The Tide: Iron Wind (Tide Series Book 5)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Miguel tried to start the outboard motor, but nothing happened. Again, he pulled on the starter cord. Nothing.

  “Shit’s fucked, Chief!”

  Meredith grabbed an oar. “Time for a little a workout! Help me out here!”

  Andris picked up the other oar, and they pulled the oars through the water, creating small eddies behind them as they propelled the boat away from the ferry. Meredith’s shoulder lit up in pain with each stroke, but she didn’t stop. Excitement and adrenaline numbed the agony. She let her left arm hang loosely and focused on drawing power from her right.

  The Titan’s gaze never left the sinking ferry. Meredith couldn’t imagine the strength it took to so effortlessly sink a ship like that.

  “He’s not even giving us the time of day,” Terrence said.

  “Damn, sink our ship and ignore us?” Miguel said. “You think the guy would at least try to kill us or something like a normal fucking Skull.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Jenna said.

  “Yes.” Andris grunted between strokes with the oar. “I do not want to face that thing again.”

  “That’s not the only thing we’ve got to worry about,” Meredith said. She scanned the shore, wondering how many creatures were hidden among the foliage and shadows, waiting for them. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

  “Keep heading downriver.” Dom surveyed the winding Congo with his night-vision binoculars. “Best thing we can do is put some distance between ourselves and the wreck. God only knows how many of those bastards are going to come swarming around here.”

  “And let’s hope God is the only one who ever knows,” Meredith said, her back muscles aching and her left arm still on fire as she pulled the oar through the water. “I certainly don’t want to be around to find out.”

  -33-

  Frank circled over the Air Cargo Center as Skulls lumbered about like they were lost in a desert without a drink of water. They glanced lazily at the chopper, and one or two gave a half-hearted chase. It seemed they had almost become accustomed to aircraft flying just out of their reach.

  “Is it there?” Frank asked.

  Shepherd lowered his binos and nodded. “Sure is,” he said in a gruff voice. “Several of ’em, if I got the right plane. And you’ve got your choice. FedEx or UPS.”

  “Brown’s not my color. Let’s go for the FedEx model. Got that, friends?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rory and Rachel said in unison. Frank sighed inwardly; those kids made him feel old.

  “And everybody understands what we’re about to do?” Frank asked.

  A flurry of affirmatives met his ears through his headset.

  “Excellent.” Frank put on his best commercial airliner pilot impression. “Thank you all for flying Badass Airlines—”

  “I thought it was United Hunters,” Rory interrupted.

  Frank coughed and continued. “I said, thank you all for flying Badass Airlines, servicing all the locations where other pilots are too afraid to go. We’re beginning our descent into Baltimore-Washington International Airport. The time is half-past-we’re-about-to-kick-some-Skull-ass, and the temperature is a balmy holy-shit-is-the-adrenaline-kicking-in-already.”

  Frank gave his passengers the cheesiest grin he could as he yanked back the controls. The chopper flew low over the Skulls on the tarmac, and the monsters began slowly trailing after them. He swept in front of the Air Cargo Center.

  “Kick those doors open!” Frank boomed.

  Rory and Rachel opened both doors.

  “Smoke out!” Frank said.

  All three of his passengers dropped drab olive-green canisters out of the chopper. Rotor wash kicked up the smoke from the grenades, dispersing it until Frank put enough distance between the bird and the smokescreen. The Skulls still followed hungrily after them. The chopper flew low enough for the din of the growling voices and chilling shrieks to pierce the drone of the thumping blades and roaring engines.

  Frank’s heart thumped in rhythm with the blades. As he maneuvered the chopper deftly over the monsters raking at the chopper’s belly, his body and mind became one with the machine. He banked hard left, flying on instinct and ignoring the instruments and alarms blaring at him, telling him he was too low. Frank sent the helicopter forward at a breakneck speed. The blades spun in a fury, just feet away from the unforgiving tarmac. They sliced through several Skulls, and for half a second, Frank considered pulling the same maneuver he had performed to clear away the Skulls back in Virginia.

