by Howard, Bob
“I saw a news report that said an aid station was set up here,” yelled Jean over the sound of the rotors. “It was when we finished boarding at the cruise terminal. The reporter was saying not to take someone to the hospital if they had been bitten, but to take them to the baseball stadium on Lockwood Drive. I guess this is where they meant.”
“Why would they tell people to do that?” yelled Cassandra. “I know the hospitals became dangerous as soon as the first bite victim arrived, but a baseball stadium full of them was like falling into the lion pit at the zoo.”
Kathy pointed and yelled, “The city police station is on the other side of that fence. When I was sent over to the cruise terminal, a whole squad was sent over to the ballpark.”
We didn’t need to hear more because the story had been the same everywhere. The police had been sent here to protect people, but they had undoubtedly been forced to turn their guns on the first bite victims in order to stop them from biting their own families. Then they had been forced to turn them on everyone including some of their own people. It would have been a duty assignment that decided whether they lived or died, and Kathy was feeling the weight of it as she stared in the direction of the left field fence where the police station had been.
“Incoming,” yelled Cassandra.
We had fanned out on both sides of the helicopter while the Chief did his inspection, and everyone stayed at their designated post, but those of us facing the area over the visiting team dugout and third base had the best view of the infected that were coming our way. The railing wasn’t high enough to stop them from falling onto the field, and there were a couple of small gates that opened directly from the stands.
The Chief gave the all clear signal before we had to open fire, and we were able to climb aboard before the infected reached us. As we lifted off, we heard Kathy’s low exclamation over the intercom. Almost all of the infected still wore the tattered remains of their police uniforms.
“They’ve been here for years,” said Kathy.
******
In the early days of the infection, everyone lost someone or something. At least it felt that way. Whether it was a family member or a friend, I didn’t know anyone who hadn’t lived through the pain of seeing someone they loved die. Before the arrival of the infection there were so many different ways to die, but since it began it was almost always the result of being bitten by an infected. Statistically speaking, winning the lottery jackpot had nothing on dying in a helicopter crash. There were likely to be some military units operating around the world, and they would run a greater risk than before the infection due to lack of routine maintenance. After all, we had one of those units living with us, and they flew three Navy helicopters. Still, there couldn’t be too many civilians running around out there with an executive class Sikorsky loaded with weapons.
The Chief didn’t see any obvious damage when he inspected the helicopter. It was even possible that there had been no one who had shot at them, and the damage was really just a malfunction. We so often thought of him as a miracle worker, but this time he would have needed a miracle on the level of parting the Red Sea to know that the engine was about to fail. If it had failed fifteen minutes sooner, we would have crashed into the interstate right into the horde of infected. If I had been given a choice between hearing the engine shut off as we were clearing an outfield fence or from our usual altitude of a few hundred feet, I would take the fence every time.
The Sikorsky lifted from the ground under full power, moving forward as it moved upward. The nose tilted downward as it always did, and the deafening thump of the rotors was as strong as ever….until it was just gone. There was still the feeling of moving forward but only because gravity had taken over.
I have this vague memory of hearing the rotors cutting through the air, but they weren’t turning fast enough. Going from a full power take off to a totally stalled engine made me feel like I had gone instantly deaf. We all had our eyes locked on someone. Mine were locked on Jean’s face, and I remember a simple question there.
“What?”
The Chief had used the helicopter like a yard tool to mow down a horde of the infected at the Air Force Base. He used a seaplane to spray fuel on a horde that had Captain Miller and his men surrounded, but he couldn’t defy gravity.
The helicopter tilted over slightly to the left as the Chief fought to get the nose higher. The miracle, if there was one, came in the form of a charter bus that was parked across the street from the stadium and pointed straight at the left field fence. Instead of falling from twenty-five feet we only fell twelve feet. Our momentum was at a down angle, and because we hit the second half of the bus, the impact was mostly in the form of sliding. If we had hit toward the front, we would have crushed the bus because we were so heavy, but the rear of the roof collapsed as we slid against it and unceremoniously dumped the helicopter right behind the bus. When we fell from the roof we landed on the concrete dividers between the parking spaces, and it appeared that I got the most serious injuries in the form of something that popped in my shoulder and a mild concussion.
It went from quiet to an ear splitting shriek in a half second, and my only immediate memory when I opened my eyes was that question on Jean’s face. I didn’t remember where we had been or where we were going. I didn’t understand why we were sitting so close to a fire, and I didn’t know who was screaming. Jean was cutting my safety belt, and someone was lifting my left arm above my head.
The door was above me instead of to my left, and I knew I was in the Sikorsky, but the impact had punched in my side of the fuselage so far that the table between the seats had been torn from the bolts that held it to the floor. When someone tried to lift my right arm up to the waiting hands of the Chief, I was the one who was screaming. Passing out isn’t always a bad thing.
