Chaos Theory

by Rich Restucci

  We were OK with food for a while, and there was plenty of snow to melt for water. Ammo was good too, with a total of six hundred sixty rounds for the Glocks, twenty six rounds for my .357, and two hundred and eight rounds for the rifles. Ship had been carrying most of the ammo, and it was damn heavy. I distributed some into my tactical vest ammo pouches, but Ship would still have to carry more than I would. I would carry the MREs and other sundries, but I wasn’t ready to travel yet, and just performing these mundane tasks exhausted me. Every now and then the pain regulator dude would let me know he was still in control and amped up my substance p. Pity there’s no more Google, or you could look up what substance p is. Guess you’re shit out of luck.

  I hit my rack pretty quick, keeping my weapons near. When the makeshift door opened and Ship and Kat strolled in, the bright outside light hit me hard in the face. They had been gone longer than it takes to take a piss, so I asked what was up. This was when the Sasquatch clued me in to his little strategy.

  Apparently we were flying out of here, and Kat wanted to come. She had decided that if we meant her harm, we had had plenty of time to do said harm and hadn’t. We were the lesser of three evils, zombies and rednecks being the primary two. Ship had a plane, which is why we had come through Psycho Town, and were now holed up in a hangar. His plane was in another hangar across the tarmac. Problem was, there was a foot of snow on the runway, and the plows weren’t running. Solution was that Ship had found an airport plow, and it was gassed and ready. It was already at the end of the airfield.

  So the plan was to pack our shit into the plane, which was fully fueled, tow it through the snow with the plow to the end of the northern runway, run the plow down the runway a couple of times, and take the F off. All the while we needed no zombies to come looking at what the plow noise was, or rednecks to shoot holes in our plane when we were airborne. Great plan.

  We were all dead if we stayed here. Even though the area was less populated than a big city, there were too many people, and everybody wanted to kill us. If we went north, there would be less people, but the infrastructure would be as collapsed as it was here, so we weren’t sure if we could land the plane in the snow that would undoubtedly cover any runway we would use. It would truly suck if we survived zombies and evil hillbillies to die in a plane crash because somebody left a toolbox on a runway. On the other hand, if we were to pursue a southern course, there would be plenty of places to go, but all of them had the potential to be infested with dead folks.

  Ship told me that the aircraft had a one thousand mile range. I found that hard to believe, at which point he told me it was a Beechcraft J50 Twin Bonanza. I had no idea what that meant other than it probably had two engines. The look of smug superiority on his face when he told me that the plane was already full of ammo and rations was priceless. He also told me he had two more aircraft at other fields in a twenty mile radius, all equipped with limited weapons, ammo, and food. This one had been the closest and it was in a private hanger.

  The reason we were holed up in this hangar was that it had the stove. Ship helped me off of the cot and we looked at a chart of the area. There were several small towns, lots of lakes and mountains, and dozens of small roads. The interstate zipped north to south off to our east, and I could see just about where my prison pals had left me to die, not that I blame them. The irony. They were all dead, or undead, and I wasn’t.

  In the end, we decided to go south. We made good arguments for north, but there was just no way to safely land the plane, assuming we could even find the runways under a carpet of white. Ship knew of a runway in a town in Tennessee. Tenne-fucking-ssee. It was right at the outside of our operational fuel range, and as far as I was concerned, it was hillbilly heaven. Can you come from Tennessee and not be a redneck? Exceptionally rural was what Ship wrote in his book. The good side was that the entire populace; every single person, had multiple weapons, and were trained in how best to use them since they were sperm. This might mean less of the dead folks. It could also mean that those folks were worse than the fuckers that lived in this area, no offense to Ship or Kat. At that point, all we had was hope.

  We loaded our stuff into the plane, which was quite spacious, even if it had been built right alongside that Airstream trailer I almost died in. The plane was manufactured in nineteen sixty one. Not ninety one, sixty one. You read it correctly the first time. The aircraft was more than fifty years old. I hope I look as good when I’m fifty though. It looked brand new. Shiny.

