“Land ahoy,” Danny’s voice crackled over the headsets that everyone wore. Jon’s was askew on his head to keep it off his injury, but he could still hear over it just fine.
The four riding in the back of the helicopter began to shift. Robin sat down in the backward facing seat across from Jon, looking out of the window. She pointed to something, and Jon looked out. The sun was coming up, bathing the east with a fiery-orange glow.
“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” Jon muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Robin asked, having seen his lips move and probably having partly heard it over the headset.
“Nothing,” Jon replied, shaking his head.
It wasn’t much longer before they were circling over the Cancun International Airport with its many abandoned planes and terminals. All eyes were focused outside the windows, searching for any signs of either life or undead.
“Anyone see anything?” Oliver asked.
Everyone replied that they didn’t, save Freya who gave no reply at all.
“All right then, looks like we’re landing. Hold onto your butts.” Oliver banked the chopper, heading toward the place he thought was mostly likely to have fuel. He hovered over it for a minute, searching the area again, and then lowered the chopper to the ground. As the rotors whined down, everyone watched the airport for movement. There wasn’t any.
“Everyone take a weapon,” Brunt broke the newly formed silence, and handed out what they had. Jon stuck to his pistol and his sword.
“So the fuel is actually going to be in one of those hangars over there,” Oliver pointed through the windshield.
“So why did we land here?” Brunt asked him.
“I didn’t much feel like flying a helicopter into a hangar. That truck there is a fuel truck,” he gestured to the side. “If it’s got what we need, we’re golden, but if not, we’ll use it to get fuel from the hangar.”
“What if the truck’s out of gas?” Jon wondered.
“Well then, I guess we’re hoofing it,” Oliver shrugged. “Maybe I’ll fly us closer to the hangar then. Danny, stay with the bird. Maybe you should also stay put, Brunt, what with your arm and all. The rest of you can come with me.”
Everyone agreed to this and climbed out of the helicopter. Jon quickly scanned the area again now that his vision was unimpeded by glass or the helicopter’s shell. There was no movement, but something was bothering him. It was still pretty dark on the ground and impossible to see inside the terminals. Were there eyes watching them? A helicopter was not a silent way to get somewhere. The off-shippers who had been here before hadn’t reported any survivors in the vicinity, but that had been over a year ago, maybe two. Things changed. People moved.
“Come on, Jon.” Robin was following Oliver and Freya toward the gas truck.
Jon turned and tagged after them. He wished the helicopter had landed closer to the truck, but he knew it required a certain amount of clearance, and Oliver seemed to be a better-safe-than-sorry kind of guy. As Oliver checked the tank, Jon kept his eyes on the terminal and the nearby tarmac. What was wrong? What was putting him on edge?
“Fuck, both tanks are empty,” Oliver sighed. “Come on, back to the chopper. We’ll go straight to the hangar and land outside it. Pray for long hoses or buckets, and a pump we can use.”
As they started away from the truck, the air suddenly filled with a heavy pounding. It assaulted their ears, and immediately set off a headache deep within Jon’s skull. He looked at the helicopter, but it wasn’t moving. Through the windshield, he could see that Danny was covering his ears.
The thumping was rhythmic, and it wasn’t until a wailing siren-like sound kicked in that Jon realized what it was: music. Music cranked up to the highest volume possible. That’s what was wrong. There was way too much wiring around the tarmac. The speakers themselves were mostly hidden from their vantage point, but now that Jon was looking for them, he could see several stacks of them placed all around the airport.
The pavement near Freya’s foot exploded in a small puff, unheard over the music. She saw it though, and dove for the helicopter, which was closer to her than the fuel truck.
Jon grabbed Robin and pulled her into cover, placing the fuel truck between them and the terminal. It was possible that a sniper hiding in the long grass had taken a shot at them, but Jon took the risk that the shooter was in the terminal. With the heavy music, it was impossible to tell where the shot had come from.
