There was a sleek Learjet dominating most of the space and he hoped it was the one they’d be taking, it was roomy enough for all of them and their equipment. Hell, with a jet, they could be home in a few hours.
“No way. You have zero chance.” he heard Carl over the radio. “What else is there?”
“What’s going on?” Gunny asked
“The planes outside are junk.” Griz replied, grabbing extra guns out of his Dodge. “Carl said we can’t take the jet, said it’s too complicated.”
Scratch yelled out the other airplanes to Stabby who relayed to Carl what kind they were.
“That one!” Stabby called out after a moment, pointing to a red and white Cessna 210 with Air Tours painted on the side. They ran over and started tossing in gear as Stabby and Scratch scrawled down notes as fast as they could. Carl was trying to remember all the important things he’d learned from the countless hours he’d spent flying the same airplane on his computer. They had the external speaker on as they both tried to understand what he was saying, each grabbing the mic to ask something that didn’t make sense. Both boys had spent a lot of time playing video games, flying all manner of aircraft but not like Carl had. He’d been into sims that were as real as it got with flight sticks and pedals and multiple monitors. The boys played button mashers with unlimited ammo and missiles.
“There’s no keys!” Bridget yelled from the cockpit and they looked around the hangar, trying to spot a key box or an office where they might be.
“Check the sun visor!” Gunny yelled and sprinted to the door towards the front, Mexicali Air Tours and Skydiving stenciled on the glass. Griz continued piling in the weapons and extra ammo as Hollywood ran to slide the bay doors open.
“They’re stacking up fast!” he yelled. “That gate won’t hold much longer!”
They could see them, they had a clear view across the field to the moaning husks pressing against the bent and twisted gate, only held in place with a length of rubber hose.
“Got ‘em!” Gunny yelled and ran for the plane, tossing them to Bridget as she stacked the gear, making room for more.
“You can do it.” they heard Carl reassure the boys. “It’s an easy plane, it’s a trainer plane. Just make sure you’re not overloaded, it can only carry about a thousand pounds, less if it’s old and worn out.”
Gunny and Griz stopped tossing in ammo and looked at each other then at the stack of guns, backpacks, bugout bags and bullets. They looked around at the six of them and did fast math.
“Unload it.” Gunny said and they started tossing things back out.
“Get it started!” Hollywood yelled, they’re coming!”
He shouldered his rifle and took aim at the first of the zeds that squeezed through the widening gap. There were only a few now but when the makeshift latch broke, there would be hundreds keening towards them. The airplane wasn’t like a car, it couldn’t take any abuse. Hitting even one of the runners might ground them permanently.
Stabby threw himself in the pilot’s seat and tried to remember everything Carl had said, Scratch was still listening and trying to write things down. There was a dashboard full of gauges, knobs and levers and two steering wheels. He didn’t know what most of them did, there hadn’t been time to ask.
“Prime the pump, set the throttle… Which one is the elevator thingy?” he yelled over at Scratch as he remembered to enrich the fuel.
“They’re coming!” Hollywood yelled again over his constant gunfire. “Get it started or we’re gonna have to make a break for it!”
Bridget ran for his Cadillac, fired it up and squalled the tires spinning it around on the concrete. She shoved a CD in, cranked it all the way up, threw her go bag on the gas pedal then rolled out the door as the car shot across the parking lot towards the other end of the runway. Michael Jackson started asking Annie if she was okay as it picked up speed, the motor racing in first gear. The horde pouring through the gate turned to follow. Hollywood stopped firing, stopped drawing attention to the hanger and ran to meet the two that were reaching for Bridget. He started to shout a warning and aim his pistols but she rolled to her feet and smoothly sliced one open belly button to sternum. Her blade found the other one’s eye socket as she hopped out of the path of the first one, tripping over his spilled guts. His feet tangled and his face broke his fall. She plunged her other blade into the back of his head. Yellowish brain matter and black blood sprayed up, splashing her with gore. Hollywood grabbed Bridget’s clean hand to help her up then turned to watch his Cadillac lead the undead on a merry chase. They watched it roll through a shallow ditch and turn a little but it kept racing away from them, still leading the stumbling dead running after it.