  But last time he’d had only his own life to risk in the chopper. He adjusted the cyclic, and the chopper leveled out. Dozens of Skulls followed in its wake.

  “Ready?” Frank boomed. But it wasn’t really a question. He put the chopper down hard, and it jolted against the asphalt. The bird bounced once, twice, and then Frank yelled, “Bail out!”

  He killed the engine. The rotors still spun, winding down. He undid his harness and ran. Shepherd, Rachel, and Rory were already sprinting toward the plumes of smoke near the Air Cargo Center. Their packs and weapons slapped against their backs. Several yards before they reached the smoke, Shepherd held up his fist.

  The others halted, snatched M84 grenades from their belts, and pulled the pins. On Shepherd’s mark, they lobbed the flashbang grenades at the mob of Skulls. As the grenades sailed through the air, Frank saw a funny-looking Skull, round and squat, with appendages as bulbous as overfilled water balloons ready to burst under its plates. Another wore a highlighter-yellow vest characteristic of the flight operations crew, and another had the shredded remnants of a backpack hanging off its shoulders. But among the bone plates and bloodshot eyes, the curling horns and overgrown shoulder blades, behind the masks of skeletal growths and the claws, he had to squint to even recognize these creatures as human. The Oni Agent had worked overtime on these people. Left undisturbed, it had devoured their humanity.

  And if they didn’t get a move on, the Skulls would devour him and his friends.

  “Go, go, go!” Shepherd’s voice broke through Frank’s dark reveries, and he was spurred into action. He sprinted into the cover of the smoke. Loud bangs and flashes of light chased them into the clouds of gray, and they heard the frustrated cries of the Skulls as the M84s cast confusion in their ranks. It might buy them just enough time to make this plan work.

  And if not, Frank felt the slap of his side holster against his hip. Bullets would do the trick. It felt good to finally have more than one. But he didn’t fancy trying to defend the Air Cargo Center against the hordes of monsters chasing them now. Frank charged ahead of the small group, leading them by memory to the hangar. As their feet pounded the asphalt, a Skull loomed out of the smoke.

  At first it didn’t seem to notice them. Instead of waiting for it to realize there was a tasty snack running its way, Frank raised his pistol, aimed straight at the monster’s face, and pulled the trigger. He was too close to miss. Red mist sprayed from the exit wound of the blast. The monster’s body went limp and crumpled to the ground. Rory and Rachel leapt over it. Neither gave it a second glance.

  Frank’s lungs burned as he ran. He forced himself to keep his head straight and eyes alert. The apocalypse was wearing on him, and he hadn’t had a good night’s rest or a solid meal since he had become separated from the Hunters weeks ago. The call of his bunk on the Huntress was almost motivation enough to keep him going.

  A few other Skulls emerged through the fog. One bared its teeth when they approached. Its hooked fangs protruded from its mouth like scythes waiting for a harvest. But it would harvest no more. Rory jammed the barrel of his rifle into the monster’s mouth and levied a blast into the soft flesh. Its head exploded, splashing the others with gore. They lashed out with blades and bullets, killing any of the creatures that pushed through the smoke in their search for prey. They carried on wordlessly. There was no hoot of victory, no cry of terror among them.

  Frank knew that if they thought too much about what they were doing, what they were about to
do, the sheer ludicrousness of it all would overwhelm them. But they had no other choice if they wanted to reach the Hunters. Not without enlisting the help of the military, and from what Frank understood, Dom’s last encounter with the US armed forces hadn’t been a pleasant conversation over tea and cookies.

  Another Skull rambled out of the smog. The tall, lanky monster wore a ragged basketball jersey with spikes poking through the torn mesh fabric. Bulls fan, huh? Frank thought, strangely pleased to see a familiar sight of his team. At least the damn thing isn’t as dumb as it looks. The Skull dragged a leg with each step. Frank figured it had a broken ankle—until he saw there was no ankle to be broken. The Skull was making do on a bloodied and bony stump like some kind of demonic pirate. He almost felt bad when he shot the thing twice through its nasal cavity and it slumped forward. It turned its head, still not quite dead, and Frank pulled the trigger once more.

  “Argh,” Frank growled. “No booty for you.”

