“Alright, load up whatever we can take. Favor weapons, but we need food and water.” West then turned to Jones. “Yes, you did produce, but this is part one. The plane is part two. And it better be there.”
0949 hours
“See, part two was there, just like I said it would be. Now will you give me credit?” Jones asked, while leveling the plane. He looked through the cockpit windshield at the puffy, dark clouds above.
“Not yet. After all, they say landing’s the hardest part of flying,” West replied, taking off a large pair of headphones. He rose from the copilot's chair and walked to the back of the Gulfstream G550.
Inside the passenger cabin, Travis and Clint hovered over maps and papers. Alex however, relaxed in style. Reclining with his feet propped up, he slurped on a rum and cola while feasting on a bag of barbecue potato chips.
“Enjoying yourself?” West asked.
“Oh you know I-” but Alex was cut off by overwhelming coughing.
The cocktail bounced gently off the carpet and barbecue crumbs settled on top of the forming stains. The coughing was so intense, that it brought Alex to his knees. By the end of it, his face was red, and he was sucking in air.
“You alright?” West asked, helping Alex to a chair. He watched Alex wipe his lips and observed the blood that came off with the saliva.
Alex looked at his palm, then at West before quickly wiping it away. “It’s…I’m fine,” he said, though his tone lacked confidence and an expression of worry overcame his face.
“I need an honest, no bullshit assessment, Alex. How are you feeling?”
“I told you...fine.”
West stared at Alex’s left eye. The dilated orb was surrounded by prominent red veins. “Alex?”
Keeping his volume low, he answered, “My insides hurt, but I’ve felt worse pain fighting. Not as bad as Collin, I promise.”
“I believe you. Alright, go check the back and see if our billionaire has any pain meds.”
West then moved to a spot between Travis and Clint. Since he was incapable of standing completely upright, West used his arms to brace against the ceiling.
“Okay, guys, listen up. We are going to be landing soon, but before we do, I want to go over the plan. And if anyone has any questions or problems with it- legit ones,” he said, glancing at Clint, “then make ‘em known.”
Clint spun the map around for West’s benefit. “Based on what Dr. Crowley said, the truck will be taking this road and inevitably passing through here.” He pointed to the small black letters “Praylar Pass.”
“And we know the truck is on its way, because thirty minutes ago we saw the lights from a truck six thousand feet below.”
“Ya, ya, I know, I know. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I don’t think it’s a random truck on a random road,” Clint said, waving West on.
West checked his watch and continued. “From the time we land, I estimate we will have a window of less than one hour before the truck arrives at the bridge. When it does, we ambush it there. Two teams, one in front, one behind. Bullets and calculated explosions to impede any escape. Travis, how much C-4 do we have?”
“Three bricks, small ones. Not nearly enough to do what we did back in Nevada.”
“That’ll do. We don’t need to replicate-”
“I have a concern,” Clint interrupted. “We still haven’t talked about security. We saw no other cars on the road, but who’s to say they aren’t en-route? The driver had to have called for backup.”
“I thought about that, and the answer is I don’t know,” West said expressionless. “I agree with you. Liz Baron will most certainly have scrambled some kind of force, but like you said and we all saw, there isn’t anything yet, and we don’t know from where they are coming. North, south, east, west, ground, air, how many, we just don’t know. So let’s hope we can do this before they come.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we adapt.”
It wasn’t the answer Clint was looking for but it was the only one there was, and he knew it. “Alright, so what’s the ambush plan exactly?”
West picked up another piece of paper. This particular one had a sketch of Prylar Pass, symbols for the truck and surrounding environment, and arrowed-lines and x’s and o’s for the operational attack plan. “Travis, you and Clint will take the back-"
"And you and I will take the front. Nice," Alex interrupted immediately. He smiled as he attempted to bump knuckles, but West did not meet Alex’s fist.
“You’re not going with us.”
