The Tall Man kept his eyes on the plane and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. The air was brisk out here now, and his face felt refreshed.
“Get the others up here, we’re going to the airport!”
“What? You can’t be serious, Chuck, you can’t … there’ll be …”
“I’m very serious! I don’t know if they”—he pointed skyward—“are friend or foe, but I know this. They’ve got a fucking plane and a pilot who can fly it. Get it?” he said to Kath as plainly as he could.
* * *
Kath did get it. She sat in the passenger seat of the Hummer with Elliot at the wheel. She was to guide them. She knew how to get across the Fraser River to the airport and avoid the city. The Tall Man was in the back with David and Mulhaven, with the rest squeezed into the van behind them.
She thought of Elliot’s words when he came up the driveway in the near darkness: You’re gonna’ love Chuck. And he was right. Not just for his great looks and muscles, either. He was quick to recognize the plane’s potential for escape. They had to do all they could to assist in the landing, and they had to do it without attracting any foamers.
They broke off from the road once they came alongside the airport.
“Through the gate, Elliot!” spurred the Tall Man.
Elliot drove through the chain link gate well before the main entrance, knocked one half to the ground, bounced over it, and continued. James, in the van behind, kept the vehicle on the gravel road to avoid damage to the chassis.
“Okay, now, Elliot!”
Elliot hit the headlights as ordered. When he put them on high beam, they saw they had their work cut out for them. Several trucks of the Canadian Armed Forces were parked across the runway.
* * *
“Mr. Transky, come quick, sir!” an agent roared from the cockpit door.
“What is it?” asked Tom, his typical composed self, long since vanished.
“The pilot wants to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Mr. Transky, look!” the pilot said as soon as Tom came through the door.
Tom wiped oily sweat from his brow as he peered out the copilot’s side window.
“Are they truck lights down there?”
“Yes, sir. It appears someone’s trying to give us some light down there. If I can see the runway, we’ll have better than an even chance.”
Tom raced back to tell the president the good news while the pilot circled the plane once more.
* * *
“We don’t have time to look for keys. Just put the front end right up against the back of the truck, Elliot,” the Tall Man told him.
When the Hummer made contact with the rear of the army truck, the Tall Man and Mulhaven jumped out. The Tall Man was pleased to find the door to the truck unlocked. He didn’t bother looking for keys—it was too dark. He released the hand brake and shoved it into neutral.
“Okay, Elliot, go!” he yelled.
Mulhaven ran to the van and told James to drive to the next truck and do the same. If any truck was locked, they were to smash the window. “We don’t have a lot of time, Jim!”
They leapfrogged from one truck to another, pushing them off to the side. Once all the trucks were removed, they gathered at the end and to the side of the runway.
“Now we need to get more light on the runway,” the Tall Man said as the plane came in low overhead. “He’s gonna make one more pass, then he’ll have to land.”
“Where are we gonna find lights, Chuck?” Allan asked.
“Fire, that’s where,” he answered after he thought a moment. “Stand back!”
He hurried over to the back of the van, knelt down, and pulled his Tanto from its sheath, then drew his pistol. He released the magazine from its well inside the pistol grip then removed the round from the chamber. He leaned over farther, placed the point of the Tanto against the gas tank, and gave it an almighty whack with the butt of the pistol. The Tanto penetrated the tank with ease, and when he withdrew it, gas leaked onto the ground. When ignited, it would give the pilot of the plane above a guideline. He slid open the door, called to Elliot to get behind the wheel, then jumped in.
* * *
“Okay, you know the plan here, right, Elliot?”
“Yes, sir. Create a line of flame along the runway.”
The Tall Man gave Mulhaven the thumbs-up then told Elliot to take the van to the end of the runway.
“Slow and steady, Elliot, slow and steady.”
Elliot honked the horn three times when they reached the end of the runway. He and the Tall Man watched with delight as Mulhaven set the line of gasoline alight. It ran the length of the runway. It wasn’t enough light to see the entire runway, but now, at least, the pilot would know its exact position and length.
“Which one was this in, Die Hard one or two?” Elliot yelled as they ran back to join the others.
“Two, and what’s more, it worked.”
The Global Express 5000 roared in. Even in the night sky, the white of the fuselage was unmistakable. The engines whined as it flew overhead. Tires gave an agonized screech when they made contact with the tarmac, and the runway looked smaller and smaller to the Tall Man.
“Make it … make it … come on, make it,” the Tall Man pleaded.
The drama of the landing held everyone’s attention. The plane was on the runway, and the prayers were in their hearts, and their hearts were in their mouths. They weren’t mindful of what was occurring around them. In the distance, headed their way, thousands of tiny red dots bobbled and jiggled in the dark—the eyes of foamers, thousands of foamers.
* * *
Elliot and the Tall Man reached the others as the plane pulled up without overshooting the runway.
“Shit, yeah!” the Tall Man cheered.
The plane rolled to a stop near the end of the tarmac, a cabin door behind the cockpit opened, and a tall figure stood in the doorway.
