by Dirk Patton
Moving through the store was much easier with the little flashlight and I quickly found Dog sitting, waiting patiently for me. Grabbing several bottles of water off a shelf, I scratched his head and headed for the exit, clicking the light off and stepping to the side when I heard voices coming from the parking lot.
54
Peeking my head around the doorframe I got a good view of the lot. Katie and Martinez were standing behind the Jeep. Katie held the pistol up, aimed at a man carrying an AK-47. Two more stood behind him, equally armed. Martinez held my knife straight down behind her right leg.
The moonlight wasn’t bright, but it provided enough illumination for me to recognize the three men. I’d just been looking at their photos in Yemeni Passports. Dog growled softly and I placed a hand on the back of his neck to calm him.
“This is our Uncle’s store,” the one closest said.
“Then back away and we’ll be leaving,” Katie said. She spoke in a loud voice and I knew she was buying time and trying to alert me.
“I do not think so,” the young man said. “My cousins like American women. You should stay with us.”
OK, enough. I was almost certain these guys were the remainder of a terrorist cell that had been plotting something before the attacks. I’ve known a few foreign nationals that were in the country for a variety of legitimate reasons, and not a single one of them would have been caught dead without his or her Passport and Visa.
Plus, I was watching the way these guys held their weapons and how the two in back kept up a constant scan of the area while the leader kept Katie and Martinez talking. They were trained. Maybe not by a real military, but by someone who knew what he was doing.
“And you do not want to fire that pistol,” the leader said, stepping farther away from his comrades. “There are what you call infected not far away. The sound of gun fire will bring them here.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I said to myself as I pulled the trigger on my suppressed rifle and put a round in his head.
Shifting aim to the next closest man I fired, but he was already in motion and the round punched into his shoulder. I adjusted and fired a second time as something flew towards the third guy. My guy’s finger was on the trigger and when my follow up shot tore through his neck he pulled it reflexively and held it. His rifle was full automatic, and it ran through a full magazine as he fell to the gravel and began spasming.
The gunfire was loud and seemed to last forever. I shifted aim to the third man, but held my fire when I saw the hilt of my Ka-Bar sticking up from his throat. I’d forgotten how deadly Martinez was with a blade. She’d thrown the knife fifteen yards, at a small target, in the dark, and had hit the bullseye.
“Coming out,” I called, just in case Katie was a little jumpy with the pistol.
Running across the lot, I checked each of the men to make sure they were dead. Retrieving the knife, I wiped it clean and handed to Martinez as she ran up. Dog had followed me, but backed away when she arrived. Fishing out the key ring I tossed it to Katie and while Martinez and I grabbed the rifles off the bodies and snatched up spare magazines, she got the Jeep open and running.
I was going to drive, Martinez climbing in the back seat and Katie scooting over, but Dog wouldn’t get in the Jeep. With a sigh of exasperation I put the two women in front, Katie behind the wheel and got in back. Dog got in, then jumped over the seat back into the cargo area to be as far away from them as he could get.
“Which way?” Katie asked, reversing across the lot.
“East is the best I can tell you,” Martinez answered. “Airport’s on the eastern edge of town. Shouldn’t be that hard to find. Tulsa isn’t that large.”
Gravel spun as Katie accelerated out of the lot and turned onto a four-lane street. Infected were already converging on the area, drawn by the very long burst of automatic weapon fire. They appeared out of alleys and from behind buildings, but Katie pushed our speed up and we quickly left the area behind.
“What the hell was that about?” She asked after a few minutes of driving. I was occupied with checking over our new arsenal.
“Those three were Yemeni terrorists,” I said without looking up.
“What? How could you possibly know that?” Katie asked.
“Inside that store there was a stack of passports, each of them with a student visa. I had just looked at their pictures.” I said.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re right. They get in the country, then ditch their real passports and visas and carry forged ID with different names. Makes it a bitch to track them. That was one reason Homeland started recording the fingerprints of all foreign nationals entering the country.”
“Well, doesn’t matter any more.” I said.
After a moment she nodded and focused on her driving.
“How did we make out?” Martinez asked, turning in her seat to look at the AKs.
“Three rifles. Well used, but in good condition. Three hundred rounds. Here,” I said, handing one of them to Martinez along with a couple of magazines. She placed it on the seat next to Katie and reached back for another. Handing a second one over I passed a couple of bottles of water to her as well.
“By the way, that was a hell of a throw with the Ka-Bar.” I said, leaning back in the seat, drinking deeply and looking at the dark, empty city passing outside the windows.
“Thanks,” Martinez said.
“That wasn’t exactly a compliment,” I said and she turned around to look at me. “It’s a heavy knife. For fighting. Stabbing. Slashing. The balance is all wrong for throwing, but you put enough force behind it to be accurate at forty-five feet and still bury an eight inch blade to the hilt. Seem normal to you?”
“When you say it that way… no, it doesn’t.” She conceded. “I just threw it the way I always do.”
