Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1)

Home > Other > Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1) > Page 26
Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1) Page 26

by P. T. Dilloway


  Yet Hunter knows they can’t stay here. It’s only a matter of time before Utopia’s Russian planes show up in the skies over Davis-Monthan. Jimmy DiMarco might try to protect the women and children, but his six high-tech planes wouldn’t last long against what Utopia could throw at them. It would be a slaughter in the air, followed by one on the ground.

  Hunter runs a hand over his jaw as he mulls it over. After potentially crippling Nation and leading Utopia right to Davis-Monthan, maybe it’s time for him to get out of the hero business. Maybe it would be better for all concerned if he took off in the X-29 and didn’t look back. Even if Casey and the others were taken prisoner, Utopia was a lot safer than anything he has been able to offer them.

  “There you are,” a woman’s voice says. He turns to see Sylvia in the doorway. “Casey said you were in here. Plotting something, are you?”

  “I was thinking about it.” He points to Colorado Springs on the map and then explains about the Doomsday bunker. “It should have air, water, and electricity.”

  “And it might be full of zeebs.”

  “Right. Or other survivors who don’t want to share.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  “It does. What do you think?”

  Sylvia studies the map for a moment and then shrugs. “Seems like our best bet. But it shouldn’t be up to me.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it—”

  “It shouldn’t be up to you either. It should be up to them.” She levels a hard glare at him. “We didn’t leave Utopia so we could be bossed around by another dictator—no matter how good his intentions are.”

  Hunter smiles a little, realizing Sylvia is right. He had spent so much time thinking about what he should do that he never considered what anyone else might think. As she said, wasn’t that the whole point of leaving Utopia, to regain their freedom? “You’re right. I guess I’ve taken too much on my shoulders.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “Let’s get everyone together as quick as we can. There’s not a lot of time to waste.”

  “Now you’re talking.” She claps him on the back and then starts towards the door to begin rounding everyone up.

  Chapter 28

  The first thing Hunter does is find the GPS tracker inside the Harrier. JP—or whoever he had do it—attached the tracker underneath the ejection seat, where it was impossible to see unless one were looking for it. In bad thrillers they put the tracking device on another vehicle so whoever is monitoring it will go chasing phantoms. Maybe Hunter could capture a bird to attach the device to, but he doubts it would be worth the effort. Instead he tosses the tracking device onto a cart in the hangar. Maybe that will buy them a little more time by making JP think Hunter is still at Davis-Monthan.

  Even after finding the device, he checks the rest of the plane to make sure there isn’t a backup. Then he goes through the X-29. The Candid would take much too long and it’s unlikely they could have foreseen it being stolen. He’ll just have to hope Utopia doesn’t put trackers on all their planes, like a rudimentary Lo-Jack system.

  Since Trip has already flown the X-29 once, Hunter lets him get behind the controls again. At some point he’ll have to teach someone else to fly the Harrier, but there isn’t time now. He pats the younger man on the shoulder. “You got the route programmed in?”

  “It’s all set. Don’t worry, man. I won’t crash her.”

  “Better not. She’s one-of-a-kind.”

  “So are you, man,” Trip says. They shake hands and then Hunter starts towards the Il-76 warming up on the runway.

  Sylvia is directing everyone onto the plane. Of the more than two hundred women and children, three-quarters of them voted to give Hunter’s plan a chance. The rest—mostly unattached women—decided to stay behind to either try making a go of it at Davis-Monthan or get a ride to another settlement.

  In a way it’s a relief to have fewer people to look after. It will also mean fewer to feed should everything go fairly smoothly in Colorado Springs. And it means that at least some of them might survive if everything goes horribly wrong.

  He finds Casey and Polly near the front of the cargo hold. He bends down to look Polly in the eye. “You all buckled up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your mommy is going to take good care of you. And I’m going to keep any bad guys from hurting you or anyone else. OK?”

  “OK.”

  He pats her on the head and then stands up. Casey gives him a peck on the cheek since her daughter is right there. “You’re doing the right thing,” she assures him.

