HOT ZONE: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 1)

by Steven Konkoly

  “This is turning into a cluster fuck, Larsen,” said David.

  “I told you it was fifty-fifty,” said Larsen.

  David shook his head. It was looking more like twenty-eighty—not in their favor.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Larsen knocked on the pilot’s window, getting Chang’s attention. He signaled for Chang to kill the engine, and waited for him to shut down the aircraft. When the engine went silent and Chang opened the pilot’s door, Larsen took a moment to adjust the scientist’s helmet and night-vision goggles for a tight fit. Satisfied everything would stay in place for the escape, he patted Chang on the shoulder.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” said Larsen. “If something goes wrong out there, David and the others will hike to the edge of the cornfield in front of the hangar. Shut the door and hide out until they get there. You’ll have to walk out of the quarantine zone.”

  “How will I know if something goes wrong?” said Chang.

  “You’ll know,” said Larsen, walking backward. “If the fuel bladder goes up before I get back, don’t wait for me. Taxi out of here and follow the plan.”

  “Wait!”

  Larsen stopped, startled by Chang’s tone. “What?”

  “We have to remove the rear set of seats,” said Chang. “Theoretically, I can only take off with another seven hundred pounds. Even if we stripped off most of our personal gear, my guess is that we’re pushing a thousand.”

  “I’m not interested in the theoretical at the moment, Dr. Chang. Can you take off with a thousand pounds?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chang.

  “This would have been nice to know a little earlier,” said Larsen. “You know, during the planning phase. Can you remove the seats by yourself? I’m on a bit of a timeline here.”

  “I’ve never done it before,” said Chang.

  “That’s your only fucking mission right now. Understand?” said Larsen.

  Chang nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Larsen didn’t like the sound of that. He returned to the aircraft and opened the clamshell-type cargo door on the right side of the aircraft, pulling both doors wide open. He studied the bolting that held the seats in place, shaking his head.

  “Figure it out, or we’re leaving the rest of them behind,” said Larsen.

  Chang stared at him with disbelief.

  “I’m not even close to kidding. You’re too important.”

  “I won’t fly us out of here if you leave them behind,” said Chang.

  “Then figure out how to fucking remove these seats,” said Larsen. “I need to go.”

  Larsen dashed out of the hangar, hugging a lengthy row of hangar bay doors. When he reached the end, he peeked around the corner, scanning for any sentries that they might have missed from the cornfield. Finding the monochromatic green image clear of obvious threats, he jogged down the short end of the hangar and stopped again, surveying the area ahead of him.

  The southern end of the long taxiway separating the western hangars from the main aviation complex would bring him to the three-story hangar. He’d have to cross roughly a football field of open ground to get there, briefly exposing himself to the small group of sentries standing between the fuel bladders and the tarmac, but the risk would be worth the gain.

  Larsen took off diagonally across the taxiway, keeping his speed just below an all-out sprint. He needed a little something left in him when he reached the big hangar. Halfway across the taxiway, he heard a distinct change in rotor pitch coming from the tarmac. It was a deeper tone, giving him hope that it was one of the Black Hawks. They really needed to blind the Kiowas before attempting their escape.

  “Larsen, one of the Black Hawks is airborne. Heading right toward us,” said David over the radio net.

  “They won’t see you,” said Larsen. “What’s happening with the Kiowas?”

  “Nothing. Looks like they’re disengaging fuel lines from another Black Hawk.”

  “Good. I’m almost at the big hangar. Is the sentry still inside?”

  “I would have told you if he wasn’t,” said David.

  Larsen didn’t respond immediately, because he didn’t see a side entrance on the northern side of the hangar, where he could remain unobserved from the tarmac. The entire western side was a two-story, closed hangar bay door. He reached the corner and kneeled, catching his breath.

  “What door did the sentry go in?” said Larsen.

  “Small glass door at the northeast corner of the hangar,” said David.

