Robson and Frank entered the terminal and, on seeing the fireplace, made a beeline toward it. Robson rubbed his hands and held them close to the flame. Frank knelt and leaned in close to get warm.
“That feels good,” said Robson. “It’s freezing out there.”
Alissa had an idea. “How long would it take to get the helicopter ready?”
“It’s good to go now, though where to do you expect to fly in this weather?”
“Back to Warren Island,” said Alissa. “We’re going to rescue the survivors.”
Chapter Three
Kiera stood by the window to Nathan’s hospital room, staring out at the mounting snow. By now it was well over a foot in depth, with more expected. Normally she enjoyed snow, and not just because it meant a day off from school. Now it sealed their fate, trapping them in an icy tomb.
How could everything fall apart in a matter of hours?
Rebecca had sent her and Shithead to the cafeteria to get something to eat while she watched over Nathan. Kiera had originally planned to stay and eat there but, between everyone in the hall giving her dirty looks over bringing a pet to the lunchroom and her own guilt at leaving Rebecca alone to watch Nathan, she picked up two orders of food to go and brought them back to the room. Thank God she did. Within minutes of returning, one of the nurses on the floor reanimated and attacked her colleagues. The entire floor became overrun by deaders, followed by the entire hospital. By the time the military arrived to save the survivors and put down the dead, they were already outnumbered. She watched from the hospital room as the deaders took down the soldiers who then rose, joined the ranks of the living dead, and spread the outbreak across the town. Kiera realized that if she and Shithead had stayed at the cafeteria, they would both be dead.
Though her current situation was not that much better.
Six survivors were crammed into the room – herself, Rebecca, Nathan, and three National Guardsmen who had fought their way into the building only to be cut off from their unit. Kiera had heard the battle raging in the hall and ushered them to safety at the last minute. Rebecca had taken Shithead into the bathroom to keep him quiet, a nearly impossible task with all the commotion going on, hoping the closed door would at least muffle the sound and prevent the swarm of deaders in the corridor from descending on their room. Sergeant Julie Costas joined her, trying to raise someone on the radio and let them know they were alive. So far, she had no luck. Corporal Michael Murphy and Private Bill Rogers stayed in the room with Kiera, their weapons ready to blast anything that came through the door. Unfortunately, Kiera and Rebecca had surrendered their weapons to the security guard in the ER, in hindsight a bad move.
At least for now, the deaders were distracted. A patient had been trapped in his room down the other end of the corridor, calling for help for the last hour and drawing every deader on the floor to his room. Still, no need to invite unwanted attention.
Murphy tapped Rogers on the shoulder and used the middle and forefinger of his right hand to point to his eyes and then the door. Rogers placed the carbine on the bed, made his way to the door, and carefully went into a prone position so he could peer through the gap between the floor and door. After a few seconds, Rogers got to his feet and held up four fingers.
“Shit,” Murphy mumbled.
“Were you planning on making a run for it?” whispered Kiera.
“What choice do we have?”
“Even if we somehow made it past all of them and out of the hospital,” said Kiera as she motioned to the window, “where would we go?”
“We hear you, kid,” said Rogers as he retrieved his carbine from the bed. “But a desperate attempt is still better than rotting away in here.”
The bathroom door opened and Costas stepped out, closing it behind her.
“Any word?” asked Murphy.
“None from command. We lost touch with them when the comm center went down. The good news is we’re not the only survivors.”
Rogers huffed. “How’s that good news?”
Costas dressed him down in a firm yet quiet voice. “Anytime we get word some of our people are still alive, it’s good news. Remember that, private.”
“How many are there?” asked Murphy.
“At least seven. Two of us down at the dock as well as two of us and three civilians at the school. There’s probably more, but those are the only one who have radios. None of them have heard from command.”
“Does that mean we’re on our own?” asked Kiera.
“Maybe not. It might mean they’ve not had a chance to reestablish communications yet. We’ve all agreed to give it another two hours. If nobody has heard from command by then, we’ll coordinate our own efforts to break out.”
“How?” asked Rogers.
“We’ll fight our way to the docks, grab any boat that’s available, and head for the mainland.”
Kiera glanced over at the hospital bed. “What about Nathan?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no way we can take your friend without getting us all killed. We’ll leave him here and secure the room as best we can. That’s the most I can do.”
Kiera nodded her understanding and looked out the window into the blizzard. She reached up to her shirt pocket, fondling the Spiderman figurine Little Stevie had given her before they left the cabin. It reminded her that her people had been through worse and they would find their way out so she could give back the good luck charm to her brother.
* * *
“Do you see anything out there?” asked Captain Jim Saunders, who sat behind the run-down wooden desk, nursing his injured leg.
Private First Class Charlie Ames looked through the window of the ferryman’s shack. “Can’t make out anything beyond a few yards with all the snow. Do you want me to go out and scout the area?”
