Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  While that may not sound a long time, I’m pretty sure it would be bad enough. At least the fog would hide the worst…

  When Budd finally returned his gaze to the passenger section, Juliette was at the back of the airplane, kneeling down behind one of the seats; Father McGee was with her. Together they stood up, one on each side of Bogey, their arms linked under his shoulders. The soldier’s head was limp, and red blood surrounded a massive wound on his neck. His eyes were open and blank; part of his face was bitten away.

  The soldier was dead.

  Slowly, Juliette disengaged herself from Bogey’s corpse, leaving the elderly priest to bear the weight alone. Behind his beard, Father McGee was speaking rapidly, his words lost beneath the sound of the engines and the massive noise of the wind passing the open hatch. Tears glistened in the old man’s eyes. Father McGee let Bogey sink to his knees and then gave the body a gentle push.

  The dead soldier’s torso toppled out of the hatch. His legs and feet disappeared in an instant.

  Having made the sign of the cross on his chest, Father McGee slid the hatch closed. Immediately, the deafening noise inside the cabin ceased.

  Budd looked to his instruments and busied himself in the cockpit.

  You know what? Having been trapped in my seat, unable to lend a hand—well, to look for somewhere safer to hide, anyway—I felt worse than I ever had throughout the whole, despicable ordeal. It was like watching a movie, but knowing that if the hero didn’t win, the ushers would lock the doors and torture everyone to death.

  I remember seeing wet marks on all the instruments I touched for ’bout the next—I don’t know—two hours. And I’m not kidding. My palms hadn’t been that sweaty since my first visit to, well, I won’t say exactly, but if I tell you I’d just turned eighteen, I was excited, petrified, and had a wad of cash in my back pocket, you’d probably get the idea, right?

  And it was just like that in other ways, too. Now that it was over, I wanted to lie down and go to sleep. But we still had a long way to go…

  46

  Budd looked up from his charts and flight plan, alerted by the sound of someone behind him. He felt Juliette’s soft lips press against the stubble on the side of his face. They lingered there a moment. When she pulled away, she sat down in the co-pilot’s chair.

  “I have made you a coffee,” she said, handing him a small, cream-colored mug. The engines seemed much quieter when traveling at the Beech King’s cruising speed. There was still a lot of background noise, but not too much to prevent a conversation taking place without the headphones.

  “Thanks, sweetheart, I thought I could smell one brewing,” Budd said. He took the drink and blew on it.

  “How are we doing, Monsieur Ashby?”

  Budd nodded his head towards the blue sky that filled the windscreen. The heavy bank of gray cloud, which, as far as he could see extended in all directions across land and sea alike, was several thousand feet below them. The sky above was pale blue and empty; even if they hadn’t come from days of gloom and terror, it would have been a picture-perfect sight. Off to the west, the yellow ball of the sun was no longer visible. The sky would not be light for much longer.

  “Deacon was right, the hangar shielded the aircraft from the electrical damage. So, as long as our instruments stay in good working order, we’re doing fine and dandy. None of the navigational beacons are switched on, though. So we won’t know for sure ‘til we come through that cloud and hit the Hope Island runway. Or not.”

  “But, so far, you think we are doing okay?” Juliette asked with a sip of her own coffee. She turned to the cockpit door and smiled. “How was your sleep, Becky?”

  “It was good, thank you,” the little girl replied. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, a testament to the way Juliette had soothed her into a state of rest. She sat down between the two seats in the cockpit and rested her head against Budd’s leg.

  “We’re doing as well as can be expected,” Budd said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But the hard part’s still to come. I know where the airfield is, and I think I’ve calculated the correct altitude from sea level. But if they’re not putting out a signal and there’re no lights on the runway, it’ll mean that, assuming the cloud reaches that far, making my final approach is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack. A big haystack. What would be perfect is if the airfield is still operational. But, hey, what’re the chances of that?”

  Juliette looked around at the blue sky. “I wish we could stay up here for ever.”

