by D G Leigh
“I'm not going anywhere without my family.” Knelt beside the two girls. The SEALs would have a fight on their hands if they tried, that'd be over before it began!
“Don't expect you to Mr.Harris. No switching labels this time. There's a plane landing at Bradshaw Airfield. Our mission is to get you all on that transport.” Checked his watch. “Shame to let this food go to waste. We've still got time for breakfast and I promised Susan ice-cream.”
“What's the rest of the world like? Are we winning?” Should be! Leslie had won his undead encounters with little resources at his disposal, how were the big boys holding up? “Who's got Eugene's sample rock?”
The greatest enemy any nation had fought. “Your radio transmission seems valid. Zak can't torrent extreme cold. Globally there's pockets of survivors at different altitudes. Might have something to do with air density? As for the red algae it hasn't made an incursion over the 700 northern or 600 southern parallels? It's holding back, if that's possible? Can a plant be intelligent? Every piece of land in-between is slowly being encrusted under a light absorbing gargantuan canopy. That rock of yours is on its way to a laboratory thanks to Susan. She's the bravest kid I know.”
“She sure is.” Jo for the first time since being reunited left Susan's side and confronted Biehn personally. Not a wise move to go toe to toe with a SEAL commander. “How big is the rescue plane?”
“I don't know?” Biehn wasn't expecting that question. “Big enough to fly from the mainland and return. I'd imagine mid-air refuelling capabilities if your final destination is Antarctica?”
“Antarctica! I can build a snowman?” Susan excited. The prospect of our planet succumbing completely to the undead never truly registered with her infant mind, adults always sorted out problems – this was just another problem. From Susan's prospective of a war, like the War on Terror only much easier because the strangers weren't armed.
“Isolated. Far from the algae's comfort zone. Population only a few thousand scientists on a landmass twice the size of Australia and all the penguins you can eat. An average elevation of two kilometres though ninety-nine percent of the research stations are all low level spitting distance of the shoreline apart from Amundsen-Scott base plum centre. It's night from six months of the year. That'll kept the biters at bay.”
Jo's chances of being left alone with Leslie gone. “Then there's plenty of space for any Onizuka survivors.”
Not up for discussion. “Flew over it on the way here. Checked it out. That's our guys down there too. It's a tomb. Crawling with Zak.”
“You flew over it?”
“Low enough to see through the windows. Not pretty.” Didn't go into gory details in front of Susan. “Nobody left inside.”
“You did what?” Leslie rose to grab his flamethrower. Ward and Remar blocked him. “Do you know what you've done?” The SEALs none the wiser. “They're coming. Haven't you noticed they don't surround the other buildings. Somehow sense where we are. Tracked us from Hilo to Stanswick's underground bunker.” The increasing warmth of dawn fast approaching. “You've dangled a carrot in front of them and now they going to storm here in their thousands.” The complex couldn't withstand a barrage from those numbers. “They'll going to be arriving here anytime soon.”
The SEALs had seen this before at Mt.Ka'ala's FAA tracking station. Leslie read the unspoken conversation between Biehn and his unit.
Biehn activated his headset comms. “Ferguson, Jennings. You hearing this?”
“Everything.” Cowling wide open Ferguson elbow deep in grease.
Jennings poised on the M-60 gunnery mount. “No new activity but we're sitting on a crest I can't see below the fall. They could be right on us?”
“What's our engine status?”
“Still down to one. Total pig's ear. That stuff got everywhere. Some sort of corrosives sap. It's continuing to eat away components. It's much worst than I first thought.”
Biehn grinded his teeth. “Tell me we've still got a working bird?”
“She'll limp to the airfield with what we've got. It won't be pretty.”
“I'm not asking for aerobatics. Band-aid her up. We're on our way back.” Addressed the room. “We're going to Bradshaw. The transporter is inbound. We'll land nearer and wait somewhere safe.”
--- Six ---
From the base of the ladder a passage lead into a featureless chamber that had no other propose than to house the steel blast door separating them from whatever laid beyond. Fontaine's men very uncomfortable being trapped in a dead end room.
“My voice is my password.” Fontaine repeated three times.
“Confirmed.” A computerized female voice declared in a fabricated emotional tone.
The sound of a huge locking mechanism uncoupled. Another airtight seal vented as the thick door effortlessly swung open on multiple hinged arms. Lights flickered on beckoning them forward into a quarantine airlock holding cell. Mirrored viewing windows, three rows of benches and a saloon walled toilet.
“Wait here while we process you.” Fem-com announced. The vault door pressurized shut behind them. Decontamination scrubbers cycled the air.
Paxton low on patients voiced his frustration. None of them bitten by the infected. “Open up bitch!”
The Fem-com unoffended by his comments or harassment, polite as programmed. She'd all the time in the world until her nuclear reactor depleted. “Please place all items in the bay.” A hidden drawer slid out from the smooth wall. “Clothing should be removed and disposed off in the incinerator.” A second wall panel flapped open. No privacy for mixed sexes.
“Even my underwear?” Ross asked the Fem-com, no fixed point of direct reference. Spoke to the ceiling.
