by S. Ganley
Garrett spotted two pairs of legs sticking out from the door of an office near the kitchen. Shellie explained that the shop had not been as deserted as they had hoped and she had been forced to take out a pair of zombies they discovered in the kitchen. Both of them had been large men and they were only able to drag them as far as the office so they would be out of the way. Peeking into the office, Garrett noted that both bodies were missing most of their heads. Shellie was truly turning out to be a major asset with her shotgun, but he knew that she only had a handful of shells remaining. All of their heavy weapons, his AK, Kyle's M4 and Shellie's shotgun were down to a very small reserve of ammo at that point. Thanks to his discovery of the pistol and shells inside the jeep they now had enough handgun ammo to bolster their defense. His concern was that with only pistols as their primary weapons the standoff distance between them and any zombies they encountered was greatly reduced. Any location he could think of where they could bolster their supply of weapons was in an area that was already likely to be infested with zombies. The risks they would have to take fighting their way in and out were just not worth it. With Kyle severely wounded and out of action that left himself, Miranda and Shellie as their primary shooters. While the ladies had already shown their willingness and ability to handle firearms in the thick of it, he just didn't think they were in any condition to consider going on the offensive.
Doug stepped away from Kyle's side and motioned for Garrett to join him in a far corner of the dining area. "We can’t wait much longer." Doug whispered. "He's getting weaker by the hour. If I don't get in there and fix the damage he is going to bleed out before night fall."
Even though that had not had the chance to discuss their next move, Garrett had been hoping to wait out the storm and push on to the hospital the following day. It had been harrowing enough fighting his way through the woods with Kimberly in tow and not knowing a zombie was close by until he was practically on top of it. The hospital would be without power and bathed in darkness inside. With the storm masking their ability to hear a threat the advantage would turn to the zombies. Their hypersensitivity to smell would alert them to their presence before any of them realized they were being stalked. Back in the woods they had been unable to make use of that ability in the midst of the storm, but it was going to be a different story when they were out of the rain.
"Alright. How long do you need to have Kyle ready to move?"
"He needs to complete the IV I just hooked up. Maybe another hour, two at the most." Doug replied.
Garrett was glad for at least that brief period of down time. They could use it to clean their weapons, redistribute ammo and get something to eat. He was also looking forward to stripping out of his soaked clothes and hanging them in the kitchen over the hot stove to hopefully dry them out a little. As he walked away from Doug he caught a glimpse of their first break of the day. The storm finally appeared to be simmering down. While the rain and winds were still coming on in strong gusts, the shaking of the glass windows had noticeably subsided and for the first time since entering the shop he actually had to concentrate to hear the rains beating against the side of the building. At least that was one thing in their favor, moving from the sandwich shop to the hospital would be a little easier on them while there would still be ample cover with the wind and rain to make movement outside a little less risky.
#
Their first circuit over Washington and into Virginia had been harrowing. Even at the maximum allowable altitude to still meet the mission parameters they were not able to climb over the worst of the storms. Crusher's head was pounding from constantly focusing on the controls and his stomach was reeling from the constant buffeting of the plane as they cruised through various pockets of rough air. He had been making constant radio checks with Huntress throughout the flight and could tell from the sound of her voice that she was getting her ass kicked as well.
"Ok Huntress. Turning into our final pass. Just keep it together for twenty minutes and we can climb out of this shit and head for home."
Her only response was a double break of squelch. Crusher was sure that she didn't want him to hear the torment in her voice, probably worried it would show weakness on her part.
