“This is a list of people who are going to be coming to this hanger tonight beginning around 0200. If their name isn’t on this list, they don’t get in. Understood?”
“Yessir,” Koch replies. “Is there an end time on arrivals or will I be turning this over to my relief in the morning, sir?”
“I don’t have an exact time, but the activity will be done by shift change. If anyone not on this list gives you any hassle, you take them down. If they resist, shoot them.”
As if to emphasize the importance of this order, the Colonel nods to Msgt Hemmingway, then returns to his seat in the passenger side of the jeep.
After returning the Colonel’s nod, Msgt. Hemmingway turns to Senior Airman Koch.
“Listen Koch. If you didn’t have what we needed in a cop for this assignment, you wouldn’t have been given your security clearance. Don’t fuck this up.”
With this, he climbs back into the driver’s seat of the jeep, cranks the engine over, and then pulls away leaving only his tail lights to be seen in the darkness.
Looking at the clipboard for the first time, he notices some names that he recognizes; heavy hitters on this small base. He knows there is something secret kept here at Tonopah, but he doesn’t ask questions and, quite frankly, he doesn’t want to know. He sees the A-7s parked outside the hangers when he ventures out during the daytime, but doesn’t think much of them; this is an Air Force base.
As if a magical clock had struck two a.m. somewhere, the first person arrives at the checkpoint. After checking the Second Lieutenant’s I.D. against the list, Koch allows him entry through the small walk-in door cut into the hangar’s main retractable doors. After a few moments, the lights are switched on inside giving a little bit of extra light around the front from the frosted windows set about ten feet off the ground. Within minutes, more officers and some enlisted arrive. Luckily, all are on the list and nobody has been shot.
Thankful for small favors, Koch looks over the list to find all the names have been checked in. With this bit of knowledge in the bag, he approaches the small walk-in door to ensure it is secured from the inside, and then begins a walk around the hangar to check all the other doors and windows. Once completed, he stands guard in front of the two massive sliding doors. Normally he would stick to the shadows where he wasn’t as conspicuous, but with the activity in the hangar, he wants to make sure they know he is out there should they decide to check.
After what seemed like hours, Koch suddenly hears the motors on the doors behind him begin to whine and strain with the weight of the heavy doors. Not wanting to turn around and possibly expose himself to classified material, he stands watching outwards as the sliver of light between his feet from the opening door becomes a sidewalk, then a road, then a super wide highway.
Koch is just about to make his way to the side of the hanger when a male voice calls out from inside.
“Hey you! Rock pounder! We could use a hand in here for a minute hooking up this tow tractor!”
Still not looking into the hanger, Koch replies over his shoulder, “I don’t know if my clearance grants me access!”
“Bullshit son. If you are posted here outside of MY hanger, you are cleared. Now get your ass in here, Airman!”
This time he immediately recognizes the voice as that of the installation commander, who he let in less than an hour ago.
Not wanting to piss off the base commander for obvious reasons, Senior Airman Koch turns towards the open hanger doors and nearly trips over his own jaw. Before him sits an aircraft unlike anything he has ever seen, or heard of for that matter, outside of a sci-fi comic book. With its triangular body, faceted shape, flat black coloring, and lack of visible engines, it looks like a UFO. Getting over the initial shock, Koch steps into the hanger; his life forever changed.
***
Present Day
I have always gotten a chuckle thinking about what it must have been like for old Chief Koch. Of course, we all know now he was looking at an F-117 getting prepped for a test flight, but at the time, stealth technology in that form was new, and he had no idea that was even in our inventory. Now, as I start making my way towards the second Ghost Hawk, I get a better understanding of the awe he must have had in that cold, dark Nevada night way back then.
Even though there is still plenty of room in the first chopper, Hal decides he wants to hop in with us. Looking over at Steve, I say into the headset, “Look who’s decided to hang with the cool kids.”
