Somewhere in the distance, out towards the neon lit Strip, sirens began to wail.
΅
:::17:::
JACK STARED INTO space as he half listened to the susurrus of muted conversation in the air traffic control tower, his eyes drawn out the window to an empty section of dark sky just above the passenger terminal. Beside him a cup of coffee had gone cold an hour ago, and everyone passing by seemed to slightly alter their course to avoid him since he’d lapsed into silence, as if he was wearing a sign around his neck that read ‘don’t even try to talk to me.’
It had been 24 hours since he’d pulled the trigger and watched the plane tear through the Strip, and still his hands hadn’t stopped trembling. His clothes still shed dust whenever he moved, and his throat was raw and his eyes red after a day of pulling bodies from the rubble.
The hours after the DC-10 had crashed had been a muddled, loud, terrifying mess. The bodies of two of the officers from Hawthorne were found in the remains of the Mandalay Bay, and when the third, Sergeant Blythe, didn’t report for duty it was pretty much assumed he was also buried somewhere in the wreckage.
By virtue of the fact that Jack was the ‘hero’ who’d saved the city everyone seemed to have made the unspoken decision that he was now the leader. All day they’d turned to him, expecting him to make decisions that affected the lives of all two million residents of the city, and he just wanted to grab them by their collars and give them a firm shake until they realized he was just a terrified 25 year old kid with a GED and a recreational pot habit. Fuck, he didn’t even understand how plumbing worked.
Meanwhile the news reports continued to pour in on the radio. There was little doubt that this had been an attack on an unprecedented scale. Virtually every major city in the western and central states had suffered a terrible fate. They’d not been warned of what was coming. They had no idea until the planes and helicopters had already dumped their loads. The first they knew of it was when the infected hordes reached their doors. Hundreds of thousands had died. Maybe millions, and all in a single night.
Everyone within reaching distance of a radio had spent the day scouring the stations, and so far they’d only found a few other attacks that had failed. There were a couple of reports that Abilene had survived, and San Francisco was still on the air and reporting what they’d heard from elsewhere. LA was confusing. There had been around two dozen stations broadcasting two days ago, and now they were down to eleven. What’s more, each of them seemed to be reporting stories completely at odds with each other. Some stations screamed that the infected were massing in the streets, while a couple of others just reported the weather and local sports results.
After listening to a few reports urging listeners to head towards cities that had escaped attack Jack made his first executive decision: he ordered the local radio station to stop broadcasting. He was a little surprised that they listened to him, to be honest, but they seemed to understand it would be for the best. Nobody wanted to imagine what would happen if the entire population of LA decided it would be a good idea to suddenly decamp to Vegas, so they powered down the transmitters and went dark within the hour.
After hours sifting through the wreckage and yet more dealing with endless questions from people who now looked to him for guidance Jack just felt numb. Since the Hawthorne squad had brought the city back under control they’d all realized just how lucky they were. They might be facing challenges, sure, but Las Vegas was as good a fortress as you could hope to find against the infected. Hundreds of miles lay between it and the next large city, and much of it was scorching, featureless, unforgiving desert. They had power and water, and food supplies that could be stretched to weeks or even months with careful rationing. Nobody wanted to say it but they’d all begun to believe they could safely ride out the storm. They could wait it out while the government wrested back control of the country, and they could emerge into the reclaimed civilization with pride.
Nobody thought that any more.
Now the game had changed. This was no longer a matter of just waiting it out. Somebody out there was trying to bring the fight to them, but they didn’t have any idea who, or why. All they knew was that Las Vegas was no longer the safe haven it had been just 24 hours earlier.
After the DC-10 had come down over the Strip the Hawthorne team had leaped to action along with the local authorities. Fire crews doused the blaze around the wreckage, and teams worked around the clock to search for survivors and remove the bodies that weren’t buried deep beneath the rubble. An armed squad kept a close eye on everyone who entered the perimeter set up around the wreckage, with orders to fire with extreme prejudice on anyone who displayed signs of infection, though fortunately nobody felt the need to follow that order. It seemed that whatever the plane had been carrying had been destroyed in the crash, or in the subsequent fire.
Meanwhile the squad sent civilian crews to establish lookout points ten miles out on every road leading to Vegas, with orders to raise the alarm if anyone tried to enter by land. They were loaded down with weaponry, and given permission to fire on anyone they saw as a threat without fear of repercussions.
Las Vegas was now a fortress. Nobody in, nobody out. Until they had a better grasp on what the hell was going on beyond the city they had no choice but to treat any outsider as a potential hostile. They’d worked too hard to save the city to allow anyone to threaten them. Now they–
“Jack?” An alarmed voice climbed above the hum of conversation. “Shit, looks like we got another one.”
Jack pulled his attention from the window to find Vera, the matronly air traffic controller who’d been guiding planes into McCarran since the early 90s, waving him over to her radar desk. The color had drained from her face. He didn’t want to look. He already knew what he’d see, and he already knew what would come next. What had to come next.
It was a green blip on the screen, just like last night, on a direct course to the city.
Vera rested a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder as he leaned over the desk. “You want me to call in one of the boys, Jack?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “You don’t have to do it yourself. You’ve done enough.”
