gatheringdeadkindle

by Stephen Knight

  “Reset speed selectors forward and apply rotor brakes,” the aircraft commander said as he checked the parking brake handle between his seat and the pilot’s. While the MV-22’s rotors had lost a substantial amount of energy already, their rotor wash could still blast a man off the deck of the Wasp.

  “Big Eye, this is Thunder Three, what’s with the fuel transfer, over?” he asked over the ship-to-ship.

  “Thunder Three, Big Eye, we’ve been told to top off your tanks. Stand by.”

  “Top off our tanks?” the pilot asked. He looked across the cockpit and out the windows on the AC’s side of the aircraft. Darkness reigned, but in the distance sporadic ripples of lightning flashing about inside the approaching cloud front. “Man, we’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  “Let’s get back on the checklists,” the AC ordered, and the aircrew went back to work. They were almost done anyway, and it took only a few minutes to secure the aircraft. The crew was ready to egress, and the AC notified the Wasp’s air boss.

  “Big Eye, Thunder Three is ready to dismount.”

  “Ah, negative that, Thunder Three. You’re clear to disembark your PAX, but then you need to start turning cycles. You have to head back to New York, over.”

  “Oh man, what the hell?” one of the enlisted crew chiefs moaned.

  The AC wasn’t having any of it. “Get those civilians off the aircraft! Once they’re clear, we get on the cockpit pre-start and engine start checklists!” He depressed his microphone button. “Big Eye, Thunder Three. This crew’s run out. Going back to New York City’s going to bust us, over.”

  “Thunder Three, high value targets are still in the city barricaded in a skyscraper on the Upper East Side. There’s no one else in the area that can pull them out, so you get the job. ENAV is on its way out to you. This comes straight from the top, over.”

  A sailor rushed into the Osprey, pushing his way into the aircraft through the right entry door. The few civilians who had managed to get aboard the aircraft before it lifted out of Central Park were deplaned by the ramp at the rear. The sailor carried a plastic case, which he handed to the pilot. The pilot accepted it with a grunt and opened it. The case contained a flash card and a USB thumb drive. He pulled a flash card from the navigation panel between the two pilot seats and replaced it with the new one. He punched a code into the system via the soft keys on its panel, and the new route and target destination appeared on a moving map display.

  “Good ENAV,” the pilot reported.

  “Big Eye, Thunder Three has the ENAV. Who is it we’re supposed to pick up, over?”

  “Thunder Three, Big Eye. You’re picking up someone who has key information to stop whatever the hell’s going on. Not to add any more pressure, over.”

  The pilot chuckled mirthlessly, but the AC didn’t pay any attention to it. He turned and looked out the canopy windows as heavy, wind-blown rain droplets slammed into it.

  “Big Eye, is this storm headed for New York? Over.”

  “Thunder Three, this is Big Eye. You know it is, Marine. Now pull pitch and get the hell out of here, over.”

  “Oorah,” the AC replied, then started the communication display unit checklist. The sooner they broke the Wasp’s deck, the faster they could start outrunning the storm.

  Gartrell and Rittenour had loaded Jimenez onto a leather office chair and wheeled him into the freight elevator, then brought the Safires out of the pantry. Regina looked expectant; her father’s expression was blank and vacant.

  “Are we getting out of here?” Regina asked.

  “We’re leaving this floor,” McDaniels told her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “We’re going up. To get further away from those things on the street. There are other people on the twenty-seventh floor, and we’re going to join them while we wait for exfil.”

  “‘Exfil’?”

  “Short for exfiltration, Regina.” Safire’s voice sounded weary, and so did the man himself. He leaned against the elevator’s metal wall and rubbed his eyes. “An exfiltration is a military term for a stealthy pickup.”

  “So... so someone’s coming for us?” she asked, puzzled. “That’s why we’re moving?”

  McDaniels considered explaining things completely, but settled for expediency. “Yes.” He nodded to Earl. “This is Earl. Earl, meet Doctor Wolf Safire and his daughter, Regina. The man in the chair is Sergeant Jimenez, and the other two are First Sergeant Gartrell and Sergeant First Class Rittenour.”