Looking over at Hal, Steve laughs and waves. Hal didn’t have the communication in his helmet plugged in yet, so he didn’t hear the light hearted exchange between Steve and me.
Hal finally gets his coms plugged in. Looking from me, to Jimmy, to Steve, then back to me again, Hal asks, “What did I miss?”
Grinning from ear to ear, I tilt my chin toward Jimmy and reply, “Jimmy here was just saying you look sexy with that scruffy beard, but you smell funny.”
As the rotors whine up to power, Hal lifts his one arm, then the other, and sniffs at his armpits. Satisfied that he doesn’t smell enough to be offensive, he shrugs as our ride slips the surly bonds of Earth on its way to wherever we were picking up our next orders.
Chapter Three
As pretty as they look, the ride isn’t any better in these new slick birds. Ninety minutes after dust-off, we finally approach a previously established air base which seems to be busy and desolate at the same time.
Where the hell is everyone?
Everyone I can see is busting their ass to load the parked aircraft. The problem is, I can’t see as many people as I should for an important airbase like this. The scene below us isn’t lost on my team, or Hal who is tapping me on the shoulder and pointing to the C-130, which is starting to taxi with its ramp still closing. Whatever is going on, everyone still around is in a hurry.
Finally reaching terra firma, Hal hops out first, followed by myself, Steve, and then Jimmy. The three of us pause long enough to lift our dogs out of the helicopter and down onto the ground. As we spend the next fifteen minutes or so working to get our K-9s settled in all this commotion, Hal jogs over to us and says our presence is requested with the rest of his team next to a make-shift shack. With no other dates lined up, we decide to head over with Hal. Upon arriving, Skip begins with the briefing.
“Gentleman, while we’ve been out camping, there has been an influenza outbreak of some kind which has affected everyone globally. The vaccine arrived here a few days ago, but this bug seems to be particularly nasty. High fevers, clammy skin, and the usual misery that accompanies a really bad flu strain.”
Slightly confused, I ask, “If it’s just the flu, why is everyone in a hurry to get out of here?”
“From what little I’ve been able to gather in the very short time since we returned, there have been some night attacks, and a lot of people are disappearing. I don’t know if it’s fear from the locals about an influenza outbreak or what, but it seems these attacks are brutal and almost non-stop from dusk to dawn. I don’t have any intel on the hostiles or their tactics. I’m just relaying what I overheard while trying to get briefed about what the hell is going on around here. The only thing I have as solid fact is that we are to find a ride out of here.”
Looking past his team, and directly at me, he states, “And I was given specific orders to fold you three into our team. Any objections?”
Returning his gaze, I ask, “Any idea where we’re going? I need to make sure we’re provisioned well enough for the dogs until we get there.”
With a look of resignation, he replies, “I don’t know. I was told to get us on the next C-17 to load up and ride it home. To be honest, I’m not sure the pilots will know until they get closer to the eastern seaboard. Everything I’ve seen thus far has been a complete cluster fuck, and I don’t expect things to change in the near future. Anyone else have questions? I don’t have much for answers but I’ll do what I can.”
Seeing as the part of this briefing which concerned us i
s over, I pull my teams to one side.
“Steve, Jim, we have our orders so to speak, but I want some input from you. What do you think?”
Never one to mix words Jimmy looks at me and replies, “It sucks. That’s what I think.”
As I look over at Steve, he is subconsciously rubbing Marco’s neck. “I’m just along for the ride like the rest of you.”
“All right then. Find us a place nearby where we can hang out with the dogs and I’ll catch up to you in a few.”
I head back over to the mostly finished briefing where I find Hal leaning against what could be called a shack in some third world countries.
“Did I miss anything in the two minutes of confusion that I was away?”
Shaking his head, he says, “No, but the boss went to hail a cab for us so don’t wander off. Oh, and keep your weapons handy, it’s going to be getting dark in a few hours. I personally don’t want to be caught with my pants down in the middle of a firefight; again.”
