The Undead Chronicles_Book 1_Home and Back Again

by Patrick J. O'Brian

  “I’ll give him a head start before we head for the hangar,” Metzger said as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  Both men watched as Albert led most of the undead away from the terminal and the hangars with ease. Metzger took a few seconds to examine the hangars, finding no outward damage to the buildings, and none of the doors left open. Either no one took any aircraft from the airport, or they were courteous enough to close the doors behind them.

  “I’m hoping this turns out as good as it looks,” Metzger said when he finally drove toward the hangars, still seeing a few undead stragglers in the area.

  He planned to deal with them while Vazquez opened the middle building to see if the Cessna remained inside.

  “You do what you need to, and I’ll cover you,” he instructed Vazquez as he pulled to the corner of the hangar in question.

  Both jumped out, closing the car doors behind them out of cautionary habit. As Vazquez ran over to check the large metal door, Metzger returned to the car, pulling a Beretta semi-automatic pistol from between the seats to use on the lingering undead. Knowing the gunfire would assuredly lure the zombies to his location, he needed to make his shots count, and get rid of the problem quickly.

  “It’s locked!” Vazquez shouted from the smaller entrance door to the hangar.

  The regular entrance door was embedded within the large, folding garage door that allowed planes to be maneuvered in and out of the hangars.

  Fortunately Metzger hadn’t yet fired a shot as he ran over to the door, barely hesitating before he threw his shoulder into it. Refusing to give, the door required a few more rams before it finally gave way, allowing him inside to spy the larger garage door. Its two large sections were meant to ascend and buckle before neatly folding overhead, allowing daylight for a preflight inspection or the opportunity to move the aircraft.

  “Thanks,” Vazquez said, stepping behind him. “I may have bigger issues getting that door open and figuring out how to move the plane outside.”

  Metzger stole a glance at the pristine airplane inside, deeming it flight worthy in his estimation if they could somehow move it outside. A bit larger than other planes he’d seen in small airports, it sported dual propellers, indicating a smoother, more efficient ride than he originally anticipated.

  “Handle it and I’ll cover you,” he said before stepping through the entrance door to discover what awaited him.

  He immediately patrolled the area on foot to seek out the undead and put them down permanently. He found a few around the first corner, putting a bullet into each of their skulls from close range. Staying fairly close to Vazquez so the man didn’t have to worry about being attacked, Metzger waited for the undead to come to him.

  A former redhead rounded the corner in a tattered party dress with a chunk of her left cheek missing. She gnashed her teeth only once before Metzger fired a bullet into her skull, downing her as two male zombies followed in her wake. He fired two more shots, dropping them before checking the opposite end of the hangar. Everything appeared clear of danger momentarily as Vazquez scrambled to hook a power tow to the plane after somehow opening the hangar door. The device looked something like an elongated snow blower with forward, neutral, and reverse options listed near the hand grips. Metzger assumed it ran on fuel, without dependency on electricity.

  “I could use a hand,” Vazquez stated as he tried hooking two metal prongs to the front landing gear of the Cessna.

  “And I’m not looking to get bitten from behind,” Metzger said as he glanced at either end of the concrete path before rushing to the machine. “How the hell did you get the door open so quickly?”

  “I found the chain hoist,” Vazquez answered, finally securing the metal components into place. “Got it.”

  Stuffing the gun along the back of his belt, Metzger prepared to assist the pilot with moving the plane, but Vazquez started the power tow on his own. He steered the machine rather easily, as though he’d done so a time or two, and the tow carried out most of the work. It sounded like a large riding lawnmower, sure to attract any lingering undead their way. Once they got it into the open, Vazquez shut down the mechanical tow and wasted no time beginning to inspect the aircraft from head to toe, front to back.

  “How long do you need?” Metzger asked as he pulled the gun from behind him, ejecting the magazine to see he had at least six more shots with a quick glance.

  “Give me five minutes just to make sure we don’t crash as soon as we take off.”

