ELE Series | Book 5 | Escape

by Jones, K. J.

  “We got orders.”

  “Can’t you just drop me somewhere west of the Mississippi?”

  “No.”

  2.

  How long he was out, Peter had no way of telling. Everyone around and on top of him breathed. Always a good sign. He crawled out from under the boys and the blanket and re-covered the unconscious kids with it. Much to his satisfaction, the vehicle stood right side up. A nice convenience.

  Peter searched through open medical boxes, hoping for a Geiger or one of those patches which turned from white to black when detecting radiation levels. Anything.

  Nothing.

  “Shit.”

  The two hitchhikers stirred.

  “Stay under the blanket,” Peter told them. “I got no idea about the radiation levels.”

  “Did we live?” one of them asked, a guy with a strong Northern accent.

  “I’m afraid so. I’ll go out and check. Keep the kids under the blankets for as long as you can when they wake up.”

  “Gotcha. Darsi, you okay?”

  Peter crawled to the front and looked out the windshield. An impressive sight.

  The ambulance faced north. It had been going south. Humvees, the ones which had followed behind him, were in a disarray. Some on their sides. One even half on another, reminding him of two turtles mating.

  He looked out the side windows to check on the springtime foliage. If it would be on fire, he knew they were all dead.

  Nothing. Leaves missing as if hit by a hurricane. No trace of a fire. A good first step. The houses were intact. Rougher from the wind, but not blasted into ash.

  Peter smiled. They had gotten far enough away when the cruise missile hit. How far away they had gotten, though, and how much radiation, only time would tell. Radiation sickness, indeed, would be the indicator. And then it was pretty much too late. He hoped he’d find booze for that ride out.

  “Hey, youse two,” he said to his hitchhikers. “Look through shit. See if there’s anything for radiation sickness.”

  “Affirm,” the guy without a northeastern accent said.

  Peter moved to the door and paused. He crossed himself and looked up to the sky. It occurred to him: The sky had been a lovely Carolina blue with white puffy clouds earlier. Now, it looked overcast.

  No time like the present. He hoped it had been long enough to decrease the radiation. Probably not, though. He opened the door, slid down, and shut it behind him. Let only him receive massive exposure, he figured, and give the kids any chance they could get. Just as Miss Glenda had advised him, the kids come first.

  The sky looked incredibly overcast. A snow sky if this was Boston. Yet it was not cold. Indeed, it was rather toasty warm.

  “Holy shit.”

  The documentaries and movies about nukes were right. The ash or fallout or whatever blew up into the sky, causing a low ceiling to overcast, blotting out the sun. A low ceiling that could kill every living thing.

  “Please, God, I got kids here. Please, do not rain.” Peter’s voice cracked. “They’re all I got left. Nuh, but do it for them, not me, cos I know how you like to do me.”

  Movement caught his attention. The other Humvee ambulance was turned over on its side. The door flopped open, which was now at the top. A man climbed out.

  Peter laughed. “You asshole!”

  Chris smiled at him. “You Yankee asshole!” He roared with laughter.

  “Get down here.”

  Peter limped over to the wrecked ambulance. Chris jumped down and bear-hugged him, taking him off his feet. They laughed. Hugged once more. And finally just smiled at each other.

  “We done been nuked.”

  “Yeah, we so done been nuked,” Peter said.

  “Who you got? The kids and Jacksons?”

  Peter’s smile fell. “Tyler and Jayce.”

  “Oh. Hell no. That all?”

  Peter nodded, not wanting the loss to seep into him.

  “I got everybody else inside here.”

  “Everybody else … as in?”

  “Pheebs, Matt, Emily, Pell. Oh, and another guy.” Chris wanted to postpone the dropping of the other shoe about Kevin.

  Peter smiled brightly. “You have my wifey?”

  “I do.”

  “We got there, to the jail, and they were gone.”

  “Wyoming and Montana got ‘em.”

  “Oh, thank God for Wyoming and Montana.”

  “They sent me out cos I don’t want no more kids.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ya know. Radiation.” Chris gestured to his groin. “Not good with the swimmers.”

