Panic reigned in the corridor. Lopez stood at the far end of the corridor, waving on the Angels and directing them out the rear door. Her girls followed orders, even though they had no idea what was going on, which only added to the uncertainty and terror. His voice was barely audible over the siren. Natalie heard him yelling, “Get to the plane! Go! Go! Go!”
She ran up to him. “What’s going on?”
“Our advance team up north called in that swarmers are heading this way.”
“How many?”
“Over a thousand. Best we can tell, everyone infected in the bunker is on their way here.”
“How long before they get here?”
“They’re already here.” Lopez grabbed Natalie’s shoulder and shoved her toward the door. “Now move!”
Outside, Natalie witnessed complete chaos. The C-130 stood between the two hangers, its propellers spinning and its loading ramp down. Sarge and Duncan had positioned themselves on either side of the aircraft’s rear opening, their weapons ready, while Kim stood at the top of the ramp urging the others forward. Everyone else raced for the aircraft as if their life depended on it.
Which it did.
Sarge and Duncan raised their M-16A2s and began firing at the hotel. Natalie looked over her shoulder as she ran. A score of swarmers crossed the parking lot and raced along the right side of the building. Lopez remained by the rear door, yelling to someone inside the building. When he heard the gunfire, he spun around in time to see the first swarmer rush around the corner. It wore a black suit and white shirt stained red with blood from a vicious neck wound. It saw Lopez and charged. With one motion, Lopez stepped out of the doorway, raised his M-16A2, and put a single shot through the swarmer’s forehead.
Harrington burst through the doorway, with Katie right behind him. Lopez joined them, and the three made a mad dash for the plane.
They didn’t stand a chance.
The swarmers surged around the corner of the building and bore down on the three. Lopez and Harrington stopped and fired into them, hoping to buy Katie some time. They took down a few of the living dead before being tackled. Four brought down Harrington. The private screamed so loud Natalie could hear it over the siren and the roar of the C-130’s engines. He tried to crawl away, shredding the skin off of his fingers on the concrete. The swarmers ripped into him, tearing open his abdomen and gorging on his insides until Harrington’s screams died off.
Lopez crouched when the closest swarmer reached him. It tripped over him and fell face first onto the tarmac, shattering its front teeth. Lopez swung his legs around, kicking down the next closest, which toppled to the side. Jumping to his feet, the corporal charged a swarmer ten feet away, driving his shoulder into its abdomen and pushing it back against two others. Lopez tried to run, but two swarmers grabbed him from behind. He attempted to throw them off . Being off balance because of the tackle, they forced him to his knees. The corporal still wouldn’t give up. He shoved the first swarmer away, and then wrapped his arms around the second one’s legs and pushed forward, knocking it over his shoulders onto the tarmac behind him. By then, the others he had knocked down had gotten back to their feet and lunged. Six sets of dead hands pinned Lopez to the ground and tore him apart.
The last two swarmers honed in on Katie. Lugging her backpack over one shoulder slowed her down. Glancing behind her, she saw a female swarmer in blue nurse scrubs closing in. Katie slipped off the backpack and dropped it on the tarmac in front of the swarmer. It bounded over the backpack and leapt at Katie, landing on her shoulders and knocking her to the cement. Katie cried out and struggled to break free as the second swarmer in a tattered and blood-stained thawb dived onto her. Each took a bite out of her neck, one tearing meat off of her shoulder, the other rupturing her larynx. Thankfully, the end came quickly.
“Lady, hurry the fuck up!”
Natalie turned around. The C-130 had begun to taxi toward the runway, the ramp now raised a foot off the ground. Sarge stood on one side, pumping his fist up and down to hurry her up. Duncan stood opposite him, helping on board the others as they reached the aircraft. Pandelosi jumped onto the ramp and lost her balance. Duncan steadied her, and then reached to help Emily. Her foot slipped on the metal ramp and she landed with a thud, her legs dangling over the side. Duncan grasped her hand, preventing her from falling off. Pandelosi grabbed Emily’s belt and pulled, dragging her up the ramp until Kim came down to help her inside.
