The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval

by Jason Kristopher

  The ride to the terminal was rough, with potholes and cracks that even the vaunted landing gear of the C-5M Super Galaxy couldn’t entirely overcome, and as they taxied to a stop, there were smiles all around.

  Shaw once again spoke over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please wait until your captain has turned off the nonsmoking and fasten seatbelt signs before moving around the cabin. Also, since there could be walkers out there, you might let the military folks secure the area first.” The laughter he heard coming from the rear compartment was a welcome surprise. There hadn’t been much to laugh about for the last four years.

  “Major, I think you should see this,” said Lopez from his post at one of the side windows.

  “What is it? Are there wal—” Shaw broke off as he gaped at the scene outside, though only for a moment. He raced for the intercom once more. “Crew, secure all exits and arm yourselves. We’ve got company.”

  “Major! They’re headed right for us!” said Evans, pointing out the main cockpit window.

  Shaw looked just in time to see the crowd of starving, hysterical people rush the airplane. One younger man wasn’t paying enough attention and stepped a little too close to one of the huge plane’s spinning turbines, and was instantly sucked inside. Shaw turned away, wanting to vomit, when there came a loud clanging from the belly of the plane, and more than a few shouts drifted up.

  “All right, everyone, arm yourselves. And Evans, turn off the engines,” he said, moving to the box mounted on the wall and inserting his key. He passed out pistols to the others, and took the last one for himself, then climbed down the ladder into the main cargo area. The scientists were all yelling in the passenger compartment, the clanging kept going on and on, and he finally saw his loadmaster, Charlie Keith, approach him.

  “What the hell is going on, Charlie? What’s that noise?”

  “The banging, sir? That’s the crowd of folks outside, trying to get in. They’re all screaming for us to take them with us.”

  “Take them where? We don’t have any fuel!” Shaw saw Keith flinch, and softened his tone. “Never mind, Charlie. Thanks. Are all the doors secure?”

  “Tight as a drum, sir. No one’s getting in here without your say-so.”

  “Good man.” Shaw turned to face the volunteers from McMurdo, all fifteen of them, who had come down into the cargo area. Apparently, they’d decided to see what was going on for themselves. “Gentlemen and ladies, please!” he said, trying to quiet them. I might as well have whispered, he thought, for all the good that did. Clearly, it’s going to take a more direct method.

  He climbed up on one of the cargo pallets, grabbing a spare gas canister on the way. He then began beating the metal canister against a support strut, creating a gong-like sound that put everyone’s teeth on edge. It had no effect on the crowd outside, but it did quiet everyone inside the plane. Once they’d stopped yelling, he tossed the canister down to Fraser, who caught the dented can and stowed it away again.

  “Thank you for your attention. As you may be aware, that sound is a crowd of starving, crazed refugees pounding on the plane for us to let them in, and take them… well, anywhere, I imagine. Anywhere but here. Clearly, we can’t do that. We’re here on a mission and we need to see it through. I’d rather not kill anyone if I don’t have to, but if it’s us or them, then I choose them. I need your help, though, and this crap is not helping.”

  “They’ll tear us to pieces if we go out there!” came a voice from the crowd.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But you’re safe in here for the moment, and that’s where we’re all going to stay until I have a better idea of what’s going on. So stretch your legs, look outside if you want, but no one is to open any doors. Understood?”

  He waited until everyone was nodding, and then climbed back down, calling his men over and speaking quietly. “Since the plane is surrounded, we’re going to go up top and take a look from there. Keith, Evans, you stay here and secure the hold. Don’t let anyone open those doors. Put them down if you have to.”

  “Put them down, sir?” asked Evans, miming a gun to the head.

  “No, you bloodthirsty bastard. What’s wrong with you? Knock them out. All right, let’s go.”

  Shaw, Fraser and Lopez climbed up to the cockpit, then opened the emergency hatch and climbed out onto the roof of the plane. At over thirty feet up, it was a bit dizzying for anyone not expecting it. Fraser shook his head a bit, and Shaw put an arm on his shoulder.

