by Dirk Patton
“What do we know?” Lucas asked as he joined them.
“We’ll know sooner if everyone quits asking me!” Joe snapped. It went quiet, then he sighed and looked up at the worried faces watching him. “Sorry. Soon as I know something, you’ll know.”
He went back to work, inserting another vial of John’s blood into a machine and adjusting its calibration settings.
“Why are you worried about the fever?” Rachel asked gently. “Besides the obvious.”
Joe hesitated before responding.
“I’ve examined a lot of infected. None have exhibited an elevated body temperature, except the test subjects that were administered the cure.”
Rachel blinked, remembering the tortuous two days when she and John had tried to cure Katie. Prior to administering the treatment, which they already knew would cause a dangerously high fever, she had been connected to a machine that induced mild hypothermia. In the end, the cure hadn’t worked.
“That fucking bitch,” Rachel breathed.
Joe looked at her, his eyes flicking to Mavis to make sure she wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. After a long moment, he nodded to Rachel.
“Is there anything we can do while we’re waiting for the results?” she asked.
“I’ve got several options,” Joe said, gesturing at a case full of liquid filled vials nestled in foam cutouts. “But without knowing what’s going on, the wrong treatment could be more dangerous than letting the fever run its course.”
“What’s the deal with a fever? My kids get ‘em all the time.” Lucas asked, settling into an adjacent seat. He and Colonel Chapman were leaned close, listening to the discussion.
“Not like this,” Rachel answered. “His body temperature is dangerously high. Brain damage is the primary concern. Happened to several test subjects when Joe was developing the cure.”
They all looked around quickly when John groaned again. His brow was beaded with sweat, his shirt and the carpet soaked with water from ice melt.
“We need a way to cool the saline,” Chapman said, nodding at the IV bag hanging from the back of a seat.
They stared at the bag, then Lucas suddenly stood up and rushed to the cockpit. A moment later, the engines whined to life and he came running back, squeezing around Joe.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“Don’t know if it’ll make any difference...”
Unhooking the large IV bag, he raised it higher and used some duct tape to attach it directly in front of an air conditioning vent. That done, he cranked the air return all the way open. Understanding, Chapman stood and together they shut all the other vents in the cabin.
“Worst case, it won’t hurt,” Joe said.
Lucas nodded, then slowly sank into a seat behind Mavis and Dog. The girl was gently rubbing John’s arm, speaking quietly to him in her native language.
Half an hour passed without conversation. Lucas went to the cockpit, then came back and found Chapman.
“That damn cargo hatch is in alarm again,” he said. “Come watch my back while I check it?”
The Colonel nodded and stood, following him out into the early morning light. The whine of the idling engines was loud as Lucas moved to the rear of the plane. He stooped to look at the offending hatch and came to a sharp stop.
He stared at it for a beat before quickly moving into open space, well clear of the engines and snapping his rifle up. Chapman immediately followed suit even though he didn’t know what had alerted the other man. Back to back, they thoroughly scanned the open tarmac around them.
“Clear,” Chapman muttered softly when he failed to find any threats.
“Clear,” Lucas echoed a few seconds later.
He moved back beneath the jet, cautiously approaching the hatch and aiming his rifle at the dark void inside. It wasn’t a big area, only large enough to hold half a dozen pieces of luggage, and he could see that it was empty.
“What’s wrong?”
“Warning light wasn’t on when we landed. Wasn’t on when I restarted the engines to run the cooling. Now, that goddamn hatch is standin’ wide fuckin’ open. It’s got self-closing gas struts that’ll pull it mostly shut unless it’s pushed fully to its stop. Only way it could be like this is if someone, or some-thing opened it.”
Chapman frowned as he looked over the panel.
“Can it be opened from the inside?”
“Aye, it can,” Lucas said with a nod as he re-scanned their surroundings.
“Shit,” Chapman grumbled. “Bet I can guess who stowed away.”
There was a flash of motion as a figure suddenly dropped to the tarmac between the two men, then a shot that was barely audible over the racket of the jet engines. Chapman tumbled to the ground, a neat red hole in his temple.
Viktoriya had been crouching on top of the aircraft, clinging to the tall tail and they’d failed to notice her presence. Now, after killing Colonel Chapman, she spun a devastating kick into Lucas’s stomach.
Normally, she wouldn’t have been able to generate enough force to cause much if any harm, but with her virus enhanced strength his diaphragm was paralyzed and he was knocked onto his back. Leaping on top, she shoved the weapon’s muzzle into his ear and leaned down until her face was inches from his.
“Hello, Lucas,” she purred with a wicked smile. “Let’s go see John. I’ve got something for him.”
Lucas had been stunned by her kick and the impact with the tarmac, but when she spoke his vision cleared and he locked onto her blood red eyes. Despite the pistol pressed to his ear, he twisted and delivered a massive blow to her face. The weapon was knocked off target, discharging and sending a bullet into the pavement an inch from his head.
