And then he’ll die. He’ll die down here, buried in the darkness.
He can’t fucking believe this is the way he’s gonna check out. He’d trained his whole life to go to war and defend his country, and instead he’ll die crushed beneath the collapsed remains of a gaudy Vegas hotel, slowly asphyxiating in pitch blackness.
When the building came down Eric had been trying to fall asleep on an uncomfortable canvas cot in the ground floor lobby. He had no idea what had happened but in the moments before the collapse he’d heard the roar of a jet engine approaching, and then everything went to hell. The floors above him came crashing down, and it was only thanks to dumb luck that he wasn’t killed right away. The thick pillars holding up the ceiling of the lobby withstood the weight, allowing a tiny little safe pocket to form as the building collapsed like a house of cards above him. After he was knocked out by a chunk of falling concrete he woke up covered in cuts and bruises, and he suspected his collarbone was broken, but at least he wasn’t pinned beneath the rubble.
Unfortunately the pocket was just that: a pocket. Two heavy slabs of concrete form the ceiling, and without tools there’s no way he could ever break his way through. For the first two hours he struggled to work himself free but it was obvious it was never gonna work. The slabs weigh a ton, and from them jut several long poles of rebar that anchor themselves in the wreckage on either side of him. The rebar is the only thing stopping the pocket from collapsing in on itself, so even if he could move the slabs he’d be crushed before he could climb out.
All night he yelled for help, listening to his deadened voice bouncing back from just a few inches ahead of him. He yelled until the sound of his own voice began to scare him. For a while he lost control, scratching at the concrete until his fingers bled. He wept, alone in the darkness, and then finally accepted his fate. He realized he’d die down here. He knew he’d never see the sun again.
Eric fishes out his phone and activates the light, shining it around his modest tomb. He doesn’t look at the battery indicator. Doesn’t want to know how little time he has left before he’ll be plunged into darkness. He just wants a quick look at the concrete above him before he begins to ration the precious light.
For the last couple of hours a strange sound has been filtering through the wreckage from above. It sounds like some kind of engine, and every few minutes there’s a loud scraping noise and a tortured metallic moan. He doesn’t want to raise his hopes only for them to be dashed, so he barely allows himself to entertain the idea that there might be an earth mover up there sifting through the rubble.
In any case, even if there are people above trying to reach him they’ll never arrive before the air runs out. By the light of the phone he can see through a crack in the concrete above him a curved, riveted sheet of steel maybe ten yards away. He can only see a small segment of it, but it almost looks like the outer hull of an airplane. If that sound before the collapse really was an approaching plane it looks like it settled almost on top of him. It’d take days to clear it out of the way to reach him, and he can tell he won’t make it to tomorrow in this thinning air.
There’s that sound again. The concrete around him shakes and sheds dust as a scraping noise reaches him from far above. Something’s moving up there, and–
He almost drops his phone in shock when he sees it. Far, far above, almost hidden behind the shower of dust raining down in his eyes, a shaft of sunlight has appeared. There’s no way of knowing if it’s twenty yards above him or a hundred, but for the first time since he awoke in the rubble he allows himself to entertain the notion that he might not die down here. New air flows in through the crack, and as he takes a deep breath he can almost feel it nourishing him more than the last.
“Help!” He cries out with renewed strength, straining his neck as if his voice will carry further if he can stretch himself just two inches closer to the surface. “Heeeeeeeeelp! I’m alive down heeeeeeere!”
In the distance the sound of the engine cuts out, and in the sudden silence he imagines he can hear voices.
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!” His dry, dust choked throat cracks with the effort of projecting his voice.
This time he knows there are voices. They grow closer and less muffled until he can make out the words. “... alive down there. I swear I heard it.”
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!” Now there are tears streaming down Eric’s cheeks, cutting pink lines through the gray dust caking his skin.
“Hello?” The answering voice reaches him, and he can barely contain his excitement.
“I’m alive! Help me!”
