He’ll be all right, Chess told himself, He’ll be all right.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
The team from room 17 moved quietly across the asphalt. The motel had been a home away from home—their sanctuary. It had been a long, tough road getting here. There had been the engagement with foamers on their arrival and the attack by Holmes’ group, but they survived. The survivors moved on and prospects for a secure home were good, until Tom remembered the missile’s and the impending tragedy. Now Elliot and Chuck were gone as they searched for possible survivors and now those that stayed faced another complication—a sea invasion by foamers. The tarps that covered most of the parking lot, kept the moonlight from penetrating and made it almost impossible to see much further than a few feet. Cleavon covered the lens of his flashlight with electrical tape, then put a single hole in the middle with a ballpoint pen. A tiny beam of light, no bigger than a golf ball, was the result but it was enough to see by without alerting the whole neighborhood. Morris was right behind, with one hand hooked into Cleavon’s pants, Sam behind him did the same and so on it went to Chess at the rear. When they reached the buildings on either side of the driveway, where there were no overhead covers, the light from the partial moon and stars made it seem like day it was that bright.
“Kill the light,” Riley whispered. “Chess take a team over to the other side.”
A shuffle of feet on the asphalt indicated Chess’ moved into position right away.
“Can you see anything?” Riley eased up behind Cleavon.
Cleavon, a former Special Forces soldier like Riley, had his eyes glued on the street in front of the motel. He looked left and right but there was no movement of any kind.
“I think we’re clear,”
“Okay let’s move out, but easy Cleav, okay, easy.” Riley knew the difference between perception and reality.
Cleavon clicked his fingers twice for Chess to move out with him and Riley turned and told James to follow him but, “Stick close.”
The street itself presented another problem. There were many tall, dense pines that lined the street and the sides of stores and the buildings, the moonlight couldn’t penetrate through them. Staying close to the trees provided great cover but hindered their view. Dozens of foamers could lay in wait underneath the trees and they wouldn’t know. The only comfort was the experienced soldiers among them doubted the foamers would know how to lay in silence for an ambush. It was also hard to believe the foamers could cross fifty miles of cold open ocean—but they did.
“Keep your eyes open Cleav,” Riley said quietly then called for Chess. “We can either follow the road or cut through the field. Either way presents its own problems.”
“More so with foamers about, but I say we take the fastest way which is the field. The quicker we get to the airport, the safer we’ll be and we can fire a few shots when we’re near and draw them away from the motel.”
“All right but don’t forget we got a couple of guys who aren’t military. Going through that field of thick growth at night won’t be easy for them.”
“They might just surprise you, Riley.” Chess answered.
He was right on that. James and Sam had surprised everyone and on more than one occasion.
About an hour later, as the eastern horizon began to lighten, as they reached the edges of the air field. The dark hangars were visible in the twilight and beyond, were the two story houses—their destination.
“When we reach the hangars—and as long as long as it’s clear—we’ll fire off a few rounds.” Riley told Chess. “That should pull the foamers from the town and out this way.”
I only hope that saving one man’s life is worth it. Riley added, to himself.
“Sounds like a plan, but we better move it. I don’t wanna be out here when the sun comes up.” Chess took a look to the East then moved on. They had traveled without incident across the field, in the dark and the biting cold but fortunately for them, the wind had laid low but without any clouds it promised to be a very cold day—sunny, but cold.
Ten minutes later the team stopped by the edge of the tarmac to one side of the hangar. There were no fences around the Sandspit airport.
“What are we waiting for?” Sam nestled up to Cleavon and asked.
“Movement,” Cleavon replied. “We’re waiting to see if there’s any.”
“There isn’t any, least none that I can see.”
“And that’s the way we want it to be before we move out, understand?”
“Well, yeah… sure, of course I do.” Sam feigned his understanding.
Chess overheard the conversation to his left, and afforded a wry grin. Sam wasn’t your every day type, that’s for sure, but he was very much a welcome addition.
“Chess, behind you,” Riley called.
The dawn presented enough light, though the sun hadn’t peaked over the horizon, to see down and across the open field from where they’d just came.
“Shit! Look at them all.” Chess’ remark had everyone turn around.
Thousands of foamers wandered about the fields, heading toward the airfield.
“Well, now that they’re comin’ this way we can save on a few bullets.” Sam announced.
“Maybe… but I’m gonna make sure none of them zombie bastards linger behind.” Chess said, then fired a burst from his M4 into the sky.
The first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon as Chess fired another burst. The foamers—now highlighted on one side by brilliant sunshine—increased their step. The shots told them exactly where the living were and they delayed their search for the living no longer.
“Damn Chess you could have waited until we checked out one the houses first!” Riley shouted.
“They might not have heard us—”
“They were already headin’ this way!”
“But what about in town, we don’t know about that.”
Riley took a step closer to the younger Green Beret, the pause gave Cleavon a chance to step in.