  “I hope so.”

  “It’s better than waiting for Shelley’s goons to show up here. At least this way we have a fighting chance.” Casey had said as much during the meeting; he hopes she really meant it and didn’t just say it to be with him. A part of him hoped she would stay behind, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her should anything go wrong in Colorado.

  While there’s a lot more he’d like to say to her, there isn’t time at the moment. He can only give her a smile and nod and then head up to the cockpit to make sure Max and Wayne have everything under control. Most of the Navy guys are staying behind to recover and to oversee assembling the Hornets, but Wayne insisted on coming along to help guide them. Max didn’t hesitate to volunteer to fly the Il-76 for the mission.

  “Everything all green up here?”

  “We’re all set,” Max says. “How about you?”

  “Everything checks out.” He shakes their hands and wishes them good luck. Then there’s nothing more to do but hurry back to the Harrier to get the convoy underway. Whether he’s leading them to a new Promised Land or to their graves remains to be seen.

  ***

  They take a curving route through New Mexico, over Las Cruces and within sight of Alamogordo and White Sands. When they get near Albuquerque, Hunter thinks of the two nights he spent with Val in the Hilton. She’s still in the base hospital, recovering. Has she found out about her leg yet? Has she found out about Nation perhaps being crippled and the rest of the crew dead? The shock of that might be enough to finish what those Mexican pirates had started.

  They don’t run into any pirates as they cross the Colorado border. There aren’t any fighters from Utopia either, though they might be nearby. Hunter orders the convoy to drop as low as they dare to make it harder for any radars to pick them up. A plane the size of the Il-76 is impossible to hide completely, but they can make it less visible.

  As they near Pueblo, Hunter contacts Trip in the X-29. “Hang back to watch the civvies. I’m going on ahead to recon the airport.”

  “You got it.”

  The X-29 has to slow almost to the stall point in order to keep close to the cargo plane. The Harrier isn’t a lot faster than the cargo plane, but he’d rather check things out first himself than to send the X-29 and risk Trip’s life. With what happened to Nation, Hunter would rather take all the chances himself.

  He spent four years in Colorado Springs at the Air Force Academy. That was a few years ago, before the outbreak and war. He remembers that by the time World War III ended, the students of the Academy were all being pressed into service to make up for the loss of more experienced pilots.

  The airport and Peterson Air Force Base are in the southeast corner of the city. Hunter does a slow flyover of the airport first. The runways aren’t fouled with crashed planes or other debris—or zeebs either. As he circles around, he sees a pack of zeebs emerge from around the hangars. More are coming out of the terminal, drawn by the noise.

  That’s just as well, as it’ll make it easier for him to cut them down with the Harrier’s cannons. As he waits for the zeebs to assemble, he contacts the other two planes in the convoy. “We’ve got a few packs of zeebs at the airport. I’m going to thin them out. You guys still good on fuel?”

  “We could fly this baby back to Russia without refueling,” Max says. Hunter knows it’s an exaggeration, though maybe not by a whole lot.

  “I’ve got
enough for a few hours, especially at this speed,” Trip says.

  “All right, you guys just bore some holes in the sky. I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

  Before Max or Trip can acknowledge, Hunter is pulling the trigger for the cannons. The first line of zeebs goes down in a heap. He keeps firing until the last of the zombies is down. They probably aren’t all dead, but they shouldn’t be a threat. Then he continues his sweep of the airport before heading over to the Air Force base.

  Most of the base is made up of office buildings for Space Command that would track any incoming ballistic missiles. The early warning system probably isn’t operational anymore; it would come in handy should anyone get their hands on an operable nuclear weapon. There are a few zeebs shambling around the grounds, but none clustered enough to waste his ammunition on.

  There doesn’t seem to be anyone living around here to interfere with the other two planes landing. Hunter returns to the airport to give it another flyover. He doesn’t stir up any more zeebs, though there’s always the chance some are stuck in the hangars or terminal. They’ll have to go through and root out any stragglers, but for now it seems safe enough.

