by Allen Gamboa
"Poncho, Poncho. This is Diamond."
"Hey, Diamond," Poncho said with his mouth full. "You guys—"
"Listen! We can’t reach the captain or Wu! The Russians are headed your way and coming for the plane!"
"Shit!" Sanchez swallowed.
"What?" Knox looked over at him.
"We’re on our way. Don’t let the Russians take it!" Diamond continued. "We’ll be there as soon as we can!"
"Got it!" Sanchez said, shoving the remains of the power bar into his tac vest. "Get your asses here!"
"Will do!" Diamond clicked off.
"Hear that?" Sanchez asked, getting to his feet. Knox nodded and headed over to one of the weapons lockers.
"What’s going on?" Crossley asked, seeing the two readying weapons. "We leaving?"
"No, flyboy.” Knox grabbed up the last rocket launcher from its case. "Russians are coming, and they want your bird. We are going to make sure they don’t get it.”
"Mother fuck!" Crossley shook his head. "I knew it! I knew it! Never should have taken this gig!"
"No use in throwin’ a fit," Knox said, slinging the launcher and grabbing up a mini-14.
Crossley let out a breath then nodded. "What do you need from us?"
"Here." Sanchez held out both his hands, which held a pair of .40 caliber Beretta handguns. "You know how to use these?"
"Yeah. I trained with a .38 many years ago." Crossley took the rifles from Sanchez. "I was an Air Force mechanic."
"Good for you," Knox said, loading magazines into the pockets of his tac-vest.
"Listen, Mr. Crossley," Sanchez said as he handed him several loaded magazines. "You and Mister Jackson sit tight. In case it all goes to shit, then you use those."
"Got it," Crossley said, shoving the magazines into his pants pockets.
"Just keep a watch up front." Knox loaded down with weapons and ammunition. "I’ll be up in the tower. Lower the aft ramp, and Poncho here will have his ass parked there. We’ll be on your radio freq, so you see anything we don’t, give us a heads up."
"Got it."
"Don’t worry, Mister Crossley." Sanchez smiled as he slapped a magazine into his rifle. "We got this."
"It’s Nate, Poncho." Crossley headed back towards the cockpit with his newly acquired weapons. "Just Nate."
"Nate."
"Okay, Poncho." Knox would have looked comical with all the weapons he had strapped to himself if their situation hadn’t suddenly become so desperate. "Lower the back door, and I’m gonna get my ass over to the tower."
"No problemo, Gator." Poncho grabbed up the ramp remote and lowered it. "You watch your ass, Terrance."
"Aw, shit!" Knox said, waddling from the weight of his weapons away from the plane. "Were’ in trouble now, Poncho. Ya called me Terrance."
The cockpit door opened, and Crossley stepped inside, carrying both of the Berettas. Jackson was busy trying to read a bloody page of his book that he’d salvaged from the deader's head cheese. He looked up to see Crossley setting one of the pistols down beside his seat.
"What the hell is that, Nate?" he asked, folding the page in half and stowing it in his shirt pocket.
"Bad news, Cal," the pilot said. "Those Russian fucks that shot up the airport are headed this way to steal our baby."
"The plane?"
"Yep."
Jackson grabbed the other Beretta out of Crossley’s hands and shoved it down next to him. Nate, surprised, sat down in his jumpseat. "Cal, I thought you hated guns."
"I do, but nobody steals our baby!"
CHAPTER 47: RUNS LIKE A TOP
"Really?" Captain Brooks shook her head as Pietro tried to start the school bus for a third time. The old engine groaned loudly then died. Brooks, who was standing up next to the older man, just shook her head. "I guess 'runs like a top' means something else in French?”
"Captain," Pietro said in English, "she will run!"
"I hope so, Pietro, or we’ll be the ones doing the running." She looked impatiently down at her dive watch. "Any word from Hale?"
"No," Wu said as he watched out one of the bus windows. "I think the comms might be broken."
"Figures." She pulled off her headset and stuffed it into a pants pocket. "Damn things never were reliable anyway." The engine groaned loudly again as the aged driver tried to force it to life. From out of the surrounding jungle, several deaders stumbled out, heading in their direction, attracted by the sound of the dying engine.
"Captain!" Wu shouted. "We have company!"
