by Greig Beck
Megan half turned. “Let me ask again. Can anyone else fly this fucking thing?”
Kurt reappeared with two revolvers. He spoke while loading one of the guns. “Carla, get back on to your pal at the CDC and see where those guardsmen are.” He looked up at Matt. “Get over here.”
Kurt straightened, sucked in a breath, and then grabbed the door lever, twisted it, and pushed the heavy porthole door open. In one swift motion he leaned out and fired several times into the crowd, then smoothly pulled the door shut. He threw the gun to Matt and pulled a box of bullets from his pocket. “You’re on reload.”
“Where’d these come from?” Matt fiddled with the heavy silver weapon.
Kurt checked the other weapon, now in his hand. “Steinberg’s satin nickel-plated Colt 45s. Never used … until sixty seconds ago. Reload.”
Matt looked out the window as yells rose from outside. Many in the decrepit band had thrown themselves to the ground following Kurt’s volley, but they were now getting back to their feet. Several remained prone and bleeding, attesting either to Kurt’s marksmanship, or his blind luck. They resumed their noisy approach, this time with more caution.
Kurt turned to Matt and smiled briefly, then opened the door again, this time causing panicked shouts from the mob. He did as before, his aim just as good. There was sporadic return fire, but no hits, and the crowd mostly scattered. He pulled the door shut, and he and Matt swapped weapons.
Matt looked out the window again. “That got their attention.”
Kurt snorted. “For now. They’ll be back. They get closer to the plane and we’re all as good as dead.” He shouted down to Carla in the cockpit. “Any word on that ground support?”
“On their way,” she shouted back.
Kurt looked across to Megan. “The thing is, we don’t need to fly the plane, we just need to get the hell away from here. So someone needs to get up there, start this tin can up, and drive it out the gates.” He smiled apologetically. “I’m a little busy, so you know I mean you, Megan. Go on, I’ll walk you through it.”
She nodded, her face a mix of determination and doubt.
“You can do it, Megs. Get Carla to tell the CDC what we’re doing so they can meet us. Unless you can drive this all the way to Atlanta,” Matt said.
She laughed nervously, then got down low and crawled toward the cockpit.
Kurt ducked down to look out the window, then quickly turned to push the door open again. Five more shots, but only one takedown. He handed the gun to Matt for reload. “Running out of time.”
“And bullets,” Matt nodded. “I think there’s still enough left for a few more reloads.”
Kurt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter; there’s no door on the other side of the plane. As soon as this bunch of Einsteins realizes that, they’ll be looking in our windows.”
Matt checked again, and saw a mobile set of steps being pushed along the tarmac. The steps started to veer toward the rear of the plane. Their course was obvious. “That didn’t take long.”
“Yep, I expect our friends will be joining us real soon,” Kurt said.
Matt leaned forward. “Anytime’s good, Megs.”
“How do I …?”
“Ah …” Kurt stuck the large gun in his belt and walked quickly into the cockpit.
Matt leaned around the edge of the window and watched the gathering crowd push the metal steps down the runway. More people joined in, some near-naked, all armed with something.
“Welcome home,” he said softly as he heard Kurt hurriedly explained the controls to Megan.
“Start-stop-port-starboard … that’s all you need to know. We don’t need up or down, or to learn about altitude, weather, hydraulics, or even fuel consumption. We’re not taking off, and when we’re out of gas, we’re out.”
He rushed back, pulling his gun out again. “Any change?”
“Still coming,” Matt replied.
“Okay.” He turned. “Now, Megan.”
“Here goes.” Her reply floated back to them.
There was silence for a few more seconds, and then a gentle whine could be heard coming from outside the body of the aircraft.
Joop looked down past the rear of the plane. “I think they’re going to try to climb up on top of us. What will they do? Try to break in, do you think?”
“Maybe. Maybe just shoot down into the plane until they get lucky and hit one of us. The proverbial fish in a barrel.” Kurt got close to the window and looked back along the craft to the engine. “Good, spinning now; takes a few seconds – Steinberg had nothing but the best and this Gulfstream has a couple of Rolls-Royce BR710 turbo fan engines with over fifteen thousand pounds of thrust each. In a few more seconds the gas should kick in and the fans will really start to spin, and then we’ll get some go.”
