by Lundy, W. J.
The Alpha element was nervously scanning the surroundings, knowing the noise would attract the screamers. Again the van stuttered, but this time it coughed to life. Sean eased in the clutch and revved the engine until he achieved an idle. Sean slowly nursed the van down the narrow street on badly bald tires, while the Marines followed behind him at a jog to keep up. The van pulled up near Brad and rested against the curb.
Sean shouted instructions from the window. Everyone gathered their gear and threw it into the back of the van. They lifted Brad and placed him in the bed atop all of the gear. Brad crawled so that his back was against the cab of the van and positioned his rifle so that he could cover his side of the vehicle. They dropped the tailgate on the truck and piled in, grabbing onto the sides while the remaining four jumped in the cab. There were thirteen of them packed into a vehicle made for half of that.
Brad’s pain had greatly subsided, so he took the lollipop from his mouth and placed it into his breast pocket for safe keeping. He could still feel the pressure and tightness in his leg even though the pain had been numbed. He tried straightening and bending his leg in the confined space, and was able to do it with minimal discomfort. He could feel the tightening of the tissue and was careful not to put too much pressure on the wound.
Brad watched Specialist Theo load his M203 grenade launcher with a 40-millimeter grenade. He aimed high into the sky and popped the round out and into the distance. There was a thump from the 203 as it landed some three hundred meters away before the sharp explosion. Theo loaded another round and again aimed out and over a neighboring building. Another thump was followed by a distant blast. “What the hell is he shooting at?” Brad asked.
Corporal Parker looked at Brad as the van began to drive up the street toward the airport. “He’s not shooting at anything, Sergeant. We found out a while ago that the forty mike-mikes are more useful at drawing the primals away then they are at fighting them. So whenever we need to make a move in Indian country, we lob a couple off in the distance to get them headed in the wrong direction.”
“We use flares,” Brad joked.
“What the fuck? Y’all is crazy, we don’t mess with them at night,” Parker answered.
The van’s engine smoothed out as it warmed up and picked up speed. Sean guided it down the middle of the street, only slowing to avoid vehicles or obstacles on the road. They made their way through the heaviest parts of the city, only spotting an occasional primal in the distance. The CH-53 false insertions combined with the M203 distraction must have been successful in leading them away.
Charlie Group quickly reached the outer perimeter of the airport. Instead of driving around and looking for an entrance, Sean pulled up alongside a high chain link fence. A number of men jumped from the vehicle and began quickly cutting a gap in the fence. They pulled a section back, allowing the van to ease through. The men hastily repaired the gap before re-boarding the van. Sean gunned the van and headed toward the runway.
The runway was scattered with small aircraft. Brad saw several burnt-out hulls of large aircraft, probably abandoned airlines. Some military-type jet aircraft were also on the ground, the frames sticking out like rotting skeletons. They slowly drove down the runways and tarmacs, looking for the best choice. Finally, Sean pulled up to a fat, four-prop plane with Arabic words written on the sides. It was painted in a blue and white pattern. Sean pulled up close to the side, staying away from the wings, and left the van’s engine running.
The plane reminded Brad of a C-130, but the nose didn’t look right, and it was painted in civilian markings. The wheels and gear looked the same as a military heavy-lift plane, at least the kind Brad was accustomed to, but everything else was different. The plane sat alone on the edge of the tarmac with its cargo ramp down and support vehicles surrounding it. The crew door was swinging open above the wheeled portable walkway.
“What the hell kind of plane is this?” Nelson asked wearily.
Brooks jumped from the bed of the van before turning to help Brad out. “It’s an Antonov AN-12, old Russian bird. They are pretty solid though, decent range. Nice choice if it’ll fire up.”
Kelli, their designated pilot, who had been riding in the cab and pointing out aircraft to Sean, quickly moved to the side of the aircraft and began an inspection. The rest of the men fanned out and began to set up a perimeter. “I think we are in luck, check this out,” Kelli yelled from the back of the Antonov.
