by Jason Winn
I smelled smoke at the security doors leading back the way we came.
“You all smell that?” I asked.
“I do.” Tom replied.
“Lewis, we need another route.” I said.
“The fastest way back to the courtyard is up that stairwell.” Lewis pointed up to stairs that probably hadn’t been used since the place was built. Rusted steel steps zigzagged upward, disappearing behind a concrete floor.
We started climbing. A door several flights up slammed open and a man screamed, “No, no, nooo!”
Lewis stopped. I pushed him. “He’s done, keep moving.” Lewis didn’t move. The man was screaming the sounds of the tortured. “Ahhh, help me! Help! Get off me!”
I could hear him trying to fight off his attackers. Heavy, rapid thuds echoed through the stairwell. I couldn’t see him in the darkness. I didn’t want to look up. His attackers growled and snarled.
“Steve! Steve, noooo! Oh God no! Get off of him,” a second voice shouted, a woman. God isn’t here lady. Hell’s eighty-eight minutes away, though.
“Go, Lewis, or you’re staying here!” I gave him one more push and he opened the door in front of us into a utility room.
“Down there! You down there. Can you help us?” the woman shrieked. I wished my hearing was all the way gone. The rest of the group ignored her. Lewis stammered again, but a third, harder push told him I was done fucking around.
Lewis picked up speed again, and we ran through a boiler room. Pipes and catwalks carried off in all directions. Lewis threw open another door and we were back in the main halls. “Down there and to the right and we’re in the courtyard.”
We broke into a full sprint. We blew past people huddled, screaming in offices and meeting areas. We jumped over wounded and people trying to treat them. My ears picked up gunfire again. The last holdouts, I thought. I recalled Long John Silver’s warning to Captain Smollett, “Them that die will be the lucky ones.”
A door exploded to my right. Smoke billowed out into the hallway. “Don’t stop!” I shouted.
We hit the turn before the courtyard exit and ran right into a group of infected. I opened fire. Two dropped. I elbowed, kicked and pushed. I felt the hot breath on my shoulder. Hot liquid splattered on my arm. Lewis fell down. The hallway exploded with gunfire. Bullets whizzed past my ears. Holtz and Conner lunged forward, using their rifles like billy clubs to push back the infected monsters. They kicked and punched. Holtz went down screaming. I stepped back and emptied the clip of my MP5. Four more bodies dropped to the floor. I could see the door to the courtyard.
“Watch it, Major,” Tom shouted. He fired his pistol. A body slumped to the floor, brushing across my back.
The building rocked with a big explosion. Dust fell into my eyes. Ceiling tiles flopped to the floor between us and the courtyard doors.
“Lewis!” I shouted. I saw movement under blood-soaked bodies. Some tried to crawl away. Some hissed. Not good, I thought.
I reached down and pulled him up by the elbow. “You bit? You bleeding?” I scanned his uniform.
“No sir, they just knocked me down.”
“Shit!” Shawn and Sheldon started firing. They stood back at the corner, rifles booming. Tom stood between them and me.
“Ahhh!” Screamed Holtz. I looked down. He battered a screeching woman. She clutched his wounded ankle and tried to bite him. He rained blows on her head with the butt of his M16. Conner dove on the woman. He wrapped his arms around her head. She bit hard into his bicep. He winded and squeezed her with all the strength he could summon. Conner lay on top of her. I couldn’t shoot or I’d hit Conner.
“Just go sir!” Conner growled. “We got your back.” Blood shot from the fresh wound in his arm. He let a primal shout and rolled the woman away from Holtz like a gator in a death roll. I heard the dull cracking of her jaw breaking.
“Sheldon! Shawn! Time to go!” The two Pentagon policemen side-stepped toward us, looking backwards every other step. Their guns pointed in all directions.
I stepped over the putrid pile of infected and galloped to the door. Feet pounded behind me. I didn’t look back to see who it was. I hit the door so hard it felt like I was going to smash through the glass. Lewis sprinted past me. Not so hurt after all, good. Shadows moved everywhere. Up and to my right flames exploded out of several windows, glass cascading down like raindrops.