For a moment the voice grows quiet, and Eric can no longer make out the words. A terrifying, traitorous thought passes through his mind that maybe he’s just imagining it. Maybe this is simply an hallucination, the cruel last gasp of a dying, oxygen starved brain.
“Sir! Hold on, we’re coming to get you! Just hold on, OK?”
Now he knows it’s real. Far above something blocks the shaft of light, and as Eric squints in the darkness he can make out a face close enough that he can see the bristled, dust-laden mustache of the man yelling down. He looks like he’s maybe thirty yards above him.
The face vanishes, and moments later the engine kicks up again. Eric grins broadly as the chink of sunlight grows. The earth mover drags away slabs, and before long there’s a whole patch of sky visible through the gap. He can see blue sky, and when he sees a rope drop over the edge of the hole he weeps with joy. His chest aches as it convulses in big, gulping sobs as first one man and then another climbs through the hole and lower themselves steadily down towards him, heavily laden with gear and cloaked in bulky bright yellow firefighter jackets.
It takes what feels like an hour for the two men to reach him. Along the way they pull rubble aside, carefully bracing the shaft with wooden beams lowered down from above. It’s painstaking work, but after an eternity they finally plant their feet on the concrete slab above him and begin the job of chipping away at it to make a hole. The mustachioed man pauses for a moment to reach down through the narrow gap, and Eric grabs his hand so firmly the man winces.
“It’s okay, buddy, we’ll have you out of there in just a few minutes. Just hold on a little longer, all right?”
Eric can barely speak. He can only weep as the mustachioed man withdraws his hand and continues steadily widening the hole until it’s finally large enough for him to climb through. He gladly takes the hand of one of the men, and plants a foot against the crumbling concrete wall of his tomb to boost himself up.
As soon as his foot kicks against the rubble, though, something shifts around him. The pocket that saved his life kicks out a plume of dust as it collapses in on itself, and for a moment of terror Eric thinks the whole shaft will come crashing down around them. The men above him yank him sharply upwards, and his feet escape by only a few inches as the concrete collapses beneath him.
A metallic groan echoes off the walls and Eric braces himself for the pain. The crumbling, delicate walls of the shaft tremble and shed dust as the rubble settles around them, but after a few seconds the shaking stops. Eric takes a breath.
“Jesus,” he whispers, afraid the the slightest noise may disturb the wreckage. “Are we still alive?”
One of the men grabs hold of the rope as the other pulls a harness from his pack and slings it around Eric’s waist. “Just hold onto the rope, OK? They’ll do all the work up top. You just sit tight.”
Eric nods, dazed and overwhelmed. It’s only after the harness is attached and hitched to the rope that he realizes he hasn’t even thanked these men for rescuing him. He feels himself welling up. His lower lip quivers, and he knows he won’t be able to get the words out without bursting into tears. Instead he simply hugs them, holding them tight in a bear hug, burying his face between their shoulders as heaving sobs escape his body.
“Alright, buddy, settle down.” He pulls away, and the mustachioed man grins with embarrassment. “Let’s get you up there, OK?” He grabs his radi
o and mumbles an order for the team above to start up the winch.
Eric nods and silently mouths the words ‘thank you’, looking up hopefully at the patch of sky as tears stream down his face. A whirring sound filters down from far above, and with a sharp jerk Eric begins to ascend.
He’s a few yards in the air when he realizes that the liquid running down his cheeks isn’t all tears. As he creeps up inch by agonizing inch he notices that water is dripping down from above, and it’s only when a drop catches the sunlight that he sees it’s coming from the steel hull of the plane above him. A new crack seems to have formed in the last few minutes, and in the dim light Eric can see narrow rivulets of water escaping from the base of the crack and gathering in beads at the rivets that line the hull, swelling until they’re so large they drip down below. He peers up at the hull just as a drop lands right in his eye.
“Hey guys,” he calls out, turning to look at the men beneath him, “I think you should hurry out of there. It looks like this thing up here’s leaking.”