Oliver continued standing in place for a moment, still covering his ears against the music and unsure why everyone had suddenly dived for cover. When another chunk of pavement was punctured near his own foot, he got the idea and quickly joined Jon and Robin. Inside the helicopter, Danny had disappeared from view, presumably hiding out of sight in the back with Brunt and Freya.
While Robin and Oliver huddled against the truck, trying in vain to protect their ears from the auditory assault, Jon dropped to his belly. He tried to tune out the sound—something that would have been easier to do if it were a constant noise instead of music turned up to squalling levels—as he slithered his way underneath the truck’s belly. Jon wormed his way just far enough to see the terminal.
Looking back at his legs, he called Robin’s name, but she couldn’t hear him. He kicked at her, but she wasn’t within reach. Thankfully, she noticed his flailing shoes and bent down to look at him. Using sign language that he had learned from her, Jon told her his plan. Once she understood, he untwisted himself and looked back at the terminal.
It took longer for Robin to explain the plan to Oliver, but in the end, he got it. He darted from the truck to the helicopter. As he did this, a shot was fired at him. Jon wasn’t watching, assuming the shot would miss like the other two had. After all, Oliver was running this time instead of standing still. What Jon watched for was a muzzle flash, and he was rewarded. The shooter was a lot closer than he expected, firing out of the opened rear door of a 747. Jon carefully aimed his pistol and returned a volley of three shots. None of them hit the sniper, but at least one bullet struck the skin of the plane near the doorway. Whoever it was, Jon had just let him know that he was armed and more than willing to fire back. Not waiting to see how the sniper would react, he scooted backward until he was out of sight of that back door.
Looking toward the helicopter, he couldn’t see Oliver or any blood. He must be safely inside the chopper then. Jon was relieved. Now he just needed to get himself and Robin over there. They could find fuel elsewhere.
All of a sudden the music stopped. The sudden silence was almost as painful as when the music had first begun.
Robin asked him what they should do, speaking with her hands and expression as opposed to her vocal cords. Jon first shrugged, and then gestured for her to wait.
“Helicopter!” an accented voice called out. “Can we talk?”
Jon peered around the side of the fuel truck. A man was walking toward them, his hands above his head.
“I have no weapons!”
There was no way to tell if that was true or not. Even if it was, there was no way this man could be the sniper. He couldn’t have gotten down here that fast even at a full sprint. Besides, there was something unsettling about his shit eating grin.
“Do you speak English?” he called once more.
“Yeah,” Jon called back.
Robin and he exchanged a look. What else could they do right now?
“Wonderful, wonderful. I had hoped so.” The man was now close enough that he no longer needed to shout.
“You can stop where you are,” Jon told him, spying around the truck’s edge.
The man stopped, still smiling and still holding his hands up.
“What is it you want?” Jon asked him.
“Your mighty fine helicopter, of course,” the man replied.
“Oh yeah? And in exchange for what?”
“Your lives.”
A red hatred flared up inside Jon. These goddamn people thought they could just t
ake what they wanted and damn whoever they took it from! Before he knew what he was doing, Jon swung out from behind the fuel truck, his pistol levelled at the grinning man.
“Yeah? And what do I get in exchange for yours?”
“I would not do that if I were you.” The man pointed at one of the bullet holes in the tarmac. “My man is watching.”
“Fuck your man!” Jon heard Robin make a worried noise, but ignored her. He was tired of these goddamn bullies. “Even if he were to shoot me dead right now, my finger is so far back on this trigger that I’ll take you with me.”
The man’s grin wavered slightly.
“What gives you the right just to take our shit anyway? What makes you think you’re allowed to threaten our lives?”
“You’ve entered our home,” the man gestured around the airport.
A sudden clarity washed over Jon. He understood the true purpose of the speakers.
“This isn’t your home,” Jon told the man.
From the corner of his eye, Jon could see Robin trying to get his attention, but he refused to divert his gaze from the asshole in front of him.
“It’s not?” the man cocked his head to one side, still grinning.
