by Gary Hickman
The doctor nodded, “Yes, this information needs to be communicated.”
“Also, how contagious it is and the speed in which it infects the body,” Priest added.
“That too,” the doctor agreed.
“Ok, let me hail the Cap, and we will get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 8
Team Webb–Airport Terminal
Webb moved to look around a kiosk near a departure gate. His team was in one of the departure gates, sections off the main terminal. This part of the airport was filled with more narrow hallways and a lot of ambush-prime real estate, like various kiosks, alcoves and shop fronts. The floor at their location was carpeted, but the main walkway was tiled or poured epoxy. The hard floor, couple with the echoes in the high-ceiling terminal, provided an early warning alarm.
Webb turned to the team, “Ok, we need to search this airport for the doctor and do it quickly. I am open to options for the most efficient way to make this happen.” The team brainstormed the best way to achieve this.
“The phone,” someone said.
Webb responded, “What?”
“The phone.” Everyone turned to Myles.
“The phone?” Abarra said.
“Yeah, you know Mr. Smith, please pick up the white courtesy phone.”
“You idiot,” Doc stared at him. Myles looked down.
“Whoa, wait a minute. Maybe he is on to something. We could use the intercom on the phone, ask for anyone to call our phone if they hear us. It won’t immediately give our position away, and it may stir up these infected and give their position away. Myles, you’re a genius. Doc, apologize.” Webb stared at Doc.
“What?”
“Apologize to Myles, now. That’s an order.”
“Sheesh, ok. Sorry, bro.”
Webb snickered as he snuck over to the gate counter. He looked at the counter and luckily there was a phone list taped to the inside. He picked up the handset and pushed the numbers for the intercom. The terminal speakers squealed loudly and made everybody jump.
“If there is anyone trapped in the terminal, call number 92053. We are the US Army, and we are trying to escort civilians out of here safely. We are looking for Dr. Costa. Dr. Costa, we are here to secure you and transport you to Dearborn CDC. Please contact us and give me your location. Time is of the essence.”
As soon as Webb started speaking, the screams and wails reached their ears.
“Damn, that stirred them up,” Myles whispered.
“Yeah, but they have no idea where we are,” Abarra replied. They heard footsteps coming at them quickly. People were running toward them.
Webb was thinking, how do they know where we are? The small crowd of infected came running down the walkway and stopped near the team’s location. The team heard an assortment of growling, heavy breathing and clicks.
Abarra looked around the half wall he was hiding behind to see what was going on. The horde was standing there looking around, their heads twitching left to right, and they made that clicking sound with their tongues. Abarra moved back behind the wall and looked at Doc. “God damn tick tocks. Which means they are still highly functioning.”
Doc nodded with clear fear in his eyes. One of the infected looked around and hissed.
“There is prey here…. click, click. We need to find them and infect them, or maybe kill them. Infect or kill, infect or kill, infect or kill, click, click. Wait for the phone to ring. Infect or kill, click, click, infect or kill.”
The rest of the group recited, “Infect or kill, infect or kill. Click, click… click, click.”
“I can’t stand that clicking,” Doc whispered through clenched teeth
Abarra grabbed his shoulder, “We’ll make it through this. Just keep it together.” Doc nodded.
Webb thought about what the infected had said, “Oh shit!” He reached up and turned the ringer off just as the phone starting lighting up. “Holy shit, that was close,” he thought to himself. Webb picked up and whispered, “Hello, Dr. Costa?”
“Uh-no, this is Allison Reeves. I am a TV news reporter. We were here to get our news chopper ready to take off for the day, when some crazy people started attacking my producer and cameraman. They just started biting them and ripping them apart.” Webb could tell she was crying. “Oh God, can you help us? Please help us!”
Doc saw Webb was on the phone, and he turned to Myles and Abarra and gave them the hand sign for cover. Abarra and Myles nodded in understanding. As they watched the horde, Webb continued to whisper on the phone. The horde was making so much noise with the clicking and hissing, they couldn’t hear Webb’s voice. They continued to rustle around, looking for the uninfected in all the shops.
“Ok, calm down. Did you say, us?”
“Yes, I am in here with Doug, our helicopter pilot.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“We are at Ruth Chris’s Steakhouse. They chased us through the airport terminal, and we were able to get away and hide in the walk-in fridge. We heard you come over the intercom, but had to wait until there were no sounds of those crazy people, before I risked coming out to call you.”
“Ok, go back in there, and we will come get you out.” Webb said in a calm tone.
“Ok, please hurry.”
As Webb hung up the phone, he suddenly had an idea. He looked at the phone list. He saw the number for the information desk. Hoping that the desk was a good way away from them, he called the number. A distant phone started ringing, and the horde went ape shit. They started whooping and screaming and ran off toward the sound of the phone.
Webb watched the horde take off, and then he stalked out of his hiding spot. The rest of the team joined him. “Ok, on me,” Webb whispered.