“Is that …” Margaret screamed over the engines.
“It sure as hell is,” Mulhaven yelled.
“Come on, get up here … get up here!” the president of the United States screeched at them.
They were a good fifty yards away from the plane. “Goddammit, get over here!” the president yelled and motioned with his arm.
Kath was the first to wise up. They couldn’t hear him over the engines of the plane, but they could see him yelling and waving his arms. If he was so adamant that they get to the plane, it must be because something…
“Chuck,” she screamed, “behind you!”
The Tall Man couldn’t hear her but could just make out her look of anguish and where she pointed. The light from the wall of flames added a touch of the surreal.
“Oh, fuck!”
“Yeah, when there’s no more room in hell…” Elliot added a line from a well-known zompoc movie of the eighties.
“To the plane, get to the plane,” the Tall Man screamed.
Everyone turned toward the Tall Man and saw the thousands of foamers behind him on the runway. Frantically, they rushed toward the plane. The foamers would be on top of them in another minute or so.
“Run… fuck you, run!”
What had begun as a plausible plan to escape the foamers, and the ring of fire, and all the other shit, had turned into what might be their last stand.
The president continued to yell and was barely heard as the engines died down. A Secret Service agent joined him at the doorway. He bent down and held out a hand.
“Come on, you can do it, you can do it,” the former most powerful man in the world pleaded.
Behind them, the runway was awash with foamers from side to side.
There was no time to think, no time to plan. They were too far from any other vehicle. The plane was their only chance. To stay on the ground meant certain death or worse. Inside the plane, they would have the time to make the decision—the final decision.
After all they’d witnessed, fought, and survived, they couldn’t allo
w themselves to be taken by foamers. If it was to be, then so it would be, but it would be their decision.
Fifty-One
The survivors from Twin Falls and Shoshone were all thankful in one way or another for the Tall Man. Chuck Black, as they knew him. They’d all learned a little from him and knew they wouldn’t have made it this far without him. Elliot, more than anyone, looked up to him. He listened to every word, watched every move, and most importantly, remembered. He loved and cared for his father, but the Tall Man was the older brother he had never had.
Elliot also understood the importance of the Tall Man to the group’s survival.
After he helped David into the plane, Elliot told the Tall Man, “You go first, Chuck. I’ll give you a leg up. You’re too heavy to pull up.”
The Tall Man didn’t like the idea but couldn’t argue with the logic. The whine of the two jet engines had lowered to a level where the thudding footsteps of charging foamers, perhaps a thousand yards behind, became audible.
Elliot slung the AR-15 David had carried over his shoulder and heaved the Tall Man up to the doorway, where the Secret Service agent and the president of the United States helped him in.
“Okay, Elliot, give me your hand!” The Tall Man leaned over and extended his arm but sensed something was wrong.
“You look after everyone now, Chuck, okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll catch up with you in the daylight, when it’s safe!”
“Elliot, stop fucking around…”
The distant thunder of the foamers shifted his attention. When he turned back, Elliot was well away from the plane. “Lock the door, Chuck, lock it!”
“You won’t have time.” From behind, a hand grabbed the Tall Man by the shoulder and pulled him back.
“But I can’t let…”
“I think your young friend has a plan.” The president pointed outside.
* * *
When Elliot got to the edge of the runway, he stopped, pulled his Super Redhawk from its holster, and took aim. Three blasts from the .44 Magnum echoed along the runway. Three foamers stumbled, fell, and were trampled by the rest. Not great shooting by any stretch, but with so many it was hard to miss. Still, the shots didn’t do what he wanted. He didn’t want to use any more ammo than he needed to, and if the Redhawk wasn’t loud enough, there was no point in trying the AR-15.
“A truck … that truck,” he said confidently. As the days had passed, Elliot’s perceptive qualities had grown. He hadn’t realized it, but the others, like Cindy and the Tall Man, had. Cindy, for one, knew he had learned it all from the Tall Man.
The army trucks had been pushed off the tarmac. There hadn’t been time to search for keys in the dark, not with a plane about to land—or try to land—on a darkened runway. This truck, however, spoke to Elliot. He wasted no time. He ran to the truck and jumped in. He immediately tried the old “pull the sun visor down” trick. It worked every time in the movies, and it worked here.
“Bingo!” Elliot cheered. He looked to his side and saw the foamers were close, very close. They were still focused on the plane, the interior cabin lights adding to the attraction. After three or four attempts, he got the truck started. He jumped back out of the truck and, taking an old rag from behind the seat, he opened the gas tank and shoved the rag in. He hoped there was enough gas in the tank. He found that one end of the rag was damp when he pulled it out.
“This will have to do,” he said.
He pulled out his lighter, took off his jacket, put the rag inside a pocket, and lit it. The rag with the gas on it exploded into a puff of flame. He waved his jacket around to fan the flames. When the jacket was sufficiently ablaze, he threw it forward, picked up the AR-15 from the ground, and emptied an entire magazine into the frenzied crowd of foamers. This time, the steady fusillade and the flaming jacket caught their attention.