He gently shrugged her hand away as he stood. “No... No, I can’t ask anyone else.” He alone knew the pain of making that call. Of shouldering the weapon, pulling the trigger and watching as the missile found its target. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life waking up in a cold sweat, the memory replaying over and over in his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t wish the experience on his worst enemy.
He’d pull the trigger again. He couldn’t ask anyone else.
Maybe the second time wouldn’t hurt so bad.
΅
:::18:::
I WAKE UP to the plane bucking in heavy turbulence, and as I clutch the armrests of my seat my thoughts immediately flash to all the rock stars who died in small aircraft. I’ve never flown in anything smaller than a sixty seater prop plane, and I never realized how much these tiny private jets are at the mercy of the elements. With every sudden plunge I feel like I’m driving by an articulated truck in a tiny European clown car, almost lifted from the ground by the buffeting of the air as the truck blasts by.
“What’s going on?” I ask, rubbing my eyes, but when I look around the cabin I realize there’s nobody there. Muffled voices come through the cockpit door. I turn and look out the window, and for a moment I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me.
Far below in the darkness I see a small patch of light appearing intermittently through the clouds. It’s not much, but it’s definitely not my imagination. I squint and lean in close to the cold window, pressing my nose against the Plexiglas to get a better view, and as the clouds clear I pick out about a dozen lines of lights, tightly clustered and equally spaced, with a single much longer line stretching off to either side of the cluster before dying away in the distance. It takes me a moment to figure out what I’m looking at, but as soon as it dawns on me a broad grin breaks a
cross my face.
It’s a town. Far below us a small town sits bathed in electric light, with street lights illuminating the road in and out. Ever since Warren had suggested the west might have power I’d dreamed of seeing something like this, but I hadn’t let myself really believe it might be possible until now. There may be people down there bathed in the glow of electric light. I never thought that could make me so happy.
That’s another thing. It’s not just light down there, but everything else it entails. Refrigeration. Microwaves. Stoves. TV and radio, AC, garage door openers, blenders and games consoles. It’s civilization, or at least everything my life so far has taught me to associate with it.
I leap from my seat and stumble down the aisle towards the cockpit, grabbing onto the headrests on the seats as we hit another pocket of turbulent air. “Guys!” I yell as I burst through the cockpit door. “Did you see the lights? There’s a town down there with power!” Vee turns to me and rolls her eyes, but it’s not until I look out the front window that I see why she’s so unimpressed with my discovery.
Far ahead of us, partially obscured by a thick, heavy layer of cloud, a dazzling shaft of light shines from the ground and bursts towards the heavens.
It’s the Luxor, the pyramid shaped casino at the heart of Las Vegas.
We’ve arrived.
΅
:::19:::
JACK FEELS THE weight of the Stinger on his shoulder once again, and he wishes – not for the first time – that he’d had the time to get good and drunk this evening. The final Stinger is loaded into the tube, and he prays that he managed to seat it properly. He’d not read anything about loading the weapon in the literature he’d seen, but it seemed fairly simple. It slid in and seemed to lock in place with a heavy click. With a little luck that meant it would fire from the tube and not simply explode on his shoulder.
Last night the skies had been almost completely clear, but a front had moved in through the afternoon and covered the city in a bank of low cloud, hanging what looks like just a few hundred yards overhead like a thick blanket. The orange glow from the city’s lights reflects off the base, and hidden somewhere beyond is another plane. Another threat. Another attempt to destroy the city he’d fought to protect.
From the engine tone the plane sounds like it’s much smaller than the DC-10. It sounds like a small jet, and in the back of Jack’s mind the thought occurs that maybe the attackers aren’t as powerful as he feared. Maybe the DC-10 was their only large plane, and they never expected anyone could possibly knock it out of the sky. Maybe the approaching whine heralded the arrival of their only other plane, and maybe if he could take this one out they’d have nothing left to throw at the city.
But he still can’t see it.
Jack turns slowly, pointing the aiming reticle into the clouds. He doesn’t know much about the Stinger, but he knows it finds its target based on the infra-red signature of an aircraft – essentially it’s a heat seeker. Maybe the clouds would disperse the signal and prevent a lock, but he panned around just in case it picked something up.
When the plane finally breaks through the low clouds Jack doesn’t spot it at first. He has the Stinger pointed at the same part of the sky from which the DC-10 approached last night, but the flashing navigation lights of the new plane come in at a 90 degree angle, almost in line with the runway.
It’s coming in at a lower angle, too, and Jack has to awkwardly jog to clear the corner of the terminal building as the lights vanish from sight. He awkwardly stumbles beneath the weight and accidentally squeezes the trigger, and for a few moments he freezes and holds his breath until it’s clear the missile isn’t going to fire before he presses the uncage button to release the guidance system. He whispers a silent prayer as the SAM remains firmly in the tube.
Slowly, carefully, he falls to one knee and brings the reticle in line with the approaching plane. The targeting speaker drops in and out as it picks up the sound of the engine, and a shrill alarm begins to sound to warn him the battery is close to dead. He’ll have to make this quick.
