“That seat didn’t feel very heavy!” he said.
“It was lighter than I thought,” admitted Chang.
“Shit,” said Larsen, shaking his head. “Just go! Get us moving toward the tarmac!”
Chang got them moving again, turning the aircraft onto the concrete hangar skirt. Before they reached the southern end of the hangar, the aircraft shook, followed by a blinding flash. He slowed the plane, afraid to make the turn toward the tarmac.
“What are you doing?” said Larsen.
“I don’t think this is going to work!”
“Too late for cold feet, Chang! Get us to the taxiway,” said Larsen, squeezing between the middle row of seats.
Chang gave the throttle a big push, swinging them through the turn. When they straightened on the southern skirt, bright orange flames reflected off the silhouettes of the few aircraft still on the ground. In the sky just above the refueling point, a few more yellow reflections rose to escape the inferno Larsen had unleashed.
“Hug the left side of the tarmac,” said Larsen.
“That’s closer to the fire!”
“I know it is, but all the soldiers are moving away from the fire. We don’t want to run into the middle of them.”
He scanned the brightly lit tarmac ahead, seeing dozens of soldiers either lying flat on the deck or scurrying to the right. A few of them fired their rifles in the direction of the cornfield hiding the rest of his group. Larsen talked excitedly into his headset.
“David, what’s your status?” said Larsen. “Did you take out their MMS?”
Chang couldn’t make much out of the conversation. He moved the aircraft forward as fast as he dared, easing it to the left side of the hangar skirt. Something struck the glass in front of him, putting a small hole in the windshield. Another hole appeared several inches above his head, snapping through the cabin. A quick shower of sparks flew off the propeller directly ahead of him, followed by several deep thumps against the airframe.
“They’re shooting at us!” said Chang.
“Keep going!” said Larsen.
He glanced into the rear compartment for a moment, seeing Larsen kneeling on the deck, his rifle firing rapidly through the open clamshell door.
Chapter Fifty-One
David kept the M1-A1 scope’s crosshair fixed on the leftmost Kiowa’s mast-mounted sight as his son counted down the seconds. When his son yelled, “Three,” he pressed the trigger, keeping the rifle tight into his shoulder. The second bullet was on its way a few moments after that. He heard the words both shots on target after firing the third bullet at the same aim point.
Shifting to the second Kiowa, he managed to find the sensor ball before the fuel bladders exploded. The heat hit him first, his face and hands instantly warming from the light released by the blast. The sound and blast wave struck simultaneously, pounding his eardrums and shaking the cornstalks around him. A second wave of heat produced by the exploded fuel hit next, leaving him wondering if Larsen hadn’t miscalculated the size and magnitude of the explosion. Before David could react to this thought, the heat and blast passed, leaving a massive fireball rising into the sky behind the few remaining helicopters.
David fired three rapid shots at the second helicopter sensor and backed up a few feet into the cornstalks. Several bullets followed him, passing through the thick foliage above his head. He crawled to his right, keeping low as bullets snapped overhead, and came to a new firing position halfway between his old spot and the runway side of the cornfield. His son was deeper in the cornfield, already making his way to the Harpers. Bullets snapping inches above his head, he wiggled forward, catching a glimpse of the plane racing toward the tarmac. There was only one way out of here now, and his job was to make sure it got through intact.
He scanned the refueling point, seeing most of the soldiers lying flat on the concrete. The few firing in his direction had shifted their attention to the approaching plane. He sighted in on one of them, applying pressure to the trigger, when the soldier suddenly lurched backward. The next soldier David found spun in a circle and dropped to the ground before he even thought of pulling the trigger. Larsen was making quick work of the few soldiers threatening the aircraft. All the better. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
The plane reached the tarmac just as the Kiowas lifted off, their refueling crews scrambling for cover and firing at the Cessna. Larsen’s gunfire pressed them to the earth in front of the concrete, preventing them from shooting accurately at the passing plane. In the upper corner of David’s scope, a backlit figure emerged, kneeling with a rifle. The soldier was in full combat gear, which meant he was a member of the security team. He adjusted his view, placing the crosshair in the center of the soldier’s chest, willing him to lie down. It wasn’t going to happen, so he removed most of the pressure on the trigger and waited.
At the first sign of a muzzle flash from the soldier’s rifle, the M1-A1 bit into David’s shoulder. He knew it was a clean shot as soon as the trigger broke. Center mass. All he could do at this point was hope the soldier’s chest plate performed as advertised, and that the shot hadn’t hit a soft spot adjacent to the armor. When he brought the sight picture back to the soldier, the man lay flat on his back, his arms wrapped around his chest. He’d shot an American soldier. David felt like throwing the rifle away and charging the tarmac unarmed—accepting swift retribution for his unforgiveable act. Instead, he thought about his greater responsibility to Joshua and searched for more targets. Mercifully, he found none, and the plane reached the long taxiway parallel to the runway in one piece.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Jack Harper lay frozen on the ground, shielding Emma from what he could only assume were bullets snapping above them through the corn plants. One crack after another—the intensity increasing as David Olson ran in their direction.