“They mean all of it doc!” Stark naked Paxton saluted the window. “Privates on paraded, ma'am.” Men of war didn't mind losing their clothing but parting was their weapons was another matter altogether.
“Give it a rest Paxton. There's nobody there. It's all automated.” McCormick wanted a quiet life.
“I don't like waiting for sloppy seconds. I want in.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” Fem-com unlocked the next section. “Please proceed through the showers.” No escaping the stinging deluged. Single file width passage ringed top to bottom with powerful shower jets. So much water that you felt the need to hold your breath.
“Bio-chemical rinses. Bet they ain't heated!” Unusual words spoken by tough hombres. Paxton continued whining.
Each soldier's body scarred from countless exchanges with enemy troops. Fontaine's side and back disfigured, burnt from an explosion, a medal for courage he can never remove.
“I wonder what's behind door number three?” Taking the full high pressured force on his chest Paxton stepped straight in without hesitation. Vanished in the mist. Over the hissing hoses you could hear him humming.
“You're about to lose twenty pounds in weight Dr.King.” Fontaine glanced over his shoulder at Ross covered in woodland crud.
“One must cross the turbulent water's of Styx to reach the Gates of Hades.” Ross quoted. Held his open palm in the pounding flow. “Are we at Hell's boundary?” Waited for an answer.
“For once Hell is above us.” Compassion in Fontaine's voice as false as the programmed Fem-com's tone.
--- Seven---
Thousands of Zaks with what little residual memory they'd left instinctively followed the track leading to Mauna Kea's summit. Exertion having no effect on their pace. These creatures never tired. An endless tide searching to consume the living.
The band of survivors exited Keck from the telescope's dome inspection door. The elevated position gave a commanding view. “We've got company.” Rising black sunrise of an undead horde broke over the horizon. During his service Biehn had unfortunately witnessed countless atrocities committed by mankind's worst but never had a sight chilled him to his core as much as this.
Pre-fight checks already in the bag Ferguson started up the single running engine. Everybody pile
d into the bay. Hearts skipped a beat waiting for the ignition to spark. Fardip took his co-pilot seat, added with the getting them airborne quicker.
“Hurry!” Jennings informed Ferguson of the dread.
Ferguson didn't look up from his instruments. “I know!” The engine remained dormant. “Batteries cold!”
Jennings wasn't kidding. “I mean it!”
“What do you want me to do, get out and blow?” Ferguson had enough on his plate without answering questions. “Gotta wait for the glow. If we start too soon it won't ignite and we'll have to restart.” Flashes from the corner of Ferguson's eye, grotesque shapes closing in. Didn't what to check just how close. He'll get everyone skyward just as soon as his bird allowed it. “Almost there!”
Blades stated rotating, slowly gaining momentum. Jennings opened fire at the first glimpse of a head above the roof's edge. “They're on us.” The rate of fire quicker than Zak could hurdle. Plugged the bottle neck ladder with lead. The linked ammo belt rapidly diminished. Jennings didn't need to count to know he's close to spending the high capacity feed.
Zak now able to clamber over blasted body parts of their kin piling up beneath. Breaching the roof at multiple points.
“Here they come.” Co-pilot Fardip slid his window nook open, poked his M-4 out. Took down as many as he could, cartridge shells pinging about the cockpit.
Rotors at full strength. Impossible to hear Ferguson's confirmation over gunshots but all felt the sensation in the pit of their stomachs, mixed with fear and relief as they rose into the air leaving Zak below.
Warning lights everywhere lit up the console. Both Ferguson's hands clasped the stick.
“Thought we had one good engine?” Fardip not as experience as Ferguson, probably would've never got them off the pad. Carried on assisting with the controls Ferguson couldn't reach.
The floundering Blackhawk able to take the direct route to Bradshaw, down the volcano's west side chasm. Pursuing Zaks plummeted hundreds of metres over the cliff's edge. “We ain't flying.” The chopper losing more height than forward distance. “We're going to dig in hard before reaching the airfield.”
Biehn patched into a new radio link. “This is Bathtub do you read me Golden Ladder over?”
“Roger, Bathtub.” The Boeing C-40D pilot acknowledged the communication. “We're in a holding pattern.”
“Clearance code 01-4-55.”
“Confirmed.” The pilot conferred with his co-pilot how fast they could get wheels down. “We're ten minutes inbound. Intel shows compound heavily overrun. We'll approach runway 27. Wait at the far end away from the barracks. Don't spot tea!”
Ferguson doubtful. “Negative! We're be lucky to make the main gate.” Engine sputtering. The ground grew closer.
Leslie interrupted. “No need to enter the base at all. Part of Saddle road runs parallel. It's straight and in fact twice the length of the runway. Drag raced there when I was a kid. No street lights either. A metre high roadside rail with an additional two metre high perimeter fence around Bradshaw. There's enough width for you to land.”
“Who is this?” The Boeing pilot demanded. “We're not day tripping a Cessna! I won't endanger my crew or this aircraft.”
“I'm Leslie Harris! Your passenger!”
