Back from the Brink_Toward the Brink V

by Craig McDonough

  “No, it’s a plane, a small single—engined plane!”

  * * *

  “Here we are, Hammet, Idaho. Were Jerry rescued you, right?”

  After they refueled in Richland, Chuck flew another hundred miles before he found an out of the way runway on a wheat farm—a burnt out, wheat farm—and put the plane down there for the night. They were off again at first light despite his aches and stiff joints.

  A Cessna 172 just wasn’t made for tall people.

  “That’s right. He didn’t see anyone else but after the explosion he wasn’t eager to hang around and search.”

  “Understandable. We better make things happen fast it will be dark soon and regardless of what we saw back in Richland we still have to assume there’s foamers about.”

  “If we have to, we can search tomorrow but we have to search this place—up and down. I don’t know how Tom would make it on his own but if Tristan or Richard are with him then, with their training, they’ll have a good shot.”

  Chuck just nodded. He knew a lot of this was about Elliot’s emotional state. Perhaps a guilt trip for leaving without any major effort made for other crash survivors or because he was the one that did survive. Hell, he didn’t know but the kid was determined and he was right about one thing—they did at least owe Tom the benefit of a search.

  Damn, that’s the first time I’ve considered him a kid since I met him!

  “There’s the airstrip.” Chuck pointed.

  At the very end of the east side of town, where Snake River, Old US 30 and US Highway 26 came together was a small earth airstrip which ran alongside the 30. Soil airstrips need to be driven over every so often with heavy vehicles—usually fully laden water trucks—especially if they hadn’t had much traffic for a while to keep the strip firm enough for landing. Chuck remembered this form days gone by, but didn’t mention it to Elliot—no need for extra concerns.

  If the airstrip below had cracked or softened, the wheels would dig in on landing and flip the plane over.

  And I’m reminding myself of this because…

  “Take a look for any cars nearby Elliot. It’s a fair walk into town from the strip.”

  “Aye, captain.” Elliot winked at Chuck and smiled.

  It was good to see his spirits lift, Chuck thought, he just hoped they wouldn’t come crashing down again if they didn’t find Tom or the others' which would leave him in a vulnerable position.

  Sometimes, Chuck said to himself, it’s just better not to know.

  * * *

  Tom rushed to one side window while Tristan to the other. “I can. I can hear it. It is a fucking plane!”

  “Oh, oh please stop!” Richard called out. It hurt too much when he laughed. Tom didn’t swear that much but when he did, Richard and Tristan always got a kick out of it.

  “Here, over this side,” Tristan called. “Looks like its about to land.”

  “Where’s the airport in this town? I didn’t know it had one.”

  “East end I think, I vaguely recall a strip just before we went down.” Richard said.

  “All right let’s get on our way.” Tom said to the others'.

  “Wait, just like that? We have no idea who they are.”

  “At this stage Tristan I don’t give a shit who they are, but they have a plane and we need it. So let’s go get it. Just don’t kill the pilot, we need him.”

  After assuring Richard they wouldn’t be long and left him with an M-4, Tristan and Tom made their way up to the US 30 on a bicycle each. It made good sense. If the plane landed before they arrived, their approach wouldn’t be heard.

  “There it is, coming into land now. It’ll be down before we get there.” Tristan called.

  “Let’s try not to be seen okay? We mightn’t look intimidating, but these weapons and military gear don’t make us look all warm and fuzzy either, you know.”

  The Cessna came to a halt as Tristan and Tom turned off the US 30 and onto the gravel road and into the airstrip. The pilot pulled the plane in so it faced the edge of the runway.

  “Okay Tom. Stay on this side of the strip we might have a chance as long as they—”

  Too late, the cabin doors on both sides opened.

  “Quick, get ready,” Tristan skidded to a halt, jumped off his bike and brought the butt of his M-4 into his shoulder. Tom did the same, he was just a bit slower at it.

  “Don’t fire Tristan, don’t fire until—” Tom dropped his weapon to his hips, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Elliot? Elliot is that you?” Tom yelled.

  “TOM!” Elliot ducked under the wing and rushed out onto the airstrip. “Tom, Tom,” he kept saying.

  Tom slung his M-4 over his shoulder and ran to meet Elliot. Tears of elation, jubilance and heartache flowed at once from his eyes.

  The two embraced on the dirt airstrip of Hammet—the scene of two miracles.

  “You came back how, how—”

  Elliot turned and looked back at the small plane just as chuck rounded the tail end.

  “Chuck? Fuckin’ Chuck?” Tom yelled.

  “Who else?” Elliot smiled back through tear filled eye, as Tristan joined them. A rendezvous of old friends, close friends, who had been through more than any living person should. Within moments of all four men gathered around one another and there wasn’t a dry eye between them as they held on tight to one another.

  “And this happened from the crash?” Tom indicated to Elliot’s eye-patch.

  “Yeah,” Elliot explained, “but a man named Jerry, found me and patched me up—no pun, anyway you’ll meet him when we get back.”

  “Look forward to it and getting back to the others.”

  “Not as many there anymore either,” Chuck added.

  “What was there another attack?”

