by B. T. Wright
When Colt reached the precipice, he spun back around to see Dylan helping Wesley climb. They were too far off. He was about to speak, to tell them to hurry, but they were already doing their best. He spun toward the road that lay less than 1,000 feet away. He gritted his teeth, and his body wanted to move, but he couldn’t leave them behind. He turned and ran back down the hill.
When he reached them, Colt bent down and lifted Wesley, then nodded to Dylan. “Go on,” he said.
Climbing at a ferocious pace, Colt stayed on Dylan’s heels. When they reached the top again, the helicopter flew north in a blur. Colt set Wesley down and each of them waved and screamed. “Here! Down here!”
But of course, their scream fell deaf. At least to those inside the helicopter. But not on those of the infected.
The fast-food restaurant was just off the nose of the helicopter when Drake spoke over the headset, “Sir, you think this is a good idea? Aren’t these monsters attracted to sound?”
Colonel Jenkins peered over his shoulder to catch Drake’s eye. “That’s why you’re going to have to bust your ass into that restaurant and search the interior as quickly as possible.” Colonel Jenkins smiled, then looked over the nose as he lowered down to the road below.
“Bald. You offer him cover. Stay frosty and keep your head on a swivel. There’s no telling how many we might encounter,” Colonel Jenkins said. Once the skids touched the pavement, he shut down the rotors and killed the noise.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir,” Drake said, scooting toward the edge of the seat. He jumped down, and looked right, then left. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Bodies were strewn about in the roadway as he approached the restaurant, the same bodies he’d cut down the night before. He gave a fleeting glance back toward the chopper to see Bald drop out of the chopper and move in front of the nose.
The door of the restaurant was around the side, but it was blocked by a stack of at least three dead infected. A truck was parked there too. Parked with open doors. Poor schmucks left in a hurry, he thought as he walked around the bed.
When he reached the double doors of the entrance, he peered through the glass, making sure a surprise didn’t await him. He reached for the handle and swung the door open. But before he could enter, something in his periphery caught his eye. There was movement. He shot his gaze to the right and aimed his rifle toward the edge of the parking lot and at the tree line.
An infected woman exited the trees and took two steps toward him, but then stopped. Drake had her in his sights, but he didn’t pull, not yet. His shot could alert others. And what if he missed? Then another exited and stood by her side. Then another. And another. Until there was a line of over a dozen. He gulped the lump of spit that sat in his throat.
He was faced with a decision: turn and run to the chopper, dive inside the restaurant and take cover, or fight. But before he made that decision, Bald made it for him, “Drake! Get back to the chopper now!”
There was urgency in his voice. As soon as Drake spun, a single shot rang from behind him. His eyes widened when he witnessed what Bald was shooting at. The infected were rushing toward them from all directions. Surrounded by a sea of monsters, Colonel Jenkins fired up the rotors.
As Drake ran, he shouldered his rifle and fired shots of his own, which connected with the approaching infected. Once he was beyond the edge of the building, more rushed in, flanking the helicopters position. Drake fired more rounds. All of them connected, but only body shots. None put them down for good. Drake’s eye returned to see Bald aiming his rifle directly at him. What the hell is he doing? Bald sent a bullet spiraling directly at him. That was it, his death sentence, carried out by a friend. After all it was a better end than being killed by a mob of infected. But the shot wasn’t meant for him, but for the infected man who had jumped up from behind him. He had been hiding underneath one of the already deceased. They’d set a trap and waited to lure them in.
Colonel Jenkins lifted the skids from the ground even before Drake was aboard. Drake noticed it, and knew he’d be left behind if staying meant Bald and the colonel’s demise. Drake fired more rounds at the infected who were near the nose of the chopper. Two fell to the ground, but more climbed over the pile and reached for the chopper as they lifted from the blacktop.