  Earl ducked his head. “Pleased to meetcha,” he said meekly.

  McDaniels clapped him on the shoulder. “Twenty-seventh floor, if you would.”

  Earl smiled and twisted the fire key. The elevator door slid shut and the lift ascended.

  “On our way,” Earl said quietly.

  They rode upward in silence for a moment before Safire spoke.

  “You’ve checked the rest of the building, major? Are we alone?”

  McDaniels shook his head. “I have not. I only know that the twenty-seventh floor is more defensible, and it’s well stocked with supplies. It’s the best place in the building to barricade ourselves.”

  “Really. Eating old cheese sandwiches out of a vending machine, are we?”

  “Oh, it’s not like that at all, sir,” Earl said. “We got a little bit of ever’thin’ up there. Fresh fruit, veggies, bread, meat... hell, we even got some jerk chicken and spicy meat patties. That’s what they usually serve on Tuesdays. Jamaican Tuesdays.”

  Safire didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Really.”

  Earl heard the sarcasm in his voice and looked at him directly, suddenly no longer so meek.

  “Kiss my black ass, motherfucker,” he said.

  Gartrell smiled. “That’s the spirit, Earl.”

  The elevator arrived, and the door opened. Earl yanked the key free and marched into the loading vestibule, where Finelly stood watch with his MP5K in his hands. Earl pushed past him and disappeared past the double metal doors. Finelly watched him go quizzically.

  “What’s up with that?” he asked McDaniels.

  McDaniels waved the question aside. “Help us get Jimenez inside and get the Safires squared away. Then get Earl to shut down the elevator again. I have to get topside and call the taxi service.”

  As soon as McDaniels stepped onto the building’s roof, he felt the certain electric quality in the air that signaled a storm was coming. The moon had already risen into the darkening sky, illuminating a dense line of storm clouds on the horizon, still many miles distant.

  “Holy fuck, would you look at that,” Gartrell said as the clouds flashed with internal lightning.

  “Yeah, looks like we have some weather coming in,” McDaniels said. He broke out the sat phone.

  “Was talking about the window divers, major.” McDaniels looked up at Gartrell. The first sergeant pointed across the roof, where the zombies had started surging out of the broken window in the building across the street. They reached for the two Special Forces soldiers as they fell. McDaniels shook his head. He was already used to them.

  “Window divers, huh? Pretty creative.”

  Gartrell didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at the line of zeds spilling out of the building, a look of revulsion on his face. Then he snapped out of it and took an audit of the roof, his AA-12 ready. Even though he hid it behind years of discipline, McDaniels saw the man was spooked.

  “Rapier, this is Terminator, over,” McDaniels said into the phone. “Rapier, this is Terminator, back with you on the hour, over.”

  “Terminator, this is Rapier. Good to hear from you. Give us your SITREP, over.”

  “Situation remains pretty much the same, Rapier. We’ve relocated to the top floor of the building to get some distance from the zeds. One in our party has some fairly serious injuries, and he’s needs better medical care than we can give him. But for the moment, we’re holding out. What’ve you got for us? Over.”

  “Terminator, Rapier
. We have an MV-22 headed your way, should be on-station in less than two hours. Asset is equipped with a rescue hoist, so you’ll be uploaded that way. You’ll be taken back to the Marine operational platform until we can arrange for a transfer, over.”

  “Roger that, Rapier, and that’s great news. It does look like we have some weather moving in, over.” He gave Gartrell a thumbs-up and a smile. “V-22 in about two hours.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Gartrell said.

  “Terminator, Rapier. Roger on the weather, the aircrew is aware. The weather guys down here say you can expect some rain with moderate gusts up to thirty miles an hour, but those conditions shouldn’t arrive until after you’re on your way back to the boat, over.”

  “Rapier, Terminator. Good to know. Do you have any information on our families, over?”

