by Mark Tufo
“Oh my god,” Nic whispers sickly and with horror through the headset as the lights shining ahead on the right turns a pale pink.
My anger at them turns to a sickness deep inside that rests in the pit of my stomach. I gain a little distance and turn the aircraft around.
“You’re kidding,” Robert says as we stop for the third time and see that the mass, although diminished, has turned around and are after us yet again.
“Dad, can we just get out of here?” Bri asks.
“I wish we could,” I answer back. “I am really sorry, Bri.” I hear a heavy sigh over the helmet speakers; I think from Michelle.
“If this is too much for anyone, just head into the back. You can stuff bits of clothing in your helmet to drown out the sounds, and you don’t have to watch. Hell, I might even join you,” I say, watching the diminished horde draw closer.
Most of them are directly in front of us, but there are a few scattered groups and single ones off to the side. It almost looks like a flanking maneuver.
“I’m okay,” Bri says behind me.
“Me too,” says Nic.
“I’m doing alright,” Robert answers.
“I’m fine,” Michelle speaks out.
“Well I’m not. This is disgusting as hell,” I say.
There is a simultaneous ‘yeah’ from everyone.
When they are again about fifty yards away, I release the brakes and the aircraft leaps toward them. I stay to the right side of the taxiway with the ramp to my left as the horde and we begin another joust. They separate as before and I head toward the left group trying to take them down the left side this time. Rather than angle outward, they then turn a direct ninety degrees away from us attempting to get far away from our path. The ones off to the sides turn toward us attempting to run around behind us. We catch fewer of them. Slap…slap, slap…slap….slap, slap, slap…slap.
We draw to the end once more turning around. Our lights illuminate the ramp and taxiway showing the asphalt littered with scraps and chunks of clothing, body parts, and pieces of flesh and bone. It’s an absolutely disgusting sight that makes me want to turn the lights off, but I need them. The things hover at a distance, milling about, and some lean toward us with their mouths open, obviously emitting those loud shrieks. The only sound coming to us is the continuous droning of engines and heavy breathing in our helmet speakers.
“What the hell is that!?” I say into the microphone.
“What?” Michelle asks.
“Listen,” I say and then hear another faint thump; more felt than heard. “There, that.”
“It sounds like it’s coming from behind us,” Robert says, turning around.
There must have been a group of them that waited behind us while the rest of them ran toward us knowing we would turn around and stop here.
“Well, they’re apparently not overly dumb,” I say as we feel and hear more thumps from the rear of the 130.
They are apparently coming in directly behind us avoiding the wind from the propellers. Luckily, we are in a secure aircraft, but I note their quick change in tactics each time and do not like the ramifications.
I release the brakes and head toward the crowd down the tarmac, taxiing over the mass of body parts and clothing. The milling of the horde ceases as they become completely still, all focused toward our ever-closing lights and us. They then, almost as one, turn and run. Most of them head toward the buildings sitting on the edge of the ramp. The others run directly away from us. I head across the ramp in an attempt to cut off the ones running toward the buildings.
“Daaad, they’re running away,” Bri says over the intercom. “Please don’t.”
“Bri, we can’t feel sorry for them. Ever!” I say, but turn the aircraft away nonetheless, slowing our taxi speed.
I head on the taxiway to the end and close to the edge of the runway, just as we parked before except at the other end. I will want to inspect the aircraft in the morning but have no intention of doing that in the mess we created at the original end. I shut down the aircraft and we settle in once again for the night. It takes us a while to get to sleep after the events of the evening with vivid images still floating through our minds, but we eventually drift off one by one and are not bothered for the rest of the night.
Chapter 123
To the Beach
I awaken to the sound of soft snores echoing throughout the cargo interior. Teens, they can sleep the whole day away. Of course I can as well, and remember the days when noon was a normal wake up time for me in the summer months. I lie quietly thinking, nestled in my bag on the deck of the pitch-black cargo bay with my head resting on the small, white pillow, not knowing how in the world we are going to be able to stay alive with these things everywhere. There is no reasoning with them or calling a time out. There can be little to no mistakes on my part. I can’t let my emotions overcome common sense.
Those little snores remind me that I have to be more responsible and adept at analyzing situations; the choices I make mean more and have greater ramifications. I have been fairly proficient at making good spot choices in situations in the past, so I can’t be second-guessing, but those choices have to be the right ones. We would most likely have been just fine last night, if not a little more tired, had I just left things alone. However, we are still alive and, like a landing, any one you can walk away from is a good one.
My quandary is that of any parent; how to keep your children protected yet still let them learn to make good choices. We are in a new world order, and some of the lessons they learned growing up to this point may not apply. Normally, there is a gradual integration of ideas and lessons, but this is not the case now. There are different lessons to be learned, survival skills of a different order. I have a lot I can teach them and, hopefully, I can do so in a somewhat controlled environment. I am not going to be able to do everything for them forever. Ugh! This is making my brain hurt.
Enough early morning philosophizing. One day at a time, I think, unzipping my bag and crawling out.