“None of this matters.” Ferguson spoke over them all. “We're outta luck. Brace! Brace!”
The last thing the Boeing Captain heard before the link became dull static was an almighty impact.
--- Eight ---
“Take only what we need to reach the jet. Rifle and ammo. Slash and dash tactics.” Biehn already organizing his men whilst still inside the Blackhawk's twisted wreckage. His clothing singed from where it'd caught fire.
Blackhawks built for the battlefield engineered and design for survivable crashes, pilots cost a lot to train. Susan, Jo and Leslie slowly regained their senses after being pulled free of the smashed chopper. Everybody cut and bleeding. Jennings had a broken arm that he didn't have time to worry about, handed out extra ammo cartridges to his combatants.
Biehn placed a pistol in both the civilians hands. “You know how to use this these?” Still partly dazed Leslie and Jo nodded. “Good, don't! We're keep you covered. Stay in the middle of our diamond formation. Don't look back just keep running for the jet no matter what. We'll do the rest.”
“You think it's still coming?”
“It'll be there.” Biehn tapped his headset. “Golden Ladder we're beating feet. Say again. Beating feet.”
“What about me?” Susan asked. “Do I get another gun?”
“Another?” Jo ejected.
“Not this time.” Biehn tried to make light of their dire situation. “You're riding piggyback.” The SEAL crouched. “Hop on small fry.”
Sounds that we take for granted everyday become hypersensitive to our ears when we pick them up for the first time in forever. The unmistakable roar of engine thrust sustaining tonnes of metal in the flight. The aircraft incredibly low. In order to get lined up with Saddle road the rapidly descending Boeing banked sharply over Bradshaw barracks. The pilot's main concern of which he had many, obstructions blocking his path – this was a highway after all. Committed now to touch down.
Biehn's headset squawked to life. The Boeing's technician voice came over broken. As much interference as words. “Bathtub, can --- hear me? --- in time.”
No way to boost the signal, good job they were close. “Receiving, over?”
The technician continued. “Head for --- of ---. I'll --- --- emergency ---.”
The whole valley thundered with full reverse thrust engaged as the Boeing C-40D touched down adding to the difficultly of hearing both externally and through the earpiece. “Say again? Head where?” The SEALs already on the move, realistically only once place to go! Travelling as fast as the slowest person among them, Jo. Her injured leg from Eugene's C-4 bomb had opened up from the crash.
“Tail sect---n. ---mergency ladder.”
The highest concentration of undead around the ransacked compound. Between the crash site and the road an exposed shallow incline. The massive jet mesmerized Zak's attention, every last one of them. Tracking its trajectory their momentary goalless minds spotted the SEAL team diagonally transversing Mauna Kea. The horrid infused with purpose ultimately surged to intercept.
--- Nine ---
The Captain re-positioned the flaps. Came to a halt with plenty of highway left. Kept the plane at tipping point for immediate take-off with just a notch forward of throttle.
Though three metres above the tarmac the technician curiously opened the rear cabin door. His pistol holstered on a shoulder strap. Leant out of the rear hatch relaid information to his Captain. “Five hundred metres directly behind us. They're injured.”
“Infected?”
Hard to tell in the dawn's light. The sun cresting the rim of the world. Certainly weren't moving as fast as they should with undead leagues closing behind. “What's wrong? Move it.” The technician's comm linked to Biehn. None of them needing encouragement.
Shooting on the run. Blam – Blam double tap accurate shots to the head SEALs took down stray Zaks between them and the plane. “Walking wounded.”
Zak would be upon the soldiers well before they'd reach the aircraft. “They're not going make it.”
“Understood.” The Captain woefully acknowledged. Increased the twin engines revs.
Biehn felt the force of heated air on his face. Tasted fuel in his mouth. “God damn you, wait! We're almost there.”
“I'm slowing you all down.” Jo admitted. “Leave me.” Slowed, fell to her knees. Pressed the pistol to her temple. Wouldn't miss, instant and clean.
Susan wailed against Biehn's back. “Mummy!” Stretched out her tiny hand as Jo gave up.
“Are you f**king crazy?” Leslie couldn't believe what she was intending to do. The Boeing less than two hundred metres away. “You can make it.”
The C-40 Captain broadcast his attentions over everybody's headset. “Batte
n down the hatches. I'm powering up the engines.”
“Stop running.” Biehn yelled. “Hit the deck.” Ordered his squad.
Leslie didn't care what Biehn was saying. Turned back to prevent Jo committing suicide. Jennings, even with a broken arm, football tackled him to the ground, pinned Leslie there. The pair exchanged glances then weapons. both understood. Jennings surrendered his M-4 Leslie better equip to use it. Shot dangerously over Ward to kill three attackers.
“Cover your ears honey.” Biehn laid on his back. Placed Susan inside his legs then crossed them over her belly.
Blam – Blam Biehn started taking down the front runners. His team followed suit. They'd never take them all down. Zak would eventually rip them to threads. Blam – Blam. The SEALs selected their targets, everything an immediate threat. Blam – Blam. The circle of undead tightening. Jo foremost in danger. Blam – Blam. The firing continued.