******
I came to when the wind blew the cloud of smoke straight back to us on top of the helicopter. Something about the acrid smell of burning plastics and fuel made me react as if someone had shoved smelling salts under my nose. Even though my right arm wasn’t useful, it would make it easier on everyone if I was at least using my legs.
No one was missing as far as I could tell, but there were so many of us, and everyone was moving. We had to get away from the crash site for obvious reasons. There was a pillar of smoke billowing away above the aircraft, but it changed directions with the wind. Along with the toxic gases in that black smoke was a tremendous amount of heat, and the Chief was yelling for everyone to get away before it could blow up.
I don’t know if someone led everyone to a safe place on the other side of the charter bus or if we just followed the leader, but when the helicopter exploded the bus saved our lives for a second time in one day. We still felt enough of the concussion, but the blast was far worse on the back of the bus than it was on us. The rear wheels lifted off of the parking lot pavement, and the bus hung in the air for a few seconds before it slammed back to the ground. A second explosion turned the bus into an oven when its own fuel tanks ruptured and sent a fireball from the back seats that raced to the front of the bus and blew out what was left of the glass. Despite getting knocked down by both blasts, we were back on our feet and running for the ball park. With a little help from Jean on one side and Tom on the other I was able to make it back across the street without doing more damage to my shoulder.
The gates to the ballpark were made of sturdy metal bars, and chains were threaded around the middle poles. It was anyone’s guess if they were chained shut in order to keep the infected out or if they had been put in place when it had become a failed treatment center. Either way, there were infected dead on both sides of the gates.
We followed the Chief as he ran along the left field wall that we had just flown over only a few moments before. He was heading for center field, and all I had to do was glance behind us to understand why he had chosen that direction. There were a few infected dead ahead of us, but there were dozens behind us. They had been crossing
the big open field that was used for parking at ball games, but the helicopter crash had drawn their attention. So much for our theory that the zombie-whistle was making Charleston a safer city.
The parking lot was still packed with cars that had undoubtedly carried bite victims to the designated treatment area on the first day. Wooden barricades still blocked the streets as the police had tried their best to deal with the throngs of people who had arrived with bloody towels wrapped around their wounds or carrying loved ones who were already dead. Now the infected were being called from every corner of the city and were trying to reach the east side.
“Why are there so many of them?” yelled Jean. She sounded winded from helping me get away before the bus blew up. “Shouldn’t they have been gone a long time ago?”
“We just opened the Ashley River bridges yesterday,” I said. “These infected have been pouring in across those bridges ever since they started hearing whatever it is they hear.”
“We should have waited one more day to crash.”
She didn’t say it very loud, but somehow Hampton heard her.
“Remind me to make a point of that to the Chief once we get somewhere safe. Where’s he going anyway?”
Just as Hampton shouted his question, the Chief turned and scaled the center field wall like a squirrel going up a tree. I didn’t see the handholds that he used until I was practically at the spot directly below him. I shouldered my rifle and supply bag and helped Jean reach the first metal rung. She was so short that she couldn’t lift her foot high enough. I heard her ask the Chief as soon as she was climbing how he knew about the ladder. He disappeared over the top of the wall as he answered, but by then I could see the obvious answer. There was a narrow ledge along the edge of the big scoreboard in center field, and the rungs allowed fast access to that ledge.
One by one we reached the top rung, and I found that the Chief had tied a rope to it. He had thrown the rope over the edge so we could easily descend the inside wall into the ballpark. Maybe it would have been easier for me if my shoulder wasn’t screaming in pain, but I eventually made it over the wall.
For some reason I expected to see a ballpark inside the fence, not the overgrown field of swaying grass and scrub brush trees. Even though we had landed inside a few minutes ago, it looked different from my perch above the center field wall. Nature had moved into the small ballpark.
“Toss your bag,” he yelled from below.
Jean was already hitting the ground next to him, and as I dropped down the wall, Hampton was throwing his leg over the top. Tom was the last one to come over, and by that time a sizable horde of the infected had been grabbing at his legs as he began climbing.
Kathy had reached the top rung ahead of Tom, but instead of dropping over with the rest of us, she reached for the ledge in front of the scoreboard and pulled herself into a sitting position above Tom. She braced her feet along the top of the wall and pressed her back against the scoreboard. She had her hands free to pull her rifle around in front of her and take aim. I couldn’t see what she was shooting at, but she couldn’t miss, and judging by the number of times she adjusted her aim and fired, it must have gotten crowded around Tom by the time he was able to climb. The last few shots were more out of anger than necessity. They had almost gotten her man, and she was taking it out on all of them.
Kathy shouldered her rifle and smoothly made the transition from sitting on the ledge to sliding down the rope. Her feet were barely on the ground before she got her arms around Tom’s neck.
“It was that close?” asked Colleen.
Tom could only nod. I couldn’t recall ever seeing the expression he had on his face. Tom had always been a leader, and when he had his game face on, his expression was deadly serious. Whatever it was that happened on the other side of that wall, it had scared Tom enough to make him turn pale. As Kathy held him close, his eyes were darting from face to face over her shoulder.