“Hell, no. I’m sure they’re out there hunting for us.” Saunders lifted himself on the arms of the chair, stifling a groan as he shifted positions.
Ames stepped away from the window. “How’s the wound?”
“Haven’t checked on it in a while. Turning on the lights would bring the deaders down on us.”
Ames leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. “It looks like we’re stuck here until morning.”
As much as their situation sucked, at least they were still alive.
Saunders and Ames had been part of the team Captain West had formed to cover the evacuation of the survivors from Islesboro to the ferry, an effort that ran straight into a pack of deaders. Of the forty-four people who set out from town, only eleven made if off the island, and God knows whether they reached a safe place. The rest of the military unit had been overrun covering the civilian’s escape. Saunders had watched the captain be torn apart. He and Ames were falling back to shore when a stray round struck him in the left leg, rendering him barely able to limp. At least it had not hit an artery. Ames helped him to the ferryman’s shed where they had been held up for three hours. Since then, the only ones they had talked to over the radio were two other groups of survivors on the island, one in the hospital and another at the school, both surrounded by the living dead. No one from the outside had contacted them, which meant everyone on the island was fucked.
“What do we do now?” asked Ames.
“We wait until morning and then try to find a boat to get off this island. Once we do, we’ll get the others and head for safety.”
“How are the two of us going to fight off an entire island of deaders?”
“Let’s worry about that in the morning.” Saunders gently pushed the chair into the corner and leaned his head against the wall.
“And what happens if we don’t find a boat?”
Saunders shrugged. “We swim for it.”
* * *
From the second floor of Islesboro Central School, which had been converted into living quarters, Lieutenant Richard Hoskins looked out onto the grounds. The roof of the school bus stood fifty feet away, it’s snowplow having been attached that morni
ng. Close to a dozen deaders milled around it, the figures blurred by the storm. God only knows how many more were nearby, invisible in the blizzard.
Or lurking on the floors below.
“What do you see?” asked Sergeant Joanne MacIntyre.
“The bus is surrounded by deaders.”
“Fuck.” MacIntyre swore under her breath. “That’ll make it that much harder to get out of here.”
“Tell me about it.” Hoskins stepped away from the window and gestured toward the three civilians – Bill Ramirez, a retired Air Force officer who had left the service after thirty years and settled on Warren Island; Patricia Simmons, the registrar for the town council; and eight-year-old Susie Hemmings, whose parents and brother had been killed in the first ten minutes of the outbreak and who survived only because Patricia got her to safety. Hoskins and MacIntyre had stayed behind to gather up as many stragglers as possible and join up with West’s unit. By the time they were ready to move out, the captain’s group had been overrun and deaders had broken into the building. Dozens of civilians and three National Guardsmen were turned within minutes. Hoskins retreated to the second floor, blocking the stairwells with furniture to keep the deaders from getting to them, and hid out in one of the classrooms.
As Patricia held Susie, who showed signs of being in shock, Ramirez joined Hoskins and MacIntyre. “What’s the SITREP?” he asked in a low voice.
“As far as we know,” the lieutenant replied, “there are only thirteen people alive on the island and no one knows we’re here.”
“What’s the good news?”
“That is the good news.”
“How are we going to get out?”
“It’s going to be tough with her,” Hoskins gestured toward Susie. “We decided that if we don’t hear from anyone in the next two hours, we’ll team up with our people in the hospital, fight our way to the dock, pick up the survivors there, and get off the island.”
“What are our odds of success?” asked Ramirez.
“Do you play the lottery?”
“Yeah.”
“You stand a better chance of winning a hundred million dollars.”
Ramirez chuckled. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”
* * *
Ben Carson stood by the partially open door to the motor pool garage, staring into the blizzard to make certain no deaders had followed Gary Collins from town. Five hours ago, Ben and Brad Smith had been called by their boss, Woody, to head to the motor pool and prepare the two dump trucks for plowing and sanding. Not long after, they heard a commotion coming from the center of town. Half an hour ago, Gary pounded on the door begging to be let in. While Woody leaned on the plow of one of the trucks and Brad sat on a fifty-five-gallon drum, Gary related the nightmare that had taken place in Islesboro. Ben listened while keeping watch, shocked to hear that the entire community had succumbed to deaders in less than an hour.
When Gary finished, Woody pushed himself off the blade and paced around the garage. After contemplating their next move, he exhaled heavily and ran his right hand across his crewcut.
“Is anyone alive in town?”
“I didn’t see anyone make it out, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t hiding somewhere.” Gary thought for a moment. “I saw one group of Guardsmen heading for the hospital and another made up of forty Guardsmen and townspeople heading for the dock, though I have no idea what happened to them.”
Woody turned to Brad. “How long before we get the plows mounted and the trucks gassed up?”
“No more than two hours.”
“Let’s get to it.”
Brad looked confused at Ben and Gary, then back to Woody. “You’re not planning on cleaning the streets?”
“Screw that.” Woody patted the plow blade. “We’re going to head into town, save as many survivors as possible, and crush us some deaders in the process.”
