by M. Lorrox
“I need you both to enact the siege-defense measures around The Plant, and have them online in six hours.”
Valerie drops her arms and thrusts her head and chin forward; her dreadlocks quake with the movement. “What?”
Andre groans. He pushes his thick glasses up his crooked nose, and his brooding eyes grow darker. “That’s just unreasonable.”
Hector slams his hand on the desk behind him. “I want full operation control from the command center in six hours! Now get to it!”
Valerie sighs. “I’ll need the helicopter.”
“You can both use whatever you need.”
Andre’s eyes glimmer as a devious grin crosses his lips. “Anything? Can I get access to Kazumi’s private lab?”
Hector scoffs. “Of course not. But if you need something from her, let her know.”
He shakes his head. “Well, I don’t, but... Never mind. How many of my units do you want ready?”
Hector pauses as he lifts a tablet that shows the same map as earlier, with the mountain, the facility, and segmented zones around it. “Valerie, put one container in each section, and Andre...prep at least a dozen of your toys.”
“That many? Do you really think that’s needed?”
Hector sets the tablet down and swallows, thinking of the report regarding the vampire knights who are on their way. “I think it’s a start, yes. We’re so close to the last phase of our plan, I don’t want to take any chances.” He glances back up to his team leaders. “Now go. I’m giving you six hours, make the best of it.”
Valerie starts toward the door. “Radio the helicopter team to be ready.”
Andre follows behind her, then pauses and turns back. “Message the robotics team and wake them, will you? That’ll be faster than me doing it. And what’s our line for the sheep?”
Hector squints his eyes. Right… “Just say it’s preparation for operational tests we’ll perform over the next few days. Keep them in the dark.” He spins around to his computer. “I’ll send Ira and her team to the launch bay.”
Andre nods and leaves.
At places all around Pearl Harbor, the released zombies cause havoc. People that were at the concert live-stream their running legs between glances behind them, and on occasion, they stream their own death to the world. Right now, there are five videos that only broadcast sky, while another dozen have their camera covered and only broadcast screams of panic.
At the golf course, an overweight rich man speeds off in his cart, leaving his young caddy and clubs behind. The caddy chuckles, places a bunch of balls onto tees, rolls up his sleeves, pulls out an expensive driver, and waits for the distant zombies to see him—and run straight toward him. When a pair of zombies do just that, he starts swinging. “FORE, MOTHERFUCKER!”
At the construction site, one man who loves the old Lethal Weapon movies grabs his lithium-ion cordless nail gun and loads a fresh magazine of two-inch framing nails. He slips his bandana over his mouth and tightens his goggles. “Gonna get bloody on this one.”
At the vehicle resale lot and the fuel station—both inside military bases—the zombies are put down quick. An off-duty soldier at the resale lot grabs a steering wheel immobilization device and swings it like a club into zombie skulls. He gets three before getting bit, then he charges at some more.
An on-duty soldier at the fuel station drops four with her sidearm before she’s tackled to the ground by another three. They rip and tear at her flesh while she struggles to fight them off, and one by one, she gives them more than just flesh to eat. When she’s the last body on the ground that still breathes, she tries to get up, but she can’t. She’s weak from blood-loss, and her vision starts to blur. She knows she only has one bullet left, so she gives herself a round to eat, too.
At the airport, the zombies run through the parking lots, onto the tarmac, and into the passenger drop-off and pick-up areas. Here, the regularly stationed police see more action than the typical illegally parked car or flat tire, and they draw their pistols and radio for backup.
Inside the airport, travelers and workers that were closest to the explosions are taken to nearby hospitals for flesh-wounds and smoke inhalation. The government employees and TSA agents injured in the blasts are brought north to the large Tripler Army Medical Center, while civilians injured in the explosions are brought to Queen’s Hospital in downtown Honolulu. Others that were in the area, but who don’t believe they need medical treatment, are held on location while police and the TSA investigate the situation.
