by Ben S Reeder
“That isn’t going to end well, is it?” Karl said as he sat on the table beside me.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Any second now, that high class young man is going to say the wrong thing, and he’s going to get a face full of pissed off Marine.” As if on cue, the man made a move and ended up on his hands and knees puking. As the well-dressed man threw up at the Marine’s boots, he stepped back. The woman with him retreated a few steps, looking suddenly less impressed with herself than she had been a few minutes before.
“That was…illuminating,” Karl said as the sergeant ordered another Marine to help the man up.
“You could say that. The absolute last serviceman or woman you want to get in a fistfight with is a Marine,” I said. Outside the compound, I could hear the sound of turboprop engines approaching.
“Duly noted. You know, there’s a compound like this one in Springfield. I had to settle on a workman’s comp claim for a construction worker who got hurt on the job there last year.” He sounded disgusted.
“You took a settlement? Maya said you never take settlements.”
“I never take a case I don’t think I can win at trial,” Karl corrected. “Settlements cut down on fees and hours billed, and I only got a percentage of a much smaller payout. When I took the case, I thought I was going to be facing off with FEMA or Department of Homeland Security. As it turned out, I ended up taking on Monos.”
“Monos Incorporated? The company that makes…well, everything?” I asked incredulously. “That must have been like David and Godzilla,” I joked.
“That’s an accurate analogy,” he said with a humorless smile. “The settlement was very generous, but given all the clauses they threw in, it had to be. Confidentiality, non-disparagement, even an indemnity clause. Hell, they even tried to make me sign a clause saying I’d never be a part of legal action against them again, but that happened after the settlement.”
“Was the place in Springfield exactly like this one?” I asked as a growing suspicion started to edge into my mind.
“I don’t know. I was never allowed inside. The only section my client saw was the one he worked on. But it looked a lot like this one on the outside, and it had the same kind of fences we saw when they brought us in. I wonder, though…how many more of these could there be?”
“How many regional processing centers are there?” I countered. “Does it seem to you like someone knew this was going to happen?”
“You were pretty well prepared,” Karl said.
“Most of that was Nate helping me along, but point taken. Still, Monos, the company that makes everything from seeds to pesticides to whole brands of foods is helping build places like this,” I said as I gestured to the thirty foot walls around us. “And guess where Monos moved their headquarters to three years ago. St Louis. Too many coincidences for my taste. Not that I can do much about it now.”
“It looks like we’re going to be able to find out for sure soon. Look, Dave, no matter what else happens I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done. I know we haven’t gotten along in the past. But the past couple of days, I’ve gotten the chance to get to know you better, and I think I misjudged you.” Karl sounded like he was working really hard to get those words out, and it earned him a lot of respect.
“Thanks, Karl. I really ought to have said the same thing a couple of days ago. You put Amy first, in front of your own pride. It takes a hell of a man to do that. And if you ever mention this conversation in front of Maya, I will deny saying that completely.”
“Likewise,” he said with a nod. Another set of turboprops roared past, and I could hear the rise and fall in pitch that told me a plane was turning around. My guess was that the Corporal Porter had found exactly what I was afraid he would, and the evacuation was going even further ahead of schedule than the major said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, when your name is called, move to the exit and check in with the man there. Abrams, Jennifer.” A young woman in a blue dress raised her hand and started toward the smaller personnel door. Maya led the rest of our group over to us as the first few names were called off. I did a headcount of the civilians in the compound and came up with a little more than a hundred, and that was more a wild ass guess than anything. I’d flown on a C-130 Hercules into and out of Iraq, and I knew they could carry almost a hundred people if that was all they were carrying. Add in gear, and that number dropped by about a third. Seventy people, plus stuff, would make one C-130 pretty cramped. I had no idea how many Marines were here, either. The logistics was beginning to give me a headache.
Then the screams started outside, and things like logistics and reason went out the window. At first, there was the strange stillness as people tried to figure out what was going on. Then the first gunshots sounded, and panic erupted. Even ten people trying to get out a single door was a recipe for disaster before you added in zombies. Ten times that number was like a meat grinder. Even I wanted to get out of the compound, though I knew our best bet was to stay inside the walls. I tried yelling for Maya and Amy, but the screaming drowned my voice out so completely I couldn’t hear myself as I fought against the tide of bodies pushing me toward the narrow doorway. I caught a glimpse of Maya not ten feet away amid the throng, but it might as well have been ten miles between us for all that I could move against the crush of humanity around me. Then I saw Amy only a couple of feet away from me, and I reached out for her. Her hand closed around mine and I held on for dear life.