  Metzger watched him grab a ladder and climb around the plane, checking the seals, the fuel levels, and glance inside to make sure the controls were in working order. Able to dart around the three hangars while Vazquez worked, Metzger took out a few more undead, seeing no immediate threats when he looked out at the runway, finding the van some distance away, leading most of the undead a safe distance away from the Cessna.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Metzger believed for a moment that they might all escape the runway without harm. He turned to check on Vazquez one last time as his ears detected the sound of a motor in the distance. Not the van, and certainly not the Cessna, the motor sounded powerful, like a muscle car, drawing closer to their location by the second. He tried waving with both hands to Albert, unsure if the older man noticed his distress signal before he ran back to Vazquez. The pilot wore a look of grave concern, having heard the roar of the motor as well.

  “We need to get out of here,” Metzger said firmly. “Now.”

  Fourteen

  Immediately suspecting who had tracked them to the airport, if not stalked them in the worst possible sense of the word, Metzger grabbed the MP5 from the car and slung it around his shoulder. He also snagged the semi-automatic AK-47 the group had let him take from the school, which rather surprised him because he hadn’t asked for additional firepower. It fired one round at a time, not converted to fully automatic like so many of its kind that wound up in the hands of children forced to fight for rebel causes in foreign lands.

  Vazquez immediately opened the plane’s hatch, jumping inside to see if he could start it under pressure. Metzger ran to the edge of the runway area, hoping to flag down Albert if no one inside the van spotted his arm signals the first time. He found the van traveling his way, but not with speed that indicated they understood the danger closing in on the airport. Metzger motioned for them to reach him more quickly by using his hands and arms, so Albert picked up speed as the motorized sound reached the opening in the fence.

  Metzger watched in horror as a black car that resembled a classic Dodge Charger burst through the opening, partially covered with makeshift armor as though ripped from some apocalyptic movie, heading straight for the van. Albert saw it too, and tried to veer to the right, but the car smashed the van on the driver’s side. With a push bar like police cars often had attached to their front bumpers, the modified muscle car moved the van, but failed to tip it over.

  Pulling the AK-47 to a shooting position, Metzger looked down the iron sights, taking aim at the driver’s side window, then the windshield, waiting for a clear shot at the driver. As though sensing the danger directly before him, the driver quickly backed away from the van, driving erratically around the parallel runways. Metzger continued to trudge forward until he reached the van, which appeared damaged, but still running. Albert looked up, his forehead dripping blood after hitting something within the van, his eyes struggling to focus on Metzger.

  “Is everyone okay?” Metzger asked, drawing eye contact from everyone inside the van as most of them nodded. “Albert, see if you can make it over to the hangar. I’ll cover you.”

  Albert nodded, punching the gas while Metzger monitored the black car as it turned to head straight for him. Metzger held his ground, taking aim at the driver’s side of the front windshield until he heard the van stall behind him. It made several clacking noises that indicated it wasn’t going to start again before the engine sputtered and died.

  He started to look back, hoping to assess the problem, bu
t knew he couldn’t afford to lose focus for a second. Carefully staring down the iron sights, he waited until the swerving car veered back to his left before timing a shot at the driver’s torso. Managing to fire a single round, Metzger saw the cobweb appear in the windshield where he hoped it would, causing the car to drag heavily to his left as though something tugged at the steering wheel, or someone slumped over it. His right ear, the one closer to the rifle when he fired it, rang incessantly from the loud shot, and Metzger could tell his hearing wouldn’t recover as easily as it might with a smaller firearm.

  Within a few seconds the car corrected its direction and started on a path that led directly toward Metzger and the van behind him. Unsure if the driver recovered, or the passenger took hold of the wheel, Metzger raised the AK-47, taking aim at the passenger side this time. He fired just as the vehicle swerved slightly to his right, forced to dive out of the way before he could see where his bullet struck.