  I was still scared shitless to ride in it though. Kat and I watched as Ship, clad in his sleeping bag poncho, trudged through the snow toward the plow. He got in, and as instructed, we closed the hangar door.

  The sound of a diesel vehicle engine starting up when everybody else is dead, and there’s no other sound at all, is indescribable. I mean, it was so quiet we could hear the snow falling. I shit you not. Whatever a bejesus is, it was scared right the hell out of me, because I knew what was coming next. Zombies, lots of them.

  The length of the runway was about a mile, and Ship plowed it like a pro. He had to make four passes. Before he was done, there was a white coating back on the tarmac from the falling snow, but it was well under an inch. All of our stuff was on the plane, and the big guy backed the truck up to the hanger and we hooked the plane to the rear sander with a length of chain. Kat and I got in the plane and waited. Ship had to be careful pulling the aircraft so as not to damage the front strut, which is where the chain was attached.

  When we were taxied up to the northern end of the runway, Ship got out of the truck, removed the chain, pointed down the end of the runway, and got back in the truck and started her up. The dead folks had arrived in force and were coming from every direction. They were already on the far south end of the runway, finding it easier to trek through the plowed areas. As it turns out, although intended for snow, plows are also adept at removing the living dead from runways.

  Ship took care of all the dead people from the southern end of the runway, and the ones near the plane. There were more coming, but from angles that wouldn’t affect us if we got going soon. The big guy parked the plow off to the side of the plane, but was doing something inside the vehicle that we couldn’t see. A guy in jeans and a red t-shirt was high-stepping through the unplowed snow from around one of the hangars. He was moving at top speed toward the plow. Even from a couple hundred feet away, I could tell he was infected. Something about the way they carry themselves and the way they move just isn’t…human.

  It was then that I found out planes don’t have horns, or if they did I had no effing idea where it was in the copiousness of dials and switches. I wanted to beep a warning, but I couldn’t. I struggled with the door to the plane, and Kat demanded to know what the hell I was doing. I informed her that our pilot was about to get jumped by a Runner, at which point she demanded to know what a Runner is. I pointed to the infected guy and told her they looked like him. I got the door open and stood on the stairs with my .357. There was no way I could hit the target from here. I started yelling, and popped off a round at the truck, which missed wildly and threw my shoulder into total rebellion.

  Ship got the message when he heard the gunfire and got out of the truck wary with rifle raised. He couldn’t see the infected from his vantage, and I began gesturing wildly with the magnum in the direction of his impending doom. Standing on the snow-dusted tarmac now, I took aim again and heard the gun fire before I pulled the trigger. It had been from above and behind me. The guy in the red T-shirt spun and fell to the ground. I looked back up at the plane, and sure enough, Kat was scanning the area with my M4. She had put down the bad guy with one round.

  Ship made it to the plane and we all got back in. He made it to the cockpit and took the left side chair, strapping himself in and indicating I should do the same. Kat was behind us in another chair, holding on to my M4 like it was a new born baby. Ship looked like an elephant on a stool sitting there checking things and flipping switches. The plane started, an
d so did I when a thump came from outside followed by another. The dead had reached us.

  The plane lurched forward a couple of times, then got into a rhythm, and moved down the tarmac gradually picking up speed. I didn’t want to think of what would happen if we hit one of the zombies while screwing down the runway at a hundred miles per hour. As luck would have it we didn’t, and I felt the wheels leave the ground in just a few moments, leaving those pus sacks behind. I felt euphoric at being away from a zombie plague, at least for a while. We could finally relax.

  Of course had we known what we were flying into, we would have headed north instead of south, but hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  16

  I’m not crazy about flying. I thought it was a control thing, you know, you’re not in control of the plane so somebody else has your life in their hands? That’s bullshit. Ship taught me the ins and outs of flying that thing in ten minutes. Now, I’m not saying I could fly by myself, but I had the basics about what does what and why, and I got used to making small corrections quickly.