Chapter Four
Alissa and the others stood around the terminal counter as Ken, one of the island’s residents, drew a map from memory on a piece of printer paper, pointing out the primary locations such as the airfield, the ferry dock, the hospital, the town hall, and the school used as living quarters. When finished, he slid the map across the counter to Robson and Frank.
“Sorry, this is the best I can do. The scale is a little off, but the location of key places is exact. Can you use this?”
“It’s helpful.” Robson studied the map for a moment and slid it over to his co-pilot. “The problem is visibility is shit. I need to know exactly where I’m going so I can drop off the extraction team, fall back to the airfield, and wait to pick them up.”
“You won’t come back here to wait?” asked Boyce.
Robson shook his head. “The less time I spend in the air the better.”
“We need to get to the hospital,” said Alissa. “Where is it on this map?”
Ken pulled the paper back toward him, circled the hospital and drew in the surrounding roads, and passed it back to her. Alissa studied it for a moment and gave it to Robson.
“Do you think you can land us on the roof?”
“I’ll do my best,” Robson replied with little confidence.
“You won’t be able to,” said Boyce. “The hospital is more of a primary care facility. The air conditioning unit is on the roof as well as a radio tower to communicate with the mainland. The only place to put down is a small heliport out back or the parking lot out front.”
“The parking lot is out,” said Robson. “There could be cars there and I wouldn’t see them until it’s too late. What’s the heliport like?”
“There’s only five hundred feet between the hospital and the tree line.”
“That’s going to be tough in this storm.”
“It still won’t work,” added Alissa. “If you set us on the ground, we’ll be swarmed by deaders before we can get inside. Is there any building nearby with a flat roof?”
Ken took back the map and thought. He circled another building to the south. “Your safest bet is the central school. The roof is large and flat with no obstructions.”
Frank shook his head. “If it’s being used as living quarters, it’s probably a slaughterhouse inside.”
“I’ll worry about that when I get there.”
“How far is the school from the hospital?” asked Chris.
“It’s about two miles,” said Ken.
“Fuck.” A sense of defeat washed over Alissa.
Chris squeezed her hand lovingly. “Covering that distance is going to be a bitch under the best of conditions. There’s two feet of snow out there.”
Robson nodded. “I have to agree with your friend. The chances of you making it that far in this blizzard and avoiding deaders is slim. Why don’t you wait until this storm is over, then I can fly you right to the hospital and put you down safely.”
“This storm could last another twenty-four hours. Kiera could be dead by then.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Yes. Kiera is in this mess because of me. How can I face her parents… how can I face Little Stevie… if I don’t try my best to rescue her? And Rebecca and Shithead?”
“Shithead?” asked Frank.
Chris grinned. “I’ll tell you later.”
Sparks entered from the back room.
“Did you reach anyone?” asked Boyce.
“Not on the island, but that doesn’t mean there are no survivors. This storm is playing havoc on all comms. I picked up the Iwo Jima because they have a stronger transmitter. Primary is frantic to know what’s going on.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I’m not able to reach them on the radio we have here. We’re on our own.”
Robson lowered his head. Frank mumbled “shit” under his breath.
Alissa turned to Robson. “It’s your choice. I can’t order you to go.”
“If it means rescuing people, I’m in. As long as you realize that once I set you down, I probably won’t be able
to pick you up until you return to the school or make it to the airfield.”
“Fair enough.”
“When do we leave?” asked Chris.
“No way you’re going with me,” Alissa said forcefully. “You can barely walk.”
“I’m not letting you go alone.”
“She won’t be alone.” Boyce stepped forward. “I’m going with her in case anyone needs medical attention.”
“I’m also going,” added Ken. “I’ve lived here for over twenty years and will be your guide.”
“Do you have any military training?” asked Boyce.
“Does Somalia and Desert Storm count?”
“You’re in.”
“It’s settled then.” Alissa looked over at Robson. “How long before we can take off?”
“All I need is to warm up the engines, clear snow off the windscreen, and de-ice the airframe.”
“When’s sunrise?”
Boyce glanced at his watch. “In just over half an hour.”
Alissa folded the map and shoved it in her pocket. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
* * *
Alissa stood with Carrington near the main entrance to the terminal. Robson and Frank were outside in the Seahawk warming the engines, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the rotors audible inside the building. Chris’ weapons had been distributed between Boyce and Ken, the former getting his Sig Sauer M17 and the latter his M4 carbine. Boyce also carried a medical bag. Neither was appropriately dressed for the blizzard. Ken wore snow boots and a heavy winter coat over an old pair of jeans. Boyce had escaped in fatigues and a light utility jacket, having to borrow a winter coat from one of the civilians who would be staying behind. None of them heading back to Warren Island had gloves or hats. The weather would be as lethal an enemy as the deaders.
Nurse Alissa vs. The Zombies | Book 6 | Rescue Page 2
