Run_Book 3_Long Road Home
Page 26
“Anybody home?” Billy called out. No sounds of the dead echoed through the lobby, and nothing came at them, so Billy put Kyle down then he and Vanessa pulled the heavy theater door closed. Compared to the starry night outside, the darkness was absolute in the theater. Billy dug in his pack for his crank lantern, but Kyle already had a large, black flashlight out. The beam cut the dark as he panned it around.
“You know, before this all happened, I hadn’t caught a flick in about six years. Been to the theater twice now that there’s no more world, and I still haven’t seen a movie.” He shook his head, “It’s not fair. Can you walk?” he asked Kyle.
“Yeah, but it’s really starting to hurt.” The boy hobbled over to a small chair with a red seat and back, the beam of light bobbing as he took short steps.
“Trade?” Billy asked, cranking his lantern. “I want to clear this place so you guys don’t end up a banquet.”
Despite the pain in his ankle and the sounds of the noises outside, Kyle grinned and passed his flashlight over. They heard the vehicle speed away from the gigantic horde of infected.
Vanessa sat on the carpet next to Kyle. “Wonder who they were?” She wrinkled her nose. “Smells in here.”
It did smell. Not the horrid smell of death and decay, but the lighter scent of mildew and an unkempt area. The door had been open for a year, the elements and probably countless infected invading the lobby of the theater. Billy used the flashlight to scan the immediate area. The whole front of the building was a solid wall with two sets of steel push-bar doors. No windows of any kind. The small lobby held a concession stand and a ticket booth. Two red velvet rope barriers on brass posts would have been used to funnel people to the snack bar. A third was knocked over and twisted. Billy flashed the light onto an old black and white photo of the front of the building. They were in the Clay Theater.
The white doors to the theater itself were open, and after checking the manager’s office and two small storage rooms, he brought the kids into the theater proper. It was devoid of everything except some bird droppings which speckled the red and black carpet. The kids sat in the back row as Billy checked the two sets of fire doors near the screen and then behind the screen itself.
Passing the kids as he traversed the aisle, he made a quick stop. “Need to check the bathrooms.” He swallowed and was immediately nervous. The kids picked up on it.
“What is it?” Vanessa demanded.
Billy shook his head. “There’s always a zombie in the bathroom.”
“Yeah, but they don’t want to eat you!”
“If it’s a fast one, there’s not a lot of room to maneuver, know what I mean?”
Kyle stood, wincing. “We’ll come with you then.”
“Yeah, okay, just stay behind me.”
They cleared both bathrooms in less than a minute. “Fine. So I guess there’s not always a zombie in the bathroom.” Billy shrugged. “Whatevs.”
One last door just outside the theater doors needed to be checked. STAFF ONLY printed in red block letters adorned the top center of the white door. Billy pulled on the chrome handle slightly and was rewarded with an extremely loud creak. Stairs going up greeted him on the other side of the door.
They never got the chance to check what was upstairs. A single fist smacked against the front entrance and they all whipped their heads in that direction, fear welling up inside. Dozens more fists began to pound on the doors and soon the noise was very loud.
“Crud. Kyle, old buddy, we need to talk about putting you on a diet.” Billy turned around and Kyle climbed up on his back again. “Fire doors it is then.” They moved back into the theater as the cacophony of fists on steel got louder.
“Can we just run down the street that way?” Vanessa pointed to the east.
“Yeah, no. That’s the medical center. Not going there. Over there is the park where we met Danny and his group.” Billy pointed left. “We’re going up to Broadway, and we’re gonna take it all the way to the water.” Billy opened the fire door a crack and peeked through. “Not exactly clear, but as good as we’re gonna get.”
They slipped through the doors and into the night, several staggering forms starting to pursue.
Two blocks later, Billy was getting tired. The boy he carried was getting heavy. They stopped under the torn blue awning of The Mayflower Market on the corner of Fillmore and Jackson. He put Kyle down to take a quick breather.
