Chucklers (Book 1): Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  Again, there was no response. He peered out the portside window. It was dark outside and visibility from the helicopter was pretty limited, but the huge glowing slick of bioluminescent plankton gave him enough light to plainly see the outline of the cruise ship.

  Jameson looked quizzically at his copilot. “Still no chopper?”

  Visalli shook his head. “Nothing I can see. And no response to queries. It’s like they never existed.”

  “Yeah, well transmissions from their landing say otherwise.”

  That shut Visalli up. They had all heard the recordings. Everything had sounded normal and Jayhawk 6075 had reported that everything on the Bahama Queen looked fine from the air. They said thermal imaging showed a lot of people on the decks, dancing and running about “like there was a big party.” That had all changed when they landed on the helipad. The recording from that point sounded frantic, and Luke Murphy, a long-time friend, had shouted into the radio that they were being swarmed by people rushing onto the pad. Gunfire sounded in the background before the recording ended.

  That was less than three hours ago, and Jayhawk 6152 had been scrambled within minutes. Jameson was determined to find out what had happened to Luke. He turned to his co-pilot. “Anything on thermal?”

  “Affirmative. The decks are crawling with people.”

  In his helmet, Jameson heard Collins mutter from behind, “Just like Six Oh Seven Five reported.”

  Jameson started to snap at Collins, but held his tongue. They were all jumpy. There was something off about this rescue, even beyond the fact that 6075 seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet. Everything about this one felt wrong.

  He flew over the helipad as Marsha McNeese lit it up with the spotlight.

  “Holy shit,” she exclaimed, forgetting for the moment that they were being recorded back at base.

  “Is there a problem, Six One Five Two?” The voice came over their headsets, and McNeese grimaced at the reminder that they needed to remain professional.

  Jameson glanced back at her and answered for them all. “Negative, Freeport. However, there appear to be several bodies on the helipad below us. Looks like confirmation that Six Oh Seven Five was forced to open fire.”

  “Understood. Are you going to be able to land?”

  Jameson looked around below. He couldn’t see anyone moving on the pad. “McNeese, give me some light farther out on the decks.”

  She did, and he could see a surge of people running toward them.

  “I can make it if I go right now. I need clearance now if I’m going to do this.”

  “Roger, Six One Five Two.” There was a pause of about two seconds. “You are cleared to land. You are cleared for weapons hot. Only fire if threatened.” Jameson heard Collins open the weapons locker behind him as he and McNeese readied for landing.

  Jameson kicked the rudder and dropped the Jayhawk toward the helipad. “Roger that, Freeport. Six One Five Two landing now.”

  There was a clearing in the bodies toward the back of the helipad, and Jameson assumed it was where 6075 had landed. He dropped as quickly as he safely could, touching down as the leaders of the mob swelled onto the landing pad. Jameson yelled into his comm. “Collins, McNeese, go!”

  He glanced back as the two crewmen slid the starboard door open and jumped onto the pad, openly brandishing their weapons. Jameson switched control of the spotlight and hoist camera to his console so he could see what was going on.

  On his screen, he watched McNeese step toward the crowd, while Collins dropped to a knee, covering her from behind.

  But the surge of bodies washing onto the landing pad made Jameson curse. There were too many to handle if things went south on her. “This looks bad. Visalli, back them up on the door gun.”

  His copilot unbuckled and ran back to the open doorway even as Marsha shouted at the crowd. Jameson heard every word in his headset as she spoke calmly at the rushing crowd. “Hold it right there, folks. We’re here in answer to a distress call we received. We need to see…”

  But the crowd didn’t hold it. They didn’t even pause. They rushed forward, unphased by her words, or the threat of her weapons, and the situation went south before she ever had a chance.

  “Commander?” Jameson heard the confusion in her voice as she called back to him.

  He looked at the screen showing the wave of people as they rushed at her. The lead runners were close enough for him to get a good look at their faces, even through the camera lens. They were laughing hysterically as they rushed forward, and his heart skipped as he saw that a few of them had blood spattered on their faces and clothing. “Protect yourself, McNeese! Open fire!”