  There was a lengthy pause, and the elation McDaniels felt when given the news about the inbound MV-22 faded. He waited, but there was no response.

  “Rapier, this is Terminator, over.”

  “Terminator, Rapier. Sorry, we haven’t been able to get anything conclusive with regards to your families. We just don’t have the resources to track that down. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it is what it is. Sorry about that, Terminator. Over.”

  In the distance, McDaniels heard sporadic gunfire, vague and ghostly. It didn’t last for long.

  Is that what my family is going through now? Are they being attacked by a horde of zeds while I’m here?

  “Rapier, Terminator. You’re right, it’s not what I want to hear. You need to figure out how you’re going to get that intel our way, because we’ve been busting our balls trying to accomplish this mission. You can give us a little peace of mind by determining the disposition of our families. Any other answer is bullshit, over.”

  “Terminator, Rapier. We get it. We really, really get it. We’re doing our best. Over.”

  “Outstanding, Rapier. What about that troop movement north of us?”

  “Terminator, Rapier. Movement is underway, but not in your vicinity yet. You should consider that element a total dark horse solution. They still have a lot of miles to cover before they can get to where you would want them, over.”

  McDaniels sighed. Was anything going to go right tonight? He stood up and stretched, cracking his back as he did so. To his right, more zombies tumbled out of the building. The sight was almost comical, if it didn’t rather finely underscore the desperation of their situation: the stenches would do anything to get to them, and there was absolutely no way to reason them out of it.

  “Rapier, Terminator. Roger that last about the troop movement from Drum. How much of New York City has gone to the zeds? Over.”

  There was a long pause before he got his reply. “Pretty much all of it right now, Terminator. That’s why the 10th is heading your way. They’re going to try and quarantine Manhattan Island and then start systematically exterminating every stench they can find. I’d say it promises to be quite a show, but you’d probably want to be gone by then. Over.”

  McDaniels shook his head. “Rapier, how can one light infantry division possibly kill over a million zeds? Makes no sense, considering they’d need to make head shots for every kill, or use some pretty intense burning agents to raze them. Over.”

  “Terminator, Rapier. We get that. This is a Big Army plan, not something USASOC is onboard with. The opinion here is that the 10th Mountain guys are gonna go under, but there’s no way to put a stop to it. Looks like the National Command Authority wants to do something, and this is it. But not our problem, Terminator. As far as you’re concerned, the Marines are on their way, and they’re your ticket out of the Big Apple. Over.”

  McDaniels checked the horizon again, and saw the line of clouds had moved closer. “Roger that, Rapier. Keep an eye on the weather... it would totally suck if we get closed out because of a little rain and wind, over.”

  “Taken care of, Terminator. The Marine call sign is Thunder Three, flight of one, and will be calling you on frequency seven, 132 megahertz. You should have the frequency all to yourselves, and the Night Stalkers should be able to monitor it as well, over.”

  “Roger, Rapier. Anything else?”

  “Negative from this end, Terminator. Hope that the next we hear from you is that you’re feet wet and heading for the boat with all souls, over.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear, Rapier. Terminator Six, out.”

  McDaniels powered down the satellite phone and folded up its antenna. As he packed it away, Gartrell ambled over, his AA-12 held loosely in his hands.

  “So it sounded like USASOC was blowing a lot of sunshine your way,” he said.

  “I get that they’re a little busy.”

  Gartrell nodded. “I’d figured that as well, sir.”

  McDaniels finished packing up the radio and rose to his feet. He looked at Gartrell and shrugged after a moment.

  “Don’t know what to say, Gartrell. I guess we’re both in the same boat. I’m hoping our families are smart enough to get out if they can, or to shelter in place until they can get rescued.”

  Gartrell nodded again. “Laurie and the girls should be good to go if things are getting out of hand in their area. We have guns, and everyone knows how to use them. And if they have to evacuate, they can overland with the ATVs.” The first sergeant paused again. “What about your wife? Paulette, right? And what’s his name, Lenny?”

