Primus Unleashed

by Amber Wyatt

  Her heart was thudding so loudly that Hana was sure he must be able to hear it. This is crazy, she thought to herself. She could not take her eyes off his face. He really was quite handsome. And there was something in his eyes, a desperate longing, and some other emotion that she could not identify, but which made her feel warm inside. I’m actually thinking about saying yes.

  As she opened her mouth to answer, Behnke chose to burst through the door at that exact moment. As always, he seemed to be in a foul mood.

  “Have you two finished printing out all those documents?” He noticed how close the two of them were standing together and his scowl deepened.

  “Yes, we have,” Hana tapped the thick folder. “Just packed them up now. We’re ready to go.”

  “Then kindly stop wasting time and let’s go!” Behnke snapped and stormed out again, his boots thumping heavily against the wooden floor.

  Hana bit back a remark about how they had all been waiting for him to finish filming his ‘discovery’ of the emails, and instead took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then she looked back at Hugh and her face softened.

  “As for me having dinner with you,” Hana smiled. “Why don’t you ask me again once this job is over?” Then she winked at him and disappeared out of the door after Behnke. For a second Hugh felt his heart sing. Then, with a huge smile on his face, he followed her out on to the balcony where the rest were waiting.

  Dwayne waited until they had all lined up at the balcony rail, and when he saw that they could all see across the hangar, he started talking.

  “Hangar Five is where the clean room is,” then he nodded towards Hana, “and from what this lady found in those emails, it sounds as if it’s probably where this chest is that you are looking for. The hangar is where we used to do all of the actual conservation work and rebuilding of aircraft, and there are two ways we can get to it. We either walk a couple of hundred yards straight across the junkyard, or you see those double doors at the end of the hangar over there on the right?” Dwayne pointed at the far end of the hall and everyone turned to look at the two fire doors in the corner. “Those doors open into the ‘Time Tunnel’, which is an enclosed corridor leading between the two hangars. It was originally going to house a long gallery of pictures and film exhibits. If visitors were interested in the conservation and restoration work that we do, they could walk down the ‘Time Tunnel’ to Hangar Five and see the workshops. But as it turned out, hardly anyone ever signed up for it, so in the end the exhibit was mothballed. We ended up only ever using the tunnel to walk back and forth between the two hangars when it was raining.”

  “Ok, that’s the tunnel. What is this ‘junkyard’ exactly?” asked Thomas.

  “It’s where hangars two, three and four used to be,” answered the muscular convict. “But now it’s just an open concrete pan the size of a football field where the museum stores spare parts, building materials and a dozen or so vehicles and aircraft awaiting restoration. Although…” Dwayne murmured thoughtfully. “I guess those old birds are never going to be restored now.”

  “Thomas, what are your thoughts?” Behnke asked, to Hana’s astonishment. The man was so egotistical that she honestly could not have imagined him ever asking anyone else for advice.

  “The ‘Time Tunnel’,” replied the huge bodyguard after a short pause. “The junkyard is too open. We would be totally exposed and can be seen approaching the other hangar from the moment we leave this one. Plus, if we stumble across any zombies and start shooting, zombies will be attacking us from every side. It will be like the carpark back at Darwin’s Farm all over again.”

  “Down the tunnel they would only be able to attack us from one direction,” said Hana, understanding immediately.

  “Exactly,” said Thomas. “It has many more advantages. We will have the benefit of total concealment for our entire route to the other hangar, and in the event of having to fight any zombies, our flanks will be protected. Any attack would have to come from directly in front, and they would be channeled in by the walls of the tunnel, so only a few zombies would be able to attack us at any one time.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. That made a great deal of sense, and nobody was keen to repeat the near catastrophic battle in the farm car park. They had only just escaped from being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of zombies swarming at them from all directions.