Approaching their turn point, Crusher kept it to a shallow bank to lessen the stress both of them would be put under from a higher G-turn. Returning back to level flight he noticed something about his wingman's position that was off. If Huntress was anything, she was exact in maintaining a near perfect formation with him. Each time they had flown together he could always count on knowing right where she was without even looking at his scope. He now saw that their level of separation had increased by several hundred feet and her altitude had dropped off by a similar amount. Crusher waited for several seconds before raising her on the radio. Coming out of their turn he thought it possible she had hit another rough air pocket that had passed him by and would soon correct for the deviation. When he saw her rate of descent continue and her air speed drop off even further, he keyed his microphone after ensuring it was on a closed frequency that wouldn't be monitored back on the carrier. There was no need to broadcast any control issues she may be having until an actual emergency was declared. Every little unexpected variation in a pilots flight tended to be noted somewhere. If Huntress had simply become disoriented in the darkness and he was able to talk her back into position there was no need to put a stain on an otherwise spotless flight record.
"Hey, you ok back there?" he asked casually.
There was no response for several tense seconds and then her strained voice came back to him, "ahhh, negative. Controls are sluggish and slow to respond. I have a master caution indicator for my number two engine and am losing power rapidly." There was no hiding the apprehension in her voice, she was approaching the point of panic that could easily spell doom for a pilot in such a situation. Crusher ran through the description of her problems in his head searching for a solution. The combination of master caution indicator and loss of power made it an especially tricky situation. The caution alarm was telling her that she either had a fire in her number two engine or the engine was overheating. In any normal situation the first action should be to cut fuel and power to that engine. The problem came with the loss of power. While both engines were still running her plane should be maintaining a stead power supply. If she was losing power that indicated a malfunction somewhere else and would not be rectified with the loss of the problem engine. In fact, it was highly likely that shutting down that engine would only increase her power loss. If they were flying in better weather he would have instructed her to shut down the engine for a minute or two and then attempt a restart. Nine times out of ten if the engine was not suffering catastrophic damage a successful restart would have occurred and solved the problem. Her second best option would be to feather her power and make an immediate emergency landing. The F-18 was versatile enough that a two mile length of open highway would make for an adequate landing spot. In this situation the emergency landing was not an option he wanted to entertain. They had no idea what could be waiting on the ground and from what their first recon mission had observed, all highways and major roads in the area were heavily congested with abandoned vehicles. Visibility was so poor that she would have only seconds to try and find a possible landing spot before she crashed into the ground in a spectacular fireball. The loss of power in the middle of this storm was a major concern. With her plane being buffeted up and down she could easily be knocked into a downward spiral with no chance of recovering. Her only option was to take advantage of whatever power and thrust she still have available and climb free of the storm to attempt an engine shut down and restart.
Since the situation was now taking on the air of a legitimate emergency the rest of their conversations were transmitted over the fleet network. The nature of her emergency would be clear on the carrier and search and rescue operations would be mobilized in preparation for an unscheduled landing or bailout. Crusher then corrected himself. In any norm
al situation that is what would happen. Until the air samples they had collected on this mission were analyzed against the ones from the earlier flight, there would be no search and rescue mission forthcoming. The chemical and biological detection equipment in his cockpit were showing no signs of contaminants and he at least considered that a positive sign. If Huntress had to set down or bail out she most likely would not be landing in a virus laden hot zone. Of course what she would be facing on the ground could end up being much more terrifying. Without a significant security force to back them up, a downed pilots chances of long-term survival on the ground were not promising.
Keeping his voice steady and calm he relayed instructions to his wingman, "Huntress. I want you to stay with me into a gentle climb. Radar shows the storm ceiling at eight thousand. We are going to shoot for nine thousand and then have you go through a shutdown and restart on your number two. Copy?"
When she came back over the radio her voice was trembling with fear, "Crusher, I don't think I can make it. Power is still bleeding off and level flight is becoming impossible. I don't have the thrust to climb."
"Shit", Crusher muttered to himself. Checking his radar imagery and running through some quick calculations he realized that at best she had another three or four minutes of flight time at her current rate of descent. That did not give her close to enough time to even reach the coast where she could ditch in the ocean. They were just approaching the downtown section of McLean, Virginia, several minutes flight time outside of Washington, DC. Looking over his charts it appeared that her options were limited on the best places to punch out. McLean had a dense population center, but compared to some of the surrounding towns and cities, it was going to end up being her best option. If she survived the bailout, she would have to find a place to hold up and activate her emergency beacon. It would take at least a day before the analysis of the air samples he had collected was completed. From there it would be up to leaders above his pay grade if a search and rescue effort would be attempted. He wasn't about to pass along those thoughts to Huntress, but he was sure that if he was able to reach that conclusion then she was as well.