  I was still scared. Something about being up so high and looking down on the world was unnerving. Especially when the world had totally gone to Hell. We were only about five hundred feet up, but I could see that entire towns were on fire or just gone. There were traffic jams as far as I could see on the big roads, all the vehicles abandoned. Several bridges blown up and streets destroyed. A downed airliner, which seemed to have caused a raging fire, chasing infected out of the woods, all of them reaching up to grab us as we sped off overhead.

  Town after town moved by underneath us, and the only thing they had in common was infected. They were everywhere, and it got worse as we got farther south. Eventually, we passed over a small city. Ship pointed to a chart and it was Albany New York. It was pure Hell. We saw carnage and destruction all over, and the infected were still hunting. They were spread out over the city, moving in crowds. The plane was going fast, but I could see living people. They were on a roof, and at first I thought they were infected because they all reached for us, but the way they moved told me they were human.

  They were doomed. The building they were in was surrounded by the dead, and smoke was billowing out of one side. I was really scared, but not for them. We were travelling over the city, and if anything happened to the plane, there was no way we were getting out alive even if Ship landed it like a pro. I heard sobbing from the passenger compartment, and turned to see Kat very upset.

  She looked at me with wide, sad eyes. “It’s everywhere. All those people…”

  I moved back and sat next to her, and she wiped her tears away, beginning to get mad. “They killed my mom and dad. They killed everyone I know. I’ll take as many down as I can before they get me.”

  I took her hand in mine. “I believe you.”

  I sat with her for an hour or so in silence before Ship gave a hard whack to the cockpit bulkhead. I looked up and he motioned me in. Big guy had to pee. He pointed to the controls and I understood. He wanted me to fly the damn plane. Me. Terrific. He passed me his notebook and I didn’t know whether to be proud or insulted. Don’t touch anything unless you have to.

  He moved his giant ass past me into the cabin and toward the back. The plane didn’t have a bathroom, and I remember thinking he might just open a door and piss out into the sky. When he came strolling back, I pointed off to the right side. A river was on fire. It was weird.

  My shoulder hurt. I started thinking that I would probably never eat another slice of pizza, even though the pizza in the joint was atrocious. Then I got to thinking about Legos, and Iron Man posters, and I almost started to cry. I wondered how many kids were eaten by the very people who were supposed to protect them. Or vice versa. Could you shoot your kid if you had to?

  It was mid-afternoon when the plane began to descend. I had moved into the passenger area and fallen asleep after taking some antibiotics with water. I woke with a start as the sound of the aircraft changed. Kat was nowhere to be found, and I suffered a moment of panic and shouted up front. She stuck her head around the bulkhead and smiled at me. She gave me a thumbs up and told me we were landing. She looked cute with the airplane headphones on. I looked out the window and was wondering how we were going to land in the middle of a forest, when I heard the radio come to life. Ship had set it to blare out over the intercom, as he can’t speak back.

  “Unidentified aircraft, this is Arlo tower…”

  Then the radio went dead. The voice had sounded panicked.

  We flew over a single dead woman standing on the white 6 designating runway 16. She immediately started after us. The tarmac was one mile long, and she was on the extreme far end of it. I was guessing the dead stumble at about three miles per hour. Using my phenomenal mathematical skills, I deduced she would reach us in twenty minutes. This didn’t account for the rest of the country, most of whom were dead, and all of whom looked at us like the coyote looked at the road runner.

  We landed with a squeak of tires and a jerk of the plane and taxied to the end of the runway. We grabbed our stuff, Ship sticking a ton more MRE’s and ammo from the plane into our ALICE packs and pouches. Kat was carrying some kind of rifle with a wooden stock and a scope and had a little black pistol in a holster on her hip now. I had my M4 and other weapons. Ship was Ship, and probably had a nuclear device on him someplace.

