”What do I shoot?” Garver asked.
“Anything and everything,” Jones said. “We’ve got to convince them we can bite back. Clayton, get on that door gun.”
Garver had been right, though. The best the helicopter could do was quarter speed, and Jones hoped it was fast enough. It had to be.
To make them harder to hit, Garver lowered them down to about fifty feet off the ground. Everything below was blurred by the speed. One thing was sure, the view out the windshield was clear, and so were the swarm of zombies coming up fast.
“Keep your eyes open for a smart one,” Jones said as his eyes darted across the sea of zombies. He looked for anything out of the ordinary when it struck him that everything was out of ordinary. He was looking at a mass of zombies. Two years ago, the mere idea of the dead getting up to live again would have horrified him. Now, it was so commonplace, he felt a deep sense of irony.
“They all look the same to me,” Clayton said.
“Then look for one holding an RPG launcher,” Jones said.
Garver stayed out of the conversation because every bit of his concentration was locked up in keeping them aloft. That and his hand on the trigger of the mini-guns.
The horde was coming up quickly.
“What are you waiting for, Garver?” Jones said.
That broke Garver from his spell of navigation, and he pressed the trigger. Bullets spewed out of the guns, cutting a trench through the zombies sending up a spray of blood, muscles, and body parts. He pushed the helicopter as hard, wanting to be free and clear of the zombies as fast as he could.
“I see something!” Clayton shouted to be heard over the roar of the guns.
“Then shoot it,” Jones yelled back.
Jones couldn’t see what Clayton saw, but he heard Clayton open up with his big gun. It chattered away, spitting out spent brass at a dizzying pace.
Something flashed on the ground off to the right. When Jones looked in that direction, he saw another missile flying toward the chopper.
“Incoming!” He shouted.
Garver said, “Shit, shit, shit,” then cut the helicopter hard to the right, heading toward the incoming missile. For Jones, things seemed to slow down as he watched the projectile continue on its deadly path right at them. He knew it was going to hit them when Garver yanked the chopper to the left. Something scratched along the outer skin of the helicopter on the right side. A second after the sound ended, there was an explosion. The concussion came next, and it buffeted the chopper, tilting it forward and driving it toward the ground. Clayton shouted something, but it was lost in the cacophony, then Jones heard something thump in the back of the craft.
When Jones looked at Garver, he saw the pilot pull back on the stick with every ounce of his strength. Garver’s teeth gritted together, and his face was locked in a grimace.
The helicopter fell towards the zombies below, and Jones was sure he could make out the faces of the undead. Their hands stretched upward as if ready to embrace the helicopter. Jones was absolutely sure they were about to plow into the horde when Garver grunted with effort, and they picked up some altitude. Still, Jones felt uncomfortably close to the undead crowd below.
They skimmed along, just fifteen feet above the zombies for three hundred yards, and Garver tipped them upward, and they made it to fifty feet in the air. Ten seconds later, Jones saw the walls of the Sanctum coming up, and a sense of relief washed over him, but he knew this trip wasn’t over.
Garver said. “Let them know we’re coming in hard.”
Jones grabbed his walkie-talkie and said, “Clear the landing field.”
A soldier named Clark asked, “What? What’s wrong?”
“Just do it!” Jones shouted. He turned to Garver and asked, “We going to make it over the wall?”
“Oh yeah, but I don’t have fine control of the bird,” Garver said. “It’s going to be a little rough.” He made a final adjustment as they passed over the walls of the Sanctum. “Everyone, hold on tight.”
“Fuck you,” Clayton yelled from behind Jones and Garver.
Their makeshift landing field was on the southeast side of the Sanctum. It was a grassy mall that was half the size of a football field sitting between two of the university halls. Prior to the Outbreak, students had lounged and tossed frisbees there. Now, it was a landing field.
Those two buildings were approaching fast. The closer they got to that strip of grass, the smaller it looked.
“Can you get us in there?” Jones asked.
“I’m going to do my damndest,” Garver said.
Nothing about what Garver said comforted Jones, but he was just along for the ride. Garver struggled with the controls to put them in a shaky arc that positioned them for a run at the landing field. Below, Jones saw people running to make room for the helicopter. Someone drove a Humvee across the field, cutting ruts in the turf as it accelerated to get out of the way.
Once again, Jones grabbed his armrest, holding all he was worth, and readied himself to land or crash. At this point, he just wanted to be on terra firma again. Of course, he preferred landing to a fiery crash.
Garver said, “Hold on tight. We’re going in.”
He did whatever he could to cut their speed, but this sent shudders through the entire helicopter. Clayton cursed loudly, and Jones said a silent prayer. Garver was quiet as he guided them down toward the field.
The helicopter jerked downward, and it looked like they were about to make a header into the ground, but Garver made an adjustment, and the front end tipped up again. They all knew the chopper was coming in too fast.
“COME ON!” Garver cried out as he struggled to keep them from crashing.
Jones did what he could to brace for the impact, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. If the craft went down, most likely, everyone on board would die.
