by Jeff Olah
Marching away from the sidewalk, Griffin didn’t turn to the man who stood motionless in the middle of the road. As he increased his speed and moved off toward the battle his friends were now losing, he simply gave the man in black a chance. A chance that he hoped he wouldn’t regret giving.
“RUN!”
Again he didn’t turn to watch whether or not the man had taken advantage of his oddly timed gesture. He didn’t need to. The rapid footfalls disappearing off his left shoulder told him that the man had done exactly as he was told. Instead, Griffin strode without hesitation back to his weapon, retrieved it from the street, and quickly assessed the individual battles taking place simultaneously.
Ethan and Frank fought with two of the more aggressive Feeders on the driver’s side of the SUV. The doors were now open and the women had moved Ben out onto the opposite sidewalk. Their injured friend was now awake and moving, but at a much slower pace than the others.
Stepping in behind Frank, Griffin didn’t quite have a line on the target attacking his older friend. He was through wasting time and wasn’t about to allow another tragedy to take place on the cold dimly lit street. He was going to end this right now.
Sliding to the left, he grabbed Frank’s shoulder and gently pulled him back. Surprised, Frank flinched and fired his rifle as he spun to the right. The weapon exploded as Frank was switching hands, blowing apart the lower leg of the former mail carrier he’d been wrestling with.
Moving aside, Griffin kicked the other leg out from under the badly disfigured former postal employee. The middle-aged, heavyset man with only half a face dropped quickly, crashing to the ground in a heap.
Rolling onto his back, the enraged Feeder swung at the air and growled at the men as he attempted to right himself. Using his mangled right foot for balance, he pushed away from the asphalt, only to immediately topple back to the ground.
Striding past Frank and holding out his left arm, Griffin leveled his pistol and fired one shot into the head of the former mail carrier. Instantly eliminated. Without hesitation, he turned his attention to the group of seven Feeders that had given up on the SUV and started for the women on the opposite sidewalk.
Griffin shouted as he moved around the front of the SUV. “ETHAN, TWO AT YOUR BACK!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan take a step back, fire two shots into the head of the Feeder he’d been struggling with, and then quickly reload. Frank hurried to Ethan’s side, shouldered his rifle and fired at close range on the two that Griffin had warned of, only taking down the first.
As Ethan jammed home a new magazine, he fired three quick shots. The first went wide to the left; the second and third struck a former female law enforcement officer in the torso. She was rocked backward, but still marched toward him. Taking in a slow breath, he fired one last time, striking the woman just above the nose, and blowing the back of her head into the wintery night.
Before her body hit the ground, Ethan had turned and was running toward the others. Frank had joined Griffin and the pair now stood between the women and the horde of seven.
Griffin called out to Frank as Ethan slipped in between them. “GET THEM BACK IN THE SUV, THERE’S MORE COMING!”
Frank nodded and fell back as Griffin dropped a new magazine in his pistol, took aim, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ethan.
As the friends fired into the crowd, Frank rushed back to the women and to Ben. He hurried the group of four in through the passenger side of the SUV, keeping one eye on the dwindling pack of Feeders.
Having quickly reduced the adversary’s numbers to less than half, Griffin and Ethan repositioned themselves. Not only to get a better vantage of their targets, but also to draw the remaining beasts away from the vehicle.
“GO!” Griffin shouted. “Get it started, I’ll be right behind you.”
“No,” Ethan replied. “We go together!”
Griffin nodded and before Ethan could react, he fired three close range shots, the blowback sending thick shards of diseased skin and blood skipping off the rear passenger side of the SUV. As the bodies dropped to the sidewalk, he lowered his weapon, checked his magazine, and turned back to Ethan.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Ethan paused a moment and stared back at his friend. “Griff… look man, I’m really—”
“Not now, Ethan.” Motioning toward the gated community where the street ended, another group of Feeders were making their way toward them. “Even if we had the time—” Griffin stopped mid-sentence, his eyes staring blankly into the night. “Just not right now.”
Ethan turned and made his way around the front of the SUV. He climbed into the driver’s seat, sat back, and pounded his fists into the steering wheel. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and turned over the engine.
