by Jake Bible
On an emotional level, she is shitting bricks as the helicopter hovers closer and closer to the water tower. It gets almost level with her, sending the thousands of Zs below into a frenzied rage from the noise. The helicopter stops and waits, more than twenty yards from the railing she is gripping tightly with both hands.
“I can’t make it!” Fitzpatrick yells, but her words are lost to the roar of the rotors. “Get closer!”
Whoever the pilot is, she shakes her head at Fitzpatrick then points up. Fitzpatrick frowns then turns and looks at the water tower itself. She realizes what the woman means and sprints to the small ladder that is bolted to the side of the tower, curving up over the top of the bulbous reservoir.
Fitzpatrick fights of the dizziness and fatigue that threatens to cut her climb short. She forces her hands to move one over the other. Every time she let’s go of a rung and reaches for another, she isn’t sure she’ll be able to close her hand over the cold metal. But she pushes on, digging for those last reserves of energy every Mate keeps deep down inside.
The helicopter that has moved to hover above isn’t helping. The rotor wash is like a huge weight pressing down on Fitzpatrick, threatening to tear her free and toss her out into the air like a hurricane. She glances up and has to immediately look back down as the air rushing at her nearly dries her eyes from their sockets. She blinks a few times, the dizziness as strong as ever, and keeps going.
When she reaches the top, Fitzpatrick scoots across the reservoir on her hands and knees, takes a deep breath, and looks up at the helicopter. The cargo door is open and several Mates are leaning out, motioning for her to get up and hurry. Their mouths are moving, but Fitzpatrick can’t hear a thing over the roar of the turbine engines.
Slowly, Fitzpatrick stands up and moves inch by inch across the slick metal surface of the water tower reservoir. The condensation of the cold morning dew makes every step unbelievably treacherous. She can only shuffle along, afraid that if she picks up a foot she’ll lose her balance to the dizziness and go tumbling over the side and into the waiting claws and hands of the Zs below.
She chuckles to herself, thinking that if she’s lucky, she’ll snap her neck before the things can start eating her.
The helicopter hovers before her, the closest skid wavering back and forth, only a few feet from the surface of the water tower. Fitzpatrick shuffles, shuffles then reaches the skid. She holds her arms out and she is instantly grabbed by several hands and pulled up to the open door of the cargo hold.
Her boots find purchase on the helicopter’s skid and the machine starts to bank away from the water tower. She beams a grateful smile at the faces of Cole, Stanford, and Diaz. But the smile is quickly lost as the helicopter shudders and the engines begin to whine. Her boots slip and she panics, her nails clawing into the flesh on Cole’s and Stanford’s arms as Diaz tries to wrap his bulky arms around her back.
The helicopter shudders again and jolts to the right, dipping fast towards the ground. Fitzpatrick looks down and sees the herd rushing up to meet her before the helicopter’s engines stabilize and the whine turns back to a steady thrum.
But even though she knows absolutely nothing about helicopters, Fitzpatrick can sense that something isn’t right with the vehicle she desperately clings to. The helicopter shudders again and starts to slowly spin to the right. Fitzpatrick can see a wisp of black smoke coming from the tail section where a small hole suddenly appears.
A bullet hole.
She starts to yell at Cole, to warn him of what is happening, but she doesn’t get the chance. A sharp pain hits her side and she screams. She tries to suck in a breath, but her lungs won’t fill with air. Then she feels the warmth trickling down her skin and she glances down to see bright red blood pouring out of her stained uniform.
There’s another sharp pain and her whole body goes limp. The pain goes away and all Fitzpatrick can think about is why she can’t feel her legs. Why she can’t feel anything anymore. She struggles to control her neck and is barely able to angle her head up to look at the panicked Mates that are trying to pull her dead weight into the cargo hold.
They are all shouting at her, but Fitzpatrick has no idea what they are saying. If they are trying to tell her to hang on then they are out of luck. She has no idea if she is hanging on or not. All feeling is gone from her neck down. She has a strange sensation of weightlessness, like she is floating in midair, but she knows that isn’t true.
