07:10 AM
Jenkins Forest awoke for the second day without food or water and groaned aloud when he remembered his predicament. He lifted himself gently from the lower bunk in his weakened state and staggered to the metal bars hoping that things had changed, but none of the comforting sounds of other survivors greeted him only a deathly silence. He leaned his head against the metal bars, even the metal had warmed up in the incessant heat.
He had to face it; he was trapped in his cramped cell with Kincaid who was suffering with what he could only assume was advanced Aids. The sonofabitch puked on him, and Jenkins was convinced that some got in his own mouth. Ain’t that one of the ways the gay plague transmitted? Sonofabitch would pay for that. Although he doubted Kincaid made it through the night.
Jenkins wondered how much longer he could survive without water. His stomach had rumbled through lack of food all damned night. However, it was the lack of water that was driving him insane. He’d never known anything like it. It was agony and if that wasn’t bad enough he was stuck in this shit-hole with the puke-monster.
He quickly glanced at Kincaid, slumped over the john. He was breathing, just. He absolutely reeked. He puked up most of the night and if it wasn’t one end it was the other, although by the look of him he’d just soiled himself again, and not bothered to use the can. Vomit, urine, excrement and blood splattered the tiny cell floor.
He’d concluded that everyone else must have died too. There were no sounds on the wing from his fellow inmates, no guards, no orderlies, nada. The lights had burst on at seven a.m., regular as clockwork and that gave him a glimmer of hope, but then he remembered that they switched on automatically and would do until the prison’s electricity generator finally gave up the ghost, then he’d be in total darkness to add to the misery.
The stifling hot cell and the odor made him gag. Maybe it was god’s punishment after all. He was paying for his sins, well and truly.
Kincaid stirred and grinned, making the pus filled rings on his face weep. He did not have the energy to wipe it away; he was beyond caring.
“What you grinning at, fool?”
“You; trapped in here with me.”
“So what?”
“Getting what you deserve,” he said though cracked lips.
“You think? You maybe. Not me.”
“I’ve studied you, you could say.” His dark black tongue flicked around his lips trying to give them moisture. “You act like the big, tough guy, but you’re just a bully. I know about you, beating woman and kids.”
“What you saying?”
“Jeanette Dumas, remember her?”
“No.”
“You had one date with her, she didn’t want a second, said you gave out a bad vibe,” he hissed.
“So?”
“So?! So, you poured acid in her face. You disfigured her for life.” His voice rasped as he drew in labored breath. “I’m guessing she wasn’t the only one?”
“The bitches deserved it. If I ain’t gonna have ‘em, no one else will.”
“You really are a twisted fuck.” He sniggered.
“Shut your mouth or I‘ll -”
“What? What can you do to me? You seriously want to touch me and be infected with this?” He pointed at himself and scratched at one of the numerous black lumps that bulged from his neck. It popped and liquid oozed down his neck.
Jenkins recoiled at the sight. “What you got, man – Aids?”
Kincaid snorted. “No. I was as healthy as you, yesterday morning when I arrived. I caught this here, along with everyone else by the sounds of it.”
“If it ain’t Aids what is it?”
“This is payback.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“I’m accepting my fate,” he said his voice hardly registering. “I DO deserve it, but I was born with my urges. I couldn’t keep them under control and now I’m being punished by this pestilence from God. But you? You had a choice. You chose to maim, blind and kill without compunction.”
“Fuck you man. I don’t deserve this shit.”
Kincaid tried to laugh but only a gurgle emitted from between his cracked lips. “You’re going to die, no doubt about that, and it’ll be in torment.”
“Oh yeah? Well, at least I ain’t got your weird disease.”
“You’re the only one that hasn’t.”
“That right I’ve been singled out by your God to be immune.”
“You’ll be begging for death before the day is out.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Dying of thirst is the worst excruciating agony known to man, you’ll go insane. You’ll climb the walls, as your internal organs shut down one by one, you’ll be begging to catch my disease; to die far more quickly and mercifully.”
Jenkins felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck at the prospect of what the runt told him, when Kincaid sniggered.
“What’s so funny?”
“Before nightfall you’ll be so parched and insane from thirst that you’ll be drinking the shit-filled water from the toilet.”
Jenkins shuddered as Kincaid’s high-pitched cackle filled the cell.
07:20 AM
It was another blistering hot day as Luke and Sophie stood by the chain-link fence next to the metal gates guarding the small private airstrip; the tarmac shimmered with a heat-haze, making the main office in the distance appear like a mirage. A small crowd had gathered. Luke touched his firearm for reassurance. “They’re probably friendly.”
“How do you figure that?”
“They’re civilians trying to escape.”
How are we going to get in? She asked, pointing at the padlocked gates. Luke eyed a nearby truck. She followed his line of sight. “How are you going to start it?”
He jumped in the cab. “Friends in low places,” he said and yanked wires from under the dash. “Misspent youth. The noisy diesel engine clattered into life, he smirked. “Jump in.”
She hopped up into the cab, and he shifted the stick into gear. “I still don’t see how this is going to get us into the airstrip?”