  “OK, guys, you can bring them in. I’ll cover you.”

  “We’re on it,” Max says.

  The X-29 shows up first. It won’t take nearly as long to land, so it makes sense to get it out of the way before the Il-76. As Trip brings the fighter in for a smooth landing, Hunter keeps an eye out for any pirates or Utopia planes that might show up. No zeebs come out to attack the X-29, allowing Trip to taxi off the main runway.

  Now that he has one landing under his belt, it’s a little easier for Max to bring in the Candid. It still takes the entire runway to come to a complete stop, the front wheels just a couple of feet from the edge of the tarmac and the nose hanging over bare dirt. With all the noise the engines are making, Hunter stays in the air should any other zeebs come out.

  It’s easy enough for him to find a flat patch of runway to set the Harrier down on. He pops the canopy and then grabs his M4 to take with him. Trip has similarly armed himself with an M16 that he must have gotten from someone at Davis-Monthan. He gestures with the rifle at the pile of fallen undead. “Looks like you took care of most of them.”

  “Maybe. Before we can bring the civvies inside, we have to check the terminal.”

  “After you.”

  The airport isn’t as big as the one in Mile High or other major city airports, so to sweep the terminal isn’t too hard. Hunter goes first with Trip behind to cover him. In the kitchen of a deli they find a zeeb still in his dirty white apron. Hunter stabs him in the head with his knife to put the zombie out of its misery.

  They stop at the baggage carousel. The undead upper half of a man is on the carousel, growling pathetically at them. He must have gotten caught on the carousel when it was still functioning. “That’s just nasty,” Trip says.

  Hunter nods. He slings his rifle on his back to take out his knife again. This one is definitely being put out of its misery. He jams the knife blade into its skull. He waits until the dismembered body goes limp before drawing the knife back. He cleans it off on the dead man’s tattered clothes before returning the knife to its sheath.

  “All clear,” Hunter says. He pokes the dead zeeb on the baggage carousel to make sure it really is finished and then lifts it off by one hand. He doesn’t want Polly or the other little kids to see this thing. “We can leave the civvies here while we go check out the bunker. You ever hotwire a car?”

  “Not many still alive these days that haven’t.”

  “Good. Find us a ride while I take care of this guy.”

  ***

  There’s another chaste goodbye with Casey and Polly before Hunter leaves them in the care of Max, Sylvia, and a couple of others with weapons. He hopes it will be enough to protect them until Hunter can come back from Cheyenne Mountain—if he comes back.

  Trip picked out a Rav4 that should be rugged enough to handle the climb up to the entrance of the complex. Hunter takes the backseat, letting Wayne sit up front to help guide them. During his four years in Colorado Springs, Hunter never did get out to Cheyenne Mountain; he didn’t have nearly the security clearance and by the time he did, he was too busy to go.

  “You think we’ll find the prez in there? Maybe the First Lady too,” Trip says. “Man, just think if they’ve turned into zeebs. Pretty weird to have to shoot the guy I voted for.”

  “I can take care of it. I didn’t vote for him,” Wayne says.

  “Yeah, you probably voted for the white guy.”

  “What’s him being white have to do with it?”

  Before a race war can break out in the car, Hunter motions to the road ahead of them. There’s an M1A2 in the middle of the road. From the chipped, faded green paint, Hunter doubts it’s still active. Still, Trip slows down to approach it cautiously. If there is anyone inside, they didn’t bring anything that could take on a tank, which would cut their adventure short.

  When the tank remains unmoving, Trip passes it on the right shoulder. “You don’t think they mined the road or anything, do you?”

  “I doubt it,” Wayne says. “They were still waiting for us to show up with the planes. Be pretty stupid to have the road mined before then.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope.”

  They continue to inch along the road at about twenty miles an hour. Hunter looks behind them to make sure no one is coming after them. That might be paranoid, but he’s not about to take chances. Everything appears clear behind them, at least for the moment.