Bald fired his own shots, dropping more, and keeping them at bay, which allowed Drake a chance to jump aboard. The helicopter hovered six feet above the ground when Drake leaped for the skid. He caught it and flung his right arm around it. He held on as the chopper rose even higher.
Drake sighed. He looked up to see his friend looking out from inside. He smiled at first, but soon realized he was not alone by the panicked look on Bald’s face. Drake glanced down to see a woman locked onto his leg, chomping through his flesh as they swayed above the ground.
As Drake watched, he felt the searing pain in his calf. Color left his face, and he stared up at Bald. The woman was strong and was climbing up Drake’s leg, gaining ground. When she reached his waist, Drake knew his fate was sealed. He grasped the skid, and shook his body, trying to drop her from her grasp, but she was too strong and unflappable. Drake couldn’t allow the infected woman to climb. He wouldn’t put his friends in danger if somehow Bald missed his shot and she reached the cockpit—not while he had the ability to take her out himself. He gave one last glance to Bald. Bald was swaying for a shot, but he couldn’t take it, not with the risk of catching his friend in the process. Drake looked at Bald and nodded, then screamed into the wind, howling as he let go, falling with the infected woman wrapped around his back to the earth below.
24
The helicopter might have flown past, but Colt wouldn’t give up chase or the hope they could catch it. With his sons by his side, they ran for US 24. There was gunfire in the distance, rapid shots in succession. It was the men in the chopper—had to be. Colt guessed they’d run into a sea of infected, maybe even at the restaurant five miles up the road in Woodland Park. He couldn’t know their location, but the echoing shots spurred them on.
Once their feet touched the pavement of the road, Colt led them north. It wasn’t very likely that they were headed directly toward the chopper, but he would not leave the road again, he wouldn’t make that same mistake again.
As they ran, Colt’s heart pumped wildly, and his legs burned. He couldn’t help but think Dylan and Wesley would be feeling the same discomfort. He was about to ask if they were okay when Colt heard something from far off. But the sound was no gunshot, but rather a screeching hiss.
“Boys! Stop!” Colt instructed.
They did. Colt’s eyes danced from tree to tree. From car to car. The infected were lurking, Colt knew it. He’d spent so many years being a hunter, but in this instance, he felt like the prey. The first infected man made himself known as he stepped out from behind a battered shack on the side of the road no more than 100 yards from their position.
Colt stepped in front of his sons to protect them in case the man made an attempt to chase them down. The infected didn’t move, at least not yet, not until another joined him. A young boy, maybe Dylan’s age. Then another, this time an even younger boy, matching Wesley in age.
Colt couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was this a dream? Or some sick joke the infected were playing? The sight of the man and the two boys plagued Colt’s psyche. He found himself becoming angry. They were mocking him and his family. But how? How could these mindless infected beings collaborate? How could they come together and tug on his emotions? As much as Colt refused to admit it, these things were changing. Getting smarter. Joining forces with each other.
The infected children took their first step forward. That was Colt’s cue to turn and run. He spun, but on that first step, again they were forced to stop. Down the road, no more than fifty yards south of their position, another man stood with two boys by his side.
Colt whipped his head back around to see the other two boys hadn’t stopped their approach. Colt spun to the right, off t
he shoulder and into the distance of the opening they’d run from. He shook his head at the sight of another man and two boys. They were multiplying. Toying with Colt and his sons.
The infected all moved in on Colt and his boys. Helpless, they stood in the middle of the road. Colt shoved the stock of his rifle against his shoulder and aimed at the closest boy. He felt the cold trigger on his finger. It was ready to be squeezed. But as he peered down the sight, he saw Dylan’s face in the infected’s. He shook the vision from his mind and readjusted his eye. But again, it was Dylan he saw, not the mangled soulless face of an infected boy. He shifted his sight to the other boy, but this time he saw Wesley’s face.
Was he still dreaming? Had he, in fact, never woken up? Was this Anna’s warning? Or did the infected have control over his thoughts somehow? Were they projecting these images in his mind so he wouldn’t fire?