  Peter looked down at himself. “Aw, shit.”

  “We don’t got no way of knowing how much radiation this is.”

  “Well, hope I like just having one kid. She’s alright?”

  “A little unconscious, but there were people everywhere when we rolled. I think I got kicked in the head.”

  Chris didn’t show any signs of bleeding wounds.

  “You got a hard head, meathead. How long has it been since the blast?”

  “How would I know?”

  “That was a massive EMP. Anything running would get fried.”

  “Then we ain’t got no vehicles.”

  “I cut off my engine. Hopefully, it survived. I’ll go check.”

  “I’m coming with ya,” said Chris.

  “You feeling separation anxiety?”

  “Thought I lost your dumbass.”

  “Aw, Christopher.” Peter opened the driver’s side door and yelled, “Cover your balls, kids.”

  Sounds of rustling in the back as they obeyed.

  “I got Chris here.”

  “Chris!” Tyler’s voice.

  “How did you make it?” Jayce asked.

  “Did … Pheebs?” Tyler tentatively asked.

  “I got them all.” Chris leaned in through the open driver’s door to see to the back.

  “My mom and sister?” Jayce asked.

  “No. Sorry. Not them.”

  Chris leaned out of the open door so he wouldn’t see the look on the kid’s face.

  Peter worked on the wires. The engine turned over. “Yes!”

  “Alright,” cheered Chris. “Jesus loves us.”

  “Get everybody over here,” Peter said. “The helicopters went that way. We can catch up if we hurry and get a ride. They had to ground for the blast wave and EMP.”

  Chris scuffed his heels as he crossed the road to his turned-on-its-side Humvee ambulance. He stopped and called back, “There other people coming out of theirs down there, Sul.”

  “Let’s move fast. People have a tendency of dying when they come with us.”

  From deeper in the vehicle, Darsi asked, “Is there something we ought to know about you people?”

  Peter flew off the seat and grabbed a woman wrapped in a silver blanket. He whirled her around.

  “Pheebs,” Tyler hollered.

  The kid could not be stopped by Jayce. He rushed forward, out the open front door, and ran to her.

  “Sully.” Matt smiled.

  Peter let Tyler have his hugs with Phebe and went to Matt. They hugged with the sincerity as brothers would.

  “Thought you were gone,” Matt said.

  “I tried not to think at all. Kids, ya know.”

  “Got ya.”

  “Princess of New York.” Peter went to the silver-blanket-wrapped Emily. “May I?”

  Brandon said, “Be careful with her.”

  “They don’t break because they’re pregnant.”

  “Give me a hug, you idiot,” Emily said.

  The hug cut short as Peter saw who else came out.

  “You are kidding me,” he wailed.

  Kevin nodded his head in greeting.

  “What the fuck, Chris? This has to be you.”

  “What is it?” Phebe asked.

  “We gotta get,” said Chris. “If we gonna catch them helos in time.”

  “Ah, guys,” said Matt, looking at t
he windshield.

  “With him?” Peter’s voice carried in the silence.

  “Who is he?” Brandon asked.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Matt yelled. “Look!” He pointed.

  They all turned and did not know what they were supposed to be seeing.

  “Black rain is falling. It’s radioactive as shit.”

  “Get in the ambulance now,” Peter ordered.

  They ran towards it.

  3.

  Through the black rain-smeared windshield, wipers going back and forth, they saw an ascending fireball followed by a pillar of black smoke coming from where the helicopters had gone.

  “Shit,” uttered Peter, driving.

  “Aw, hell no,” said Chris, riding shotgun.

  “We’re almost there. Maybe … I don’t know. What the fuck else we’re gonna do?”

  “Look for a place to stay?”

  “I would not recommend that.” Matt leaned on the hump between the bucket seats, his knees kneeling on the floor behind it. “We cannot drink any water. It’ll be radioactive. The best thing would be to get as far away as possible.”

  “Probably to a hospital,” said Chris. “Can’t fucking believe they ain’t got one of them radiation sickness things in all these ambulances. Dumbasses.”

