by A. R. Shaw
Turning twenty degrees to his left, he knew this new heading would eventually intercept the shoreline; by his own estimates he had only been drifting off course ten degrees to the right. Stopping his descent at a thousand feet, Dalton strained his eyes in an attempt to see anything at all out the windows. After a few minutes, his frustrations began to get the best of him. Dammit! Surely I didn’t drift that far off. “Shit!” he exclaimed, aggressively shoving the control wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a cell phone tower when his surroundings began to slowly come back into view as he exited the cloud bank.
With his pulse racing from the near miss, he pushed the throttle forward and began a climb back away from the terrain while keeping it in sight. Looking back to his prisoner, he said, “Sorry about that, sweetie. That was a close one.”
“Okay. Game face!” he said to coax himself back into the proper mind-set. Scanning his instruments he thought, The main tanks are down to fumes. I’ve stretched them as far as I could. Time to switch to the ferry tank.
Reaching over to the makeshift fuel selector they had rigged up in the floor next to him, Dalton flicked on the auxiliary fuel boost pump in an attempt to maintain fuel pressure during the swap, then turned the valve. So far so good, he thought to himself, staring at the gauges. Then the fuel pressure suddenly dropped, causing the engine to stutter.
“Dammit!”
As he reached down to ensure that the fuel selector valve was rotated properly, the engine went silent, the propeller now only windmilling as the airspeed began to bleed off from the loss of power. Dalton immediately pitched the nose down slightly to maintain airspeed and avoid a stall while he worked the valve with his free hand.
With a pop and a shudder, the engine coughed itself back to life. The gauges all returned to their normal operating ranges as Dalton added power to recover his lost altitude. “I guess I should have tried that valve on the ground first,” he said with a chuckle.
~ ~ ~
Then, before he knew it, Dalton approached his target, only to realize the place was swarming with what looked to be military vehicles. He circled back, deciding that before he attracted their attention he should land somewhere quickly. He kept to the coast and soon found the right spot.
Once in position and seeing no one around, Dalton brought the plane in. Landing on the ocean waves was rough, but not as bad as he thought it might be. He landed south of Topanga Beach and inflated the raft. Hoisting his prisoner into it, he said, “Come on darlin’; time for you to meet up with some old friends.” Then he put on his survival pack and rowed them to shore after disabling the plane and setting it to drift out to sea.
Dalton realized he only had about an hour to get the woman into a public position and get the hell out of there before the light of dawn. He looped the gagged, restrained, and unconscious body over his shoulders and ran up the beach.
He hoped he had picked the right spot, because this was his only chance. He saw what looked like an abandoned restaurant and a parking lot and headed that way. Once his feet hit the asphalt of the parking lot, he looked around. The place looked deserted. There were cars parked all over the roadway. He looked north and only saw a cliff of rocks; above that, a residential neighborhood.
“Great!” he said in frustration and out of breath. He needed to get her into a populated area. He eyed one of the cars left abandoned and headed for it. He opened the backseat and unceremoniously dumped her inside.
He checked her restraints and they were secure; the last thing he needed was to deal with her tricks, and he knew the drug would wear off soon. He felt around for keys, but there were none. Luckily he knew how to strip wires with his teeth and cross the exact two that would make the engine start.
In no time they were traveling down the Pacific Coast Highway. He couldn’t believe his eyes at the devastation he saw. Whole neighborhoods were blocked off and burned to a crisp. Dead, decaying bodies littered the streets. Theirs deaths had to be from something other than the pandemic because by now, those bodies would be skeletons. These were hold-out carriers struck down by the terrorists.
He continued on and passed Will Rogers Beach, a few roadblocks, and more bodies along the roadsides. The night was dark, and he drove on without headlights, his NVGs firmly in place. He just needed to get her closer to where he suspected they were bringing in more personnel, and that meant closer to Los Angeles International Airport.
He’d be able to leave her there with the confidence that he’d gotten her as close as he could to their enemy and to do the most harm. But when he neared Santa Monica, it occurred to him that this was the closest he might be able to get. The roadway ahead was blocked off.
This is where they’ve taken up residence. Perfect.
He stopped there, just out of sight in the dark. He pulled the woman out of the back and sat her up in the front seat. He had to draw attention to her, so he turned up the radio, which was playing something in Arabic—a mundane speech, not remotely entertaining. He then ran off, climbed a wooden embankment, and headed into the night with nothing other than his survival pack. He hoped it would be enough for him to make his way home—or die trying.
Dawn light began to spill over the horizon. He turned one last time to view his handiwork as he reached the top of the embankment and glanced at the coming dawn. He saw men coming, and watched from his hidden location as one soldier approached the car, armed, and yelled to another guard. He hoped the words said in Arabic were something indicating the woman was drunk or somehow incapacitated. They guy lowered his weapon and felt for her pulse. Then he yelled for the other guy to come help, and they carried her out of the vehicle. Bingo, two more infected. Let the death begin! he thought when he heard a shot fired in his direction.