Suddenly, the pressure eased a little and she ended up in my arms. I would have gone down if it wasn’t for the hand that caught my belt and dragged me back upright. Craning my neck, I saw Karl behind me, one hand on my shoulder, the other supporting Amy. In front of us, I could see the main doors swinging open as the human stampede pushed against them. The force of the people behind us propelled us out into the grass, and then we were pressed sideways as the mob turned toward the planes. The rear ramp of the plane in front was down, and everyone raced for it. It was a miracle no one ran into one of the rear plane’s propellers. I looked toward the southern fence line and fought down a sense of panic as I saw the first group of ghouls racing toward us at the same time as I heard the engines of the front plane change pitch.
He’s about to take off! I thought. I pointed at the rear plane and leaned that way, and Karl nodded, then let go of me to point over our heads at our destination. The mob was easier to move through going sideways than to fight its forward momentum, but we still had to struggle. Maya pulled Cassie free of the mass, and Porsche dragged Bryce free. They spared a look over their shoulders at us, but Karl waved them on as we fought our way toward the edge of the crowd. They sprinted toward the aft hatch of the second plane even as the first one started to surge forward. Its ramp had already started to come up, but people were still jumping on it until it pulled clear. Behind us, I could hear gunfire, but I didn’t dare look. We were still fifty yards from the last plane, and we weren’t the only ones headed for it any more. Like a flock of birds, the other twenty or so people turned as one and ran for the plane. Porsche shoved Bryce through the hatch, then turned and helped Maya get Cassie inside. For a moment, it looked like Maya was going to wait, but Porsche shoved her forward, too. With a look at me, she jumped in behind her. My feet pounded against the concrete of the runway.
Thirty yards left to go, and the plane started to pull forward as more and more people tried to get through the hatch. Porsche’s face appeared in the door and she started pulling people on board.
Twenty yards away, and the plane was picking up speed, but I was still gaining. I grabbed Amy’s hand and tried to make my feet go faster.
Ten yards, and we were keeping up with it.
Eight yards as I put on a final burst of speed, then it started to pull away. Maya’s face appeared at the hatch, and she reached back for us, her face a mask of anguish as the plane gathered speed. Porsche and Cassie pulled her back in as the distance started to open between us and the door started to clos
e. Then, as hope began to fade, something dropped from the hatch and tumbled along the tarmac. I slowed to a stop as the transport’s nose came up, then the big bird’s body lifted into the air.
“Mooooommm!” I finally heard Amy scream. I turned to look over my shoulder to see Karl jogging up behind us. Yards behind him a group four of Marines were trotting along. One stopped and turned, then fired a burst into the group of infected that were running toward them. Three ghouls dropped, but the zombies just kept moving. The Marine turned and sprinted forward, and as he passed the last man in the line, that man turned and did the same thing. Two more ghouls hit the pavement, and he turned and sprinted forward.
“Come on, pumpkin,” Karl panted as he gathered Amy up. “No time to cry. Need to keep moving.” Sweat poured down his face, and it took everything he had to speak, but he pulled her forward, and she followed, sniffling and sobbing. I picked my feet up as well. The Marines were headed for somewhere specific, and they had a plan. More importantly, they were armed. We stumbled along, trying to keep pace with them, and one of them pointed at something ahead of them as they passed us. Hope flared in my heart again as I saw their destination: three Blackhawk’s, waiting about three hundred yards away, their rotors already turning. Marines were running toward them from the airport’s main terminal, some of them turning to fire behind them. Karl swerved away from us for a moment and grabbed something from the runway, then came jogging back with my bug-out cache tube slung over his shoulder. I risked a glance behind us, and decided not to do that again. Behind us, hell, all around us, zombies and ghouls were closing in. As Karl fell back in with Amy and me, one of the Blackhawks lifted into the air, and a handful of Marines ran to the next one in the line. Moments later, it lifted off. By now, we were only yards away, and my lungs were burning. My legs felt like lead, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed hot coals. Several Marines were already on board, and the rear of the chopper started to look crowded. I pulled Amy forward, suddenly afraid they were going to take off without us. Hands reached out for us and I pushed Amy into them. There was barely enough room for Karl and me to perch on the edge of the rear deck, but camo clad arms reached out and linked with ours, holding us as secure as they could. Someone shouted to the pilot, and the Blackhawk’s engine revved as it rose into the air. Below us, the dead converged, and we left them reaching up for us. I breathed a sigh of relief as the chopper’s engines whined, then caught it as we started to slide sidewise.
“We’re too heavy!” one of the Marines yelled, his voice barely audible over the noise of the engine and the rotors. “We have to dump some weight!” I looked over my shoulder at Amy, then at Karl, and we both knew what had to be done. I pushed against someone’s shoulder and struggled to get to my feet, only to find Karl pushing me back.
