by M. Lorrox
Hamid shakes his head and then grabs Robert’s jaw with his palm and thumb, squeezing it closed. “No. Now, tell me this. Who else is working with you and Dr. Melgaard? I suspect your little friend Philip—you and he are…thick as thieves, I believe is the phrase. How long has he been involved?”
Robert thrashes, and Hamid just stares at him.
“Hmm. That surprises me. What about Eliza? She tends to be more open to your ideas.”
Robert stops resisting, and Hamid removes his hand so that he can speak.
“You’ve lost your mind, old friend.”
Hamid frowns. Then he closes his eyes, and he shakes his head. “Robert, apparently I have not been clear. English—even though I’ve been following its development since the Anglo-Saxons settled in Britain, is not my native tongue.”
He reaches down and under Robert’s chest—probing around his flabby belly flesh until he finds the floating ribs. “I was hoping to have a nice conversation with you. Perhaps you’ll understand a more ancient language.” He thrusts his hand into Robert’s back on the right side and grabs onto the ribs that don’t connect to the sternum.
Robert howls in pain.
Underneath the hospital bed, Sadie grinds her teeth and winces. I did not sign up for a front row seat... ZAMAN...
Outside the room, Tatsu stands in front of the door, facing the hallway with his fists locked at his sides. He still wears the Army Combat Uniform from the failed mission earlier, Operation Sidewinder. As Robert’s screams mix with the loud TV, people in the busy hall glance toward Tatsu as they pass, but when greeted by the soldier’s cold, stone-like façade, they look away and hurry back to their business.
Charlie follows Danny through the large internal hangar of the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, and his head turns in all directions as he looks at the different planes stored in the massive hanger. His head tilts up in amazement as he passes under a slew of small airplanes that are suspended from the ceiling. Wasn’t Peter a pilot in World War Two? …Man, I hope he and Nicholas got out of Oregon. “Hey Danny, any of these World War Two fighters? An old friend of mine flew a…mustang something or other.”
Danny chuckles. “You sure know your planes... The P-51 Mustang is one of the most famous fighter planes in history.” He points off to the side, but he keeps walking. “See that red one with the white stripes on its tail? Your buddy flew one of those.”
Charlie finds the plane hanging from the ceiling and is taken aback. “That little thing? Wow.”
“Come on, we have a ways to walk still.” Danny leads Charlie past the long and sleek white fuselage of a Concorde. They enter the main building’s display space, and they walk right in front of one of the few remaining, matte-black Lockheed SR-71 Blackbirds. Then, Danny leads him past another hanger, and Charlie can’t help himself. “Hold on, buddy.”
Danny smiles and pauses.
Charlie walks through the doors to the James S. McDonnel Space Hangar and up to the battered nose of the space shuttle Discovery. There’s a small metal guardrail that Charlie steps over on his way to the massive spacecraft.
He smiles and shakes his head. People visited the stars in this. They were close enough to touch them... Well, close enough. He takes a deep breath while he rubs his hand along the black heat shielding tiles on the nose.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Danny smiles from outside the doorway.
Charlie bends and looks down the craft’s flat underside. “When I was a kid, the stars were magical. I never imagined we could go and see them, to leave our world. From that, to understanding the bigger system our planet fits into…is still mind-boggling to me.”
Danny nods. “I know what you mean. I always wanted to be a pilot of some kind, and when I was a kid, I’d dream that I flew so high that I’d be among the stars. That feeling of magic, it has a funny way of sticking around... If you’re open to it, anyway.”
“Yeah.” Charlie turns back to Danny and steps over the guardrail. “Thanks for waiting for me. Where’s this giant helicopter you mentioned? What did you call it?”
“It’s a Chinook. Bet you’ve heard it by that name.”
Charlie fakes a smile. “Ah, a Chinook. Nice…”
“Yup. She’s over in the next hangar. Just got flown over the other day. Nobody’s probably even touched her yet; don’t even think the fuel’s been drained.”
“It’s inside with fuel? Wouldn’t they drain it outside…for safety?”