  “Ah… there is one thing I should mention.” Dwayne interjected. Hana looked at him curiously. Dwayne looked uncomfortable. No, he looks nervous. “There’s no lighting in the tunnel. We ended up stripping out all the old wiring from the 1960s during refurbishment one summer, and never got around to re-installing it. It will be completely dark in there. Also, I had a quick look inside it when we broke in earlier, and it looks like they have been using the hallway for storage. Obviously, I couldn’t see too far down the tunnel because it was dark, but from what I could see of it, it was packed full of crates and old engine parts.”

  There was a long silence. Hana was horrified as she pictured herself squeezing herself through narrow gaps between crates for hundreds of yards down a long, pitch black tunnel, with zombies potentially lurking behind every obstacle. She looked at the faces of the others around her. Judging from their dismayed expressions, they were thinking exactly the same thing.

  “Okay, fuck the tunnel,” said Thomas. “Let’s just go across the junkyard.”

  There was an enthusiastic chorus of agreement from the rest of the group, and everyone visibly relaxed.

  “You can use your drones for reconnaissance,” Hana turned to Rob. “And make sure our route through the junkyard is clear of zombies.”

  “Way ahead of you,” the stout cameraman smiled back. Rob was already down on his knees, digging into his small backpack for the drones and their control pad.

  Rob sent out his drones to thoroughly check out the junkyard, and the rest of the group hovered over his shoulder, eyes riveted to the screen. While they were pointing out possible zombie hiding places for Rob to send his drones to check out, Hugh took Dwayne back through the lobby and out to the trucks parked at the front of the hangar. From a bag in his truck he took out and handed the escaped convict the bite-proof jacket originally meant for Behnke. The false measurements that the billionaire had given to Hana, with the wide shoulders and the slim waist, fitted Dwayne perfectly.

  The gun belt that Hugh handed over fitted perfectly as well. Dwayne raised an eyebrow as Hugh unlocked a case and took out a pistol and several magazines which he handed over to the tall convict.

  “You’re awfully trusting, bearing in mind we only just met.” Dwayne buckled on the belt, loaded the magazines into his belt pouches and racked the slide of the pistol back to check the chamber.

  “We’re in this together aren’t we? If it goes bad, we’ll need every shooter we can get. There’s no room for passengers. I just care if you’re safe with that thing or not. Have you used firearms before?” Dwayne nodded back but did not elaborate any further. Hugh pointed at the holster on the other man’s belt. “Show me your draw.”

  Dwayne dutifully holstered the pistol, then drew it straight up into a firing position. Hugh grunted in approval as he noted the trigger finger outside the trigger guard, pointing down the side of the pistol slide. His draw had had the quick, yet smooth muscle memory that only came with hundreds, if not thousands of repetitions. Clearly the man had had some professional training. He might even have been ex-military. But since the muscular convict did not look to be in a talkative mood, Hugh did not ask him any more questions. He respected a man’s privacy, and if Dwayne had history that he wanted to keep to himself, then it was none of Hugh’s business.

  “That’s good enough for me. Go ahead, lock and load, then holster that pistol. If shit goes down, don’t sweep anyone’s back with your muzzle.”

  “No problem.” With grudging respect, Dwayne noted that Hugh did not ask him to elaborate on his past experience with firearms. Nor did he seem interested at all in any other p
art of Dwayne’s life story. Good. We’re not speed dating after all. He looked at the other hard cases stacked up in the back of the truck. Long-barreled weapons. No point pushing my luck and asking for a carbine. I’m lucky he trusts me with a pistol. Besides if we get in a fight with those zombies, it’s going to be close work in there. A pistol is better. Dwayne pursed his lips thoughtfully. Still, there are a hell of a lot of zombies in that hangar. “We should take the rest of the ammo,” Dwayne pointed at the bag of pistol magazines. “There’s a ton of zombies in there, bro. No point in saving the ammo for another day. If we run dry in there, there won’t be another day. Those magazines ain’t going to be any use to us out here.”

  “Good point.” Hugh considered the back of the truck for a few seconds, then picked up the entire bag and handed it over to Dwayne. “You take the pistol reloads.” Then he picked up another bag full of magazines, which he slung over his own shoulder. “I’ll take these for the rifles.”

