The Last Town

by Knight, Stephen

  Lennon raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Looks like the Seabees have taken it in the shorts,” he said conversationally.

  “What about the marinas?” Norton asked, keeping an eye out for anything operating at their altitude. They were well inside bird territory, and he didn’t want to plow through a flock of seagulls. Losing one or both engines would definitely put a crimp in their plans.

  “About the same. Little less fire, I think, but still generally fucked up. Some of the approaches look blocked. I guess the fair people of Oxnard decided to throw themselves a beach party before everything went to hell.”

  The airport came into view, and Norton didn’t like what he saw. A big jet had crashed at the end of the six-thousand-foot runway and left a trail of debris almost half its length. All that remained of the aircraft was little more than a charred carcass. The post-crash fire had apparently burned uncontrolled in the middle of the runway, and a good deal of the surrounding vegetation was as black as graphite. Several large jets were parked in the general aviation lot. He guessed that when the airspace was sanitized weeks earlier, mid-sized airliners had recovered at Oxnard. The tails and wings of those airplanes intruded in the taxiway close to the airport’s terminal.

  “Yeah, this does not look good,” Norton muttered.

  “How much real estate does this thing need in order to stop?” Lennon asked.

  “At this weight? About twenty-five hundred feet.” The airport slid past, and Norton executed a slow turn to the left. He intended to come around and check the airfield again from the other side, flying over West Fifth Street.

  Lennon grunted. “We might have that much left.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Norton said.

  His next pass didn’t reveal much in the way of additional options. All the streets were too narrow and too congested with debris and abandoned vehicles, not to mention a multitude of utility poles that would make any landing attempt a deadly exercise. The plethora of garbage blowing across the airport meant he could expect the engines to suck up any number of objects. Then he remembered that it wasn’t really a factor because getting the jet out of the airport wasn’t part of the plan.

  When that thought crossed his mind, Norton felt a pang of regret. He took his left hand off the control yoke and tapped the instrument panel’s visor. This is our last flight together, baby.

  “I see the truck,” Lennon said loud enough for the men in back to hear. “It’s right where you left it, Boomer.”

  “Yeah, I see it,” Boomer said. “So what’s the op?”

  Norton sighed. “It’s a suckfest, guys. Runway’s got shit all over it, taxiway is obstructed in a lot of places, and there’s no chance of being able to land on any of the streets. We might have enough runway to make an attempt, but once we’re down, we have to stop. Otherwise, we’re going to go right through that wreckage in the middle of the field.”

  “So let’s ditch, then,” Boomer replied. “Saves us the trouble of having to drive to the marina.”

  “If you’re hoping for another miracle on the Hudson, you can forget about it,” Norton said. “I’d rather take my chances on what little runway we might have.”

  “Well, then stop bitching about it and get us down there,” Lennon said.

  Norton pushed the thrust levers forward, and the jet accelerated. “Fuck you, and that’s what I’m going to do. You guys in the back, secure your shit! I can’t have anything flying into the cockpit when we’re trying to stop, especially if it’s going to be a sudden event. You get me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the men said in unison.

  “Good.” Norton climbed out and banked to the left again, coming around one hundred eighty degrees. Flying in a westerly direction, he passed the airport once again and headed for the shoreline. “We’re going to make a pass over the marina,” he said. “I want to check on the boat. If it’s still floating, that’s great. If it’s not, then we’re out of luck in a major way.”

  “What if it isn’t?” Lennon asked.

  “We have some fuel left. We’ll make for Santa Barbara or San Luis Obispo. We might be able to find something there for us to use.” Norton flipped on the autopilot. “That’s about all I got.”

  “All right.” Surprisingly, Lennon seemed satisfied with the answer.

  They passed to the north of where Norton’s Pacific Mariner yacht was docked. Several of the slips were empty, and there were definite signs of combat and discord in the marina parking lots. But he finally spotted the Argosy. Still in her slip, she appeared to be unmolested, her white gel coat gleaming in the sunlight and the Sunbrella coverings remained tied to the upper deck helm station. But traveling at two thousand feet and two hundred fifty miles per hour didn’t exactly allow for a long examination.