  Once again the car rammed into the van, but before Metzger could regain his footing and fire numerous rounds into the vehicle it took off once again, veering wildly to and fro. With limited ammunition in the gun’s magazine, and no spare rounds with him, Metzger needed to make every shot count. Much to his horror, he watched the armored car head straight toward the three hangars, endangering any chance the group stood of leaving New York expediently.

  Running up to the van, Metzger heard Albert’s failed attempts to restart the vehicle, so he smacked the passenger side of the van twice to gain the attention of everyone inside.

  “Get some weapons, get what you absolutely need, and head for the hangar!” he shouted before sprinting across the runway closest to the hangars.

  He could only watch as the car slowed to search for the plane, or its potential pilot, once it crept past the first hangar. Clutching the AK-47 in his right hand, Metzger darted as fast as his legs would allow to rescue Vazquez from the impending danger. He heard the plane’s engine attempt to start before it sputtered, and before a second attempt was made gunfire sliced the air. Metzger quickly closed to a distance he considered within his range of hitting sizeable targets, but as he raised the rifle the car quickly sped ahead, taking a hard right around the last of the hangars.

  “Fuckers!” he muttered under his breath, picking up the pace once again in a dead sprint.

  Hearing the car screech around the far edge of the hangars, Metzger felt helpless trying to deal with three fronts at once. He needed to make certain Vazquez survived the rounds volleyed in his direction, four other people were relying on him to make certain they reached the hangars, and at least two maniacs were driving around in an armored car wreaking havoc. If Xavier and his cronies had indeed stealthily followed them from the school to the small airport, Metzger suspected three attackers were after them unless the driver was indeed disabled by the AK-47.

  As he reached the first hangar, Metzger took notice that the car was driving to the far edge of the fenced in airport, off to his right side. A glance behind him indicated that Luke, Samantha, an injured Albert, and Jillian were offloading what few essentials they deemed necessary from the van. He rounded the next corner, finding the plane, but no Vazquez as his eyes darted from left to right.

  “Juan?” he called out.

  “Over here,” he heard a pained groan in return.

  Metzger found his pilot inside the hangar, his right hand pressed over his left shoulder, applying pressure to a fresh bullet wound.

  “Oh, God,” Metzger stammered. “How bad is it?”

  “It went through,” Vazquez said quickly. “I’ll live, but I think they might have nicked some of the plane.”

  Metzger turned, half expecting to find fuel dripping from one of the wings where it was stored on the plane. Seeing no leaks, and no damage in the plane’s vital areas, he hoped they might still escape the airfield in one piece if he could find a way to deal with the black car.

  “I was trying to start it when they zipped around the corner,” Vazquez said. “I jumped out and ducked for cover.”

  “You did the right thing. I’m going to try and deal with them once I get everyone over here.”

  “Go!” Vazquez insisted. “I’ll get her started.”

  Metzger nodded before dashing back to the edge of the hangars, seeing his four companions make their way to him, each of the adults carrying firearms and minimal luggage in the form of small backpacks or bags. He heard the roar of the armored car’s engine growing louder, and as he glanced to the left, seeing it speed their way down the runway, he yelled to the four.

  “Look out!”

  Albert and Jillian had already spied the car as Luke protected Samantha by wrapping her in his arms and heading back to the van for cover. As though the situation wasn’t already hazardous enough, undead stragglers returned from the opposite end of the airstrip while new arrivals, attracted to the various noises within the small airport, filed through the gaping hole in the front gate.

  While none of the undead were dangerously close to anyone on foot, they soon would be if the group took too long getting to the hangars. Metzger knew the car was returning from his left, and he spied it from the corner of his eye heading for his companions with reckless abandon. He darted further onto the runway, hoping to draw attention to himself, but the car continued barreling toward the larger group.

  With Luke already protecting Samantha closer to the van, Jillian was able to dive out of the way before the car ran her down, but Albert, already dazed from the earlier collision to the van, wasn’t so fortunate.