I open the curtain to the cockpit and find it illuminated by the early morning light streaming in the windows. I step to the windows and look out. The eastern horizon is the pale blue of a just risen sun transitioning to a darker blue as I look westward across the cloudless sky. The trees lining the air station cast long shadows across the green fields surrounding the runway. Looking out the windows to the other side, the two gray runways ahead and the paralleling taxiway behind stretches away to the west. The tarmac opens up off the taxiway with several tan buildings abutting against it. Several P-3 Orions are parked on another ramp angling off the main one. They look a lot like a C-130 but with low wings and the engines mounted upside down. There’s not a thing moving anywhere that I can see. The results of last night remain scattered on the main ramp and taxiway; colored bits of clothing littered around but are tiny from this distance. In the early morning light, several crows hop among the strewn body parts.
I climb out of the cockpit and open the front door. Light streams in as it lowers to the ground. Chill morning air replaces the warmth of the interior, cooling my cheeks as it passes by with the smell of a fresh summer day riding the currents. I look out of the door gazing at the motionless, monstrous propellers. Their blades are feathered with the edges facing forward as if completely unaware of and not caring about what they faced the night prior or the carnage they were involved in.
Stepping down the stairs to the asphalt taxiway, I gaze along the side of the aircraft. It is there that the evidence truly reveals itself. On the fuselage, directly in line with the propellers, a thick line of dark red runs vertically down the aircraft with streaks reaching back toward the rear; the darkened streaks dripping down like paint that was put on too thickly. The darkened color is close to the same hue as the olive drab of the 130 and almost blends in. With the sun now fully above the horizon to the east, I do a walk around of the aircraft to check for damage. The aircraft looks in good shape with the exception of the new p
aint job. Unless these things figure out how to open the doors, the 130 offers a good mobile sanctuary. The light of the sun begins to warm the air. The sight and sound of birds flying around the distant trees, on whatever errand calls, makes last night and the events of the past few days seem surreal. I finish my walk around to find Robert standing by the bottom of the stairs.
“Quite an interesting past few days, eh?” I say, stepping up next to him as we both gaze across the fields to the north.
“Yeah, no kidding.” He turns his gaze along the side of the aircraft. “Wow!” he comments as his eyes reach the darkened streaks.
“The girls up yet?” I ask after studying the dried blood pasted along the side again.
“They were getting up as I left. Are we taking off soon?”
“As soon as we refuel,” I say, looking over at the ramp. “Let’s start ‘er up and taxi over while the girls are getting up.”
“Okay, Dad.” Robert starts up the stairs. We settle into our seats and begin our checks. I reach up to set the electrical panel.
“Ah crap. Really!” I say, noticing a low reading from the batteries.
“What?” Robert asks.
“Low batteries for some reason. We’ll use the cart, but we’ll need to figure out why the batteries are low. Let’s go hook up the cart,” I say as we head into the cargo bay.
“Morning, Dad,” Nic says, sitting up in her sleeping bag.
“Morning, Nic,” I say.
“What are you guys doing?” she asks.
“Getting the start cart out. There’s something up with the batteries,” I respond.
“Need any help?” she asks, climbing out of her bag.
“Sure,” I answer.
“Morning,” Michelle says as she climbs out of her bag, descends the small ladder, and joins us as we walk to the back.
“Good morning,” we all say in return.
We look like we just woke up from an all-night frat party. Well, I do at any rate. Michelle walks up to Robert and they both give each other a small good morning kiss. Okay, now this has to be one of the oddest moments I have lived through. Seeing your son kiss a girl for the first time. It is just, well, startling. I have always tried to keep up with their growth and treat them accordingly, but it is moments like this that make me realize they are more grown up than I realize, another big step in my acknowledgement of his being a man. My legs actually grow a little weak and I stumble over my own feet.
“You okay, Dad?” Nic asks me, looking up at me with a huge smile painted across her face and a twinkle in her hazel eyes.
“Um, yeah, just fine,” I respond as she continues smiling up at me.
“Bri, we’ll be outside,” I call out.
“Okay, Dad,” a sleepy voice answers from the other side of the fuel tank. We lower the cargo ramp and wheel the cart into position.
“Okay, Nic and Michelle, do your stuff,” I say.
They unroll the connector cables and attach the cart. Robert and I walk in through the crew door, pulling it closed behind us, and head into the cockpit. I switch the power over to external and, after confirming that Nic is online, start up the right-side engines, numbers three and four. Switching to internal power, the electrical instruments read fine. Switching the DC to battery, the reading drops significantly.
“We’ll give them a charge taxiing back to the ramp,” I say, switching them back.
Robert unbuckles and heads back to help get the cart onboard and secured while I start the remaining engines. We really only have to start the outboard ones for taxiing, but it gives me something to do while they are stowing the cart. I make radio calls on UHF and VHF guard frequencies, but silence is my only response as Bri joins me and buckles into her seat.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I say, hearing the click of her plugging in and finishing up with my checks.
“Good morning, Dad.”