All civilian flights are grounded. Any plane whose doors were closed—those preparing for takeoff and the ones that recently landed—are forced to park at terminals or along the runway. Their passengers are forced to wait—and sweat. Flight attendants offer complimentary beverages, and they quickly run out of liquor.
Charlie’s plane is also out of liquor, but that’s because he used all he could find to start a fire. Onboard smoke detectors alert the flight crew, who then alert Air Traffic Control, who then give the 747 emergency landing priority.
They land in Honolulu minutes after eleven pm local time. Jim Cook, the pilot, releases the brakes and begins to taxi the beast off the runway. The cracks in his face all point down in a frown. “Can you believe this? Terrorism AND zombies? Shit, and I was worried about having time in New Zealand to tour around some.”
George Russo, the copilot, wipes the sweat from his brow. “I know what you mean... Jesus, look at that!” Out the cockpit’s window, they watch as armored military vehicles and troop carriers speed toward the airport.
“What a mess.” Jim checks the gauges. “Even if we go light on fuel, it’s going to take at least an hour. I don’t love the idea of hanging around that long.”
George nods. “They might not even dispatch the trucks for us, and they’re not supposed to let us take off. Zom-Air, remember?”
Jim nods. “Mmm-hmm, but we’re officially on a military mission. Remember? They should allow us to take back off… Well, I hope so, anyway.” He makes a turn and approaches the airport’s fire trucks and firefighters that are waiting for them on the tarmac. “At least we’re on the ground.”
A Humvee in the distance crosses their line of sight with a 50-cal. M2 Browning Machine Gun mounted on its roof. Jim swallows. At least I think we’re better off on the ground...
The plane pulls up alongside the rescue equipment that awaits it, and a ladder truck drives into position beside the front port-side cabin door. The captain motions over his shoulder. “George, go let them in and try to find out what’s going on out there.”
Charlie twiddles his thumbs in first class when the firefighters bust in. “I put the fires out already, I think we’re all set, now.”
The firefighters run past him, scouring the entire plane. When they find the stockpile of weapons and ammunition in the rear of the plane, they take pause. Major Stephanie Dubois stands nearby and holds up both arms. “We’re under orders of General Campbell, Commander of the Joint Zombie Defenses. We commandeered this passenger jet from DC. Air Traffic Control and Hickam know our orders.”
Melanie, by the name patch on her uniform, takes off her goggles. “You’re telling me you had a fire emergency on a passenger jet filled with ordnance?”
Stephanie nods. “Yup. Let us know when you’re finished. If it wasn’t clear, there’s an emergency we’re trying to deal with.”
“No fucking shit, and you’re wasting our time. We still have to file this.”
“Fine, just hurry.”
“Obviously we’re gonna fuckin’ hurry!”
Minutes later, the pissed off firefighters speed away from the plane. Charlie picks up the phone to speak to the cockpit. After a moment, the copilot answers. “Yes?”
“When can we take off again?”
“As soon as we can refuel, but they won’t dispatch fuel trucks with the military runni
ng around shooting things.”
Charlie sighs, then notices Stephanie walk up behind him. He pulls the mouthpiece back an inch. “Can’t get fuel trucks with military action. Might have to steal one.”
She nods and glances out the window to the terminal in the distance. She snaps her head back to Charlie. “Not a fuel truck, a plane! Commandeer a fully fueled plane!”
He smiles. “Hear that Mr. Copilot?”
“-ugh- Yeah, I heard, and the name’s George... Give us a few minutes. Oh, and Colonel?”
“Yeeeahhh?”
“If you’re not all in uniform, maybe put some on. The more military you all look, I think the better.”
He nods. “George, I knew I liked you. How do I use the announcer thing back here?”