“Come on, you ugly fucks, come on!”
* * *
“He’s attracting their attention,” the Tall Man observed.
“So I see. He’s a brave young man.”
The Tall Man turned away from the door of the jet and faced the president. “He’s my friend.”
The president saw the concern in the eyes of the Tall Man. He understood how he felt—he’d experienced similar emotions often enough as president—but he also understood the young man’s determination.
“He’s doing this so we may have a chance. It’s what he wanted.”
The Tall Man nodded. Like Roger’s had, Elliot’s actions exemplified courage. The Tall Man knew if he were the last to board the plane, he would have done the same. It didn’t ease his pain, however.
“We better close this door and kill the lights if we want this to work right.” The president hoped he didn’t appear too cold or calculating, but was afraid he did.
Whether or not he did, the Tall Man reached outside and grabbed the door. He closed it without a sound. “Let’s get those damn lights out.”
* * *
The light from the burning jacket was a beacon to the foamers. Elliot changed magazines and shoved the empty into the top of his pants. With his jacket off, he noticed the briskness of the Canadian air and was thankful. It would keep him alert—just in case several thousand undead creatures didn’t.
“Over here, fuckers, over here!” he yelled once more before running back to the truck.
He blasted the horn several times and put the headlights on full-beam, as well as the emergency lights. The time to go was now. They were close.
Elliot took one last look at the plane on the tarmac. The door was now closed and there was no sign of light along the fuselage of the Global Express.
“Don’t worry. We’ll meet up again …” His voice trailed off as he wiped away the tears.
He put the clutch in and forced the truck into gear. The tires spun in the dirt as he drove across the open field between the runway and the chain link fence of the airport boundary.
His plan had worked.
* * *
“Elliot! Where’s my son?” James Goodwin came up behind the Tall Man in the dark cabin. Enough light from the flames outside penetrated through the windows.
In their haste to get aboard the plane, James had helped the four ladies in the group settle. The women already on the plane had helped in this endeavor as well. Busy as he was, he hadn’t noticed his son wasn’t on board. When the lights went out, seeing became more difficult. But close family members have a heightened sense of awareness, especially parents and their children.
“James.” The Tall Man wasn’t sure how to proceed. “This is the…”
“I know who he is, but where is Elliot?” James Goodwin ignored the attempt at introductions.
The president reached out in the dark and placed a compassionate hand on James’s shoulder. “Sir, what your son has done will give us, all of us, a chance to survive. I cannot tell you…”
The words spoken by the president were meant to calm, but did little of the sort.
James brushed the hand from his shoulder and rushed to the cabin windows.
“James … James, there’s nothing we can do,” the Tall Man called.
“Elliot’s not here? Where is…” Cindy now joined them at the cabin door.
“Cindy, Elliot made the decision to…”
Cindy rushed past the Tall Man and to one of the cabin windows. Her heart told her where Elliot was.
“He’s out there, Cindy. Out there!”
James pounded on the window. At the edge of the runway, he saw the small fire that was Elliot’s jacket. To one end of the runway, a great horde of foamers beat a direct path to the army truck. They began to slow the farther they traveled.
“Is Elliot driving that truck?
“He made his own…”
“Why didn’t you stop him, Chuck? Fucking why?”
James Goodwin’s distraught behavior came to the attention of Mulhaven and Tom Transky.
“Oh my G—” C
indy’s knees buckled and she fainted. That was okay with the Tall Man—one less problem to deal with.
“There was nothing I could do, James. Nothing.”
“Out of my way.” James pushed past him in the dark.
He wanted to open the door, to go after his son. No one blamed him for feeling that way, but no one was going to let it happen. The Tall Man, Mulhaven, the president, and two Secret Service agents grabbed James and dragged him back to first class. He put up quite a struggle, but eventually he gave in. The fight had gone out of him, and like the Tall Man, he knew sacrificing one to save many was the correct thing to do.
* * *
The disruption took the Tall Man and the president from the windows, away from watching the foamers chase Elliot’s baited hook. Better not to watch in case they caught him. The Tall Man was confident Elliot wouldn’t allow that to happen. He’d keep one bullet aside should such a scenario arise.
If anyone aboard the plane had happened to look out the window, they’d have seen the headlights of the army truck in the distant field headed away from the airport. A great swarm of undead followed some one hundred yards or so behind, desperately wanting to get hold of the warm-blooded mortal ahead. The survivors aboard the Global Express knew Elliot had probably saved their lives, but gratitude was the last thought on their minds. Could Elliot hold out until daylight? Did he have enough gas? Would he be able to make his way back to them? If he could last until daylight, then maybe he had a chance—maybe all of them would have a chance.
Like the pied piper of folklore, Elliot led the foamers away from the airport, removing the threat to his friends. Their concerns for his safe return was interrupted by the whine of four Pratt & Whitney F117 jet engines belonging to a C-17 transport plane on its approach to the runway. Huddled in the dark cabin of the Global Express, they weren’t the only ones alerted by the sound.
The End
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The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II Page 13
