by Tufo, Mark
“Gumbo.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I took a spoonful, ended up with something that felt like an eyeball in my mouth–it was reflexive, man. I spit it out.”
“And…” BT had undone his belt.
“It landed back in the dumbo.”
“Gumbo! And you spit in my food?”
“It was an accident! And in light of recent events, I think that makes us even.”
“I ate that for the next three days! We’re hardly even.” BT had a finger pointed straight down on my head.
“Don’t put eyeballs in your damn food, then.”
“There were no eyeballs in it!”
Ended up getting saved by Gary. “Since we’re confessing, I think you should know something.” He was standing next to BT.
“Can’t wait to hear it,” he replied, though he had not turned away from me.
“There was a fly on the lip of the cooker, and when I hit it with the fly swatter it fell into the gumbo.” BT’s mouth hung open. “I tried to fish it out, but it got swallowed up in the mix.”
“See? Just one more reason to not eat sauced-over foods,” I said in justification.
“There was a fly in there too? But…you ate, like, three helpings?” Now he was completely focused on Gary.
“Little extra protein never hurt anyone. I was trying to eat it before anyone else got to it; figured if I had enough bowls, percentage-wise I was sure to get it.”
“I am so fucking glad I put a burger on the grill,” I sighed.
“You realize how rude that was, right?” BT immediately swung his attention back to me.
“Next time make something everyone will enjoy and there won’t be a problem.”
“You were the only one! For a minute I felt bad about the toothbrush thing, but now I’m glad I drooled all over that thing, happy that those little bristles wrapped around each of my teeth, pushing and pulling away the gooey orts of food. Oh, and the heavenly feeling when I scraped it over my tongue, grinding out all the milky deposits in and under my taste buds…” He smiled broadly. “About the cleanest my mouth has ever felt.”
“Next time you come over you’d better wear Depends, because I’m not letting you near the bathroom.”
“Yeah? Well you better bring a bagged lunch because I’m not letting you in my kitchen.”
“You two are kidding me, right? We just narrowly avoided getting blown out of the sky and you are about to be dropped into a hot zone, and you care about that crap?” Eastman was looking back at us, his mouth hanging open in astonishment as he watched our argument.
“Aw man, if we didn’t argue after every time we almost got killed or were just about to, we’d never talk,” BT said.
I fist bumped him before I started laughing. “We good?” I asked.
“Of course, man. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” I told him as I sat down.
“Fucking nuts,” Eastman mumbled before turning back around.
“What about me?” Gary was still standing there.
“Yeah, you too,” I told him.
It was relatively peaceful for the next few moments.
“Lieutenant, need you up here,” Eastman motioned.
“You want me to fly this thing?” I asked when I got there. I was going for levity; he was all business.
“We’ve got a problem.”
It would have been hard not to notice all the pulsing red lights on his dash.
“You’re going to have to jump early.”
“And?”
“Going to be right over the city.”
“How much time?”
“Get them up…one minute.”
“Everyone up,” I said calmly, though my innards were churning as I went back to the passenger compartment.
My squad headed to the back; the other group with us stayed put. There were a few extra men on board; if I had to take a guess from the look of them, I’d say Navy SEALs. Whatever they were doing, we weren’t on a need-to-know basis; at least, nothing was in the orders I’d received.
“You coming?” I asked the captain of the other group.
He looked at me but said nothing.
“You’re really not even going to acknowledge I asked you a question?”
“Go on with your crayon-eating self,” he said as a dig to all Marines everywhere.
“Hey, man–you’ve never lived until you’ve eaten the purple ones.”
“Whatever.”
“Your mother a cactus?”
“What?” He stood, knowing it was some sort of insult.
“I asked if your mother was a cactus because you’re a prick.”
“Sit down,” BT told him. SEALs aren’t big on other people telling them what to do.
It was Eastman that prevented a brawl. “Lieutenant! Get moving!” he shouted.