  “You and me both, baby. But these things don’t run on fresh air. Even with this long-range bird, things are tight on the fuel front.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Another five hours, give or take. It all depends on the weather further north.” Budd drained the last from his coffee mug and placed it at his feet. “How did the others take it ’bout not heading to France?”

  “I told Father McGee, and he explained it to Jack and that woman,” Juliette answered, her voice full of spite. “The three of them have accepted it well enough. What choice did they have?”

  “None, I guess.”

  “Do you mind if I sleep here? I like the view of the sky.”

  “As long as you don’t snore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I stay, too?” Becky asked, looking up at Budd.

  He ruffled her hair. “No problem, Snot-nose.”

  47

  The sky was dark by the time Budd started his descent; the Beech King slipped from a star-sprinkled black sky into complete darkness. Beside him, he heard Juliette whisper something into Becky’s ear, which caused the little girl to giggle. She was sitting on Juliette’s lap, staring out of the windscreen.

  “I hope I’ve got this right.”

  “I know you have, Monsieur Ashby. I know you have.”

  “I wish I had your confidence, pumpkin, I really do. But doing this blind will take a miracle, and they way things have been going lately, I think God’s on vacation.”

  Above Budd’s head, a red light began to flash.

  “What is that?” Juliette asked.

  Budd didn’t answer. He reached up and flicked a switch beside the red diode. There was a dial below it, which he turned slowly.

  “Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said. “What is that light?”

  Budd let a smile form on his lips. “Maybe God’s called to check up on us,” he said and carried on revolving the dial. The cockpit speakers erupted with static.

  He adjusted it again, finally catching hold of a voice: “This is Hope Island Research Station. Unidentified aircraft, altitude six thousand feet, approaching 330° north-west, do you read me? Over.”

  Budd put on his headphones and pulled the microphone in front of his mouth. He pressed the communication button, cutting off the other voice as it started to repeat the message. “This is Beech King LR One-Zero-Nine, altitude six thousand feet, approaching 330° north-west. Hope Island Research Station, do you read me? Over.”

  There was a quick burst of static. “Beech King LR One-Zero-Nine, I hear you loud and clear. But I think I must be dreamin’. Budd, is that you, man?”

  “Tony?”

  “Oh, brother, what are you doin’ on my radar? What’s your status? Over.”

  “All the lights are in the green, no problems up here. Pilot and five passengers, we’ve flown from GM Airfield. Are you clocking up overtime or something? Why are you in the control tower? Over.”

  “It’s a long story, man. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But you can’t land here. You must abort. Repeat, you must abort. We have a medical emergency and all sorts of tech problems. It’s crazy. Over.”

  “Negative, Tony. We’re comin’ in, no matter what you say.”

  “Budd, do yourself a favor. Abort your approach.”

  “Negative, Tony, but thanks for the advice. Trust me when I say that you do not have a localized emergency. The whole world’s gone mad. Over.”

 
“What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Doesn’t matter, brother. We’re coming in. Over.”

  “Roger that, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, man. You’re free to make your approach. Like I said, we’ve had massive tech problems down here, and there’s a nasty fog that hasn’t shifted for days, but I’ll power up the markers now. You’ll have to land with instruments. I repeat, Beech King LR, you’re free to make your approach. Over.”

  “Thanks, brother. Over.”

  “Budd, when you’re on the ground, stay aboard ‘til I get there. We’ve had some really strange stuff goin’ on down here. Stuff you won’t believe. Over.”

  “I’d believe it, man. But, roger that, we’ll wait for the welcome party. Over.”

  “See you soon, Budd.”

  Truly, I never thought I’d hear those words.

  Maybe Deacon hadn’t been right ’bout everything. Maybe things would be okay now that we were away from Britain. There’s nothing more amusing than when some highly-educated nerd gets it wrong. Admit it, whenever Europe tried to launch a rocket and failed, you snickered just a little bit. I know you did.