  “Got it. You’re going to see me peeking around that corner in about twenty seconds,” said Larsen. “I need you to watch the sentries and give me a green light when I’m clear.”

  “Copy that,” said David.

  Jogging as close as possible to the corrugated metal side of the hangar, Larsen came up on a twenty-foot-long, floor-to-ceiling bank of windows, which formed the corner of the building. He peeked inside, seeing an open lobby leading into the main hangar. Through a similar glass wall on the opposite facing side of the corner, he had a clear view of the sentry team guarding the fuel bladders beyond the tarmac. There was no way he was going in the front door. It didn’t matter how good of a job David did—they couldn’t miss him if they glanced in this direction.

  “Change of plans,” said Larsen. “I’m taking a more direct route. Let me know if anyone reacts.”

  He backed up a few feet from the first window panel and fired three suppressed bullets through the glass, shattering the door-sized piece in place. Using the stock of his rifle, he cleared enough of the panel to step inside the lobby.

  “Give me a few seconds heads-up,” said David.

  “It’s already done,” he whispered.

  “Then it looks like you’re clear,” replied David.

  A quick glance around revealed the bathroom signs. Larsen drew the Taser from the holster next to his pistol and disengaged the safety switch, heading for the men’s room. If the sentry popped out of the door right now, he was in trouble. A full kit of body armor didn’t leave a lot of unprotected area for the Taser’s probes to penetrate, and the Taser itself wasn’t exactly what he’d call a precision device. He’d be better off firing his rifle center mass and praying that the ceramic armor plate did its job, allowing him to get close enough to fire the Taser at a limb.

  The mental exercise turned out to be academic, since the door remained closed during his approach. He paused outside for a moment, rehearsing what he planned to do for each possible scenario in the bathroom. When the door squeaked on its hinges, the soldier immediately reacted.

  “Hello?”

  “Jesus. How long do you plan on sitting in here?” said Larsen, observing two feet under the single stall.

  “I just called you, motherfucker! Got the shits from the jalapeno cheese spread you pawned off on me,” said the soldier. “How long has that been sitting in your pack?”

  The tiny bathroom smelled like Montezuma had already gotten his revenge. Larsen fought the urge to gag as he walked up on the stall.

  “Breene? Is that you?”

  Larsen kicked the stall door as hard as he could, knocking it open to reveal a young soldier in full combat gear—standing with his pants down. He aimed at one of the soldier’s pale legs and triggered the Taser, dropping him to the tile deck in front of the toilet. A few minutes later, he had the guy hog-tied and gagged on the floor. A messy affair he would not soon forget. With the soldier’s rifle in hand, he bolted out of the bathroom, gulping the hangar air.

  A quick check of the sentry team’s location relative to the fuel bladders reinvigorated his hope that the plan would work. His side of the plan. If Chang didn’t figure out how to drop some weight from the plane, they were all screwed. With that cheery thought in mind, he rearranged his sling so the compact HK416 hung from his back, somewhat out of sight. He’d carry the soldier’s M4 onto the tarmac, giving the soldiers out there one less thing to notice when he strolled toward the bladders.
r />   “David, I’m coming out now.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  David Olson watched in disbelief when Larsen opened the glass door and stepped onto the tarmac, standing there for a few seconds to look around—like he owned the damn place!

  “Get your ass moving, Larsen,” hissed David. “You don’t look anything like any of those soldiers, except for the rifle.”

  “That bad?” said Larsen.

  “That bad. Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it and get out of there.”

  Larsen started walking toward the bladders, moving slowly and purposefully like a sentry.

  “This was your plan?” said David.

  “I can’t throw that far,” said Larsen.

  “I could have told you that.”

  He couldn’t believe this. Larsen thought he could impersonate one of the sentries and just stroll up to the bladders? Did he think they were blind? David decided they were getting the hell out of here. He’d grab the Harpers, too, unless they wanted to stick around for this madness. He started to move when his son nudged him.

  “Are you seeing this?” said Joshua. “It’s like he’s invisible.”