He changed his angle to check on the mob. “Better slow them down a tad.” He pulled open the door, eliciting animal-like howls, and let go with another six rounds. He didn’t have a hope of hitting anyone this time, but it was enough to make the crowd scatter. He dragged the door shut and this time spun the locking wheel. “Okay, time to make it interesting.”
He walked to the front of the plane and leaned in beside Megan and Carla. Matt glanced back and saw that the crowd was back with the stairs, about to disappear behind the plane.
Matt got to his feet and followed Kurt into the cockpit. “Kurt, they’re behind us.”
Kurt reached forward. “I got it – hairdryer time. Hang on.” He reached in front of Megan, pressed the ignition, and smoothly pushed the lever forward. A low, muscular roar came from the rear of the plane, and then there was an almighty push as the turbo-powered gas turbines sucked in, compressed, and then blasted a mix of combusted gases and super-heated air out backward.
The crowd pushing the stairs was blown over like leaves in a gale, most skidding down the runway as though across slippery ice, some lying still, flesh red and smoking where the rush of inferno-hot gases and air had bathed their exposed skin.
The plane gathered speed, and he eased back on the throttle, settling into an easy ten-mile-per-hour roll down the tarmac. He stood back, leaving it to Megan.
“Which way?” she asked, smiling at being in control of the large machine.
Carla pointed. “Go straight down. We need to go the length of the runway, and then cross the grass verge. Should be okay – it’s been dry lately. Then we need to crash through a barrier and hop onto the highway. Just pray it’s not crowded with cars – broken down or otherwise.”
Matt looked back down at the rear side windows. The men and women who had been on the tarmac were just stirring, some getting to their feet, others lying still, smoke or steam rising from their prone bodies. None of them made any move to follow.
“No chasers,” he said.
“Good, we just bought ourselves some time. That patrol better be where it’s supposed to be.”
They were all crammed into the cockpit now, Megan and Carla seated and Kurt, Joop, and Matt standing behind. Each offered their own advice for navigating the grass field. They bounced and rocked, and Megan pulled a face, trying to concentrate as she gave a little more thrust to compensate for some of the deeper holes.
“Ach, trees coming up.” Megan went to change the plane’s angle, but Kurt stopped her.
“Forget ’em; this baby is about ninety feet long and weighs in at seventy-five hundred pounds. Somehow, I don’t think we need to be worrying about scratches right now – just plow through ’em.”
Megan gave it a bit more thrust and the ten-foot high trees were pushed over or out of the way as she smashed into them. Coming to the end of the field, a wire fence was easily nosed aside, then she maneuvered toward a gap between some shed-like buildings, losing the tips of both wings. “Ouch.” She jumped a curb and bounced heavily down onto the four-lane highway.
“Easy.” She smiled as she headed down the deserted road, cruising along at about twenty miles per hour. A blinking light from the panel indicated
incoming communication, and Carla pulled the headset back on and nodded.
“Hew? Go ahead, I’m here.” She turned. “They can see us on satellite. Escort is only about ten miles out now, and closing on our position. Keep a lookout.”
Megan snorted. “I think we’ll be a little hard to miss.”
In a few minutes a broad green vehicle, the only one moving, could be seen roaring down the center of the desolate highway. Megan took one hand off the control column and punched the air. “Captain Hannaford coming in for landing. Thank you for flying with us today.” She laughed and started to ease back on the throttle, the big plane slowing and then stopping as the engines whined down to silence. She looked across at Carla. “Well, that’s got to be something off my bucket list.”
“Not bad – and given some of those bumps, I think you could honestly say you even had it airborne.” Carla jumped to her feet. “Less than two hundred miles and we’re home … sort of.”
Kurt pushed the door outward and lowered the steps, ducking back inside to grab his pack and heft it up onto his shoulders. Matt saw him grunt with the effort.
