“Yeah, right. Why didn’t you land the first time? I know you saw us.”
“I’m heading to the Coast Guard station on Snowcap Mountain. My fuel supply is critical. The longer we stand here and argue, the worse it’s going to get. You know of an airport nearby? Or anywhere I might find some fuel?”
“Everything around here’s overrun,” the woman says.
That’s what Hunter was afraid of. That makes the next thing he has to say a lot more difficult. “If I can’t refuel then I’m afraid I can’t take both of you. How much does your daughter weigh?”
“You think I’m handing my daughter over to you? Some stranger? You probably stole that pilot’s suit. You’re probably one of those slavers from up in the city.”
“I’m not. Look, I know it’s hard to trust anyone in times like this, but you’re going to have to if you want to save your daughter. I would take you both if I could, but there might not even be enough fuel for me to reach the island as it is.” While he has the woman’s attention focused on his face, he snatches the shotgun away with his right hand. He aims it down at the roof. “I could shoot you right now and take your girl, but I won’t.”
“You might as well. It’s better than leaving me here.”
“You must have somewhere here to hole up. If I find some fuel where I’m going, I’ll come back for you. I give you my word.”
“Your word? That’s rich,” the woman grumbles. She takes far too long for his liking to take her little girl’s hand. “Polly, go with this nice man. He’s going to take you somewhere safe. Away from all the monsters.”
“Aren’t you going too, Mommy?”
“No, honey. There’s not room. I’ll be along later.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” She kneels down to hug Polly. “Go on, now. There’s no time to waste.”
Little Polly looks uncertain for a moment and then nods. She kisses her mother on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too, honey.” Then she stands to glare at Hunter. “You take good care of my baby.”
“I will, ma’am—”
“Casey. Casey Jackson.”
“I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can. What’s this place called anyway?”
“It used to be Crystal Harbor.”
Hunter files that name away for future reference. He points back to the helicopter with his thumb. “I have some supplies in there. I think they’ll be better off with you.” He needs to dump some weight anyway to make up for the little girl, so he might as well give the stuff to someone who can use it.
He takes the straps off the supplies in the back to set them on the roof; there isn’t time for him to deliver them to wherever she’s hiding out. The last thing he takes from the helicopter is the M4 and the extra clips. “You ever use one of these?” he asks.
“No.”
“It’s not too hard.” He gives her a quick tutorial on how to take the safety off, fire, and reload the weapon. She probably doesn’t get all of it, but there’s not time for anything more. “Find somewhere safe and stay there. If I make it back, I’ll come here and set off red smoke. You see that, you come running, OK?”
“Sure.” She holds out her hand. “Thank you.”
He nods to her and then goes around the front of the helicopter to help little Polly up into the co-pilot’s seat. She squeals and then starts to thrash when he grabs her around the waist. “Stop it! Lemme go!”
“I’m sorry, honey. This will just take a second.” He manages to keep hold of her until he can drop her onto the seat. While she continues to fuss, he straps her in. “Leave that on, please.” He slams the door shut and then hurries around to the other side. Polly is fumbling with the straps, trying to get them off. “You do that once we get in the air and you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care! I don’t wanna go! I want Mommy!”
“I’m sorry, honey. Your mom can’t come. But we’re going to come back for her real soon.” He tosses Casey a wave as he brings the helicopter up. All the noise from the machine has brought some of those shambling zeebs towards the building. He hopes Casey has fortified the place enough to last until he can come back—if he can.
“Mommy!” Polly wails, pressing her face to the window of the door as the roof grows smaller beneath them.
***
As an only child who had joined the Air Force out of high school and never married, Hunter hadn’t spent a lot of time around kids since he was one. He’s not really sure what to do when Polly keeps kicking at the co-pilot’s instruments and whining, “I wanna go back!”
“You heard your mom, didn’t you? She said she’ll join you later. I promise she will.”
“I don’t care. I wanna go back!”
He’s tempted to climb into the thin air in the hope it will put the girl to sleep, but that would take up too much of his dwindling fuel reserves. “Look, Polly, I don’t like this situation either, but we have to make do, OK? An hour or so and we’ll be at a safe place. A place without all those monsters. Then we can go back for your mom.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Fine,” she says with a huff and then crosses her arms over her chest. “Who are you anyway?”
“I’m a pilot. I used to be in the Air Force before the monsters came.”
“My daddy flew planes.”
“Oh, like airliners?”
“No. He dusts crops in California. Or he did,” she says, her face turning red. The girl probably isn’t more than six, but in this day and age even the youngest learn about death quickly enough.
“I’m sorry, Polly. My name’s Hunter,” he says, holding out a hand to her.
She gives his hand a tiny shake. “Hi.”
“I’m going to take good care of you until we can bring your mom back, OK?”
“OK.” She turns away from him to look out the window.
The helicopter doesn’t have radar to detect other aircraft, but his internal radar tells him there are a couple of planes nearby. The hairs on the back of his neck go up and goosebumps break out along his arms. A few seconds later he sees two trails of black smoke and the sun glinting off two silver fuselages.