“You…you really gotta lay off…the snacks, fatty.”
A dry rasp emanated from outside the church across the street and to the left. Two dead things were caught in the barred depression of the steps leading down next to the stone building. A dark streak shot out of the small grocery store across the road in front of Billy and the kids. It sprinted at the two dead things and leapt over the four-foot spiked fence, impacting one of the undead and taking it to the ground. The thing began beating the creature it had tackled, and started screaming in a high-pitched keen, “No!” It screamed in an inhuman cry, “No! No! No!” It moved to the other dead thing and began to smash its face into the bars and wail louder.
It was pissed.
“Did it talk?” Vanessa whispered, aghast.
Billy continued to stare. “Sure sounded like it.”
“It really doesn’t like the dead ones,” Kyle said pointing. “It’s beating the crap out of them.”
“Disagree.” It was Billy’s turn to point. “Look! It really likes them!”
The light of the full moon revealed the fast one was taking bites out of the slower ones. The taller of the dead things reached through the black iron bars, stretching its claws toward a meal out of reach. Its eyes never left the group of three living people, even when the Runner bit into the side of its face. Rotten skin and muscle tore as the infected pulled its head back, a mouth full of its cousin. The sprinter chewed, swallowed, and went back for seconds. It was still chewing when it quickly turned toward the dead thing it had pushed down the stairs and leapt out of view. It was yelling and keening, but it sounded like its mouth was full.
“Climb back on there, Slugger.” Kyle got on Billy’s back again. “We’re going all the way down Jackson until we hit Pier Three. I got a boat down there, and we can get to Alcatraz.”
“Billy, that will take us under the 101,” Kyle said, obvious fear in his voice.
“Yeah, we’ll have to be careful.”
The Runner moved in to attack the dead thing near the top of the steps again. It bit it on the shoulder but couldn’t tear through the shirt it had between its teeth. It looked like a dog worrying a bone. In the process of eating, it noticed the warm meat moving away from it and it shrieked. The three living people turned to watch as the creature scrabbled up the short fence. It was a few steps down and the top of the fence was about face height to it, so it leapt up and began to pull itself over. It either slipped, or was caught by the ornate, gold-painted spikes on the top of the fence. Its hips and stomach ripped open when the iron penetrated its midsection, blood raining on the concrete. The creature upended forward, the barbs impaling it back toward its feet. The concrete was just out of reach of its hands and it screamed in frustration and pain as it rocked back and forth trying to get off the iron.
“Yuck,” Billy muttered with a disgusted look on his face. They began a slow jog east down Jackson Street toward San Francisco Bay. The haunting screams of the dying Runner echoed through the streets behind them.
3000 feet above San Francisco International Airport
“Houston, we have a problem,” Jack told his three friends as they circled the City by the Bay.
Seyfert immediately looked at the myriad of dials, switches, and lights on the console in front of him. He had no idea what a problem with any of them would look like.
Jack noticed his confusion and smiled. “The issue isn’t with the plane, Navy. Look there.”
Jack banked slightly left and pointed out the cockpit window. Anna, Rick, and Seyfert jostled to see what the pilot was referring t
o. On the main runway of the airport, smack in the center or the northeastern runway, sat a mostly destroyed passenger airliner. It had partially burned, and listed to the side on one wing. The other wing was a half-mile down the runway, glinting in the sun. The second runway, which sat parallel to the first but a bit to the south, had several vehicles dotting the asphalt, including a small private jet towards the center. The giant C5 Galaxy would not be able to set down here.
Rick sighed. “Shit.”
Seyfert grabbed the radio. They had already been in contact with Alcatraz twice since they achieved radio range. “Rock, this is Wanderer Two, come in, over.”
“Wanderer Two, Rock. We read you, over.”
“Pull your team back, Rock. SFO is a no-go. Runways are FUBAR, over.”
“Copy, Wanderer Two. Suggest using runway at Alameda approximately twelve miles to your north-northwest. Be advised, Wanderer Two, Alameda crawls, over.”