He noticed Matt watching and winked. “The one upside to the end of the world – no customs and immigration.” He laughed and stepped down, followed by Joop, the rest having already grabbed what possessions they needed.
Kurt stood watching the broad, aggressive-looking vehicle roar toward them. He turned to Matt. “It’s an ASV Guardian, I think.” He watched it for a few more seconds. “Yep, an M1117 Guardian Armored Security Vehicle. These guys are really ready for war.”
The vehicle pulled up alongside the group. Carla could see what appeared to be a small water cannon mounted on top. Two young soldiers stepped out and stood slightly apart. Both of them were armed, looking formidable. The red-headed one seemed to be in charge and motioned to them to stay where they were. The other, who had dark, glistening stubble on his square-shaped head, slowly scanned the surrounding countryside, as if expecting someone else.
Red spoke loudly, staring directly at Carla. “Dr. Nero? Dr. Carla Nero?”
Carla nodded, and he stepped a little closer to her. Matt guessed he already knew exactly who he was looking for.
He gave a small salute. “I’m Sergeant Reed, and this …” he gestured to his companion, “… is Corporal Metzger. It’s great that you could get here, ma’am; unfortunately we’ve still got a bit to go yet. I need to take you straight to the CDC. The rest of your companions can be dropped off at the base and scheduled for relocation at a later date and time that suits.” He looked at each of them. “That will be a secondary priority.”
Matt had the feeling the soldier would have been just as happy to leave them by the side of the road.
Carla wrinkled her nose. “Phew, what is that you’re wearing?”
Red responded almost mechanically. “Something the lab put together. We call it DeeBee – it’s a combination of Deet and benzyl benzoate.”
Carla had suspected as much. Deet was short for diethyl-meta-toluamide. It was one of the most powerful insect repellents known, and had been since 1946. The addition of benzyl benzoate made it target specific – it was one of the best topical treatments for burrowing scabies.
“Pretty tough stuff; you guys feel okay?” Carla peered into the young man’s eyes. Even from where Matt stood, he guessed the amount the men were wearing must have been eye-watering. Inside the vehicle it would probably give them headaches … or worse. The young man just shrugged.
“You’re going to have to wear it as well … or one of the sealed suits, which are pretty damn stifling in this weather. The alternative is doing nothing and getting the bugs under your skin, and that ain’t too pretty … but you know that, Dr. Nero.”
Carla grunted softly and gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head. She knew the effects only too well. She turned to their group.
“So, suits or spray?”
Megan stepped up with her fingers over her nose and spoke in a pinched squeak. “Wow, that is really rank.” She turned her head away, breathed in, and then spoke again. “Okay, better than a sealed suit in this heat, I think. Bathing in this once can’t be that bad.”
Red walked back to the vehicle and lifted free a canister bottle that looked like a small fire extinguisher. He cleared his throat. “Actually, in this heat, the repellent needs to be reapplied every twenty-four hours. Otherwise you just sweat it off.”
“Great.” Matt stepped in close to the door of the ASV and felt the heat radiating out of the steel interior. He looked at the suits hanging on pegs inside the vehicle and shook his head. “Cattle dip it is, then.”
He lifted his arms and turned his head. “Just like getting a spray tan.”
“Pretty much; and that’s why you’ll all need to strip down. The spray has got to touch the skin.” He smiled flatly, his eyes on Megan. Matt noticed that Corporal Metzger had stopped scanning the countryside and now watched them, waiting for Megan to take her clothes off.
If he expected shyness, he was disappointed. Megan was in her underwear in a few seconds flat, arms out. “Let her rip, Ginger.”
The sergeant smiled and pointed the nozzle. “Keep your eyes closed and hold your breath for ten seconds while I do your head, okay?”
She nodded and gulped in air. The spray started, and a fine mist coated Megan’s face, neck, and hair. He stopped the spray. “Okay, hold out your hands, palms up. I’m going to drench your hands, and then I want you to comb it through your hair.” Megan did as requested. While she had her arms up, he worked his way down her body, asking her to turn slowly, like a roast on a spit.
