by Dirk Patton
Tilting the machine gun on its pintle I fired four very short bursts and was rewarded with all of the females in view falling to the ground, legs and bodies destroyed. I shifted attention to the lake and spotted three small boats heading my way, each packed with men. They were still too far away to effectively engage with the machine gun, but it wouldn’t be long before I would need to deal with them. More infected started appearing and I waited briefly, giving them time to cluster together as they tended to do, then opened fire again and took out eight of them as the machine gun ran dry.
Tossing the empty can overboard I opened the next one in line, grabbed the end of the ammo belt and fed it into the gun. While I had been distracted doing this another dozen infected came into sight and I cut them down before swiveling the gun towards the lake and sending some tracer fire towards the fast approaching boats.
I’ve been shot at in the dark by machine guns with tracers and I’m not ashamed to admit it is downright terrifying. If you’ve had any exposure to weapons at all you know what a single bullet can do to you, and the thought of hundreds of them coming your way in the span of a few seconds will make even the bravest soul dive for cover. So it was with the boats as each driver executed a fast turn to try and put a big cushion between them and me.
Glancing over my shoulder at the hangar I was frustrated to not see the big doors rolling open yet. I had to trust Anderson to do his job and I had to do mine. Three more bursts from the machine gun took down another ten infected, then another burst out into the lake to keep the boats a respectful distance away. I moved my attention back to the shore and had to fire more bursts to cut down the next pack of females who ran screaming towards me, then paused and stared as a solid mass of infected appeared downrange and shambled towards me. At the same time, bullets started smacking into the dock in front of me, a few of them also finding the speedboat, splintering the fiberglass hull where they struck. Swinging back to the lake I pulled the trigger and walked the stream of bullets into the boat closest to me. Men dove overboard as their boat started coming apart then I found the gas tank and another explosion lit the night.
The bullets coming my way stopped as the remaining boats moved further out into the lake and I swung back to the infected and started laying down fire. Infected fell before the withering fire from the machine gun, then it fell silent, another belt used up. Cursing I fumbled the empty case out of the way, opened the last remaining case and fed the final belt into the gun.
“Move your ass, Anderson!” I screamed over my shoulder, hoping he would hear me inside the large hangar.
Mowing down more infected it was obvious I didn’t have enough ammunition to hold my position much longer. I was maintaining fire discipline and using very short bursts and took a glance out at the lake to make sure the boats weren’t creeping back in to shore. They were keeping their distance but I knew as soon as I ran out of ammo they would make a dash forward and light me up. Just as I hit a green tracer, telling me I was halfway through my last belt of ammo I heard a metallic squeal as Anderson pushed open the hangar doors.
“Let’s go!” Anderson shouted, shoving one of the doors the last few feet open and running back to get the second door open.
More infected were showing up by the second. Hundreds of them were now shambling my way, a large group diverting towards Anderson having been attracted by his shout and the squeal of the hangar doors opening. Two packs of females sprinted out ahead of the main group, one towards Anderson and the other towards me. With less than half a belt of ammo left I swung the machine gun and mowed down the pack approaching Anderson, then switched to my rifle and started firing on the pack running straight at me to conserve the last of the heavier ammo.
In three round burst mode I burned through a 30 round magazine, slapped in a fresh one and used most of it to neutralize the females. As I brought down the last one, bullets started smacking into the dock a few feet from me. I looked out at the lake in time to see the muzzle flash from the shooter that was hoping for a lucky shot. I had to decide between the shooter in the boat and the herd of infected that was almost to the edge of the concrete apron. I didn’t have enough ammo left for the machine gun to engage both.
My decision was made for me when I heard first one then a second airplane engine sputter to life. Anderson had gotten a plane started and was taxiing out of the hangar, propellers spinning up and engines roaring. He’d found a fairly large twin engine plane with big floats. Underneath each float were two sets of wheels so the plane could take off, land and taxi on a paved surface.
