by John O'Brien
Judging by the air quality in the office, they won’t have any trouble finding us.
“Beauty rest is over. And from the looks of it, it didn’t work very well on the lot of you,” Brown jokes, waking the cadets on the carpet.
As they try to shake themselves into some kind of useful consciousness, Brown briefs them on the plan. It’s pretty simplistic in nature. They’ll work their way down the hill and along the shoreline until they come to the north dock. From there, they’ll take one of the Humvees and drive like hell through the campus.
“After that, the best route seems to be south to New Jersey and then west through Pennsylvania, using the back roads as much as we can,” Brown finishes.
They have very limited firepower and no way to quickly gather more, so stealth and evasion is their best bet. If they encounter any infected, they may be able to take down a few with the 9mm, but that will only draw thousands of others. Their journey to safety will then become very short-lived.
Brown guides them down the stairs and to the side door nearest the river. He eases the door open, checking that there aren’t any infected. A few distant shrieks ride the early morning air, but he doesn’t see anyone. Taking the hex key, he unlocks the doors.
“Once we leave here, everything we do will be with silence in mind. Providing we make it to the trees, you watch every step you take. We’re going across, down toward the boathouse, and then keep to the edge of the hill. If you have anything to say, now’s the time.”
The three cadets shake their heads.
“If anything goes wrong and we’re discovered before we get there, we head into the nearest building. Keep up if you can; I’m not going to wait if you suddenly decide to take up birdwatching.”
With that, Brown races outside, his head swiveling left and right. He heads down the concrete walkway and across the street. Although his footfalls make noise as they strike the hard surface, less time in the open is the better choice. Sound carries a shorter distance than the open terrain allows them to see. He vaults a short fence and drops to the embankment next to the club. He doesn’t look to see if the others made it, but keeps moving, counting three separate boot-crunches landing to let him know they’re following.
“Change in plans,” Brown whispers, pointing along the top of the ridge.
A short retaining wall runs along most of the hilltop, separating small parking lots from the terrain. They’ll be seen if any infected are on top of the tall fort or looking out from the higher floors of the buildings, but it should keep them out of sight from near ground level. It will be an easier route than having to work their way along the steep and rocky shoreline.
“Stay low,” Brown orders.
Crouching against the concrete embankment, and forced to get down and crawl at times, the four slowly make their way along the top of the ridgeline. The calmly flowing Hudson River can be seen through narrow breaks in the trees. Near the end of the lots, the retaining wall grows shorter, giving way to a path that exits through the last parking lot and into the trees.
“Well, that’s fucking convenient. I didn’t even know it was there,” Brown comments.
“Me either,” Clarke adds, just behind.
“Down!” Brown sharply whispers.
Footsteps slap on a hard surface, growing louder.
Have we been seen? No, there would be screaming…wouldn’t there?
The rapid pounding grows in intensity, individual footsteps lost among the many. The sounds mingle like a stampede. Brown presses harder into the ground and against the cool concrete at his side. With the embankment so short, he can’t take the chance to see if the others are mimicking him. He just has to hope that they’re trying to become like snails, pulling into their shells for cover. The top of the concrete wall can’t be much higher than the top of his back. If whoever is up there nears the edge, he will easily be seen, even with his camouflage matching the terrain.
Shadows pass over the ground directly in front of him, shading his vision as each figure passes between him and the sun.
Keep going you sons of bitches.
As long as the shadows keep flashing, it’s all good. It’s when one stops that he’ll truly begin to get his panties in a wad.
Or if they start that infernal screaming of theirs.
The morning sun is casting very long shadows, so the fact that he’s seeing them doesn’t mean they’re running right on top of him. But, they aren’t that far away either. All it would take is for one to stop and notice the four huddled bodies. The shadows stop darkening the ground in front of his face. The footfalls fade.
Fucking A! I get this to look forward to every waking minute of every day…Yay me! I’m probably getting this shit as karmic payback because I didn’t help some old lady across the street when I was ten.
Brown peeks over the edge. A dozen or more figures are in a loose huddle, running along the edge of the narrow parking lot. Brown isn’t sure how they weren’t spotted given how close to the edge the figures are. A slight breeze is flowing from the campus toward the river, so it’s not surprising that they weren’t smelled. The infected round a corner and vanish from sight. A quick glance shows the area momentarily clear.
“Go!”
They scramble upward, hitting the asphalt pathway after a few steps. Brown breaks stride a few times to leap over cracked sections, the deciduous trees closing around them a few yards along the trail. The clopping sound of their soles striking the pavement and the crunch of leaves echoes faintly through the trees, and their exhalations add to the mix. A glance over his shoulder shows the angle of vision to the campus severely narrowed. Brown doesn’t slow his pace until the view into the parking lot is a mere speck.
The trail is close to the edge of the bluff, a single line of trees and bushes bordering the path with the Hudson visible through the trunks. On the other side, the dense woods and rising hill prevents much of a view. A carpet of dry leaves almost covers the forest floor.
Good. We’ll be able to hear anything approaching from that side.