“What else is new?” Anna huffed.
“Wanderer Two copies all. Will evac be waiting?”
“Roger that, Wanderer Two. Two teams will be ready for four friendlies to travel. Good luck and see you soon, Rock out.”
Jack had already banked right and was heading for Alameda Island to the northwest. In just a few minutes, he sighed and shook his head. “This is gonna be tight.”
“Say again?” asked Seyfert. “What’s tight?”
“The runway. It looks a bit short.”
The SEAL switched the chart a couple of pages. “Says here it’s eight thousand feet. You said you only needed seven thousand.”
“Yeah, to take off. Landing is different.”
“How the hell is landing different?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You keep to the sea and I’ll keep to the air, okay Baron Von Richthofen. I’ve done this a couple times.”
Anna looked nervous. “Can we do it or not?”
“We can,” Jack said emphatically and nodded, “but it’s gonna be tight. We might be going for a swim at the end.”
Rick put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, my daughter is on Alcatraz. I didn’t go all the way across the country and then back again to die within sight of her in a plane crash. You got this?”
“I got this. Buckle up.”
Everyone got into a seat and applied the seat belts. Jack made a complete circuit of the island to check the runways, moved eight miles out, and came at the runway from the south-southeast on a heading of 310 degrees.
“I’d say hold on,” Jack offered, “but there ain’t shit to hold on to.”
“Jesus, look at that,” Anna said, pointing out the forward window. The streets were filled with the dead. They all moved toward the sound of the plane until it flew over them at about a thousand feet then they reversed direction.
Rick swallowed. “We’re going to have to hurry when we land.”
His statement was punctuated but the screech of immense tires impacting the tarmac. The C5 sped down the runway at more than one hundred and fifty miles per hour as Jack applied the brakes.
Seyfert pointed at the far end of the runway, it was coming up fast. “Uhh… Jack…”
“I know.”
Sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, Seyfert reached out to touch Jack on the shoulder, but he was too far away so the SEAL just waved his hand as the end of the asphalt loomed closer. “Can I help you with any of the controls?” he asked. “I could—”
“Don’t touch anything!” the pilot shouted.
Seyfert pulled his hand back then placed both of them on his knees.
The plane had slowed substantially, but even at a thousand feet away, Seyfert could tell they were going to overshoot the end of the runway. He looked over at Anna, but she had her eyes clamped firmly shut.
“I thought SEALs were tough?” Jack asked through a smile as he turned to face Seyfert. The pilot flicked a switch and the plane’s forward momentum jarred to a crawl. Had they been outside watching the landing, the passengers would have seen the nose of the vehicle slowly push over three warning hurdles at the terminus of the runway just as the plane stopped. The hurdles snapped like twigs from the weight of the aircraft and fell to the overgrown grass.
“Told you I was the best,” Jack bragged. “Piece of pie.”
Rick looked to Anna. “We’re alive.”
“For now,” Seyfert interjected. “We need to move.” He grabbed the radio, keying the mic, “Rock, Wanderer Two is safely on the ground.” He looked at Jack. “We have a hell of a pilot.” Jack beamed.
“Copy, Wanderer Two. Teams en-route to your position now. They will be outside and covering you before you can exit the aircraft. Familiar faces will be there, over.”
They were. Twelve men, armed with various weapons but all military stood or knelt in covering positions when the aluminum ramp touched the ground. The sound of a single shot tore through the air but that was all. The vanguard of the dead was a mile away at least on the asphalt of the runway.
Two men ran over to Rick, one throwing his arms around him.
“Hi, Pop. How’s Sam?”
“You big shitburger!” Paul, Rick’s father, yelled. He was emotional at his son’s return. “She’s fine, let’s get you to her.”
When Paul let go of Rick, a taller man shoved his hand in for a shake. He put his other hand on Rick’s shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You must taste like absolute crap to make it all the way to Boston and back. Damn zombies wouldn’t eat you, huh?”