Chapter 59 James’s Mission
After a few close calls of his own and a tough time traversing the Rockies, James edged close to Denver. Having thought a lot about the plan on the way, he now tweaked it a little to gain his best advantage. He was familiar with the Denver area; his daughter had met and married a fellow from there. He and his deceased wife had visited her there on many occasions before the world failed them all.
He aimed not toward his original destination, but straight for Denver International Airport, which he knew from radio communications had been taken over by the terrorists.
A radio call interrupted his thoughts, in a language he didn’t care to understand, but instead of answering, James flipped the switch off. He’d prepared himself for death. He knew it would happen, and now he intended for it to happen this way. It was the only thing he could control. His only concern was to save the life of the fellow in the cargo area. He wanted to make sure Omar lived at least long enough to infect a few of the others.
James circled around the airport, and though the runway was cluttered with military vehicles, he knew he could land even in a leveled grassy area. He lowered the plane and attempted a landing just past an army truck that had been set ablaze. It was a bumpy landing swerving at the last minute to avoid another flaming truck. Whatever was going on here had all the signs of utter chaos. Guns fired in the distance. There was fighting still going on, perhaps a resistance. He heard more shots and could tell they were getting closer. He quickly sprung himself out of the cockpit, grabbed his backpack, and then went to open the cargo area.
Omar was awake and seemed oddly contented. He had apparently resigned himself to his fate and had willingly cooperated out of what they all had assumed was remorse.
James helped him out and cut his restraints. He knew his prisoner was complicit in this plan, but even so, he didn’t completely trust him. James and Omar scanned the wrecked airport, and when they saw soldiers running their way, they weren’t sure what to do. Omar recognized them as his own people, and without warning he pulled James’s weapon out of his holster and drew it on James. He gave him a reassuring look, but James already knew he was dead man. This was the best plan he could have made, however: there were five terrorists running their way, an
d they slowed as they approached him, shouting words he didn’t understand. Omar shouted something back and nudged James to start walking.
One of the terrorists began arguing with the others, pointing at the airplane. Then more shots rang out from behind them, and everyone ducked. Soon they were following the terrorists toward a portion of the burned-out terminal.
Omar stopped for a second as the terrorists continued on and wiped his sweating brow; James could tell he now had the fever too. Omar stared into James’s eyes and nodded back toward the plane. James had less than half an hour of fuel left; it was barely enough to get out of there and he had no idea where he might land before he ran out of fuel.
Again, Omar hurriedly glanced at the plane and pushed James to go. James nodded. He’d done his duty, Omar would do the rest. He’d have to trust him. James watched as Omar wiped the fevered sweat from his forehead and smiled at him. He nodded again and James took off as fast as he could run. Shots rang out. Omar covered him as best he could, only pretending to shoot at James as he fled.
I might just make it out of here, James thought. He had no idea how he’d made it back into the plane and got it going, but now he was set to take off. Shots were fired upon him again, bullets pinging off the metal. When he looked back, it was war not unlike he’d seen in Vietnam many years ago, with everything on fire and a land you felt that hell had given birth to. But this was his own country. He only hoped the virus worked. Almost a half hour later, as James searched for a level landing area, he spotted a convoy of military vehicles on the highway below. The last truck pulled what looked like shrouded human beings behind it, each tethered to the truck by ropes. Someone fired upon James as he swooped down for a closer look. James turned the plane around and aimed for front of the convoy, away from the prisoners. In the end, James took out four of the five military vehicles in a fiery but effective crash. The prisoners behind the final vehicle escaped, though James didn’t live to see it.
Chapter 60 Anticipation
The next day, Graham woke up with Tehya squirming on his chest. He’d fallen asleep with her after his watch when he’d found Macy carrying the baby in the middle of the night, pacing back and forth in their cabin. He’d sent Macy off to bed and taken the baby into his arms. Two hours later Tehya was awake and wanting to be fed.
“Good morning,” he cooed to her. After he fed her, he handed her off to Olivia and walked to the office, accompanied by Sheriff. Sam’s eyes were bloodshot as he sipped a cup of coffee and monitored the radios.
“Good morning,” Graham said. “What time is it, anyway?”
“After ten, but it doesn’t really matter on days like this. We live around the clock,” Sam said.
Graham was trying to avoid the question, but he had to ask it. “Any news?”
Sam shook his head. “No, nothing so far. I don’t expect we’ll hear anything from either of them for a few days. If they made it, that is.”
“Yeah,” Graham agreed. “How’s Clarisse?”
“I saw her this morning with the boys at breakfast. She looks pretty torn up. She hasn’t asked about Dalton. But I doubt she slept much last night.”
“It’s too early. She knows that. If Dalton makes it back, it’ll be by foot or vehicle. Unless he can get his hands on another plane, but that’s unlikely. Truthfully, it could be months before either one of them makes it back,” Graham said.
“If they make it back,” Sam said. “We really need to think about that possibility.”
Graham took a deep breath. “Look, we’re more in jeopardy now than at any time before. We need to keep our eyes open. If the terrorists figure this out and have enough time to get to us, we could be in for some real trouble. It’s too early for any news of illness to come in. The only way we’re going to know if it worked, will be the lack of chatter in next few days and weeks to come.”