“Dad!” Dylan yelled. “What are you doing? Shoot!”
He couldn’t. His mind and his body were paralyzed. Paralyzed in fear at the thought of losing his sons.
Amongst the chaos, Colonel Jenkins spun the chopper around and flew back south and along US 24, back toward Colorado Springs. His mind was filled with despair. Damnit, Drake. I didn’t ask you come along. He couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness for his fallen man. It wasn’t his fault Drake had died, but this was his mission. Drake might have known the risk, but still . . . it didn’t take the sting away.
In his anger, Colonel Jenkins pushed the stick forward, lowered the nose, and sped back for Cheyenne Mountain Complex. When the nose of the helicopter dipped, he saw something he didn’t expect to see. He couldn’t be certain of what he saw, not until Bald confirmed.
“Bald, come up here.”
Without delay, Bald unstrapped from his belt and stepped into the cockpit. Both stared through the windscreen. On the ground, infected were closing in on one man and his two sons.
“Is that what I think it is?” Colonel Jenkins asked.
“Hard to tell from here, sir. It does look like a man and two boys.”
“That’s what I’m seeing too.”
“You think it’s the family we’re looking for?”
“Only one way to find out,” Colonel Jenkins said. “Either way, I’m not letting Drake die in vain. Let’s make this mission worth something.”
“Couldn’t agree more, sir.”
“Good. Then lock and load. Let’s light these bastards up.”
Colt was so wrapped in his own mind, that he didn’t hear the approaching helicopter. Not until Dylan shook him. When he looked up, he noticed the infected’s attention being drawn to the noise of the rotors.
Colt watched as the helicopter turned perpendicular to the road. One man hung out of the side of the chopper with his rifle raised. Colt couldn’t help but think of his brother Jake as he saw the man hanging there.
When the first shot rang out, the horde of infected screeched loud enough to be heard over the churn of rotors. The man by the shack dropped first. Then the two boys next to him. Colt couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked slowly, watching the infected fall. Then he locked eyes with the man in the helicopter. He was waving furiously, calling them in.
Colt couldn’t see behind him, but if he turned, he would’ve recognized the airman’s urgency. The other group of infected were closing in.
Dylan led first, taking his brother by the arm and running for the chopper. Colt saw them running, which shook him from his trance. On his first step, he felt something from behind grab the cooler in his hand as it swung behind him. Colt looked down to see one of the boys, the youngest one of the infected, gripping the handle. He shook the handle, trying to rip it free, but the infected wouldn’t loosen his grip.
Colt glanced down at the infected, who snarled at him and tugged. His coal black eyes pierced through the deep blue of Colt’s. Instantly thoughts of Anna flashed through his mind. The eyes frightened him. But soon, all Colt would see was the whipping of the infected’s head followed by the mist of blood as the shot from the chopper punctured his skull.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other young infected closing in. Colt hefted the cooler and swung it at the infected’s head. He hit him in the face and sent him falling back off his feet. The falling infected child spurred the adult on as a louder screech rang in Colt’s ear. Without time to waste, Colt sprinted for safety.
Dylan and Wesley were already beside the chopper’s hatch. The military man was helping them inside. After lifting both boys in, he continued to wave Colt in. He was close, only a few steps away, but with each stride, the adult infected seemed to gain ground. The man in the chopper raised his rifle and aimed it at Colt. He was trying to get an angle, a shot at the approaching infected, but he didn’t pull the trigger.
The skids lifted from the ground as the pilot was preparing for take-off. Two more steps and Colt was there, but as he swung his right arm back in a sprint, again he felt a pull on the cooler. This time the grip was stronger and unrelenting. The strength slowed his path almost to a stop. He was so close to the chopper, and the airman was still aiming his rifle, waiting for a shot. Colt looked beyond the man and saw the fear in his son’s eyes. He had to let go of the cooler, he had to leap aboard. Colt opened his right hand, releasing the cooler, then jumped into the opening as the chopper rose from the ground. The airman squeezed his trigger and killed the infected before he could follow Colt aboard.