“Don’t be stupid!” I yelled at him as the chopper started to lose altitude. “You’re her father. She needs you!” He pulled the cache tube off his shoulder and pushed it against me.
“You’re her best chance to survive!” he screamed back at me. “Now swallow your goddamn pride and take care of my little girl!”
“Daddy, no!” Amy screamed as he reached out and put his hand to her face for a moment. She clutched at his hand, her knuckles white as she tried to hang on to her father. He leaned back, and I watched as his weight slowly pulled her arms straight, then his fingertips slipped free of hers, and he fell. Time stretched out around me as he dropped, seeming to fall forever toward the sea of the dead below us. Then, he disappeared into the horde, and I was left holding Amy as she sobbed against me.
Chapter 15
Miles to go…
I will never falter, And I will not fail.
~ US Air Force Airman’s Creed ~
The mood in the chopper was somber as we gained altitude. The Marines around Amy practically lifted her into the crew seat behind the co-pilot and strapped her in while the three closest to me helped me get to the tiny open spot beside her. When I knelt beside her, she pulled me to her and sobbed into my shoulder hard enough to break my heart.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” I told her again and again as the Blackhawk banked to join the other helos. I didn’t know if I was apologizing to her more for losing her dad or for surviving. What I did know was that there were no words that were ever going to take the pain out of this moment. Not for her, and not for me. All I could do was let her hold onto me and cry until she was done.
“Fuck!” one of the Marines yelled. “Did you see that shit!” My head came up at the fury in his voice. From where I was, I could see what he must have been talking about all too clearly through the front canopy. Ahead of us, one of engines on one of the C-130s was on fire and the other transport was falling out of the sky. The right wing of the stricken plane was already sheared off, and as it began to flip over, the left one folded up and broke away. As it spiraled down toward the ground, our chopper’s pilot banked hard to the left, and a white streak zipped past our right side.
“What the fuck!” someone yelled from behind us. Amy clutched at me as the chopper came level again, and I grabbed the headset from the hook on her seat. As soon as I settled it on my head, multiple voices sounded in my ear.
“Missile’s tracking!”
“Fast mover on our one o’clock!”
“I got ‘im,” the pilot’s calmer voice came in. I looked ahead and to our right and saw the jet as it streaked toward us. At first it looked like it was heading directly at us, but when tracers drew a line ahead of it, I could see that it was aiming to our right, at one of the other Blackhawks. Sparks and holes peppered the other chopper’s hull for a few seconds. It caught fire as the jet roared by, and I thought I recognized the black aircraft as an F-4 Phantom. As the other chopper went down, our pilot looked around for a moment.
“Door gunners, which way is he going?” he asked, his voice cool, almost mechanical over the headset.
“Coming around on our left side, on our left!”
“Roger that. Bobcat, Talon 3. Coming around inside the bandit’s turn. Look out for him, he might try to take the shot on you.” We banked right, our nose coming around deep inside the F-4’s turn radius. The fighter jet hit the afterburners and almost leaped out of the way, then a missile shot out from under the broad wing and streaked toward the remaining C-130. Barely a heartbeat later, flares erupted from the C-130’s fuselage, and the missile veered away from the transport’s tail.
“Bandit in the kill circle,” I heard the pilot say when one of the lights on the control panel went red. “Fox one, fox one.” A white trail of smoke followed a silver dart from our left side and arrowed toward the black plane. In seconds it was too far away to tell if it hit or not, then the hostile jet’s back end exploded and it started spinning toward the ground.
“Splash one bandit,” our pilot said amid the whoops and cheers of the Marines. After a moment, the pilot spoke again. “Roger that Bobcat,” he drawled. The chopper banked left.
“Alright everyone, Bobcat’s picked up three more bogeys headed our way. We’re gonna head for KC and try to use the smoke for cover.” We gained altitude and speed, but the crippled C-130 still pulled away from us slowly. Thirty nerve-wracking minutes later, we were almost into the black curtain of smoke surrounding Kansas City. Below, I could see neighborhoods and fields on fire, with moving specks that could only be burning zombies. Then the black cloud was around us, and the smoke’s acrid bite was too thick for even the Blackhawk’s rotors to dispel.
With an uncharacteristic expletive, the pilot banked right, and I heard the metallic hammer of a gun behind us, even over the chopper’s engine. A black chopper loomed into view in front of us, and I felt my stomach try to climb up through my throat as we shed altitude. Tracers lanced overhead, then we shot under the enemy bird and banked left, barely avoiding a line of tracer rounds that rained down on our right side. The second bandit slid into view as it banked to follow us, then it fell victim to a fatal loss of situational awareness. Tracer rounds slammed into the dark
painted Blackhawk from above and to its left as our companion Blackhawk raked it with one of its miniguns.
