And the world suddenly erupts in orange flame. I can’t make out what the fuck is going on but there’s an enormous explosion directly above us, exactly at the altitude we were at just a few seconds ago. My mind races as I wonder if we’re exploding. Maybe Kaylee fucked up a step and one of our engines has gone. Maybe we’re about to be torn apart and strewn across the runway in a trail of flames and torn steel. Maybe we’ve already been torn in two, and I’m living through the last seconds before we’re sucked from the plane and hurled like rag dolls into the air.
All of these thoughts flit through my mind in an instant, and I barely notice Kaylee thrust forward by the explosion, pushing hard on the yoke and forcing us sharply down towards the black runway. Our front wheels squeals as they make contact before bouncing us back into the air, and moments later the rear wheels come down hard, sending a sharp, painful jolt shooting through my spine.
For a moment all I can see are the dim orange lit clouds above us before the nose comes down once more. Now our front wheels make contact again, this time permanently. We’ve landed at an angle to the runway, and after just a few moments the cockpit shakes like an old dryer as we careen off the asphalt and onto the dusty, uneven ground beside it. Something loud snaps with the sound of a whip, and for a moment I’m weightless as the front wheels dig into the ground and hurl us forward.
The nose plunges to the ground and crumples before us. The windows shatter outwards with the force of the impact, and the world suddenly erupts with noise as the plane gracelessly slides through the dust before finally, with the sound of tortured steel screaming in my ears, a wing breaks away from the plane. The last thing I see before blacking out is the world flipped upside down.
΅
:::21:::
I FEEL HANDS clawing at me, pulling at my clothes and tearing at my flesh. Sharp nails dig into my skin, but after a moment of shock and pain my mind just... slides away from it. It takes a back seat and lets me watch the world divorced from emotion. Even the pain fades into the background, and the gaunt, pallid faces of the infected, their jaws snapping just inches from my face and their spittle spraying my skin, bring me no fear.
I’m hanging upside down.
I feel a sense of deja vu. I’ve been here before, I’m sure of it, but last time... last time it wasn’t quite the same.
The belt cuts into my skin as I hang from my seat, and I look out on New York as it burns. From my inverted point of view the bomb climbs gracefully through the clear sky, just like before, like a balloon that’s slipped from the hand of a child. This time I shield my eyes before it explodes, and this time I’m spared the pain in my eyes as the blindingly bright orb expands in the sky like a second sun. It’s so bright I can see pink between my fingers, where the light shines through so powerfully it makes my blood glow beneath my skin.
There weren’t infected last time. Last time we were alone, just me and Bishop on the bridge. Last time we had to run.
Last time the bridge came down beneath us.
I grab at the clasp of my belt, suddenly panicked as I realize I need to run. I’ve only got a few minutes to reach the tower before all of this comes crashing down into the icy Narrows. I need to find the bottle jack and raise the car. I need to grab Bishop and drag him to safety.
But this time we’ll need to fight past the infected. There’s no way of telling how many there even are out there, clawing at me through the broken window. All I see are snapping jaws and grasping hands, reaching out to tear me from my seat.
No, wait. There’s more. More explosions come, each one blindingly bright and perilously close. Each one lights up the world outside until it’s so bright it hurts. I need to squeeze my eyes tight to block it out, but even with them closed I can still see the lights, flashing before my eyes and drawing nearer as the hands and teeth close in. Clawing at me. Tearing at my flesh. Pulling me from the chair and out through the broken window into the blinding light.
I scream.
Something hits my head.
Everything goes black.
΅
:::22:::
JACK IS ALREADY halfway to the wreck before he realizes he’s still carrying the spent launcher on his shoulder. He stops in the pitch darkness between the terminal and the runway and drops the heavy tube to the ground with a thud. He takes a moment to catch his breath, and when he starts running again it’s at a much slower pace. A floodlight swings around from the air traffic control tower, and as he spots a Jeep bouncing across the ground on a direct course for the wreckage he realizes he doesn’t want to be the first to arrive at the crash site. He already has more than enough bad memories to haunt him for the rest of his life without piling on another few bodies.
The Jeep reaches the wreckage way ahead of him, and Jack decides to hang back in the shadows until they’ve removed the dead. Nobody will miss him. He already did his job. He brought down the plane and neutralized the threat. In fact, nobody would blame him is he just fucked off to the nearest bar and helped himself to a bottle of the strongest liquor he could find. He’s probably earned himself a week of R&R in the past couple of days.
After a few more moments during which both of his feet seem to want to move in two different directions he makes his decision. He’ll leave. After all, it’s not like he’s really in charge. He’s not a leader. He’s just a kid who was in the right place at the right time, and now he can just melt away into the background and let someone qualified take–
A startled yell comes from somewhere close to the front of the plane, and suddenly all the flashlights swing to the broken window to the cockpit. “They’re alive!” a voice cries out.
All thoughts of escaping to a bar vanish from Jack’s mind as he processes this new information. Hostages! He never imagined in a million years they’d ever be able to actually catch one of the attackers alive. He never imagined they’d get the chance to find out just why the hell they were under attack.
