V Plague (Book 13): Exodus
Page 29
“OK, your turn,” I said to Vance.
Nitro and I squeezed into the cockpit and gently lifted him out of the pilot’s seat, carrying him back to the cabin where we loaded him onto the second litter. I didn’t fail to notice several grunts of pain as we moved him, nor the greasy sheen of sweat that coated his face.
“No,” he said when we started to pick up the litter. “Pilot always goes last.”
I looked at him for a beat, shaking my head, then turned and told Bunny and Monk to get all the girls off the plane. Gonzales placed Nicole amongst them, her shades firmly in place, then brought up the rear of the group. Rachel squeezed my arm and followed them out.
“Thank you,” Vance said when all that was left were me, Dog and Nitro.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said as we squatted and lifted him between us. “Can’t see too well with only one eye. Might trip and drop you on the way down.”
Nitro took the lead, carrying the end of the litter with Vance’s feet. I had his head and, despite, or perhaps because of my little joke, I moved carefully. Dog stayed a step behind, nails clicking loudly on the aluminum treads of the air stairs. At ground level, we deposited Vance onto a waiting gurney, and the corpsman whisked him to the waiting ambulance.
Turning, I came to attention and brought up a salute as Admiral Packard stepped forward. He returned it with a smile then extended his hand. As I shook it, I noticed Colonels Blanchard and Pointere standing to his rear, and several other familiar faces behind them. A hulking Marine in full battle rattle stood close to the Admiral’s side, eyeing the weapons on my body, as well as Dog.
“Major, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” the Admiral said.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “And thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “We need to have a conversation. Do you need to go to medical for that eye?”
“No, sir,” I said. “I’m good to go.”
“No, he’s not!”
The Admiral looked over my shoulder and I sighed when Rachel interrupted.
“Maybe I should see a doctor, sir,” I said in resignation.
Packard smiled again and nodded.
“Find me as soon as you’ve done that, Major. And, welcome to Pearl Harbor!”
“Yes, sir, I will. Thank you, sir.”
We exchanged salutes again, then the Admiral turned and swept through the assembled crowd, half a dozen Marines forming a tight bubble around him and clearing people out of the way. Blanchard and Pointere stepped forward, each shaking my hand and telling me how glad they were to see me.
“What’s all this?” I asked Colonel Blanchard, waving at the crowd that was pressing in, seemingly wanting a closer look at me.
“You’re quite the celebrity,” he grinned. “Seems word about you has gotten out. Everything you’ve done, but especially how you surrendered to the Russians to save Hawaii.”
I didn’t know what to say, just stood there looking around, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the crowd.
“I’ll let you adjust to it,” Blanchard said, shaking my hand again before turning away.
As soon as he was gone, Chico and Drago hurried forward, each of them feeling the need to wrap me up in a hug. I hid my dislike for this type of greeting from another man and exchanged a few words with each, promising to let them buy me a beer at the first opportunity. When they stepped aside, a short, blonde girl wearing a Chief Petty Officer’s uniform came to attention and saluted me.
“Hello, sir,” Jessica said when I returned the greeting.
Unconcerned about military decorum, I stepped forward and surprised her when I folded her into my arms and lifted her feet off the ground. I held her for a few seconds before gently putting her back on the asphalt. Laughter and a few cheers erupted from the surrounding crowd, many wearing enlisted rank, but more than a few officers also pressing in.
“I can’t ever repay you, Chief!” I said, trying not to grin at the blush on her face.
“I can say the same, sir,” she said, a huge smile on her face.
Dog, curious about someone I was obviously so fond of, pushed in and bumped his head against her hip. If I’d had any doubt that she was a good person, it would have vanished when she dropped to a knee to rub his neck.
53
William Atherton drank deeply from the bottle of water, sighing as he drained the last drop. It had been an arduous journey, returning to the bunker from Las Vegas. It was only dumb luck that he hadn’t been on the roof of the hangar when the bitch had fired the volley of rockets that had killed his men. Having grown tired of watching the group that was fueling the 747, he’d gone out into the desert for some privacy so he could reflect on what he wanted to do next.
He’d been standing there, lost in thought, when the Super Cobra had come screaming in and attacked. In horror, he’d watched as the rockets roared out of its weapon’s pod, then a gasp escaped his lips when the Stinger missile reached out and slammed into the helicopter.
It had staggered in the air, the tail boom shearing off a moment before it crashed to the ground, less than fifty yards from where he was standing. Frozen in place by the sudden turn of events, he’d been shocked when the armored canopy over the cockpit began to move. The pilot was still alive!
Without a plan, he raced forward and looked through the spiderwebbed glass, stunned when the General looked back at him. Tearing the canopy open, he reached in and dragged her bleeding body onto the tarmac. Looking up, he saw the utter devastation she’d wrought on his men and began to reach for his pistol, intending to shoot her in the head.
Flames sprang up among the wreckage, feeding on a ruptured fuel tank and staying his hand. Not knowing what he’d do with her, he leaned down and struck her on the side of the head. The blow was too much for her already injured skull, and she lapsed into unconsciousness.
Picking her up, he slung her over his shoulders and ran for the stretch of desert that bordered the runway. He’d hidden behind a runway marker as the other people arrived, but they’d remained at a distance because of the burning helicopter. After it had exploded into an inferno, they’d boarded their vehicle and raced away. Remaining hidden, he’d begun to think they’d encountered a problem when the 747 finally roared into the night and climbed away from the Nevada desert.
Gathering the General into his arms, he carried her inert form to the parked Humvees he and his men had arrived in. One of them was completely buried in debris, but with a little effort he cleared the other and tossed her into the back. He had drawn a large group of infected, but was able to climb behind the wheel and race away before they reached him.
Finally arriving at the bunker that had saved him and his people from the attacks and ensuing infection, he was dismayed to find only three of his followers. They had somehow survived the assault on the Air Force facility at Groom Lake. Now, they were securely locked inside, safe from the horrors that prowled the world above.
William turned at the rustle of fabric from the far side of the room. Anna lay on a hospital gurney, securely strapped down. She was regaining consciousness, slowly turning her head from side to side. Striding across the room, he loomed over her, staring at her face. When her eyes finally opened, they were unfocused, but he could tell she was aware of his presence.
“Hello, bitch,” he said.
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