I was sure when the shit hit the fan that it would all blow over. We would be back to doing the same shit we always had...but oh, how quickly that fell through. By the time we hopped the plane, I knew that even if we were successful we couldn't go back to that life ever again. Maybe it was for the best. I couldn't face the idea of leaving home for the tours in the marine corps anymore. Now I doubted that I would want to leave Dad and the rest for any length of time. Was that healthy? Probably not. Still it was the mindset I had at the time. Staying alert made seeing the new areas, though this was only my second time leaving West Virginia, difficult. When we went to Fort Belvoir, I saw all sorts of things. Beautiful flowers, so many cars...the inside of the tank.
Okay, who the heck was I kidding. I saw the inside of the tank and the base. That was part of it. Dad—and everyone else—tried to protect me. It meant that I was often unable to do more than stand around and be ignored.
The plane was at least interesting. We drove around to the private area of the airport where the jets were kept. Dad quickly chose one and got us right up to it. We had to climb up to it, and thankfully, the tank was taller than most vehicles. Tara killed the three walkers that were inside, and we all loaded up into the jet. Dad did a quick check of the systems, verified we had the maximum amount of fuel, took the pilot’s seat, and yelled for all of us to buckle in. Jacob and I just grinned at each other. I was fairly sure that Tara snickered and Lizzie just sighed.
We had already secured ourselves and were now just trying to ignore the stench of rot that permeated the passenger section. Apparently, the crew passed on before they had the chance to clean up after the last flight. Food had been sitting out rotting on the trays since who knew when. This created an obnoxious odor that lingered right at head level. Everyone, except Lizzie, was holding their noses.
She was slightly green and scratching about trying to find the airsick bags. Seeing her like this only reinforced the idea that I didn’t want kids. Mom was amazing. She somehow knew what to do when we had issues. She knew when I was getting into shit and managed to be everywhere at once. That would never be me. I was absentminded and job oriented. I was looking forward to the time for experimental projects...I nearly had the equation for a true hover vehicle. At least I thought I did. I wanted to be the one who made the first true hover car. I even had a project car I had been rebuilding since I was ten with Dad and Jimbo’s help. It was going to be my car when I went to high school.
I snuck another look at Lizzie as my heart was breaking. How would we live without him? I had to fight back the tears, as I didn’t want the others to see me crying. She suddenly seemed so much stronger than she used to. The dead walking took my favorite uncle from us but introduced me to my second-coolest aunt.
Tara slid up into the cockpit to keep Dad company, so I slid over to help Lizzie. I grabbed her a bottle of water from the mini fridge, hoping it would help calm her stomach. She shot me a grateful grin. We both ended up seeing the other better because of the dead walking, and it was a bittersweet realization. Jacob went up and turned on the movie that was loaded into the machine...and groaned. It was a cheesy chick flick from the nineties. It was better than the quiet that could grow maddening if given the chance. He let it play and reclined in his seat.
He was the least annoying of my siblings. I was not like my dad. I was not really close to my siblings. Most of them treated me like I came from Mars. Candy, especially, thought I was weird, and I thought she was a little suck up. She was always doing everything she could to get Mom’s approval. Nobody who had ever seen me could say that about me. I was the first to argue with Dad when I thought he was wrong. I was my own girl. I believed my siblings thought I was strange, but Jacob showed me differently that day.
I decided to see if he wanted a water too, since I was up. He looked so surprised that I was asking. It bothered me that I would be seen as someone so uncaring. “Why the surprised look?”
He chuckled slightly, and before I could spout the hurt that caused, he said, “Because I thought I was invisible to you. You are so confident and strong that sometimes you are slightly intimidating.”
I was stunned. It must have shown on my face, as he suddenly looked worried. “Oh, please tell me you already knew that you are more than most of us can handle? You are the youngest, and you already have your shit together. You don’t take any shit, not even from our parents. You don’t break the rules, yet you don’t take their bullshit either.
“I am twenty-five and I still get shit from both of them. You, at thirteen, get to do whatever you want to do. Because at thirteen you got a good head on your shoulders. You aren’t going to do something that will hurt anyone. You are more likely to save the fucking day!”
I was floored and he was out of breath. We stared at each other for a time. Finally, I stuttered, “I thought you all thought I was weird.” That incited a good laugh out of him.
“And who said weird was a bad thing? I can’t vouch for the others; after all, we were each given brains of our own. Personally, I think you are the best of my siblings. You are the one who depends the least on anyone. You are the one who will survive this the best. And maybe you are the one that I admire the most. Get over it. And give me that water, man, I really need it now.” He laughed as he finished.
Having learned something about my family, and myself, I gave him his water and chose to try to process the bomb he had dropped on me for the remainder of the flight. I had a lot to think of and a long plane ride to do it in.
Lizzie
Watching my brother's children was a flash from the past. Shara was so much like her father, and Jacob was much like me. I remembered a similar fight between Chris and me when he came back from being deployed. He and Tara had always seemed so close. It surprised me to find out that at the time he felt like we thought he was strange.