As the plane fully emerged from the hangar a bullet sparked off the concrete too close to it for my comfort. Slinging my rifle I swiveled the machine gun out to the lake and pressed the trigger, using the tracer rounds to walk the stream of lead up and into the boat. Perhaps they thought they were out of range at close to 800 yards, but the M240 chewed up the boat and the men in it then ran dry.
One of the lessons the Army hammers into you during training is that you never leave a functioning weapon behind on the battlefield unless you’re willing to have your enemy recover the weapon and use it against you. Even though I was out of ammo didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in their camp that had some or knew where to get some. Grabbing a thick cloth I’d brought for the purpose I wrapped it around the sizzling hot barrel, pushed the release and twisted ninety degrees. The barrel came free from the machine gun and I flung it as far out into the lake as I could. Not the best way to dispose of it, but it was too hot to put in my pack and I still had infected to fight before I could catch my flight.
Climbing onto the dock I started firing at the front ranks of the herd as I moved towards the concrete ramp where it met the water’s edge. Every time I pulled the trigger an infected fell down dead, but there were already more infected in sight than I had bullets. My goal was to drop the front ranks so those behind them stumbled and tripped over their bodies, slowing the herd enough for us to escape.
The plane’s engines revved as Anderson headed for the water, but the infected were approaching too quickly for me to stop shooting. If they cut off the open ramp to the water we were screwed. The propellers, spinning at thousands of revolutions per minute, would shatter upon impact with an infected. The human body has a lot of very hard bone in it, and unlike in the movies propellers don’t dice up the bad guy to end the fight then keep on spinning like nothing happened.
I ran across the ramp, directly towards the herd, waving Anderson down the ramp behind me. Firing as I ran the infected kept dropping, but there were too many of them and they were within 20 yards of me as the plane passed behind. Dropping two more shambling males with the last rounds in my magazine I let the rifle drop on its sling, turned and ran for the airplane as the front of the floats hit the water. I never saw the female that tackled me from behind as I reached the plane.
We went down hard, my hands reaching out and grabbing one of the struts that connected the plane to the float. She started to slide down my legs but was able to wrap her arms around my ankles and hold on as the plane drug us out into the water. The pain from the wounds in my chest and left arm was like a searing hot bolt of lightning, but I managed to hold on as Anderson leaned across the cockpit and popped the door open for me.
The plane was moving through the water at taxi speed, about eight knots, and my legs and the female holding on were in the water putting more drag on my battered body than I could withstand. Taking a deep breath in preparation for going under I let go of the strut. Already fifty feet off shore we were in deeper water and both of us went under, the female taking advantage of the change to start trying to claw her way up my body.
Kicking, I felt my heavy boots connect, but the water slowed my kicks and softened the blows to the point they were ineffective against the raging woman. Still kicking to try and break free I fumbled on my chest for the Ka-Bar knife, hand finally grasping the hilt and yanking the wicked blade out of its sheath. The infected had not only managed to hang on, but had wo
rked her way up to my waist. My heavy clothing and equipment was all that had protected me from her repeated attempts to bite. Reaching down with my weakened left hand I grabbed a handful of hair and held her head back as I stabbed the knife into her throat, twisting and cutting until she went limp and slid off my body.
Kicking her away I started to try to swim to the surface but realized that in the dark water I was disoriented and didn’t know which way was up. My lungs were on fire and screaming for me to take a breath, but I calmed my body for a moment and exhaled a small amount of air. I was surprised when the bubbles tracked across my chin then down my body as they headed for the surface. I was upside down and had almost started swimming deeper in my initial attempt to reach the surface.
Switching directions I kicked hard for the surface. Breaking through I exhaled and gulped in air, looking around frantically for the plane, spotting it another 300 feet off shore. Anderson spotted me in his NVGs and revved the engines to come pick me up. I grabbed a handle on the float as the plane slid by me and scrambled up onto the float then into the cabin and flopped across the row of seats behind the pilot after slamming the door behind me.