  “You all right, son?”

  “I’ll be fine, sir. Just a little bit of vertigo. It never happens when I fly, sir. Dunno why.”

  The pilots and engineer spread out, looking at the mob of people around the plane. There had to be at least fifty of them, none older than about forty years old, and none younger than fifteen or so. Shaw wondered why that would be, but didn’t have time to consider it for long. He could feel the vibration of the pounding fists of the people below, even here, so far above them. They were desperate, obviously starved and crazed.

  I can only imagine the horrors these people have seen, that they’ve lived through, he thought. What would I look like, four years later, I wonder?

  “They seem to be clustered around the doors on either side. Hardly any are near the back ramp,” he said, pointing. Fraser nodded.

  “There’s none around the front, either, Major.”

  The C-5 Galaxy was an unusual airplane, in that it had two loading/off-loading ramps and opened on both ends, allowing for any sort of cargo, including M-1 Abrams main battle tanks, which no one in their right mind ever backed up. Shaw was doubtful. “You think we can open the back ramp, get out, and close it again fast enough that no one gets inside?”

  “Sure. If I deactivate the safeties, we can close it as we’re leaving. Wait til the last minute, sir.” said Fraser.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Major, but there’s no point,” said Lopez.

  “No point? What do you mean?”

  “Take a look,” Lopez said, handing a pair of binoculars to the major.

  “Definitely. What am I looking at?”

  Lopez pointed toward the terminal. “The terminal, sir.”

  Shaw raised the binocs and looked where Lopez pointed, on some level afraid of what he’d see. “I don’t see anything, Lopez.”

  “Keep looking, sir. Look at the doors.”

  Shaw focused on the doors, and all of the sudden it hit him. “They’re all boarded up. All of them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So it doesn’t matter how fast we can close the ramp, that mob will be on us before we can get in the terminal.” Shaw handed the binocs back to Lopez, who continued to scan the area.

  “Well, not necessarily, sir,” said Fraser. “I mean, these people had to come from somewhere. They weren’t just hanging around the tarmac.”

  “Hmmm, good point. Did either of you see what direction they came from?”

  Lopez thought for a moment. “I think so, sir. I’m pretty sure they came from around the corner of that jetway, there. Which makes sense, really, now that I see it from here. That would be the door farthest from the front of the main building, which is where all the walkers are.” He paused, and Shaw looked around.

  “What is it, Lopez?”

  Lopez lowered the binocs. “We just can’t catch a break, can we?”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” Shaw repeated.

  “Have a look, sir, toward the main building.” Lopez handed him back the binocs.

  Some sixth sense told Shaw what he would see when he raised them to his face, so he was somewhat less than surprised to see a herd of approaching walkers. “They must’ve heard our arrival, the noise from the engines. Got them all riled up.” He shifted the binoculars to the mob around the plane, noticing that none of them appeared to be aware of the walkers approach. “And they’ve got no idea…”

  He handed the binoculars back to Lopez, and then moved down the aircraft’s roof toward the rear of the plane. Shaw then carefully moved out
onto the right wing, where he could see the walkers coming to his right and the mob below. Laying flat on its surface, he crawled toward the leading edge. He was surprised when he felt a hand around his ankle, and looked back, only to see Fraser braced to pull him back.

  “Just in case, sir. After all, it is a long way down.”

  Shaw grinned and turned back toward the front of the wing, where he could just see the mob below him.

  “Walkers are coming!” he yelled, but none of the people on the ground so much as turned their head. The noise they were making was drawing the walkers right to them. “Be quiet! You’ll bring them down on all of us!”

  “I don’t think they can hear you, sir,” said Fraser, behind him.

  Shaw grimaced and pulled his pistol, firing a single shot into the air. Several people in the crowd screamed, but more than one looked around, finally spotting him on the wing. As soon as he saw them looking, he pointed toward the oncoming horde of zombies.

  “They’re coming! Walkers!”