They made their way down the terminal, listening for the infected. They came to the directory on a billboard in the middle of the walkway. “Hmm, Ruth Chris’s is here,” Webb said, pointing to the restaurant which was in the main terminal just east of their present location. “We need to make it here.”
“Is that where the doctor is?” Abarra asked.
“Negative. This is a reporter plus one at this location needing extraction.”
“That’s not the mission,” Abarra added.
“Yeah, I know, but they are people in trouble, and they contacted us. You just want to leave them here?” Webb asked with a minor annoyance in his voice.
“No, of course not. I am just stating the facts.” Abarra said stoically.
“Duly noted. Let’s move out.”
CHAPTER 9
Webb’s team made its way to the first juncture with other corridors off the main terminal. Webb gave the hand sign for stop, and the team knelt down. He then motioned for Doc to check out the left corridor and Myles the right corridor. The two made their way stealthily to observation points at each corridor.
Doc got to within 10 yards, dropped and low crawled behind a trash can. He peeked around and observed for a couple minutes. Giving the hand sign for ok, Doc slid back and made his way back to the team.
Myles executed the same maneuvers, looked around the corner and watched for a few minutes. He pulled back quickly and motioned over his shoulder, indicating twelve contacts down the corridor at an estimated distance of about 60 yards.
“Shit,” Webb breathed. He eased over to Abarra. “Of course, they have to be down the corridor we need to take to get to the reporter woman.”
Abarra thought for a second, “We could go back outside and come in from the outside of the terminal. Maybe get the rest of the team.”
“Yeah, I like that plan. Let’s move.”
Myles looked back and Webb motioned for him to fall back and post up with the team. Myles slid back away from the corner and turned to get up. As he pivoted around his rifle hit a metal freestanding sign for free ear piercing at Claire’s. The sign scraped the ground and then fell against the wall with a loud clang. Myles stopped and looked back at the team with terror in his eyes. The infected let out a scream and start running toward the sound.
“Aww fuck,” Doc spit out, as he makes his way back to the team.
“Run, Myles! Fucking run!” Abarra screamed. Myles ran but tripped over the metal stand that he had just knocked over.
Webb ordered, “Cover fire, cover fire!” Myles struggled to get to his feet as the infected came in view, turning the corner. The team started sending rounds down range into the charging group of infected. Myles regained his feet and began running. Unfortunately, this cut the fire lane for half the team. With their angle of fire, they couldn’t fire into most of the infected without hitting Myles.
Various “travelers”, dressed in an array of destination attire, came running around the corner. The tropical couple wearing Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts and sandals, the businessman with the tailored suit and expensive Stacy Adams shoes, the college kids in sweats bearing their respective schools, fraternities or sororities.
All of their clothes were soiled and stained with blood and gore from past victims. Many were showing signs of being victims themselves. Some had portions of their throats missing, while others were missing limbs, trying to run on stumps which were missing a foot or lower leg. Regardless of their state, they were all in a frenzy, trying to reach Myles to infect him. Since first coming in contact with the infected, this seemed to be their driving force, their reason to exist, the only thing occupying whatever mind remained.
The team spread out as best they could to alter their lanes of fire and put rounds into the infected horde. Abarra moved to his right, firing his M4 on full auto. The crowd was dense enough that all rounds were hitting home. Head shots weren’t the priority at the moment. They were just trying to keep the infected off of Myles and buy some time.
“Dammit,” Doc spat. They are too close to Myles to use the 203, or I would have that fucking crowd decimated by now.”
“Yeah, I know, but just keep firing,” Webb yelled.
The infected were directly behind Myles and they were gaining ground. Unfortunately, Myles had 60 pounds’ worth of gear on and the infected had nothing slowing them down. Doc could take out a few legs in the horde, making some infected go down, tripping up those behind them. Webb and Abarra were mowing down as many as they could without hitting Myles. Their M4’s were in accord with each other as they sent tens of rounds into the quickly approaching infected. Myles was screaming as he ran, but even with his conditioning, he was quickly slowing down.
Suddenly, a woman came running out of nowhere, bypassing the horde. She was infected, but was running like a cheetah on the Serengeti. The woman was easily passing the rest of the infected like a thoroughbred coming from the outside at the Kentucky Derby. She was the fastest of the infected anyone had seen.
“Holy shit, she is almost on top of him, but I can’t sight her in. Myles is in the way!” Webb exclaimed. “Anyone else have a shot?”
“I might in a couple seconds,” Doc replied.
“Well, take it as soon as you can.” Webb barked
“Come on, come on, just a few more yards, and then I got your bitchass,” Doc pleaded. Just as the knuckles on his finger were whitening on the trigger, the woman dove for Myles. Doc’s shot went wild over her head and embedded in the wall next to the pizza place. “Shit,” he yelled. By the time he adjusted his aim for another shot, she was on top of Myles riding him to the ground.
Myles was yelling at the top of his lungs, “Get her off me. Get her the fuck off me!” He was face down trying to fight her off.
For the next couple of seconds, time stood still. Doc fired a round from his M4 that struck the infected woman in the shoulder, spinning her off of Myles. He struggled to get up and as he regained his feet; the woman was up again and jumped on his back. Doc sighted on her again and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck her in the left temple that snapped her head back and she slumped off.