The whole process took a few minutes. On completion, he asked her to hold out her hands again. This time, after drenching them, he told her to scrub it into the places that she still had covered. She looked at Matt and pulled a face – it stung.
One after the other they followed suit, even handing over bags and backpacks so they could be doused. Kurt grabbed the canister so he could personally do the inside of his own bags, being a little shy about anyone seeing the contents.
Together they piled into the back of the large vehicle. It was cramped, and once the doors were closed, red lights came on, giving everyone a hellish appearance. Megan had tied a handkerchief around her face, as the air was stifling despite an air-conditioning unit whining softly in the background. All it did was stir the chemical air around them. Other than the air con, it was surprisingly quiet inside, more to do with the smooth roadway, rather than the vehicle’s heavy insulation and armor plating.
Carla leaned forward. “Sergeant Reed, just how bad is it getting on the ground?”
He turned and stared hard at her for a few seconds. “Lately, hard to tell; people rarely come out anymore.”
Kurt snorted. “They certainly came out to welcome us at the airport.”
The soldier made a noise in his throat, and looked glum. “Yep, real sorry about that. Same thing at the bigger airports – didn’t think it was happening at the smaller ones. The healthies aren’t keen on planes landing anymore. Seems they blame foreigners for the infestation.”
Megan scoffed. “That’s crazy; foreigners didn’t bring this in, unless you count a primordial bird, and an American biology professor. And what’s with this ‘healthies’?”
Reed sucked in one cheek. “Got a few tribes now – the uninfested, or healthies, are a shrinking bunch. There are also the invisibles, who never come out, the heavily infested – we call them skinners – and then the most dangerous of all … the bloomers.” He sighed. “Dr. Hewson will fill you in. And as for who’s to blame; it doesn’t matter to the mob – these people don’t have a conscience or a sense of logic anymore.” He turned back to the front of the vehicle. “We’re trying to bring some sense and order, but …”
“But you’re outnumbered,” Carla finished.
“Yep, a thousand to one. Bottom line is, we lack information. The government is trying to run a phone census – they’ve got computers to call peop
le and ask them for names of occupants, number of residents, status of health. It’s not precise – some people just aren’t answering, probably thinking it’s just looters checking to see if there are people home.” He shrugged. “Streets are pretty quiet now.”
Carla pointed to the roof. “So why the water cannon, if there’s no need for crowd control?”
Reed squinted at her for a few seconds, then turned back, shaking his head. “Not really a water cannon, Dr. Nero.” His expression had drooped. “We sure hope you guys can help. This isn’t going to get better by itself.” He turned to his companion. “Let’s pick it up, corporal.” The vehicle accelerated.
Hope … Carla thought that was the best word to use. She sure hoped they could help.
“Well, first things first – get us home so we can find out if we can.”
*****
Matt looked over the interior of the armored vehicle. There were a couple of metal tanks along the ceiling, both marked with the triple-linked circles of the biohazard symbol, struck through with a red lightning bolt. More insecticide?
Sergeant Reed pushed a small send-receiver into his ear. “Got ’em.” He removed it and set it down again.
Carla sprang forward. “That’s it? Nothing else? Can we talk to some people, and find out what’s going on?”
Reed turned. “Not now. This far out, I was authorized to send a three-second burst, either when I had you, or knew I never would. Any more and there’s a chance we’d be found.”
“Found? What does that mean?” Carla’s face was a blend of confusion and annoyance.
“Like I said, things are different now. There are people out there who are looking to take advantage of the situation – either for political, psychological, or religious reasons. They target transmissions, especially military. It’s quite easy; they use simple direction-finding techniques that have been around since World War II. Stick a few homemade receivers around the countryside, and then locate the source of a transmission via triangulation. They only need six seconds.”
“Why? Hostage taking?” Matt frowned, and the red-headed sergeant shrugged and turned back to study a chart on his lap. Matt guessed the conversation was at an end. He exhaled through his nose in exasperation just as the truck swerved and he fell against Megan. He nudged her. “You okay?”