“You’re lucky. I would have let him check how good your medical coverage is.” I pointed to BT before we went back with the rest. Kind of bummed they weren’t coming with us; first, because I wanted to kick his ass, and second, they’re great to have watching your back.
There was a red light that ran the length of the back of the airship. When it turned green, we pushed out our two Hummers and then I tapped each of the men in turn to follow.
“I fucking hate this.” BT had adjusted his goggles and headed out. I gave one long look the way of the cockpit, wondering if the SEALs would try to stop me if I took the plane over before I decided to follow my group out. There was about three seconds of complete terror where your mind doesn’t even have the capacity to think outside of panic. Let’s face it; humans aren’t meant to free-fall through the sky. We are far from aerodynamic beings. But then, as the chute deploys, there is a rush of endorphins and a general sense of well-being, promising that you are going to make it down safely.
I was looking around at the chutes, at our equipment, and at my squad; I had all of them accounted for. I then scanned the ground, suddenly realizing the stupidity of this jump. Building spires pointed up at us by the hundreds; looked like a booby-trapped hole in the ground someone might have encountered in Vietnam, a tiger pit, and we were very much in danger of being skewered. We had the much newer rectangular parachutes, which allowed us a fair measure of ability to maneuver, as opposed to the old-style circle ones that fell where they might. With that being said, landing in this minefield full of buildings was still going to hold its own unique set of problems. Already had a stiff cross breeze, and once we got lower and that breeze was channeled through those buildings, there was going to be something akin to a gale force to be reckoned with. We’d been going for stealth–quick in, quick out. That all ended when the second Hummer caught the corner of a skyscraper roof. In the abstract, action movie kind of way, it was pretty stunning; the rear of the Hummer collided with the side of the roof, even with the wind rushing past my ears I could hear and even feel the contact. The rear wheel and some of the body were ripped free, as were significant chunks of steel and concrete from the building. I watched as a cache of rifles, ammunition, a radio, and the ZADAR fell from the back. Wouldn’t even be worth scavenging, once those items rode down the hundred-floor express elevator.
“You seeing this?” BT’s voice came through my earpiece.
“Wish I wasn’t,” I responded.
“Stop watching the truck and look lower.”
I did. The loss of the transportation and equipment paled in comparison to what was waiting at the bottom. Pretty sure those were zombies racing out of the surrounding buildings in large groups. At least I figured it was zombies; couldn’t imagine that many people together, especially with no weapons.
“Hope this is worth it,” BT said.
“Bennington thinks so…suppose that’s all that matters. Alright, team! Hard to the left!” This was achieved by pulling on the left “brake” strap. It pulled the edge of the parachute down and caused it to bank that way. We were too low and moving too fast to clear the street completely, but I was going to use the
wind to our advantage. Push us as far away from the gathering horde as was possible. “Shit, Halsey! Your other damn left!” Dumbass had turned right.
“You forgetting about the other Hummer?” Winters asked.
“You want to get it?” I asked him.
“Not so much, sir.”
“Sir, this is Corporal Rose. My right brake line is tangled.” She sounded concerned, but thankfully, not panicked.
I looked down and over to Rose, who was struggling with her line. Not much you can do when it is above you and beyond your reach.
“Go to your reserve, Rose–no time,” I urged her. If she landed awkwardly due to the bad brake line, it could equate to a death sentence. The landing wouldn’t necessarily kill her, but a busted ankle could be enough right now.
I imagine for a seasoned jumper with five hundred or so jumps under your belt, deploying your reserve would be old hat. None of us were that. The thought of cutting free a relatively decent chute and deploying another is not a fun-filled prospect. That, and we were rapidly approaching the range where this wasn’t a safe thing to do. She yanked on the quick release system; she fell away like a stone. I held my breath the entire time I waited for her reserve to deploy. I think it was an hour and a half later when it did.
“Parachute is four by four,” Rose announced. I could hear the relief in her voice.