"I see them." Brooks looked down at the bus driver and said in French, "Time to go, Pietro!"
Sweating, the old bus driver mumbled a prayer then turned the key hard in the ignition. The engine sputtered then, with a bang from the rear, roared to life.
"Yes!" Pietro smiled up at Brooks. "See, Capitaine, like a top."
"Yeah." She patted him on the shoulder as the vehicle jerked forward. "Perfect. We can’t take the main road. Some of it is mined. Do you know another way to the airfield?”
“Mined?” Pietro scratched his mop of gray hair with his free hand. "That’s not good, Capitaine."
"No, it’s not." She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Is there another way?"
"Yes, but it’s going be very bumpy."
"Surprise," Lis said to herself in English. Pietro glanced over at the officer and smiled nervously.
"Capitaine?"
"Just talking to myself. Keep your eyes on the road," Brooks said as the bus hit a pothole. "You weren’t kiddin' about bumpy."
"Capitaine, that’s nothing compared to where we’re going. I would hold onto something."
Brooks looked around to find an old hand strap hanging from the ceiling. She reached up and gave it a good, hard yank. Satisfied it would hold, she grabbed it with her famous Brooks’ death grip and held on. As the bus rocked and shook, she glanced over at the kids and their parents. Besides the fear of the hungry undead, the turbulent bus ride didn’t seem to bother them at all. Obviously, they had ridden some pretty bad routes in the past.
"Don’t worry, Capitaine, this bus is old but tough!” Pietro smiled, looking from the road to Brooks.
"It better be, Pietro," she said above the commotion of the school bus. "We left some pretty nice cycles behind."
"Bah." Pierto waved a hand off the steering wheel as the bus rocked. "Two wheels never as good as four big ones!" He laughed as the vehicle rattled.
"Just get us there," she said, feeling a little anxious herself.
CHAPTER 48: QUIT FUCKING AROUND, SERGEANT
Sergeant Diamond opened the driver door of the Humvee and shoved the metal case inside. He turned back toward the trail to see Clarke run past the Humvee and climb into the driver's seat of the Pit Bull. As the big vehicle's engine roared to life, two deaders rolled down the trail and smashed into the front tires. One of them tried to get to its feet, but its legs were broken at odd angles, so the deader was reduced to pulling itself along the bottom of the Humvee with its one remaining hand. The second deader stood up on unsteady legs and slowly stumbled in Diamond’s direction. More and more of the flesh eaters were rolling and sliding down the steep trail, beating some of the soldiers to the bottom. His adrenalin starting to wane, Diamond brought his mini-14 up to his shoulder and fired at the oncoming deader. The first shot took off the dead man's ear. Unfazed, the hungry reanimated corpse continued staggering toward its intended meal. Diamond fired again, stopping the deader cold. The body stiffened, dropped its arms to its sides, and then fell face first to the ground.
"Fucking weird," Diamond said under his breath. Shaking, he wiped some sweat from his eyes and lowered his rifle. The sergeant was exhausted. He couldn’t wait to get aboard the plane and get home to his twin golden Labradors. He knew both dogs were probably missing him by now. Whenever Diamond was gone on assignment, his mother would come to his condo and take care of his Labs. "Don’t worry, girls," he said aloud as he looked up to see if he could help any of the others coming down the trail. "Daddy wi
ll bring you home something nice!"
In one quick, smooth motion, Diamond suddenly disappeared under the Humvee.
***
The presidents both made it down the steep trail as the bodies of the undead tumbled down after them. Both men ran past the Humvee and over to the Pit Bull. Jefferson flung open the side door of the running tactical vehicle and shoved Washington inside. Using the open door as cover, Jefferson changed out the magazines of his weapon and started to pick off the deaders that were trying to get to their feet. Washington climbed up into the turret of the Pit Bull and did the same.
"Plenty of booty out here," Jefferson shouted up to Washington as he destroyed the forehead of a one-armed female headed his way.
"Fuck you, Jeff!" He fired at a couple of deaders that were crawling in the Humvee’s direction. “Wish I never would have said anything.”
***
Zoe West and Gonzo struggled down the trail with the big German between them. The three reached the bottom of the trail and hurried over to the parked Hummer. The deaders that had crashed down the trail ahead of them were being put down by the presidents on the Pit Bull behind them. Zoe let go of Wolf and pulled open the rear passenger door of the vehicle. Gonzo then helped the big German fold himself into the backseat.