The best he could do was to help her get on the ground safely, mark her position and then make the best speed possible back to the carrier to get the process started. "Alright Huntress. According to your rate of descent and our location, you will be reaching the most favorable bailout point in just over one minute."
"Understood." She replied as stoically as possible. After a couple seconds she came back on the net, this time all pretense towards toughness were absent from her voice, "Crusher. I'm scared. Will anyone come for me?"
"Look, right now my instruments are telling me there are no contaminants in the air. I am going to make sure you get down safely and then beat feet for home and deliver my samples. Once you are on the ground, get somewhere safe and hunker down. Keep your head down and turn on your beacon. I'm not going to rest until a SAR bird is authorized to come for you." He wanted to reassure her but he also didn't want to give her a sense of false hope, "It might take some time. Just stay out of sight and remember your survival training."
All naval aviators are required to complete a rigorous and grueling survival course. Escape and evasion techniques are drilled into them over days of training. They are taught how to live off the land and to fashion weapons and booby traps from a wide variety of common items they may encounter on the ground. The focus of that training was based on the premise that the pilots would be coming down behind enemy lines during a conflict. A good portion of that training concentrated on survival in an urban environment. If Huntress could successfully apply some of that training here there was a good chance she could hold out on her own for several days or even weeks. Of course, she first had to survive the landing for any of it to be helpful. If she came down and found a greeting party waiting for her that training would not be able to save her.
Crusher knew what she was doing in her cockpit at that moment. Counting down in her head she was pushing her body as far back into her seat as possible and adjusting the straps over her shoulders to the point they were almost cutting off circulation. The ejection itself would be a concussive event that posed the risk of serious bodily injury or even death. Since she was able to control the point of ejection she would be able to set up the optimal conditions to ensure her survival at that critical point. She was bleeding off speed as slowly as possible and would continue doing so until she received a stall warning at which point she would add just enough thrust to avoid the stall. Once she had dropped off speed she would then push the controls forward a notch to put the plane into a gradual descent. This would ensure that the ejection propelled her up and clear of the plane as well as putting the point where the plane would eventually crash into the ground a good distance from where she landed.
"Ten seconds." Was all she said, indicating that her preparations were complete and she was now ticking off the last few seconds before pulling back on the handle that would blast the canopy free of her cockpit and ignite the motors under her seat launching her into the jet stream and free from her dying plane. Crusher pulled back a little more on his stick and maneuvered to a point several hundred yards behind and above Huntress. He had to continually slip his plane from side to side to avoid going into a stall himself at such slow speeds. It was important that he be positioned correctly to witness her ejection. Seeing her clear the plane and then making sure her shoot fully deployed would let him know that she at least had survived the two toughest parts of the ejection process. The storm would prevent him from assessing the area where she would finally hit the ground so he just had to have faith that she would not come down in the middle of a crowd of zombies. She would not turn on her emergency beacon until she had reached someplace safe so that would take a significant period of time. Crusher hoped to be almost back to the carrier by the time that happened.
"God speed." He called back to her. Three seconds later he saw a puff of white smoke around the cockpit of her plane and watched as the canopy shot up into the air and was swallowed in the darkness of the storm. A second and a half after the canopy blew clear there was a bright flash of yellow flame from inside the cockpit followed by blur of motion as the ejector seat was shot high into the air above the plane. It looked like a clean ejection and from the path the seat took as it climbed into the sky it did not appear to have struck anything on its way out. Crusher was able to track the seat from the burning rocket underneath. Five seconds after leaving the plane the rocket burned out and the seat dropped away from under Huntress. Crusher now had to put his plane into a gentle spiral while keeping his eyes peeled to the region of sky where he anticipated Huntress was now falling through the storm. He had been focusing so much on the emergency and ejection that he had paid little attention to the storm conditions. As he was searching the clouds looking for any sign of her shoot he noticed for the first time that the storm had abated quite a bit. The wind and rains had died down to something closer to a run of the mill thunder storm. Visibility had improved by several hundred feet and he could even make out a few details on the ground. He could even feel the difference in the way his own plane was responding, the buffeting winds were no longer blowing him back and forth and the ride felt much smoother.
