A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  “Good shooting Hicks,” Lopez said, high-fiving the usually reserved crew chief.

  As the wheels seated into the fuselage with a dull clunk Ari pulled pitch and then skimmed the Ghost Hawk over the infinity pool before diving towards the valley floor below.

  Cade glanced out the window and watched as tracer fire probed the night sky then disappeared when the mansion left his line of sight.

  Ari’s voice crackled over the comms. “Before you all start popping the party favors I have some bad news courtesy of First Sergeant Whipper.”

  “What now?” Cade interjected.

  “His tanker pilots have foraged enough fuel to last a week or two... but…”

  “Why is there always a but?” an exasperated Tice asked.

  Continuing, Ari said, “Oilcan Five-Five took off a few minutes ago from Schriever and was going to rendezvous with us near the Utah border, but they had to RTB (return to base) because of a faulty fuel line.”

  Tice chimed in again. “Pretty ironic huh... big old Herc gets grounded because its engines can’t get enough fuel.”

  Shaking his head at Mr. Murphy’s poor sense of humor, Cade asked, “How soon until Whipper has another tanker fueled and wheels up?”

  “That Hercules was the only bird left. The other tankers went back out to suck the tanks dry at Altus AFB in Oklahoma,” Ari said. “I’m going to have words with Whipper when we get back. And odds are Nash knew nothing about it.”

  “Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket,” Tice said bleakly.

  “It’s your fault Spooky,” Lopez said. “You jinxed us Mister What Could Go Wrong?”

  “Bottom line... we’ll need to refuel at the Jackson Airport or chance Grand Junction again,” Ari said, then returned his full attention to his beloved Ghost Hawk.

  ***

  Teton Pass Highway 22 - 3:07 a.m.

  Lu Lu labored to conquer the ten percent grade of the Teton pass highway. Girl’s way past due for a tune up, Daymon told himself for the umpteenth time since the start of summer. Fuckers probably ate my mechanic, he mused.

  Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of loss washed over him as the memories of the past—before the dead began to walk—came flooding back. Would he be able to find someone to take Heidi’s place? No person on the planet could fill her size nines, of that he was certain. He thought about going into his wallet for her picture until he remembered that Cade had it.

  There was always the probability that there might be one or two stray photos back at the house in Driggs. Or at the very least, he thought with a grin, one of the many disposable box cameras that he never got around to having developed. No more one hour photo guarantees—yet one more thing he used to take for granted that was forever altered by the apocalypse.

  Shapes began to materialize from the dark, no thanks to the Scout’s one remaining headlight. The collision with the errant zombie on 189 had broken the driver’s side headlight and Lu Lu’s coolant temperature had been in the red since midway up the pass which led him to believe the truck’s radiator had been punctured.

  The burned out school bus he remembered from his last trip over the Teton pass came into view, its twisted blackened hulk still blocking the highway.

  He stopped in the center of the scorched highway and set the e-brake.

  Where the hell are you Jenkins?

  As if in response to his thought, a shrill buzzing emanated from between the front seats. He snatched up the police radio and then realized that he was hearing the satellite phone.

  “Is that you Sergeant Cade?” he blurted into the handset.

  “Daymon... I’m very sorry,” Cade said, getting right to the point, “we searched the mansion and found no sign of Heidi.”

  Silence.

  Cade went on, “We have Robert Christian. If it’s any consolation he will pay for the atrocities committed by him and his men.”

  “The Bishop guy?” Daymon asked.

  “He squirted like a rat on a sinking ship,” Cade proffered, confirming what Daymon already knew.

  “Thanks for following through—you didn’t have to,” said a morose sounding Daymon.

  “I gave you my word.”

  “That you did,” Daymon intoned. “That you did…”

  Cade grabbed the bulkhead as Ari banked the helo hard to starboard. Once his stomach returned to its normal position he said, “We just overflew a massive herd of dead bearing down on downtown Jackson... where are you?”

  “Teton pass... then home.”

  “After that?”

  “Probably Eden. I miss that old coot Duncan.”