I willed myself to look back. Automatic gunfire sparked behind us. Sheldon and Shawn huffed and puffed trying to keep up with the group. Tom kept stride with me. Lewis fired at something to my left. I took up station by the main passenger hatch and opened it. The stairs popped down.
“Get on!” I shouted to Tom and the policemen. The three stumbled up the stairs. I watched gunfire through the glass doors lit up the hallway. All around me the Pentagon’s windows flashed and flickered. Flames and gunfire dotted the walls.
“Stay down here, and cover us while I get her started!” I shouted to Lewis.
“Yes sir!” He shouted. I didn’t know what he saw to shoot at, but I didn’t care.
I jumped into the cockpit, ignoring the passengers. They could figure out seatbelts on their own. Tom knelt and kept firing out of the hatch.
I said the world’s shortest, silent prayer and started her up. The engines hummed and I sensed the rotors spinning. I pushed the throttle. The helicopter vibrated with power. Communication systems blinked on. Navigation came to life. It wasn’t a by-the-book startup sequence, but I thought the Marine Corp would give me a pass on this one.
“Tom, get him inside!” I shouted.
Tom gave a thumb’s up and ducked out of the hatch. Lewis backed up the stairs on his ass, still shooting. Tom did a clumsy jump right after him. Good enough. I thumbed the button to close the catch as I saw a hand claw at the stairs after Tom’s leg. Sheldon and Shawn stared wide-eyed at Tom. His ankle bled.
I pulled back on the stick and we lifted off. I looked at my watch. Seventy-five minutes to go. Tom moaned behind me. “Officers, secure him!” They didn’t move, just stared at him. “Lewis!”
Lewis stuck his head next to mine. “Check Tom’s wound. See if it looks like bite marks.”
Lewis disappeared and reappeared in seconds. He looked down and nodded his head.
“Get those doughnut bags to secure Tom. He’s going to change into one of those things. You copy?”
“Yes sir.”
I couldn’t hear Lewis shouting, but I could tell he was chewing ass—good man. Earn those stripes, kid. I stole another glance behind me and saw the big twins cuffing Tom. About time.
“Lewis!”
“Yes sir.”
“Get your helmet back on so I don’t have to shout so much!”
Lewis reappeared a second later with a flight helmet. “Can you hear me better now?” I asked.
“Good. Now open the hatch and throw Tom out.”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me again, Devil Dog! You want to be a Leatherneck, start fucking following the hard orders. Open the hatch and get the twins back there to toss his ass out of my helo. Do it now!”
“Yes sir.”
“Hey, you two!” He shouted. I could hear him through his radio. “Pick him up and out he goes.”
I felt the whoosh of air from the hatch opening. “Come on! Now! Get this dude out of here!”
“Tell them you’ll shoot them if they don’t help you,” I shouted.
“Sir, they won’t budge.”
“Shoot one in the knee then! That man has to get off this aircraft now.”
“Get up!” Lewis shouted. “Okay, fine then.” I heard a pop from the back. Bullets won’t harm this old girl. A tank would have to fire at us to put a dent in the armor. The president gets the good stuff. “They’re moving now, sir.”
I heard the same struggle as with the secret service. Not again. Lewis screamed into the headset. I flicked the autopilot and looked back. No one was in the passenger area.
Up Next…The Rock
ets’ Red Glare
PART 7
The Rockets’ Red Glare
An open door means a lot more two thousand feet up than it does on the ground. It isn’t normally a good thing up here.
“Major! Major, help!” I squeezed through the pilot and co-pilot chairs and stepped over to the open hatch. Lewis held on to the railing, his feet dangling in the black night air. I grabbed the safety line and reached down to clip it on his belt. It snapped home. I reached down. “Grab my hand!” Gusts of air whipped us from above as the five rotor blades chopping the air created a terrible wind.
He reached out. I bent as low as I could go without falling. Our fingers touched. I lunged, feeling muscles scream in my back and hips. His hand met mine. I squeezed hard enough to break his bones and pulled. He grunted. Fear lashed his eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks. I’d seen that look a million times before. He thought he was about to die.