  “No nothing like that. I’ll explain later, right now we have work to do.” Chuck said.

  Life and friendship, qualities that too long had been ignored in the world. But not by this group, it meant everything to them.

  Tom had been found, Elliot’s vision and demand for a rescue, proved to be correct.

  Now, all they had to do was get back to Sandspit.

  Chapter Eight

  Eight

  The storm that ravaged the Haida Gwaii Island’s lasted a good twenty-four hours. Tin, wood, glass and all forms of material could be heard as it was blown about the tiny streets from inside the motel. The motel itself was one of the stronger constructions on the island which had made it such a good choice.

  On the second morning after the storm began, Chess returned from the harbor, the wind blew through the open door hard as he entered.

  “We know you like an entrance Chess, but some of us would like to catch up on a little rest.”

  “No amount of beauty sleep is gonna help you, Cleav,” Chess said, then made his way to the coffee pot. It was almost zero outside when the wind factor was taken into account.

  “What did you find down there?” Riley asked, his tone genuine.

  “The catamaran has been beached, can’t tell if there’s been damage but the dinghy is nowhere to be seen and the old fish market… well, its roof has been sheared off. One wall has also collapsed, but other than that, everything is just peachy.”

  “If the submarine doesn’t come back this way soon, and the catamaran is in no condition to sail, we-we will have no way of—”

  “Take it easy, James, let’s not get ahead of the situation, okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Its just that storm shook me all night long.”

  “How bad is the cat?” Riley asked, and ignored James concerns.

  “Most likely it has taken water and then pushed onto the shore, but I can’t tell—we’ll need to check the hull .”

  “We might be able to right it then when the sea calms, do you think we need to get a few more lines on it?” Riley asked.

  “Won’t hurt, there’s more rope in the fish market we can use,” Chess said then wrapped both hands around the coffee mug.

&n
bsp; “All right everyone let’s get some coffee and head to the harbor, we got a ship to save from drifting.”

  Attaching lines to the ship and a general cleanup would occupy most of the day. Dark clouds hung over them and a fierce wind kept up until dusk when the sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds and the winds abated. A huge rainbow filled the sky and one end of it, looked to have touched down in Sansdpit.

  * * *

  As Chess, Riley and the crew headed back for the motel, no one knew that when the sun and the rainbow appeared, it was at the the same time their companions reunited on a dirt airstrip in Hammett, Idaho.

  No one except Sam. He stood at the driveway to the motel parking lot as the others' came back and gazed up at the rainbow.

  “Looks like it ends right here, hey Sam?”

  “That’s how it appears all right,” the Bogey talk still present.

  “Maybe we should go look for the pot of gold?” Chess made small conversation.

  “Nope. The gold has already been found my friend, and will be here soon.”

  Sam walked back to the motel reception and left an open mouthed Chess, on his own to stare after him.

  Sam knew all right, he saw in his mind, but he didn’t want to raise false hopes. He also saw a tough time ahead for Elliot and Chuck… and the others' they’d found.

  Chapter Nine

  Nine

  With the emotional reunion over, Tom explained that Tristan and himself were the only survivors—plus a very injured Richard who wasn’t with them.

  “Tom, I want you to know that if I thought you were still—”

  “It’s okay Elliot, you just said it. You weren’t to know. Let’s just focus on getting home, and I want to hear how you got back and news of the others.”

  “I hope you’re a good listener because there’s a lot of updates.”

  “Err, okay color me intrigued, but I don’t want to stand out here much longer.”

  The sun had gone below the horizon, enough light remained but with four men and only two bicycles, it would take half an hour at best to get back to the old house near US 30 in town.

  “All right get going then,” Chuck said, “I’ll grab the rifles from the plane and catch up. Does Richard need any medical supplies? We have some pain killers, bandages…”

  “Yeah, grab them, we’ll need them if we want to move him.”

  Forty-five minutes later and in near dark the four of them started up the stairs to the second floor of the safe-house. “Richard, we’re back and man do we have a surprise for you.”

  “Richard?” Tom called again when no reply came. “Richard, what the—”

  “Hold it.” Chuck whispered and grabbed Tom’s arm. “Was he conscious when you left?”

  “Yeah wide awake, he—”

  “Fan out Tristan,”

  Chuck eased up the stairs one step at a time on the wall side, while Tristan took the rail.

  Elliot covered the front door. “Over here, Tom.”

  When Chuck got to the second floor he saw a motionless Richard on the bunk in the faint light. Tom’s calls would have woken him and by all accounts, his injuries weren’t fatal.

  Unless.

  Chuck motioned with a wave of his hand for Tristan to move over to Richard’s side and to hold it there. Chuck now bent over and laid the M-4 on a nearby chair without taking his eyes from the former Marine chopper pilot. He eased his Desert Eagle from its holster and inched forward. A quick glance at Tristan enforced the intensity of the situation. Sweat ran down his brow, over his cheeks and along his chin but his eyes never moved away from the bunk.

  Richard’s feet started to stir under the blankets where he lay, slowly at first then shook with the ferocity of an epileptic seizure. Chuck was ready, as always, but he so had enough of this shit.

  “Chuck?” Tristan whispered.