“What? What the hell does that mean, West?” Alex asked, but a deep hoarse cough stopped him. He grabbed at his chest and grunted in pain as body spasms dropped him to a knee. “It’s not what you guys think.”
“It’s exactly what we think,” Clint said bluntly. He and the others saw Alex’s veiny eye and physical symptoms of an impending fever.
West frowned. “Alex, this is why you won’t be with us for the attack. You’re infected, and we both know your body is losing.”
“Come on, West, don’t sideline me again,” Alex protested angrily, but when he found no sympathy from West, he turned to the others. “Come on, guys, I should be going with you! I can do this!”
“Sorry, Alex. This is the way it’s gotta be.”
Frustrated, Alex stormed off to the bathroom.
“When are you gonna tell him?” Clint asked.
West’s eyes left Alex and returned to the paper plans. “Soon.”
Over the loudspeaker, Jones reported, “Everyone, get ready to land. We’re here.”
Chapter 6
“The SNAFU”
Kingston, Colorado
December 2, 2009
1001 hours
Inside a private hangar at Bradford public airport, Jones exited the Gulfstream with a box of cigars in celebration of a rough but successful landing. From the hand-carved camel bone box, he removed a medium length cigar, clipped the end, lit it and took multiple drags until the grey smoke was consistent with each puff. Despite the pleasures, the billionaire still had something to complain about.
“I don’t like the idea of being left behind withhim. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” Jones said, sneering at Alex. “What if he changes when you guys are gone? What then?”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “I won’t asshole. I’m. Still. Me.”
West finished pulling the large double doors closed, sealing the hangar from the cold wind outside. “Already thought about it,” he replied, reuniting with Clint at a work bench.
Clint nodded, knowing what West was about to declare.
“Alex will be tied up.”
“I’ll be what?”
West adhered the Velcro strap of the bullet resistant vest around his tender chest and then began filling pockets with loaded magazines. “Tied up. Bound. Physically restricted,” he clarified. “Alex, we both know you changing is a very real possibility. It needs to be done.”
Alex snorted in disbelief. “So not only do I not get to go, but you’re gonna lock me up too? Fan-fucking-tastic.”
West rummaged through a free standing tool kit and pulled out a roll of duct tape.
“Not lock you up, just secure your hands,” he replied, walking over to the stairs leading up to the jet. Alex was sitting on the second to last step. “What Collin did to you, do you want to do that to one of us? We all thought he had more time. We were wrong. I know you don’t want to infect anyone, and there’s no guarantee we’ll be back in time.”
Travis jogged through the side hangar door. “West, got us a ride,” he hollered, interrupting. He stood next to Clint and quickly began readying himself with weapons and equipment. “Ford Escape, compact, but the best I could find.”
“Good work,” West said, keeping his eyes on Alex. “So what’s it gonna be?”
“Fine, whatever,” Alex grumbled. He dragged a folding chair over to a lengthy metal pipe that ran down the side of the aluminum structure. He sat down and
then held his hands against the bar. “I’m not gonna stand the whole time. Come on, West, you guys don’t have all day.”
When Alex pulled his hardest and was unable to free his hands from the web of tape, West was satisfied. “We’re gonna get you the vaccine, Alex.”
“Ya hermano,” Travis said, walking over. “I promise. I will get it this time. Just hang on.”
“Clint, you ready?”
The Secret Service Agent tightened the straps on his vest. “Ready when you are.”
“Alright, let’s move,” West said, grabbing a duffle bag full of supplies. “Jones, refuel, check the oil, scrape the ice off the wings; do whatever you need to do to prep for takeoff. I want to be airworthy by the time we get back.”
“Ya, ya, whatever,” he said, waving off the request.
West snatched the cigar from Jones’ lips, dropped it to the ground and squashed the tobacco with his boot. “That means stop smoking and move, double-time. We only have forty-three minutes and we might be coming in hot.”
Jones’ face wrinkled and twisted to an angry frown. “Ah, are you kidding me? Do you know what you just trashed? That was a Black Dragon! Do you know how much that cost?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. Just do it.”