Danny rolls his eyes. “Remember that dipshit, Jack? He likes to do it inside so he can play videogames at the same time.” He smiles at Charlie. “Way to toss his ass; I was hoping he’d make a move on me with my back turned.”
When Danny leads him into the hangar, Charlie’s eyes almost fall out. That thing can fly? Holy crap... I should watch more TV.
In front of them is a Boeing CH-47C Chinook, a twin engine, tandem rotor, heavy-lift helicopter. Its long body stretches longer than many of the planes Charlie had passed earlier and can be used to carry some of them, and its rotors—both with three blades—extend far to the sides and curve downward under their own weight. Charlie shakes his head. “This thing?”
Danny laughs. “Yup, she’ll carry fifty troops and their gear, or 25,000 pounds of cargo. Think that’ll do ya?”
“That’s amazing, but…no disrespect, can you fly it?”
Danny raises a hand to his chin as his eyes wash over the giant machine. “Never flown a C type. I flew an attack version in ’Nam in the sixties, but how different could it be?” He scans the helicopter from front to back and top to bottom, then smiles.
Charlie remembers the last massive aircraft he was on, the C-130 Hercules, and also the team of four airmen in the cockpit that flew it. “Can you handle this by yourself?”
Dany shakes his head. “Not really, but I hear that old colonel’s like learning new tricks.”
I’m going to die a fiery death in a helicopter crash... I never would have guessed that.
Danny leads him into the cockpit, and he takes a reluctant breath. “So, are we really going to take this baby?”
Charlie glances around the inside; every inch of the dash and ceiling is covered with switches, gauges, and knobs. “Yes?”
Danny sighs. “Alright, we’re going to have a problem though.” He points out the right side of the cockpit. “That’s the bay door, we have to get her outside, but we don’t have any pushback tractors over here. I kinda forgot about that part.”
Charlie frowns. “What are you saying?”
He takes a loud breath. “I’m saying we need a tractor to push this fat beast out those big doors.”
Charlie looks at the doors again. “Are they locked?”
“What? No, they’re not locked...?”
He places a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Just make sure she’s in neutral.” Charlie twists his neck in both directions, cracking the vertebrae. “I’ll do the rest.”
Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, she’s in neutral. She’s 25,000 pounds of neutral. Just pull the blocks out from the tires.” Vampires. They think they’re sooo strong.
Charlie rolls up his sleeves. I got this.
While Danny gets situated in the helicopter, Charlie gets out, throws a lever on a control panel along the wall, and the big bay door to the hangar opens. He moves the carts of equipment and cleaning materials out of the way, then he pulls the tire chucks out from around the helicopter’s tires.
He rubs his hands together, leans against the back of the helicopter, takes a strengthening breath, then pushes with all his might. He almost blows a gasket internally. Holy freak’n crap! This thing’s heavy.
He takes a deeper breath, grits his teeth, and he slams his body into the rear cargo door so hard that fifty feet in front of him in the cockpit, Danny feels the impact and laughs.
Danny flips a few switches, then hits a button.
Charlie hears a motor firing up.
Danny hits a few more switches, the big engines start up, and the rotor
s start to spin.
What the hell is he doing, we’re inside!
The rotors spin faster, and Charlie tries one more time to push against the Chinook. It moves. YES! I AM THE STRONGEST MAN ALIVE! WHOA! Charlie falls over, because the helicopter is moving under its own power. Chinooks usually don’t have powered wheels, but a few had the modification for use in special applications. Those that do are easy to identify—if one knows where to look.
Danny steers toward the open bay doors, and Charlie runs to get inside. The nose just pokes outside when Charlie opens the starboard-side door to the cockpit.
“Nice of you to join us, you big dummy.”
Charlie points at Danny and growls. “Hey! ...That was a good one, nice.”
Danny smiles. “Sit down, and let me tell you what I need you to do.”
Charlie sits and straps in, then he sees another police car with its lights flashing, speeding their way. He points. “We should probably take off sooner than later.”
“Well shit, I was hoping to give you a quick overview of what I need you to do, but...” He unstraps and reaches over to Charlie’s side and flips some switches. “I guess we’re going to have to set back down someplace else.” He returns to his side of the cockpit. “Hold on to your butts!”