“No. You would never set up speakers like that in a place you intend to live. No, this airport isn’t your home. It’s your decoy. Gas up the generators, crank up the speakers, and blast the tunes. Every zombie within hearing range would come here, leaving wherever you want to be free and clear.” Jon started walking toward the man.
It took the man a moment to realize what was about to happen, so he didn’t back-pedal quickly enough. He lost his grin just before Jon’s fist smashed into his jaw, hard enough to send him sprawling onto the pavement.
“I’m tired of you fucks!” Jon screamed. “You pieces of shit! All we want is one helicopter-sized tank of gas, and you threaten our lives? You shoot at us? This is your fucking decoy! It’s not even, as if you’re going to live here! One measly tank of gas is all we fucking want!”
Jon kicked the man’s arms and legs a few times. Not hard enough to do much damage, but hard enough to get his point across. Robin grabbed him by the shoulder and waist and pulled him back.
“The sniper,” she hissed in his ear.
“Fuck the sniper!” Jon still had his ire up, but didn’t strike the man anymore.
The man held up his hands, his pale palms spread wide. Peeking through his fingers with startled eyes he saw that Jon wasn’t going to hit him again. He carefully got to his feet, keeping one palm opened toward Jon as if calming a wild animal. Jon didn’t feel calm.
“I see you’ve had some trouble in the past,” the man said. His grin was back, but both it and his voice were a little nervous.
“The past? Try a few fucking hours ago! Try that our friends, our families, are still in the shit right fucking now!” Jon snapped, gesturing to the bandage around his head.
The man took a careful step back. “I’m sorry to hear that. We have had our share of difficulties in the past, as I’m sure you can imagine. Why don’t I get you your gas? As a gesture of good faith?” The man spoke more to Jon’s steady gun than he did to Jon.
“I’d rather we get it,” Jon growled. Shit on his gesture.
“Well, we’ve stockpiled it elsewhere. I can take a few of you to it and you can pick up what you need, but I think my people would prefer if you weren’t one of them.” The grin was gone now. The man was ready to deal with them on uneasy terms. “One tank is all you need? I’m sure we can spare one.”
“Yes. Just one. Your sniper?”
“Of course.” The man turned to where Jon knew the sniper was. He waved his arms over his head, making large Xs as they crossed. Then he began gesturing for the sniper to come down.
Jon watched the doorway as the sniper stepped into it and waved back, then gave what appeared to be a thumbs up. The distance made it hard to tell, but Jon swore the sniper was a girl who couldn’t be older than fourteen.
Those who were taking cover in the helicopter had been watching and listening. Brunt, Freya, and Oliver all stepped out, while Danny continued to remain inside.
“We weren’t really going to kill you, you know?” the man said to Jon. “We had to try, but we couldn’t follow through with our threats.”
“I could,” Jon told him and knew he was being honest. If he had had to kill the man with the grin, he would have.
It was quickly decided that Freya, Brunt, and Oliver would go get the gas, while Danny, Jon, and Robin stayed with the helicopter.
“And I wouldn’t think about trying anything if I were you,” Jon said just before the gas party was about to depart. “She can be a lot more deadly than me.” He pointed to Freya.
The man quickly took in her solid and confident stance with the AK-47 in her hands, and believed him. They turned to walk to the terminal where the gas was presumably kept.
Robin placed a gentle hand on Jon’s shoulder and eased him back to the open helicopter door, where Danny was sitting on the floor just inside, his legs dangling out.
“We could have solved that a lot more diplomatically,” Robin commented as she sat down next to Danny.
Jon didn’t enter the helicopter or sit down. He stood in full view of the terminal, knowing he was being watched.
“When has diplomacy ever helped with these people?” Jon could not think of a time.
“It could have worked here,” Robin replied, but she looked at her shoes and spoke quietly.
“What do you think, Danny?” Jon asked his former foster brother.
Danny shrugged. “I’m just glad we’re getting the fuel.”