He concentrated on the gates, and once again, she followed his line of vision, “Oh no. . .” she held on tight as Luke revved the engine, slipped the clutch and catapulted across the street, smashing through the gates easily. They dragged underneath with a terrible screeching of metal, alerting the crowd by the main office.
A short fat guy raised a rifle, as did the other armed members of the crowd. Luke alighted from the truck cab, with his hands raised. “Get back in your truck.” said the fat man. “And drive away.”
“We wanna escape – same as you,” Luke said evenly.
“Let me see. . .” said a lanky pencil thin man standing on the wing of a private jet. “How much they’re willing to pay?” he said.
“Hey, you already agreed my price,” a blonde woman said indignantly.
“There’s only one seat and it’s going to the highest bidder.”
“That’s disgraceful,” said Sophie in disgust. “Take a larger plane, then you can take more people.”
“Listen, lady, I ain’t no charity, I’m getting me out of here. Now, if I can make a few bucks auctioning the other seat, well, that’s just the American way. So do we have any higher bids?”
“I’ll give you my house!”
“In plague city, uhuh, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll give you my car.”
“Why would I want a car when I’ve got a plane? I’ve told you; it’s cold hard cash. No more bids? OK Blondie, I’m all yours.”
She glared at him angrily, and then trotted over to the small-two seater Cessna TT. The crowd surged towards him, and he waved his pistol threateningly at them. “Don’t tempt me, I’ll shoot.”
Luke said; “Fly it low, man, and away from the major airports, otherwise -”
“Are you a pilot?” he asked. The others in the crowd turned hopefully towards him.
“No, but -”
“Then shut the fuc
k up. I’ve been doing this for years. It’s going to be pedal to the metal up, up and away.” He opened the aircraft door, clambered into the driver’s seat to leave the blonde woman standing on the wing.
“I don’t think I want to go . . .,” the blonde woman said nervously.
“Don’t go. Stay. I don’t care. But, I’ll tell you this, I’m keeping your money and I’ll sell the seat to someone else.”
“Me!” shot up a hand.
“No, me!” said a man, yanking the previous bidder back so hard he fell over onto the cement. A lady stepped on him to raise herself and catch the pilot's eye.
“Me, sir, I’ll do anything to get out of Florida!” she begged.
The pilot looked her up and down and sneered. “Not my type.”
A young man pushed the lady out of his way and she tripped over the prone man still on the ground. “I’ll do it, anything you desire, just get me out of here!”
The blonde-haired woman noted their desperation and reluctantly climbed in.
The crowd groaned, but the youth jumped on the wing. “You ain’t going anywhere without me.” He walked towards the door and the pilot raised his pistol and shot him in the stomach, the boy staggered back, looked down in disbelief at the blood pumping from between his fingers and fell off the wing.
Sophie gasped at the dead teenager and shuddered at the pilot’s cold-heartedness, but the message got through to the crowd and they backed away as the single engine propeller chugged into life.
“Come on,” Luke said galvanizing the crowd. “Let’s see if one of the private jets has been left unlocked.”
The gang spread out, rattling handles, when Luke eyed a nine passenger Citation XLS-seater high wing luxury jet, he muttered a silent prayer as he looked heavenward, he tried the handle and it opened. “Cool!” he turned to the others. “Over here, this one’s unlocked. We can all get on it.”
“You’re gonna fly us out of here?” Sophie asked in surprise.
“I’m going to do my damndest,” he said and smiled confidently.
“Don’t tell me, ‘Friends in low places – misspent youth?’”
“Well, if you’re going to crash it, make sure it’s into the Four Points Hotel,” a scruffy ex-soldier grumbled. “Jumpin’ Jack’s commandeered it; made it his campaign head-quarters.”
“General Malloy is here in the zone? Are you sure?” asked Sophie.
“I served under that bastard in Iraq. I’d recognize him anywhere, even in a hazmat suit. An army buddy of mine has been watching them set up. The communication post is on the roof. Long and short wave antennas, satellite dishes, you name it, they got it. It’s how they organize the death squads so efficiently.”
Sophie explained to the crowd Luke’s lack of credentials as a flyer, yet they all scrambled aboard anyway. Luke flicked some switches and the dials flipped into life. His eyes flicked around the instrument panel familiarizing himself with them. “Altitude, wind-speed, knots, fuel. . .” he read out to himself.
Luke watched the light aircraft taxiing up the runway, and he followed suit. The pencil thin pilot revved the engine, shot down the runway and climbed as high and as fast as the craft could handle.
Sophie sat next to Luke in the co-pilots seat and kept her eye on the departing Cessna as it zoomed up into the clear blue sky and on its way to freedom.
She said to Luke. “Do you know what you are doing?”
“More or less, how hard can it be?” He grinned at her winningly, and pulled back on the control yoke, making her head thrust back into the headrest. “When we reach maximum speed it will pretty much take off on its own, at least that’s the theory.”
He trundled down the runway, at full throttle, gradually gaining speed, but they were fast running out of space. “C’mon . . . c’mon!” He growled willing the jet to reach optimum airspeed.
Sophie watched the light aircraft in front as it soared higher and higher into the early morning sky, when a surface-to-air missile whooshed from the direction of the ocean towards the Cessna and blew it to kingdom come.