“And what you would normally throw weighs about a third of my Ka-Bar and is perfectly balanced, or so close as to not matter. Right?” I asked.
It was quiet in the Jeep as Martinez thought about what I had just said. She looked behind me at Dog, then back at me.
“Has he always been a party pooper like this?” She turned to Katie.
“If you only knew,” she said, laughing. “He’s the guy at the party that leans on the wall and watches everyone else. Even the drunks leave him alone.”
“It’s not being anti-social if you don’t like the people at the party,” I said.
“Whatever you say, sweetie.” Katie said, grinning.
I rolled my eyes and sat back in the seat. If they weren’t going to take this seriously there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Maybe I could have handled Martinez’ sarcasm, or Katie’s quick wit and smart-ass answer to everything, but together I didn’t stand a chance in hell so I just shut up.
We drove on through the night, seeing the occasional roving band of infected. If there were any other survivors in Tulsa they weren’t showing themselves. They were probably barricaded in something like a school or church and weren’t about to step outside if they didn’t have to.
“There,” Martinez pointed to a sign that had an arrow underneath large letters that said “AIRPORT”. Katie took the turn and accelerated onto a three lane freeway.
“Why are there infected here?” Katie asked once we were back up to speed.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to sound like I thought she was an idiot for asking such a question.
“Fuck you, babe.” She said in a gentle tone, which caused Martinez to snort a laugh. “What I mean is, why aren’t all of them in Oklahoma City? Or at least on their way? Rachel told me about how the Russians are controlling them, causing them to form into herds. So, why are there any of them still here?”
“I have no idea,” I finally said after trying to think of any reason. “Could they be people that were deaf and they can’t hear the harmonic?”
“No way,” Martinez answered. “Far too many infected still hanging around. My niece was born deaf and I remember my sist
er talking about the odds and the percentage of the population that’s deaf. It’s only something like one out of every thousand. That would mean there should only be two to three hundred deaf people in Tulsa. We’ve seen way more infected than that already.”
“Then I’ve got no fucking clue, but if we get a chance to talk to someone who can actually do something with the information we should mention it.” I said.
“See. Not such a stupid question was it?” Katie couldn’t resist rubbing it in. “You forget, darling. I’m the brains and you’re just the brawn.”
It was quiet for a beat then both women burst out laughing. Great. The two biggest smart ass, sarcastic women I’d ever known were bonding.
55
The mortar crews had been firing for close to two hours. Between them and the rifles still protecting the tops of the jet blast plates, the infected were being slowed. Not held. That wasn’t possible on open terrain, but they had been slowed to a crawl. The females’ newly acquired desire for self-preservation was working in favor of the defenders.
Recognizing the danger posed by the mortars as they landed amongst the leading ranks, the females continued to hold back and let males shamble forward into the kill zone. Between the JP8 fueled fire, and now the mortars, there were multiple mounds of bodies outside the moat. Some of the mounds were fifty yards across at the base and over twenty tall.
But as many crates of mortar bombs as had been loaded on cargo planes and brought to Tinker, the supply wasn’t infinite. Pointere grimaced when a runner found him and reported that they had consumed sixty percent of the stockpile. Sixty percent in two hours. They hadn’t even gone through munitions that fast in Fallujah.
“I make four hours left. Any update from your end?” He shouted to Crawford over the roar of the battlefield.
“Maybe a little less. I heard from Blanchard and they got the planes off-loaded and back in the air in less than thirty minutes. They should be on the ground here in about two and a half hours.” He shouted back.
“We’ve got at most ninety minutes of mortars left, then we’re down to Claymores and machine guns.” Pointere said.
“We need to arm the civilians,” Crawford said. “They want to survive, they’re going to have to fight.”
Pointere nodded and made a call on his radio. A couple of minutes later a breathless Army Sergeant ran up, listened as the Marine Colonel yelled instructions in his ear, turned and dashed off.
“Let’s put them on the line,” Crawford said. “Pull them out when the planes are on the ground and ready.”
Pointere nodded and looked around. Looked at the fighter and ground attack aircraft that were sitting silent on the tarmac. He’d made the decision to use all the available fuel for the moat, leaving enough for the evac flights only. Not one to second guess himself, he wasn’t regretting the decision, just trying to figure out how to find some JP8 and get those planes in the air to aid in the defense.
“What are you thinking?” Crawford asked, also looking at the silent aircraft.
“Wishing I had more fuel,” was the answer.
“You made the right call. That moat and the fire is the only reason we’re still standing. It did a hell of a lot more than all those planes could have done.”
Pointere nodded, finally shelving his musings and turning back to face the battle. Ninety minutes and the infected would start flooding over the moat.
56
“It’s a fucking antique, sir.” Martinez protested. “It should be in a museum somewhere.”
We stood on the tarmac in the National Guard section of the Tulsa airport, looking at an aging Bell UH-1 or Huey. It may have been a museum piece to Martinez, but it brought memories from my youth flooding back and I couldn’t help but smile.