Moments later, Robert, Michelle, and Nic settle in, and we taxi over to the ramp by the P-3s. I leave the engines running, checking on the battery readings. They haven’t changed. I leave them running for another twenty minutes with no indicated change.
“Crap! We may have to change the batteries out with one of the P-3s,” I say, beginning the engine shutdown procedure.
“Do we need to?” Nic asks. “It seems to be running fine.”
“Yeah, we need them. I’m not going to head over the pond with bad batteries. At least, I’m hoping it’s the batteries,” I reply.
“Have you ever changed batteries before?” Robert asks.
“Nope.”
“Do you know how?” he asks.
“Nope,” I say with the engines winding down.
We shut the aircraft down and search for tools in the storage compartments, bringing them to the nose of the aircraft. The one thing I do know is where the batteries are stored in the nose so, using the onboard tools and a large stepladder we found stored inside, I remove the hatch and look inside.
Hooray, first try, I think, looking at the batteries sitting on a shelf just inside the aircraft. I notice one of them has a crack on the side.
“The thunderstorm must have bounced them around a little.” I show everyone the damaged battery.
“Robert, take Michelle, grab a fuel truck, and meet us over at that P-3,” I say, pointing to the Orion parked closest to us.
“Okay.”
“Do you two have your weapons?” I ask, as they begin their trek over to the truck.
“Yep,” he replies over his shoulder.
“Let’s gather this stuff up,” I say to Bri and Nic, indicating the tools on the ground.
The sun climbs higher into the blue sky, warming the air further as we start across the ramp toward the other parked aircraft. Our hands are full with tools and the ladder. The M-4 is slung over my shoulder and I keep an eye out for movement. Off to our right and behind us, on the edge of the gray ramp, lie the remains of last night scattered about and looking like someone just dumped their trash.
We arrive at the P-3 at the same time that Robert and Michelle pull up. An easterly breeze has sprung up. This is once again the type of day where we would normally be outside getting the Jeep or bikes ready for a day in the sun, listening to the first lawnmowers crank up and the smell of fresh cut grass, to be followed by throwing some burgers on the BBQ. The wafting breeze carries the morning smell of the trees and plants.
“Dad, I’m hungry,” Nic says, as we drop our tools and ladder by the front of the P-3.
“Me too,” Robert says.
“What? I fed you yesterday,” I say. “I feed you once and now you expect it every day. Is that the way it’s going to be?” They all smile; this is an old one between us. “Okay then, let’s finish this up and then we’ll grab a bite,” I add.
It takes a while to find the batteries, as I don’t know this aircraft. However, several panel removals later, I find their super-secret location and manage to remove one. It takes both Robert and I to actually lift it out of the aircraft.
“Have Michelle help you take this one over and set it in the truck,” I say after we finish with the first one and start in on another.
“How many are we going to take? I thought only one was broken,” Robert asks, seeing me reach in again.
“We’re going to take them all, just in case,” I answer. The last one is finally removed and loaded onto the truck. “Meet us over at the aircraft,” I tell Robert.
Putting the hatches back on, we journey back across the 130. The sun has now climbed almost directly overhead.
“You guys go get something to eat,” I say once we are back. “I’m going to start working on the bad one.”
“You aren’t hungry?” Bri asks.
“No, Bri,” I respond.
“I suppose that means you aren’t fixing anything,” Robert says with an exaggerated sigh.
“You are perfectly able to fix your own food,” I say.
“I know. I’m just kidding,” he replies.
“
Oh, and the pantry won’t be available, so you’ll have to use the packaged food,” I say.
The day presses on. They eat and we get the new battery in place and hooked up.
We should’ve been a few hours in the air already, I think, reattaching the panel. I head up to the cockpit and check the battery reading. The indicator jumps up to normal. Thank goodness.
“Okay, let’s get it fueled up,” I announce as we stow the tools and ladder away. I look at my watch, “It’s almost 15:00. Let’s try to be off the ground within the hour. Looks like we’ll have another night approach and landing.”
I am a little more worried about this one as our airfield is in the middle of the Atlantic with very few options available should something go wrong, or we end up not being able to find it. We have enough fuel to make the coast of Portugal or Spain so that might be a second option. However, if we lose the GPS, or it is a little off, we could end up searching endlessly and only find water. The thing I truly don’t like is not being able to see the weather visually from the same distance as you can during the day. I don’t want to have another evening like last night.
Fueled up, and with the cart and extra batteries stowed away, we take off with the afternoon sun wending its way over the blue sky behind us. Climbing out on an easterly heading, the coast of Maine fades away beneath us, eventually becoming a dark smear on the horizon. The sparkling blue of the Atlantic spreads out around us in all directions. The skies are clear with only a few scattered clouds high above as we level off at flight level 250. Far to the south, only the very tips of cumulus clouds appear, covering much of the southern skies, obviously part of a very large storm system. Ahead of us, though, the skies remain clear. The only interruption of our flight is our intermittent calls on guard frequencies and the switching of fuel tanks. I keep an eye on the electrical system but everything seems to be operating smoothly.