Luke swiftly pushed forwards on the throttle and his aircraft slowed, enough to abort take-off, but not enough for them to miss the perimeter fence. “Not again!” he yelled. He could hear his passengers in the back screaming and he aimed for the gates. “Breath in,” he joked to Sophie as the fuselage of the jet squeezed through the gap in the gates, and the wings cleared the top of the fence by a whisker, then they were out of the airport and speeding down the street, where they overtook a lone army jeep.
“Holy shit!” said the startled driver as the wing passed over his head. He screeched to a halt leaving a trail of rubber behind him. He took a few moments to recover, then gulped and picked up his radio handset. “This is Bravo-William One. You are never gonna believe what’s heading your way, over.”
Two trucks and two commandeered buses filled the street making a makeshift road-block, a humvee and a tank defended it. The troops had had an easy time as folk had either given up trying to escape, or had died. “Say again, Bravo-William One, a what is heading our way? Over.”
But before his comrade could reply he heard the roar of the engine and his eyes popped out on stalks, shocked beyond belief to see a civilian jet hurtling along the street towards him at great speed, smashing through the road-block with a screech of twisted metal and a cloud of sparks, knocked aside the buses with ease.
The soldiers were caught off guard, and slowly recovering from the shock, drew their weapons and fired at the retreating metal monster.
The tank commander barked an order to the gunner, whose military training kicked in, never questioning the order to fire, aimed at the departing airplane trundling down the street ahead making a bizarre target in his view finder; it would be hours later that the oddity of it would make him shudder.
“Fire!” ordered the commander, and the tank recoiled with the blast and a split second later the projectile blew the Citation’s starboard wing clean off, fragments flew into the air and hit the cockpit. The remaining portion of the wing caught fire.
“Man, that ain’t cool,” said Luke.
Sophie stared at him incredulously for a long moment, and then asked. “Now what?”
“I’ve had another brilliant idea . . .”
“Go on.”
“We’ll use the airplane as a decoy -” A huge chunk of masonry from the building ahead exploded as the tank’s next shot missed. Large chunks of stone hit the windshield cracking it.
Sophie watched mesmerized as the building teetered, and wobbled in front of them, but thankfully, the Citation XLS passed by before it tumbled over in a massive cloud of dust, blocking the pursuing tank and troops.
Luke told Sophie how to initiate the escape door that automatically engaged the escape chute, and he lined up the aircraft, or mobile bomb as it had now become in his plan. The passengers crossed their arms over their chests as instructed and slid down the chute to the street, where they rolled over with momentum.
“Go!” said Luke to Sophie, as he used his belt to tie on the throttle at maximum, the jet engines spooled up, responding immediately and the airplane picked up speed.
No, I’ll wait for you. . .” she replied, then her eyes widened when she saw his intended target. “. . . Oh no . . .”
CHAPTER 22
07:45 AM
On the roof of the Four Points Hotel General Malloy scanned the district on all four sides with his German-made field glasses. In each and every direction he saw the insurgents being chased by his men, sure they were being caught and shot, but it was time consuming and inconvenient and not economically viable. He had formulated a strategy with President Hamilton Parker, who’d agreed that their plan needed to be bold, courageous, and fearless. They had to make sure no one remained in the southern part of Florida and that no one would ever desire entry into the area ever again.
He knew it was going to be a hard sell for the President. Most of the chiefs of staff were soft when it came to a battle. Th
ey were desk jockeys who’d never been up the sharp-end in combat, not like him. He’d killed the enemy with his bare hands and wouldn’t have any qualms about doing it again.
That’s how he thought of the population of Florida, as the enemy, and enemies needed destroying by whatever means were at his disposal, however distasteful most American’s would find it. In time, they would know that they’d made the right decision, and that he and Hamilton’s quick thinking had saved millions of lives.
“Gen. . . General, you might wanna see this . . .,” said a timid soldier, pointing over the safety wall and downward.
The general peered over the wall and his jaw hit the ground. “What in god’s name is that?” He looked again expecting the vision to have been a mirage. “Is that a -”
07:48 AM
Luke pushed Sophie from the open doorway, following her as the engines spooled up to maximum power. She hit the chute half way down and bounced onto the pavement, he followed a moment later, hitting the street headfirst. Luke and Sophie sat on the ground and rubbed their scrapes. “There goes ten million bucks,” he said as they watched in awe as the Citation passenger jet loaded with over six thousand pounds of kerosene jet fuel hit the foyer of the Four Points Hotel at over one hundred miles an hour.
07:49 AM
The hotel shook from the explosion and the general fell to the deck. A fireball shot up into the sky and a plume of thick, black smoke added to the confusion. The antenna masts tipped over, as did the satellite dishes. The general got onto his knees, and stood, then wobbled and toppled back over.
“General!” shouted a soldier, waving at him frantically. “Follow me, sir. The stairs, while there’s still time.” The building shook once more and the general lost his footing again, falling onto his back. “General, this way!” The general took a moment, glanced around at the devastation, stood, cursed, and limped to the stairwell.
The Doomsday Infection Page 15