“Not sure if I want to inquire further on that last point, but we’ll be ready. Holler if Skip manages to show enough skin to get us a ride,” I say with a grin.
Hal grins back as I turn and make my way over to the small grassy area Jim and Steve have claimed as ours.
All around the somewhat deserted airbase people are moving, just not as many as there should be. From where we are sitting, I see the parking ramp for the aircraft and troops loading into the available planes. Some are obviously sick and are being helped on board; others are helping to load supplies and equipment. As the subdued activity around the airbase ensues, the sun marches towards the western horizon, teasing us with the promise of cooler temperatures, and threatening us with what is to come.
Chapter Four
As the three of us play somewhere in the neighborhood of our four hundredth round of rock, paper, scissors, I suddenly see Hal standing over Jim’s shoulder.
“We’ve got a ride outta here. Just don’t ask Skip what he had to do to get us on it,” Hal says with an exaggerated shudder. “Meet up with us back at our five star luxury suite in about twenty minutes, ready to fly.”
“Got it. Any new info yet?” I ask.
“Yeah, but you don’t want to hear it until we’re safely airborne. What I will tell you is, it’s going to be dark in less than an hour and we don’t want to be on the ground when it happens,” he says cryptically.
“Great. The secret squirrel guy is keeping secrets,” Steve says out of the blue.
“I’m really not kidding when I say you don’t want to know. It’s bad guys, really bad, and the higher into the stratosphere we go, the better I’ll feel.” Without warning he starts moving his fist up and down and says, “Winner gets shotgun on the plane!”
This instantly brings us back from a dark conversation and the three of us join in. I end with rock, as does Hal. Steve goes full on scissors with Jimmy dropping paper on us. “Well,” I ask, looking at Hal, “who the hell won this?”
Without missing a beat, he replies, “The co-pilot.”
He then jogs back to the PJ’s shack leaving us behind with grins on our faces.
“Gotta give it to him, he keeps things interesting,” Jimmy says staring after him.
Twenty minutes later, as the sun touches the horizon, we make our way over to the meeting point and get ready to load up once again. I can tell when we arrive that Hal and the rest of his team are anxious to get the hell out of here, and the pace at which they gather up what little gear they have leaves no doubt.
“Follow me and don’t fuck around. We’ve got a bird to catch and the pilot is grumpy. And K-9, someone actually managed to find three kennels for you to secure your mutts in once we are onboard!” Skip yells as he turns and starts to double time in the direction of the tarmac.
As we are jogging, I notice that the dogs are getting that nervous look in their eyes again. All three are keeping an eye on a section of perimeter wall we can see about two hundred yards away. Straining, I don’t see anything, but I don’t doubt their senses one bit. Ahead, a C-17 is parked near the base command post with its ramp down and troops getting in. By the time we make it into the plane and secure our dogs, it is full dark outside and everyone around me is looking nervous as the ramp slowly closes at the same time we begin to taxi. It’s crowded with the center aisle of jump seats having been installed in this bird. In this configuration, there are bench seats on each outer wall of the cargo hold. Running down the center is another aisle, which is secured using the cargo latching system, providing two more rows of seats with their backs to each other facing out. It’s cozy but we are on our way.
Looking at all of the sweaty dust covered faces around me, some appear sick with the flu. I wonder what in the hell the big secret is that Hal wouldn’t tell us. Sitting next to me, Hal can see what I’m thinking and just points up and yells, “When we’re airborne” over the sound of engines being throttled up.
Within a few moments, I feel the transition from rolling down the runway to that smooth sensation when the wheels lose their hold on the pavement. Shortly after, the sound of the main gear being stowed and locked in place can barely be heard over the roar of the engines.
“Now that we’re wheels up, you want to tell me what is going on?” I say to Hal.