I think I only have one butt, but whoa!
Danny increases the collective throttle, and the helicopter leans forward, then it lifts off from the ground and careens toward the large building to its right. -EEEEHHHHH!- A buzzer sounds, and while one hand holds the cyclic stick that extends up between his legs, he smacks at a button with his other hand. Another buzzer sounds, and Danny swears.
Charlie looks out the window at a policewoman standing alongside her cruiser’s opened door. She aims a pistol up at him. “Uh, can we fly away yet?”
The helicopter drops altitude, and the policewoman ducks into her car.
Danny flips another couple switches. “Hold your horses, this isn’t as easy as it looks, and they might have moved a couple things on me... Oh, there we go.” He pushes another button then turns a little dial, and the buzzer stops. Danny nods to himself and pushes the cyclic stick forward. “Here we go!”
They jerk forward, then Danny twists the collective control’s grip, and they lift upward. Charlie sighs while he watches the policewoman below consider firing at the helicopter. Ultimately, instead of firing, she holsters her weapon and gets back into the car.
The helicopter is broadsided with a gust of wind, and it tilts, then spins a little, before Danny recovers. “So Colonel, we’ve got to set down for a few. I’m going to need some help flying this beast.”
“Just do it someplace not near the police.”
“Oh, I know a spot, already headed there—Manassas Battlefield Park. It’s flat and easy for landing, big enough to hide in, and it’s not too far away. But after that, where are we headed?”
“DC, to the Natural History museum.”
“Where’s that?”
Charlie jolts. “Are you kidding me? You work for the Smithsonian!”
Danny takes his hand off the stick for a split-second to wave Charlie away, and in that millisecond, the helicopter lurches. He grabs the stick again. “Whoa, easy girl, hold on… Sorry, I forget how touchy these babies can be, especially without a copilot. Anyway, you’re so easy man. I was kidding.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Sure it was.” He motions with this head to his right side. “Now, I’ve got something special in my pocket, would you mind reaching in there for me?”
Charlie scowls at him. “Who’s a dirty old man?”
“I am, but I want you to get my phone. I mean, I could do it if you want me to, but—”
“FINE.” Charlie reaches into Danny’s front pocket to get his phone, and he can’t help but smile at the old goofball. “Now what?”
“What the hell do you think? Take a picture, and tweet that shit! Have me say: Stealin’ a Chinook, hashtag thug life.”
A Gold Top drops off a squad of marines led by Master Sergeant Vega at the intersection of New York Avenue and Florida Avenue, two blocks northeast of the Noma Gallaudet Metro, and just in front of the US Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives building. With Vega are Corporal Jenkins, Staff Sergeant Robertson, and Corporal Rellen. As they pile out of the helicopter, the corporals grab the squad’s gear and an explosives kit while the sergeants take point and cover them.
They run down Florida Avenue toward 2nd Street NE, then they turn and run down 2nd to the metro on N Street NE, one block north of the quarantine.
When they get there, Staff Sergeant Robertson lowers his rifle. “Well, isn’t that a surprise.”
In front of them is the station, but it’s not underground. North of Union Station, the Red Line runs at ground level or is elevated. At the Noma Gallaudet Metro station, two sets of tracks—one for traveling north and one for traveling south—run along the sides of an elevated boarding platform. As the marines look up at it, they see a zombie on one of the tracks, outside of the perimeter.
As if they knew they were about to receive orders, both Corporals drop what they’re carrying and raise their rifles.
Master Sergeant Vega takes aim and fires on the zombie. -brrrittt!- Three bullets, fired in a burst, fly at the zombie and tear into its side and shoulder. It drops. “Rellen, Jenkins, get on that platform!” The two marines bolt toward the station’s entrance and jump over the gate.
Staff Sergeant Robertson raises his rifle. “I’ll check the other side!” He follows the corporals over the gate.
Jenkins beats Rellen onto the platform. He points down the tracks toward downtown. “We’ve got incoming!” He turns and looks the other way. “I can see three on the tracks past us!”