Colt wrapped his sons up in his arms and would not let go. Not after that.
The airman handed Colt a headset. Once it was over his ears, the airman said, “You’re safe now. You need to strap them in.” He nodded toward the harnesses and showed Colt how.
Once buckled, Colt leaned back against the seatback. “What’s your name?” A different voice came over the microphone.
“Colt Maddox.” He looked toward the cockpit.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Maddox. Name’s Colonel Jenkins. Man back there is Bald.”
Colt breathed hard, pushing the heaviness of the situation aside. “Thank you for coming for us.”
“That’s not a problem. You were our mission,” Colonel Jenkins said.
“Your mission?” Colt didn’t fully understand.
“That’s right. We were given an order. An order from the president himself to find you and your family.”
Thank you, Jake. Colt knew his brother had come through.
“I’m just glad you found us in time. Another minute and we would’ve been . . . well, you know.”
“Me too. Me too,” Colonel Jenkins said.
“Are we going to Cheyenne Mountain?” Colt asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have communication there? With my brother? With the president?”
“I don’t know about your brother, but we do have communication with the president, yes.”
Colt held his breath. He had no idea if Jake was alive.
“By the way, what was in that cooler?” Bald asked.
Colt blinked slow and stared Bald as he held on to the side of the helicopter. “Beritrix.”
Bald nodded, but remained silent, knowing how important the medicine was.
Then Colonel Jenkins spoke. “Seems like everyone is after that.” His attempt at a joke.
Colt chuckled, but then thought to himself. Wait. Why did they go after the cooler? Did they know Beritrix was inside? Do they know it heals us? Keeps us from turning into . . . into those monsters? Jake, I sure as hell hope you have the answers, because if we don’t figure it out soon, these things are going to change into something smarter than you or I. And if that happens, God help us all.
25
Cheyenne Mountain Complex
When the helicopter touched down, Colt looked up and toward the sky. He couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe that the entrance to this place had been built inside the wall of rock. Colonel Jenkins stepped away from the cockpit and led the group toward the circular entrance.
“Dad, is that . . .?
” Dylan began.
Colt knew where his questions was going. “Yes, son. That’s the city in the mountain.”
Anyone from Colorado knew the famed city. But it was an enigma, as most civilians weren’t allowed entry. Sure, there were tours one could take, but that wouldn’t offer the intelligence they were about to consume. And that prospect excited Colt, and Dylan too it seemed, even after the harrowing events of the day.
Twelve-foot chain-link fences topped with circular barbed wire protected the walkway from outside intruders. Colt studied the fences. They seemed secure, but he couldn’t help but wonder, if enough infected rushed, could they break through?
“The entrance is just ahead,” Colonel Jenkins said, walking through the arched wall of concrete.
When Colt entered, he stared up at the ceiling. The walk was strange, but not too different from any other tunnel he’d travelled through. Most closely related to the Eisenhower Tunnel. He’d travelled through that tunnel many times. It was the gateway to some of the best ski resorts in the entire state.
Deep inside the cavern, the natural light from the outside faded, and Colonel Jenkins flicked on his flashlight to guide their path. They came to an oversized steel door, one guarded by two men. Both saluted the Colonel, and he nodded. The two men stepped aside and allowed them to enter.
Colonel Jenkins proceeded further into the rock. Beyond the entrance, he shined the flashlight on the floor to illuminate their path. Colt guided his boys to walk closely behind the Colonel, making sure they could see where they were going.
Three-foot florescent bulbs flickered overhead. “You have power?” Colt wondered how.
“Generators.”
“Ah, got it,” Colt said, then looked to his left and wondered what lay beyond the darkness when the bulbs went dark. When light returned, he saw, the walls were made of granite, much like the rounded tunnel upon entry.