“It’s slow as my grandmother and handles worse than her walker,” Martinez continued bitching. “It’s loud as hell and… hell, there’s got to be a Black Hawk somewhere around here!”
There wasn’t. We’d already looked, and Martinez had looked a second time.
“It’s also one tough son of a bitch, Captain.” I said. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t fly something without all those fancy computers actually doing the work for you?”
“Fuck you, sir.” She said. “There’s not a rotor wing I can’t fly.”
“Then quit your bitching and let’s get out of here while we can,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” Martinez mumbled, walking over to release the tie-downs that secured the rotor blades to the ground. Katie had stood back, watching the two of us.
“What?” I asked when I noticed her looking at me.
“She’s like the little sister you never had,” she smiled.
“Kind of,” I acknowledged, shooting a look to make sure Martinez hadn’t overheard. All I needed was for her to realize just how much of a soft spot I really had for her.
“You know, it’s OK to let people know you care,” Katie said, understanding exactly why I’d looked over.
“And ruin my reputation of being a gold plated asshole? I don’t think so.” I grinned. Katie just shook her head and followed me to the aging helicopter.
“Told you!” Martinez shouted. She was doing her walk around, checking whatever it is pilots check before taking off. “Right here. The airframe was built in 1961. 1961! Even you weren’t alive when this thing was built, sir!”
I just smiled and slid the right side door open, locking it in place on its track. The smells of aviation fuel, grease and sweat took me right back. Black Hawks, no matter how hard they’ve been used don’t have the character of a Huey. Or maybe I’m just getting old.
“Hey! I think I just found some patched over bullet holes. This baby probably flew in Vietnam!” Martinez shouted from somewhere under the front of the helicopter.
“Doubt it,” I said when she popped up at the side door. “We didn’t bring very many back. It was cheaper to just dump them in the ocean or leave them on the ground. Ever see the videos of Hueys being shoved off the decks of aircraft carriers after the evacuation when Saigon fell?”
“Before my time, sir.” She said, finishing outside and climbing into the cockpit.
After my experience with the Jeep I was prepared for Dog’s refusal to come near Katie. Getting her settled in the co-pilot’s seat, I sat down in the back and called him. He jumped in and started sniffing around while Martinez powered up the primitive avionics and started the engine.
She let the engine idle, warming up, and slipped on a set of headphones with a huge microphone that hung in front of her face. I watched her run her hands across the panel, familiarizing herself with the aircraft. After a moment she stopped what she was doing and rotated a dial on the radio.
“Sir, you need to hear this,” she said after listening for a few minutes.
She flipped a couple of switches and a speaker mounted to the ceiling above my head began playing. I was listening to the comms of a unit engaged in a battle. The sounds of rifle fire and mortar bombs exploding were clear in the background every time someone transmitted.
“Can you tell where they are?” I shouted over the near constant chatter.
“No, sir. But they can’t be far.”
We sat there listening for a few more minutes, then someone referenced evac flights. This had to be at Tinker!
“Tinker, I think,” Martinez said and turned around, concern creasing her face. I nodded, thinking and listening.
“Shut down, Captain.” I said. “We need to find some goodies before we take off.”
I jumped out the side door, Dog right behind me as the engine spooled down. Running to the hangar with the Oklahoma Air National Guard sign on it I tried every door I could find as Katie and Martinez ran up behind me. They were all locked up tight.
Jogging to the far corner, I forgot to exercise caution and ran directly into a male infected that had probably been drawn in by the sound of the Huey’s engine. He wrapped his arms around me before I even knew I was in trouble and we fell to t
he ground. Dog grabbed his arm in his jaws and pulled, breaking the embrace and I was able to get an arm free and fend off the snapping teeth.
Several more males stumbled out of the darkness, excited by the sounds of the fight. One of them fell over us, landing on Dog and knocking him back. I kept rolling around, struggling against my attacker, hearing several quick shots.
Bumping up against the wall of the hangar I used my free arm to slam the infected’s head against the corrugated steel. I kept at it, each blow making a hollow booming sound, but it was having an effect. His grip loosened and I yanked my other arm free. With one hand wrapped in his greasy hair and the other cupped on the point of his chin, I twisted hard to the side and up, feeling his whole body go limp when his neck snapped.
Pushing him off, I grabbed for the Kukri, pausing when I saw Dog and Martinez working together to finish off the last remaining male. He had it by the leg, keeping it off balance as she rammed the Ka-Bar into the back of its head. The body fell and they both turned, looking for another threat, but Katie had already put the rest down with her new rifle.
Seeing that all was clear, Martinez looked down at Dog and held her hand out. After a moment he lowered his ears and with his head below his shoulders, slowly moved closer and sniffed her hand. Finally he licked it and let his head come up slightly as she gently began scratching his ears.
Getting to my feet I ignored them and went around the corner, after checking for more infected, but there weren’t any doors on the back. Running to the side closest to the Huey I picked a door and fired a short, full auto burst from the AK into the lock and deadbolt. The heavy slugs blew them out of the door and it started to swing open.