  As the two men moved back towards the front door of the hangar, leading into the reception lobby and the gift shop, they met the rest of the group coming out. Hana’s eyes flickered down to Dwayne’s new gun belt, noting that he was armed, but she made no comment. Hugh had made the judgement call, and if he trusted the man, that was good enough for her.

  “Okay we have a route through the junkyard,” Hana announced to the two men. “Dwayne, do you have any suggestions as to our entry point?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” answered the big man. “We’re going to need one of your trucks to get in though. Once we drive it over there, you’ll see what I mean.”

  “The noise from the engine might alert the zombies that we are coming,” Hana said thinking it through. “But we can push the truck with the engine turned off.” Then she beckoned Behnke over to one side, quietly told him what she thought the best route through the junkyard was, and tactfully stood back to let him outline ‘his’ plan to the group while Rob filmed him. Then they all stood there for another five minutes while Rob filmed Behnke issuing his orders again, in a commanding voice, and then filmed him once again from a more dramatic angle back inside the hangar, with the sleek lines of an F-5A fighter jet as the backdrop.

  The group moved across the junkyard slowly. Dwayne and Thomas silently pushed Hana’s truck along, with the gear in neutral and the engine off. Since she was the lightest member of the group, Gina sat in the driving seat, full of nerves, and steered, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Hugh and Hana walked out in front, weapons at the ready, alert and scanning the junkyard and hangar to their front. Rob sat in the back of the truck, glued to his screen as he flew one of his drones ahead of the group, crisscrossing back and forth across their planned route, to ensure that no zombies were waiting to surprise them.

  Dwayne moved forwards to the driver’s side, and carried on pushing the truck with a solid grip on the open frame of the window. Gina found her eyes drawn to the play of muscles under the tight skin on the man’s forearm, and reminded herself to look forward again and concentrate on where she was driving.

  “See that stack of tires there?” Dwayne asked Gina in a quiet murmur. “Steer just to the left of it and then aim towards the white patch of paint on the side of the hangar. I’ll tell you where to stop.”

  “Got it,” Gina whispered back. She was glad of the company, but at the same time was suspicious of this convicted criminal with the square jawline and the too-friendly eyes.

  “So,” she ventured. “Behnke persuaded you to come along. Must have been a lot of money he offered?”

  “Not really,” Dwayne answered. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, not looking at her, his eyes darting back and forth across the junkyard, scanning for threats. “I’m originally from Hawaii. It’s the only chance I have to get back to the islands. Spend time with ohana, you know.”

  “How long was your sentence?”

  “Twenty-five to life.”

  “Jesus, what for?” hissed Gina, looking at him warily, very conscious that she was in easy arm’s reach of what could be a violent serial killer.

  There was a long pause. “I stole a video-tape,” he confessed finally, giving her a look that was both sad and embarrassed at the same time.

  Gina barked out a laugh which earned her a deadly glare from Hana in front. Oops, nearly forgot that we are trying to sneak up on a bunch of zombies. Keep it quiet, Gina, she thought to herself. She rolled her eyes at Dwayne and made the American sign language sign for ‘bullshit’. Right. As if a criminal wouldn’t tell a lie.

  He smiled and signed back – No it’s true.

  - You know how to sign? Gina signed quickly, amazed, before replacing her hands on the wheel.

  - My niece. Dwayne replied. She is partially deaf. How do you know how to sign?

  - I had a throat problem. Could not talk for three weeks. She had lost her voice to a particularly vicious bout of laryngitis after pushing herself through a week of concerts. Gina remembered the fear she had felt going on stage the following night, ready to lip-sync to her own pre-recorded tracks, terrified that someone in the audience would realize the truth. Since then she had been ruthlessly disciplined with taking care of her throat in the days before recording, especially if she was on tour. If possible, she would not speak at all during the day before a concert.

  “My niece is a big fan of yours.” Dwayne leaned a little closer, whispering. “You’re Gina, right? I recognized you back in the museum.”

  Gina shrugged, secretly impressed that he had recognized her without her stage make-up. Then she frowned at him. – I thought she is deaf?