"Those attacks we heard about? Those were by unarmed civilians. Hundreds of them swarmed the gates and perimeter fence; wave after wave with no regard for their lives. I guess the first night they almost overran the perimeter before the order was finally given to shoot. In the meantime, they have over a hundred soldiers killed, wounded, or missing.” Hal briefs. “To make matters worse, there was a section of base in quarantine to try and get a handle on this bug, but many of the sick there turned up missing, and the medical folks were killed. But it gets even better. The ones that were killed, they were torn apart as if they had been attacked by wild animals. I thought the guy telling me this was full of shit until I heard it from several others.”
“I think you’re full of shit, Hal!” I reply.
“I’m not making this up, buddy. I wish I was. Some people are even starting to use the word ‘zombie’ for lack of a better term to describe these things. I’m guessing that’s why we got the bug out order. Someone saw the writing on the wall and decided to pull us back to the states to help get things back under control at home.”
As he is relaying this information, he begins rummaging through the pack at his feet, eventually pulling out an MRE.
“So, you’re telling me we’re currently flying over the start of the zombie apocalypse at thirty five thousand feet and you find this the perfect time for supper?” I say incredulously.
“A man’s gotta eat you know. Besides, it’s a long flight and the stewardesses are ugly, and have bad manners. Good luck getting a Coke and a smile from one of them,” he responds, ripping open the package and nodding towards one of the aircrew.
As Hal stuffs his face, I turn toward my team and ask if they caught what Hal was telling me. Both nod, but I can tell Jimmy is dubious. To be honest, so am I.
How can this be happening? Zombies are the sole property of Hollywood and Voodoo practitioners. They aren’t real.
Sitting on the red nylon webbing, I begin to wonder if maybe the locals had gotten hold of some bad heroin, but that doesn’t explain the mass evacuation. And why did everyone look so scared? I drift off to sleep from pure exhaustion. A little while later, I feel an elbow poke me in the ribs and I wake up.
“You had better be a stewardess with coffee,” I mumble in the direction of Hal.
“Nope, sorry, just the messenger,” he replies.
“Then what’s the message so I can pretend I’m listening and go back to sleep?” I say, only half kidding.
“Talked to one of the crew members and got some news. We’re doing a mid-air refuel in a little bit and then we’re headed to Soto-Cano airbase in Honduras.”
“Hondo?” I ask. “Why not fly straight to Dover or Andrews?”
&
nbsp; “I asked the same question. Unfortunately his response involved pay grades above his,” Hal replied. “Ever been to Hondo?”
“Nah. I’ve been to Howard in Panama though back in the 90’s. You?”
“We’ve had a few stopovers there from time to time on our way south, but I’ve never been there for more than a day or two. Alright, I’ll leave you alone to get your beauty rest. God knows you need it. I’m starting to have a hard time telling you and your dog apart.” He grins.
“A hint: I’m the one that doesn’t sniff your crotch; at least when I’m sober,” I reply as I lean my head back again to try and catch more sleep.
Once again, sleep comes fairly easy. That’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, catch sleep when you can, and I’ve become good at it. The hum of the engines helps lull me into a slumber where I can continue to contemplate the meaning of life after the Zom-Poc.
Awake again and this time the transition isn’t as gentle. I hear screams and some God awful inhuman shrieks coming from somewhere closer to the front of the aircraft. We are near the ramp of the crowded C-17 so it’s hard to make out exactly what’s going on. Suddenly, I hear the discharge of a firearm, a 9mm side arm from the sound of it. More shrieking, this time closer and I start to stand. I hear the sound of the engines change pitch and the entire plane begins rolling to the left, throwing me and everyone else not strapped in against the left side of the aircraft. We reach about a forty five degree bank, and then we start rolling the other way, quickly. I manage to grab hold of the cargo netting behind where I had been sitting, preventing my tumble into the center row of seats. This time, the roll isn’t quite as dramatic and we quickly return to level flight, I think.
A New World: Untold Stories Page 20