Outpost H311

by Townsend, Sara Jayne

  “Let’s not waste any more time, then.” Ellen stood up. “Let’s go and check out the plane.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Ellen and Jake went down the lift shaft using the ropes tied to the girders. At the bottom, Jake strode purposefully toward the plane but then stopped and stared at it. “It looks immaculate.”

  “Is it really going to work after all this time?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Jake pulled himself up through the hatch.

  By the time Ellen reached the cockpit, Jake was in the pilot’s seat. She dropped into the co-pilot’s seat. “Looks like the Nazis were also planning to use this as an escape. The key’s in the ignition,” Jake said.

  “But they never got out.”

  “Well, here goes nothing.” Jake turned the key and held it in the place. The engine turned over once, twice, and then made a coughing noise and fell silent.

  “I thought it was too much to hope for,” Ellen said.

  “Sounds like there’s ignition, though, which is a good thing.” Jake pulled himself out of the pilot’s seat. “I’m going to take a look at the engine, see if I can figure out what’s wrong. Go keep a lookout, will you?”

  Ellen admired the view of Jake’s retreating rear as he crawled out of the cockpit. As he disappeared from sight, she crawled out of the plane and lowered herself to the ground, picking her way past the remains of the zombies and through the doorway that led out into the corridor. She stationed herself there, so she could keep an eye on the boathouse door. She caught a glimpse of Neeta’s body, still lying in the corridor. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked away. She stared at the sealed boathouse door. She imagined the zombies on the other side, trying to get out. Was it her imagination or did the door move just then?

  After what felt like an age, she heard Jake calling her name. She stepped back into the hangar.

  Jake was coming down the stepladder from the engine bay, wiping oily hands on a piece of rag. Ellen wondered briefly where he’d got it from. The rag was the grey colour of the Nazis’ uniforms and it occurred to her he might have ripped it off one of the zombies.

  He walked towards her and they met in the middle of the hangar. “There’s good news and bad news,” Jake said.

  “Good news first,” said Ellen.

  Jake pointed back towards the plane. “The good news is the engine is more or less intact. There were a couple of loose connections, which I managed to fix, but all parts are there and the engine is sound.”

  “I can’t help but notice there’s no engine noise.”

  “That’s the bad news. After so long sitting idle, the plane’s pretty much dry. The fuel tank is empty, and it needs water, oil and hydraulic fluid.”

  “There’s aviation fuel in the building on the surface,” Ellen said. “And oil.”

  “Hydraulic fluid is more of a problem. We’ve searched the base thoroughly, and we haven’t found any. The plane won’t fly without it.”

  “Any chance we could salvage aviation fluid from the wrecked plane?” Ellen asked.

  “That’s actually a really good suggestion,” said Jake.

  “You sound surprised. I do have my moments, you know.”

  Jake grinned. “I guess you do. I think we can make that idea work. The fuselage of the wrecked plane broke in two, but the engine’s intact. If we can siphon off the hydraulic fluid from the wreck, we might have enough to get this one to fly.”

  “If we need to take an excursion out to the wrecked plane, I think it should be you and me,” Ellen said. “We’ve done the journey before, and you know the two of us can make faster time than anyone else.”

  “No argument from me,” Jake said.

  “What about the boathouse?” Ellen said. “Shouldn’t we check that out first? If there’s a usable boat in there we don’t need to take an extra day to go back to the wreck.”

  “And we think there’s also a shitload of zombies in there.” Jake sighed. “But you’re right. We should check that out first. Let’s go back up to the base to get some explosives to take out that door. And bring a few of the others back with weapons to help us take out those zombies.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were back with Allison and Pete, and explosives. While Ellen helped Jake set the explosives in the boathouse door, Allison and Pete took cover behind the door into the hangar, a small pile of weapons at their feet.

