George pointed towards the front of their sanctuary. “If they don't show, or we don't hear from 'em by the morning, I think we should take Rae's baby there an' begin searching. It might take a while, but there can't be that many places in Bainbridge they'd pick to shelter in. I mean, this place ain't Downtown Chicago or anything.”
Their Hummer, sitting outside at the forefront of the airport hangar, was real one—not the yuppie yellow, Look at me! Look at me! I’m so rich and important, but I still feel the need to overcompensate model and had been heavily modified. Its exterior had been augmented with inch thick, steel bars welded together in a crosshatch pattern, then bolted through the armored doors over its darkened, bulletproof windows. A heavy crash plate covered the front grill and someone had painted a large, fanged smile across it, in yellow spray paint.
Each of those gathered were nodding absently, half-lost in their own private thoughts. Secretly they would all admit there was little chance that—after nearly four days—they'd find any sign of Jake and Kat, but none of them were willing to abandon hope their friends had survived just yet.
“Where should we start?” Rae tossed an old radio transceiver into the growing pile of rejected hardware on her worktable, turned away, strode to the partial circle with the others, and took a knee.
Foster massaged the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. “I take it we're all in agreement here?”
The survivors all nodded in affirmation.
“Alright,” George sat forward, smoke from his Cuban swirled around his head as he did so, giving the older man a momentarily demonic appearance, “we go out loaded for bear. Elle? I want you to—”
A firm knocking on the hangar's access door interrupted Foster as he began to hand out preparation assignments, forestalling further discussion.
Everyone, even Gertrude, immediately had a weapon in their hands targeting the front of their refuge. Along with the airplane-sized hanger doors, which would allow something perhaps the size of an Airbus 310 through when fully opened, there was a smaller, human-sized door set into the front wall. Previously this had allowed pilots, crew, and maintenance personnel access to the hanger, without having to open the huge sliding entrance to move inside. When their group had arrived at the decommissioned, now-abandoned DHL hub, they'd chained the hangar doors and parked the Hummer right in front of them. There was really no point in bringing it inside, since they might require a scout vehicle and roaming around in Foster's gigantic, pink behemoth just wasn't practical. Now, a few of them wished they'd brought the monstrous machine inside.
It had an M134 minigun bolted to the roof turret after all.
“Do zombies... knock?” Bee asked quizzically, as Laurel, Warren (an airline mechanic they'd come across hiding within the airport), Leo (a nineteen-year-old fan of all things sharp and pointy), and the Barbie Duo (Donna and Gwen, who they'd rescued from a band of redneck rapists) came running down the Mimi's loading ramp, and joined them in pointing things that go 'Bang' at their front door.
“We've had that discussion before,” Rae informed her quietly. She shot a glance at Foster and he nodded. The two of them moved quietly to the steel entrance and took positions on either side. Laurel noted for all the lip the pair gave one-another, George and his shapely counterpart worked as quite an effective team when the situation called for it. George gave Rae a series of quick signs none of the others recognized, and she pulled a grenade from a pocket of her flight-suit. After signaling she was ready, Rae pulled the pin on her grenade—taking great care to, as George always told them, Fucking-Hold The Fucking-Spoon Down Fucking Firmly!—and squatted on the leeward edge of the door.
Foster pressed his back against the wall next to the doorknob, gripped his pistol with his right hand, put his other on the knob, and quietly asked, “Who is it?”
“It's the plumber. I've come to fix the sink...” Jake replied.
“Son of a bitch.” George yanked the door open. Outside stood Kat, a woman none of them had seen before, and one very tired-looking, messy-haired writer.
“Well it's about time.” Rae stood and a broad smile lit up her normally serious face.
“Hey, guys! Miss us?” Kat asked.
George fought not to break into a happy grin himself. “Nope. I liked being able ta eat the 'French Toast with Bacon' MRE for breakfast. I suppose you're gonna want it from now on again.”
“Damn skippy. The Inevitable Zombie Apocalypse would suck beyond description without my daily dose of pork-based goodness!” Kat hugged both of them before introducing the newcomer. “This is Deputy Penny Carson. She's going to be coming with us.”