“Jenkins, take out the ones past quarantine! Go!” Vega follows the metro station building on his side of the tracks, and it touches another building. None getting through on this side. He yells up to the platform. “Rellen, the incoming are yours!” Vega backtracks to the station’s entrance and hops the gate.
Jenkins runs thirty yards north, chasing the zombies that have passed the station. He raises his rifle and fires. -brrrittt!- One zombie is killed, and it falls. The other two stop and turn toward Jenkins. He swallows and takes aim at the next closest zombie.
Rellen hits the platform and runs down the track toward downtown. He makes it almost all the way to M Street NE when he stops and takes aim. -brrrittt!- He hits a zombie on the side of its stomach—blasting meat away—but it doesn’t drop. Fuck. He jogs closer to get a better shot.
Staff Sergeant Robertson spots a zombie with a broken leg on his side of the station, and he takes it out. He doesn’t find any others, so he runs back to join the squad. Up on the elevated platform, he meets Vega. “Sir, we’re clear on that far side.”
“Good.” Vega jumps off the platform and onto one of the sets of tracks that runs alongside it. He looks down the tracks at Jenkins, who is firing again.
The last zombie past the station drops, and Jenkins turns and runs back to the squad. Vega turns around on the tracks and checks on Corporal Rellen, who is taking aim at the zombie he previously wounded. Rellen fires and drops that zombie, then another that was headed toward the station. Vega clears his throat and yells, “Report back!”
Rellen starts his way back, but he pauses. He looks over the edge of the elevated tracks and onto a LAZoR unit on the ground along M Street NE. “Sir! Got a problem here!”
The LAZoR unit on M Street NE picks up Corporal Rellen’s movement, and it sends the data to the entire LAZoR System to find the quickest firing solution. It turns out, the unit that spotted him has the shortest distance to travel and has no other prioritized targets, so it swivels its barrel over and up to aim at him.
Rellen points. “The eggheads left it on the ground!”
-BOOM!- The LAZoR unit fires a bullet that is nearly an inch long and a quarter inch thick at Rellen. It enters him near his ear, and it removes most of the oth
er side of his head.
“Down!” Vega, Robertson, and Jenkins hit the dirt—which to them are the metro rails trains usually use to head north—and they barely avoid the third, electrified rail. Vega motions to Robertson. “Go get him. Find out what he meant.”
Robertson stoops as he jogs most the way to his fallen friend, then he gets on his belly and crawls the rest of the way. When he reaches Rellen’s body, he slowly inches his head out and over the edge until he can see the LAZoR unit below. It’s firing on zombies at ground level. He crawls over to the other side, carefully over both tracks’ electrified third rails, and the next LAZoR unit is also on ground level. He rolls onto his back with his feet facing his squad, and he lifts his head to yell at Vega, “The turrets are on the ground! The zombies can slip past them up here!”
Vega holds his hands up to his mouth and yells, “Robertson! Incoming! Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire!”
Robertson rolls onto his stomach and looks down the tracks to DC. A pair of zombies run toward him, and he’s been ordered not to shoot them. He takes a deep breath and tenses his muscles.
One of the zombies is close to the edge, and one of the LAZoR units picks it off. The other zombie is more toward the center of the elevated tracks, and it isn’t taken out.
Vega raises his rifle. We could hold this position, but a wounded Z could fall and still be a threat on the ground. It could slip past, and that’s not an option. “Jenkins, get the demo kit.”
“Yes, sir!”
Robertson is still lying flat on the rails and shitting bricks as the zombie approaches him.
Vega licks his lips. “Cover!” -brrrittt!-
When Robertson hears Vega yell out, he covers his head with his arms. The bullets slam into the zombie, all on center mass, and the zombie drops and bleeds a foot away from Robertson. He opens his eyes, peeks around his forearm, and sees the zombie of what used to be a black man with a manicured beard staring back at him. Fuck me.
Jenkins returns. “Got the demo, sir.”
Vega nods then returns his hands to the sides of his mouth and yells, “Robertson! What if we blow the tracks?”