  Soon the smoke cleared, and they stood in front of the open hangar of the Air Cargo Center. A dozen different planes waited inside, ranging from a large Airbus 300 to smaller single-prop planes for regional deliveries.

  There it was, a Cessna Caravan. The sight of the nearly forty-foot-long single-prop plane sitting on its three-wheeled landing gear brought a fleeting smile to Frank’s face. “Okay, kids, you know what to grab, right?”

  The midshipmen nodded in unison.

  “Check out the maintenance workshop back there.” Frank pointed to a door in the hangar. The duo ran off, grim determination painted across their faces.

  The low growls and wails of the Skulls resonated in the cavernous space. Their voices bounced off the walls, distorting the sound. With the smoke still clotting the entry, it was almost impossible to tell how far away the horde was. Wherever they were, Frank knew time was not a luxury they had. He scanned the hangar, looking for a fuel truck.

  “The turboprop on the Caravan is about the best workhorse you’re going to find in here,” Frank said. “It’ll drink anything from diesel to aviation fuel.”

  “And that won’t kill it?” Shepherd asked.

  “It’s kinda like eating nothing but bacon cheeseburgers. Not the best thing in the world, but if we’re in a tough spot and that’s all we get, this baby will get us out.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Good. Now get that fuel truck over here, and let’s fill her up.” A cursory glance showed the aircraft was in as good of condition as to be expected with no one to maintain it. He popped open the door and jumped into the pilot’s seat. His gaze roved over the instrument panels and gauges. A check of the battery revealed it was still good, and he shouldn’t have a problem starting the engine once he had filled the fuel tanks.

  Across the hangar, he heard the low gurgle of the fuel truck’s engine. Shepherd parked it near the tail of the plane. Frank hopped out of the plane and helped him attach the ground wire to the aircraft. Then they dragged the fuel hose from the truck and inserted it into the fuel valve.

  “Good,” Frank said. “We won’t start it up until everything else is ready to go. As soon as we get that thing running, it’ll be like ringing the dinner bell. And I’m not interested in feeding those bony bastards tonight.”

  “How far will a single tank get the plane?” Shepherd asked.

  “About twelve hundred miles if we’re lucky. With the reserve tank, we should almost double that.”

  “I’d prefer it if Badass Airlines offered a nonstop flight to the Congo, but I’ll have to settle for a few layovers,” Shepherd said.

  A jarring scrape of metal against concrete echoed throughout the hangar. Frank winced and looked toward the source of the noise. Rachel and Rory were pulling a cart loaded down with the gear and parts he’d sent them to find. The spare fuel tank was dragging a metal fuel line across the ground.

  “Careful with that!” Frank said, jogging toward them. “Got everything?”

  “Think so,” Rachel said. She brushed the sweat from her forehead with her grease-covered hand. “Will these work?”

  Frank eyed the pump and fuel tank. “They’ll have to. Now we got to do a little remodeling. Remove everything that isn’t strapped down and throw out all the seats we don’t need.”

  For the next thirty minutes, they toiled inside the cabin of the Caravan, detaching seats from the floor with the tools they had found around the hangar. Soon the floor outside the Caravan was littered with undelivered packages, extra seats, panels, and trash. Next Frank had them remove several of the floor panels to reveal the Caravan’s fuel tank.

  “All right, put the reserve tank here.” Frank gestured to a spot. “Secure it with some cargo straps, and then put the pump here.”

  They struggled to lift the tank into the fuselage. Even though it was empty and constructed of a lightweight alloy, its awkward shape and size didn’t make the task easy. Eventually they had it in place and secured as best they could atop the ribbing of the other fuel tank.

  The smoke outside the hangar had dissipated, revealing the tarmac still teeming with Skulls. Most lingered around the chopper. Some peeled at the seats and doors as if they were trying to figure out where the humans had gone. Shafts of sunlight pierced the blanket of clouds, illuminating the horde and making it appear as if they had been sent from above.

  “Well, that’s of irony for you,” Frank muttered under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Rory asked as he threw another piece of flooring out of the plane.

  “Ah, nothing. We just need to get the hell out of here.”