  David put his eye behind the scope, finding Larsen’s dark figure at the northern edge of the tarmac, walking straight for the fuel bladders. The four soldiers standing a few hundred feet away acted like he was—invisible. He’d barely finished the thought when one of the soldiers glanced in Larsen’s direction, pausing long enough to note his presence before turning back to the group. Like nothing was wrong! Jesus. Even without night vision he could tell it wasn’t the same soldier that went into the hangar.

  “That’s some serious magic,” said David over the radio net. “I’d do what you need to do before it runs out.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t think it would work either,” said Larsen. “Think I should walk the rest of the way or use my centerfield arm?”

  A light blue strip stretched across the eastern horizon, tinged with orange. In about fifteen minutes, the soldiers down there would ditch their night-vision gear.

  “Use the arm,” said David. “We don’t have much time left.”

  “I set the timers for two minutes,” said Larsen. “Once I throw these, I’m hauling ass out of here.”

  “What? You start running, and this invisible act is over.”

  “All part of the plan,” said Larsen.

  “I’m beginning to suspect that you’re just making this up as you go along.”

  “You wouldn’t be entirely wrong,” said Larsen. “I need to focus here. See you in a few minutes.”

  “God speed, man,” said David, turning to his son. “Keep a close eye on the four soldiers and Larsen. He’s about to do his thing. Don’t be surprised if Larsen starts hauling ass.”

  “In the open?”

  “That’s what he said,” said David.

  “What if they shoot him?” said Joshua.

  “Then we have a decision to make. Do we stay, or do we go?” said David.

  His son remained silent, and David saw why. Larsen cocked his arm, took several running steps in the direction of the bladders and threw the explosive device like he was trying to chase down a runner headed for home plate. He repeated the process, throwing another one toward a different part of the bladder field before turning and walking casually toward the nearest hangar.

  “Any reaction?” said David.

  “No. They weren’t watching him.”

  “Start the timer on your watch for two minutes,” said David.

  “Yep,” said his son, who put his binoculars down to mess with his watch.

  David turned toward the Harpers, who were lying in the cornfield, next to the edge facing the runway.

  “Two minutes until the fuel explodes,” he yelled to them.

  Jack Harper responded immediately. “Something’s wrong down there!”

  Joshua scrambled to get his binoculars back up while David sighted in on the tarmac. Two of the soldiers ran toward Larsen, who was in a full sprint now, while the other two soldiers were headed toward the fuel bladders.

  “You attracted some attention,” said David over the radio net.

  “No shit,” said Larsen, his words coming in garbled. “Part of the plan.”

  “Half the soldiers are headed toward the fuel,” said David.

  He saw Larsen slow down long enough to look toward the bladder farm before speeding up again. David didn’t like his response.

  “I need you to sort this out,” said Larsen, breathing heavily over the radio. “I have to focus on Chang.”

  “There isn’t going to be an escape if they find the explosives,” said David.

  “Then do something!” screamed Larsen. “Quit dissecting the problem and solve it! You’re a cop and a Marine! Larsen out.”

  And just like that, David could no longer fool himself into thinking there would be any easy way out of this. He sighted in on the two soldiers jogging toward the fuel farm.

  “Josh, what’s happening with the helicopters and the refueling crew?”

  “They’re starting to pull the hoses,” said his son.

  “All of them, or just a few?”

  “Hold on…hold on,” said Josh.

  “I need to know!”

  “All of them,” said Josh. “It’s looking frantic down there.”

  He panned over to the soldiers following Larsen, who had already disappeared through the hangars. They barreled in the same direction at full speed, leading with their weapons. The entire airfield was on full alert at this point.

  “Jack and Emma!” said David. “Get back from the edge of the cornfield. Fifty feet minimum! Be ready to run for the plane!”

  While the Harpers responded, he turned to Joshua. “You too. We’re gonna take some fire here. I don’t see a way to avoid it.”

  “I’m staying,” said Joshua.

  “You’re going,” said David. “I don’t have time to argue.”