  “She looks good,” Norton said. “Okay, I’m going to set us up for landing. You guys better make sure you’re strapped in tight. It’s going to be rough. I can’t guarantee anyone’s going to walk away from it.”

  He turned the jet back toward the airport and reduced power. Lowering the flaps and landing gear, he set up for a visual approach, something that wasn’t commonly done in a jet. He went in from the seaward side, lining up on runway seven, to avoid the wreckage that covered the runway’s eastern half. Norton prayed he could stop the little jet before it slammed into the twisted remains of the other aircraft.

  Lennon leaned forward. “Coming in a little hot, aren’t you?” He kept his tone conversational, but Norton knew the salty Marine was experiencing a sudden and substantial case of pucker factor.

  “Don’t blame me. We have a tailwind. This is as slow as we can go and not stall,” Norton said. “Full flaps, gear down, a hundred twenty-six knots indicated.”

  Several birds took flight to the right of the runway. They pirouetted in the air and made for the terminal building across the taxiway, but Norton didn’t deviate. At first, he thought the noise of the jet had startled them, but then he saw a zombie crossing the taxiway and heading right for the runway at a slow shuffle.

  “Stench,” Lennon said. “We’re going into a hot zone, so get ready for it.”

  Yeah, it’ll be mighty hot if we come to a full stop inside a fireball, Norton thought. The Prodigy avionics system gave altitude warnings, starting at fifty feet. He kept his eyes on the zombie, even though the jet would be well past it long before it stepped onto the asphalt.

  “Got more headed our way,” one of the Marines in back said.

  “More’n a few,” another added.

  “You guys stay in your seats,” Norton said. The jet started rocking as it passed through turbulent air. “We’re down in five seconds!”

  Norton had his eyes fixed on the end of the runway, having decided that his touchdown point would be right on the big 7 painted at the end of the strip. He worked the yoke and rudder pedals, keeping the jet’s nose lined up on his touchdown point. As the aircraft passed over the runway threshold, he pulled back on the power, willing the Phenom to settle to earth. The white runway number had almost slid past when he felt the main landing gear thump onto the asphalt surface, left wheel first, then the right an instant later.

  Without waiting for speed to bleed off so the nose gear would lightly come down, he toed the brakes. The nose immediately dropped, and the gear slammed into the runway with enough force to make Norton wince. He applied full brakes and felt the safety harness straps bite into his shoulders. The anti-lock system kicked in and started vibrating like a jack hammer. The little jet had no thrust reversers, so all Norton had were brakes to get it to stop. They would probably be glowing by the time the Phenom came to a halt.

  As the airplane shot down the runway, he could see debris from the previous crash strewn across the asphalt. Some pieces were quite large, and he heard one scrape the bottom of the jet with a rattling noise. That didn’t bother him as much as the fact the airplane wasn’t slowing fast enough. The remnants of the crashed airline grew larger and larger in the windscreen, and despite the hor
rendous damage done to it by the crash and fire, parts were still dense enough to completely destroy the Phenom if it plowed into them. Norton considered taking the airplane into the grass on either side of the runway, but he wasn’t sure if that would be any easier.

  At fifty-eight knots ground speed, the decision was made for him when the left main tire blew. The Phenom yawed that way almost immediately.

  “Hold on!” Norton shouted as the jet departed the runway. It bounced and jolted across the grass, and both Norton and Lennon grabbed onto the instrument panel visor as they were jerked and shaken in their seats. The aircraft was pitching so wildly that Norton couldn’t read the instrumentation display.

  The nose gear collapsed. The composite nose cone shattered and sheared away. Bits and pieces of the plane’s forward fuselage bounced off the windshield as it began to break up. Norton reached out to shut off the fuel to the idling engines and managed to hit the cutoff just before a great gout of dirt exploded across the windscreen. With a lurch, the jet came to an unceremonious halt. The two engines were still winding down, but one of them was grinding away, likely having ingested something.

  Norton hit the fire extinguishers, just to be safe, then switched off the batteries. “Get out!” he shouted. “Everybody out!”