A large fuel truck was parked near the aircrafts’ open rear ramp, and fuel hoses were still attached to the aircraft. A large yellow power unit was parked under the nose with cables running to the aircraft. Brad took his hand off of the side of the van and slowly limped toward the aircraft. He could see bodies scattered around the rear of the plane. “They must have been preparing to get out of Dodge when they were attacked,” Kelli said.
Gunner looked at the bodies and scanned the horizon. “Certainly looks that way. Everyone stay sharp; I’m sure they are tucked into the shade, but they are here,” Gunner warned. “Villegas, take a couple of men and clear the aircraft, try not to shoot it up too bad either, okay?”
The Villegas brothers nodded in response and ran up the portable walkway. Sean exited the van and went to the rear of the Antonov where Brad and Kelli had gathered. “Kelli, can you fly this?”
“I don’t think it will be much of a problem. Obviously I don’t have cert for it, but what the hell, right? I’m sure I can get it in the air, landing will suck though.”
“How far can we go in this?”
“With the tanks topped off we can make Europe. I’m most familiar with the bases in Italy, so I’d like to plan for that.”
“I’m giving you my team of wrenches, use them to get this thing off the ground, and train them to be your flight crew,” Sean said.
“Roger that, Chief.”
Brad went back to the van. He could see Kelli taking charge of Chelsea and the other Marines. She had them moving about smartly. Nelson headed to the power cart and began trying to get it operational. Villegas popped his head out of the crew entrance and announced that the plane was clear. Brooks ran to join Corporal Parker, who had slung his SAW over his back. Together they started transferring bags from the van to the cargo bay of the AN-12, being careful to make sure everything was properly secured.
Gunner and Sean were gathered near Brad looking over maps when Kelli reported to them. “Looks like the tanks are heavy with fuel. They were definitely prepping the aircraft for departure when it went down. Everything is set for takeoff. That is if your guy can get the power cart go–.” The roar of a small engine cut her off midsentence as Nelson started the generator on the power cart.
“That settles that; I just need to make my way to the cockpit. We’ll be ready to go in another twenty minutes,” Kelli said.
“Okay, let’s hustle. The CH-53 is due for pick up in less than an hour … I’d like to be gone by then,” Gunner said.
“What happens when we aren’t there? Will they look for us? I don’t want people to get hurt trying to find us,” Brad asked.
“No, that won’t happen. The CH-53 will loiter in the area as long as they have fuel. After that, they’ll return to base. They have a no search and rescue order. They figure if a mob was big enough to take out a group, then it’s too dangerous for a rescue,” Gunner answered.
Brad squinted. “Damn, that’s really messed up.”
“Yes it is, but it works to our advantage today. How’s that leg? Can you manage to get your ass on board? Or does somebody need to carry you?” Gunner said.
“I’ll manage,” Brad replied.
As Brad turned to hobble toward the aircraft’s cargo ramp, they heard the sounds of suppressed gunfire. “Several contacts; north terminal!” Hahn yelled from the far side of the aircraft.
Sean stopped what he was doing and ran toward Hahn with his rifle in hand. Gunner grabbed the bags and started helping with the cargo transfer. “Lieutenant, we don’t have twenty minutes, we need to g
o now!”
Brad stopped and grabbed the last bag from the back of the van. He sucked up the pain and half-jogged to the rear ramp. He tossed the bag into the aircraft and dropped into a prone position across the back of the ramp with his rifle. He could sense the commotion behind him as the others prepared the aircraft for takeoff. Brad pulled the remainder of the painkilling lollipop from his pocket and put it in his mouth. He adjusted his weight to his left side and relaxed into the optics of his rifle as the first wave of primals rounded a corner and came into view.
There were only ten of them, but they were running fast on a collision course for Sergeant Hahn and Specialist Theo, who had set up an observation post about one hundred meters out. The two men were between Brad and the mob and directly in Brad’s line of fire. The soldiers were firing into the charging creatures. One at a time, a soldier would rapid fire while the other would leapfrog back. They were making good movements but the mob wasn’t slowing down.