They hurried back to the hangar in time to see Griz grab the propeller and give a mighty yank, spinning the motor by hand. The battery was too weak to crank it over and there was no time to figure out where it was. It almost caught and he tried again, quickly pulling his hands out of the way when it coughed to life. Gunny was still throwing out boxes of ammo, tossing in backpacks instead and Scratch was still desperately scribbling notes while Carl talked.
“Don’t forget to lean it out!” he yelled over the howl of the motor, nearly deafening inside the hangar. The zombies pouring through the fence chasing the car hesitated at the new sound. The closer sound, and turned towards it.
“Here they come!” Griz yelled, “Load up, now. We’ve got to beat them to the runway!”
“Go!” Gunny yelled at Stabby. “Get rolling, stay ahead of them.”
He pulled Bridget inside, tumbling her over his lap and out of the way. The plane started moving towards the opening and they felt Griz swing aboard through the other door, the whole plane leaning with his weight. The Cessna cleared the hangar doors and Stabby turned it toward a runway. Lars swung aboard next and waved frantically at Scratch who finally abandoned the radio and was running for all he was worth to catch up, the notebook flapping in his one good hand.
The plane was slow and cumbersome on the ground, barely ahead of the hundred strong mob that was chasing the noise and the smells of fear and blood. Once on the runway and not afraid of tipping it, Stabby gave a little more throttle to keep ahead of a pack running towards them to intercept. He couldn’t hit any, not one. He didn’t know if the propeller would chop them up like in the movies or break and fly apart and he didn’t want to find out. The little plane started to pick up speed and the few that were still chasing the Caddy turned and ran for the shouting voices.
“Take it!” Scratch shouted, extending his good hand towards Gunny, stretching to give him the notebook. The noise and commotion had agitated the undead trapped inside the pilots lounge and they burst through the doors, screaming and running, leaping on all fours. Day one zombies and they were fast. Gunny pulled his Glock and blasted at the nearest only a few feet away, jumping towards Scratch.
Scratch was starting to fall behind as the plane picked up speed, the door handle just out of his reach.
“Griz, on me!” Gunny shouted and didn’t wait for an answer.
He leaned out past the point of no return and felt the big man’s hands grab his belt before he fell. Griz held Gunny with one hand and the grab bar with the other as he leaned dangerously out of the door.
Scratch put on one last desperate burst of speed, still waving the notebook. Gunny ignored it, grabbed Scratch’s wrist instead and tugged him towards the bouncing airplane, pulling him off balance.
“Go!” Griz shouted at Stabby “We got him!”
The undead were closing in from all sides, arms reaching and sand filled voices screaming. Stabby had the yoke pulled back, shoved the throttle to its stops and the plane seemed to leap into the air. It lifted, tilted precariously and Scratch’s feet left the ground. The zombies screamed, seeing their food, their blood, the first they’d had in months, slip away skyward. Hollywood lunged for Griz, trying to pull him away from the door to center the weight, to get the plane back on an even keel. They were airborne but
listing hard, one wing dipping for the ground. Gunny was trying to reel Scratch in but he only had one hand and he wouldn’t let go of the notebook, their only way of knowing how to fly the plane.
“Give me your arm!” Bridget shouted at Hollywood, grabbed on and dove for the other door, leaning far out into space. The plane righted itself, the wings leveling as they barely skimmed over the fence, the wheels missed snagging it by inches.
“Grab on!” Gunny yelled at the dangling Scratch. “I can’t hold you, you’re slipping!”
Scratch hesitated for only another second, now some twenty feet in the air with apartment buildings coming up fast across the open field. He let go, the papers fluttered away and he dug his fingers into Gunny’s wrist in a death grip, hanging on for dear life as the plane started to buck and shudder.