  Lennon unfastened his harness and reached for the door release. He called to his men, “Check both sides. Tell me if I’m clear to open the door!”

  “Clear left!”

  “Clear right!”

  Lennon cranked open the door, and it opened with a loud squeal. Norton verified all the important switches were in the off position then unfastened his harness. He retrieved the H&K 416 from behind his seat and his backpack from the small closet behind the copilot’s chair. The men in the passenger compartment humped their bags out the door. The guy who had been riding in the bathroom came out with a bloody lip. The covered toilet acted as a belted seat, but he had been sitting sideways, whereas the others had been sitting in the front- and rear-facing club seats. Aside from that, they all looked fine.

  “You good, man?” Norton asked anyway.

  “Stellar,” the split-lip guy said. He was small, wiry, and probably older than he looked. “Just bit my lip during the crash. But hey, any landing you can walk away from, right?”

  Lennon appeared at the open door. “Okay, all gear is clear?”

  “Roger that,” one of his men said.

  “Then let’s hump out of here. We’ve got about two hundred meters of open space to cross to get to the truck. Let’s roll!”

  The men piled out of the dead Phenom.

  Before crawling through the half-open doorway, Norton took a look around the interior of the jet. His last look. “See ya, babe,” he said. The airstair was only extended halfway, so he wound up crawling across them instead. He felt foolish and clumsy. Dude, you just crashed a jet and lived to tell the story. Don’t sweat it.

  “Everybody do a buddy check,” Lennon said. He turned to Norton. “Everything okay with you? You’re the man of the hour. You all right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Norton said. He swung into his pack, not mentioning that his shoulders hurt from being thrown against the straps.

  “All right, let’s hit it,” Lennon said. He picked up one of the rucksacks and pulled it on.

  The men brought their rifles into position. Lennon led the way, heading north. As he followed, Norton glanced back at his jet. It was still resting on the main landing gear, shattered nose in the dirt. It listed to the left due to the blown tire, and the wing on that side was almost resting on the ground. The white aeronautical paint was scratched and pitted, and the leading edges of the wing had been dented and dinged. The little Embraer had flown its last mission.

  They hurried across the airfield to the chain link fence that separated the airfield from what looked like a construction company. Three of the men went over the fence without even slowing down. Lennon and two others tossed their rucksacks over.

  Lennon motioned toward Norton. “All right, Norton. Toss over your bag, and get on the other side.”

  Norton did what he was told, though he wasn’t as graceful at climbing over the fence as he could have been. The cinches at the top bit into his skin and tore his jeans as he groped his way across. Looking back through the fence, he saw the zombies had almost reached the plane. They kept their flat gazes locked on the men.

  Lennon and the rest scaled the fence effortlessly. Norton was happy to have at least a fence separating him from the zombies. It would take some time for them to overcome the obstacle and continue their pursuit. At least, he hoped it would.

  “Truck’s dead ahead,” Lennon said. “Eyes out, Marines. Keep Norton secure, Garcia. You’re the designated babysitter.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Lennon led them past an open warehouse. Beyond that was a parking lot then Teal Club Road, if Norton remembered correctly. He heard a dry moan and spotted a zombie emerging from a pile of masonry materials. Slowing down, he tried to decide if he should shoot it.

  Garcia tapped him on the shoulder. “Keep going, sir. No shooting unless you have to. Gotta practice noise discipline.”

  “We just crashed a very loud jet airplane,” Norton said. “I think they know we’re here.”

  Lennon stopped at a dusty gray Ford van. The rest of the Marines set up a perimeter, while he unlocked the doors. When Lennon got behind the wheel, Garcia grabbed Norton and tugged him over to the large vault-like door on the right side of the vehicle. When Garcia tugged it open, Norton saw it was quite thick.

  “Class II armor,” Garcia said. “Get inside, sir. Hurry.”

  The interior was dark and stuffy. The driver’s compartment was separated from the cargo area by a metal partition. The only opening was a small window that looked out past the driver. In the rear, two vinyl bench seats sat across from each other. Norton chose the one facing the back. The seat was hot, almost burning his legs even through his pants.