He blamed it on our father and on gender issues. We overcame the self-esteem issues, and I knew they would. I felt guilt in the idea that there would only be one child in my house. Children should have siblings to have these arguments with. I just couldn't imagine me ever finding anyone like Jimbo. I truly loved him.
From the first time that he rescued me from my brother’s dog to the kiss he gave me before I left on the day he died, the memories of my loving husband flooded my mind.
Sentimental man, he always insisted on kissing me before I left the house. “Anything could happen, and I want our last memory of each other to always be one of love.” I would give that memory away just to have him again. Silly, right?
I plugged my laptop in. I really wanted to be of use this time. I figured we would be several hours on the plane. It would give my laptop enough juice that if I needed it I would have it. When I was packing, I had debated its usefulness, but the weight of it in my backpack made me feel better on the trip.
Honestly, I was doing better this trip all around. My stomach was less of a problem, but it seemed like I was bigger than I would expect to be. I’d have to see if we could swipe an ultrasound machine when we get back. I wondered though if Amara would even know what she was looking at on it. Worry didn’t help the baby, so I put it off.
This much time on a plane left us with a lot of time to wander the corridors of our own thoughts. Too much time. It was its own form of hell. I wanted to peek into the cockpit, but I feared interrupting the concentration of my brother and sister. While I was confident that if they said they could fly the plane that they could...I was also terrified that we were flying with novice pilots. There was a minor bit of the horror movie setup there. I was almost hysterically tempted to ask Jacob if he was writing the script of our lives right now.
Jacob worked for the police department as a day job. When he had free time, one could always find him hidden away with a laptop or some notebooks. He was a writer, but he was too afraid of what people would think to share what he was writing…but I had sneaked a peek. He wrote on-the-edge-of-your-seat horror stories. Details dripped from the page. I really felt li
ke he was wasted as a cop, but I had no say in his life. Hell, I didn’t think that he would even like knowing I had read what he wrote. Chris and Amara’s kids were all so talented. As an aunt, I couldn't be any more proud.
It made me wonder how my own child would be. They grew in a different world than my child would. I only hoped that I was enough to teach my child to survive and still be kind.
Saudi was going to be a challenge. We were going in blind. Our first challenge was to find a couple of vehicles. We needed at least one that could hold the five of us or two vehicles so that we all could fit.
The next challenge was where to go first. We knew where Patient Zero had been to some extent. We had a paper trail on the poor bastard, but it was all third-person details. We needed to be more sure than that. We needed to find the answers quickly.
Our actual destination was Riyadh, the capital of the country of Saudi Arabia. It was my hope that the capital would be easier to navigate. It was also problematic due to the sheer number of people that were normally in such a place. Still, Chris felt that we stood the best chance of solving things this way.
Satellite coverage was clear everywhere except Riyadh. Any time we tried to focus it there, the screen turned red. We at least had a destination, for all that helped. I was concerned with how we would even escape the plane. These creatures seemed to be drawn to noise. Little did I know that Chris had already planned for that.
We were able to see the fueling area from the air, so we could aim our landings better. So we could have less space between the plane and the fuel center. Whenever we landed, Chris did not immediately attach the slide or pull out the ladder. He opened the door and looked out over the mass of walking dead that were starting to surround us. Just as my anxiety was starting to build, he reached into his backpack and started to dig around for stuff.
He pulled out an odd assortment of toys, a radio control drone and a green rectangular box with the words “Screaming Meanie” written across it. I wondered what my brother was up to and was tempted to just ask. In the end though, I decided that asking would only slow things down. He used zip ties to attach the green box to the drone. Once he was satisfied with the hold, he turned and grinned.
“Plug your ears, this alarm is loud. It was made to wake truckers. The packaging claims it can wake the dead. I am about to see if it will attract the dead at the very least!”
I was sure the stare I gave him spoke volumes because he merely shrugged and motioned for us all to stand back. He set the timer function and sent the drone flying. The drone was quiet, and the dead didn’t notice the small craft above them.
Then after it had been flying for nearly five minutes, there was the most awful noise. A screeching, much like a thousand hornets in attack, was so loud that it must have jangled the nerves of everyone for miles.
I was shocked to see the dead turn to look for the sound. Soon they started walking in the direction that my brother was steering the drone.
How did such a simple idea work? There was no intellect behind it. Yet it worked. I had to admit it made me pause and wonder if I had been doing everything wrong. I had always looked for the smart option—the option that took the most thought, the most mental ability.
Yet, here Chris was...using gut instinct, and it worked. In many ways it reminded me of something that one might find in a Sherlock Holmes story. A simple answer that everyone else overlooked. I considered myself to be intellectually on the same level as Sherlock. I admired him, as a character and a hero. At that moment, I found myself at a loss however. I felt like I somehow had failed to keep up.
Not all the dead followed the noise, but enough had that Chris could take out the remainder with a sniper rifle set up for muffled retorts. This truly was his element. This was what he had trained for. Still for the first time, I saw my strong older brother in a true light. He hated this. Though his shots were perfect, his stance had pain etched into every line. Tightness in his jaw and his knees locked. Eyes hard and colder than I had ever seen. I had never truly seen him in his element, or I would have known how much it ate at him.