Griz and Hollywood strained against the dead weight of the two men and Gunny finally got a knee inside, locked it behind the door frame and put his back into pulling Scratch aboard. With a final mighty heave, they tumbled in only to hear Stabby yelling at them to shut the doors. Bridget swung back in blithely and grabbed the handle, slamming her side shut while the boys all reached for the other one, just getting in each other’s way. She stepped over all of them and wrenched it shut, not bothering to tell them to watch their fingers. The plane smoothed out immediately, the shuddering subsided. Stabby eased back on the controls, fighting for altitude and the engine bogged down on the verge of stalling out. He reached for the throttle and yanked on it and the Cessna bucked and rocked forward, the nose lifting. Everyone in the back slid towards the tail of the plane and the nose rose even further.
“Stop bloody moving around!” Stabby yelled and pushed the yoke in a little, trying his best to keep it from stalling out in a climb or power-diving straight into the rooftops. They stopped struggling and slowly extricated themselves from the pile, moved forward and folded down tiny little seats bolted to the walls. There were only two normal seats for the pilot and copilot, the others were collapsible to make room for cargo.
“These chairs were made for people with tiny butts.” Griz grumbled as Gunny took the front seat, sliding in next to Stabby.
“More room to fly in bales of dope.” Hollywood said. “I bet this thing made runs down to Guatemala all the time.”
“You remember what I’m supposed to do next?” Stabby asked when Scratch stood between the seats looking at the bewildering cluster of instruments, dials and gauges.
“I lost the notebook, man.” Scratch said. “But we’re up in the air that was the hard part wasn’t it? Just make sure we’re going back to America, I’m done with Mexico.”
“Carl said take off was easy. Everybody crashes trying to land.” Stabby replied and bumped the throttle up a few more notches. He played with the foot pedals and carefully moved the wheel, trying to figure out how to turn it without sending them into a death spiral.
He spotted the winding Rio Grande and eased the plane towards it, unsure of his movements and afraid to stall it out. They were high up in the air and still climbing, the altimeter steadily increasing.
“Anybody remember what freq Wire Bender said Casey was on?” Gunny asked flipping on the radio.
Nobody did. They didn’t have air control radios in their cars so it didn’t matter.
“Can’t you call Lakota on that?” Bridget asked “Get Carl to talk us into a landing?”
“This only has airline frequencies.” Gunny said. “Different band than ham or CB. It’s why we never heard any of their traffic, the sneaky bastards.”
There was a quiet cheer as the green line of the river passed below them and they entered U.S. airspace.
“Uh, which way is Oklahoma?” Stabby asked “Geography wasn’t my best subject.”
He got the plane headed in the right general direction and Scratch figured out how to retract the wheels, Stabby’s hands in a death grip on the yoke, white knuckling it.
They all stopped talking when Casey’s voice filled the cockpit.
“Found him.” Gunny grinned and turned the volume up a little.
“…care how you do it but just do it!” his angry outburst blasted through the plane then there was silence.
“I think we’ve upset that ball headed bitch.” Scratch said then pointed at one of the gauges. “Which one of those is fuel?” he asked.
Now that the plane was level and seemed to be behaving normally, they started looking for other things that could go wrong. They found it, half hidden behind the yoke Stabby still held nervously, in the cluster of dozens of knobs and screens and levers and gauges.
“Maybe it’s broke.” Stabby said hopefully just as a red ‘low fuel light’ flashed on and started blinking.
5
Gunny
“Okay. No worries, can you land this thing?” Gunny asked, looking below them at the unforgiving desert and the single visible road. “We can siphon some gas from somewhere.”
“Carl said that’s the dangerous part.” Scratch said. “He said taking off was easy. Coming down is when you die.”
They all looked at Stabby, still stiff, staring straight ahead and gripping the controls.
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about burning up if there’s no gas.” Bridget said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“We stall and nose dive into the ground at a hundred miles an hour.” Stabby said.