  The rest of the Marines piled in, tossing their gear up front. Once they were all in and the modular door was closed, one of them slapped the partition. “All aboard, good to go!” he yelled.

  The van came alive with a diesel rattle and started to move. Norton heard a vague thumping from outside, and he looked out one of the small windows in the van’s rear clamshell doors. The zombie in overalls was peering in stupidly through the small aperture as it flailed against it in a bid to get at the men inside. It suddenly disappeared as the van backed up over it.

  Norton felt only a small bounce. “How much does this thing weigh?” he asked.

  “About four tons,” Garcia said. “It’s gonna take a lot of stenches to stop this thing, sir.”

  Thinking about the hordes that surrounded Single Tree, Norton said, “Yeah, well. Let’s hope we don’t run into a lot of stenches, then.”

  ###

  The marina was only a few miles away from the airport. Ordinarily, it was about a seven-minute drive, but they kept having to move through packs of the shambling dead. While the zombies weren’t able to overpower the van, they certainly slowed down its progress. The Marines didn’t seem to be unduly concerned, so Norton tried not to worry. When the packs got too thick and they threatened to start mounding over the van, the men opened fire through the firing ports. They all wore Peltor headsets, so the noise of shooting in an enclosed space didn’t bother them. Norton was a different matter. His noise-cancelling capabilities consisted of him holding his hands over his ears and opening his mouth.

  More worrisome was the long conga line of ghouls shuffling after the vehicle as it drove away. It would take a good thirty minutes for Norton to get the Argosy underway, and in that time, a thousand stenches could catch up and walk onto the dock to where the boat was tied. He mentioned the potential problem to Garcia between rounds of combat.

  Garcia passed that on to Lennon through his headset then told Norton, “We’ll just have to deal with that when it comes, sir.”

  Norton frowned. “My boat
has a swim platform that leads right to the aft deck. It’s designed to be accessible.”

  Garcia looked thoughtful. “What about the sides? And the bow?”

  “They’d have a tough time coming aboard there. The boat’s tied up on the starboard side only. The port side is facing water. The bow would be too high for anyone to climb over, and the swim platform is about two and a half feet above the waterline at rest.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Garcia said with a shrug. “How deep is the harbor there?”

  “About seven feet at low tide. Boat drafts five.”

  Garcia nodded. “All right. Don’t sweat it. We’ll worry about defending the boat. You just get her ready. And if you need any help with that, we all know our way around boats a bit.”

  “Thanks,” Norton said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Another wave,” one of the other Marines said.

  The men went back to their firing ports. Norton covered his ears and waited for the racket to start again. The van already smelled like a gun range, and there was enough brass rolling around to make moving about downright treacherous. Fortunately, Norton had no reason to get out of his seat.

  The men started hammering out single shots as the van crashed through another pack of the dead. The vehicle bounced and swayed like a vessel in a heavy sea, and for a minute, Norton feared he might upchuck all over the place. Looking out the rear windows didn’t help much, but he did see that several dozen ghouls had been run over and were writhing in the street. Others had obvious gunshot wounds, but few had been killed. The gunfire was more to hold them back than to kill them.

  Almost an hour after leaving the quarry parking lot, Garcia reported that they were approaching the marina.

  Norton turned to try to peer through the small window in the front partition, but he couldn’t see much. “How’s it look?” he asked.

  Garcia held up his hand. Norton presumed he was receiving a briefing from Lennon up front.

  After a couple of minutes, Garcia said, “Okay, this is how it’s going to work. We do have stenches in the area. They’re orienting on the van, which we would expect. Lennon is going to drive us right to the entrance and slow down, but he won’t stop. We’ll exit on the roll. Once we’re out, Lennon will keep going and try to draw them away from us. We’ll all stay together until we get into the marina, then Book and Jones will move ahead to the boat to ensure the path is clear. The rest of us provide security from the rear. I’ll be with you the whole time, Mr. Norton, so don’t worry about anything.” He pointed at Norton’s rifle. “You can handle that, right?”