  There’s a tunnel ahead to lead into the mountain complex. Hunter worried the entrance might be blocked with debris—natural or unnatural—but there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Trip taps the accelerator to pick up a little more speed in the tunnel. That lasts for about all of thirty seconds before he has to hit the brake.

  Ahead of them are a pair of metal doors that are probably much too thick for them to break through unless maybe they can get that tank to work. “What do we do now?” Trip asks.

  Hunter points to a computer keypad off to the right. “Maybe we can hotwire that—”

  “Relax, guys. I got this,” Wayne says. He opens his door, groaning a little as he gets out of the car. He’s definitely still feeling the effects of being cooped up on an aircraft carrier for two years.

  Wayne shuffles over to the keypad. It doesn’t seem active, but when Wayne touches a button, lights on the panel come to life. There would have to be a power supply not connected to any civilian grid, geothermal most likely since they’re inside a mountain. Wayne punches a few buttons on the keypad. There’s a long moment when nothing happens. Then, just as Hunter is starting to think of a contingency plan, there’s a rumble from the doors.

  Wayne limps back over to the Rav4 to let himself in. “How’d you do that?” Trip asks. “You say ‘Open Sesame’ or something?”

  “No. They gave us the entry code for when we got here. I’m surprised it still worked.”

  “So I guess now we go in,” Trip says.

  “I guess so,” Hunter says with a nod. He takes his M4 off the seat to keep handy should they need it.

  ***

  There’s no one home. That’s the impression Hunter gets when he steps out of the Rav4. The parking deck has a couple of Humvees and a half-ton transport vehicle parked on it, but the place is completely quiet. He keeps the M4 out, though he hopes he won’t need it.

  A much shorter, narrower tunnel leads from the parking deck to the living quarters. Hunter takes the lead with Trip at the rear and the frailer Wayne between them for protection. The closer they get to the living quarters, the more he can hear a steady hum from the generators powering the place.

  Hunter also starts to detect the familiar odor of rotting bodies. “Heads up, guys,” he says. “Could be zeebs up ahead.”

  Trip’s nose crinkles; he must smell the same thing. “Wouldn’t want it to be too easy,” he growls.

  T
he tunnel stops at another pair of doors. These open on their own to reveal a sunken living room straight out of a 1960s science-fiction magazine’s illustration of what 21st Century living quarters would look like with the pair of semi-circular couches separated by a pair of stairs, a couple of oval-shaped coffee tables, and a bank of lights suspended over the tables instead of lamps. On the walls are crude paintings of missiles lifting into the air and Apollo rockets set against American flag backgrounds.

  The rotten stench is a lot stronger here. Hunter wishes he had a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, but the best he can do is try to hold his breath. He motions for Trip and Wayne to spread out across the living area.

  Hunter follows his nose down a short hallway, into the kitchen. There he sees a dozen bodies sprawled on the linoleum floor. He recognizes the president and his family, the secretary of state, and a handful of other Cabinet members. Each has a hole in his or her head from a gunshot. At the corner of the room is a headless man wearing an Army general’s uniform.

  Trip has to excuse himself to go throw up. Wayne only shakes his head. “They gave up,” he says. “Either they ran out of supplies or they figured it wasn’t worth it to go on living.”

  “It might not have been their choice,” Hunter says. He’s no forensic detective, but he does note none of the bodies except the general’s is armed. “Could be that guy went stir-crazy and decided to end it for all of them. You have anyone like that?”

  “A couple,” Wayne admits.

  “Either way, looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope.”

  They leave the corpses in the kitchen for now. Before they bring anyone down here they’ll have to get rid of the bodies and clean up a bit. Hunter takes the point again as they pad down the corridor, to the bedrooms.

  He does a mental calculation and then shakes his head. This bunker might be able to accommodate fifty at most. Anything more than that and they’d overload the carbon dioxide scrubbers that keep the inhabitants from suffocating. There’s no way they can relocate all the women and children from the Candid here, at least not for long.

 

‹ Prev