“Agreed. Look, I hate to bring it up, but it’s late summer now and we don’t have enough food to get us through winter; we lost too much over the past couple of months. We should probably get to a few of those bunkers and get the MREs to stash in the dam building. We might consider living in there when winter sets in. We should think about how best to maintain our group through the colder months.
“And we need to refocus these guys. Everyone’s rattled. I watched Mark this morning, peering up into the sky. They’re all doing that. They’re distracted. It’s only the four of us leading this group now, and we need to think ahead.”
Graham appreciated Sam’s practical advice. They were all wrapped up waiting for the results of the plan and hoping that their comrades made it back home. But Sam was right: the winter ahead could end up being the real killer in all of this.
“Yeah, I know we’re spread thin, but we have to continue to monitor the radios and keep a look out. Add to that hunting and getting supplies in. I say Rick and his family should just move into the office; he knows the radios best. You work on hunting and food supply with McCann and Macy; I’ll keep up security with Mark and Marcy. We can switch off every now and then, but you’re right, winter and starvation are just as dangerous as the terrorists.”
“What about Clarisse?” Sam said.
“Let’s give her some time. She’ll fill in wherever she wants and she’s our medical officer; let’s not forget that.”
Sam nodded in agreement.
Just then, Clarisse appeared in the doorway with Rick.
“Hello,” Clarisse said weakly.
They were all nervous. Clarisse’s hair was drawn back in a tight neat bun, but her face was pale and dark circles lined her eyes. Graham had never seen her looking this poorly.
“Have you eaten, Clarisse?” he asked.
She glanced at him, “Yeah, but I’m just not that hungry right now. I came to say I know they might not make it. It’s a hard reality, but it’s something we need to consider.” Her lips trembled.
“We know, Clarisse,” Graham said, reaching for her. She didn’t cry, but let him hold her. “We’re here for you. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Let us know if there is anything we can do.”
She nodded her head. “We just have to keep going on,” she said. “We don’t have the luxury to grieve, or the kids might not make it.” She smiled, but tears ran down her face. She brushed them away. “And, it’s for them that we need to push forward or we’ve all failed. Every sacrifice we’ve made will be for nothing if we don’t help them survive this.”
Chapter 61 Radio Talk
Two weeks later Rick woke early to a glorious pink and blue sunrise over the lake with wisps of clouds foretelling the coming autumn. Every day, the air that blew across the lake was a little cooler.
The radio produced nothing more than static; the last transmission had been detected a few days ago. They could only assume the virus was working. Even so, this genocide was something the adults would have to carry in their souls forever, not something to be celebrated.
They’d agreed to wait until after winter to venture out. For now they’d hide and continue on waiting and hoping that both James and Dalton returned.
Rick poured himself some coffee. Early on, as each of the members of the group woke, or passed the office on their way to bed, they’d stop and ask the question he’d come to hate: Any word? Now he thought it was perhaps more sad that when he looked out the window Mark or one of the others would walk by without even asking. They were beginning to assume the worst.
“Come on, Dalton,” Rick said under his breath. He sat down and turned up the radio, taking a sip of his coffee and watching out the window. McCann showed Kade how to cast a line out into the lake with Frank, the dog, watching his every move. The little boy had taken a liking to McCann and followed him everywhere. And everywhere Kade went, so too did Frank. It was funny how that happened. It seemed the dogs had their favorites.
Rick began to chuckle at the scene as Frank peered off the dock looking at what he guessed was a squirming fish on the line. That was when Rick heard something unusual within the st
atic. He sat down his coffee harder than he meant to, and it splashed onto the counter as he fumbled with the radio knob. He turned up the receiver and tried to see if it came in again. Maybe I’m hearing things. A few seconds later, it happened again. It was faint and staticky. “Hey, is there anyone out there?”
Chapter 62 A Realization
Clarisse woke and rushed to the bathroom again. The morning sickness seemed to skip days now, but she wasn’t so lucky on this particular morning. After she cleaned up, she peeked into the boy’s room and found them still asleep; the dawn’s rays just entering their room were interrupted by shadows from clouds threatening snowfall. A soft glow gleamed over their small bodies.
Kade was doing well, considering; he’d stopped asking about his father in the past few weeks, but Hunter was resentful and angry. Clarisse was doing everything she could to bring him peace, but it was hard to do when she herself felt alone and scared.
There was hope, though. Survivors were gathering together. They were calling in to the radio stations with reports. News was spreading about a mass dying off of the terrorists due to a mystery virus.
Someone reported that an airplane took out an entire convoy of terrorists about two months ago, saving fifty Americans in the Denver area. They all speculated that it might have been James, but there was no real way of knowing.
After a long discussion they’d decided to keep the knowledge of what they’d done to themselves, so other survivors thought the new virus a mystery. Some of them turned to religion’s salvation for answers; others didn’t care much focusing instead on rebuilding and locating more survivors.
They’d hung around the radio for days when the news first started pouring in. Some stations had tried posting news for survivors to locate family members, but it was quickly learned that there were few matches, and that effort waned. Rick had posted inquiries into Dalton’s and James’s whereabouts, but so far nothing had come in.