Stepping forward to take Foster’s outstretched hand, Penny said, “Nice to meet you. You've gotta be George.”
That surprised Foster. “Yeah. How'd ya know?”
“You look like the resident 'abrasive but badass, foul-mouthed, ex-Squid' to me,” She told him.
“Oh, you're going to fit in just fine.” Rae's smile grew wider.
Penny gave her a discrete once-over and shook hands, which Rae missed entirely. O'Connor noticed the good Deputy's eyes widened, and noticeably lingered on Rae's ample cleavage, when the female fixer half-turned and waved an 'all clear' signal to the rest of their group. That provided him quite a few mental images of possible outcomes, most of which were definitely not rated PG-13. While Jake wasn't really into that sort of thing, he was male. Things like that were kind of involuntary when you came equipped with external genitalia. It didn't mean he ever had to act on urges of that sort, but the images in his brain were definitely interesting.
“Get your ass in here, boy.” Foster nearly crushed Jake's hand in his own as he pulled him into a rough embrace. The older man released him quickly then slapped the back of one gnarled mitt against Jake's chest, nearly bruising his sternum. “What the fuck took you two so long? You stop for pizza again, or somethin'?”
Jake ignored the reference to his previous outing. Acknowledging he and Kat had been hip-deep in trouble once again without—as Gertrude jokingly put it—'adult supervision', would not be beneficial to his love life. He realized he'd eventually have to come clean with Laurel about being trapped in Old Hall—and the following craziness in Rebecca's grainery—but that wasn't going to happen just then. Not with his aforementioned redhead stalking towards him on swift feet, eyes flashing, looking hot, sweaty, and utterly sexy despite the obvious expression of anger on her face.
Laurel stopped before him, hand on her cocked-out hip, and close enough that her breasts were pressed firmly against Jake's tactical vest. “Took your sweet time, didn't you?”
O'Connor swallowed audibly. “Yeah, sorry about that. It kind of took much longer than I'd originally planned for us to—”
“Zip it.” Laurel put her face in his, so they were almost nose-to-nose even with their pronounced difference in height. She gave Jake a look that told him he needed to keep his mouth shut, reached up, and took hold of his vest. “Kat, you got this for a while?”
Cho nodded with a knowing grin. “No worries. I'll fill the others in while you deal with our boy here.”
“Traitor,” Jake mumbled.
“What was that?” Laurel demanded sternly.
Jake tried to look innocent. “I didn't say anything.”
“I didn't think you had.” Laurel pulled him away from the others. She walked him up the Mimi's loading ramp, gave a steely look to Elle—who reasoned it would be wise to find another seat—and the two disappeared into the guts of Fosters transport. Seconds later, its clam-shell door began cycling shut, then rose to meet seamlessly with the vehicle's top edge.
Allen began whistling the Military 'Taps' melody, and Elle snickered.
“What was that about?” Penny asked, gratefully taking a welcome tin mug of hot, percolator-brewed, caffeine-bean juice Bee passed to her.
“That, Deputy, was the sound of a whip cracking,” Foster told her, sipping at a mug-full of the holy, black brew himself and puffing heartily on his stogie. “I'll
be taking bets on where our boy has lash marks in the morning now. Buy-in is two MRE desert packets. Who's game?”
The betting commenced in earnest.
* * *
Wendy didn’t like the ugly people.
They weren’t nice.
When Mommy had gotten her up out of bed, she’d said they were going to Grandpa’s for a while. She’d been in a really big hurry, stuffing Wendy’s clothes into a suitcase with her own, as she was on the phone with Daddy.
Daddy was in the army. He worked at the “Army. Aviation. Support. Facility”. It was at 1921 Turner Road in Salem Oregon. 97302. Wendy knew this because Mommy and Daddy had made her memorize the address, just in case she ever got lost. That way, she could find a police officer or a firefighter and they could take her to her safe place.