Jon paced for a while longer, but eventually stopped and leaned against the side of the helicopter. He even holstered his pistol.
“You really were ready to die, weren’t you?” Robin asked as she looked up at him.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember what I was thinking when I stepped out there. Maybe I knew I wouldn’t be shot, because they had plenty of opportunity to do that when we were between the truck and the helicopter.”
“You scared me.”
Jon looked down and saw tears in Robin’s eyes. Before he could react, she got up and disappeared farther inside the helicopter. Jon made as if to follow, but Danny stood up in his way.
“Maybe we should just leave her for a bit,” he spoke in a low voice. “Give her a chance to calm down a little.”
Jon stepped back, thinking that Danny was probably right.
Both he and Danny stood on the tarmac, watching the terminal and waiting for the others to return. Jon didn’t want to admit this, but he had scared himself a little.
***
When the others returned, they were escorted by the no-longer-grinning man and a luggage cart holding bright orange gas cans. Jon and Danny watched them approach without moving. Jon kept expecting a muzzle flash from the terminal, but it never came.
The man stood back and supervised as the gas cans were carefully poured into the helicopter, one by one. Jon didn’t take his eyes off him, which, he was pretty sure, made the man uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. If the man was planning something, he was hiding it well.
“All right. We’re ready to go,” Oliver announced, placing the last gas can back on the cart. It wasn’t completely empty, and there were two other cans they hadn’t even touched, but the helicopter was full.
“Forgive me if I say we hope to never see you again,” the man commented, taking hold of the cart.
“Even if things don’t work out for us, you probably won’t,” Brunt assured him.
The man walked back with the cart until he was at a safe distance, then turned and watched as they loaded into the helicopter. Jon got in last, never taking his eyes off the man or the terminal beyond him; he didn’t even bother shutting the door.
As the rotors started up, creating a wind fierce enough to kick up dirt, the man took another step back, shielding his eyes with his hand. They lifted off the ground and wer
e soon moving away from the airport. As they passed over the perimeter, Jon saw that zombies were already gathering at the fences, lured by both the music and the chopper. He shut the door as they left Cancun behind them.
The sun was up now, glinting off the ocean as they flew over it. Jon wondered what became of the Diana and its residents. He looked around the cabin, hoping that they weren’t the only ones left. While Oliver and Danny were flying, Brunt was slumped over and sound asleep, snoring just loud enough for his microphone to pick it up. Freya looked like she was asleep, but Jon suspected that she wasn’t, just resting her eyes and all that. Robin was on the other side of the cabin from him, looking out the window. Jon got up as if moving Brunt’s microphone farther away from his mouth was his only purpose, but when he sat back down, he took the empty seat next to Robin.
Robin turned her head to look at Jon, and then turned back to the sea. Jon tapped her shoulder to get her to look at him again.
I’m sorry, he signed to her. I wasn’t thinking when I moved around the truck.
Robin signed back, keeping their conversation private. It wasn’t just then. On the ship, you wanted to keep going into the fire.
Jon realized that she was right of course. What had happened to him last night? He was taking unnecessary risks he never would have taken before. Seeing that Robin didn’t want to talk to him anymore, he got up and returned to his own window. Freya watched him, her eyes no longer resting. Once he sat down, she got up and moved to the seat across from Robin, writing in her notebook. Jon didn’t see what she had written when she handed it to Robin.
“Of course I’ll teach you sign language, Freya,” she said so that everyone on the headsets understood she wasn’t talking to herself. “Do you want to start now?”
Freya nodded.
During the ride, Jon alternated between looking out the window and watching Robin teach Freya. He remembered all the times that Robin had taught him, including the times they had lain in bed together, late at night or early in the morning, happy to have each other’s company. Jon didn’t think that was going to happen again. They had split up and returned to each other many times, yet he didn’t think they were going to get back together this time. Not after last night. Not after Jon had frightened her.
Survival Instinct (Book 3): Fighting Instinct Page 35