Natalie was now the only one still on the tarmac.
She increased her speed, knowing that with swarmers bearing down on them, the others couldn’t risk stopping the aircraft. As she closed the distance with the C-130, she felt her legs getting weak and her breathing becoming labored. Pandelosi stood on the ramp and screamed something to the pilot. The C-130 decreased speed. Not by much, but enough to let Natalie catch up. Summoning all of her strength, she sprinted forward. When she reached the end of the ramp, Sarge and Duncan each grabbed an arm, lifted her on board, and shoved her toward the cabin.
Pandelosi rushed forward. “Raise the ramp and get us out of here!”
Everett pushed forward the thrust levers. The C-130 shot ahead, knocking everyone off balance, and raced along the tarmac.
Natalie caught her breath, slipped off her backpack, dropped it and her M-16A2 to the deck, and made her way to the cockpit. Pandelosi sat in the co-pilot’s seat and strapped herself in. Everett focused on the tarmac ahead of him, swerving around parked aircraft. Checking the airspeed indicator, she saw that the C-130 had obtained a speed of sixty-three miles per hour.
“Thanks… for slowing down… for me,” Natalie rasped.
“No problem. I just hope it doesn’t let them catch us.”
“There are… only a few swarmers… behind us.”
“They aren’t the problem.” Everett pointed to his right. “I’m concerned about them.”
Natalie followed his finger and uttered the only word that came to mind. “Fuck.”
A thousand swarmers flowed around the main terminal and spread out across the surrounding tarmac like a tidal wave of living dead. They ran between the parked planes, crouching under the fuselages of the larger aircraft or racing around the smaller ones. They all converged on the only moving object in the airport.
Their aircraft.
Everett pushed the thrust levers to their limit. The four turboprop engines roared as each one strained to put out maximum horsepower. The C-130 picked up speed, approaching eighty miles per hour when it reached the runway. Natalie expected Everett to slow as he made the turn. Instead, he whipped the aircraft onto the runway. The tires screeched and the fuselage listed to one side, throwing Natalie against the bulkhead. The maneuver prevented them from losing significant speed. The C-130 barreled down the runway.
The swarmers had closed to within two hundred feet.
Everett gestured to the control yoke in front of Pandelosi. “Pull it toward you.”
The lieutenant raised her arms beside her and physically backed into the seat. “I don’t know how to fly.”
Everett grabbed her left hand and forced it onto the yoke. “Just pull the fucking thing back for all it’s worth!”
Pandelosi grabbed the yoke and yanked it toward her until she practically stood in the seat. Everett pulled back on his with his left hand while shoving the thrust levers forward with his right. His knuckles clutched the levers until they turned white, as if the effort would push a few extra miles per hour out of the C-130. The swarmers were less than one hundred feet away. Natalie swore she could hear them snarling even over the roar of the engines.
She felt a slight lurch when the C-130 lifted off the runway. She closed her eyes to thank God. Her relief was short lived. Something thudded against the fuselage, and she felt the aircraft shudder.
Everett muttered, “Fuck.”
She opened her eyes to find the starboard windows splattered with blood and gore. The first wave of swarmers had reached the C-130, only to be shredded by the prop
ellers. A length of intestine dangled from the cowling of the inner engine. Black smoke flowed from the outer engine.
“Let go of the yoke!” Everett ordered.
Pandelosi sat back in her seat and moved her arms away. “Are we going to make it?”
Everett ignored her. He kept his yoke pulled back and to the left, trying to compensate for the drag of the right wing. “Come on, baby. Don’t let me down.”
They were not gaining altitude.
Everett let go of the thrust levers long enough to hit the switch to raise the landing gear and the hydraulics whirred. There was a thump as the port gear retracted into its bay. The whirring continued on the right, only now it sounded strained.