  She raised her M16, but still she hesitated. Jameson understood her reluctance. These were civilians, after all.

  “McNeese!” He sought to ease her conscience. “Open fire, Lieutenant, that’s an order!”

  Through his helmet, he heard her beg one last time. “Wait,” she implored. When she no longer had any choice, she opened fire. “God help me.”

  But He didn’t. Jameson watched on the screen as the first civilian hit her in a tackle even as she shot him. Off balance, she fell, but threw the man off and scrambled to get back up. She made it back to one knee when another man hit her. She looked up as he hit her, and Jameson saw her thumb her rifle to full auto and pull the trigger. A storm of bullets dropped several of the mob at her feet.

  “Collins!” she yelled into the comm. Jameson felt a second of pride in his crewmate as he heard her voice. Her fear was gone for the moment, and she was all business. “There’s too many. They’re not—” One of the men in front swung something, and her helmet rang with the impact. Still, she refused to go down. Jameson watched as she continued to fire short bursts, fighting back to her feet, and for the next few seconds, she managed to push back the tide.

  Then her rifle went silent, and Jameson realized she had emptied her magazine.

  He watched in horror as she turned, trying to run back to the Jayhawk. She only made it a few steps before she was tackled again, and disappeared beneath the leading edge of the crowd.

  They all froze for a second as McNeese screamed into their comms, “Collins! Oh shit, they’re—” Another scream, guttural and incoherent, told them she was still alive, and for a second, the thought made Jameson wonder if that was necessarily a good thing.

  Through the eye of the hoist camera, he saw one of the men in the crowd swinging something at the curled up body on the deck, and he realized that the man was beating McNeese with her own rifle.

  Collins was yelling into his comlink. “They’re killing her!” He fired into the crowd. “They’re ripping her to pieces!”

  “What the hell?” Visalli’s voice came over the comm.

  Jameson called back to him, “Visalli, how bad is it?”

  “I can’t see her, and there’s a damned mob coming at us.”

  Watching as the mob surged up the gangway and onto the pad, Jameson immediately knew what had happened to Luke and the crew of 6075. In his mind’s eye, he saw the crowd rushing onto the helipad. There were hundreds of them. More than enough to shove a helicopter off the pad and into the ocean below.

  Jameson called out, “Collins, can you get to her?”

  “Working on it, Commander.”

  In their helmets, McNeese’s cries grew weaker, even as Collins ran forward, new magazine in his M16. In less than five seconds, he sent thirty rounds into thirty bodies, and his rifle ran dry again. He fed it again, pausing only for the few seconds it took to slam another magazine into place before he opened up. He moved forward slowly, steadily, laying waste to the front line of the crowd.

  From the vantage of the hoist camera, Jameson could see over their heads to the endless mass shoving forward from the deck below. He saw Collins pause again, backing up a few steps as he grabbed for another magazine. It was a heroic effort, but Jameson could see that there was simply no way Collins could possibly have enough ammunition to stop them all.
For every person he dropped, three more surged forward. At the rate things were escalating, Jameson estimated they had about twenty seconds before the crowd overran Collins.

  “Visalli, what’s the holdup?”

  “Feed belt’s misaligned. Give me a second!”

  “Collins doesn’t have a second.”

  He looked again at the screen and made a decision. “Collins, fall back. Get back on board!”

  “Negative, Commander.” Collins came into view through the starboard side front window, firing as he laid down suppression fire. “McNeese is still out there!” Collins yelled.

  Heart pounding, he struggled to maintain some semblance of calm as he called back to base. “Freeport Base, this is Jayhawk Six One Five Two declaring an emergency. We are in danger of being overrun. Civilians on board are…” he hesitated. “They’re laughing while they rush us. No hesitation. It’s like they don’t care whether or not they get shot.”

  He’d barely finished that short report to base, before he turned. “Come on, Visalli! You’re the only one with the angle to do her any good.”