The rest of us weren’t ignoring the infected that had seen us in center field, but we weren’t giving them the immediate attention we would normally have shown. They were still a long way from us, and the closest wasn’t out of the infield yet. It was the frightened look on Tom’s face that had us all on edge. Hampton took aim at the infected that was passing second base and shot it. He turned back to Tom before the infected even hit the ground.
Iris was behind the Chief when she put her hand over her mouth. I saw that her eyes were aimed lower than mine, and I followed them down toward Tom’s feet, and I saw that there was a huge, dark stain on his faded jeans. It began at the right knee and ran down the front of his leg all the way to his foot. Tom wasn’t pale just from fear. He was pale from a loss of blood. The audible gasp that escaped from behind her hand made everyone glance at Iris and then back to Tom’s leg.
Kathy supported Tom’s weight, but she realized he wasn’t just hugging her. He was losing consciousness and probably already in shock. She lowered him to the ground as the rest of us rushed in to help her. Tom towered over the rest of us, and as strong as Kathy was, they were going to fall hard if we hadn’t reacted in time.
Most of our usual crew was along on this disastrous trip, nine of us besides Tom, so we worked well together. The Chief didn’t need to tell us what to do. Most of us broke away from the group and took up defensive positions with our weapons aimed into the ballpark. We each had our emergency packs, but we had lost a lot of our gear in the crash. There wasn’t time to retrieve anything important before the explosion, so we knew we would have to secure the stadium and then inventory our supplies. Ammunition would be counted and then equally distributed. In the mean time, carefully aimed shots were critical until we were able to assess how many of the infected were inside with us.
Jean had taken over the medical crisis while Kathy tried to talk Tom into staying conscious. Iris was assisting Jean to expose the injury and to get an answer to the question that was written on all of our faces. We all needed to know if Tom had been injured in the crash, or if he was bitten as he made his escape up the center field wall.
“How many infected?”
The question from the Chief wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, and it didn’t matter if the answers were the same or different. We all needed to know how bad it was going to get, and more importantly whether or not we had to waste ammunition.
“Fourteen,” I answered.
“I count sixteen,” said Hampton.
“Same here,” said Colleen.
Colleen was standing next to Hampton, and they were focusing their attention toward the first base side of the field. I was more toward the center of the group. Cassandra and Sim seemed to be joined at the hips, and they reported eighteen already on the field over by third base. The front gates were on the third base side, so we all expected more to arrive from there.
I saw Iris and the Chief exchange glances. She was shoulder to shoulder with Jean, and I could tell she only took her eyes off of Tom so she could use them to tell the Chief something. I saw what she was telling him too, and what I got from it was a worried message from her to him. It wouldn’t do us any good for me to assume the worst, so I was holding out hope that his injuries had been from the crash. There was a lot more blood soaked into the pants than I would have expected from a bite.
“Can he be moved?”
The Chief did his best to make it a question and not a demand, but the urgency in his voice was clear. Before he could decide how we were going to attack the problem, he had to know if we were leaving someone behind to cover Jean, Iris, Kathy, and Tom, or if the whole group could move together.
“He’s not stable yet,” answered Jean. “He’s still losing blood.”
His next words were more of a command, and we all knew why he did it. Kathy and Iris were too valuable in a fight, whether it was hand to hand or guns.
“I need one shooter here to cover Tom and Jean. Everyone else form up into one team of eight. We’ll take the third base side first and work our way toward the cent
er of the park. If we hear Kathy start shooting, it means infected have reached the infield. We’ll double back to clear them out and then go toward first base. Any questions?”
Kathy had heard the Chief and was glaring at him. She wanted to stay with Tom, and she knew what the Chief was doing. She also knew he was right. Comforting Tom wasn’t going to be of much help if we didn’t secure the ballpark before it got dark. We still had several hours left in the day, but there was always the possibility that there was a breach somewhere and that the infected would keep coming into the stadium.
The Chief had made a concession by assigning overwatch to Kathy instead of taking her along with the main group. I had a feeling that he was going to change the assignments if she didn’t acknowledge his orders soon.
There was a tense moment, but it ended when the Chief held her rifle out in her direction.
“Hold your fire until they reach second base. We might need the ammo.”
Kathy took the rifle, and Iris pulled her machete from the straps holding it on her backpack. Jean gave Iris a reassuring nod to let her know she could take care of Tom on her own and then turned toward Kathy.
“Trust me.”
Kathy’s nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough. She rotated her body and went into a shooter’s sitting position as she brought the scope to her eye.
The Chief didn’t need to tell us what to do. As he shouldered his rifle and pulled out his machete, he led the way toward third base. We had done this before, and we knew not to get too close to each other. So far, we hadn’t gotten ourselves hurt by getting in the way of someone else’s swing.