Pressing the attack, he came after Viktoriya with a bellow of rage, but she scrambled clear before he could get a grip. Pursuing, he lunged, reaching for her leg. She easily danced away then raced in and delivered a lightning fast kick to the side of his head. It came so fast, Lucas was unable to raise an arm to protect himself. The force of the blow sent him rolling, his uncoordinated limbs flailing.
Pursuing, she kicked his head again. And again. And again.
33
Rachel looked around when she heard a dull thud that was barely audible over the idling jet engines. It wasn’t enough of a sound to have been worth taking notice during her previous life. Now, every little bump and scrape and bang was potentially a deadly threat to her and those she loved.
“You hear that?” she asked.
“What?” Joe responded.
Not answering, Rachel shook her head and stood, moving to peer through one of the plane’s porthole windows. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Colonel Chapman on the ground and Viktoriya attacking Lucas.
Snatching her rifle, she raced for the exit and stopped in the door as Viktoriya savagely kicked Lucas in the head. As the Russian woman continued to kick him hard enough to move his entire body, Rachel raised her rifle and snapped off an un-aimed shot.
The bullet slammed into Viktoriya’s arm, spinning her away from Lucas’s inert form. Viktoriya twisted, taking aim at Rachel, but when she saw the rifle pointed at her she leapt aside instead of firing, narrowly evading a burst of fire that would have shredded her chest.
Tracking her target, Rachel fired again, but Viktoriya was on the move. Taking full advantage of the speed of an infected female, she dashed into the cover beneath one of the aircraft’s wings before Rachel could put another round into her. Cursing, Rachel had to stop herself from jumping to the ground in pursuit.
“What’s happening?” Mavis asked from right behind her.
“It’s Viktoriya,” Rachel said. “Go to the other windows and see if you can spot her but be careful. She’s got a gun.”
Mavis scrambled across the cabin, peeking up over the bottom edge of the closest window. She peered around for a moment, then moved to another window and repeated her cautious survey.
“I don’t see her!”
“Fuck!” Rachel snapped.
She kept the rifle to her shoulder, body shielded as best she could behind a bulkhead next to the door.
“Lucas is hurt!”
Mavis had moved back to Rachel’s side of the cabin and was looking out a window.
“I know sweetie, but I think Viktoriya’s still out there. I think she’s waiting for me to come out to help him.”
“Watch my ass and I’ll get him.”
Rachel glanced around in surprise when Joe spoke from right behind her. He was hurting, that much was obvious, but the look in his eyes was one she remembered well from Oklahoma.
“We can’t go out there,” she protested. “She’s stronger and faster than we are, and she has a gun.”
“You hit her with any of that lead you were sending downrange?”
“First shot, yeah. Don’t think any of the others did, though.”
Joe thought about that for a moment, then shook his head like it didn’t matter. Leaning to the side, he cautiously peeked out a window and took a long, slow look.
“Chapman’s dead,” he finally said. “I can see the head wound from here. Can’t tell about Lucas.”
“He’s alive,” Mavis said with absolute certainty.
“How do you know?” Joe asked, looking into her eyes.
“Because his soul hasn’t left yet.”
They stared at each other until he nodded in understanding.
“You and I need to have a long talk one of these days,” he said, then turned to Rachel. “Ready?”
Rachel dropped the partially expended rifle magazine, loaded a fresh one in and took a deep breath.
“Let’s go,” she said, turning and charging down the air-stairs.
Reaching the tarmac, she instantly had the weapon scanning across the area beneath the aircraft. Seeing nothing, she waved, and Joe charged down and past her. Rifle up, she moved sideways to protect him, still not seeing Viktoriya.
“Where are you, you fucking cunt?” she muttered.
Moving backwards, she checked the top of the plane. Moved to an angle so she could see into the landing gear wells. Nothing. Seeing the open cargo hatch, she cautiously sidestepped until she could see inside. Empty. Starting to move away, she paused in thought, reached out and slammed the door, making sure the latch was fully seated.
“Let’s go,” Joe hissed behind her.
She didn’t dare take her attention off the direction Viktoriya had gone. Moving backwards, she kept herself and the weapon in position to protect Joe. She stopped at the bottom of the air-stairs, waiting for Joe to make the climb. Thinking she detected movement near a distant hangar, Rachel locked the rifle onto the spot, but couldn’t find a target.
“You got him?” she called, not taking her attention off watching for Viktoriya.
“He’s gone. Get in here!”
Joe’s voice spurred her to dash up into the cabin. It took her only a moment to figure out how to retract the air-stairs and secure the door. Turning, she hurried to where Joe was looking out a window, glancing at John on the way. He was still unconscious.
“It was too late,” Mavis said in a quiet voice.
She was staring at a point inside the aircraft cabin as if watching something. Rachel frowned then looked out the window at Lucas’s body. From the new angle, she could see a deep depression in the side of his head from having been kicked to death.
“We’re still not safe. We need to get out of here before she comes back.”
Rachel turned with a tear in her eye.
“Know how to fly, Joe? I sure as hell don’t.”
“No. But he does.”
She looked over her shoulder at the Russian pilot Lucas had tied up. He was awake and watching them. Rachel snatched up a large knife and moved to where the pilot was seated. She saw the fear in his eyes as she held the blade in front of his face.