  Anyway, for the first time in days, there was hope…

  “I’ll tell you what, boss. You better go and freshen up, ’cause when I get down there I’m gonna plant a smacker of a kiss on your rosy red lips. Over.”

  “Roger that. I’ll even floss. Over.”

  Budd removed his headphones and adjusted some of the navigational instruments. Exactly as promised, the airfield’s radio beacon came online and he adjusted his approach path accordingly. He glanced at Juliette in the co-pilot’s chair. She was smiling at him, delicately stroking Becky’s hair.

  The little girl looked content, a wide grin beneath her sparkling eyes.

  “Well, what can I say? Let’s get this damn bird on the ground.”

  48

  With the airfield’s beacon and markers switched on, the rest of the approach was as smooth as I could’ve hoped for. After I’d dropped below a thousand feet, there was a marginal crosswind and the odd fluttering of snow in the clouds, but overall it was dull, mundane, and I’d done it most days of the week.

  Hell, it’d been my job.

  Still, it hadn’t stopped me asking Juliette to take Becky into the passenger section—and to close the cockpit door—when the little brat had started asking annoying questions about the flight controls. It wasn’t that easy…

  Between the markers and his instruments, Budd managed to ease up on the throttles and flare the Beech King’s nose at precisely the right time, despite the fact that the compacted snow and gravel runway was almost invisible until the very last moment. As soon as the nose wheel had dropped, the Beech King decelerated quickly. He kept the aircraft moving long enough to steer it onto a wide strip of flattened ground beside the runway, off to the left of its line of red reflective lights.

  When he was satisfied that he was clear, he cut the engine and applied the brakes. He didn’t like the idea of taxiing too far, simply because he had no idea of where they were positioned along the runway. With the visibility in the fog so low, he was frightened of crashing into something solid.

  After the Beech King stopped, Budd put his flight plans and notes back into his rucksack, which he zipped up and hung over his shoulder. From the corner of the cockpit he also took his shotgun, which he broke open to check for ammunition. The two shells were fresh and he snapped the firearm back together and wrapped the sling around his right wrist. He turned the handle of the cockpit door.

  I’ve got to admit, I found arriving at Hope Island a bit of an anticlimax. Where the hell was my fanfare? Mind you, even if I’d wanted to give up on the base and fly away, we’d have run out of fuel somewhere above the icy, Arctic waters.

  Not a pleasant thought.

  Deacon had said that the science guys in the laboratories would be safe from the spread of the infection, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about the people on the surface, the grunts I knew and worked with. On the radio, Tony had seemed fine, but why was he in the control tower? And why had he tried to get me to turn around?

  All in all, I guessed it meant that most of my old buddies would be like the other ninety-nine percent of the world’s population.

  Ready and willing to eat me…

  “This is your captain, speaking,” Budd said as he stepped out of the cockpit. “I’d like to thank you for flying Ashby Airways.”

  Juliette smiled at him and Becky clapped her hands, but the rest were silent. Father McGee sat in the lone seat opposite the hatch, his head hanging low and his hands clutched around his flask. The dried blood from his wound was still visible, a crusty cake that matted his unruly hair.

  Annabel was in one of the seats behind the cockpit’s bulkhead, with Jack sat opposite her. The young man had taken an MP-5 from one of dead soldiers and the weapon rested between his legs, its extended stock on the charcoal-coloured carpet and its barrel pointing upwards.

  “Tough crowd,” Budd whispered into Juliette’s ear.

  “Perhaps it is your material, Monsieur Ashby.”

  “I doubt it. Everyone knows you Frogs have no sense of humor.”

  Juliette’s mouth opened, she began to speak, but Budd raised his hand to cut her off. “Right, everyone, I’ve been chatting to a friend on the radio. He wasn’t specific, but he said some strange stuff’s been happening, so I guess we know what he means by that. He also says we’re to wait for him to arrive.”