  Jayce sat in the back, as far as he could get from others. A deep frown on his young face. Eyes filled with pain. Kevin sat near the front. Phebe and Emily did not catch onto who he was, and he kept his distance. The two scout snipers got to meet the Emily who Brandon had talked so much about. After initial chatting, talk dissipated. No one felt in the mood.

  “Aw, hell,” said Chris. “Why they so dang many of them left?”

  “I do not know,” Peter said calmly.

  “They should’ve been nuked.”

  Matt said, “They are running right for us.”

  “Seeing this,” said Peter. He checked the side view mirrors, discovering only one remained and it was cracked.

  A black Little Bird appeared on the horizon behind the runners. The small helicopter looked as if it had been in a boxing match with King Kong and received a one-two punch to its windows. Its side doors open but no snipers or gunners hung out of them.

  “What’s that bird thinking?” asked Chris.

  The zoms grew confused on which noise and movement to pursue with the ambulance ahead and the helicopter behind.

  The Little Bird dropped low, merely four feet off the ground. Its skid gears hovering over the road.

  “Oh. My. God,” Matt uttered.

  Peter applied the brakes and shifted out of gear.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

  The Little Bird headed right for the zoms.

  “He doin’ a suicide run,” said Chris. “Gonna run right into them and blow himself and them up.”

  Gaped mouth, they watched.

  The Little Bird’s tail lifted. A masterful pilot flew. The rotor blades hit the zoms, shredding their bodies in a bloody explosion of mess. Pink mist rose as the rotors kept going, moving through them. Without the sense to run away, they went towards the rotor lawnmower blade like mobile stupid grass.

  The Little Bird turned at the end of the horde. Now dripping in blood, it banked around to shred the stragglers.

  “Absolutely the most awesome thing I ever seen,” exclaimed Chris.

  “Seriously want to meet that pilot,” said Matt.

  “Got more company.” Peter pointed.

  A pack of dogs.

  “They R140 rabid?” Chris asked.

  “Thinking so.”

  The pack came out from between houses. The Little Bird ascended straight up into the air, then turned straight down and slammed into the ground, blowing up the helicopter and the dogs.

  “Whoa,” Matt uttered.

  They stared. Houses and foliage caught on fire from the explosion.

  “He must’ve been bit,” said Chris.

  “That’s a good death,” commented Peter.

  They gave the pilot a second of respectful silence.

  “Are we clear?” Peter asked. He shifted into gear.

  “It a mess ahead on the road,” said Chris.

  “I’ll just run over the bones.”

  Easier said than done. It was slick. But Peter was a Boston driver experienced in all kinds of bad weather conditions and skidded through with fishtailing and recovering.

  They arrived at a clearing – maybe it had been a dog park in the Before– and a flight crewman stood in the field with slow-moving zoms closing in around him. Two medium-sized dogs or possibly coyotes attacked his arms. He stood there as if he wanted the slow movers to come to him. A moment, he blew up, taking the dogs and the nearest zoms with him.

  “Whoa,” said Matt. “Grenade suicide.”

  “Where them coyotes or dogs?” Chris asked.

  “Could be either.”

  Zoms at the Black Hawk, crawling in through an open cargo door.

  “Somebody still there,” Chris announced.

  “Man the fifty,” Matt yelled over his shoulder.

  “I’ll get on the fifty,” said Pez.

  “You got bullets for your SASS rifles?” Chris asked, over his shoulder.

  “Some. Why?”

  “Alden, you get on the fifty. We may need some snipers in this.”

  “Fifty-cal, you take perimeter,” Darsi barked. “Pez?”

  There were way too many sergeants in the ambulance and no agreed-upon chain of command.

  “I’m ready,” said Pez.

  “Get the back doors to it, Sully,” said Darsi.

  “Affirm,” Peter yelled over his shoulder.

  Otherwise, they would have to climb over the hump and across a seat to get out.

  Yet, to one-eighty in a tall box vehicle at a good speed was going to take some driving talent. It was not as if stopping and reversing for the doors to face the Black Hawk would work well in the situation. A Bostonian, used to insanity in vehicle operation, was up for the task.