“Let’s go! Down to the runway!” screamed David. “They made it!”
Jack lifted his body up far enough to see that it was true. In the early dawn twilight, he spotted the white plane turning off the tarmac—onto the taxiway. The hiss of a bullet inches from his head sent him back to the ground. As David had explained, the cornfield was on slightly higher ground, and if they lay flat, about twenty feet back from the northern edge, there was no way a bullet could hit them.
“Come on!” said David, grabbing his backpack and trying to pull him to his feet. “You can’t stay here.”
“We need to stay down,” said Jack.
“You can’t crawl to the plane,” said David, kneeling next to him, the bullets somehow missing the police officer. “Jack, Emma, get the fuck up and get moving.”
“I can’t,” said Jack.
He really couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t make his arms and legs work.
“Emma?” said David. “I need you to follow me.”
“She can’t,” said Jack.
“The hell she can’t,” said David before jumping over them and pulling his wife to her feet. “Run! Now!”
Emma grabbed Jack’s hand, bullets striking the leaves and stalks around her, and tugged at his arm. He suddenly found himself free of the paralyzing fear, running with her toward the taxiway. Glancing toward the approaching plane, he saw a screen of white smoke wash across the tarmac, obscuring the airfield complex. The volume of gunfire snapping above and between them nearly stopped, convincing Jack that they were going to make it. He ran as fast as he could with the backpack, his legs finally reaching their stride.
They reached David and his son at the edge of the taxiway as the plane pulled up, the gunfire increasing again. Larsen jumped out of the rear door, pulling open both hatches to expose front-facing passenger seats and a spacious rear cargo area.
“Harpers in the seats! David and son in the back!” said Larsen. “Drop your packs. We can’t take off with the weight.”
“What?” said Jack.
“No time to explain. Leave the packs behind. Everyone,” said Larsen, pulling
a small cylinder out of a pouch on his vest and throwing it behind the plane.
The cylinder exploded into a white cloud of smoke, which hung in place for a moment and started to drift left.
“Five seconds! Five fucking seconds and we’re gone!” yelled Larsen.
Jack dumped his pack on the taxiway next to his wife’s and helped her board the plane. The Olsons piled on board with their cache of weapons, and Larsen shut the rear doors before making his way to the copilot seat.
“Go! Go!” yelled Larsen, shutting his door.
The aircraft lurched forward, picking up speed as the cornfield raced by on their right. He felt the plane try to lift skyward twice, the plane vibrating with the fully throttled engine, but they never left the ground for more than a moment. Larsen pounded the cockpit dashboard, cursing wildly. Chang shook his head, yelling back at him. When the plane started to slow, Jack knew what was wrong. They were too heavy. David Olson appeared between them, grabbing Larsen’s shoulder.
“What the hell is wrong?” said David.
“We’re too heavy!” said Larsen. “Too fucking heavy.”
“How far off are we?” said David.
“We’re not far,” said Chang. “She wanted to lift off. I mean, I can force it, but I have no idea what’ll happen in the air.”
Larsen threw up his hands. “Wait! Wait! So you can actually take off right now?”
“We’re above the maximum takeoff weight,” said Chang. “But it can be done. I just don’t recommend—”
“Dr. Chang,” said Larsen, suddenly calm, “get us off the ground, please. I don’t care about the unknowns up there, but I know what’s going to happen down here—if we don’t get in the air really soon. Can you do that?”
Jack squeezed Emma’s hand as the plane throttled forward again, picking up speed. This time, there was no bounce or soft takeoff attempts. The aircraft wrenched skyward, pressing him into his seat. Behind him, David and Joshua Olson slid across the cargo compartment, hitting the back with a thud. After several seconds of a steep climb, the plane leveled off, momentarily hanging there before banking slowly to the right. Chang was taking them north.
“Stay clear of the airfield,” said Larsen. “And get as low as possible.”
The aircraft descended at a reasonable rate, settling in about a hundred feet above the clearly visible treetops. The sun was about ten minutes from rising above the horizon.
“Can you get lower?” said Larsen. “I don’t want to make it easy for their helicopters. You can fly without night vision now.”
Chang flipped up the goggles.
“I’ll give you another fifty feet,” said Chang. “But that’s it.”
Jack looked at Emma, who barely managed to nod at him, her hand clamped over his as Chang took them closer to the trees. A two-lane, east-west road appeared directly ahead of them, quickly passing beneath the aircraft. They were out of the quarantine zone.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chang frantically tried to focus on his instruments and scan the airspace ahead of the plane, still unable to see clearly enough to pick out approaching hazards mixed in with the trees. He didn’t remember any in the area, but he never flew this low around here except on final approach to the airport, so he wouldn’t have paid much attention. A cell phone tower he hadn’t noticed before would put an end to their trip really quickly.
Larsen was busy scanning the skies above and around them for helicopters. He had been especially worried about the smaller helicopters because of their surveillance pods and forward-mounted guns. Chang didn’t know much about military helicopters, but Larsen had assured him that they posed a serious threat. They could fly as fast as the Cessna, and the pilots could turn them on a dime. As if reading Chang’s mind, Larsen turned in his seat.