He breaks into a sprint across the hard, dusty ground, his boots kicking up clouds as he tears towards the wreckage. In the wreckage of the plane he can see movement through the broken cockpit window. Two people hang upside down, trapped in their harnesses, one of them limp and lifeless while the other waves his arms in the air as if fending off invisible attackers. At this distance Jack can’t make out what he’s saying, but as he draws closer the incoherent yells begin to coalesce into words.
“Bishop!” the man cries, swatting at one of the soldiers as he approaches with his flashlight. “Bishop, where are you?”
As Jack finally reaches the plane three of the soldiers awkwardly climb through the window, hoisting themselves up the crumpled roof until they can carefully lift themselves over the broken glass. Two of them hold the crazed man steady while the third unclips his belt, and together they lower him to the ceiling of the cockpit and drag him back towards the window, struggling all the way.
Two more men wait on the ground to accept the wildly flailing body as he’s passed down to the ground, and Jack takes a few steps back as the man starts to lash out at the soldiers. It’s hard to make out what’s going on in the confusion but he seems to be trying to attack the flashlights they’re holding for some reason. In their beams a stream of blood shimmers from the man’s forehead and he continues to yell out for Bishop, whoever that is, as they try to subdue him. It’s clear he’s out of his mind, and it’s only when one soldier steps smartly forward and knocks him out with the butt of his rifle that some semblance of peace returns to the wreckage.
As soon as the man falls to the ground Jack hears yells coming from within the plane. There are more inside, alive, and the soldiers order them with stern voices out of the cabin. The first to appear is a limping man in fatigues, quickly followed by a woman in the same outfit, apparently uninjured. They both climb slowly out of the plane as the two soldiers remaining in the cockpit unclip the woman still hanging from her seat and lower her gently to the ground, where one man crouches down over her for a moment before turning bac
k to the group. “This one’s dead,” he says, bluntly.
“What do you think, Ray?” One of the soldiers asks as he hops down from the shattered window. “Quick execution, or should we make it hurt?”
“Good question,” replies Ray, the same man who knocked the raving guy out a moment earlier. “Maybe we should off a couple of them to give the last one an incentive to talk. What do you think, kill the guys and keep the girl?”
The first man chuckles as he walks slowly around the group, aiming his rifle menacingly towards the prone body of the first man.
“Shoulder that rifle, Private!”
It’s only after a moment of stunned silence that Jack realizes the voice was his own. The group turn and face him, squinting in the darkness to identify their colleague, before Ray lets out a dismissive laugh. “You’re not in command here, Jack. We don’t take orders from you.”
Jack steps into the light cast by the floodlight and stares Ray down, looking more confident than he feels. “You might want to tell that to all the folks watching us from the tower, Ray. They seem to think I’m in charge, and I’d love to see what happens to the city if they see one of my men slaughter an unarmed prisoner against my orders. Make the call, Ray. Shoulder that firearm or take your shot.”
For the first time Ray loses some of his swagger as he looks back towards the bright light shining in from the tower. He can’t see them, but he knows that dozens of civilians are watching his every move. He also knows that the Army only rules Las Vegas by consent. Fewer than fifty men remain to govern two million, and they’re only in charge because the people allow them to be in charge. Jack knows this, and he can see in his eyes that Ray understands it too.
“Sorry, sir,” he mumbles, swinging the rifle back to his shoulder. “It’s your show.”
“Damn right it’s my show,” Jack replies, exuding confidence while he tries to stop his hands from trembling. “Load them up in the Jeep and take them back to the tower. We’re gonna question them. No violence. Just questions. Then we’ll decide what to do with them.”
Ray nods, and moments later the rest of the squad fall in and help heft the unconscious body onto the back of the Jeep, followed by the body of the dead girl. With a nod of the head the other two slowly climb aboard, and Jack climbs in as the overloaded Jeep sets off back towards the source of the floodlight.
“You’re going to wish you’d stayed away,” he says, looking over at the man in fatigues. “We heard about the other cities. We know what you were trying to do.”
The man returns the look with incredulity. “Jesus, that’s why you shot us down?” He shakes his head firmly. “We’re on the side of the angels, you damned moron.” He looks down at the unconscious man, and as two of the soldiers swing their guns around on him he moves with exaggerated care to the man’s jacket. “No need to fire, guys. Look.” From the man’s jacket pocket he pulls out a slim plastic disc that shines with the reflected light of the distant floodlight.
“This is why we came,” he says, holding the disc up for all to see. “We’re here to save your dumb asses.”
΅
:::23:::
MY HEAD HURTS.
For a moment that’s the only thought that passes through my mind. I don’t know where I am, and right now I don’t care. All I care about is the throbbing sensation behind my hairline, and the certainty that when I reach up to touch it I’ll find yet another angry lump. It seems recently I’ve been getting almost as many head injuries as a linebacker. I should start wearing a helmet.