“Hey, you two can argue about it later. Right now we got to get our asses inside one of them houses and get ready! The shit is about to hit the fan!”
The team too a quick survey of the street across from the parking lot before they ran hard for the row of houses of which several, were two-story.
“The one on the right, take the one on the right!” Riley yelled. The house he referred to had a separate garage, whereas the other two story houses had connecting garages. “It’ll be easier to defend if we don’t have to worry about an attached garage door.”
Chess and Cleavon burst through the, unlocked, front door first. They were greeted by a foyer entrance which had the stairs in front, a small hallway to one side, two doors on the their right and a single door on their left.
The two Special Forces men kept their weapons trained on the doors and the stairs while keeping their backs to the wall. One man was called in at a time, they quickly went from room to room on the first floor in a double-team, one covers—one moves, manner. Once the first floor was considered clear, they did the same with the second floor.
“All right get the front door locked down tight!” Riley ordered when the house was cleared. Not a foamer was found inside the house, nor any evidence of them being there. Apart from a slightly musty smell from being closed, the house looked like it was on the market and open for inspection.
“Where’s Sam?” Chess called from the top of the stairs. “Anyone seen Sam?”
“I’m over here,” Sam answered a moment later, then appeared from the hallway to the side of the stairs. “I discovered a door lock improvement!”
Chess looked over at Riley then back at Sam.
“It’s a hammer and nails. Locks can be busted down but it’s a lot harder to force open a door that’s been nailed shut.”
“He’s right on that,” Riley said. “Anymore hammers?”
“No, this is it.” Sam held up the claw hammer in his hand. “I’ll put four or
five in each door and that should hold, but there’s not much we can do about the windows—not enough time.”
A garbled roar from the parking lot beyond, emphasized the truth of Sam’s last statement.
The foamers had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
The wind tore at the fabricated steel sheets of the Port Hardy hangar where Chuck, Elliot, Tom and Tristan sought shelter.
“If this keeps up the damn roof will blow away.”
“Yeah and—” Chuck started to answer Tristan when the tremendous clatter like a thousand horses stampeding on the roof interrupted.
“What the…”
“Hail. And damn big at that.” Chuck answered Tristan’s mystified alarm to the sound.
“Oh, that’s great, things just keep getting better around—”
“Stop the complaints Tristan, we’re inside, dry and safe. I’m sure this place has had storms of this nature before and have withstood it.” It was Tom who came forward and censured Tristan. During the time he had to fend for himself and take up arms to fight for his life against foamers, he’d gained the confidence to deal direct with others' as opposed to advising someone else on how to do it.
“Yeah you’re right Tom, I’m sorry, it just catching up on me y’know.”
“I do know, very well in fact, but we’ve got to hold it together, man. Our survival is dependent on each other, you know that, you’ve been trained for that.” Tom also had picked up on Chuck’s ability to praise others' on the occasion with positive affirmations, rather than focus on their mistakes. “Let’s get through this night and the storm, we’ll confront the rest tomorrow.”
“That’s the best advice I’ve heard in a while, I can see why you were so valuable in Washington, Tom.” Chuck commended and diverted the situation.
“I think we best find a spot and get what sleep we can, the batteries about to die on this flashlight.” Elliot shone the yellowing beam around the room for the others' to find a chair or a couch—there were two in the room.
“You take the couch, Chuck. You need the rest more than any of us, we’ll make do,” Tom said, then almost as an after thought, “you did block the door didn’t you?”
“Yep, if anything tries to get in we’ll hear them.”
Once everyone got seated, Elliot switched off the flashlight. In the dark, as lightning flickered through the window, the constant roar of the wind and thunder all round, it wasn’t hard to picture this as the end of it all.
After a terrifying night of little rest, the four staggered down the stairs to the terminal which looked as if a bomb had hit it. The glass doors and lowered level windows had shattered and the wind blew rain and debris from the surrounding field. Several inches of water covered the floor of the building. It wasn’t until just before sunrise that the storm finally abated and it was only then that any of them got any sleep, albeit minimal. The air was much cooler and each pulled their camouflage, olive drab or tan combat jackets tighter around them as they ventured to the runway. No one spoke as yet—they weren’t game to—but with the damage inside and all the branches and limbs outside hopes weren’t high for their plane to be in one piece.
Over the shattered glass and through the back doors they went and onto the tarmac. The sight before them shattered their hopes.
The plane was no longer on the runway—it was strewn all over the field—tossed about like a toy in the powerful wind.
“Shit! What are we gonna do now?” Tristan said right away, and this time no one jumped on him.
“I was afraid of this,” Chuck admitted. “But at least we weren’t flying in it.” He said of the storm.
As they surveyed the damage of what was left of their plane, Elliot turned and looked away. “The other hanger, we checked it just before the storm hit. There’s a plane in there, remember?”