Myles ran, still yelling as the rest of the team continued to send rounds in the throng. The M4’s sang in unison as they sent 5.56mm projectiles into the infected, producing clouds of blood and gore along with scattering bits of skull and bone all over the floor and walls.
“We need to back out of here and find another way through on the outside of the terminal. This little party is going to bring every infected throughout this whole fucking building.” While Webb barked out orders, Myles continued to yell. Abarra grabbed Myles’ shoulders and shook him, “Calm the fuck down, you’re safe.”
It was then that Abarra noticed Myles was holding the back of his neck and saw the blood seeping out from between his fingers. Abarra’s face turned ghostly white as the blood drained from it.
Webb noticed his face, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Abarra yelled as the team continued firing.
Doc roared, “You guys make your way out. I’ll cover your six.”
Abarra escorted Myles toward the outside doors, while Webb and Doc laid down suppressive fire.
Doc loaded a 40mm grenade in his M203, “Here comes the pain, bitches.” Foomp! The grenade landed in the middle of the infected mass and exploded in an enormous wall of flame and smoke. An eruption of gore, blood and body parts rained down like a hailstorm as Webb and Doc turned and sprinted toward the terminal doors to outside.
As Webb ran, a voice came over his comms. “Spider, this is Father. Do you copy?”
“Go ahead, Father.”
“We have the asset, repeat, we have the asset. Get the fuck out of there.”
“Copy that, we are already making our way out. We have some company, so be advised.”
“Copy that. We will wait for them. When able, get that exfil in here ASAP.”
“Copy, I’m on it.” Webb and Doc were almost to the terminal exit. “Eagle one, eagle one, this is Spider. Do you copy?”
After a few seconds, “Copy Spider, this is Eagle one.”
“We need exfil ASAP. Asset is in custody, and we need exfil. Location is hot, I repeat location is hot. Do you copy?”
“Copy that. Immediate exfil requested and location is hot. We will provide support during exfil. ETA five mics.”
“Copy that Eagle One, Spider out.”
20 seconds later, Webb and Doc made it out of the terminal. The rest of the team moved to form up on Webb.
Priest spoke, “Maintain a defensive perimeter. Shaw and I will take 12 and 6 o’clock.”
“Doc…” Abarra spoke up with his voice shaking, “Myles is injured, and I need you to take a look. I’ll take 3 o’clock.” Webb looked over toward Myles.
Doc moved over to Myles, “Let me take a look, dude.” Myles reluctantly removed his hand, and Doc saw what looked like a bite with a good size piece of flesh and tissue missing. Doc looked over at Webb and shook his head.
Webb muttered under his breath, “Shit.” He now is burdened with a decision to make and knows that this is the primary method of how the virus is spread. What he doesn’t know is how long it takes the virus to spread and take over one’s thoughts, actions and reasoning. He dropped his face into his palm in sorrow and frustration.
“How bad is it, Doc? I’m alright, right?” Myles pleaded. “How bad is it? I’m good to go, right?” Doc said nothing.
Priest looked over his shoulder at Webb. They locked eyes, and Priest shook his head. We
bb saw the empathy in Priest’s eyes, nodded, and turned his head to provide security.
Priest let out a long-troubled sigh. “Doc, please restrain Corporal Myles.
“Wait, what?” Myles looked at Priest and then to Doc. “No, I’m good to go Sarge. I’m good to go.” Tears began streaming down Myles’ face. “I… I… I’m good to go Sarge.” He could barely get the words out.
Doc pulled Myles’ hands behind his back, slowly, respectfully. “I’m sorry brother, I really am.” Myles dropped to his knees and began sobbing.
One by one the team walked over to Myles and gave hugs, some kissed him on the top of his head. Myles’ sobbing continued for a few minutes or so.
In the distance, the faint sound of Blackhawk’s rotors reached the team’s ears. Suddenly, the team heard a clicking noise…. click, click, click, click, which caused Doc to jump back and Priest to pull his Walther PPQ. Priest spun around and aimed the pistol at Myles’ head, which was moving from left to right.
“You need the poison. Do I see prey or brothers, which ones are you? The poison makes you invincible. The poison brings freedom… click, click, click, click. Do you want the poison?” Myles said. His voice sent chills down the spines of the team.
“Fuck that”, Shaw yelled.
Myles growled and then lunged at Priest, who quickly put a 45-caliber round right in his forehead. Myles stopped short and slumped to the ground…dead.
“Son of a bitch,” Abarra cried.
“What the fuck, Myles? What the fuck?” Doc yelled through tears.
“Overlord to Father. What the hell was that shot? Do you have contact? I don’t see any infected.”
“Negative. Myles was bitten, and he turned… so we sent him home.”
“I shall say blessings for him,” Shin said.
Priest took a knee and recited the Lord’s Prayer over Myles as the rotors got louder, and Shin spied the bird.
“Bird is inbound.”