“The starboard gear is stuck!” Everett shouted to her. “What’s wrong with it?”
Natalie peered out the side window. A swarmer was lodged between the twin tires, its torso leaning to the right and hooked on the bay’s outer rim, preventing the gear from retracting. It clawed at the metal, trying to free itself.
“We have a rotter stuck in the landing gear.”
“God fucking damn it!”
Everett shut down the outer starboard engine and feathered the propeller, preventing it from catching on fire. When he did, the plane veered left and lost altitude. Natalie gasped. Everett quickly corrected and leveled out. He reached out and flipped the starboard landing gear switch.
“How’s our stowaway?”
Natalie glanced out the window. When the gear descended, the swarmer slipped from between the tires and plummeted behind them. “He’s gone.”
Everett retracted the gear and then concentrated his energy on flying. The C-130 still could not gain altitude. He pulled back on the control yoke. “Come on, baby. You can do this.”
Natalie closed her eyes and braced herself for death.
“Come on!” Everett slammed his hand against the yoke. “Give me some height, you stupid whore!”
The C-130 steadily gained altitude. After a few minutes, Everett physically relaxed. He brought the aircraft into a slow U-turn to starboard and leveled off at an altitude of three thousand feet. Omaha passed by on their right.
Natalie waited until everything seemed under control then asked, “I assume we’re going to make it?”
“If you’re referring to staying airborne, yeah, we’re going to make it. If you mean are we going to make it to San Francisco, that’s another story.”
“Why?”
“We have nothing to navigate by other than visuals, and when the sun goes down in half an hour we won’t even have that.” Everett pointed to a major highway running southwest from the city. “That’s Interstate 80. It goes right into San Francisco. As long as I don’t lose that, we should be there by morning.”
“And if we do lose it?” Natalie asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
Everett tried to sound reassuring. “Then when she runs out of fuel, we’ll put her down and hope for the best.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Everyone stood outside the garage waiting for sundown, engaging in small talk and banter. Even the friendly atmosphere could not conceal the underlying nervousness. They all knew what was going to happen in the next few hours, and were equally aware of the chances of several of them getting killed. However, no one mentioned it. They chatted about the dinner they just had eaten, life before the outbreak, and even plans for the future. Jennifer stood beside Robson, occasionally brushing her fingers against his hand as they talked.
The banter came to an end when the sun set below the horizon. A few minutes later, Dravko and Tibor emerged from the garage. No one spoke when the vampires joined the others. An awkward silence fell over the courtyard, the specter of impending death looming over them.
After several moments, Dravko finally said, “I guess this is it.”
The others mumbled in the affirmative.
Robson stepped into the middle of the group, making eye contact with each member as he spoke. “Before we go any further, I want to offer a final chance for anyone to back out. Let’s be honest, the odds of success are not good. And for some of you, this isn’t even your fight. If anyone wants to walk away now, I promise you no one here, especially me, will think any less of you.”
No responses.
“Are you certain?”
“I think Toby Keith said it best,” said Simmons. “A little less talk and a lot more action.”
The others nodded in agreement.
Robson smiled. “All right, let’s do this.”
The group moved off to their respective vehicles. Robson followed Simmons and Wayans over to their Suburban.
“Do you have any handcuffs?” Robson asked.
“Sure.” Simmons leaned forward, removed a pair from his belt holder, and passed them to Robson. “I thought we weren’t arresting anyone?”
“We’re not. These are in case one of the hostages panics and has to be restrained.” Robson slid the handcuffs into his pocket and passed Simmons a radio. “Take this. When you get into position, if you see anything different that we should know about, or any reason why we need to call this off, let me know and we’ll abort.”
“You sure about this?”
“I trust you.”
“You’re the boss.” Simmons took the radio and climbed into the Suburban. “And don’t worry. We’ve got you covered.”
“I know. See you back here in the morning.”
Robson waited for the two to drive off before approaching the others. “Is everyone clear on what they have to do?”
His people nodded.