The next thing he knew, the helicopter landed hard, sending a jolt from Jones’ toes to his head. He actually saw stars in his eyes. The chopper skidded for thirty feet, running right at a concrete divider wall. The wall looked menacing as they approached it, much faster than any of them liked. Garver hit the controls, and the whole bird shifted sideways, causing it to tilt, lifting the skids on the left side of the chopper off the ground. Jones was sure it was about to go ass over elbows, but Garver worked his magic, and the skid hit the ground. The landing sent another concussion through the whole thing and its passengers.
And they were down. There was nothing pretty about it, but it was better than a full-out head first, fiery crash.
Jones let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding and said, “Good job, old man.”
“I told you I could do it,” Garver said.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Clayton said from somewhere in the back of the chopper. “No one ever would call that a landing. That was a barely controlled crash.”
Gaver turned in his seat and stared back at Clayton. “But we’re down, aren’t we, and we aren’t dead, right? That’s what counts.”
Chapter 55
Loses
Jo more slid down the ladder attached to the front wall than climbed. Her heart was racing as her feet hit the ground.
Eli shouted, “Where are you going? Those zombies will be in any minute.”
He was only a distant murmur in the back of her head as she pushed her way through the people hanging out at the base of the wall. It was a thin crowd of people, so she was through them quickly. After that, she started at a jog, but that only lasted for about a hundred feet. Fear drove her on as she broke into a full-out run with her rifle slapping against the side of her leg.
The landing field was a quarter of a mile away, but the urgency building inside her wouldn’t let her slow down. The helicopter was in bad shape, with smoke trailing behind it as it passed over the wall. She thought she saw a hole in its left side and she knew that was bad.
A few of the people on the ground stopped to watch her run by, but she ignored them. She had to get to the landing f
ield. She just had to. As fast as she possibly could.
That’s what she did. Cutting around two corners, she hit a long straightaway. Her feet pounded on the asphalt, and her lungs burned, but she kept running. There was another turn, ahead, and then she’d be in view of the landing field. And that’s what brought her to a stop.
The helicopter sat smoking on the landing field as several people stood around it. One of them held a fire extinguisher and was spraying the left side of the craft. He was directing the foam into a massive hole on that side of the aircraft as steam billowed into the sky.
After running full out, she suddenly didn’t want to go any further. There could be no good news there. Not with what she was seeing.
Sergeant Jones emerged from behind the chopper, moving along on his crutches with his head down. Clayton popped into view, staggering around, looking shaken. The last person she saw was the pilot, Garver, being helped along by two soldiers.
But she didn’t see Del, and a cold icy feeling filled her body. Her legs went weak, and she bent at the waist. All this reminded her of the time the phone call came from her father, letting her know that her mother had passed. She had heard of people swooning and had even seen actors do it in movies, but she never believed it was real. It was just histrionics.
She learned that night, it was very real. Grief could drop you to your knees, and it hit her again.
She stayed on her two feet, but it felt as if all the power had left her body. Like some external force had just drawn it away from her in an instant.
Maybe Del was okay? She asked herself.
She knew the only way to get an answer to that question was to get moving. Now, she only had to convince her legs to do that. It was a simple thing, just put one foot in front of the other.
The only way she made it happen was to actually lean forward, and the momentum of that action put her in motion. It was that or fall face first. No one would call it running, though. It was a lot slower than running. It was the slow walk of dread.
The ice had drained out of her, and now she felt shriveled and empty. Each step brought her closer to the helicopter, but there was still no sign of Del. Soldiers streamed around the chopper. Others were just looky-loos, drawn in by the action.
Through the crowd, she saw Jones standing off by himself, balancing on his crutches. For some reason, he looked her way, and they locked eyes. Those eyes carried her the rest of the way.
When she got in front of him, she didn’t want to ask the question echoing in her head. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she knew there was no avoiding it.
She finally found the courage to say. “Del?”
Jones looked at her with sunken eyes, and he just shook his head.
For the second time in only a matter of minutes, the strength swept out of her body, and she started to go down. Despite Jones’ crutches, he reached out with his right arm and pulled her in close.
The tears came, but they were mostly quiet ones. Still, her body shuddered with grief.
Not knowing what to do, he patted her back for several moments, then said, “Sorry. He was a good man.” He stopped, and she wasn’t sure that he wasn’t crying, too, but she just held onto him as if her life depended on it.
“It went bad,” he said. “It’s my fault.”
She pushed away from him, wiped away her tears, and fixed him in a dead-eyed stare. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. You were up there, too. You took the same risk.”
“I…” he started to say, but the words did not come. Instead, he looked to the ground.
People rushed by, some heading for the helicopter to see if they could help, while others looked shell-shocked, battered by the reality of the damaged helicopter. It was as if it happened to them, too. Air superiority had been there’s -- until it wasn’t true anymore. If madmen with rocket launches could take down one chopper and badly damage another, what chance did any of them have?
Jo asked, “Is there any chance that he…?” She couldn’t complete the question.
“No,” he said, then added, “He was most likely killed instantly when the RPG hit the side of the helicopter. So, he didn’t suffer.”