Mommy had driven them to Grandpa’s that night. It was really late, and there were ugly people on the road sometimes until they got past Manning. They didn’t talk at all. They just made scary noises and tried to get into their Pathfinder. Daddy had bought it for Mommy last year, when her other car had broken.
Once they reached Grandpa’s house, he’d been really happy to see them, and Wendy didn’t understand why he was crying. Wendy liked her Grandpa. He smelled like cigars. Mommy kept asking him to stop smoking them, but Wendy didn’t know why. She thought it was a nice smell.
Wendy snuggled down on Grandpa’s overstuffed couch, and he put the afghan Grandma Jen had knitted over her. Grandma Jen had gone to heaven just after Wendy was born, so she didn’t remember her. She loved her Grandma’s afghan though.
Grandpa and Mommy were talking in the kitchen, but Wendy was sleepy. She smiled and closed her eyes.
The afghan was warm and smelled like Grandpa.
-Chapter Seven-
Their friends left early the next morning.
Except for the screaming snit fit Donna threw when the blonde learned she wasn't going along (which earned her a smart slap across the chops from her friend Gwen), their plane made it into the air without a hitch.
Maggie had spent most of the previous evening going over charts and reviewing weight vs. fuel consumption tables, ensuring they didn't overload the Beechcraft. When everything was finally packed in, there wasn't really much room left in the cabin. Boxes of MREs (fully a third of the food stores in the Mimi) went into the plane to insure the members of the party winging south would be able to survive in style. At least, until they could locate one of the caches George had mapped out in the area around Pecos. Rae, Foster, and Jenner had ripped some of the webbing from the baggage compartment of a decommissioned 737, sitting in the third hanger from the road and used it to secure the cases. That way, none of them would shift mid-flight (possibly unbalancing the aircraft) and send their friends on an earthbound, roller-coaster ride, which would end in a sudden and fatal impact with Terra Firma.
Jenner was gruffly shaking hands with everyone, unable to stop thanking them over and over again. The short aircraft engineer admitted that before their arrival, he'd felt the first tickles of madness due to their two months of isolation. After the firefighter Don had gone missing, depression had been his constant companion and he'd believed there was no one else left out there. Warren had honestly thought his little party would all end up talking to themselves and eventually, eating cans of expired beans from the Super-center next to the airport to stay alive.
Jake's parting with Gertrude had hurt him badly, but he was careful not to let it show. He hadn't wanted to cause her pain and was sure she was going to worry about the rest of them nonstop, until they reached the South Texas haven. The aged woman had fussed at him for helping her into the plane but, after getting her belted into the plush seat, she'd pulled him down to her with those withered arms and cried against his shoulder for a while.
“Jacob, you promise me you're going to come get us,” she demanded, as he hugged her thin form gently.
“I promise. We'll be there before you know it.”
Gertrude squeezed him tightly and kissed his finely stubbled cheek. “You're a good boy.”
The writer didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded lamely.
Gertie looked up at him, eyes wet, and put her hand on his cheek. “One last thing. During your trip, I have no doubt you're going to encounter....Oh, so much more horror than we've seen so far. Don't let it take away who you are. Rely on your friends. Let them help you. Let them comfort you, when you need it. Follow your heart, young man. It's as strong as any I've seen. It won't steer you wrong.”
Jake was determined not to let her see him cry, so he kissed her wrinkled cheek and moved back through the plane to say goodbye to his best friend.
The fixers had bolted a cot to the floor midway back in the cabin, allowing Al to lie down. The slim man's kidney area was still very sore and he couldn't sit-up for long. The swelling on his face had gone down a bit and, though still half a dozen different shades of purple from the beating he'd taken, Allen’s sense of humor was slowly returning to normal. Kat wanted to say goodbye to Gertie and he whistled at her as she moved past. Giving him a smile, she bent and kissed the mechanic's forehead before moving toward the nose of the plane.
“I don't know what to say.” Jake looked hollowly out the nearby porthole, watching the others saying their farewells. His life seemed like a long series of goodbyes. His mother and brother, his father, Molly.