Besides trying to explain the totaling of the Hummer to the insurance company, Corporal Rose was now going to land a solid twenty seconds ahead of us. Normally not a huge deal, but this time…well, again we go back to potentially deadly. The odds she’d land unnoticed were as close to zero as possible. We would be landing right where the zombies were headed. Our escape window would shrink with each passing second. A perfect landing would entail pulling on the brakes at precisely the same moment to cup enough air with the edges of the chute so that you land no harder than if you’d stepped off a kitchen chair, your momentum stopped to the point you would be at a brisk walking pace. You could then pull the release and let the parachute go back down the sidewalk. If done correctly, it would be something James Bond would be proud of.
Out of the ten practice jumps we’d done, I’d stuck my landing four times; the best was Tommy at six. The worst was Halsey at a flat zero. It wasn’t that he’d ever got hurt, he just tended to roll a fair amount. We always got a good laugh as he came up eating grass; sometimes I suspected he did it for that reason. Right now I wasn’t interested in laughing, and I hoped he realized that.
The second Hummer and Corporal Rose landed at roughly the same time, though more than a couple of hundred yards away from each other. I was happy to note the heavy vehicle mashed or damaged more than a dozen zombies on landing, but that quick burst of joy was tempered with the fact that our ride was now entirely surrounded by the blood-thirsty bastards.
“Anyone have eyes on the extra supply bag?” I asked.
“Far off to our left, LT. Looks like a heavy wind caught it,” Private Halsey said.
My eyes followed the likely trajectory; I gave it a fifty-fifty shot of not getting hung up on a building, which roughly translated to a hundred percent chance we’d never see it again. We were heading into a hot war zone with no rides, no extra ammunition, and no long-range radio.
“Winters, get on the horn with Major Eastman. Give him a quick sitrep.”
We were seconds from landing when Winters got back to me. “He’s well aware; no help is coming.”
“Kind of what I figured all along, but no sense in not throwing a Hail Mary.”
BT stuck his landing and released the chute like he’d done this a thousand times. He got his rifle up and was covering the rest of us. Rose was racing toward him, unfortunately bringing a bunch of her not-friends with her. Everyone else had varying degrees of success except for Gary, who landed decently but had trouble releasing his harness. He was being dragged back toward the horde; eleven firearms were chirping around him. I had a few seconds before I touched down and with my superior position, decided to use them to my advantage. I was firing nearly straight down into the skulls of the advancing enemy. Tommy was rushing to Gary, a large knife in his right hand.
My brother was being dragged backward at close to twenty miles an hour, doing everything in his power to halt his progress. He was going to have some serious scrape wounds and would be exceedingly lucky if he didn’t break his skull skipping over all manner of debris littering the roadway.
“Hurry, Tommy,” I said under my breath. I had seconds to brake myself or I was going to leave my own blood and teeth bits on the asphalt. I pulled one end of the chute so I was headed back toward them; felt a bit like a starling heading for a jet engine turbine, truth be told. I hit the brakes late, felt the reverberations all the way up through my spine. I unclipped and turned just as Tommy grabbed Gary’s boot. It took him a few more seconds to stop the momentum and yank my brother backward. He swung that knife like one would a scythe at a notably dense row of wheat. The parachute flew free and entangled over a dozen of the closest zombies. They went down in a heap; one of the best methods I’d seen to halt their progress thus far.
“BT, get the rest of the team to safety. Let me know where you end up,” I called over as I advanced towards Tommy and Gary, making sure to steer clear of them as I continuously fired suppressive cover.
Gary’s right side was scraped raw. Besides being in a considerable amount of pain, he was going to need medical attention quickly to prevent his wounds from getting infected. Tommy had hefted him up into a fireman’s carry and was fast coming back my way. This was all great and fine, but it left me alone to deal with the masses. Some of the zombies tore through the parachute or were trampled as the rest were coming. If I’d had an unlimited amount of belt-fed ammunition, my position would have still been overrun. Tommy had just passed me by. Gary looked and sounded like shit as he jostled past. He was groaning; his eyes were wide in fright and also half-closed in agony. It was not a good look. I gave Tommy a few more steps before I joined him in his hasty retreat.