  “Why can’t we get off and look around?” Jack asked. He got up from his seat and held out his MP-5. “If it’s safe enough for him to move about, we can too. We’re armed, right?”

  “Well, we could, but why take the risk? Tony says he’s coming, and that’s good enough for me. We don’t know what’s out there. But, heck, if you’re worried about deep-vein thrombosis, by all means climb down and go for a walk, Jacky-boy. I’m sure you’ll be okay; your pop-star kung-fu dance moves will keep you safe.”

  Jack’s face turned red with anger, but Budd ignored him and helped Juliette and Becky out of their seats and down the aisle to the back of the aircraft. As they stepped past Father McGee, Budd tapped the sleeping priest on his shoulder. “Hey, old man, time to get up. We’re in paradise.”

  Father McGee woke with a start. He sat bolt upright in his chair and raised his head. The reek of alcohol spread from his mouth. “I’m sorry about earlier, my son. I wanted to save Chris, but…”

  Budd shook his head as the elderly priest’s words trailed away. “We all make mistakes,” he said and tilted his head to stare at Jack. “I mean, look at that guy’s hair. Spikes? Come on, that’s so ‘80s. And, anyway, how the hell is his gel still holding?”

  “Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said. “We do not have time for your silliness. Are you going to open the door?”

  “The hatch stays closed ‘til Tony arrives. It’s cold and I’d hate to get eaten so close to safety.”

  I’d hate to get eaten. Period…

  Budd helped Father McGee out of his seat, finding the priest stiff with age and unsteady with alcohol. As soon as the old man was upright, Budd walked to the back of the aircraft and opened a compartment beside the sliding hatch. “Right, everyone, there’re clothes and boots in this locker. While we wait for Tony, let’s slip into something a little more toasty.”

  “There’re lights over there,” Jack said, pointing through the starboard-side windows of the Beech King. “Why don’t we make our way to them?”

  “That’s the South Camp, which is pretty much just a small airfield and a few hangars, plus the living quarters for all the grunts and contractors. Maybe sixty or seventy people,” Budd answered with a quick glance through a porthole. He caught sight of several twinkling lights through the fog and falling snow. “But that’s not where we’re going. We’re heading for the North Camp, which is ’bout a mile away. Of course, if you want to try it in that sexy silk shirt of yours, you’ll get to see how bothered I am when you turn into ice c
ubes. The rest of us can serve you in drinks when we’re safe.”

  “Why didn’t we fucking land there?”

  “What? The North Camp? Why didn’t I think of that? Could it be because there’s no runway? This was the closest they could build the airstrip on account of all the rocks. At least, that’s what I heard: I’ve never been up there.”

  Becky tugged on Budd’s sleeve. “Will we be safe?”

  “Of course we will, Snot-nose. Now, everyone get ready.”

  Budd placed his shotgun and rucksack on one of the seats and took a blue ski jacket from the locker. He pulled it over his bloodstained blue jumper. The right-hand breast pocket was embroidered with two large Ts and an S: TimeTech Solutions.

  He left the zip undone and the hood down as he didn’t want the benefit of the fur lining until he ventured outside. From the jacket pocket, he took out a pair of black goggles that he stretched over his head to hang around his neck.

  “Monsieur Ashby, is there something for Becky to wear?”

  “I don’t think there were any midgets in the cabin crew. So maybe not.”

  “She will get too cold.”

  Budd smiled at Juliette and then rummaged through the locker. He selected the smallest jacket he could find, as well as a brown blanket that was folded neatly into a square. “Here, Snot-nose, try this on.”

  Becky’s arms were lost in the sleeves, and the waist of the blue jacket hung down around her knees. Juliette knelt down and pulled up the zip.

  When Becky was ready, she smiled at Budd.

  “You’ll grow into it, Snotty. I’ll get someone to carry you,” he said as he unfolded the blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Will you carry me, please?” Becky asked.

  Budd’s face turned unintentionally into a frown, but then it lightened. “We’ll see, Snot-nose. Now sit down while we get ready.”