Allen sat up, wincing as his back twinged. “Just tell me you love me.”
He gave his friend a leery glance, to which Al waggled his eyebrows comically in response.
Jake laughed. “Superman two, right?”
His friend smiled and Jake pulled him carefully into a hug. He tried to keep in mind that Allen was on his way to safety, but it didn't really help. O'Connor had to swallow a lump in his throat.
“I love you, man,” Allen said, hugging him back as best he could. “Listen to your old buddy now. You do whatever you have to do to get to Pecos. Don't make me come looking for you guys. I've always hated road trips.”
“Tell you what,” Jake said, “you find the watering hole down there and keep an eye out for us.”
“Will do.” Allen lay back down on the cot. “Who knows? If I'm lucky, I might even find a spicy, little senorita to keep me occupied during the wait. “
“You're incorrigible.”
The mechanic grinned widely. “Hey, I'm not the one traveling across the country with Laurel, Kat, Rae, Gwen, Donna, Penny, Elle, and Beatrix. George was right. It's like you've started a harem.”
“And Karen. We're going to get her back,” Jake told him firmly.
Allen nodded. “I know you will. But good point. You're going to be riding around with eight truly, hot women. You should rename Foster's pink behemoth, The Love Machine.”
“Yep, you're gonna be just fine,” Jake said, rising to his feet and fighting a smile.
Warren and his two kids began boarding while Jake moved to the tail of the plane. He turned at the hatch to wait for Kat and heard the tag end of her conversation with Gertrude.
“Don't forget what I told you, dear,” The aging woman said emphatically as Kat crouched to embrace her.
“I won't,” she said, then stood to let Warren—who would be playing naviguesser to Maggie's captain—slide into the cockpit. Kat gave Gertie a warm smile. “We'll see you in a few weeks.”
Maggie finished saying goodbye to George—who goosed her shamelessly—and to Laurel—who didn't—as the two of them hopped out through the hatch. Kat moved to hug the muscular blonde, then made her pinky-promise that she and Allen would keep working on the self-defense techniques she'd drilled with them. After Jake's friend had recovered that is. Then the buxom woman turned to the writer.
He noticed Maggie's blue eyes were shinier than usual. It made him extremely regretful that, even with all the time they'd spent locked away in Foster's cache, he hadn't actually taken much time to get to know her. Between the horrors raging outside the walls during the first weeks and th
en the near endless training George had put them all through, he and Laurel had barely had time—which they did not waste—alone each night.
“Be careful, Mags,” he said, extending his hand to her.
She looked at him evenly for a moment, then brushed it aside to wrap her arms over his shoulders and kissed him soundly. He was too surprised to do anything but put his hands safely on her waist, as the kiss stretched on and on and on.
After a dozen heartbeats, she pulled back, looked him in the eye, and grinned. “Keep that crowbar of yours handy, Jake. I expect you to return the favor when you all get to Pecos. Oh, and don't worry. I did actually ask your redhead over there if it was alright to plant one on you, beforehand.”
“Um. Thanks?” he replied.
“Anytime.” She released him and stepped up into the Beechcraft, then looked back at Laurel with a smile. “You're right. He does kiss like a hero.”
Jake glanced at her and, sure enough, his shapely, red-haired bombshell was looking highly amused (as was Kat) at Jake's reaction to the tall blonde's lip-lock.
“Women are all evil,” he grumbled, helping Maggie swing the hatch closed.
“I’ve been telling you that for years!” O'Connor heard Allen call, just before the edges met and sealed the cabin off from the world. Jake thumped on the hull and moved towards the access door, where Bee stood guard with a suppressed AR-15.
The survivors had mixed feelings about seeing their companions leave. Fear for all their friends’ survival, apprehension for their own, jealousy that the others wouldn't have to spend the next few weeks fighting and sneaking across fourteen-hundred plus miles of hostile territory, wreckage and the rotting dead. They were silent as they watched Maggie run through the Beechcraft’s checklist, then give them all an enthusiastic thumbs-up through the cockpit's windows.
Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Page 15