“You have to use the announcement mouthpiece, not this phone. There’s a big switch next to it. You can figure it out.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Charlie hangs up the phone and grabs the handset. He finds the switch and turns it on. “Attention! We’re gonna steal a plane, so get ready to move. And we have to walk-and-talk like real military or else we’ll never get back off the ground. So, if you want to keep this mission moving forward, get a uniform and change into it now… And grab yourself a gun instead of a sword… Unless you’re Eddy and July, in which case DO NOT grab any weapon and just do what you do best—be sneaky.” He flips the switch and sets the handset down while nodding to himself.
Balena, a real member of the military and already in her SEAL tactical gear, looks particularly grumpy when she finds Charlie. “Sir, what about the kids, are they staying? And the fixer?”
Oh right. “An elder was going to meet them at the airport, but I don’t like the idea of leaving them with an outbreak going on. The elder might not even be able to get in with all this nonsense.”
“Fine, we can leave them in New Zealand. The fixer?”
Charlie frowns. “They were supposed to meet us on the tarmac while we refueled.”
She nods. “Correct.”
Charlie shrugs. “Well, we’ll just have to see how good they are. I have the feeling that the whole commandeering of a jumbo-jet will raise some eyebrows. He’ll find us. Johannes, right?”
“That’s the name. What’s the plan if he doesn’t find us?”
Charlie frowns. “If he’s half as good as Jules, we’ll want his help, but we can’t wait around.” He sighs. “The more time Melgaard buys against us, the better he’ll be prepared. We leave as soon as we can.”
“Fine. You get changed. I’ll work with the engineers to prep the more fragile equipment to move.” She turns and walks toward the rear of the plane. Stowaway kids, poor intel, explosions, zombies, jet switching, hoping a man we’ve never met finds us… What could possibly go wrong? She pauses and takes a full breath. No mission goes according to plan, there are always complications... Focus on the task.
The victims of the airport explosions—who were brought to the Tripler Army Medical Center and to the Queen’s Hospital—exhibit an odd fever and go unconscious while waiting for their various surgeries or diagnostic tests. The change in some of these patients is noticed by their nurses, but the influx of zombie-outbreak-related patients thins the resources of both hospitals, and the nurses find themselves overwhelmed.
Many of the patients are just thought to be resting while they wait.
At the airport, a few dozen people also fall ill. They slouch in the chairs near their gates, or alongside the others waiting to be questioned by investigators.
Most are completely ignored.
Before anyone truly knows what’s happening at either hospital or at the airport, these once-unconscious people rise as hyper-aggressive and problematically intelligent, tau-strain zombies. They attack the hospital workers, the other patients, and at the airport, the men, women, and children seated next to them.
Meanwhile, the entire world is horrified while watching live broadcasts of people in Aloha Stadium stampeding and crushing one another in their panic to escape. The hashtag #HNLzombies trends on every social media network on Earth, while islanders safe at home around Oahu barricade their doors and watch out their windows.
On the tarmac, a tanned man with short brown-and-gray hair, an eye-patch, and a torn open sleeve at the bicep watches a 747 leave the area where it met the firefighters. Instead of taxiing straight to the spot on the tarmac where the plane was supposed to be refueled—right beside him—the plane turns and taxis toward the terminals. What the hell? Shit. He looks down at his blood-soaked hands and is about to wipe them on his pants, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he turns around to the corpse behind him. It bleeds from the neck where a pen is still lodged at the edge of a large tear.
He wipes his bloody hands on the corpse’s leg. Then, he finds the soft-sided leather bag he tossed aside in the struggle, grabs it, and jogs after the plane. He glances side to side, looking for zombies, keeping an eye out for military that may try and bulletize his brain, and watching for any airport traffic or jets that might run him over.
After a variety of heated words and threats, Air Traffic Control allows the 747 to gate near another, fully fueled and fully loaded 747 that is supposed to be heading to Tokyo. Inside that plane, the passengers have been waiting for over an hour.