I don’t open my eyes at first. Instead I take a moment to listen before I let my captors know I’ve come to. There’s not much to hear. Somewhere off to my right a few low voices murmur, and in the distance I hear angry words echo, as if they’re coming from the bottom of a well. I’m outside – I can tell by the slight breeze – and I can smell cigarette smoke hanging in the air.
Finally I crack open my eyes, and I’m surprised to find the sun breaching the horizon. I must have been out for hours. Beside me the wall of a cylindrical building climbs towards a bulbous platform perched at the top. The echoed conversation reaches me through an open door, beyond which in the darkness lies a steel staircase. I can’t pick out any words, but it sounds like there’s some sort of debate going on inside.
I turn away from the building and shield my eyes from the rising sun. In the distance I see the wreck of the plane. From this distance it looks almost intact, like it would be fit to fly if we could just flip it over on its wheels again. I know better. I felt every bump of that landing, and I know the plane is in no better shape than I am.
I look away from the wreck, over towards the terminal building, and–
There’s a body just beside me, shrouded in an oil-stained gray tarp that doesn’t quite reach down to the feet. They’re small, barely larger than child-sized, and clad in neon pink Nike sneakers with the Back to the Future style self lacing gimmick that was all the rage last year until everyone realized the laces pinched the skin of your feet as they tightened.
Kaylee was wearing shoes like that.
I painfully roll onto my front – my body feels like one big ache – and reach out for the edge of the tarp.
“You don’t want to look, Tom.”
I swing around in the direction of the voice to find Warren appearing from around the curved wall of the building. He tosses his cigarette to the ground and crushes it beneath his feet, frowning as he exhales a stream of smoke that’s immediately caught by the breeze.
“Is it...?”
“Yeah, it’s her,” Warren nods, then averts his gaze and stares at the ground. “Vee says it was quick. Must have taken a knock to the head as we came down. She wouldn’t have suffered.”
I let go of the tarp and watch as the heavy fabric settles across what I can tell is Kaylee’s nose. “You and Vee? Are you guys OK?”
Warren lowers himself to the ground beside me, wincing as he puts his weight on his bad leg. “I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds in the ring with Ali, but I’ll live. Vee...” He lets out a chuckle. “She came through without so much as a scratch. I think she’s too mad at the world to let it kill her.” He points to the top of the building. “She’s up there now, arguing with the guys in charge.”
Suddenly a thought occurs to me, and I pat my pockets with a growing sense of panic until Warren taps me on the arm. “Settle down, Vee has the vaccine. I took it out of your pocket while you were out cold. Took the notebook, too. Vee’s trying to explain what the fuck’s going on, and to get some of the guys to take us out to the CDC facility.”
We both turn to the doorway as footsteps begin to echo down the staircase, and I fish out a battered pack of cigarettes as we wait. When I pull out my lighter I find it’s empty, and a tiny hole in the base tells me it exploded during the crash. I lean back and tug down the waist of my pants, and I almost laugh when I see a small pink burn mark on my thigh.
“So... what the fuck happened in the plane? Why did we come down?” The last moments before the crash are all just a blur.
Warren takes one of my crumpled cigarettes and lights mine before his. “Looks like it was a case of mistaken identity. Seems Vegas was hit by a DC-10 in the attacks, but some hotshot took it down with a Stinger. When they saw us on the radar and we didn’t answer their hails they assumed we were the second wave, so they took a shot at us. It’s a miracle we’re still here. If that thing had hit us full on they’d still be finding fingers and toes scattered across the runway.” He nods towards the wreckage. “Anyway, the welcoming committee wasn’t all that welcoming. That’s why you’ve got that big lump on your coconut. Sounded like you were going a little crazy until one of the guys gave you a good crack in the head.”
A fragment of memory bubbles up from the confusion. “Yeah, I think... I think I was hallucinating. I thought I was back in New York on the day of the attack, but this time there were infected there with me, trying to get at me.” An involuntary shiver shoots down my spine. “Are the
re any infected here? In Vegas, I mean?”
Warren shakes his head and smiles. “Not a one, buddy. Looks like they’ve done a great job of keeping them out, even if they went a little overboard with the firepower. I think we can finally sleep easy without worrying about anything sneaking up on us and taking a bite. Thank God for small mercies, right?”
΅
:::24:::
SERGEANT ERIS BLYTHE closes his eyes and once again tries the dumbass breathing technique his ex-wife once taught him, some yoga bullshit that was supposed to fend off her regular panic attacks. Breathe from your belly, deep down. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Hold, and on and on and fucking on.
It doesn’t work. He could have a bottle of tequila in his hand and a hooker’s mouth around his cock and it wouldn’t help him forget the fact that the air is running out. With each stinging breath of the thick, choking dust he can feel it growing thinner. He can feel each breath satisfy him a little less than the last, and he knows that some time very soon he’ll take a breath and they’ll be nothing there. His lungs will burn in their desperate need for oxygen, but each new breath will only bring with it dust, pain and terror.
Last Man Standing Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 37