West opened the passenger door and saw the metal case sitting in the driver's seat. She rubbed her knees; they were starting to really hurt. Where the fuck is Diamond?
"Sit tight," she told Zagers and handed him her Glock. It seemed tiny in the German's hand. "Don’t lose it, mate."
"Thanks." Wolf smiled wearily.
"Better start her up, Zoe!" Gonzo said as he stepped to the front of the Humvee and started firing at the oncoming undead.
"No worries." Zoe closed the passenger door and started to limp around the rear of the vehicle. A blood-stained hand reached out from underneath the back of the Humvee and grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her down face first. Hitting hard, she had the wind knocked out of her. Dazed, she tried to grab her rifle that she’d dropped a few feet from her, but it was just out of reach. With great effort, she rolled over onto her back and stared straight into the face of a deader. It was, or had been, a young man. Now it was a moaning sack of hungry, undead meat. Zoe tried to punch it in the head, but instead she struck its shoulder. The deader growled then sank its yellow teeth into West’s calf.
"Fucking twat!" Zoe shouted. "Eat it." The deader looked back up at West. Its teeth were now jagged and broken. The sturdy alloy of her prosthetic leg had saved her. The deader's head was suddenly smashed to a bloody mess as a giant boot crushed its diseased head into a nasty soup.
"Quit fucking around, Sergeant." Zagers stood above her, extending a bear-sized hand. Smiling, West took it and the German pulled Zoe to her feet.
"Thanks, Zagers. Now get in the damn Hummer." Zagers nodded and squeezed back into the rear of the vehicle. Catching her breath, Zoe picked up her rifle and hurried around to the driver's side, where she saw Diamond lying face down on the ground. She could see bloodstains near his shoulders and a puddle around his head. Cautiously, weapon ready, she approached the American's body.
"Diamond. Diamond?" She gently poked him in the right shoulder with her rifle barrel. There was no response. "Hey, mate?" No answer. Zoe grabbed his right shoulder and rolled him over onto his back then stepped back and shook her head slowly. "Diamond …" His throat had been torn out. Both of the sergeant's cheeks had been chewed off.
"Zoe!" Gonzo shouted. "Behind you!"
Without thinking, Zoe stepped aside then spun around. A fireball was rolling swiftly in her direction. The sergeant watched as it rolled past her and slowly came to a stop near the Pit Bull. Slowly, the ball unfolded into the form of a person. The flaming shape tried to get to its feet but couldn’t. Zoe fired several rounds into the burning deader's head, stopping its misery. Cursing, she turned back to the hummer. Diamond’s dead eyes met hers.
"Fuck!" Zoe jumped. The thing that was once Diamond growled and charged at her. Without hesitating, West fired from the hip. The rounds slammed into Diamond's chest, knocking him back. The soldier let out a moan then started for her again. This time, Zoe put a shot right between his eyes. Diamond let out a sigh then fell backwards. Dead.
"Sorry, Tim," she said quietly as she wiped the sweat from her face.
"You okay?" Gonzo asked as he ran around the other side of the Hummer.
"Fine, mate," Zoe nodded as she reached into Diamond's vest and pulled out his ID and wallet. She tossed them both to Gonzo. "Here, Doc. For his mum."
***
Dozens of the undead were rolling, crashing, and falling down the trail. Hale and Mac found themselves the last ones racing for the vehicles below. Gunfire erupted from the Pit Bull, knocking back several of the advancing deaders. A few of the flaming, rolling dead passed them by on their way down. The major started to sprint as they got closer to the bottom. Mac, who was keeping pace with him, tripped and fell face first, sliding several feet. Hale bent down and jerked the sergeant to his feet. Mac groaned in pain.
"Crap, Major!" He winced as he shifted the weight on his legs. "Think I broke my damn ankle!"
"Okay, okay." Hale grabbed Mac’s right arm and put it around his shoulder. "Let’s go, Mac. These fucks aren’t going to win."
“Sure, Major!” Mac moaned lightly as he struggled down the trail with Hale holding him up. The deader horde was closing in as the two struggled to the end of the trail. Zoe West and Wickham stepped forward and unloaded their rifles into the hungry flesh eaters. Newman ran up to the two soldiers and helped them down the hill.