  When the explosives were set, Jake and Ellen moved into the hangar to join the others. Jake picked up a machine gun from the weapons stash. “We don’t know how many of them are going to come piling through the door once we blow it. Expect the worst. Load up with firearms and plenty of ammo.”

  Ellen checked the two pistols she had were loaded, tucked one into her belt and held the other one. “Check.”

  “Ready?” said Jake.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Jake looked round at Allison and Pete. “How about you folks?”

  Allison, wide-eyed and clutching a pistol, nodded and pressed herself against the wall. Pete also had a hand gun, the video camera in its case tucked against the wall in the hangar. “Let’s do this,” he said.

  Jake produced his lighter and flicked it until the small flame ignited. He moved into the corridor and stooped to touch the lighter to the fuse. As soon as it took, he ducked back into the hangar and slammed the door shut.

  Ellen shut her eyes, bracing herself for the explosion. It came a moment later, an ear-splitting boom that shook the ground and nearly knocked her off her feet. She huddled to the ground and opened her eyes. Smoke poured into the hangar through the crack in the bottom of the door. Ellen took up a kneeling position and held the pistol steady, aiming at the door. Jake nodded at her, and then kicked the door open, taking up position on the other side of the door.

  As the smoke began to clear the first of the zombies appeared. This time, there was no doubt they were marching. They moved in formation, two abreast, their footsteps synchronised. As she aimed her pistol, she also realised something else.

  “They’ve got weapons!” Ellen yelled, ducking behind the door as she fired off a shot from the gun.

  Jake let off a barrage of machine gun fire and lead zombie fell, but the one next to it raised its gun and began to fire, still marching forward.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jake yelled. “These things aren’t mindless zombies. They’re using tactics.” He ducked out from behind the door long enough to spray the corridor with another barrage of machine gun fire. He got the zombie that was now in the lead, but the two behind it carried on marching, stepping over their fallen comrade and bringing up pistols, firing into the doorway where Ellen, Jake and the others were sheltering.

  Ellen ducked back, using the wall as a shield, a bullet passing over her head so close she could feel the air in its wake riffling her hair. Then a big chunk of the wall next to her exploded as it took a bullet, a chunk of concrete hitting her in the shoulder on its way to the floor.

  Ellen fell backwards. “Take cover!” Jake yelled, pulling her farther back into the hangar as the zombies reached the doorway and began to file into the large open space.

  Jake let off a barrage of machine gun fire, taking out the two lead zombies coming through the doorway and a big chunk of the door as well. He threw himself behind a pile of zombie bodies on the floor, attempting to use them as a shield as he kept on firing the machine gun.

  Ellen aimed the pistol and fired, but the hammer clicked uselessly onto an empty chamber. She dropped the gun and struggled to pull the second one out of her belt, her shoulder throbbing where it had taken the impact from falling concrete. Behind her, she could hear Allison screaming.

  There was a spent oil drum rolling about on the hangar floor. Ellen launched herself at it, standing it upright so she could shelter behind it.

  The zombies were falling, but more just kept on coming. The noise of gunfire was continuous and deafening; between it and the noise of the explosion, Ellen’s ears were ringing and she could hear noth
ing else. Allison and Pete were firing blindly, but from Ellen’s perspective it didn’t look like either of them were hitting much.

  Her second pistol ran out of bullets and she ducked farther behind her makeshift shield. She fumbled for the box of ammunition in her belt pouch; her fingers felt fat and useless. The sound of gunfire raged continuously.

  She shook bullets out of the box, dropping half a dozen of them in the process. Forcing herself to slow down and concentrate, she opened up the cylinder on the pistol and shook out the spent cartridges before pushing fresh ones in.

  With the pistol loaded, Ellen ducked her head out from behind the oil drum and aimed. A zombie marching through the door swivelled its head to stare at her, then brought up its own pistol. She aimed at its head and fired before it could get a shot off. Her aim was true and the zombie toppled. Two more behind it took its place, their eyes fixed on Ellen, bringing up their own weapons to aim at her.