  He saw the car coming and made an evasive effort, but the car clipped his ankle while it was lifted from the ground in midstride, likely snapping it before it sent Albert into a painful spiral to the ground. Metzger saw him spin like a top several times before gravity finally brought him down. Luke started to leave the van to rush to his side, but fought his instincts and remained near Samantha as Metzger and Jillian dashed toward Albert while the car continued onward. It flew down the runway as though purposely attempting to draw more walkers in its direction.

  “Albert!” Metzger cried out as he took the man’s side, dropping to his knees.

  “It’s not so bad,” Albert said, looking to his ankle where a bloody spot appeared along his sock, indicating a fractured bone was either piercing the skin or very close to doing so.

  Metzger motioned for Luke and Samantha to join them while the car was a fairly safe distance away from the group. All four of them hoisted Albert to his feet hurriedly, attempting to carry him over to the hangars where at least some cover awaited them. Metzger stole a glance at the black car, seeing a growing number of undead lurking behind it as it slowly led the parade in their direction. Knowing they couldn’t assist Albert and fight off a few dozen walkers, he broke off from the group, taking aim at the car once more as he strode purposefully straight for it.

  Still a good fifty feet away, the car wasn’t close enough for Metzger to shoot and feel assured he’d strike a high priority target. He continued drawing closer, waiting for the car to speed directly toward him or veer away after picking up speed. Neither occurred immediately, and Metzger finally saw the driver slumped against the side window, uncertain if the man lost consciousness a second time or died with the original shot. It felt improbable that the driver reached the pedal and steered the car so accurately the entire time, but Metzger now understood who his next target needed to be.

  Shifting his aim to the passenger side of the vehicle, Metzger remained oblivious to the fate of his fellow travelers, focused on ending the skirmish before it progressed. He absolutely needed to find his brother, the one living relative he knew wasn’t dead in the new world, and these bastards had targeted the very few people he currently trusted.

  Knowing he’d used about five rounds thus far, Metzger estimated another two dozen remained within the magazine, but he decided to open up on them, firing single shots as fast as his trigger finger allowed. He repeatedly squeezed the trigger, peppering the passenger’s side
of the windshield with rounds as he took steady aim. He saw the man behind the windshield duck for cover as the car suddenly veered heavily to Metzger’s left, safely away from his line of fire and the four people attempting to cross the runway.

  Hearing the plane start and remain running behind him, Metzger encouraged the others to move quickly in the direction of the hangars with a wave. The black car rolled to a stop about the same distance away as the van, but isolated across the concrete runway. Thinking perhaps the ordeal was finally over, and the car or its passengers disabled, he started to turn and walk toward his colleagues only to hear gunfire ring out about ten seconds into his walk. Jillian turned to return fire in the car’s direction, leaving only Luke to assist a struggling Albert across the path still adorned with white and yellow stripes to assist landing aircraft.

  Danger crept in from every direction as the undead drew closer to the group and the two remaining men from the black car exited and took cover behind the vehicle, trying to shoot the five people left in the open. Metzger wasted little time raising his weapon, noticing one of the men wore his lengthy hair in a ponytail while the other had short, black, slicked back hair and an angry scowl.

  “Xavier,” Metzger muttered, feeling reasonably assured the man who murdered his parents stood before him.

  He turned to the four people he was trying to protect long enough to leave his home state.

  “Go! I’ll cover you!”

  Without monitoring their progress, he turned to fire additional shots at Xavier and the man with the ponytail, trying to conserve ammunition by shooting more selectively now. Missing completely with his first two rounds, Metzger succeeded in forcing both men to duck behind the car, buying additional time for the others to escort Albert safely across the tarmac.

  Taking a good guess where the man with the ponytail might pop up next, Metzger took aim with the AK-47, keeping both eyes open for full field of vision. A few seconds later, the man stood from cover to fire his own semi-automatic weapon, only a foot or so away from Metzger’s guestimate. Seeing that he dared take aim on the defenseless foursome, Metzger needed only move his gun barrel a few millimeters to the right to take aim at the man’s chest. He fired, seeing the round strike the man directly in the upper torso, spurting blood as it entered, ending the man’s life either immediately or shortly thereafter.