"Get rolling!" Hale shouted to the others as Newman shoved Mac into the back of the Hummer. "We need to get to the airfield."
"Come on! Come on!" Newman shouted as he ran back to the idling Pit Bull. Deaders were starting to swarm all around them. "Get your arses movin'!"
Hale climbed into the passenger seat of the Humvee and slammed the door shut behind him. Three deaders were already slapping and scratching at the window and door to get in. Hale saw the metal case sitting between the seats and grabbed it, shoving it down by his feet. The officer looked over to see Zoe gunning the engine to life. Hale glanced over his shoulder to see Mac and Wolf in the rear of the vehicle. "Where’s Diamond?"
Zoe shook her head. "Dead," she said curtly then shoved the Humvee into reverse. The undead were starting to surround them.
"Run these motherfuckers over, Zoe," Hale told her as the dead started to rock the vehicle. West stepped on the accelerator, and the Humvee jumped backwards. Two of the deaders slid underneath the tires, causing them to spin slickly, crushing flesh and bones. The heavy vehicle started to slide back and forth on an ever-growing ramp of undead bodies.
Newman pulled the side door of the Pit Bull closed. He could feel undead hands trying to pry it open from the outside. The Aussie sergeant locked the door then double-checked to make sure it was secure. Satisfied, he turned around and took an accounting of who all was left in the truck. Newman had been the last one in.
"Sound off, ya wankers," the Aussie said, sliding into a seat. He popped the top off of a big ice chest, reached inside, and pulled out several water bottles. As each man sounded off, Newman tossed them a cold bottle of heaven.
"Gonzales!"
"Lucas!"
"Washington!"
"Cord!"
"Jefferson!"
"Damn!" Newman sighed heavily. It was a considerably lighter load than they had started out with. He glanced over at the cab to see Clarke and Wickham at the wheel once again. The dead outside were pounding and scratching on the Pit Bull’s thick skin. "Anybody bit?" he asked.
"Just me, I think," Cord said sheepishly as he tightly held onto the pistol in his right hand. Jefferson slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Got a taste for meat yet?"
"He’s always had a taste for the meat," Lucas chuckled.
"No, no. I’m good." Cord smiled. "One hundred percent."
"
Alright mate. Next stop—"
"Hold on, ya twats!" Clarke shouted to the men in back. "I'm puttin' this baby in reverse. Keep your bleedin' hands inside the ride at all times." Clarke laughed at his own joke. Wickham just shook his head.
"We’re lucky to be alive, Clarke," the lieutenant said. "That was some fucked up business today."
"It was, L-tee, but it’s ‘bout done." Clarke was watching his side mirror as he slowly backed the Pit Bull up. Dozens of deaders were clamoring around them. "We get back to the plane and open some rat packs. Next thing we know, we’re in Miami."
"Uh huh," Wickham said absently as he watched the Humvee. "Sounds … oh shit!"
"What?" Clarke turned to his gaze back to their windshield just in time to see the Humvee lose traction on a pile of undead. The vehicle swerved hard to the left then took a sharp right and rolled over. The deaders wasted no time in swarming it.
CHAPTER 49: BALLS ARE NOT GOING TO GET US HOME
The Russian crew struggled through the dense jungle until they came upon a road. On the other side of the semi-paved street were three buildings. In order, they appeared to be a grocery store, a post office, and a small police station. All seemed to be abandoned. The store's front doors were swung wide open, while the police station's windows had been all broken out. A few bodies lay scattered in various positions around the structures. Most important to Arkady were the four vehicles parked outside. There was a police Jeep with the remains of the driver hanging halfway out of it, an old station wagon with both passenger and driver doors open, another topless police jeep, and an old Ford F-150.
"What do you think?" Yuri whispered as they hunkered down in the lush vegetation.
"I think you and Nico should go have a look." Arkady smiled without a hint of humor. "Don’t worry about the buildings. Just see which of those pieces of shit will run."
"My shoulder?" Nico pleaded as he gripped the silent Dr. Moreno tightly. "How about Dmitry instead?"
"He’s holding the payday. You? You’re just holding your diseased cock. Get out there, you two. Be quick, and be quiet."