  Realising that she was the only one shooting, Ellen glanced over at Jake. He was out of ammunition for the machine gun and was dropping it and reaching for the pistol.

  She let off another shot and hit the first zombie in the elbow. It kept on coming, but it dropped its pistol. Cursing under her breath, she aimed at the one behind it. It got its shot off first, the bullets missing her by mere centimetres. She fired again. The shot hit the armed zombie in the head and it fell forward. The zombie she had disarmed was nearly on her, its arms outstretched. Ellen fired again, getting it in the head, and narrowly managing to get out of the way as the zombie fell forward, hitting her oil barrel and knocking it over.

  Jake was firing the pistol, the sound of gunfire echoing through the hangar. And then suddenly everything fell silent. Ellen looked up, her gun falling from her fingers. Zombie bodies littered the hangar, but there were no more coming through the doorway.

  She stood up and looked over at Jake, who emerged from his shield of corpses. “Use caution,” he said. “There might still be more of them out there.”

  His voice sounded muffled, as if it was coming from far away. Ellen thought perhaps her eardrums were damaged from all the noise.

  The corridor reeked of gunpowder, vision obscured by residual smoke. Ellen followed Jake as he passed through the ruined door and into the boathouse. Allison and Pete were close behind her.

  The boathouse was not as large as the hangar. There were no zombies there; they had evidently all been drawn out into the corridor by the sound of the firefight. Three-quarters of it was in the water, with only a narrow platform of ice running along the south wall to provide pedestrian access. A small wooden jetty protruded at a ninety-degree angle from the ice platform. The remains of two wooden rowing boats were propped up on the jetty. One had rotted far beyond usefulness. The other was lying bottom up, propped up against the jetty at a forty-five degree angle. A hole a foot wide had been punched into its bottom.

  “After all that, there’s nothing we can use here,” said Ellen.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Jake was inspecting an array of items that were propped up against the south wall. He moved aside oars and a length of thick rope and picked up a large hand axe. “Some of this stuff could be useful as a weapon.”

  “But the boats are useless,” said Allison. Ellen looked up to see her standing in the doorway. Pete had also appeared in the doorway, leaning past Allison to film the boathouse.

  “Back to Plan A,” Jake said. “Ellen and me will head back to the plane wreck, to salvage what we need for the Dor.”

  Ellen groaned. “Please don’t tell me we have to set off now. I’m exhausted.”

  Jake shook his head. “It’s been a tiring day, and that journey is best done fresh. The plane’s not going anywhere, and we’ve taken care of all the loose hostiles. We’ll rest tonight and set off in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Allison felt like she’d only just got to sleep when Jake was shaking her awake for her watch. She sleepily pulled on her snowsuit bottoms over her thermal long johns, shoved her feet into her boots, and shuffled into the refectory. Pete was already there, playing with his camera. Allison went straight to the gas hob and put on water to boil, while hunting out the tea bags.

  “I thought after what happened to Neeta, you’d given up on the documentary idea,” Allison said.

  “Do you think people will believe all this stuff about Nazi zombies without proof? I’m providing photographic evidence. Besides, it’s the least I can do for Neeta, to make sure her documentary gets finished.”

  “I thought the film was supposed to be about the environmental impact of climate change on the polar ice caps.” Allison found the tea bags. “Do you want a cup of tea since I’m boiling the kettle?”

  “Yes, thanks, that’ll be great. We spoke the night the plane came down, Neeta and I. She thought the subject of human survival in the Arctic wastelands would be a great story. And that was before all the supernatural shit started going down. I’m not sure what we’ve got now. But I’m sure this story will sell, so I’m going to finish it in Neeta’s memory.”

  The tin kettle began to boil. Allison used a dish cloth to take it off the heat and poured boiling water into two mugs. “I’m not sure people are really getting what you’re doing. They’re finding it annoying having the camera in their face all the time.”