  The Tall Man motioned for quiet.

  He took another step and—

  Richard sat bolt upright in a single move. His head swiveled slowly toward Chuck, his eyelids pulled back to reveal burning red eyes.

  “Oh, shit no!” Chuck cursed and raised the Desert Eagle.

  “CHUCK!” Tristan screamed.

  A steady stream of green goo flew from Richards mouth aimed at Chuck. Tall and muscular as he was, he sidestepped the fountain of foul smelling gunk with the grace of a ballet star.

  BHAM, BHAM. Two rounds from the Desert Eagle shattered the silence of the room… and Richard’s skull.

  “What, what happened?” Elliot bounded up the stairs, Tom right behind.

  “Richard turned.” Chuck holstered his pistol, picked up his rifle and headed back down the stairs. There wasn’t much more to say.

  “What could have… I mean how? He’s been here with us from the beginning, he hasn’t been outside at all. I just don’t understand, Chuck I don’t.” Tom sat opposite Chuck with a strong black coffee in the first floor living area.

  “We have no idea how long the gestation period for this… this foamer plague is—no one knows. He could have been bitten or spewed on long ago, before he made his way to Prince George even. It could be that far back—we just don’t know.”

  “But he flew us to safety and we’ve cared for him and he was-was like—”

  “I had to shoot him, Tom. How do you think I feel?”

  Tom sat back in his chair and looked at Chuck for a moment. “I’m sorry, really,”

  Chuck reached forward and tapped his friends knee. It was hard, a lot of things were, the collapse of the whole fucking goddamned world was hard. And now with the hope of a rescue, a journey to a land were no foamers are present, this happens. Instead of joy, there was only frustration, resentment and anger. At least that’s how Chuck saw it. The chance of salvation for these few only reinforced the loss. It was a heavy loss.

  “Get some rest, we’ll take off in the morning.” Chuck said. With the interruption of Richard’s foamer experience, he hadn’t had time to fill Tom in on the submarine and the transport of more than half of the others' away from the island. But not now. He just shot a man he’d spent time trying to survive against the foamers with—because he was about to become one.

  He had enough of talk for now.

  The next morning, Tristan and Elliot took a ride around the town until they found another two bikes and brought them back for the others'.

  “All right it won’t take us but a few minutes to get to the airstrip,” Tom said when they returned.

  “We have enough fuel to get to just south of Boise, where I’m sure we’ll be able to fill up.”

  “Do you wanna risk that Chuck? I mean a larger population center like Boise could be dangerous for foamers or rogue survivor groups.”

  Chuck took a look at the other three, beaten every last one of them, and figured he pretty much looked the same. He glanced at their weapons and—low on ammo, as they were—knew they’d struggle to fight off an attack by a bunch of determined boy scouts, let alone a mass of foamers or any well armed group.

  “Normally I say no, Elliot. But I believe we have to get back and get back fast. Don’t ask me why but I just have that feeling.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ten

  Warmth projected through the windows of the reception office in Sandspit. The sun was up and so too were the stay behind crew. Most milled around inside with their coffee and prepared a breakfast of fried fish. Chess, however, took his coffee and went outside in search of Sam. His body stiff and sore, the hard floor took its toll—despite the foam mattress under his sleeping bag.

  “Sam?” Chess called. “I want talk with you. What did you mean, ‘the gold has already been found.’ Do you mean Elliot and Chuck?”

  “Yes. I believe they found what they went for.”

  “You mean they found Tom? How do you know?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Chess took a good sip from his coffee and wondered why he put so much stock into Sam’s hunches. He never believed in any hocus pocus shit in
his entire life, but he never believed the dead would get get up and walk either, so…

  “Let’s hope your hunch is right. So, do you know when they’ll return?”

  “No, can’t say ‘bout that, I’m afraid. I’d keep this between the two of us. We don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up too soon, y’know.”

  Chess understood. There was still a long way to travel. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying.” He reprimanded himself for the Bogey like phrase.

  It’s what happens when you talk with Sam.

  “Promise to let me know if you get any more “hunches” okay?”

  “Will do pardner, will do.”

  Chess left Sam to himself and rejoined the others' back inside for breakfast. He considered how interesting and diverse this group of survivors was, even before half of them left with the submarine, each one had their own expertise or specialty which aided in their survival. Without doubt the drive and determination of Elliot and Chuck—whom Chess considered to be mirror images of one another, just twenty or so years apart.

  “Safe travels, Chuck.” He said under his breath before he went inside. He felt Sam hadn’t told him everything there was. Whether it concerned Elliot and Chuck, or the group here at Sandspit, or both, he didn’t know. He just knew he’d feel a lot better when they got back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eleven

  It took a little longer to fuel the plane up. Tristan and Elliot found two cars with enough fuel each but the transfer of gas from the cars to the plane was slow going. While those two filled up the Cessna, Chuck explained the arrival of the submarine at Sandspit and the departure of everyone but a small stay behind crew to Tom and Tristan.

  Tom was shocked by the news but elated at the same time. “A great man. Once said to me, ‘Hope, as long as your alive, will never fade.’ I guess it’s just as pertinent now as ever.”