“Go!” I shouted, but Anderson was already turning the plane towards open water and had pushed the throttles to the firewall.
The plane responded sluggishly at first but quickly gained speed as the floats came up out of the water and skimmed the surface. Quicker than I expected the vibration from contact with the lake’s surface ceased and Anderson pulled back hard on the stick gaining altitude and turning as quickly as he could. There was a metallic ping followed by the sound of rushing air and a bullet hole appeared in the floor of the plane only a few inches from my head, a matching hole in the roof where the bullet exited. Anderson kept us turning and dropped altitude until we were barely skimming the surface of the lake. His evasive maneuvering must have worked because we didn’t take any more bullets that I could see.
39
The flight back to pick up Rachel, Mayo, Helm and Dog only took a few minutes and Anderson never got us more than fifty feet in the air. Landing on the water was smoother than I expected, the plane decelerating quickly when the floats hit the surface. We taxied to the cabin cruiser, sitting dark on the lake’s surface, and Anderson cut the engines and let our momentum take us the rest of the way until the floats bumped the stern of the boat. NVGs on, I could see Rachel standing in the doorway to the salon, Dog at her side, watching as Mayo scrambled over the stern rail and made a line fast to each of the planes front struts.
“Nice flying,” I slapped Anderson on the shoulder, happy to have survived another fight and ready to get loaded up and in the air.
“Thanks, but I need some help here,” Anderson answered, pain obvious in his voice. I looked at him through the NVGs but didn’t see anything wrong. Pulling them off I reached up and snapped on an overhead map light and immediately saw the blood staining the arm of his flight suit around a large, ragged tear in the fabric.
“Fucking infected was in the damn plane. I opened the door and reached in to check the instruments and he bit me, right through the flight suit.”
I leaned over and popped the door open and yelled for Rachel. She stuck her head in the door, saw Anderson’s injury and shouted for Mayo to grab the first aid kit out of the salon. Climbing into the plane Rachel elbowed me out of the way so she could check Anderson. I made myself useful by taking the first aid kit from Mayo and handing it to her before exiting the plane.
“Where’s Tech Sergeant Blake?” Mayo asked, peering around me into the plane.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He didn’t make it. We got into a firefight with the people from the camp and he took a bullet.”
Mayo nodded his understanding and lowered himself to a seat on one of the benches lining the cruiser’s stern deck. I sat down across from him and absently scratched Dog’s ears while waiting for Rachel to finish treating Anderson. A few minutes later they climbed out of the plane, Anderson’s flight suit cut away from his lower arm which was heavily bandaged.
“How is he?” I asked Rachel.
“The bite was deep,” she answered, sitting down next to me. “I’m pretty sure there’s nerve damage and he lost a surprising amount of blood considering no arteries were involved. Infection is the biggest concern right now.”
“Infection!? You mean…”
“No,” She cut me off. “Not that kind of infection. He would already have turned if that was the case. Just the good old fashioned kind. The infection rate for bites from a human are normally in the seventy percent range, and considering these things are eating anything and everything… Well, God only knows what kind of bacteria are swimming around in their mouths.”
“Can he still fly?”
“Yes, I can fly,” Anderson spoke up before Rachel could answer me. “I can get us out of here. No problem. Just some numbness in my arm and hand but that won’t stop me from flying.”
“Alright. Let’s get loaded up and get the hell out of here before any more assholes from the camp show up.”
We all stood up and Rachel and Anderson started gathering all the gear in the cabin cruiser while Mayo and I took the ski boat to collect Helm from the houseboat. Helm was a big man, about the same size as me, and it took everything both of us had to carry him from his bunk to the ski boat, then once we were back to the plane up and in the cabin. When we finally got him situated and strapped in we were both drenched with sweat. Rachel checked him over and said he was as ready to go as he’d ever be. Untying the lines holding us to the cruiser I called for Dog and he leapt into the cabin and settled down next to Rachel in the second row of seats, Anderson and Mayo occupying the pilot and co-pilot seats. I held onto a wing strut and with one foot on a float pushed the plane away from the boat with my other foot, climbed into the cabin and settled in next to Dog and Rachel.