  Visalli cursed, and slammed the feed belt into place. As Jameson watched, the man’s expression changed from frustrated concentration to fierce determination. He yelled out, “Collins, hit the deck!”

  At Visalli’s yell, Collins threw himself down, and the big door gun whirred into action. Within seconds, nothing on the helipad moved. There was a pile of bodies at the gangway leading from the deck below, and it seemed to be blocking access to the helipad… for the moment, at least.

  Jameson yelled orders. “Collins, find McNeese and get back here. Visalli, keep that hole plugged!”

  A new voice came over their headsets. “Lieutenant Commander Jameson, this is Captain Hopkins of Naval Intelligence. I need you to bring back one of the civilians from that ship.”

  Jameson blinked. “All due respect, Captain, but I don’t know you, I’m not in the Navy, and I don’t take orders from you. Please clear this channel for official Coast Guard business.” Damned squid. He might be a captain, but he had no idea what was going on out here.

  “Commander Jameson, this is Under Secretary Michael O’Connor of Homeland Security. You are to comply with Captain Hopkins’ request.”

  Before he could reply, yet a third voice came through his helmet. It was his commanding officer, head of the Search and Rescue base in Freeport. “Lieutenant Commander, this is Captain Thomas. Sorry, Jameson. This comes from the top. You have to get one or more of the civilians back here. They think terrorism might be—”

  “Captain Thomas, that’s enough.”

  Jameson was pissed enough that some squid was trying to give them orders, but now some Homeland bureaucrat was backing him. And making everything all cloak and dagger, to boot? What the hell was going on? Why were all these heavy hitters monitoring his operation?

  “Jameson?” Captain Thomas said. “Do you copy?”

  Jameson growled. “I copy.” He looked at the hoist cam and saw Collins lifting McNeese into a fireman’s carry. Even as he watched, the bodies plugging the gangway onto the helipad fell forward as they were shoved out of the way from behind.

  “Visalli, I said keep that damn hole plugged.”

  The door gun thundered again and more bodies slumped over the pile.

  “Lieutenant Commander Jameson, I need you to confirm your orders.”

  Pissed off beyond anything he had ever felt before, Jameson snapped into his comm, “I’ll get you your damned specimens. Now clear the fucking channel! This is a combat situation, and I don’t need you pinheads squelching my communications!”

  “Commander! You will—”

  “Piss off or I’ll take off from here the second my man gets back on board and consequences be damned! Do you read me?”

  There was a slight shift to the Jayhawk and Collins called out. “I’m aboard, Commander.”

  “How is she?” Jameson turned to look and saw Collins shake his head. He looked at the limp body, and was sickened at the ravaged mess the mob had left. Jameson gritted his teeth as he saw that she was missing an eye, and her throat had been ripped out.

  “Damn it!” He took a deep breath. “Visalli, start letting them through.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Keep ‘em thinned out, but we need to get some guinea pigs for the brass.”

  He watched his screen as the pile of bodies were shoved aside again, and the horde once more flooded onto the helipad.

  Jameson kicked the rotor speed up. The rotor wash of the Jayhawk could produce winds approaching hurricane strength, and he intended to use that to help keep most of the approaching mob back.

  “Let one or two of them through. Knock ‘em out when they get on board.”

  “Roger that.” Visalli’s tone left no doubt that he didn’t like the orders any more than Jameson did, but he was a professional. Collins didn’t answer.

  Jameson increased rotor speed up to the point that the Jayhawk was barely over the helipad. He increased and decreased the RPMs, making the helicopter bounce up and down over the pad, and incidentally increasing and decreasing the wind gusts blasting through the mob. Many of them lost their footing, tripping others as they went down. Approximately a dozen managed to keep moving forward.

  Jameson heard Collins snarl. “Come on, you laughing bastards. Let’s get this over with.” The sound of machinegun fire diminished as fewer laughing civilians were able to move toward them. He kept his eyes on the crowd, bouncing the Jayhawk to push more rotor wash at them to keep most of them at bay.