The shoot blossomed open almost exactly where he had anticipated it would. He felt a brief measure of triumph at his ability to calculate the location in this type of weather. It was still too dark for him to make out any details of Huntress dangling underneath the canopy but it looked as though everything had gone right for her to have survived the ejection. He marked a waypoint on his digital map to indicate the general area she would most likely hit the ground and then turned back towards the East and punched his throttles forward. He had to get back to the carrier as fast as possible and deliver the samples his plane was carrying. It would now be a race against the clock to save Huntress. Unfortunately it would be a race that he had little control over after delivering his cargo. From that point fo
rward it would be up to scientists, Admirals and Generals on whether the woman lived or died.
Chapter 18
The short stop in the sandwich shop was enough to give all of them a chance to recharge and get ready to move on to the hospital. Garrett had spent the time outlining their movements from the moment they left the shop and when they reached the hospital. They would move as a group with their able bodied shooters staying to the outside and protecting their weaker numbers. He redistributed ammunition and went through a few drills with Kimberly and Shellie on firing handguns. Shellie was down to six shells for her shotgun and Garrett wanted her to keep those in reserve in case it looked like they would be overrun. Kyle remained conscious and even in his weakened condition insisted on keeping hold of his M4. Garrett understood how the man felt, there was nothing like the helpless feeling that came from being unarmed in a hostile environment and leaving your fate in the hands of others.
Kyle was riding in the back of the Range Rover with half of the rear seats dropped down to allow him room to stretch out with Doug's makeshift IV drip suspended over him. Shellie was behind the wheel with Garrett riding in the passenger seat and Doug siting behind him keeping an eye on Kyle. There had been some debate about who would drive the police cruiser. Miranda had volunteered but Garrett convinced her that she would better serve them in the passenger seat ready to provide covering fire if they got in a jam. Ultimately they decided on putting Cameron behind the wheel with Emily and Kimberly riding in the back seat. The teenager had eagerly insisted he was up to the challenge and the only other option would be to have Emily drive and that was just something that Garrett was not willing to entertain. Cameron would lead the way with Kimberly providing directions. Cameron was instructed to keep his speed at no more than twenty miles an hour on the few roads where they were able to reach anything close to normal driving conditions. As it turned out that was never a realistic option. All access roads leading towards the hospital were nothing more than packed parking lots completely clogged with vehicles. It was clear that as things started to fall apart as the infection descended on the masses, many people had made desperate attempts to seek medical attention. Many of them likely fell victim to the sick relatives they were bringing to hospital when those loved ones slipped away only to return a short time later and turn on their family members. Several of the cars they passed bore testament to the horror many of those people faced. Dried blood stains covered the insides of many windows and the tattered remains of ravaged bodies were clearly visible inside several vehicles. In some cases they spotted zombies trapped in cars and trucks, the closed doors proving too big an obstacle for them to overcome. Along the way they passed four large herds of undead mindlessly milling about in their states of near hibernation. The storm continued to serve as successful camouflage because in two of those instances their vehicles passed within on a few feet of several of those zombies without them noticing. They were forced onto sidewalks and onto grass medians for most of the drive until they finally reached a section of road just one block from the hospital where there was simply no more room to maneuver around the congestion. Garrett jumped out and positioned Miranda and Shellie in locations to provide security while he instructed the drivers to get turned around and parked in a way that would allow them to make a run for it if they found themselves having to leave quickly.