***
Alex was getting restless. “Hey, Jones, how long’s it been? The tape is covering my watch. Jones. Hey, Jones, have you heard anything on the radio?”
Harry was lounging on a roller chair he found inside the mechanic’s office. He blew a perfect smoke ring, and then another, and then another.
“Hey, I know you can hear me. Jones. Jones. Jones!” Alex repeated himself three more times, and added, “I’m gonna keep saying your name until you answer me.”
Jones looked at Alex, then at the long-range radio that rested on the metal table, then back at him. “Are you really going to be that annoying?”
“Until you answer me? Yes.”
“Jesus, why didn’t West tape your mouth, too?” he said to himself. “It has been eighteen minutes. You have been sitting right next to me. You have heard the same silence I have. Happy?”
“Not really,” Alex replied, lowering his head. Then his nostrils caught a whiff of the peaty tobacco. “Hey, mind sharing the wealth?”
“Huh?”
“The cigars. Hook me up with one would ya? I haven’t smoked one in a long ass time.”
Jones pulled the box closer to his body. “No. These are limited edition cigars and thanks to our overly aggressive commando leader I only have ten left.”
“Ten left? Seriously, stop being a selfish ass and hook me up, I’m bored. And the nicotine will calm me down.”
“Sorry, I don’t condone underage smoking.”
“Underage smoking? Dude, I’m twenty-two.”
“Fine, you want a cigar?” Jones asked, walking over to Alex.
“Uh, ya. That’s what I’ve been asking for.”
“Then prove it. Let me see some identification, and I’ll happily cut it and light it for you.” He even went so far as to dangle the torpedo in front of Alex’s face, teasing him.
The only motion Alex could do with his hands was spread his fingers and even that was limited. “Seriously, dude? Even if I could reach to my pockets I lost my wallet like a year ago. Besides, who the fuck cares about an ID?”
“Sorry,” Jones replied, sticking out his lower lip, accentuating the faux-apology.
“Man, fuck you,” Alex said, shaking his head. “Then at least go outside. It’s one thing to join in on a cigar sesh, but I don’t wanna sit here and inhale your second hand smoke.”
“No way, it’s freezing outside. I’m fine. Right. Where. I’m. At.” Jones blew a stream of smoke in Alex’s face.
Coughing, Alex failed to swipe the lingering smoke away. “Damnit, man, cut it out!” But what irritated him more was Jones’ obnoxious snickering.
“Make me.”
“I’m warning you.”
“Ohh I’m so scared of the tied up kid-”
Finally, Alex could no longer take the harassment and he snapped. He lunged outward with his legs and wrapped them around the backs of Jones’ knees. He pulled tight, causing Jones’ legs to buckle. The cigar, torch lighter and cutter dropped on Alex’s lap. With Jones on his knees, Alex then crossed his ankles, locking their bodies together tightly.
“You wanna fuck around? How’s this for fucking around?” Alex yelled, moving his head close to Jones’ squirming face. His bloodshot eyes narrowed in rage. He pushed contaminated saliva through his teeth; some foamed through the cracks and dripped from his lips. “All I have to do is spit in your face and you’ll be as infected as I am.”
“Please, please, please! Don’t do it! I’ll stop! I swear! I’m sorry! Please don’t spit on me!”
And in that moment, an ironic idea came to Alex. “Then prove it, pick up the cigar, cut it, put it in my mouth and light it.”
The smug smiles had now reversed.
“Fine! Fine!” Jones exclaimed, scrambling to pick up the items. His hands shook so violently he fumbled the cutter into Alex’s lap.
“Whoa, I didn’t say anything about a happy ending,” Alex joked as Jones grabbed at the cutter.
“There, I-I did what you asked,” Jones said, gently placing the cigar into Alex’s mouth.
“Nah-uh,” replied Alex. He used his eyebrow to motion to the lighter on the ground.
“I can’t reach it. You have to let me go.”