From his peripheral vision, Brad saw Sean take a position under a wing of the aircraft. Sean dropped to the ground and aimed his rifle downrange. He took quick shots, cutting down the lead runners. Sean’s rifle fire allowed the soldiers to quicken their pace. They fell in alongside Sean just as the first of the four engines roared to life.
Now with the soldiers clear, Brad was able to take aimed shots at the advancing primals. He was surprised to be so focused even under the influence of the lollipop. He was even having a good time, he thought to himself, smiling. He fired rhythmically, knocking the charging crazies down. Not every round was a kill shot, but he did enough to put the primals on the ground and slow the attack.
A gunshot behind him broke Brad’s focus. He turned to see Brooks firing directly to the rear of the aircraft at another mob that was closing in on them from the terminal. More gunfire started outside near where the van was parked, and Brad feared they were becoming surrounded. Brad adjusted his position to take line with Brooks as he saw Nelson and Craig run up the ramp, shouting that the start cart and ladder were clear.
Brad aimed and fired into the body of the mass of primals. He hit several of them square, but more filled the gaps. Corporal Parker and Gunner had joined them on the ramp and fired rapidly into the closing mob. Parker’s loud unsuppressed M249 machine gun was sweeping and cutting down the advancing mob. Brad heard Sean shouting, “Three friendlies coming around!” as Sean, Hahn, and Theo climbed the high side of the ramp and rolled into the aircraft.
The throttles increased with the roar of the engines and the plane began to move forward. Chelsea worked a lever and the ramp began to rise, with the firing men still perched on the end of it. Brad stayed in position next to Brooks, firing until someone grabbed him by the good leg and dragged him into the cargo bay. A wave of primals collided with the ramp just as it closed. They could hear them banging against the aircraft’s body as Kelli slowly taxied the AN-12.
Brad had been dragged onboard and near the pallet of rucksacks and gear. He grabbed at one and used it to unsteadily get to his feet. He moved forward and found Sean near a portside window. Brad strained for position and looked outside the aircraft. He could see an increasing stream of them pouring from hanger bays and buildings along the runway. Several had already gotten near the props and been chopped to pieces.
“Good thing this is a propeller job! Jet aircraft might have trouble swallowing all of those body parts,” Sean said casually over the roar of the engines.
“Won’t that mess up the blades?” Brad asked.
“I’m sure it’s not good for them, but beats the hell out of the alternative,” Sean said.
“Alternative?”
“Going back outside to fight them.”
Kelli brought the AN-12 onto a cleared section of the runway and rolled to the end. She made a quick maneuver, spinning the plane around so that it faced down the long empty strip. The primals were still rushing from all directions but had stopped launching themselves at the aircraft and its props. They seemed to be confused, unsure of what to do with it, or how to get at the men inside. They had massed in a crowd around the plane but were giving it space to move.
The AN-12’s engines roared up as they climbed to maximum power. Kelli released the brakes and the plane began to vibrate and speed forward down the runway. Brad suddenly lost his balance and reached out for leverage. “You should probably get strapped in, hero,” Sean said, looking at Brad.
Brad turned to take a step toward the rows of seats filling the middle of the aircraft and almost fell. Sean caught him and dropped him into a seat. Brooks moved up beside them and took a seat as the plane rapidly rose into the air. They heard the gear come up and lock into place. Brad put his seat back and smiled.
“Anyone know what the in-flight meal will be?” Brad asked.
“Not sure about beef or chicken, but I still have that morphine for you,” Brooks said.
31.
Burdened by heavy fur clothing, the bearded man wearily walked the trail. He distributed his weight on a walking stick to take pressure off of a nagging back. Jeremiah had followed the boys for more than five miles. His sons had something to show him, something they had found during their morning rounds. They had rushed back to the farm with excitement in their voices, dragging him out and onto the trail.
Jeremiah was still curious as to why his two teen sons had wandered so far from the pasture. They told him they were searching for a lamb; he had his doubts, but was too tired to argue with them. The previous night’s winter storm had been harsh and scattered the flock, so the story was plausible. He knew they were young men and needed adventure in their lives. Jeremiah tried not to harass them; he knew that was their mother’s job.
