Taking the steps two at a time, she bolted up the stairs to the Dunn Loring Metro station.
“Sorry,” she called back at the woman. It was just too much. She hardly noticed the bloodstained handprints that covered the thick walls like a finger painting project gone seriously wrong.
She stumbled over the remains of people that looked as though they had been attacked by a pack of wild dogs. Bite marks covered their faces and necks, while dark pools of blood outlined the bodies, reminding her of twisted ‘blood angels.’
The smell was horrid as she got closer to the bodies, and she involuntarily choked up the chicken salad she had for lunch. Hot bile spewed forth from her lips, splashing around her ankles. Her throat burned. Her eyes watered. Holding her nose, she pressed forward.
Where are the authorities? Didn’t they have task forces for this kind of thing? She kept moving. Lackadaisically, she made her way toward the exit turnstiles, fumbling in her purse for her Metro card. I can never find the dumb thing.
Gory handprints streaked down the outside of the glass security booth, the door was cracked open a bit, but nobody was inside.
Do I need to scan my way out? Screw this, I’m out of here. Gwen hopped the turnstile and made a beeline for the parking lot. Maybe the 46 line buses are still running. With a furtive glance behind her, she ran.
Near the exit, police cruisers blocked her path, their lights swirling blue. Beyond them the parking lot sprawled in disarray with half the cars sitting empty or abandoned. A pile-up of vehicles near the south entrance blocked any escape to the highway which left only the north entrance.
A bus lay on its side, smoke rising up from its engine. She gasped and her hand involuntarily covered her mouth. The level of destruction shocked her system.
“Dear God,” she breathed. She punched 9-11 into her phone again. The busy tone mocked her, rubbing it in beep after beep.
Like a moth, she instinctively fluttered her way toward the flashing police lights. Somehow they seemed to ease her nerves; the promise of succor in times of need. At the same time, they seemed to warn of danger ahead.
She ignored her mind screaming danger, and jogged toward the navy and gray Fairfax County police cruisers. Slapping the hood of the car with her hands, “Hey, anyone there?” she called out. She circled the car. The passenger door stood ajar, but no officers were present. She stuck her head inside the squad car.
“Anyone?” she muttered, scanning the area for any sign of assistance. Blood covered the sidewalk leading away from the vehicle in the direction of the bushes. She sat down in the passenger seat, and grabbed the radio pressing down on the mic.
“Hello, we need help. I’m at the Dunn Loring Metro Station. Anyone there, over.”
“This is Dispatch. This is a secure channel. Verify your identity.”
“I’m in a cop car at the Metro stop. There aren’t any police here.”
“We are going to need you—,” the dispatcher was cut off.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Directly behind her head the protective glass reverberated under violent impact. Her stomach flittered a cloud of butterflies. She carefully turned her head to the backseat.
Inches from her face, snarled a man. Repeatedly, he rammed his head into the hard plastic window separating the front from the backseats. Blood ran down his shaved head and goatee, covering his leather biker vest.
She slowly backed up as he continued to use his head as a battering ram, against the squad car. The front of his head dented inwards as he did irreversible damage to his skull, oblivious to the pain.
Gwen stepped away cautiously from the cruiser and headed into the commuter lot. People milled about the south exit ramp leading onto Virginia Interstate 66, while a number of others walked unhurriedly around the parked cars. They meandered through the cars, appearing not to know which way to go.
Someone had to help her. Just a ride to her house or away from here. Maybe she could borrow a car. She would never consider it stealing. The owner would understand it was an emergency.
If she could get home safely, she would grab her emergency go pack, and get out of town. She would take Mark’s SUV. He had carpooled with Mauser. That would work. Drive to the hills of West Virginia, and wait for the authorities to straighten this out. Most likely, the Red Cross would insist she deploy back into D.C., but only in a safe zone.
Her thoughts quickly turned to Mark. He would be coming home later today. Thank God! He would know what to do. Wait. If McCone was anything like this, then he would be in immediate danger. I must warn him, but only after I am safe. That’s how he would want it.