“Caslow, you’re with me. DeWitt, your team and Jennifer will follow in the Hummers and provide backup. Dravko and Tibor, you know what to do. Let’s rock.”
Every climbed into their respective vehicles. Robson pulled out of the courtyard first and led the way to the main road, with the others close behind. The vampires brought up the rear in the Ryder. The convoy turned west onto Suncock Valley Road. After proceeding for several miles, it turned left onto Route 126. The vampires took an immediate right and headed down Parade Road toward the storage facility. The remainder of the convoy continued on ahead in the direction of Dover.
CHAPTER FIFTY
When Robson led the convoy through Dover on the way down to Site R, it had been their first foray into a rotter-infested city outside of Kittery. It nearly got the vampires killed and almost derailed the entire mission. Now Dover would be their savior.
Just outside the city limits, DeWitt and Jennifer pulled the two Humvees off to the side of the road and reversed direction.
Caslow stared out the front window. “Are you sure there are rotters here?”
“Trust me.”
The bus continued along Route 9 and traveled over the Spaulding Turnpike overpass. Now the living dead presence became apparent. The headlights illuminated more than a dozen of the living dead meandering along the road, with countless more visible in the shadows. Robson raced past them.
“What are you doing?” Caslow asked. “We just passed some.”
“Not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Robson nodded his head toward the rear of the bus. “We have to fill the back. It’ll take too long here. We’re heading into town where they’re thickest.”
“Screw that. That’s not what I signed up for.”
“I can let you out here if you want.”
“No!”
Robson shot him a withering glance. “Then shut the fuck up.”
The deeper they headed into Dover, the heavier the rotter presence became. Robson noted the streets were more congested, with both abandoned vehicles and the living dead. He also came across a few areas where the convoy had originally plowed their way through on the first trip. The farther in he traveled, the greater the number of rotters and, by consequence, the more attention they brought on themselves. An increasing number emerged from side streets and buildings, attracted by the sound, more than enough around to fill the bus. Ro
bson needed a place where he could park without becoming trapped.
He had driven just under a mile when a strip mall came into view on the right. A hundred rotters shambled around the parking lot. Robson pulled off the main road into the nearest entrance. The engine attracted the living dead and, as one, they closed in on the bus. Pulling to the opposite end of the lot where the numbers were fewer, and from where he could escape, Robson stopped. The horde lumbered toward them. He grabbed the chain attached to the ramp and released it from its mounting. The clanging of metal reverberated through the vehicle, followed by a heavy thud when the ramp dropped.
“You’re on,” he said to Caslow.
Caslow opened the gate leading to the rear and rushed toward the ramp to stand by the opening. Dead hands clutched at him. Caslow did nothing. Robson cursed to himself. Caslow was supposed to lure them on the bus. Robson unholstered his Colt. If that little prick chickened out now, Robson would shoot him and let his body serve as bait.
“You’ll have to move forward a few feet,” Caslow said.
“Why?”
“You dropped the ramp on one of them. The end is a foot off the ground. None of them can get up.”
Robson shifted into first gear. The bus lurched forward, pushing aside several rotters that had gathered around the front end. When he heard the clang of metal striking cement, he stopped.
The incessant moaning grew more intense. Robson spun around to see Caslow standing in the center of the entranceway, taunting the living dead. Several converged around the door, clawing against the floor or door jamb to get at him. One or two tried to crawl into the bus. It dawned on Robson that this might not work after all, that he had miscalculated how easy it would be to lure them onto the bus. If he couldn’t do that, his entire plan fell apart.
While he was attempting to formulate a new idea, a rotter in a soiled hospital gown staggered onto the end of the ramp. Its balance was precarious, and for a moment it seemed as though it would fall off. The rotter looked around uncertainly and started to turn. Caslow stepped out onto the ramp and stamped his foot. The vibrations caught its attention, and its dead eyes landed on him.
Rotter World (Book 2): Rotter Nation Page 24