  “That makes two of us. Keep the phone near. Call if you need anything and I’ll help if it’s humanly possible.”

  “No doubt,” Daymon said.

  “Take care and thanks,” were Cade’s parting words.

  Daymon thumbed off the phone and laid on Lu Lu’s horn in frustrated dismay.

  The police radio rang—a more pleasant sound than the sat phone. Daymon hoped the news was going to be better. “Hello.”

  “Get your gear and leave your truck. Do it now and hurry up about it.”

  Daymon did as he was told. He was too tired to argue and too tired to question. Leaving his beloved Lu Lu in the road he trudged around the bus, lugging all of his gear: shotgun, crossbow, Kelty pack, and the sat phone. He noticed the two dead NA soldiers first, and as he stepped over their corpses the gunshot wounds to their faces were impossible to miss.

  Chief Charlie Jenkins exited the Jackson PD Tahoe in his blue JPD uniform. Gone was the all black NA uniform he had been expected to wear. Coming forward he extended an arm to help Daymon with his gear. He took the bow and pack. “I’ll put these in back, best to keep the shotgun close by.”

  Daymon nodded at the corpses and asked, “What happened to these two?”

  “They chose the wrong side. Get in,” Jenkins said as he went around the front of the Chevy.

  Moving slowly, obviously in pain from old injuries, Daymon complied.

  “Look who I found,” Jenkins said, pointing a thumb towards the second row seats.

  Daymon looked over his shoulder and noticed the shock of dirty blonde hair snaking from under a shiny foil space blanket. “Heidi?” he blurted, turning his gaze towards Charlie.

  “I found her at the end of 22—by the crosses.”

  “Alive?”

  “She was hypothermic when I found her draped over the barbed wire. She was smart to take clothes off of the dead. That and the fact that she made herself visible saved her life. She can’t talk...or didn’t want to... her neck looks awful... all black and blue—someone tried to strangle her.”

  Daymon crawled into the back seat, making the blanket crinkle as he edged close to her. “Take us home,” he said. He alternated between gently stroking her hair and wiping his hot tears that seemed to be never ending.

  Chapter 48

  Outbreak - Day 12

  Jackson Hole, Wyoming

  Jackson Hole Airport - 3:10 a.m.

  Cade stowed the sat phone and as he did so caught Lopez looking at him. He shifted his gaze to Tice, saying, “Get your counter out, Spook. Ari, we are going to need a standoff recon of the airport before we go in. See if there are any personnel or Zs we will have to contend with.”

  “Copy that Captain,” Ari said as the elk refuge with the still burning hardware blazed by. He nosed the helo closer to the deck then leveled off and flashed the Delta team a thumbs up.

  Two minutes later Ari parked Jedi One-One in a hover a mile off while Durant operated the FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared) camera. Contained in a dome mounted on a motorized rotating gimbal underneath the helo’s chin, the camera transformed whatever it was trained on into a thermal image. Hot spots, such as engine blocks, exhaust pipes and even a human body glowed white while cold surfaces remained gradient shades of black. To Durant the luminescent scene displayed on the flat screen made the airport and support vehicles look like kids toys. Rendered monochrome a
nd lacking true depth, a phalanx of tractor trailers parked side by side stretched the length of the runway. The Airport Authority’s refueling bowsers, which were high on Ari’s priority list, sat quietly near a grouping of hangars. Several fixed wing aircraft including what looked like a 757 commercial airliner sat idle, blocking the taxiway. The single runway, labeled 19, ran northeast by southwest. Beside it the squat airport built primarily with exposed wood beams and girders sat empty and dark.

  “No real hot spots to speak of except for the vehicles—I estimate forty or fifty in the parking lot east of the airport—and based on their low heat sig they have all been parked for some time,” Durant commented.

  “They didn’t exactly park between the lines,” Tice said with a chuckle.

  “What you have there is a meter maid’s wet dream,” Ari quipped.

  “Sure looks like they left in a hurry,” Hicks added.

  On the floor their prisoner craned his neck and looked up. He appeared to be trying to communicate though the bandanna was still occupying his mouth.