Charlie and his team, laden with supplies and carrying ammo crates, disembark their airplane and enter the airport. In the distance, they can hear screams, but the immediate area is calm. Charlie sets down a case and clears his throat. “Balena, Ricochet, Gabriel; drop your gear and guard the area. We’ll start the passenger transfer.”
They drop the cases they carry, ready their weapons, and spread out in a semicircle.
Charlie waits for the pilot to join him. “What’s your name again?”
“Captain Jim Cook.”
Charlie spins and looks straight into his eyes. Can’t be…
Jim raises one brow high above a brown eye.
Charlie smiles. “Sorry, you’ve got yourself a legendary name there. Now let’s go steal a plane.” They make their way down the ramp to the adjacent plane bound for Tokyo, and although the ramp is extended up to the side of the plane, the plane’s door is closed. “They know we’re coming, don’t they?”
Jim is also confused. “Traffic Control said they’d let them know.” He pounds on the door with his fist.
A nervous, young flight attendant pops his head into the window.
The pilot holds up his identification, and yells, “Open the door!”
The flight attendant’s head disappears, and a moment later, the grumpy face of a man in his fifties fills the window. He shakes his head.
Jim performs a variety of ineffective charades, but the man on the other side doesn’t flinch. Jim sighs and turns to Charlie. “We could force the door, but then we won’t be able to take off until it’s reset.”
Charlie clears his throat. “Let me try my credentials.” He grabs hold of Jim’s shoulder and pulls him out of the way. He leans over to the window and pulls his collar forward, showing the man the silver eagle that denotes the rank of colonel.
On the other side, the man pulls a set of dog tags from his collar, then drops them back into his shirt. He shrugs and shakes his head.
Charlie grumbles. So he don’t care... Hmm... He smiles and makes sure the man in the plane can see his teeth before he turns to Jim. “Hey, could we still fly this if there are bullet holes through the window?”
Jim smiles but tries to hide it. He nods but whispers, “You’re bluffing again, right? Think it’ll work?”
Charlie turns back to the grumpy, old-looking man while in one smooth motion he draws a pistol from a hip holster and aims at the window. He subdues a smile, thinking of his last poker hand with Ricochet. “I never bluff.” He mentions over his shoulder, “Cover your ears.”
Jim covers his ears. This guy is
nuts!
Charlie pulls back the slide on the pistol, cocking it and setting the hammer. He takes a deep breath, and with all his might, he yells so that everyone on the airplane hears him. “THIS PLANE MUST BE EVACUATED. THERE’S A ZOMBIE ON BOARD. YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS BEFORE I BREACH YOUR DOOR. FIVE...”
Inside the plane, most of the passengers don’t speak English, but they still catch the words PLANE, ZOMBIE, FIVE, and SECONDS. Some of the passengers and the flight attendants—who do understand English—do some quick math while they look to the nearest person who has their eyes closed. They think a variety of things akin to: Has it been two hours? Are they just listening to music? What if they turn? GET ME OFF THIS PLANE!
Charlie clears his throat. “FOUR...”
The veteran on the other side of the door is knocked in the head by the same flight attendant as earlier. As the man drops, Charlie hears the door start to open. He looks at the gun in his hand. “Hey, Jim?”
Jim is all smiles as he drops his hands from his ears. “That was awesome!”
“You learned to fly in the Air Force?”
He nods.
Charlie hands the pistol out to him. “Deactivate this thing, or whatever. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
The door opens, and Charlie steps aboard. He grabs the announcement handset like a pro and flips the switch to turn it on. “Listen up! You are not in danger. I repeat, you are NOT in danger. However, you cannot stay on this plane.” He points from his shoulder out the door. “My team will escort you to a new plane, one that can take you to your final destination. So as calmly as possible, gather your things and…proceed.”
Almost all of the passengers are from a luxury tour group out of Japan, and English is not their primary language. Some stand up to get their things, but most turn their head to their neighbor and motion toward the front.
Charlie frowns and turns to the flight attendant beside him who is also of Asian descent. “Did you understand what I said?”