I had convinced myself that he loved the shooting and the violence. It was part of why I had been having trouble coming to terms with his part in my losing Jimbo. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had convinced myself that he had enjoyed shooting the love of my life.
Man, I was sure a shrink would love this whole damn family. We could keep them in business for years. Five stages of grief, but how many stages of crazy? Catching sight of Shara watching me, I shook myself out of the mental path I had started to meander down.
The fuel stops were different than I had expected. Istanbul we had to deal with zombies, and the living. Sniper on the roof got Jacob in the leg before we knew they were there. Chris took him out before he got a second shot. Most of them went smoothly, but if I never see Istanbul again it may be too soon.
When we finally landed in Riyadh, I was ready. We hopped out of the plane with Chris first and Tara last. Somehow that order kept us safe. I had never been sure of the logic that they used in that, but I also had not been inclined to argue the point.
There was an airport shuttle on this side of the terminal building. Chris declared it perfect for our needs. The shuttle had too many windows for my comfort, but I followed my brother anyway.
After my epiphany earlier that day, I would have followed him into hell and back...in some ways I believed that I did.
Tara
Chris had discussed with me the drone tactic before we left home. He surprised me when he reached out for my advice. I really had not expected such a change in him. Still I thought it brilliant, even as I had to wonder if it would work. The alarm was so much louder than he had described it to me. And far more annoying.
He cleared the dead quicker than I expected. I wondered why he locked his knees as he aimed the weapon. He used to be so much more relaxed when firing his rifle. There was a couple of assignments where we were together—Navy and Marines being cut from the same cloth—though because we were in different branches, it was a rarity.
Technically, Chris was a higher rank than I was. We both were Special Forces, but he had slightly more training than I did. So the few times we were assigned together, it was much like at home, and he took command and I followed along. Those times there was less weight on his rifle than there seemed to be in that plane.
“The rifle is just an extension of your arm. If you don’t want to shoot it, your aim will stink.” I remembered Chris telling me that when we were on assignment to Afganistan. He wanted to kill them or his aim would have been awful, but each shot was starting to weigh on his soul, and it showed.
The thought crossed my mind that since Jimbo this had been the case. He lost his love of the weapon when he had to shoot what remained of our brother. Normally, I would just get him drunk and make him tell me the shit that was clogging his brain. I didn’t have that option now. So, I would watch and hope that my brother was not about to self-destruct.
Lizzie looked like she had seen a ghost, and Shara looked shell-shocked. The only one other than myself who seemed to be paying real attention was Jacob. I wondered what had the girls looking so touched. There were days when I wished I could read minds...then I realized it would mean hearing the random sex thoughts of people I knew, and I was thankful that I couldn’t do it.
Most of the fuel stops were easy, in and out, clean. Istanbul was a nightmare. We thought the area clear, and climbed out looking to fuel. Jacob screamed almost as soon as I heard the crack of the rifle. Chris was in the plane covering us. I heard his rifle retort seconds after the first.
Lizzie hurried over to tend to Jacob. Shara distracted by all of this wasn’t paying close enough attention. She opened the gate to the fuel pump and a creature fell onto her. She only struggled for a minute before the crack of Chris’s rifle was heard again. I hurried over to check her. Thankfully, no bites. We hurried to fuel, not wanting to deal with any other survivors.
When we l
anded in Riyadh, the sky ahead of us was a bright orange red, looking for all the world like the sky itself was on fire. There was the off smell of burning rubber and ash floating heavily on the air. I thought that someone had set the world on fire.
Though the capital had a large population before the shit hit the fan, I found that the walker population seemed to dwindle the close we came to the flame. The dead seemed to be wandering away from the area we were heading into...perhaps that should have been a clue.
We continued into the heart of the city, toward that awful glow. The center was surrounding a large older building, whose markings were worn with the passing of time. I recalled it had been a government building when we were posted here. The artwork carved into the walls always fascinated me. It was very old world and seemed to be gruesome and fiery.
Imagery of creatures of flame covered the inner walls with more images of people being sacrificed to the fire. I remember being horrified by the art and not wanting to go into the building when we were here before. I was less inclined when we were there with the dead and the flames surrounded us.
The wall of flame seemed to cut the building in half. We could easily enter, and from everything we had found, this was where we would find our answers. I found myself looking at the doors in front of me and wondering if I was still wanting to ask the questions.
Chris
I had never been one that believed in psychic bullshit, but as I got closer to the building, I found myself wondering what the dead knew that we did not. The street surrounding the building was empty of anyone except us. The smell of burning rubber and flesh settled over the whole city like a blanket.
It made the whole situation seem like it was straight out of some weird movie. The air was somewhat clouded with ash and residue, and the stench was strong enough to cover the rotting of the dead fucks walking.
Rust, Gore, and The Junkyard Zombie Page 11