“You speak English?”
The man nodded and she tore off the strip of tape that was covering his mouth.
“You want to live, fly us out of here.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“Vandenberg,” Joe said quickly. “That’s where Vance went. He can take us back to Hawaii and a real hospital for John.”
“Vandenberg!” Rachel repeated, glaring into the Russian’s eyes.
“There won’t be enough fuel.”
“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, pressing the tip of the knife against his throat.
“I’m not! I’m not! We’d already flown from Los Angeles, most of the way to Phoenix. I don’t know where we are, but this isn’t where I landed, so more fuel’s been burned. And how long have the engines been running? That uses fuel.”
Rachel stared into his eyes, not wanting to believe him. But everything he was saying had the ring of truth.
“Check the gas gauge,” Mavis said.
Rachel glanced at her, her line of sight passing across one of the windows. Movement caught her attention and she leaned closer, watching Viktoriya run towards the plane. She was still a few hundred yards away and Rachel considered rushing outside to finish her off with the rifle.
Then more movement drew her attention. Lots of movement. Infected females suddenly surged onto the tarmac from behind a row of hangars. There were too many to count and they were all following Viktoriya like she was the Pied Piper. The pilot saw them and immediately began struggling against his bonds.
“Cut me loose! If they get in the engines, we’ll never leave! I don’t want to die here!”
Rachel looked at him for a beat, glanced back at the swiftly approaching mass of females then began cutting the tape that held him to the seat. She paused for a second with only his hands still secured and stared into his eyes with the blade held up between them.
“Fuck with me and I’ll kill you, even if we’re in the air. Understand?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” he said, casting a terrified glance at the infected. “Now cut me free!”
Without another moment’s hesitation, Rachel sliced his bonds away and stepped clear. The man launched himself out of the seat and into the cockpit. Rachel moved to brace herself in the door, standing behind him with the knife tightly gripped. He ignored her, slipping into the pilot’s seat. A few seconds later they began rolling, mere feet ahead of the pursuing females.
34
Martinez and Strickland moved carefully across a rocky slope. They’d had no choice but to head inland after encountering the beach that was crawling with infected. This had brought them to very rugged terrain with frequent sheer drops to jagged rocks. The footing had slowed their pace to the point that it took an hour to cover only a mile.
As the day had progressed, the misty marine layer hadn’t burned off as they’d expected. Instead, the sky had darkened even more and swollen, angry looking clouds had rolled in. Now, the wind was gusting, trying to tear them off the steep terrain and send them tumbling to their deaths.
They had already been damp and cold from walking through the early morning fog and mist, then a deluge had passed through, thoroughly soaking them both to the skin. Squall lines of more rain were visible over the churning ocean, marching towards them.
Strickland led the way, doing his best to find the easiest path. He wasn’t trying to be chivalrous toward Martinez. It was simply the right way to travel in an environment where one wrong step could send you plunging to your death. Or could dislodge a stone that would crash down the slope and alert the infected to their presence.
The wind suddenly strengthened as a band of torrential rain reached their location. What had been poor visibility became blinding conditions as it was driven directly into their faces. A brilliant flash of lightning lit the world around them in neon white, the blast of thunder sounding immediately, seemingly directly overhead. Two seconds later, another flash that was so close Martinez swore she could feel electricity dance across her wet skin.
The rain was so intense she lost sight of Strickland, even though he was less t
han five feet in front of her. Head down and eyes nearly shut in defense against the weather, she took another step, her foot coming down on an unseen rock that rolled before slipping from under her.
She fell onto her hip and began to slide down the slope, clawing frantically for anything that would stop her fall. She felt her body accelerate as her hands only found wet sand and loose rocks. Her legs went over a ledge into space and in that instant, she realized she was about to die.
As her upper body scraped across the threshold, her fall was suddenly arrested. She hung in the air, looking up and meeting Strickland’s eyes. When she’d started to disappear over the edge, he had dived onto his belly and stretched out over the vertical rock face. Grabbing the only thing he could, he was holding her by the grab handle on the back of her vest. Lightning flared and thunder crashed around them as the wind and rain did their best to tear her from his grip.
With a scream of effort that was swallowed by the raging storm, he pulled her up an inch. She scrabbled for any purchase but came up empty. Torrents of water rushed down the slope from above, sluicing over and around Strickland to crash into her face like a firehose on full.
The bone jarring blasts of thunder were now almost constant, drowning the bellowed screams of effort from Strickland as he fought to pull her to safety. It was an almost impossible task, but he didn’t stop. Slowly, a few inches at a time, Martinez was lifted until she could manage a grip on the edge.
She was now able to use her arms and scrambled for all she was worth as Strickland rolled onto his back and gave one final mighty tug. Popping over the edge, her legs pumped to move away from the drop as he pulled her into an embrace and she collapsed on top of him, head pillowed on his chest.
They lay there in the pounding rain as thunder assaulted their senses, panting from the fear and herculean effort. Neither of them was able to move.
“If you didn’t wanna be with me, you could’ve just said something,” he shouted to be heard over the storm.