“Mike, I can see you…we’re about a block up. Not going to believe this but we’re in M&M’s World. It’s clear in here.” BT sounded stressed out.
“Winters, you have a medic kit on you or did you leave it in the drop bag?”
“Got it on me, sir.”
“Gary is in a bad way. Gonna need some work. That place defendable, BT?”
I knew the answer; this was Times Square and I’d been to M&M’s World before. The entire storefront was one giant pane of glass, the better for the tourist and prospective shopper to see its colorful wares.
“Not so much.”
“Winters, I’m not ordering you, but if you could find another place, we’ll meet you there.” I didn’t want to drag an unwanted group of party crashers to BT’s candy house.
“On my way. Sir, as soon as you pass M&M’s World, take a left. I’m heading to Rockefeller Center.”
“Copy that,” I told him. Tommy had pulled ahead as I had turned to check out our pursuit. We had about a hundred yards on them, or I did; Tommy was about half that again. “Tommy, I’m going to slow them up as much as I can. Get Gary to Winters. I’ll catch up.”
“Don’t like that, Mr. T,” he replied, though he didn’t slow down or offer another solution.
“BT, I’m close. Do not, and I’m ordering you, do not engage the enemy.”
“Well how else are you going to look the hero if we step in to help? Don’t give a shit what you say; you get in trouble and there are eight of us here that are coming to your aid.”
“Just for once I wish you’d follow an order of mine, but thank you.”
I tossed an expended magazine, put another in, hit the bolt release and was back in business. I was backing up quickly while also firing; it was not a natural fighting routine and the results suffered for it.
“We’re there,” Tommy said.
“Mike, go. They’re coming from across the street and Stenzel says from further up the street.”
“All right you guys, sit tight. We’ll see how Gary is and how to continue this mission. If there are peanut butter M&M’s in there, I’m going to want some.” I was on the move.
“Good luck,” BT said as I dashed by.
The front glass doors of Rockefeller Center were utterly smashed out. I could make out Tommy staying low behind some debris. I was close when I stumbled off to the side; a shrieker was trying to get my brain to rupture. My eardrums popped from the pressure. Felt like a stroke victim as I tried to regain my equilibrium; I was doing my best to continue moving forward, though I was pulling hard to the left. Another shrieker joined the first. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed they were trying to locate us by echo, but that was absurd, right? Tommy grabbed me just as I was passing him. He pulled me down hard, placed his finger to his mouth. Whatever it was, was so close he didn’t even make a soft shushing sound. A bulker burst through a shop to our right and straight through a large, concrete flower box that, at one time, had held a perfectly manicured bush but which was now littered with glass, a broken body, and some twisted, misshapen vegetation. He waited until it ran past before picking me up.
“How you doing, Mr. T?” he asked, gently brushing me off.
“A light coating of dirt is the least of my problems, and thank you. Let’s check on Gary. Whoa,” I said as we went through the entrance and into the opulence. Even though it was suffering from some neglect and wildlife were beginning to encroach, it still held on to a lot of what had made it special. Had I the time, I would have taken a grand tour, but getting Gary help and getting back to the team and getting this mission done, right now that was all that mattered. Even if I did want to steal Jimmy Kimmel’s chair…Matt Damon would pay me a fortune for it.
Chapter 2
Mike Journal Entry 2
Found Winters working on Gary behind the reception desk; he looked rough. Not Winters, my brother. Like he’d slid down the world’s largest cheese grater, rough. He was in a lot of pain and bleeding from a dozen spots; well, more like a weeping of blood. He wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, but with that much wounded area exposed to the elements, he was in danger of an infection, which we were ill-prepared to deal with.