The Mates keep shouting, the helicopter keeps spinning, and then everything gets smaller and smaller.
“I’m falling,” Fitzpatrick thinks to herself as the helicopter is lost from sight and all she can see is the world tumbling about her.
She laughs as the last thing she sees are the wide open and hungry jaws of a thousand Zs. At least she knows she won’t feel anything when she’s being eaten.
***
“Find the fucker!” Sister yells at Val. “The shots came from our right!”
Val flips open the window on her side and shoves the barrel of her M-4 through. She hunts the area through her scope, but sees nothing. No person, no shooter.
“Find the tallest building!” Sister yells.
“I know how to hunt for a sniper!” Val says. “So shut the fuck up!”
She searches, searches, searches, while the helicopter’s engines whine louder and louder. Then she sees him. A rag-covered man on top of a burning building about half a mile away. He has a high-powered hunting rifle to his shoulder and his cheek resting against the stock.
It’s a long shot, but Val doesn’t even think of the distance as she centers her scope and squeezes the trigger. The man’s cheek is no longer resting against the stock as half his head evaporates. A bloody mist lifting high into the morning air. She sees the flash of the rifle’s muzzle and pulls her carbine away, instinctively ducking.
The helicopter shudders and Sister lets out another long stream of curses, many of which Val has never heard, as the woman struggles to maintain control.
“You get him?” Sister shouts. “Fucking tell me you got him!”
“I got him,” Val says. She turns around and sees the looks on everyone’s faces.
“I can hold it steady for another minute so they can get her inside,” Sister says. “But no longer. We’re going to be lucky to make it to Cheyenne at all.”
“Don’t bother,” Val says. “Just go.”
“What? Why?” Sister asks, looking over at Val.
“She didn’t make it inside,” Val replies. She points out the windshield. “Better hurry. The engines don’t sound good.”
“One is close to shutting down,” Sister says. “The other is fine. It’s why I picked a twin turbine chopper to be housed at the Stronghold. I knew if we needed it then we’d need every advantage possible.”
Val glances sideways at the woman, again perplexed at how all of a sudden the crazy old lady sounds as clear and confident as any normal person, not like the wasteland nut she tries to pretend to be.
“What?” Sister asks, looking over at Val. She gets the helicopter back on course and frowns. “Something to say, Little Baptiste?”
“Stop calling me that,” Val says.
“No,” Sister says. “It’s what I used to call your mom, so now it’s what I call you.”
Val has no idea how to reply to that statement, so she doesn’t. She just stares out the windshield and watches as they once again maneuver through the columns of black smoke.
***
The rest of the ride is nothing but silence from the Mates and from Sister. The damaged engine on the other hand is far from silent. It shrieks with a piercing noise that threatens to burst eardrums. Sister finally makes the decision to shut it down and switch all power through the remaining engine. Despite the rotor noise still being considerable, there is an almost audible gasp of relief from everyone inside.
“We tried,” Sister says finally as she banks the helicopter west, taking it around the sharp curve of a mountain. “We t
ried.”
“Yeah,” Val says. “I just hope she didn’t suffer.”
“We all suffer,” Sister says. “It’s why we keep going. The ones that don’t suffer are the ones that quit.”
“I just mean I hope she didn’t feel—”
“I know what you meant,” Sister says. “But there’s no way to know, so push it from your head. Move on. Time to get ready for the mission.”
“How can you be so callous about this shit?” Val asks. “How can you be so cold?”
Sister shrugs. “I have to be. People used to die all the time pre-Z. No different now. Our time here isn’t permanent. Not even for me.”
“What the fuck does that mean? Not even for you?” Val snaps. “Why would it be different for you?”
“Because I’m different,” Sister responds, giving Val a brief look of amusement. “Duh.”
“I swear, before I die, I’m getting answers out of your ass,” Val says.
“Answers come from my mouth, not my ass,” Sister says. “Shit comes from my ass.”