As the planes get closer, he recognizes them as F-86 Sabres, last used in the Korean War. Hunter has only seen these in static displays on bases or in front of VFW halls; he has never seen one fly until the two Sabres buzz past him, one on each side. He gets a good look at the machine guns at the front of the planes that look more than capable of firing.
Polly squeals with terror; he can’t blame her. “What was that?”
“Just a couple of jokers,” Hunter says. “Nothing to worry about.”
Despite what he says, he glances out the window to see the black smoke trail of one Sabre curving around towards the rear of the helicopter. They’re clearly getting in firing position. With his fuel well into the red, there’s not much he can do to elude the jets and the only weapon he has is his service pistol.
The radio crackles to life with a familiar voice dripping with a Cajun accent. “Unidentified helo, this is Snowcap Air Patrol. You are entering restricted air space. Identify yourself or we will be forced to escort you down, where you will be arrested.”
“JP? It’s Hunter.”
“Hunter? Boy howdy, I thought you was dead.”
“I thought I was going to be the way you were coming on. Listen, I got kind of a fuel situation here. It’s going to be pretty dicey. And I got a passenger. A, um, small passenger.”
“I’m not small!” Polly shouts.
JP must hear her, as he chuckles into the radio. “Hey, no problem. We’ll keep watch over you. I’ll call the base to keep the rescue chopper on standby.”
“Thanks.”
“Man, the general is going to be real happy to see you. He didn’t think you’d ever show up.”
“It took a while to get the message.”
“Yeah? That was pretty clever,
weren’t it?”
“You might have had better luck with skywriting.”
“Maybe next time, buddy.”
The Sabres climb up to keep watch on the helicopter. Hunter turns to Polly, giving her a hopeful smile. “It’s going to be all right now. They’re going to make sure we get there safely. Then we can get your mommy. OK?”
“OK,” she says, but she looks out her window with obvious concern.
***
The helicopter runs out of gas just as they’re crossing over the beach. “Hang on!” Hunter shouts to Polly over the warning buzzers in the cockpit. “This is going to get a bit rough.”
He brings down the helicopter’s landing gear and then starts to look for a place to set down. There’s a runway ahead of him, probably where the Sabres took off from. He runs through a quick set of mental calculations; it’s going to be damned close.
The rotors stop once they expend the last of the fuel in the lines. The helicopter becomes like a brick then, dropping the last hundred feet from the air. The wheels in the nose and on the right side smack down on the tarmac while the left ones come down on grass at the edge of the runway. Hunter and Polly are thrown hard against their straps, but they both manage to stay seated. Hunter’s helmet smacks against the edge of the instrument panel, but not hard enough to do any damage to him, the helmet, or the instrument panel.
Beside him, Polly is red-faced and sobbing. “Are you all right?” he asks. She can only bring herself to nod slightly. She squeals as he reaches over to help her get the straps off. “It’s OK, we’re here now. We’re safe.”
Despite that, he keeps a hand to the pistol at his hip as a tow truck approaches. The truck comes to a stop to let someone out of the passenger’s seat. A tall black man sporting a thick mustache and shaved head gets out and flashes a bright white grin. “Hunter! I thought JP might be pulling my leg,” says General Gray George. He shakes his head. “You look like Grizzly Adams, son.”
“Who?”
“Sorry. That reference was before your time. How have you been?”
“Surviving, sir.”
“As have we all.” General George motions to the passenger’s seat. “I heard you brought a passenger. She yours?”
“No, sir. I found her on the way over. Actually, we need to discuss that.”
“Of course, of course.” The general claps Hunter on the shoulder and then opens the passenger’s seat door. The little girl squeals, but General George doesn’t seem to notice. “Hello, sweetheart. My name is Gray. I run the base here. I promise there are no monsters here. You’re going to be perfectly safe.”
Polly looks skeptical, but she lets the general help her down to the ground. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she scurries over to Hunter, wrapping her arms around his waist. This seems odd as she didn’t seem to trust him at all in the helicopter. She must figure it’s better with the devil she knows slightly better.
“If you don’t mind, I thought we could walk back to the base. Give us time to catch up. Plus I need the runway cleared for the patrol to come in.”
“No problem, sir,” Hunter says. He looks down at Polly. “You want a piggyback ride?”
She considers this for a moment and then nods. He scoops her up to slide onto his shoulders with an exaggerated groan. She smacks the back of his head. “I’m not that heavy!”
“Sorry,” Hunter says and then starts to walk down the tarmac.
The general falls in beside him as they start towards the base, leaving the tow truck to collect the helicopter. “I’m glad you finally got the message,” General George says. “I’ve had them roaming the Pacific Northwest for six months now.”
“Them?”
“We had a half-dozen. Dropped them at different spots. Figured sooner or later one of them would find you. Which one was it?”
“The nametag on the flight suit said Simmons.”
“It was a shame about that boy. He was one of those from the base originally. Survived the outbreak and the war and then died of pneumonia. That was before we fortified the shelters to keep out the drafts.” The general shakes his head. “Those early days were tough. Like when the Pilgrims first landed. We barely had anything. Eventually we got the aircraft here working and then started to get some supplies. Even cobbled together our own little air force.”