Fueled by survival, she walked briskly toward a neighborhood of townhouses nearby. The townhouses seemed like the safest bet. Each townhouse sat three stories high with a garage, and were all painted off-white. Subdivisions seemed to spring up overnight in this area. Surely someone can give me a ride from there.
Her head instinctively scanned from right to left overtly searching for danger. Mark had taught her simple situational awareness techniques, but at this point there was no need to be discreet. She felt like a meerkat, tall and alert.
When she got into the parking lot she crouched as she moved, using the cars as cover, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. She rounded outside the mess of cars blocking her way through to the townhouses. A maze of carnage and twisted metal sprawled out before her, with people she didn’t trust wandering the wreckage. The most convenient way through had the most suspicious-looking people. Right or left? Or chance it up the middle with the people. Her whole body shook. Which way to go? Which way to go?
A low female voice called to her: “Psst, hey you. Over here.”
In between two cars crouched a dark-haired young woman in her twenties wearing jeans and a loose-laced flowery blouse. She gave Gwen a little wave, trying not to draw too much attention to herself.
Hurrying, she hustled over to the woman, stepping over broken glass and metal from accidents in the lot before crouching down beside her. Her pants better not rip. Her suit pants were most definitely not made for any kind of athletic activity. Fuck it, she thought. I can just buy new ones when this is over.
The other woman peered cautiously over the hood of the car that concealed her. Relieved to find someone else alive, who wasn't trying to kill her, Gwen put her back to the car.
“Jesus, I am glad to find someone like you.”
The young woman eyed Gwen up and down. “So you aren’t one of them, are you? I suppose not, or you would have tried to bite me by now. Ha.” She gave Gwen a sheepish smile. Gwen thought most guys would have called her cute, but not necessarily pretty.
Gwen stuttered, “No, no… I’m just trying to get out of here. My car’s at the Vienna Metro and everything’s going insane. I’ve seen a policeman murdered and a woman eaten alive, and I just want to get out of here.”
The young woman peeped back over the car again. “I know,” she whispered. “Crazies have been crawling all over this parking lot. They killed,” she stopped as if she were going to cry.
Moaning grew louder from the lot. The young woman’s brown eyes went wide, and Gwen held her breath. She put a shaky finger to her lips.
A man in a filthy black business suit knocked into the car they hid behind. He groaned a low ominous call. Using the car as a crutch, the man gazed around and continued his morose shuffle elsewhere.
Gwen exhaled heavily. She grasped the young lady’s hands giving them a squeeze. The young woman brushed tears from her eyes on her shoulder.
“I would help you, but there’s one problem,” she said, sniffling.
“What’s that?” Gwen asked urgently in a hushed whisper.
“My car’s over there.” She gestured toward a green Jeep Wrangler a few rows away. Several bloodied Metro workers in orange vests stood around it. They lumbered as if they were bored, sauntering between the cars.
“I tried to get to it earlier, but they chased me away until they came across a guy thrown from his ca
r.”
The young woman closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the terror. Her voice shook. “He couldn’t even walk. And they just ripped him apart, blood all over the place. He screamed and screamed. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s going to be ok, but I need you to hold it together for me. My name’s Gwen,” she said, giving the girl her best assertive smile. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Gwen wasn’t sure she believed herself at this point, but it seemed to calm the young woman a bit.
“I’m Lindsay,” she said, sniffing back her tears.
Gwen knew she had to formulate a plan, and fast, before the wrong person found them.
STEELE
Washington-McCone International Airport, VA
Steele maintained his coverage in a heightened state of alertness, ignoring the knot of muscles cramping in between his shoulder blades. Hurry up, Mauser. Keeping his weapon in the high ready, for what felt like hours, exhausted him. Regardless, his body leaned forward, ever the aggressor, ready to strike hard at anything that presented an ounce of resistance.
His silent vigil was broken by Mauser’s hoarse voice. “Mauser coming up.”
“Move,” Steele responded in relief.