  The Sasquatch opened the door and the sun hit us in the face. I raised my hand to cover my eyes from the sun, but I used the wrong hand and pain lanced through me. When I was done bitching, we took the four steps down the fold out stairs and were heels down on the tarmac. It was warmer in Tennessee, but it wouldn’t have been comfortable very long without a jacket. Maybe high forties. The dead broad had halved the distance and I didn’t want to waste ammo, so I tugged on Ship’s sleeping bag poncho and pointed. He grabbed my hand like a big-foot-ninja and I thought he was going to break my arm.

  He let go immediately and mouthed a sorry. My wrist hurt like hell too, and I couldn’t even rub it properly. The big bully wrote one word in his book and showed it to me: Listen. I didn’t hear shit. I mean it too. Other than the sound of the birds, there was nothing. Then Kat said she heard something too, and I finally heard what sounded like an engine.

  It ended up being three engines. One a Jeep full of (wait for it) rednecks, all armed and all in flannel. Picture a blue Jeep with rifles sticking out every which way, cigarette smoke pouring out the top and sides, and lots and lots of beards and baseball caps and you’re right on the money. The others were military Humvees, and these were full of soldiers and the Hummers had the biggest guns I had ever seen on the roof. They got out of their vehicles and the army guys approached us while the hillbillies checked the perimeter. One of the army guys moved past us and went into the plane. All of them stared briefly at Mr. Enormous because he was, like, enormous.

  An army guy with a gray buzz cut stepped forward and introduced himself as Captain Simmons. We told him our names and that Ship didn’t speak. The man asked us where we were from and if any of us were bitten. He looked right at me. We replied that we were from New England and no, the bandages were from a gunshot wound. He frowned. “Why were you being shot at?”

  I nodded toward Kat, “Ask her.”

  Simmons and his soldiers looked at Kat, who looked terrified. Yup, I was a dick again. Cut me some slack, a month ago I was in prison.

  “It was an accident,” I said, rubbing my wrist where Ship had grabbed it against my shirt. “She thought we were evil rednecks.”

  He looked back at her. “And are they?”

  Kat looked right in the captain’s eyes, and to her credit, showed no more fear. “No, sir. They saved me.”

  A shot sounded, and the dead woman was face down on the runway. Simmons told us that we would have to come with him and get checked out by a doctor if we wanted to stay.

  Kat perked up. “Stay where?”

  “At the compound,” replied the captain. “Isn’t that why you landed here?”
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br />   “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain, we landed here because we were out of fuel, and my large friend here knew about this landing strip.”

  The soldier came out of the plane and called for three other men to help him offload the crates of MREs and ammo that Ship had on the plane prior to departure.

  “So then you’re gonna steal our stuff,” demanded Kat.

  “No Miss, we are appropriating what you couldn’t carry. What you have on your persons you will keep if you leave. If you stay with us, you will divvy up your rations among the residents of the complex, as they did when they arrived.” Another shot rang out, then another, and soon the shots got somewhat steady. “I believe we have worn out our welcome. The sound of your aircraft and the shots fired will have this place crawling with Rotters in minutes. I should tell you that you may have to surrender your weapons when we reach the compound.”

  Ship stiffened, and I told the Captain that there would be a blood bath if he tried to take our guns. Best leave us here.

  He smiled. “Son, you wouldn’t last an hour. There’s about ten thousand dead in these woods.”

  “Gonna be a few more if you try to take our guns. Sir.”

  He beamed, as did his soldiers. “We might find a use for you yet.” He spoke into his radio and told his crew to saddle up. The hillbillies must have been in radio contact because they all came running too.

  And so did the zombies. Staggering, lurching, stumbling, shuffling, and in some cases sprinting. The sprinters were dealt with first, and we were all in the vehicles with the plane buttoned up before anything reached us. We peeled out and headed down an access road toward this compound place.