“Not today, Marine!” I barked. “Pull yourself UP!” Gunny Gomez, the toughest drill instructor in OCS, channeled through my body. “Pull yourself up, damn it!” My arms shook. My palm gushed sweat, cooling in the smoky night air. I growled, willing new strength into my wrists and shoulder. Lewis rose a few inches. He kicked at the top stair. He missed. He tried again. His boot found the bottom step. He rose another few inches. I gave one last heave and he flew up the stairs onto the grimy carpet. His gasps for air crackled over the radio.
“You okay?”
“Yes sir.” His words were wrapped in shock and pain.
I looked him up and down. No blood—good. I pulled the hatch shut and jumped back into the pilot’s seat. “Good-bye, D.C. See you in the next world.”
The presidential helicopter is equipped with a watered-down version of the hundred-million-dollar-comms system on Air Force One. As the pilot, I have to know how to use it. I started calling out on both open and encrypted channels. We had to raise one of the two aircraft carriers out of Norfolk. If we didn’t, I’d have to put down in God knows where, in God knows what sort of situation.
We had the added complication of every major U.S. city about to be nuked into oblivion in less than one hour. Precious communication relay equipment would be destroyed. The military communication grid would be dark. We’d be on our own. Fuck that.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is Major Charles Brielander of HMX 1, trying to reach any U.S. vessels in the Atlantic theater. Come in.” Nothing.
“Anybody rogering up?” Lewis asked. I kind of wanted to slap the kid with that one. You’d think he would be a little more intuitive. I’ll tell your little ass when I get someone on the phone. In the meantime, shut up. “No, not yet.” I said. I pulled back on the stick, taking us up to 14,000 feet.
I turned for a direct line for the Atlantic. Ocean City, Maryland was the last major city between us the water. We’d have to land there if the boats didn’t answer up. Hey, there were worse places to watch the greatest fireworks show in history. We’d be there in about thirty minutes. They were far away from any part of the target package, not big enough. I put the throttle to full and we put as much distance between us and D.C. as possible.
Lewis dropped next to me. “So what happened back there?” I asked.
“We almost had him out the door when he broke the handcuffs and grabbed Sheldon. He fell out and Sheldon grabbed Shawn. Shawn grabbed me. And I…”
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” I said. “Mayday, Mayday, this is Major Charles Brielander of HMX 1, trying to reach any U.S. vessels in the Atlantic theater. Come in.” Strike two. Forty-five minutes to doomsday.
We were over the Chesapeake Bay, and the smoke from the cities had cleared. Ocean City and the Atlantic lay dead ahead. I saw the stars for the first time in days. The black ocean ahead reminded me of the zombie blood that flaked away behind me.
At our altitude, we would be able to see about one hundred and fifty miles in all directions. That’s if the sun was up and the skies clear. The sun was about to descend on eight or nine cities up and down the east coast. It would rise over Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas, Houston, LA, and probably twenty others. I couldn’t think about that now. I had to know where we were going to set down.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is Major Charles Brielander of HMX 1, call sign Chuck Wagon, trying to reach any U.S. vessels in the Atlantic theater. Come in.” Strike three.
A crackle, a buzz. “Come in, Chuck Wagon. We see you on radar. This is the USS Reagan, over.” The signal was faint. There might have been voices in the background.
“Reagan, glad to hear your voice. What is your location? Over.” Lewis finally relaxed and smiled hearing the control tower.
“We are seventy-five miles east, southeast of your location. Adjust course to one, one, seven, over.”
“What is your situation, Reagan? We’ve had a hell of a time, over.”
“No infected onboard. You and your crew will have to be quarantined once you land, over.”
“Fair enough. Oh, and by the way, the entire east coast and most major cities are twenty minutes away from being nuked back to the stone-age.” I let him wait for a beat. “Over.”
“Say again, Chuck Wagon.”
“The president authorized a nuclear response to the threats. I can brief your CO when we land, over.”
“Copy that, Chuck Wagon. We’ll keep the light on for you, over.”
I turned to bearing 117. I hoped that we’d be out of the nuclear shockwaves, but there was no point in worrying. My future was now inevitable no matter how much I worried. We crossed land over to ocean. Even though I knew we still had the option of turning back, it felt like we had crossed the Rubicon, no going back. Fifteen minutes to nuclear impact.