The men crane up to see him pointing at the cracked hull just as it suddenly widens. With a scream of tearing steel the crack bursts violently open, releasing a deluge of water with the force of a fire hose. For a moment Eric feels himself fall deeper into the shaft under the force of the spray, then he’s knocked out of it and shoved firmly against the wall.
“Quick!” He cries out, reaching down a hand. “Grab the rope! We have to go now!” A few yards beneath him he sees the men already up to their waists in the inky, turbulent water, and they quickly scramble up the walls of the shaft to drag themselves from the deluge, their fingers digging into the crumbling, friable concrete. They climb faster than the winch hoists Eric, and after just a few seconds they’re close enough to grab the rope and swing away from the walls.
They climb more slowly now under the weight of three men, but they’re still moving quickly enough to pass the cracked hull of the plane. As they pass just an arm’s length away from the gaping tear in the steel it becomes clear that it isn’t fresh water that’s rushing from the crack. The liquid looks cloudy and green-tinted, and Eric realizes it smells kinda... stale, maybe? Kinda musty, like brackish water from a stagnant pond.
He turns his attention back to the light above. The liquid doesn’t matter. All he can think about is the ice cold water he’ll be drinking any minute now. Gallons of the stuff, and then a cold shower, a fresh set of clothes and a nourishing meal. He’ll never take the little things for granted again. He’ll never...
Something feels... off. He feels dizzy all of a sudden. The shaft of light above him drifts out of focus. It seems to be spinning around, and the walls of the shaft passing by beside him seem to fade into a fog. He turns to the two men attached to the rope and sees them frowning, blinking their eyes as if they’re full of dust.
“What’s... umm...” the mustachioed man looks at him, but it seems as if his eyes are passing through him and focusing on something in the distance. “The, errrrm... the thing... what’s with the, errrrm... y’know?” He points down at the swirling liquid filling the dark shaft beneath them. “Wet.”
Eric nods. It seems to make sense, somehow, and he points along with the mustachioed man.
“Wet.”
With that the two firefighters loosen their grip on the rope, and both fall back into the churning black water below. Eric looks down into the darkness but sees no thrashing. It’s as if they didn’t even try to swim.
With their weight gone the winch stops straining, and Eric notices the walls of the shaft move by much more quickly now. The light approaches.
Thirty seconds later Eric finally reaches the surface. He emerges into the blindingly bright light slumped and still, hanging immobile from the rope.
A young woman rushes towards him, a foil survival blanket crumpled in her arms. She yells out for help as she pulls Eric’s lifeless body clear of the shaft, then orders the winch operator to let out enough slack to bring him down to the ground.
A small group crowds around as the woman leans in to check Eric’s pulse and breathing, and they all whisper prayers as she crouches over his prone body and starts to administer mouth to mouth.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Eric opens his eyes, and above him the woman breaks into a relieved smile as he begins to move. She reaches out for the survival blanket and tries to wrap it around the dust-caked, bedraggled figure beneath her, but he seems eager to stand.
The people working elsewhere in the rubble turn and stare in confusion as a piercing scream echoes around the crash site. Over by the hole where the survivor was found a group of rescue workers suddenly turn and run in every direction. A young woman stands for a moment, stumbling clumsily on the loose rubble and clutching her throat, and then she slumps to her knees and falls forward onto her face.
Beside her a man begins to stand awkwardly. He seems to be struggling with the rope attached to his waist. He runs in one direction until it jerks him back, and then he tries another direction with the same result. On his fourth try he runs straight back into the hole from which he emerged, and the rope dances across the ground until it’s suddenly pulled tight.
A few of the rescue workers now turn their attention to the young woman on the ground. Katherine. She’s the nice young EMT who helped organize a blood drive soon after the guys from Hawthorne arrive. Everyone likes her, and everyone wants to help.
They’re only a few steps away when Katherine begins to move.