  The Humvee ambulance roared towards the grounded Black Hawk and banked left to 180 degrees. Blood still in the wheel wells helped a nice slide. Unfortunately, there was no horn to honk for the Bostonian to feel entirely at home.

  The two scout snipers opened the back doors and jumped out; rifles aimed. From above, the .50 cal fired at the perimeter.

  “There so dang many still, this getting on my last nerve,” complained Chris.

  “Thinking these are like fifth or sixth waves still following the sounds to the base,” said Peter. “They’re heavily military.”

  Some wore military flight suits, dirty and shredded.

  The zoms at the Black Hawk backed out of the open cargo door to turn at the approaching movement. Pop, pop, pop. The SASS rifles blew off their heads, one by one.

  The snipers approached and scanned for incoming as they walked. Spotting fast movers, now attracted to the machine gun’s sound, they opened fire.

  Pez’s weapon clicked empty. “That’s me.”

  “No more runners.” Darsi checked his ammo. “I got two more bullets.”

  “Not the best situation, Darse.”

  “No, it is not.”

  The machine gun fell silent. “That’s all I see,” Kevin yelled.

  “Let’s wait a second,” said Darsi. “Make sure.” He scanned. Satisfied, he went around to the other side of the helicopter and scanned there. “Clear.” He added, “For now.”

  The massive UH-60 Black Hawk dominated the clearing. Pez walked up to the open cargo door. Inside, blood streaks all along the floor of the helicopter. No seats except for those of the gunners directly behind the pilot and copilot seats. M240 machine guns stuck out of open rectangular pop-out egress windows. Everything that could be stripped out of the helicopter had been stripped out, which had to be to lower the weight of the helicopter.

  The copilot door to the cockpit was missing. It was a jettison door, which Pez figured meant in a zom contact situation, such a door
would be much easier to rip off than a permanent door would be. It was on the ground a few feet away, mangled as adult male zoms exceeded at doing to material.

  A guy inside came out. He wore flight crew coveralls.

  “Captain,” Pez greeted.

  “Gunny.” The captain squatted down. “Thank you.”

  Pez, standing on the grass, reached in and shook his hand.

  “What about this?” The sniper pointed at a machine gun mounted to the open cargo door frame.

  Two extra door guns per side, Pez’s brow raised, this was not normal. The machine gun on the open-door side lacked its chain. A gazillion spent casings littered the grass. Another hillbilly rigged adaptation for the situation. The welding around the base was strong but ugly, nothing the manufacturer would do as those were always pretty.

  Behind the large, improvised weapons on both sides were jump seats with bungeed harnesses for the operator to stay connected to the helicopter and not fall out the open door during an unexpected maneuver.

  “Dry,” the captain answered. “All four and my chain guns. The motherfuckers took my crew chief and my door gunners.” The captain pointed to the field where the guy blew himself up. “And my copilot.”

  “Got you, too.” Pez pointed to the side of his own neck to illustrate.

  “Yeah. You gonna put me down?”

  “Was hoping you could fly this. Are two door guns now normal in a UH-60?”

  “Nuh. Everything’s adapted. No seats to fit the max weight she can take. Extra fuel tanks on the stub wings. Two door guns each. This baby swivels three-sixty.” The captain touched the machine gun, which pointed down at the ground in its rest position. “We are equipped to go right into the shit and exfil. Had a kid at this gun. Took him first. As soon as the ammo dried out, wham, pulled him right out.”

  Pez looked at the harness. “Broke the bungee.”

  “Motherfuckers.”

  Peter’s voice, “Cogan?”

  The captain looked beyond Pez and smiled. “Oh, my God!”

  “Holy shit, brother. Chris just told me he saw you at the base.”

  Captain Cogan jumped out and embraced Peter in a man-hug, slapping each other’s backs.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “They got me,” said Cogan.

  “Matt? We got an injury. You got your stuff?”

  “It’s an ambulance, Sully,” Matt flatly responded. “Is that really Lt. Cogan?”