Mauser hustled up to the front with his backpack strapped to him. He tossed Steele another pack, which had been attached to his front. “Found these. Thought they might be useful.”
Throwing his black daypack over his shoulders, he tightened the straps to ensure a secure fit.
“Nixon?” Steele asked. Mauser shook his head, negative.
Steele would have time to consider the man’s sacrifice later. “Hurry, Wheeler needs help,” Steele said, maintaining his post.
Mauser nodded and jogged up to the front galley. He would help apply the chest seal and decompression needle to Wheeler’s wound, hoping that their team leader had not already lost too much blood and watch for signs of tension pneumothorax. Wheeler is one tough son of a bitch. Steele took his eyes off the cabin for a moment, watching Mauser perform first aid beside the doctor. Remembering his tactics, he rotated himself 180-degrees, so he could see the front of the plane as well as the back.
Unlocking the secure door, Captain Richards walked out into the galley. “Dear God. Is he going to be okay?” he asked, grimacing at the dead terrorist and at Wheeler. “Just keep whoever did this away from the cockpit. We’re landing in five. We have limited runway space and because of the headwind we’re low on fuel. We’ve only got one shot at this.”
“How’s he doing, doc?”
Dr. Jackowski handed Mauser’s a long tube and pointed at Wheeler. “Get that NPA tube in his nose. If we get him to a hospital, I think he’ll make it. He’s lost a lot of blood, but the chest seal is keeping him alive,” he said with a determined smile.
The Captain nodded. “Good luck, gentleman,” he said, ducking back into the cockpit, the door slightly ajar. The pilot’s task was laid clearly before him: land the plane in one piece and keep his living passengers alive.
Steele leaned over a first class pod and slid open a window shade. Bright light pierced the cabin. We’ve dropped below ten thousand feet. The checkered landscape of Virginia farmland covered the ground like a patchwork quilt of greens, browns, and grays. That means we are getting close to the airport. Closer in, the farmland gave way to wooded suburbs and the concrete slab of runways belonging to the Washington-McCone International Airport. Longer crisscrossing runways for international travel, ran perpendicular to shorter ones, and a tower overlooked all a domineering flying saucer on a spire. It was the largest airport in the National Capital Region. Smoke rose up from the end of one of the runways.
“What’s going on down there? I see smoke,” Steele shouted.
Captain Richards turned, yelling over his shoulder. “Someone put a round through our radio. We’ve had no contact with air traffic control for some time.”
NORAD should have scrambled the fighter jets by now. For better or for worse, the jets scrambled by the North American Aerospace Defense Command should intercept the incoming plane, but no ‘flyboys’ escorted them home.
Steele remembered one of his instructors always harping on about fighter jets. Your only backup at thirty-five thousand feet is an F-15. No pressure or anything. If something was wrong, they should be escorting the flight in. Steele refocused on the task at hand. His job was to get the doctor safely on the ground. As long as I do that, everyone else can pick up the slack and deal with the fucking psychos, or infected, or cannibals or whatever the hell they were.
The plane dipped and descended rapidly, dropping toward Washington-McCone International Airport. He locked his feet in the bulkhead and braced himself for impact. God, I hope it’s not a real impact or I’ll fly through the front windshield of the plane. And that’s after I bounce off the front galley, the cockpit door and in between the pilots, leaving me in little pieces all over the ground. That’s what happens when you crash at 150mph standing up.
A few bodies rolled forward as the plane descended, bouncing from seat to seat like a sickening trapeze of death. Finally they got stuck, bent into various inhuman positions. Blood ran from their lacerations, twisted broken bones and bite marks.
Steele glanced over at Jarl. He didn’t even need to brace himself; he simply deposited his girth in the bulkhead door jam.
Jarl gave him a thumb’s up with a mighty, blood-soaked grin showing through his beard. “Boar tusk,” Jarl said loudly.
“Boar tusk,” Steele shouted back. It gave him energy. I am not alone. Bring on the pain. They would have one hell of a story for Chip when they got back to the office.