It was dangerous out in the hills away from the farm, especially with the cold of winter drawing in out of the high ground. He told his sons to stay close to the pastures. Still, it had been months since the last of the infected attacks, and the boys had become more complacent as a result of their boredom. He was sure they had wandered the path to visit their old school, now closed and shuttered. They were always in search of a school friend, or news from the outside.
He saw the boys standing and waiting for him at the top of a hill. They had said they found something; something he needed to see. They refused to tell him what, probably knowing he would refuse to go if he suspected danger. That was why he had followed them all the way out here on this cold fall day, humoring the boys and joining them on their adventure.
As Jeremiah neared the top of the hill, he could smell the smoke of a wood fire, and his senses went on high alert. Wood smoke could mean a campfire, and camp fires meant people. Not everyone was friendly these days. He checked his coat to make sure his old service pistol was still in his hip pocket as he hastened his pace up the hill. Jeremiah rounded the top, falling alongside his boys, and looked down into the snow-covered valley. He stood in awe at the sight.
A long, earth-strewn trench was sheared across the pasture. The trench ended at the smoking body of a large, destroyed aircraft. The nose of the plane was badly damaged; a wing and parts of engines lay behind the plane, impaled in the ground. The main body of the plane seemed intact from the distance atop the hill, but it had rolled to one side at an odd angle.
“See Dad, we told you! What is it?” Jeremiah’s youngest son, Michael, asked.
The man stood staring at the wreckage. Fear struck him; maybe he should return to the farm, pretend he had never seen it.
No. There could be supplies on board, or possibly survivors.
Or infected.
“Anyone else hear tell of this??”
“Not a soul, Dad. We came right to ya,” William answered.
“Stay close behind me boys, and keep those guns ready. Let’s go have us a look,” he said to them, already second-guessing his words. He turned and watched his boys ready the small double barreled, twenty-gauge shotgun and semi-automatic .22 rifle he had given them months earlier. He told them to keep their fingers off the triggers as he
led them down toward the crash site.
Jeremiah thought his days of violence had ended when he left the service. Ten years in the Army, most of it with the 22nd regiment, had been enough for him. He happily left the forces and took over his father’s farm. The Army service pistol had been a retirement gift from his old man. His father had also been a 22nd man. The pistol was the same one his grandfather had given to his father when he returned from Korea.
His boys were not new to the dangers of the world. They had survived their fair share of attacks by the infected. For the most part, their remote farm sheltered them from the dangers they had witnessed on the television. Thomas, his older boy, had been in the city during the first of the attacks and had barely made it home. He told of the behavior of the infected and warned how they attacked without mercy.
Days after the first outbreaks, a neighbor had come to him seeking help for his wife. She had been bitten. He tried for town, but the streets were blocked and the infected roamed freely. Jeremiah gave his neighbor all of the medical supplies he had. A day later his neighbor’s family attacked them. They had killed one of his sheep, and had trapped his wife and son in the barn.
Jeremiah tried to reason with his longtime friend but he received a moan in response. They took their attention from the barn and charged at him. When the neighbor went to attack Jeremiah, he shot his neighbor three times in the chest with his old Army revolver. The man fell, but his neighbor’s wife and daughter carried on with the attack. If Thomas hadn’t been carrying the .22 rifle, they would have killed him.
Jeremiah approached from the nose of the aircraft. He could clearly see now that the cockpit had been destroyed. The plane listed heavily to the side with the missing wing. The other side of the plane had half a wing pointed up at the sky. The moved close to the plane and walked near the sheared-off half-wing. Fluids still dripped from the wreckage, and not much snow had accumulated on the hull. The wreckage had not been here long.
Jeremiah positioned his sons on a high embankment and warned them to cover him as he moved down to the rear of the aircraft. He could already see from his current position that the back half of the plane was split open. He was hoping he might be able to see or even enter the fuselage. Jeremiah watched his footing and walked steadily to avoid the crunching of the fresh snow. He had grown up hunting small game, and was familiar with stalking prey.