That leaves just two possibilities for a sudden convergence: Infected chasing their scent from behind or colliding with them from ahead. Brown strides on, taking care to avoid stepping on the crumbly leaves. He wonders if the path just goes to the point or circles around. Using the sun poking through the dense canopy, he’ll know if the path begins circling back toward campus.
A heavy crunch comes from the side. A spike of adrenaline causes Brown’s heart to stop, then pound heavily. He pivots and drops to one knee, aiming toward the sound’s direction. Seeing his action, the others drop as well, going to their knees with one hand on the ground to get lower. Brown sees nothing moving under the boughs, doesn’t hear anything further. His eyes sweep to the sides, the barrel of his 9mm following. Nothing except a couple of large leaves spinning like helicopter blades on their way to the ground. Others swing their way down, the leaf diving only to pull up, then dipping to the other side to rapidly fall. Those land harder than the others with the same crunch Brown heard moments ago.
Well, fuck me! This…this whole thing is bullshit. I’m going to die an old man in about thirty minutes if this shit keeps up.
The escape path turns at the point where the river sharply turns, angling up and down over the steep terrain, keeping close to the shoreline, and then forking at the end of a steep ridge of granite; Brown opts to take the concrete path leading along the river. They move with the rocky shore on one side and cliffs of stone on the other. The breeze continues along the river’s path, rippling the wide waterway and pulling leaves from the branches.
Rounding a corner, Brown sees that the path ends at a short concrete barricade, a road on the other side opening into a long parking lot. They’ve managed to circumvent the campus and reach the North Dock. Brown cautiously draws closer, looking through the boles and listening. There’s no real reason for any infected to be down at the dock, but there also isn’t any reason why they couldn’t be. Brown crouches behind the b
arricade, the others on both sides. A helicopter sits on a pad that extends into the river, along with several Humvees parked next to each other in the middle of the lot.
“Okay, we’re going to make a dash for the nearest Humvee and then the race is on. That will be the part where we place our bets and roll the dice with the pedal to the floor. Put your fun hats on, because the party is about to start,” Brown states, gearing himself to make the long dash.
“You know, I think I can fly that,” Handley says, staring at the helicopter.
Brown catches himself, muscles tensed as he prepares to take off.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I think I could probably fly that,” the cadet repeats.
“Son, you are going to have to define probably in a little more detail,” Brown states.
“My dad ran a helicopter sightseeing operation near the Grand Canyon. That looks a lot like a JetRanger that we used. I don’t have my license, but I have a few hours in one,” Handley replies.
“So, you’re saying that you can get that off the ground without me having to swim back to shore after you dump it into the river?” Brown asks. “Because, if that happens, you’re going to have a lot more than infected to worry about.”
“Probably.”
“’Probably’ isn’t going to cut it. I’m going to need a simple yes or no.”
Handley looks over to the helicopter, its blades tied down against the wind.
“If the cockpit isn’t much different than what I’m used to, then yes,” Handley answers.
“I’m good with that. It sure will alleviate a lot of immediate problems,” Brown says.
Two roads angle up the steep hill, one climbing to the central part of campus, the other angling over the sports complexes. Near the water level, they can’t be immediately seen unless the infected are actually on either roadway. However, the sound of the helicopter starting will bring them rushing.
Brown and the three cadets leave the cover of the barricade and trot down the path to the helicopter. He’s not sure what to think about having a cadet who “thinks” he can fly the chopper, but the dice are tumbling down the table. If Handley fumbles with the switches, Brown will just open the door and excuse himself.
At the helicopter door, Handley peeks in through the side window for a moment, then turns to Brown and nods.
“Don’t slam the doors closed,” Brown states, sweeping his arm in an “after you” gesture.
Well, here we go, Brown thinks, climbing into the left seat after Hayward and Clarke settle into the back.
It’s cramped inside, and he wonders if the four of them together weigh too much to get aloft. Handley doesn’t seem worried, but that’s not a complete comfort either. After removing the tie-downs, the cadet pokes around and comes up with a checklist, then points to the headsets resting in cradles near each seat. With the headphones on, Brown hears a click, then Handley checks in.
“You know what you’re doing, right? Lie to me if you don’t,” Brown comments.
“This isn’t much different than what I’m used to,” Handley returns.
“Like, the difference between car models, or the difference between riding a bike and piloting the space shuttle?”
“The former.”
“If you crash us, I’m going to survive long enough to drag my crushed body over to strangle you, just so you know.”
Handley looks at the checklist, then reaches to flip switches and set levers, which reminds Brown of a toddler secured to its car seat playing with toy car controls.
So, this is the point where I should be waking up to find myself in bed.
The cadet looks around the aircraft and presses a button, which is followed by the whine of an engine starting. Overhead, the rotors begin a slow circle, sluggishly picking up speed.
That’s a good sign, Brown thinks, peering out of the windshield.
Several groups of infected are making their way along both roads angling down the hill. More emerge behind them and soon, hundreds are racing toward them. The rotors reluctantly spin faster as the infected near the bottom.