Jack curses as the plane drifts in and out of the center of his reticle. Last night the DC-10 approached at a steady, stately pace that made it easy to hold it in his sights, but this small plane weaves from side to side in the buffeting crosswinds as it drops lower. It keeps moving out of the sights, and he can’t be sure if he has a lock.
There’s nothing for it. The plane looks to be only a few hundred yards from the start of the runway now, and if he doesn’t fire right away it will be too late. He doesn’t know what they plan to do but he sure as hell won’t give them the chance to do it.
With a trembling hand he squeezes the uncage button on the front of the tube, and with a whir the targeting system activates. The plane is within spitting distance of the runway now, landing gear down and locked. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment and whispers a quiet prayer.
Jack Benson squeezes the trigger once again.
΅
:::20:::
“OK, CAN YOU just all stop talking for a second? Fuck!” Kaylee takes the yoke and glares out the window as we all fall silent. “Tom, pass me that chart.” I hand over the map in my hand, and she tosses it back. “No, not the US thing, the Nevada chart. Quickly!”
I rifle through the sheaf of maps, dropping the plane’s heavy handbook on my toe, and eventually fish out the crumpled map of Nevada. “Got it.”
Kaylee grabs the map and lays it out flat across her instruments. “OK, now let’s see...” She draws a finger across the map until she finds Las Vegas, then reads the tiny, almost illegible small print on the key written beside the city. “North north east,” she mumbles to herself before grabbing the map and thrusting it back into my hands. “This may be a bumpy landing, guys. You guys should probably buckle up. Tom, sit down and navigate. Vee, Warren, back in the cabin.”
I’m about to point out that Vee would make a much better navigator, but something about the way Kaylee spat her name tells me that the two get on like cats in a sack. I don’t really mind sitting up front, though. I came of age long after airlines stopped allowing kids to go up to the cockpit to meet the pilot, so I’ve never seen an approach from the co-pilot’s seat before.
Kaylee’s hands are shaking as she grips the yoke, and I have to tell myself I’m only imagining that I can feel the plane shake in response to her nerves. Her eyes are fixed on the beam of the Luxor out the window to the left, and I wait in silence until it finally vanishes from sight.
“OK, that’s far enough, I’m going to turn into my approach now. See this compass?” She reaches down and taps the glass without looking. “I need you to tell me when we’re pointing South south west, understand? Give me a little warning so I can straighten up.”
I feel a lump rise in my throat as she suddenly banks the plane to the left, and my stomach turns as the ground comes into view below us out the left window. We seem dangerously low – much lower than I’ve ever seen a commercial plane make its approach – but I don’t dare say anything for fear that I’ll freak Kaylee out.
“OK, we’re pointing west,’ I whisper in the most calming, comforting voice I can squeeze past vocal cords that feel as taut as violin strings. “South west now.” Kaylee begins to straighten out the plane. “OK, that’s south south west.”
The ground slowly vanishes from view out the left window as we pull level and I take a deep, shuddering breath. I look down and realize my fingers have torn clean through the map, and the knuckles of my left hand are white where I’m clutching the arm rest of the chair.
Now the bright beam from the Luxor is ahead and slightly to the right, and I can tell by the way it’s moving quickly across the window that we’re just a mile or two from the city. Kaylee takes a trembling hand from the yoke and flicks a few switches that set unseen mechanisms into whirring motion, and with a slight jolt I feel the landing gear emerge and lock into place.
“Buckle up,” she says, tapping the strap of the four point harn
ess attached to my seat, and I struggle to clip myself in as Kaylee plunges us down so low that I’m certain we’ll snag ourselves on power lines. Beneath us the dark, featureless desert gives way to the sprawling outskirts of the city. Endless clusters of bland McMansions, run down strip malls and lush golf courses flit beneath the plane, all of them lit up like Christmas trees.
Kaylee pulls back on the throttle, and my ears pop as the engine tone falls and we drop still further. Now I can see cars moving on the streets below. Not many, but enough to see that – somehow – Vegas is still functioning. People have gas and electricity. They’re not rioting in the streets, and they’re not too scared to ride around town in the dead of night. I can’t help but feel excited at the prospect that I might get to eat a steak before the night is over.
“See that ahead?” Kaylee points directly forward out the window. “See the runway lights?” I peer ahead but can’t see how she can tell one row of lights from another. “That’s McCarran.” A hint of a stoned smile flits across her mouth. “I damn well hope so anyway, cause that’s where I’m putting her down.”
She reaches up and flips a switch, and suddenly the cockpit lights go out and the world outside grows much brighter. Now I see the lights of the runway, quickly flickering on and off in sequence, guiding us to the ground. Kaylee swears under her breath when she notices we’re coming in too shallow. The first of the runway lights vanish in the window and we’re still well above the ground. She cringes as she pushes lightly forward on the yoke, and my stomach turns as the nose of the plane suddenly dips down directly towards the ground. I hold my breath as the runway comes racing towards us, and I can’t help but let out a gasp as Kaylee pulls back on the stick and yanks up the nose just a few yards from the blinking lights. She reaches out for a switch on the instrument panel and–
Last Man Standing Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 36