  Several of the mob turned to look where he was pointing, then took off running, but not directly away from the walkers, as he would’ve expected. Instead, they were headed for the terminal and around the jetway they’d been talking about earlier… and, as Shaw realized, safety. As more of them realized the danger, they too began running, leaving only a few who were unaware, or uncaring of the danger.

  “Pull me back, Fraser,” said Shaw, crawling backwards as the other pilot helped him. They both stood and quickly trotted back to the front of the plane and the emergency hatch, crouching to lower their centers of gravity and prevent accidental falls. “How many of them are there, Lopez?”

  Lopez snorted. “More than we can handle, sir.”

  “All right, get that front cargo door open. Fraser, grab our supplies and then help him with that. I’ll get the volunteers ready to move out.” The pilots climbed back down into the main cargo area, with Fraser and Lopez making a detour to the crew bunks for their packs and supplies. The volunteers were talking, but everyone went quiet as Shaw arrived.

  “OK, here’s what we’re going to do. There are walkers approaching our position, and we don’t have time to unload like we thought we would.” He raised his voice over the sound of the front cargo door opening. “We’re going to grab our gear and rations and make a run for it. Charlie, unlock the door on the port side; there’s no one on that side. Don’t open it, just unlock it so we can get back in when we need to.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the loadmaster, moving over to the port service door.

  “Perdón, señor,” said Arturo. “But why do we not just leave through the small door? Or better yet, just stay here?”

  “We’re about to be swarmed by walkers, Mr. Onevás—do you want to end up besieged by them or do you want to join forces with the only other human beings in this place? Now, we don’t have any more time. Everyone grab all the supplies you can carry and follow us. We’ll come back for the rest later. Fraser, you’re on point. Evans, rear. Keith and Lopez, flanks. Keep the civs in the middle. Evans, when most of us are clear, hit the close on the cargo door and get the hell out.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Everyone began grabbing bags, boxes or whatever they could carry from the pallets of supplies that the team had brought with them. Fortunately, most already had their personal gear in packs on their back. They moved quickly, streaming down the ramp, and saw not only the last of the mob running for the terminal, but the walkers closing in on both the plane and the fleeing people.

  “Go, let’s go, let’s go!” shouted Shaw, running alongside the volunteers. He saw Evans hit the door close button and jump through the gap as the ramp began to close. “Don’t fire unless you have to, we don’t want to draw any more of them.”

  The group moved out in a ragged diamond formation, the pilots and crew protecting the civilians as they all raced for their only hope of survival.

  I just hope they let us in, thought Shaw.

  There was the crack of a gunshot, and Shaw looked to his right, seeing Lopez catching up. A walker lay about twenty feet away, the vivid dark red of its clotted blood sprayed across the abandoned luggage car behind it. The nearest other walker wasn’t within pistol range, but nevertheless he shouted for the group to move faster. As they turned the corner of the terminal, he glanced back and saw the nose of his plane had settled into place.

  At least the supplies will be safe, if we can get back out to them.

  The group came around the corner, and he saw nothing but boarded windows and doorways. No escape, no hideaway from the encroaching walkers. “They’ve disappeared, sir,” said Fraser. “Dammit!”

  “Not exactly, sir,” said Keith, pointing to a doorway in a shadowed corner. The door opened slightly and shut again, and again, as though someone couldn’t quite keep it closed.

  “Move, people!” shouted Shaw, and the group took off for the door, with another crack coming from behind them.

  “We need to move now, sir!” yelled Evans. “We’ve got company, and lots of it. Forty feet and closing, sir!”

  They somehow moved even faster, Shaw outdistancing even the strongest of the runners to arrive at the door first, grabbing the edge and pulling with all his might. There was a grunt and a shout from inside, and the door was nearly jerked out of his hands. “We’re human, dammit!” he shouted. “Let us in! We have food and medicine!”