  - Partially deaf. She can hear the beat, and she loves to copy your dance moves. He signed back. Check this out.

  Dwayne took half a step away and started a rapid series of signs, which he had clearly memorized fluently. Gina looked at him perplexed, until she suddenly recognized him doing a signature dance step from one of her choreographies. Oh my God, those are the lyrics to Bubble Gum! The song was one of her most famous singles from her K-Pop days. She clapped a hand over her open mouth to hide her delight. She did not realize she had laughed out loud again, until she caught both Hugh and Hana glaring back at her through the windscreen.

  Hana jabbed an accusing finger at her and silently mouthed SHUT UP, before placing the same finger across her lips in a SHHH gesture. The Japanese woman shook her head in exasperation, then she and Hugh turned back around and continued moving forwards.

  Right, thought Gina. Focus. Still hunting zombies. She looked over at Dwayne. He had gone back to scanning for threats on his side, but there was a big grin on his face. She realized that she was smiling too.

  Behind the truck, Behnke and Wilkins followed, each lost in their own thoughts. Wilkins oscillated between terror at the thought of the zombies waiting in the hangar looming ahead of them, and the surprising realization that he was close to actually accomplishing something for once in his life. After a lifetime of mediocrity and failure, he would be the one to retrieve the chest and fulfill the duty which had laid for more than a hundred years upon generation after generation of his family.

  My God, Wilkins thought of his cantankerous, old grandfather, full of tubes, wasting away on his deathbed. He had better survive until I get back. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees that I’ve done it. The old bastard might even be proud of me! Then his eyes moved back to the huge hangar in front that was getting closer and closer, and he felt his bowels turn to ice. It was not yet time for him to start thinking of celebrating victory. They still had to covertly enter the building and somehow spirit the chest out from under the noses of the horde of undead monsters lurking within.

  Next to him, Behnke was lost in his own thoughts of how to edit this part of the filming into the documentary later. Annoyed that Rob needed to fly the drone, and was therefore not available to film him, Behnke had demanded that the other drone be slaved to the wristband that he now wore. The drone dutifully floated twenty feet away, above and off to the
side, recording Behnke stomping along behind the truck, his angry brow furrowed in concentration.

  So, let’s see. I can get a full mockup of the junkyard duplicated, no problem. We’ll do it on my industrial lot in Palo Alto. Then we can reshoot this scene afterwards and splice the new footage in with the original stuff. Behnke looked around coldly at the other members of the expedition. And if any of these idiots don’t survive this trip, well it won’t be too hard to find doubles who can look identical from a distance. But none of those issues were what was really troubling him. The main dilemma facing the billionaire was that he could not decide what role he himself should be playing in this scene.

  We’ll film two versions, one with me pushing the truck by myself, so I can show off these biceps to best effect. Behnke flexed his swollen arms unconsciously as he imagined the camera panning across his muscular shoulders before pausing to linger on his oiled and gleaming muscles. And then another version with these losers clustering behind the truck while I lead fearlessly from the front. But which one is better? Me in front being brave? Or me pushing from behind looking strong? I can’t do both. Then his eyebrows popped up and his expression relaxed as a cheerful thought struck him. Why can’t I do both? I’ll do a combination. I can push the truck at the beginning of the junkyard, and then at the halfway point, as it gets more dangerous, I can order everyone to take cover behind the truck while I switch over to lead from the front. He nodded to himself, smiling fiercely. Yeah that’ll do it. A combination. And when I go forward to lead from the front, we can show that the job of pushing the truck has to be taken over by at least three men, maybe four, to do the same job I was doing by myself. Perfect!

  Lost in his happy daydream, Behnke nearly walked into the back of the truck which had stopped in front of him. He looked up and was surprised to see that they had already arrived at the other hangar. He adjusted his belt, shifting the magazine pouches to a more comfortable position under his bulging abdomen, and walked forward to where the others were also clustering around Dwayne at the side of the truck. When they were all gathered close enough to hear him, the big convict started to talk in a whisper that was barely audible, but still quite clear.