That was only a small consolation for Jo, but she clung onto it. She had seen people suffer, and was glad it was quick for Del, but she couldn’t imagine a world without him. They had been through so much. The rebellion at the Manor. The botched sneak attack. Surviving on the road.
She had no idea how she was going to break the news to Lucy and Del’s son. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have to. Maybe they would all be dead by sundown when the horde swept over the Sanctum? In the mood she was in, there was a little comfort in that thought.
An angry, tinny voice shouted from the walkie-talkie clipped to Jones’ side.
“What the hell happened out there?” Eli asked, not hiding his annoyance of being kept from an update.
Jones snatched the walkie-talkie from his belt and shouted into the microphone, “You shut your fucking mouth. We lost a good man up there. I’ll tell you when I’m damned well and ready.”
Eli shot back, “We don’t have time mourning one man. Every last one of us could be dead soon. I need to know how the experiment went with the nerve gas and need to know now, not after you’re done boo-hooing.”
Jones gritted his teeth, and his hand closed on the walkie-talkie so tightly that Jo was sure it was getting ready to break into pieces. She slowly reached out her hand and placed in on his.
“For once, Eli’s right,” Jo said in a soft voice. “Del’s death has to mean something. How did the experiment go?”
With her hand on his, Jones felt a calmness wash over him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched him. He looked at her tear-streaked face and wanted to do something to comfort her. Everything about this woman spoke of goodness, courage, and self-sacrifice. It was everything he wanted in a soldier. And in a woman, too.
Eli squawked over the walkie-talkie again. “Jones, I need an answer.”
Jo looked to Jones and nodded her head.
Jones brought the walkie-talkie back up to his mouth and said, “Yes, it worked. It was just like what the scientists said, the zombie reverted to human form.”
“What the hell happened to it?” Eli asked, and Jo was just as curious as he was to get the answer.
“He became food,” Jones said with a crooked smile.
“What?” Eli said.
“Whatever signal, smell, or voodoo he had been sending out was gone,” Eli replied. “When he changed back into a fully alive human, the zombies must have just seen him like they see us. He was just another meal.”
“Oh my God,” Jo said, and despite hating these half-dead creatures, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for him.
“Well, by God,” Eli said, “We need to get that helicopter back up in the sky and searching for the other two. That is if what the one we have inside is saying is the truth, and there were only three outside.”
“That’s a no-go,” Jones said. “The helicopter was shot to shit. We barely made it back inside the walls alive.”
“Can it be repaired?” Eli said.
Jones turned and looked back toward the helicopter. Garver already had two mechanics going over the chopper, but Jones wasn’t sure if they’d ever get it back in the sky. He didn’t know if they had parts and tools to do it. Plus, there was the matter of time.
Then he dropped the real bombshell, “Not only did we lose Del, we lost the sprayer.”
“What the hell?” Eli asked. “That could have been our only hope.”
Jones felt the fire starting back up inside him. “Listen, asshole, you weren’t up there with us. You were safe inside the walls. Spraying these half-dead things means getting up close and personal. There is no strafing run. We had to slow to a crawl in the sky, and it made us fucking sitting ducks.”
“Okay, okay,” Eli said, “So, you’re saying we’re screwed when it comes to the helicop
ter?”
Jones was breathing hard as the anger coursed through his body, but he maintained his composure. “There’s a remote chance we can get it back in the air, but there is no chance we can use the gas again. The sprayer is gone.”
“Shit,” was all Eli said in return.
“Hold on,” Jones said, and he looked back at the helicopter, then shouted. “Garver, can it be fixed?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Garver yelled back. “This thing is shot all to hell. The collective is barely operational. I’m not sure we don’t have a hole in our fuel tank.”
Can it be fixed?” Jones asked, drawing out each word.
Garver scratched his head for a few seconds and said, “Maybe?”
Jones was about to press the talk button, but an absurd thought struck him, and while he tried to stifle it, a little chuckle burst out of him.
Jo was aghast. “I don’t see any humor here.”
Jones stuck up a hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been in battle a lot. Dark humor is a coping mechanism.”
“What could be funny at a time like this?” Jo asked, her face darkening.
“That exchange with Garver,” Jones said. “It reminded me of Star Trek when Captain Kirk would ask Scotty if he could get the warp engine fixed. Scotty would be like, Captain, we’re all out of some science fiction bullshit stuff, but then he would concede that he could get the engines back online in an hour.”
“I didn’t pick you as a sci-fi nerd,” Jo said as she felt some of Jones’ levity sweep in over the pain.
Jones spoke into the walkie-talkie, “Garver said maybe on getting the chopper back in the air.”
“Well, get your men ready for what’s coming,” Eli said.
Jones didn’t push the talk button, but said, “Like we’re back here sitting on our asses.” He pressed the talk button and said, “We’re more than ready. How close are they?”
“They are coming up the hill now,” Eli replied. “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Then we’ll hit them with our countermeasures.”
The Deadland Chronicles | Book 4 | Siege of the Dead: Page 25