  “Shut up,” Cade hissed as he put a boot on Christian’s face and forced his head down. “You can do all of your singing to the President and her men when we get back to Schriever.”

  After panning the FLIR over the entire airport, zooming in on suspect locations, and then making a second pass for good measure, Durant concluded the airport had been abandoned.

  “Going in gentlemen, two mikes—lock and load,” Ari said.

  “Take us to the semi-trucks first,” Cade ordered.

  “Then we need to top off with JP-8 or we’ll be gliding the last two hundred miles to Schriever.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Tice’s face tightened and he said, “Helos can’t glide.”

  “Duh dumbass... that’s Ari’s point,” Lopez shot back.

  Boys will be boys and even though most of the world had died, apparently old rivalries were alive and well. Cade just hoped that when they got back to Schriever the two men didn’t come to blows. However if they did, he had already decided his money would be on Sergeant First Class (Low-Rider) Lopez, even though the veteran Delta operator was vertically challenged.

  The wheels deployed; seconds later the Gen-3 helicopter flared and Ari settled her down twenty yards from the tractor trailer rigs.

  The door opened and the Delta operators piled out. Then with lasers sweeping the ground in front, the men sprinted to the rear of the nearest rig.

  The Ghost Hawk lifted off with a blast of rotor wash and hovered near silently five hundred feet above the runway.

  Tice strode down the line of trucks, pausing now and again to sweep the Geiger counter around the seals and loading decks of the numerous trailers.

  “Getting any readings?” Cade asked.

  Tice stopped and turned, fully facing the Delta captain. “Nothing. These trucks haven’t been anywhere near a nuke. Nash was right about her bird’s imagery... she just didn’t know what was contained inside.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Tice shrugged off his M4, set the Geiger counter aside and retrieved the miniature bolt cutters, and with an awful impersonation of Bob Barker said, “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.” He snipped the two locks. “Someone give me a hand.”

  With Maddox’s help both doors parted revealing numerous wooden pallets stacked to a height of roughly four feet. Cade grabbed the side of the trailer and pulled himself up, his knees and back creaking in protest. “These go all the way to the front,” he commented as he pulled one corner of the heavy canvas covering the cargo. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he exposed the entire pallet’s cargo.

  Tice was taken aback—first from the biggest display of emotion he had seen from the stone-faced operator—then because the most gold he had ever seen in his life was sitting unguarded feet from him.

  “Truck’s full of gold bars,” Cade said, rubbing his dirt and grime encrusted neck.

  Lopez whistled, “Must be hundreds of them.”

  “Close it,” Cade ordered. “We refuel and then we’re oscar mike.”

  “The gold?” Tice inquired.

  “It’s beautiful... but it’s worthless,” Cade said. “Food, bullets, and fuel, those three are the new gold.”

  “Copy that,” Tice said slowly.

  Cade swung the doors shut and strode to the helo which had just touched down.

  Ari ferried them to the refuel area where Hicks jumped out first. They followed the same routine as Grand Junction. Cade, Maddox and Lopez stood watch while the crew chief checked the fuel trucks.

  After a couple of minutes Hicks came loping back to the helo. He stopped and animatedly shook his head and then slid one finger across his neck.

  No fuel, Cade thought to himself. Then a cold finger traced his spine as he realized that they had no other choice but to refuel at Grand Junction Regional.

  ***

  3:25 a.m.

  Ari kept Jedi One-One close to 189 as they left the valley and the Tetons behind. Along the way they passed over downtown Jackson Hole which had already been overrun by the legions of dead migrating from the southwest. “I’ve got more bad news from Schriever,” Ari said in a funeral voice. “An outbreak occurred inside the wire. The civilian billets were heavily involved.”

  Except for the humming of the carbon fiber rotors and the turbine’s baffled whine the cabin was morgue quiet.

  After a few minutes had elapsed and a few dozen miles disappeared behind them, Cade asked the question that no doubt was on everyone’s mind. “How many casualties?”

  “More than a hundred,” Ari said solemnly.