΅
:::25:::
VEE APPEARS IN the doorway and flashes me a smile when she sees me up and awake. She strides towards us, tossing a couple of bottles of water our way as she arrives, and drops to the dusty ground with relief.
“Man, those stairs took it out of me,” She stretches her legs out in front of her and winces as she massages her thighs. “You think they’d give a girl a break after a plane crash, right? How’s the head?”
I takes a swig from the water and pour a little over my head to cool myself from the warm morning sun. “I’ll live. What’s the word?”
She grabs the bottle from my hand and takes a long gulp before speaking. “OK,” she says, still catching her breath from the walk down, “there’s good news and there’s bad news. The bad news is that the CDC facility has been abandoned. Jack – that’s the kid in charge, Jack Benson – tells me they have the road all the way to Lake Mead locked up tight, and there’s not a soul around any more. That’s the bad news.”
I feel my hopes slip away. We came all this way just to find nobody home? “And the good news?”
Vee brightens. “The good news is that the guys running this place seem to be pretty damned organized. After they took over the city they swept up everyone living within fifty miles of Vegas and brought them here, so there’s a good chance anyone who was working at the facility is camped out somewhere in the city. One of the guys up there remembers the lab, and he’s pretty sure he sent all the white coats to stay in the Luxor. That’s the other good news, by the way. Turns out the DC-10 they brought down crashed into the Mandalay Bay, and pretty much everyone who was staying there is buried beneath a few thousand tons of concrete. Anyway, they’ve put out a call to the Luxor to see if they can track them down.”
I feel myself relax a little. “Thank God for that. Do you still have the vaccine?”
Vee pats her pants pocket. “You better believe it. I’m not letting this thing out of my sight before–”
Her voice is suddenly drowned out by a droning wail that fills the air, slowly rising in tone like a child’s plaintive cry. I’ve never heard one in real life before, but it sounds to me like the air raid sirens I used to hear in old movies.
“What the fuck is that?” My voice barely carries above the racket as we jump to our feet. Warren tries to yell back but I can’t hear a word, and I’m about to shout back when a group of soldiers begins to flood from the door of the air traffic control tower. They look terrified, bu
t I’m not too concerned about that. What does concern me is that a small group detaches from the crowd and surrounds us, guns drawn and aimed squarely at us.
I turn to Vee. “What the fuck did you do up there?”
“Nothing to do with me,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders and shooting me a worried look. “They seemed totally cool with us.”
In the direction of the doorway the line of soldiers breaks to allow a man to pass through. His pistol is holstered, but that does nothing to stop him grabbing Vee by the collar and yelling angrily. “Did you do this?” he screams.
Vee looks desperately around at the men, as if searching for a direction in which to flee. “Do what? Jack, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“The infected!” Jack’s bright red face is right in hers now, and I worry for a moment that he’s going to draw his gun in anger. I take a step forward, my arms held up.
“Woah woah woah, take a fucking breath!” I strain to make my voice heard about the noise. “What do you mean, the infected?” As I yell the last word the siren suddenly cuts out, and now my voice rings out over the airport. “What do you mean, infected?” I repeat, speaking normally again.
Jack angrily pushes Vee away and turns towards me. “The fucking infected! We just got word that there’s an outbreak on the strip. Are you responsible?”
“What? Jesus, no! We’ve been here the whole time. We haven’t been anywhere close to the Strip. Look, if you don’t believe we’re here to help you might as well just fucking shoot us now. Get it over with. Just...” I turn to Vee. “Vee, give me the vaccine.”
Vee reaches into her pocket hesitantly, pulling out the Petri dish with a doubtful look on her face. “Tom, I–”
“Just give it to me, Vee.” I take it from her hand and turn back to Jack. “Look, trust us or don’t, It’s up to you, but whatever you decide just promise me you’ll get this to someone who knows how to cook up enough of it to inoculate everyone in the city. We don’t have time to fuck around.”
Last Man Standing Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 38
