Cale nodded his head, “Yeah. Why?”
“You sure you want to be belted in for that?” Zach inquired.
“What do you mean?” Cale asked.
“Trust me,” Zach said as he reached across Cale and undid the seatbelt.
Ballard looked down the aisle at Cale, as he reached across and undid his own seatbelt.
“Sergeant!” Ballard yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“We’re going to hit the water!” answered Cale.
Ballard didn’t understand.
“Take it off!” Cale shouted at him.
Ballard’s hand trembled as he undid the belt. After he’d removed it, he looked back at Cale.
“Now wha…? “he started.
The plane lurched. Outside Goebel’s window, the wing broke off. The oxygen masks deployed and the cabin was filled with screams that were soon drowned out by the sound of metal tearing. The rest of the wing ripped off the aircraft, taking with it a section of the fuselage. The plane was totally out of control now. Service men and women flew out the opening. Entire rows of seats were thrown free, and people were bounced around the cabin. The extreme air flow almost dragged Cale out of the plane, but his panicked grip held him firmly in place.
Cale closed his eyes before the next hit, and then, suddenly, seawater filled his mouth. He choked as he inhaled the liquid, and the force was enough to dislodge his grip on his seat. He opened his eyes, and all around him the bodies of his compatriots were floating. Some of them were kicking in the direction they thought was toward the surface. Cale could see Goebel, still in his seat, fighting to release his harness as the wreckage dragged him to the bottom of the ocean. There was nothing he could do for him; he was too far away, and was sinking fast. Despite his panic, Cale surveyed his surroundings to gauge which way to swim. A stream of air bubbles showed the way to the surface, and he kicked with all his strength.
Cale gasped for air as his head broke the surface. Around him, debris from the plane was still going under. He could see others bobbing about, some still alive but most dead. He looked at the horizon, and there it was. Land.
It was less than a mile away.
“Go!” he coached himself. “Swim!”
The waves carried some of the wreckage along with him as he neared the shore. Shouts of fellow survivors could be heard. Cale saw a man a few yards in front of him. It was Goose, and something was wrong. He appeared to be fighting to stay afloat.
“Somebody!” he pleaded, “help me!”
Cale swam toward him, but stopped when he realized that Goose was being pulled under by something. He took a breath and looked under water. A school of blurry figures along the bottom groped at his legs.
“Fuck!” Cale shouted. “They’re in the water! It’s the infected!”
Goose didn’t have a chance to hear Cale’s warning before he was pulled under. The Atlantic turned crimson as Goose was torn apart.
“No! God Damn it!” Cale cursed the infected.
Others unknowingly swam into the trap the undead had unintentionally set.
“What do I do?” Cale asked himself.
“Wait for a swell,” Zach’s disembodied voice offered.
“A swell?” Cale said out loud.
Of course! It was his only chance. Wait for the water to rise and take him out of range of the undead. It was less than seventy yards to the shore. A chunk of metal drifted past him and barreled into the undead. He waited for the water around him to rise and paddled wildly toward land when it did. The debris pushed a path for him as he followed it. The wave subsided, and Cale could feel his feet kicking the undead lurking below.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!!” he exclaimed.
He pushed harder, flattening himself on the water’s surface. His muscles ached, and his lungs burned, but Cale closed his eyes and pushed himself harder.
“Don’t stop!” he encouraged himself.
The next wave flipped him up onto the stone covered beach. He hit the rocks hard, but vetoed the pain with his mind. Soon he began scrambling up the shore. Others had already run into the tree line, and the tall trees beckoned him to cover. Cale looked back at the crash scene. Plumes of smoke drifted toward the sky and mangled parts of the aircraft still appeared above the crest of the waves.
The water licked at the shore, bearing red tides.
He turned to look at the trees. There were various species, including oak and pine. Many of the large leaves had begun to change, and pine needles carpeted the ground. Above their high branches was a clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done it. Cale had made it. This was American soil. He was officially Stateside.
He was home.
“I’m almost there, babe,” he whispered.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mikhail Lerma served in the military for ten years, and is currently attending school with the end goal of becoming a paramedic. He lives with his wife, Brooke, and their three daughters in Iowa. He is a devoted family man who is juggling family, work, school, and writing.
www.mikhaillerma.com
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Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 33