“Mike. It’s good to see you.”
“Hundred and fifty meters!” one of the kneeling men called loudly.
Detective Captain Mike Meara, Rick’s former boss and good friend, smiled through a sigh. “Let’s get you all back to the Rock. Commander McInerney wants to debrief you.”
Several of the soldiers and sailors that were covering the group simultaneously put hands to their right ears.
“Reaper one has two vehicles inbound from the mainland! They’re already at the end of the—”
A hail of bullets ripped through the air from their left at the same time two of the military men bellowed, “Contact!”
Everyone dove for cover except Jack. He was staring at several new holes in the aluminum of his C5. “Sons of bitches!” Jack screamed and drew his sidearm. He began firing wildly at the hostiles who were approaching slowly from the north. A man next to Jack, who had begun to return fire, jerked slightly and dropped to the ground.
Two trucks sped west down the runway flying past the several hundred undead who were already on the way. The dead reached for them, but the vehicles were moving too quickly down the far-right side of the asphalt. Gunfire erupted from the trucks as well.
Rick and Seyfert brought their weapons to bear, aiming toward the trucks. Seyfert squeezed off one round, a hole blossoming in driver’s side of the windshield on the red Ford. The truck immediately veered to the right and in two seconds slammed into the horde of dead approaching the plane. The vehicle briefly pitched up on two wheels, flipped on its side, and skidded further into the mass of rot with a screech of metal. Men flew from the back and into the greedy arms of the undead. Their screams went unheard over the gunfire and noise of the other truck.
A dozen men moved in from the north, firing as they came. One fell, then two more, but they kept coming.
“Fall back to the boats!” one of the soldiers ordered. Rick’s group fired at the truck and the group of hostiles as they fled toward the water.
Jack had reloaded, and though reluctant to leave his aircraft, he moved with his friends. “They shot my damn plane! Those dicks!” He fired another shot and to his utter amazement, one of the aggressors grasped his shoulder and fell to the ground. “HA! Douche!”
Two men dragged the fallen soldier, firing as they did so, but one screamed, “He’s gone!” and shot the unlucky man in the head. The entire group scrambled down the cut-stone embankment to the boats, both rigid inflatable operators already on their radios to Alcatraz.
“Get in the fucking boats, now!” the other boat pilot screamed. He covered the retreating groups but couldn’t see very far over the high bank. When everyone was aboard, both boats began to speed across the bay toward Alcatraz Island. Twenty or so hostiles reached the edge of the hill and began to fire at the boats, the occupants returning fire. Two hostiles dropped, but one of the friendly sailors took a round to the head and toppled into the bay.
Rick reloaded and took aim at one of the men firing at him. The bounce of the rigid inflatable vessel skipping across the waves moved the barrel of his rifle all over the place. He squeezed the trigger once, missed, and was about to fire a second time when the large square stones the hostiles were standing on simply exploded. Men and parts of men flew skyward, raining down on the ground next to the runway, the embankment, and into the water. Rick followed a contrail until he found its source. A black, skinny aircraft with a wide wingspan continued its flight over Alameda Island, circling quickly. It fired another small missile at something out of sight and another explosion ripped through the air.
“Roger that, Rock. Reaper One has engaged and destroyed hostiles,” the pilot of the vessel Rick was on spoke more into the radio, but Rick was focused on his father. Blood streamed from Paul’s right arm as Anna checked him over.
“Through and through,” she said to herself. The motors on the boats were extremely quiet, and Rick sighed in relief when Anna told Paul he would be fine.
“Welcome home,” Meara said, clapping Rick on the back.
Jackson Street, San Francisco
“This is my street.” Vanessa pointed at a street sign with a smile. They had stopped to stare at Van Ness Avenue, more commonly known as the 101. The road was jam-packed with abandoned, or sort-of abandoned vehicles, as was this side of Jackson Street. Billy shook his head, envisioning what had happened here.