The engine roars, turning the blades overhead into a blur. The leading edge of infected make it to the bottom and streak toward the four parked on a pinnacle of asphalt. If they don’t get airborne soon, the only way to escape will be to jump out and dive into the water.
“Anytime you feel like it, Handley,” Brown says, palming his sidearm.
The cadet looks at the rapidly closing horde, then to his checklist.
“I…I haven’t finished the checklist.”
“I don’t think they care much,” Brown says, waving his firearm toward the nearest infected, only yards away.
The rotors pick up speed. The struts rattle back and forth on the pad, then lift. They soar higher as the infected swarm around. The helicopter leans decidedly to one side as Handley fights at the controls and the helicopter begins to settle back down into the midst of reaching arms.
Brown opens the door on his side, then leans out. Two sets of fingers grasp the strut, the face below snarling with rage. The close-cropped hair barely moves in the downwash, but the cheeks of his open mouth vibrate in the strong downdraft.
“We don’t have room for carry-on, sorry,” Brown mutters, extending the 9mm and pulling the trigger.
The face is momentarily obscured by a thick splash of blood, which is instantly carried away by the rotor wash. Without the added weight, the helicopter soars upward, jostling as Handley fights with the controls. The body falls, growing smaller as it plummets and hits the water with a splash.
“You have this?” Brown says, closing the door.
“Yeah, we’re all good now.”
Infected crowd the helicopter pad and nearby parking lot, with more racing both down the road and across campus.
You’ve awoken the hive, Brown thinks, remembering a line in a game he played.
“So, where to now?” Handley asks, hovering above the horde.
“What’s the range on this thing?” Brown queries.
Handley looks at the gauges and then shrugs, “I dunno exactly…maybe three…four hundred miles. I can find out exactly using the charts in the check list.”
“Let’s head west and find a field out of the way to set down. We need to figure things out and come up with a plan rather than wasting fuel.”
The terrain directly west of the academy is filled with tree-covered hills and lakes. Very few houses occupy the wooded land. Passing over the multicolored landscape, Brown only notes one house that he is able to see. They fly around a few of the lakes, bypassing them due to the swampy nature of any clearing. They finally find an open area large enough for the helicopter and with firm soil: a road and strip of grass at one end of a reservoir.
They sit for several minutes, waiting to see if the noise of their arrival brings any infected into the area. It’s remote, but Brown isn’t taking any chances. He rolled the dice at the academy several times, barely coming out the winner. A few more minutes of idling isn’t going to make a real difference to their range. No one shows, so Handley shuts it down, the rotors slowly coming to a stop.
Brown and the others sit on the grass, watching the tree line. Handley sits off to the side, unfolding maps. With the lake behind them, there’s only one direction anyone can come from. In such a remote area, if anybody attacks, it won’t be in hordes like back at the academy. Brown allows himself to relax for the first time in hours. It’s only been a day since the shit hit the fan, but it seems like a week or month.
“Okay, it looks like I was right. With a full load, we can go a little over four hundred miles. If the plan is still to head west, that should put us just on the other side of Pittsburg,” Handley concludes.
“So, we find a place to refuel, then hopscotch across the country,” Brown comments. “I realize that it’s not as simple as that, but that’s the general gist.”
“We’d be okay using civilian jet fuel; military helicopters have done th
at before. The problem I see is that any airport busy enough to warrant having jet fuel is also going to be near a populated area. I’ll need about twenty to thirty minutes to refuel. We can park close to the truck, but we’ll have to drive it over, pump nearly a hundred gallons, then drive it out of the way,” Handley says.
“Okay, let’s assume that the infected can run as before. Perhaps they get winded, or maybe they just drop. Who knows? But an average over a period of time for a fast runner is about six minute miles. That means five miles in a half hour. So, we need to find airports that are relatively clear for a five-mile radius. I’m sure there are some due to residential noise restrictions. We just need to find them. That’s your job,” Brown points to Handley. “Make sure we have enough reserve in case we need to get the fuck out quickly.”
Brown feels the warmth of the sun rising higher on his back. He takes quick stock of their situation, which doesn’t take very long. They don’t have any food or water, and he’s already beginning to feel the effects. Their limited firepower won’t last through more than a few minutes, only extending their lives for mere moments. The cabin in Colorado will have all of those. His friend kept quite a few rifles on hand there, along with an adequate supply of ammo and food. But that might as well be on the moon for all that helps him here.
“What’s our job?” Hayward asks.
“To stop bothering me,” Brown states.
“I can do that,” Hayward says.
“And, yet you failed even that easy task within seconds.”
“We’re just trying to help,” Clarke interjects.
Brown sighs deeply. “I know. It’s just that we’re pretty screwed and I don’t like it. We have no food or water and very limited transportation. One handgun with a little over two mags isn’t going to see us through much, limiting our options even further. We’re nearly two thousand miles away from a place where I’m positive we’ll be safe, straddled to a bucket that may not get us much over a fifth of that distance. But we made it out of the academy in one piece, so the future is looking bright.”