“You got both Kiowas?” he yelled to David.
“Good hits on both!” said David. “At least three bullets per mast.”
“I hope so,” muttered Larsen, going back to work looking for threats.
Chang detected a significant change to the ground illumination several hundred yards ahead of them, momentarily thinking he had drifted toward the eastern horizon. He knew he hadn’t, seeing the long line of bright blue sky in his peripheral vision and quickly confirming his northerly heading with a glance at his instruments. Something big was coming up, lit up like a football field.
“What is that?” said Jack Harper.
Before anyone responded to Jack’s question, the treetops came to an end, and they passed over a sprawling, brightly lit complex of tents and military vehicles. Chang instinctively pulled up on the yoke, wanting to put some space between the aircraft and this new facility. His instinct saved their lives. The left wing passed several feet over the top of an unlit radio tower mast. Larsen grabbed his shoulder as the top of the tower flew by, sharing a quick, knowing glance with him.
A few seconds later, their world went dark again, the ground and horizon ahead of them lit by rapidly approaching dawn.
“What the hell was that?” said David.
“Looked like a military base or something,” said Jack.
“With guard towers?” said Larsen.
“I didn’t see any guard towers,” said Jack.
“I did,” said Emma.
“So did I,” added Chang. “I don’t think that was a military base.”
“Well, whatever it is, we don’t have to worry about it,” said David. “How fast does your plane fly?”
“Cruising speed of about one hundred and forty knots,” said Chang.
“What is that in miles per hour?” said David.
“About one sixty,” replied Chang.
“I think you should bring us a little lower,” said Larsen, glancing nervously out of the windows.
“I’d rather not risk—”
A long burst of red tracers zipped in front of the plane, missing the nose by several feet. Larsen pushed the copilot yoke forward, sending them into a dive, which Chang fought against by pulling back on his yoke. The result was a momentary drop in altitude, which dodged the next burst of tracers. The bright red line of tracers passed directly above the cockpit. Pandemonium broke out in the cabin behind them—a combination of screams and cursing.
“Get us lower!” yelled Larsen.
“This is it!” said Chang. “Any lower, and we’ll hit the trees.”
“Then start some evasive maneuvering!”
He pulled the aircraft into a steep climb, rolling to the right as a torrent of red-hot steel passed beneath them, several of the bullets catching the bottom of the airframe. Blood splattered against the inside of the cockpit windshield and Emma screamed, but Chang was too focused on the maneuver to figure out who had been hit. Judging by Larsen’s sudden expletive-laced tirade, Chang figured it had been him.
Chang rapidly gained several hundred feet of altitude, hoping to buy some time. Unlike an airplane, a helicopter couldn’t drastically change the vertical angle of its airframe. By climbing quickly, the helicopter would be forced to rise to his altitude to fire again. The helicopter wasn’t designed to dogfight, and Chang planned to take advantage of that fact. When he reached eight hundred feet, he rolled the aircraft left, searching for the helicopter.
He found the Kiowa doing exactly what he suspected: gaining altitude. The pilot would likely fly the helicopter a few hundred feet above the Cessna’s altitude and circle back to re-attack. Chang straightened the aircraft on a due north heading and considered his options. He didn’t know the range of the Kiowa’s guns, but decided his best strategy would be to put as much distance between the two aircraft as possible and head in one direction, changing altitude frequently. He understood enough about helicopters to know that the Kiowa would have to trade more speed to climb than the Cessna. Both aircraft could drop altitude and maintain speed. If he did this enough times, the Kiowa would fall far enough behind to render the chase pointless. That was the theory anyway.
“David,” yelled Chang over his shoulder.
“Yeah!”
“Keep an eye out of the back window,” said Chang. “The second you see those tracers again, I need to know.”
“Got it,” said David. “Does that mean you’re going to do something drastic?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t have seats back here,” said David.
“I know. Sorry,” said Chang, briefly turning his attention to Larsen, who had become uncharacteristically quiet.
The top of Larsen’s right leg was covered with a yellow powder, a wide bandage pressed to the leg.
“How bad is it?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Larsen grimly. “I’ll be fine. Just need to wrap this up properly.”
“Tracers! They’re shooting.” yelled David.
Chang immediately put the plane into a sharp dive, the red tracers passing at least a hundred feet above them. He could do this all day, or until they ran out of fuel, which would be hours after the Kiowa had to turn around. That was another advantage of the Cessna.
“Seems like a reasonable plan,” said Larsen. “Until the second one—oh, shit.”
“What?” said Chang, immediately seeing the problem.
Four helicopters approached from the north, their black shapes barely visible on the distant horizon.
“Anyone have binoculars handy?” said Larsen.
Jack passed a small pair forward, which Larsen pressed to his face.
“Turn us around,” said Larsen, followed by another round of expletives.
“Back toward the Kiowa?”
“Take us high above it, then hug the ground heading due south,” said Larsen. “One of the helicopters out there is an Apache.”
“Shit,” he heard from the back of the plane.
HOT ZONE: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 1) Page 31