“I saw, sir.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
“Where’d you find those planes? A museum?”
“Exactly.” The general pats Hunter on the arm. “It’s a different time, son. The high-tech stuff is pretty much done now. What didn’t get swallowed up by the outbreak or the war has been used up in the aftermath. While you were hiding out, there were whole squadrons of Eagles and Falcons and Hornets going at it, worse than the Sea of Japan. Squadrons of good, military men turned into petty thugs out of desperation, fighting for the crumbs.
“You see what we’re down to now. In a way it’s better that way. Sabres don’t have all those fancy gizmos that can burn out on you, stuff that’s irreplaceable nowadays. The insides of them are about as complicated as a ’57 Chevy.”
“I’ll take your word for that, sir,” Hunter says.
“A lot of the pirates fly even older stuff: Mustangs, Thunderbolts, and even P-38s. Those aren’t as complicated, plus they don’t use jet fuel. The kicker is they’re subsonic. Makes it easier to go after any cargo planes stupid enough to be caught without an escort.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re here now. We’re getting ready to make a big push. We’ve got pockets of civilization up and down the coast, but the problem is we keep being harassed by the pirates, the slavers, and the plain crazies. That’s on top of the zeebs roaming around.
“We’ve been gathering some firepower and now we’re ready to go on the offensive. I can’t think of anyone better to lead the charge.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That’s if you’re up to it.”
“I won’t let you down, sir. There’s just one thing I need to do first.”
“A shave and a shower, right? Maybe get a bellyful of real food?”
“Actually, sir, I have a promise to keep,” Hunter says, nodding to Polly riding on his shoulders. “You got some fuel for that helicopter?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I need a full tank and a couple of your best shots.”
General George slaps Hunter on the shoulder. “You got it, son. While we’re waiting for that, why don’t I give you the nickel tour?”
Chapter 3
The Snowcap Mountain “air force” consists of the two F-86s, an old Sea Stallion rescue helicopter, and an F-4 Phantom that had probably last seen action in Vietnam. “I know it’s not very impressive, but our allies each have a few planes of their own,” General George says. “Once we’re able to get things a little more solidified, we’ll be able to buy some.”
“Buy?”
“Not with greenbacks like in the old days. That stuff is as good as toilet paper now,” the general says. “With other settlements we barter: maybe we give them a few cases of food in exchange for some jet fuel. Merchants you have to deal with in fine minerals: gold, silver, and stones. I’m not sure what they do with them, but that isn’t my business.”
“Hard to believe there would be any merchants left.”
General George shrugs at this. “It can be pretty lucrative. You wade into the wastelands, grab what you can, and then sell it off. If you can get past the gangs and zeebs you can make a decent haul.”
It sounds like an insane line of work to Hunter, but there are always those people who are crazy enough to work in dangerous situations as much for the thrill as profit. “So what you want is to clear the gangs out to make trade a little easier.”
“If we ever want to get anything like civilization back, we have to stop being cut off. We have to be able to work together. The zeebs won’t have to kill us if we keep killing each other like this.”
“Just how big are these gangs?”
“The Seabirds in what used to be Seattle have probably two full squadrons, mostly WWII vintage. They’ve got a couple thousand guys on the ground, mostly shady types from the old days: bikers, criminals, and so forth. They set up their headquarters in the old Space Needle. The worst part is they don’t just kill people. They take people alive. Most they work to death or—” The general stops, realizing Polly is still on Hunter’s shoulders. She had been napping quietly, but now she whimpers. “I’ll give you the skinny on them later.”
“No offense, sir, but even against World War II aircraft I don’t think you’d have much of a chance.”
“Before today I would have agreed with you. But there’s something special I’ve been holding back. Come on.”
The general leads them to a green hangar smaller than the others. The hairs on the back of Hunter’s neck start to stand up. There’s definitely an airplane in the hangar, something unlike the relics he has already seen.
The hangar is locked with a computerized lock. “This is practically magic these days,” General George says. “There’s a backup alarm system too in case someone tries to bust in here with brute force. Even if someone did, they probably wouldn’t be able to get too far with it.”
The general types in a code and then the door lock opens with a clunk. General George grunts a little as he slides the hangar door open. “Holy shit,” Hunter breathes before he remembers the little girl on his shoulders.
In the hangar is an aircraft unlike any others. While every other plane has wings that are swept back or straight, this plane’s are swept forward in a V shape. There are a pair of fins on the intakes behind the nose to help provide stability. The single engine, one tailfin, and bubble canopy put it in line with the F-16 Fighting Falcon, but this aircraft never advanced past the experimental phase, which is why it has the designation X-29.
Hunter runs a hand along the bright white nose of the plane. “Where did you get this?”
“Merchant found it in what was left of Edwards. It cost me a couple of diamonds the size of your fist. Our mechanics assure me it’s in flying shape, but you know how temperamental this aircraft is. I could only think of one man who could fly it.”
Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1) Page 2