“You’re right. That could be our one and only lucky break, let’s check it out,” Chuck said immediately, heading for the hangar. “I doubt the plane has been converted for auto gas so we’ll need to fill it up with aviation gas here. One tank should get us all the way back to Sandspit.” Chuck continued as he ran.
“Let’s hope its already fueled, then.” Tristan added.
Their luck more than held out. The Cessna 172 in the hangar—a later model—was fueled and ready to go, they just had to pull the dead pilot from the cockpit.
Judging by his physical condition he hadn’t suffered from the foamer plague or the “green meanie” disease. The empty bottle of tranquilizers and whiskey suggested he took the easier route. After all that had happened, no one could condemn him for that—least of all the four that stood before him.
“All right, you get the door I’ll get the plane.” Chuck said to the others'.
“What about him?” Tristan nodded to the dead pilot.
“We don’t have the time, Tristan.”
“Shouldn’t we go see if there’s any ammo and weapons scattered about in the field?” Elliot asked before the Tall Man climbed into the plane.
“Fruitless task Elliot, we’ll have to make do with what we got. We got a full tank and it won’t take us long to get back.”
The other three waited outside as Chuck started the plane and eased it out of the hangar. Once clear they jumped aboard, stowed their weapons in the back and took their seats. They were homeward bound.
“We all set?”
“You bet, take us home Chuck.” Tom called from the back.
“Yeah, let’s go. I bet it’ll the surprise the bejesus out of the others'. At least give them a break from all that fishing!” Tristan added then laughed. Tom joined in, it was a nervous laugh but at the same time a relieved one. After the storm, the damage, and the loss of their plane it helped. Chuck and Elliot however, still harbored mixed feelings about the what they might discover back at Sandspit. Somehow, neither one thought fishing was what their fellow survivors were doing.
In less than four hours they would find out exactly what the Sandspit crew were doing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
The call of the undead sent a shudder through everyone in the house—their sanctuary.
“Hey Riley, Chess, you better come look at this!” Sergeant Morris called from an upstairs room.
“What is it?” Riley said, after he and Chess bounded up the stairs.
“Look!” Morris stepped back from the bedroom window and pointed.
“Holy—”
Morris cut-off Chess’ shocked declaration. “Ain’t nothin holy about them, not as far as I can see.”
“Must be more foamers out there than there’s ever been people on this entire Island.” Riley scanned the parking lot and the field adjacent to the runway.
“For once, I honestly believe bayonets would come in handy.” Chess already saw that hand to hand combat might be necessary if they were to survive.
“How many crossbow bolts do we have?” Riley asked without shifting his vision from the legion of undead that swarmed toward the line of houses opposite the airport.
“I think two-fifty at best,” Chess said then took a look out the window once more, “that will cover about ten percent.”
Thousands of foamers scoured the field around the runway, tarmac and the three airport buildings. Thousands more filled the parking lot and the open field before the dirt road on which several houses—once occupied by airport managers and private charter operators—now stood. All were empty, except for the two story in the middle. The house was now occupied by the Twin Falls, Prince George and Sandspit, survival veterans and here they would make their final stand.
“I’d say by the number, we’ve managed to not only attract every foamer on the island but every one on the North American continent! At least Jerry should be safe—” Riley halted as he eyeballed the other two. “For now.”
Chess knew what he meant. Their chances of getting out of this were… well, less than winning the state lottery. Jerry was practically
a cripple and wouldn’t be able to escape or fight off one or two foamers let alone a mob.
He’d be better to use the first bullet on himself. Chess concluded.
“Keep an eye on them Morris,” Riley moved away from the window and took Chess by the forearm, “Morris, gimme a call when those zombies figure out which house we’re in.”
“Roger that.” Morris eased back into the chair by the window, M4 across his knees.
“Any ideas? I’m open to suggestions.” Riley said to Chess.
“We can’t cover all the doors and the windows. We’ll get caught off-guard, and they’ll force their way in and I don’t want to think about foamers inside the house,” Chess stopped at the top of the staircase. “I say we pop them from second floor windows as they get close and we keep two men positioned here.” Chess pointed to the large window where Morris sat.
“Maybe even a third man to help reload if necessary?” Sam volunteered coming up the stairs from the first floor.
Same carried a cardboard box of about two-three feet in length.
“Whatcha got there Sam?” Riley asked when Sam joined them at the top of the stairs.
“I found these in the garage, just before we nailed the side door shut. Thought they might come in handy.”
Sam put the box down, pulled back the flaps and brought out three machete’s in canvas scabbards. “They’re sharp and there’s a few more.” He looked down at the box.
“Dammit, Sam! You went outside to the garage, with all these things around? Do you know how dangerous that was?”
“Yeah I do—but I got what we need and that’s the bottom line.” Sam dropped two machetes back into the box then tucked the other into his belt. He then joined Morris in the bedroom.
“All right let’s pull everyone up here,” Riley said. “Look’s like it’s our best option.”
Chess turned and considered his comrade-in-arms for a moment before he added. “It’s our only option.”
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