“Sounds the same to me,” Val says. “How much longer until we’re there?”
“We’re here right now,” Sister says, pointing at the mountainside in front of them. “See that clear space on that hill? That’s where I’ll put us down. We’ll have a mile to hike to get to the entrance.”
“A mile? Can’t we get closer?” Val asks.
“Sure, if we want to alert everyone we’re coming,” Sister says. “Better to draw them away from the facility then sneak our way in.”
“What? Who would we be alerting?” Val asks. “Who is still at this facility?”
“No one that I know of,” Sister says as she carefully lands the helicopter.
Cole leans forward from the cargo hold and grabs Sister by the shoulder. He quickly lets go at the look she gives him.
“Why aren’t we closer?” Cole asks.
“I was just asking her the same thing,” Val says.
“I left the front door open,” Sister says.
“You what?” Cole and Val ask at the same time.
The engine completely powers down and Sister takes her headset off, setting it on the dash. She turns and looks directly at Cole and says slowly, “I left the front door open. It was a huge pain in the ass to activate. I didn’t want to have to take the time to do it all over again. So I left it open.”
“That means there could be Zs inside,” Cole says. “Or Code Monkeys.”
“The Code Monkeys know how to get inside on their own,” Sister says. “I haven’t figured out how, but the little shits do. As for Zs?” She shrugs. “That’s life, Mate Wright. Zs be everywhere, yo.”
“You are insane,” Cole stutters before he pushes away and starts shouting orders to the others.
“Come on,” Sister says, opening her door. “I’m going to show you why leaving the door open doesn’t matter.”
“Great,” Val replies as she opens her own door and jumps out of the helicopter onto shaky legs.
***
Hidden on a short rocky overhang, the Mates stare down at the chain-link compound that surrounds the wide opening in the side of Cheyenne Mountain to the former NORAD facility beyond. Within the chain-link compound are at least a hundred Zs, all milling about, shuffling from one part of the fence to another, the rusted chain link holding together enough to spring them away.
“There,” Sister says. “That’s why.”
“I don’t get it,” Stanford says.
“Those came from inside, didn’t they?” Cole asks.
“Yep,” Sister responds. “And there could be plenty more still in there wandering the concrete corridors. Leaving the doors open means that at least some came outside for a look around.”
She points to a half-collapsed gate where several Zs are snagged and stuck, their arms waving about, legs pumping but not taking them anywhere.
“If we can get that unblocked and make a little noise then we’ll have nothing but clear skies for miles,” Sister says.
“What?” Diaz asks.
“We can draw them off so we can get in easier,” Val says.
“Exactly,” Sister agrees. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Like, really. I obviously couldn’t.”
The Mates stare at her for a split second then shake it off and turn around to huddle up.
“Getting them out of there shouldn’t be a problem,” Cole says. “There are enough to break through that gate if they all press on it at once.”
“But the noise is the problem,” Stanford says. “To get them to come to the gate, we’ll have to make enough noise to get their attention. That means other Zs in the area will hear and we could end up with part of the herd heading this way.”
“That would be bad,” Alastair says.
Scotty moans quietly and everyone glances at him, but no one’s eyes linger too long.
“So, we need a noise to draw the ones in the compound to the gate, the ones at the gate through the gate, and any others that might hear us to go in a different direction than here,” Henshaw says. “That’s not going to be easy. The noise will need to be mobile.”
“If it was night, we could use flares,” Shep says.
“But it’s not night,” Tommy Bombs says. “What about demolitions?”
“Set off one of the phosphorous bombs?” Cole asks. “Too short. It would make a big bang, but we’ll risk the Zs getting distracted before they leave or get far enough away. Not to mention that the person setting it off won’t get away in time.”
“I’ll do it,” Scotty says so low it sounds like another moan.
“We have guns,” Val says. “One of us can fire a shot, draw them to the gate until they break through then run like hell while still firing.”
“Then we’re down a man,” Stanford says. “And that person is fucked.”