“Lewis.”
“Yes sir.”
“A couple if things. One, don’t look back toward the mainland anymore. If you look at the initial blast, you’ll go blind. After the big flash, it will be okay to open your eyes. We’ve got about thirteen minutes, but no taking chances, okay?”
“Yes sir.”
“Two, we’re about to land on an aircraft carrier. I’ll try to clear this with the captain, you acting like a Marine and all, but don’t go trying to fool these guys. Ok? It would be a shame if they stab you on the flight deck for impersonating one of their own. Just keep your mouth shut and salute officers until I talk to them. You’re okay in my book, but they don’t know that yet.”
“Yes sir.”
The carrier started to blink on my radar. Our new home for who knows how long.
“Reagan, come in.”
“Go ahead, Chuck Wagon.”
“You got a spot for me to park?”
He was laughing. “Roger that, Chuck Wagon. The yellow shirts are on deck and standing by on the aft runway to guide you in.”
“Chuck Wagon copies all.” Two minutes.
The night sky turned to day. Behind us thousands of megatons of nuclear energy laid waste to millions of infected, ravenous people. Men, women, and children perished in more heat than the surface of the sun. I prayed the wife and kids were already dead, painlessly. At that moment, I knew I’d never see them again. Good-bye, good-bye, I love you all.
I closed my eyes as soon as I saw the night sky evaporate into white light. I tensed up in my seat. I’d been told the math behind nuclear shock waves at Annapolis, but who the hell remembers that shit twenty years later? We were one hundred and twenty miles from D.C. and hauling ass. Come on baby, move, move, move.
One hundred and thirty miles from D.C., it hit us. It felt like a tank shot us right in the ass. Our heads snapped back against the seats. Lewis screamed. I growled. My teeth hurt as they rattled in my skull. Pain shot up my spinal column as it smashed into the unforgiving seat. I wanted to just explode to make the crushing forces stop torturing me.
The console lit up like a slot machine. Alarms screamed. The aircraft jolted to the left and spun us around one hundred and eighty degrees. I saw the mainland. Time froze as I witnessed columns of hellfire shooting up from the land. Th
e sun wasn’t due up for several hours, but I could see the land as if it were noon. From D.C. to Boston I saw bright red plumes of fire reaching twenty or thirty miles into the sky. Radioactive smoke curled around the columns like ghastly tentacles. Smoke and debris shot up and out to form the signature mushroom clouds, hundreds of times lager than the ones we dropped on Japan.
A second wave hit. This one was smaller. It swept under the aircraft like a bout of turbulence. We shot up into the air to sixteen thousand feet, well above our operational ceiling. Any higher and the rotor wouldn’t be able to give us lift. We ran the risk of dropping out of the sky.
The craft responded. Hydraulics and elevation controls worked. I eased off the throttle and coasted back down to 14,000 feet. Praying for the shockwaves to stop, I turned back to our original bearing and made for the carrier.
“Oh, shit! Hey kid, you okay?” I asked Lewis, whacking him on the shoulder. “You still alive? Not many people get to say they lived though that.” I turned to look at Lewis. He slumped in his seat.
“Hey, Lewis! Lewis?” I shook his shoulder. I turned his head. He stared ahead with vacant eyes. I noticed a bruise under his chin. The shockwave had snapped his neck.
Up Next…Closure
EPILOGUE
Closure
The captain of the Reagan, Admiral Wallace, made me sit in quarantine for two weeks before I was able to move about the ship. I had insisted they bury Lewis at sea like a real Marine. I stripped him of his ID and threw it out the window before I landed. They asked where his dog tags were and I made up some BS about a zombie grabbing them and having to cut them. He died as a Marine. He wanted that, I guess. That’s what he got.
The crew on the carrier hadn’t seen any of the outbreak aside from news and military briefs. I was their only first-hand source of the nightmare. I must have told the story about President Kline a hundred times. Some people thought it was cool that I was there when the nukes were launched. Some just gawked at me like I was an ugly, yet rare animal at the zoo. I guess it was hard for them to imagine I was real.