“Come in wrong, get sideways and start tumbling down the road at a hundred miles an hour.” Griz said
“The wheels break off and we start flipping end over end at a hundred miles an hour.” Hollywood said.
“Would you guys quit being such negative Nancy’s?” Gunny said, exasperated. “You’ve got this, right Stabby? You remember what Carl said you had to do?”
“Nah, mate. We didn’t get to that part. I’m not good with this, you’ve got a steering wheel on your side, maybe you’d better do it.”
Gunny looked at the yoke, at the pedals, the levers and buttons and didn’t know what any of them did. What he did know was if they forgot even one little thing, didn’t set a flap right or stalled the engine pushed the wrong pedal at the wrong time, they’d wind up splattered all over the road. He’d seen a lot of news reports over the years of little planes crashing, even with experienced pilots.
“Okay, plan B.” he said. “Take us up to at least six thousand feet and we’ll go until we run out of gas.”
There was silence as they all looked at each other.
This wasn’t their idea of a good plan.
“And then?” Bridget asked.
“This was a touring and skydiving plane.” Gunny said “There’s ‘chutes in the back.”
“Man, I thought you were tossing in our bugout bags.” Hollywood said and got up to pass them out to everyone.
“I hate jumps.” Griz complained. “I had a riser come out tangled once, nearly busted my legs when I hit.”
The radio came to life again, an excited voice filling the cabin. “I’m on 95, I just seen a plane fly over, it has to be them!”
Casey came back almost instantly. “Don’t lose them. Everybody in that area, we know where they’re going so start leading them, they’re heading back to Oklahoma.”
The sky was clear, only a few scattered clouds here and there. They couldn’t hide. If they would have had fuel, they could easily out run them, the plane was cruising at nearly a hundred and fifty miles an hour, flying over the mountains where the raiders would have to follow the roads. But they didn’t have fuel, didn’t know how much longer they could stay in the air, it could probably be measured in minutes. Any one on the ground with a good pair of binoculars could spot them from miles away and apparently, Casey still had some of his crews up raiding in the States.
“We need to jump before the plane dies and starts nosediving.” Gunny said. “See any likely spots? Any signs of civilization where we can get some cars?” They all peered out the windows as they strapped the packs in place, Griz and Scratch helping the ot
hers get them tightened and adjusted. Gunny sent Stabby back, the plane was flying itself.
They weren’t ready for this, they’d been on the defensive since the bullet hit the glass back at Casey’s compound. They’d been running for their lives, barely staying one step ahead of the killers, and every time it seemed like their situation got a little worse. How long before someone died? How many more close calls did they have before they ran out of luck? It would probably be better to be caught by the zombies, though. At least with them, your agony was over in a few minutes. They didn’t take pleasure in seeing how much they could make you suffer.
The mountainous terrain below them looked unforgiving and they didn’t have any supplies or water with them, just their pistols and knives. Everything else had been tossed to save weight and they had barely cleared the fence. He looked at the flashing fuel gauge again. Probably a good thing it was nearly empty. With a full tank, it would have been too heavy, they would already be dead at the end of the runway.
They were over the Kofa Wildlife Refuge, some of the most brutal and unforgiving lands of the desert southwest. Thousands of square miles of nothing but sand and rocks.
The motor coughed once and died, the roaring of the engine replaced by the rush of wind.
“Oh, God.” Bridget said, panic edging her voice. “What do I do again? Just pull this?”
“Yeah, as soon as you clear the plane!” Scratch said and grabbed the door handle, ready to open it.
“But what if it doesn’t open?” she nearly wailed, her voice rising. “What do I do? How do I steer it? How hard will I hit the ground?”
The plane held steady on the currents but it was losing airspeed fast. They didn’t know how long it would glide or how slow it had to be going before it lost it’s lift but they didn’t want to be inside when it started plummeting earthward.
Zombie Road (Book 5): Terror On The Two-Lane Page 3