“I said I’ll do it,” Scotty grunts. His face is covered in sweat and he is shaking hard. He clutches his arm to his chest and stares at the others with red-rimmed eyes and a distant, defeated look. His whites are bloodshot and his skin has a greenish tint to it. “I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know,” Cole says. “You don’t look so—”
“I said I’ll do it,” Scotty snaps. “I don’t have twenty-four hours. I have maybe twenty-four minutes before I go down hard and then come back up hungry. This is why you brought me, for something like this.”
He starts stripping off his gear, but Cole holds out a hand.
“Scotty, man, let’s talk this out,” Cole says. “We may need you for something else.”
“Anything else can be worked out inside the facility,” Scotty says. “That’s where you all need to be. I can draw them off and keep them away long enough for you to get in there and shut the doors. Once I know you’re good then I’ll take care of myself.”
He has stripped himself down to just his t-shirt and pants. Every bit of equipment is lying on the ground. Except for his 9mm. He looks at it and nods his head.
“I can move fast enough to stay ahead of them,” Scotty says. “When you are inside, fire one single shot. I’ll fire two right away so your shot doesn’t turn them around. I’ll make sure I leave a round for me. It’s the only way, Cole. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Cole admits. “It just sucks balls.”
“Big hairy balls,” Sister says. “And stinky. Hairy, stinky balls.”
Scotty gives her a grin and shakes his head. “I will miss finding out what happens next.”
“We complete the mission,” Val says. “That’s what happens next.”
“Promise?” Scotty asks.
Everyone gives him a nod while Val stands and says, “Yes. We promise.”
She hugs him tight and she can feel the fever burning under his clothes. He’s like a wood stove fully loaded.
“Time to go,” Scotty says, gently pushing Val away. “You’re smelling good. Not in a sexy way, but in a make my stomach rumble way.”
“Then get the fuck go
ne,” Stanford says. He stands and salutes. “You’ll be remembered as a hero, Mate Scotty Kurowski.”
They all stand and salute, each saying his name with respect and reverence.
“Jesus, I should sacrifice myself more often,” Scotty says. He looks at the 9mm and then smiles. “Give me a few minutes to get in place. Don’t waste any time. As soon as you see a break, go for it.”
“Will do,” Cole says.
Scotty clambers down from the overhang and starts walking towards the gate. Once the Zs notice him, he begins to wave his hands over his head. The moans and groans from the Zs make him hesitate briefly, but he overcomes quickly and keeps moving until he is only a few feet from the collapsed gate.
The Zs begin to push at the chain link, their bodies almost melding with the metal. They shove and reach and growl and hiss, but the gate doesn’t move much.
Scotty tucks his pistol into the back of his pants and grabs onto the edge of the gate closest to him. A Z takes a swipe, but misses by a good foot. Scotty doesn’t even flinch at the attempted attack. He digs his heels into the dirt and pulls, pulls, pulls. The gate comes free from its last hinge and Scotty falls hard onto his ass, his pistol popping free and skidding a few feet away.
The Zs come for him, walking over the fallen chain link gate, their claws and mouths open, ready, hungry. Scotty scrambles to his feet and reaches back, but his pistol isn’t there. He spins about and sees it. But not before a loud growl gets his attention.
From the back of the pack of Zs, what used to be a woman in a tattered and moldy uniform comes running. She shoves the other Zs out of the way to get to Scotty first. The man panics and turns in a circle looking for his 9mm. He sees it and runs as fast as his sick body will let him.
The running Z is almost to him, only a few feet away, when a shot cracks and she falls to the ground, becoming a useless pile of bones and rags. Scotty turns and looks up, sees Stanford give him a thumbs up, then grabs his 9mm and fires a round into the air.
He walks backwards for a few yards and fires another round in the air. The Zs in the compound start to move in his direction, many using the natural path of the fence line to direct them to the open gate. Once free and on the open road, they shamble as quickly as their rotted legs will carry them, the promise of a fresh meal only a few yards away.