Anderson started the engines and let them idle for a few minutes as the plane drifted a safe distance from the anchored boat, then added some power and lined us up with the open lake. “Everyone ready?” He asked, eyes scanning the gauges.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I answered, looking out the window at the cabin cruiser that had been my home and safe haven for what seemed like months but was less than two weeks.
“Here we go,” Anderson said and shoved the throttles forward. The plane responded and quickly gained speed, lifting smoothly off the water and rapidly gaining altitude.
We were all quiet, each lost in our own private thoughts as the plane continued to climb and turn towards the north. I looked around at the world below us as we gained altitude. To the southeast there was an angry red glow that had to be the remnants of the fire that had consumed Atlanta. Closer to us and very visible were the bright lights of the camp on the south shore of the lake, but other than that one location there was not a single electric light to be seen for miles in any direction. The world was as dark as it had been a thousand years ago. As we made our way north there was the occasional camp fire visible below, but so few for how many people had lived in the area.
We had been in the air about half an hour when Anderson started looking around outside the plane, then adjusted some knobs on the console and spoke into the headset microphone hanging in front of his mouth. He carried on a conversation for a few minutes then made a slight adjustment to our heading. Rachel poked me in the arm and pointed out the window on her side of the plane. Hanging slightly behind and above us was another aircraft, only visible when its anti-collision lights flashed.
“We’ve got an escort,” Anderson said loud enough for all of us to hear him. “There’s a pair of F-16s out there, one on our left wing and I’m guessing the second is on our six – directly behind us – to make sure we don’t do anything stupid.”
“Do we need to be worried?” I asked, leaning forward and getting a grunt from Dog as I disturbed his sleep.
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “I’ve given them a brief version of who we are and where w
e’re headed. They’re re-routing us, won’t allow us in to Nashville. Makes sense with everything that’s going on. Guess we should be glad they asked questions before firing a missile up our ass.”
“So where are we going?”
“Arnold Air Force Base. It’s about 80 miles southeast of Nashville. We should be there in about another 20 minutes.”
I didn’t have a warm fuzzy about being diverted to an Air Force base, but I could understand why the military didn’t want us flying into Nashville. Just because we said we were red blooded American’s didn’t mean we weren’t really Chinese loaded down with either a nuclear bomb or more nerve agent. We’d just have to deal with the military bureaucracy when we landed.
Fifteen minutes later we started descending. I peered ahead out of the windshield but saw no lights. It took me a moment to remember that all US Military installations had to be on a war footing, and that meant blackout conditions at night. Not that it mattered as everything functioned off of GPS these days, but there was still no reason to light up your base like a Christmas tree and make it even easier for the bad guys.
As we continued to descend Anderson maintained a conversation with who I assumed was an air traffic controller on the ground and soon, directly in front of us and a couple of miles ahead runway lights came on, unmistakable against the dark terrain. Anderson brought us down smoothly, the fighter jets roaring overhead as we touched the tarmac, slowing quickly and turning left on to the first taxiway we encountered. Waiting for us was a Hummer with a flashing orange light on the roof and a large illuminated sign on the back that simply read ‘FOLLOW ME’.
I could make out the dim outlines of dozens of fighter jets as we followed the guide down a taxiway that paralleled a row of hangars that were all closed up tightly and completely dark. Ahead was a gap in the row of jets and the Hummer turned into it proceeding through the doors of a massive hangar that was completely dark inside. Anderson had turned off the plane’s landing lights when we started following the guide and the Hummer was running with just parking lights and the orange beacon on the roof. When we pulled into the hangar the driver shut off his lights and Anderson cut the engines off leaving the propellers to spin down in the dark hangar.