  “And a handful in the mess hall,” Durant added.

  “Did they mention Brook or Raven?” Cade asked knowing full well that Nash would never disclose devastating news of that nature during an ongoing mission.

  “No sir,” Durant answered. “But no news is good news... isn’t that what they always say?”

  Cade exhaled audibly. Thoughts and memories of Brook and Raven suddenly escaped from the imaginary black box in the deepest recesses of his mind. The knowledge that they had once again been in harm’s way, and he had not been there for them, troubled him deeply.

  “Mindless rotters, they just roll over everything in their way,” Tice muttered.

  “Pinche demonios,” added Lopez.

  “The next waypoint is Grand Junction Airport four hundred and thirty miles to the southwest,” Durant informed Ari. Then he switched to private comms to address Hicks directly. “How much JP-8 was left in the tanker at GJT?”

  “More than enough to get us home. Five hundred gallons plus.”

  “Same routine—hot refuel. Let’s hope more Zs haven’t shown up since yesterday.”

  “Wishful thinking Durant,” Hicks stated.

  Cade broke his silence and asked Ari and Durant if they would be at the airport before dawn.

  “Negative,” said Ari. “This bird will drink way too much fuel if I ride her too hard. You are going to lose the night vision advantage... it can’t be helped.”

  Cade closed his eyes and thought about his family.

  ***

  Grand Junction, Colorado - 6:31 a.m.

  “Five mikes,” Durant said.

  The co-pilot’s voice echoed in Cade’s headset, bringing him back to the present. Entering the helo from the port side, sunlight filtered through the cabin causing him to squint and rub his tired eyes. He looked out the window at the landscape passing below the helicopter. Standing water in the streets and parking lots reflected the early morning sun, giving the scene a soothing radiance that he knew contradicted the reality of the infested city. Turning his attention to the next task at hand, he swapped the flight helmet for his Kevlar tactical and gave the SCAR the once over.

  Full mag? Check.

  Round chambered? Check.

  Safety? Check.

  The weapon went between his knees barrel down and he braced the stock against the side of his helmet. Around him the other men w
ere quietly going through their own personal routines. In his peripheral vision he witnessed Lopez perform the sign of the cross, kiss the ever-present crucifix hanging around his neck, and tuck it back inside his ACUs.

  Durant called out time to target. “Two mikes.”

  “Scratch that,” Ari barked.

  The closer they got the more dire their situation appeared. Dozens of dead patrolled the runway and hangar area nearest the airport. Over a hundred walkers milled about their last landing spot between the broken fence and the two tanker trucks. And in between the two major concentrations, near the burned out aircraft, a host of stragglers plodded along.

  Ari’s voice invaded the comms. “What do you think Captain?”

  “I think we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Cade answered, craning his head to see out the starboard windows. He paused for a beat and then asked, “How many rounds left in the mini-gun?”

  “Twelve hundred,” answered Hicks. “Whipper was being a stingy prick so we flew out pretty light.”

  Ari presented a plan. “How about I bring us in from the east to give you an oblique angle so you can keep any stray rounds away from the fuel trucks. Take out as many as you can. I will put us down quick—same routine as last time. Hicks refuels while the Delta boys watch his six. He gives us a light load of JP-8 and we are out in under five mikes.”

  “Sound strategy Night Stalker,” Cade said, flashing Ari a thumbs up.

  “Make them count Hicks,” Lopez interjected.

  Ari bled airspeed, leveled Jedi One-One, and rotated the bird a one-eighty to present Hicks with an undead shooting gallery.

  ***

  Taryn felt a minute vibration through the carpeted floor. At first she thought it was a small earthquake like the 2.9 from a couple of years back, which was similar only more intense.

  Whatever had caused the tremor had also piqued her favorite zombie’s attention. Dickless released the door handle, turned woodenly, and then slowly ambled down the stairs.

  Taryn was forced to lay flat on the floor in order to see the jet way and landing strip beyond the shattered window. A troubling sight greeted her. The amount of zombies on the tarmac had increased overnight.