  “You need me to spot for you,” said Joshua.

  “Move away from me, then,” said David. “And leave the suppressed rifle. Hurry up!”

  Larsen had left the other compact HK416 with them. Now David understood why. Larsen knew this would go to shit fast. When his son had settled into the new position, David grabbed the HK416 and searched through the ACOG scope for the soldiers near the fuel bladders. He found their dark forms a moment later. They were almost there.

  “How much time has elapsed?” said David.

  “Fifty-eight seconds!” yelled his son.

  A lot could happen in a minute. Time to start shaping the little time they had left. He centered the ACOG’s illuminated green reticle to the right of the soldiers and pressed the trigger. The rifle bit into his shoulder harder than he expected, probably due to the shortened barrel and lighter weight of the rifle. By the time he got the scope back on target, the two soldiers had stopped.

  “What are you shooting at?” yelled Joshua.

  He fired another bullet, this one a little closer.

  “Are you firing at the soldiers?”

  “I’m trying to get them away from the fuel!” he yelled, finding the soldiers again.

  They were already headed toward the buildings a few hundred feet away. He fired two more shots immediately behind them, reinforcing their decision to seek cover. There was nothing they could do in the open, and they knew it.

  “What’s happening with the rest of the security team?” said David.

  He figured they’d heard the bullets snap overhead and were frantically trying to determine the source of gunfire. They wouldn’t have much luck. The sizable suppressor attached to the HK416 quieted the muzzle blast to a point where the actual supersonic crack of the bullet was louder. The soldiers on the tarmac would likely perceive that the bullet came from a different direction.

  “They’re looking all over,” said Joshua.

  “Move back a little bit. Slowly,” said David. “Watch for anyone aiming in our direction.”

/>   With the soldiers running away from the fuel bladder and the rest of the security team confused, David switched rifles. His next rounds wouldn’t be so discreet. Without a suppressor, the .308 cartridge fired by his M1-A1 would sound like a cannon and produce a muzzle flash easily visible from the tarmac. Hopefully, the soldiers would be too preoccupied by the fuel explosion behind them to take notice.

  Chapter Fifty

  Chang pulled the rear bench with every bit of strength he had, finally dislodging it. He’d found the quick release mechanism soon after Larsen left, but it was clearly a job designed for two people. Every time he released the catch holding one side of the bench in place, and let go of it to yank the seat clear, the latch sprang back into place, locking it down again. That had gone on far longer than he cared to admit.

  In the end, he’d resorted to using some of the paracord in his backpack to pull the levers into the open position and tie them securely to the seatbelt loops above. With the levers open, he was able to pull the bench loose and wrestle it out of the aircraft. He’d just dropped it to the hangar’s concrete floor when Larsen appeared in front of the open bay door.

  “Hallelujah, Chang! I knew you could do it!” said Larsen, ducking inside the hangar. “Get her started. We have about twenty seconds until the fuel blows!”

  Twenty seconds? It would take them at least that long to get out of the hangar! Larsen stayed next to the side of the bay door, pointing his rifle in the direction he’d come, giving Chang the distinct impression that something had gone wrong at the tarmac. He shoved the seat clear of the aircraft and climbed through the rear cabin to reach the pilot’s seat. Two snaps drew his attention to Larsen, who took a few steps outside the hangar and kneeled, his rifle kicking into his shoulder twice, followed by two more cracks no louder than a mousetrap. Chang turned the ignition key to START, the engine catching immediately. He switched the key to BOTH and motioned for Larsen to get out of the way.

  When Larsen was clear, he throttled up, bringing the Cessna halfway out of the hangar. As soon as the aircraft cockpit cleared the opening, Chang glanced to the right and saw two figures on the ground at the end of the hangar building. One of them appeared to be pulling the other toward the corner. Larsen ran into the hangar and pushed the bench seat with his foot, returning a moment later through the cargo compartment doors. He closed the front clamshell door, leaving the rear one open.