  “Everyone signed a waiver agreeing to be filmed before they set off on this trip,” Pete said.

  “Yes. But circumstances have changed.”

  “So what’s the real reason you’re opposed to my filming?” Pete asked. “You seem to have been opposed to the idea from the beginning.”

  Allison put the two mugs of tea on the table and brought over the tin of powdered milk and the container of sugar. “It’s aggravating an already stressful situation. Even before the plane went down I thought it might be asking for trouble. You have different personalities having to survive in close quarters in extreme weather. It’s a recipe for conflict.”

  Pete pulled one of the mugs towards him and added a generous helping of sugar to it. “Human interaction is always a winner in documentaries. That’s why reality TV shows are such a hit. Everyone likes to watch other people arguing. They like to be able to bitch and gossip about real people. This is what we’ve got here. A clash of personalities.”

  Allison cupped her hands around the mug and stared at the steam rising from it. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. And you know the worst thing of all?”

  Pete snorted. “Take your pick there. Is it the cold, the lack of contact with the outside world? The fact that zombies are real, and they are walking about with Nazi uniforms on? Or that there’s a mythical Nordic entity that’s been summoned and is possessing people at random?”

  “All of that is terrible, but it’s difficult to process,” Allison said. “It’s all too much. I can’t really take it in. What I do keep thinking about, though, is that we’re stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, and no one cares.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Pete said. “I’ve got two girls out there who are rather fond of their old man. Not to mention an ex-wife. She may not care much about me anymore, but she’ll be missing the maintenance payments if they don’t turn up on time.”

  “I was speaking for myself,” Allison said. “I’ve made my career my life. And what have I got to show for it? I thought I was indispensable. But really, the only person who’ll notice I’m missing is my boss and it won’t take him long to find someone else to fill my role.”

  “Well, that is rough,” Pete said. “Hey, can you make that speech again? Just for the camera?” He picked up his video camera.

  Allison scowled. “No. That was strictly off record.” At that moment, the overhead lights flickered and went off. The room was plunged into darkness. “Oh God. What now?”

  “I think the generator’s gone off,” Pete replied.

  The coal-fired stove emitted a red glow, providing some meagre light. Allison fumbled around on the shelf for the torch, finally laying her ha
nds on it. The beam of the torch cast eerie shadows about the room. “At least we still have a bit of heat from that stove.”

  “But only in this room,” Pete said. “The generator was powering the heaters everywhere else. It’ll get really cold really quickly without it. Not to mention there are no lights. And no hot water.”

  “Can we get it going again?” Allison asked.

  “You light up the kerosene lanterns so we’ve got a bit of light. I’ll go and see if I can fix the generator. Just give me a minute to get some more layers on.” Pete set his camera back on the table and headed for his bunk.

  “You’re going out there alone?” Allison said.

  Pete looked back at her, his face a cadaverous shadow in the dim torch light. “I’d rather we didn’t both leave the base just in case it’s some kind of trap.”

  “What, you think something killed the generator on purpose?”

  “I don’t know what to think. But I don’t want to take anything for granted.”

  “Don’t go out there unarmed. Take one of the weapons.”

  “Don’t worry, I intend to.” Pete turned back to the corridor. “I’ll only be a few minutes. You keep watch down here. If you hear anything strange while I’m gone, yell and get the others up.” And he disappeared out into the corridor.

  Allison found the matches on the shelf and methodically lit the lanterns that they had been using before they got the main light working. She strained her ears to listen for unusual noises outside, but all she could hear was Pete moving about in the corridor, rustling and clattering as he picked up cold weather gear and weapons.

  The room was already getting cold. She hoped he could get the generator going again soon, or they would all freeze to death before morning.

  CHAPTER 38

  Pete pulled on snow trousers, a second pair of socks and his thick outdoor jacket. He also picked up gloves, scarf and hat. He checked the handgun he’d picked up was loaded, put the safety on and tucked it into his belt.