  “Anything else we can remove?” Rachel asked.

  Frank looked around the cabin again, then out at the tarmac. Several of the Skulls were looking their way. “I think we’re out of time.”

  One of the Skulls walked toward the hangar. Its head cocked back and forth curiously. Shreds of a puffy down jacket hung from its spikes.

  “Nobody move too fast,” Frank said. “But cover me while I fill these damn tanks.”

  Frank slipped out of the cabin. The others positioned themselves around the plane with their rifles shouldered. He could almost feel the tension between them as he crept to the fuel truck. The Skull in the puffy jacket was still a good couple hundred yards away. After a sharp intake of breath, Frank turned on the fuel truck’s pump. It gargled to life with a low drone that echoed over the concrete floor of the hangar.

  “Come on, sweetheart, let’s do this fast,” he said, patting the fuel nozzle as it filled the main tank. He peeked around the front of the truck and saw the jacket-wearing Skull starting toward the hangar in a loping gait now. The monster threw its head back and belted out a high-pitched shriek that carried over the clamor of its confused brethren.

  “Battaglia, we got company,” Shepherd said.

  “Wanna shut him up?” Frank said as he handed the fuel nozzle to Rory. The midshipman inserted it into the spare tank. “Just be careful around the fuel.”

  Shepherd nodded as he closed one eyed and sighted up the Skull. He squeezed the trigger, and a burst of suppressed shots lanced into the Skull’s down jacket, sending up puffs of blood and feathers. The monster’s shoulder kicked back, then its head. Bleeding, it collapsed onto the tarmac. Four more Skulls turned their heads, spied the dead one, and then stared at the Caravan. They too filled the air with their voices, and soon other Skulls joined the burgeoning hunting cry.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rory said, shouldering his rifle. Rachel followed, and the two joined in delivering salvo after salvo into the ranks of the dozens of Skulls now charging their position.

  Frank watched the gauges and tapped the fuel nozzle. “Come on, baby. Come on. Fill this sucker up.”

  The truck’s pump continued churning as the tide of Skulls careening toward the hangar grew. Bodies fell, quickly trampled by the others. Frank’s heart crept into his throat. The monsters were going down fast, but they were replaced even more quickly by the beasts descending on them from all corners of t
he airport. Bullet casings pinged against concrete and bounced off the Caravan’s fuselage. One Skull made it into the hangar, but it was shredded by a fusillade of bullets.

  The fuel pump stopped.

  “We’re full!” Frank tore the nozzle out of the spare tank. He threw it to the floor of the hangar and removed the ground wire. “Get your asses in here, and let’s go!”

  The others climbed into the cabin. Shepherd slammed the door shut and locked it as Frank jumped into the pilot’s seat. Adrenaline and his pounding heart made it difficult to study all the gauges in front of him. His vision became tunneled, and his fingers trembled. He flipped the switch to turn the fuel pump on and was rewarded with a light indicating adequate fuel pressure.

  “Moment of truth,” he said, pressing the starter switch. The IGNITION ON button lit up as the engine whirred to life. The propeller blades accelerated until they turned into an almost invisible blur. There was a whole list flowing through his mind of other gauges and switches he should be checking. But the Skulls once more forced him to abbreviate that list. They had fuel, the brakes were off, and the prop was spinning. For now, that was all that mattered.

  “Can we get flying now?” Rachel said, worry tingeing her voice.

  “That’s the plan!” Frank said, pushing the throttle forward.

  The plane moved slowly, straight out of the hangar and toward a Skull leading the charge. Frank winced as the creature leapt onto the wing and bashed one of the windows. Two more followed the other’s example, climbing on top of the plane and tearing at the panels. No one said a word, but Frank could see Shepherd clinging to his seat as a half-dozen other Skulls threw themselves at the plane.

  Hell no, Frank thought. We haven’t even made it out of the hangar. This doesn’t end here.

  He eased the throttle farther forward, and the plane accelerated past taxiing speed. The Caravan’s wheels bumped over another Skull, and one of the monsters clinging to a wing fell off. As they exited the hangar, he turned the plane toward the nearest runway.