  “Lenny’s at school in Texas. Paulette is at home, alone. And she hates guns. I have two of them in the house, but she won’t touch them. She doesn’t even know how to load them.”

  Gartrell said nothing.

  McDaniels nodded toward the roof door. “Let’s get back downstairs before things get any more maudlin,” he said.

  Gartrell grabbed his arm as he stalked past the first sergeant. McDaniels stopped and looked at him, and Gartrell’s blue eyes shined in the tepid light given off by what remained of New York City.

  “You need to cultivate some faith, major,” he said. “And real fast. Your family will need it.”

  McDaniels nodded after a long moment. Gartrell slowly released him, and McDaniels continued toward the door. Gartrell took one last look at the falling zombies as they tumbled through the night, on a date with pavement kissing. He shook his head and pressed on after McDaniels.

  CHAPTER 10

  Regina Safire looked around the darkened cafeteria as she slowly walked back to the booth where her father sat, brooding over a bottle of water. She had checked the wounded soldier again, and found his condition unchanged, though his pain had increased. There was nothing for her to prescribe for him other than Advil and Tylenol, which had been found in the kitchen first aid kit. She’d given him more than the maximum doses of both, but of course they were too weak to really put down the pain. The poor man would just have to suffer until he could be delivered to a real medical facility. She ran a hand through her dark hair, and hoped that would be soon.

  Her father barely looked up as she slid across the bench facing him. She reached across the table the put her hand over his, but he didn’t react to the contact.

  “Dad?”

  Safire sighed lightly, that perpetual indicator of impatience she’d grown accustomed to while growing up. “What is it, Regina.” His voice was flat, expressionless, like it always was when he was stressed. The light pouring in through the big windows overlooking Lexington Avenue illuminated his hair, surrounding his head with a nimbus of gray and white.

  “We’re going to be all right,” she said, voice low. “We’re going to get out of this. These guys, they seem pretty well connected, and they obviously know what they’re doing.”

  Safire smiled thinly, his gaze rooted on the surface of the table between them. “You think so, Regina?”

  “These are some pretty tough hombres, dad.”

  “And you think that toughness is enough to get us out of this?”

  “They have resources. They can communicate wit
h people outside of the city, or at least they say they can. And the government wouldn’t send just anybody to get you out of here. They’d send the best they had.”

  “That man, McDaniels... do you know what he was doing before he was sent to New York?” When she shook her head, Safire grinned widely, like some sort of jack-o-lantern. “He was putting together PowerPoint presentations for generals to use in their briefings. Not exactly a signal they sent the best they had, is it?”

  Regina frowned. “How do you know that?”

  For the first time, Safire met her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, and she suddenly felt stupid and childish. It was obvious that her father knew what he did from a trusted source, otherwise he wouldn’t have said what he had. She was about to apologize when he suddenly turned and jerked his chin toward one of the soldiers, sitting at a nearby table. They had assembled a veritable feast of thick sandwiches, chips, soda, slices of cake and pie. She had heard them discussing the merits of some beer they had found in the kitchen as well, but oddly enough, they weren’t drinking any. Only soda and water. She presumed that indicated they were disciplined enough to resist the charms of alcohol, even during a nightmare like the one they were all living.

  “One of them told me,” he said.

  Regina frowned again. “Why would they do that?”

  “Perhaps they don’t like the major. I understand they normally work for someone else. I really don’t know why I was told that, unless it was an attempt at humor.”

  Regina ran both hands through her hair. “Well, not too funny if it was.”

  Safire only shrugged and went back to contemplating the tabletop. Regina touched his hand again.

  “I’m getting hungry. Do you want anything to eat?” she asked.

  Safire shook his head silently. Regina patted his hand and slid out of the booth and headed toward the kitchen. She walked past the maintenance worker, sitting with his two daughters, both of whom were now awake. They regarded Regina with blank expressions as she walked past, and she smiled at them. The older girl, who was maybe 19 or 20, smiled back; the younger one, perhaps 10, kept her expression neutral as Regina walked by.