Against his better judgment, Alex released his hold over Jones, and the multibillionaire fell backward on his butt. Just when it looked as though Jones was going to scurry away and leave Alex without a light, he picked up the lighter. But in an act of spite, Jones put the lighter in Alex’s hand and said, “Light it yourself, prick.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Alex called out to a fleeing Jones. “Thanks buddy!”
Jones was already out the hangar door, creating as much separation as possible.
Alex chuckled as he lit the end of the cigar. After a few quick drags, the nicotine hit him fast. He wasn’t sure if it was the lightheadedness, stage of viral progression, loneliness, or what prompted it, but he started thinking about his life and the pleasures in it: family, friends, the cigar, places traveled to, serving a purpose, and bringing those responsible to justice.
Then his thoughts saddened and brought him to a place he had not been in a long time.
God, I don’t wanna die,he prayed, looking up at the ceiling. I want to see Steve again. I wanna hold Lisa. I want-
But a loud shriek and cry for help interrupted the prayer.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, then called out, “Jones! Jones! What’s wrong?”
But there was no reply.
Instinctively, Alex writhed to free his hands, but it was no use. “Jones!” Alex shouted again, but still nothing. Alex looked around the room at anything that could free him, but he was too far from the tool kit, too far from anything. Even the machete that hung from his hip was unreachable.
As his eyes moved up from the blade handle, they caught the object of his liberation: the lighter.
“This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” he grumbled. “Jones, you better be in serious trouble.”
Rather than ditch the cigar, Alex lodged it in the corner of his mouth, then turned the lighter inward and ignited the torch. After a moment, the direct flame caused the silver tape to bubble. He fought through the burn to his forearm, pausing only when the pain was unbearable.
“Come on, almost there,” he repeated, clenching his teeth so hard it severed the tobacco and the cigar fell from his mouth, landing in his crotch.
At last, he muscled his way through the remainder of the tape and brushed away the cigar before it could burn through his pants. “Damnit to hell that hurt!”
He rubbed the first degree burns but wasted no time. Moments later, he was at the side door of the hangar, gun drawn.
“Jones,” he hissed, but still no answer.
&n
bsp; Alex spotted three sets of boot tracks that ended at a pair of tire tracks.West, Travis and Clint. That’s the Ford Escape. Come on, Jones where’d you go? he thought, looking to the left.
Leading down the backside of the hangars were another set of tracks.
Alex rushed over to them and dropped to a knee. He dragged his fingers over the light snow and thought,This one looks like Jones, but these look like shuffling...infected!
Alex sniffed the air and despite the frigid cold, his nose confirmed it too; death and decay. Keeping quiet, Alex followed the tracks down the back alley. Three hangars over, the trail veered left in between two hangars ending at a side door.
Alex braced his back against the metal housing. “Shit, no flashlight,” he said, grabbing his pockets. “Screw it,” he mumbled before ducking inside the partially open door.
After clearing his corners, Alex crept further into the hangar. The interior was dark, but despite the low lighting, Alex could make out a small jet and a single engine airplane.
Engines exposed and mechanical parts littering the floor beneath them, both aircraft appeared to have been receiving maintenance work before being left forever incomplete.
Alex tiptoed around the parts, and as much as he wanted to call out, he held his tongue. But his silence wasn’t destined to last. As he looked down to follow the wet shoe prints, his hip accidentally hit the end of a wrench and sent it spinning to the ground.
“Shit,” he whispered, standing completely still.
But the loud clanking did not go unnoticed, and from his backside, Alex heard a gargled moan before being tackled. The impact into the concrete floor knocked the wind from his lungs and the gun from his hands too.
Alex’s body rolled over a hammer, an oil can, and several other uncomfortable objects, before settling next to the front wheel of the propeller plane.
“Get off me!” Alex shouted, wrestling with the infect man.
The bald man’s cut up face and a lack of skin covering his nose and cheek made him appear even more vicious. Still, Alex held back Baldy’s arms and dodged multiple bites.
The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side Page 34