  Keith arrived next, and with the help of one of the larger volunteers, they began to inch the door open further. Fraser and Evans took up guard positions at the rear, with Lopez keeping everyone back from the door. Suddenly, Shaw saw the barrel of a rifle poke through the doorway, and shouted. “No, wait! We’re not—”

  The blast was loud, but it didn’t stop him from seeing Fraser spin around, his chest exploding away as the bullet punched through him. Shaw yelled wordlessly and grabbed the rifle, yanking it and the man holding it through the door. The man stumbled and fell against the terminal wall with a cry, and Shaw heard his ankle break. He had no sympathy for the man, however, and as Keith and the volunteer managed to get the door open wide enough, Shaw turned and fired a shot in the air, scaring away the refugees who’d been trying to hold it closed. They ran into the darkness, disappearing.

  “Everyone, inside, now!” Shaw yelled.

  Multiple shots came from the rearguard, and Shaw turned to find Evans standing over the body of his friend, two pistols in his hands, shooting down walkers John Woo-style. “That includes you, Mr. Evans!”

  “I won’t leave him, sir!”

  Shaw ran over to him, grabbing his arm. “He’s dead, Lieutenant! And we will be too if we don’t go, now!” Shaw released the young man’s arm and fired a shot at an approaching walker, dropping it. “Move, Lieutenant!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  They ran back for the door. The rest of the group had by this time entered, and Keith was waiting to shut the door. He fired a shot over their shoulders as they blew past him, taking out yet another walker, and then slammed the door hard, and held on.

  “Secure that door!” yelled Shaw as he looked over the volunteers. A quick glance around revealed that the refugees were still nowhere to be seen.

  Lopez moved to the door, pulling a small toolkit from his belt as the walkers outside began pounding on the door. There was an all-too-brief high-pitched scream as the walkers caught up to the man who’d killed Fraser. A minute went by, then two, and then the door was finally locked and secure. Meanwhile, Shaw had verified the count of the volunteers. All fifteen had made it, and they had a good stock of supplies.

  Shaw looked around the room, noting the broken light fixtures, scattered and broken tables and chairs, three snack machines—empty, naturally—and a door-less refrigerator. A break room, probably for tarmac personnel.

  Could be worse, he thought.

  “Fraser, Evans…” Shaw said, then stopped, sighing, as he realized he’d called out a dead man’s name. “Evans, Keith, secure a perimeter. Make sure those craz
ies don’t come back for us. If they’re hiding anywhere nearby, you find ‘em and flush them out. They’re not going to be happy we killed their buddy.”

  “They killed Fraser, sir!” said Lopez, racking a new mag in his weapon, looking like death incarnate. “I say we hunt them down and kill every last fucking one of them.”

  “We can’t do that, Lopez. We’ll need them; they’re the closest thing we’ve got to intel on this place and what’s happened here. Speaking of intel, see if you can find a terminal map, or better yet, a blueprint or layout of the whole airport. We need to see where we’re at and what we’re dealing with.”

  “But, sir,” said Lopez.

  Shaw moved to within inches of the other man. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  Lopez didn’t meet his eyes. “Nothin,’ sir.”

  Shaw didn’t rub his nose in it, just turned to look at the volunteers and Mr. Onevás as his men moved off to their assigned tasks. “Arturo, I need you to give me a detailed list of what we managed to take from the plane, and how long our supplies will last. Once we have that, then we can figure out just what to do next.”

  Arturo nodded and began giving orders to his people.

  Well, Bill, thought Shaw. This is a fine pickle you’ve got yourself into. Where do we go from here? He shook his head and left the breakroom, peering through the darkness down a long hallway. Nothing but dust floating through the thin beams of light that made it through the cracks in the boards.

  Where, indeed?

  A short time later, Lopez returned to the breakroom. “I’ve got something, sir, but you’re not going to like it,” he said.

  Shaw sighed. “Of course not. It couldn’t be good news, could it? For once? Just a slight chance?”

  Lopez shook his head. “Not even a little good news, sir. I did find a terminal map in one of the offices that shows the non-public spaces, and I went upstairs to take a look.”