As the slight G-forces pulled on the plane. The carts in the aisles rolled backward over the bodies that had fallen in front of it. The finish line was in sight, and he couldn’t have asked for a better team when things went bad. However, he dreaded the phone call to Andrea’s parents explaining why she wasn’t coming home.
The plane hit the ground, almost knocking Steele off his feet. Fallen bodies of the infected and the dead somersaulted toward the back of the plane finishing in a mangled heap of limbs.
The pilot threw open the flaps and applied the brakes. The bodies and the dead now slid toward Steele. Gradually, they stopped as the plane slowed.
Some bodies still writhed in their seats. The simple task of ‘lifting the metal buckle,’ shown in the safety video before every flight, now seemed an impossible task. Arms flailed around, searching for new victims. Why don’t they just undo their belts and attack?
The plane slowed and pulled into an empty runway lot. Where is Captain Richards taking us?
Steele ducked his head and looked out of either side of the aircraft to see which part of the airport they had parked in. They were about as far away from a terminal as they could possibly be. This particular section put them on the other side of two runways, across from Terminal D. The plane ground to a halt. They had made it and in one piece. Eerie seconds passed while they waited. Reinforcements should be here any minute.
Captain Richards came back through the cockpit door. “We’ve called Air Traffic Control four times on our personal phones, but haven’t received a response. We should have emergency personnel waiting for us.”
Steele gazed out the first class window again. There were no flashing lights, no hostage rescue teams and no people in sight. That was not right. Where is the cavalry?
His job was to ensure the VIP was kept in one piece. Once they reached the ground, the place should have been teeming with backup from the Division, FBI, local officers and paramedics. What the fuck is going on?
Steele turned on his cell phone and called Operations. A busy signal answered him. What the fuck, Mika? Always calling me to do stuff, but you never pick up when I need you. He was probably paying for a pizza.
He stared at his phone in confusion. This had never happened before. I don’t want to be on this God-forsaken plane with these cannibalistic assholes any longer. On top o
f that, I need to get the doctor to the hand-off team.
His mind raced. “We’ve got to get outta here. We’re low on ammo and I don’t know how many more bad guys are back there. We need to evacuate now.”
Captain Richards didn’t hesitate. “I agree. Let’s get those emergency slides going. We’ll make our way to the terminal on foot.”
Nobody needed more encouragement than that to get off the death trap of a plane.
“Wait, we cannot allow the infected passengers off of here,” Joseph demanded, raising his hands in the air.
“We are leaving now. We don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit. Somebody else can quarantine these crazies.”
“But it could be catastrophic. An epidemic. Even a pandemic of global proportions.”
“Not my problem. Crystal, let’s do this.”
Crystal grabbed the red emergency handles and pulled them down hard. With a loud whoosh the emergency door blew open and an inflatable plastic slide shot out, leading diagonally away from the plane to the ground.
Mauser jumped first, holding his pack in front of him and shooting down the slide. He took up a kneeling position at the bottom, his weapon drawn, searching for threats.
Steele covered Jarl’s retreat to the bulkhead, keeping potential threats ahead of them while the surviving passengers, flight crew and the doctor jumped down the slide, exiting the plane. Steele’s jaw dropped as lifeless forms rose up throughout the plane, a puppet master playing his entire entourage. Mangled and abused, bloodied and battered, none of it mattered, they stood all the same. Dead eyes stared his way. They preached doom. Dear God.
Steele gritted his teeth and yelled to Jarl, “Exiting now.” We’ll meet again. He didn’t know how true his thoughts would be.
“Exit,” Jarl said in a gruff voice.
Steele leapt onto the slide and grunted. The slide was much harder than it appeared. Jarl was only a step behind him.
The air outside the plane was smoky, and alarms signaled in the distance. A few planes were parked at their gates. Something was amiss. He shook off his gut instinct. Cautiously, they moved forward in a determined manner. The airport sprawled before them. Their refuge sat in plain sight. The easiest day was yesterday.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 17