  “Let that lead one through.” Jameson heard Visalli yell at Collins. “Commander, keep us steady for a minute.”

  Jameson dropped back onto the helipad and lowered the RPMs on the rotor. But he kept an eye on the crowd. More of them managed to climb back to their feet, bracing themselves against the reduced wind speed. He heard grunts from the cargo area and glanced back just as Collins slammed the butt of his M16 into the head of a man reaching toward him. “That’s for McNeese, you son of a bitch.” The man shook his head and reached again. Collins hit him two more times before the man dropped. Collins and Visalli dragged the man into the Jayhawk, and Visalli began tying the man’s hands behind his back with a length of nylon rope he had prepared.

  Jameson looked back to the mob pouring back onto the helipad. “Any others close?”

  But three more men had already leapt into the hold while Collins and Visalli worked on the first one.

  “Shit!” Collins jumped to his feet. “Commander, get us in the air!”

  Jameson didn’t need to be told twice, and he spun the rotors up and lifted off the pad. The Jayhawk lurched to starboard, and he knew some of the mob had jumped onto the struts. “We got hitchhikers on the starboard strut!” he yelled, but Collins and Visalli were grunting and shouting as they fought the three boarders. Jameson drew his sidearm and made sure he had a round chambered. He didn’t want to fire in the confines of the helicopter, but the cargo door was still open, and he suspected there would be more boarders in a few seconds.

  To make matters worse, he had those assholes back on the mainland shouting questions at him. He ignored them for the moment, and concentrated on the doorway. Sure enough, a hand reached up to the floor of the cargo hold, and another laughing face appeared as a man pulled himself into aircraft. Jameson made sure he had a clear shot and pulled the trigger. There was a slight lurch as the Jayhawk lost a few hundred pounds of extra weight. If his shot went through the man, it went through the open door and into the sea.

  Meanwhile, Collins and Visalli struggled to bring the other three under control. Visalli kicked one of them back, and Jameson saw the man pass in front of the open door. His shot clear, he fired again, and the man toppled out the door.

  His men were able to get the last two under control after that, and within minutes, there were three unconscious men tied up on the cargo deck of the Jayhawk.

  He called back to them, “Everyone all right?�
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  Visalli moved to get the med kit. “Yeah. We’re all right. I’m going to sedate these mother fuckers, though.”

  “Lieutenant Commander! Report!”

  Jameson recognized the voice in his helmet as that of the Naval Intelligence officer. Hopkins, wasn’t it? Yeah, that was it… Captain Hopkins. He bit back the retort he wanted to give the man, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Jayhawk Six One Five Two is air born with three…” He hesitated. What were they? Hostiles? Subjects? “…civilians. They are currently unconscious, restrained, and my medic is working on sedating them.”

  “That’s excellent work, Lieuten—”

  Jameson continued, interrupting the Captain. “We lost McNeese. They just ran over her and beat her to death… tore her damned throat out! So you want to tell us what the hell is going on here?”

  There was silence on the line for a moment. Finally, Hopkins came back. “Sorry, son. It’s classified.”

  “Classified my ass! Those people back there are fucking insane! They didn’t show any hesitation at running straight at my crew even when they were being shot at. They didn’t even slow down! Hell, the three we have restrained on board are still laughing. They’re unconscious, but still laughing! No one acts like that!” Jameson realized he was yelling, despite his earlier determination to remain professional.

  “Lieutenant Commander Jameson, control yourself! You are ordered to take those civilians directly to Houston Methodist Hospital. There will be a special detail awaiting your arrival at the helipad there. You will make best speed and get them there safely. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jameson swallowed back his anger and took another deep breath. He would maintain his professionalism. “Yes, sir,” he growled. “Crystal clear.” He plugged the new destination into the NAVSAT. “ETA is two hours, twelve minutes. Jayhawk 6152 out.”

  Chapter 23

  August Grappin