing into the Appalachian Mountains, which would lead them to the Allegheny Mountains and finally on to Johnstown and Pittsburgh.
    A sudden twitching of Steve’s head made Peter notice that the pilot was falling asleep. With a swift movement, Peter kicked him gently in the shoulder. Startled, Steve looked behind him, surprised that the big trooper was still awake. Steve smiled slightly, but Peter only stared back coldly.
    He’s a weird one, thought Steve. Wonder why Roger ever thought to take him along.
    “Any more water?” Steve asked, rubbing his face violently and pulling at the skin below his eyes to stay awake.
    Peter reached behind him to the supplies and pulled out a plastic container of water. Steve took a deep slug, and then felt guilty for taking so much. More cautiously, he splashed some on his face to revitalize himself. He didn’t know how long he had been awake, but it had to be at least twenty-four hours. He knew he had been at the TV station the day before at 4 a.m., and now it was way past that.
    He passed the plastic container back to Peter, who also took a hit.
    Suddenly, Fran stiffened and woke up with a start, as if from a bad dream. Peter’s expression softened when he looked at her. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or who this man was, or even why her bones ached so and her head spun. Then she remembered and the thought made her cringe.
    “You know where we are?” Peter asked Stephen.
    “I know exactly where we are,” Steve said aggressively. He didn’t like Peter’s attitude toward him, and also he had noticed Peter’s change of attitude whenever he spoke to Fran.
    “Harrisburg?” Peter asked, trying to trick Steve. He resented the pilot’s haughty posture.
    “Passed it about an hour ago.”
    Both men were talking loudly over the drone of the engine and were also trying to talk one another down. Their strident voices woke Roger up. He turned just as Steve told the others, “We’re pretty low on fuel. I’m just waitin’ for full light so we can see what we’re landin’ in.”
    The three other passengers looked down on the ground and could make out several large fires, probably warehouses and factories. The pea-green trucks of a National Guard convoy were also visible as they chugged up a winding country road.
    As the sun rose higher, more and more activity was visible on the ground. Search and destroy units made up of police, guardsmen and civilian volunteers moved across the countryside. Occasionally, a lone zombie could be seen wandering or staggering through the trees or over a field. Frequently, the creature was met by the staccato beat of gunfire as it was cut down.
    “Jesus,” Roger said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he watched the horror show below. “It’s everywhere.”
    “We’re getting pretty close to Johnstown,” Steve told him. “We’re better off away from the big cities. This map says there’s a little country airfield in Beaverdale. I’m goin’ to try and land there to refuel.”
    As they approached the airfield, quiet in the morning sun, there was no sign of life. A few private planes dotted the area, but the familiar crackle of the air traffic control tower radio was conspicuously absent. The WGON chopper buzzed very low, just outside the tower windows.
    As the whirlybird slowly set down near the fuel pumps, its blades created a wind blast that raised great clouds of dust from the dry earth. Sheets of old newspaper and other light debris were sent flying through the air in all directions. The place was as deserted as if an atomic bomb had blasted the area.
    One piece of torn newsprint blew flat against a window in one of the little sheds