Waiting for Griffin to enter from the passenger side, Ethan turned his gaze to the rear-view mirror. His mother sat two rows back, quietly crying into Shannon’s shoulder. She stared back through the thick tears running from her puffy red eyes. Ethan knew she still had questions, but he also knew that she had already figured out most of the answers.
Turning away, Ethan gripped the steering wheel and shifted into drive. Running his hands through his thickly matted dark hair, a voice came from the third row, breaking the miserable silence.
“What is Griffin doing?”
105
Nicholas and Walter had somehow managed to maneuver the Gulfstream G280 through the massive horde gathered on runway number two, and now sat at the far end of runway one. The four men aboard hadn’t spoken a word since returning to their seats, and as the massive jet started down the tarmac, the pilot’s voice was a welcome distraction.
The man who’d only started working for BXF and privately for Marcus Goodwin roughly thirty days before was all business. His no-nonsense attitude meshed well with the other pilots Goodwin employed, and although Walter—his co-pilot—was a bit more outspoken, the pair worked well together. They’d manned the cockpit of this particular G280 for just under one hundred hours in the previous thirty days, but tonight, they needed more than experience to get them safely to their next destination.
Rolling forward, the overhead speakers cracked to life. “Okay men, this may get a bit rough. The tarmac is clear up to about the last third. It looks like we have about two dozen of those things roaming around out there, so stay in your seats until we’re airborne…”
Nicholas’s voice trailed off momentarily. A burst of static briefly filled the line before his voice again came through.
“I’ll get us through, but it’s not going to be pretty.” The overhead speakers again faded away and were quickly replaced by the sound of the G280 rocketing down the runway.
His hands gripped tight to the armrests, Dalton stared straight ahead. His feet were oddly cold and the exposed areas along his lower legs ached. He’d examined them as he was pulled backward into the plane, but at that time he wasn’t necessarily in the proper state of mind to process the full extent of his injuries. That time would come. But right now, he was just hoping to live for another sixty seconds—anything beyond that was incomprehensible.
Closing his eyes and holding his breath, the jet continued down the tarmac, increasing its speed with each passing second. And as the sounds beyond his two-foot world began to fade, Dalton began counting. He figured that if he got to thirty and was still coherent enough to continue counting, then he and the others would be safely in the sky.
“One… two… three…”
Seated along the opposite side of the spacious rear cabin, Goodwin peered out the window. Half ignoring the younger man, he grinned and shook his head. Watching the ground beneath rush by as the jet raced toward the end of runway number one, he had little concern for Dalton’s current frame of mind.
“Mr. Dalton, your life is rushing by at a pace that you’ll never have the capability of fully understanding. Fear is an absolutely useless emotion. Don’t let it control you. Stop counting the seconds unt
il you die and start actually living. You have to be present either way—why not just open your eyes and allow it to come… whatever it is?”
“Fourteen… fifteen… sixteen…”
Mind games. Goodwin was probably bored. With little else to do, and the only other passengers being the pilots, he needed a target. However, an idle Goodwin had less of an attention span than a five-year-old child. Dalton knew this, and had on many occasions, used it to his advantage.
As the nose of the G280 lifted off the runway, Goodwin’s antagonistic diatribe was, for the moment, diverted. He leaned forward and craned his neck down and to the right. He glared into the night and appeared to be willing the massive jet into the air.
“Twenty-two… twenty-three… twenty-f—”
The jet rocked violently to the right as Dalton was thrown from his seat. He slammed against the side of the plane and then fell forward onto his left side. The sound of collapsing metal tore through the rear cabin as Dalton gripped the leg of the chair opposite him and looked up at Goodwin. The older man was pushed back in his seat, one hand digging into the arm of the chair and the other wrapped tightly around the half empty bottle of spring water. Not one drop was spilled.
He’d stopped counting; however, the G280 continued along the runway. He knew what had happened, as did Goodwin. The plane had struck at least one of those things, and if the sound of the collision were any indication, the jet had sustained a fair amount of damage.
As the G280’s rear end lifted off the runway, Dalton reached for the other arm of the chair opposite him. He quickly pulled himself up into the soft leather, glancing back at Goodwin as the jet listed right and then immediately corrected itself. Digging in his heels, he pushed back into the seat and stared down at his feet.
No shoes. His black socks a tattered mess from being dragged away from those beasts and the exposed area on his right calf was noticeably swollen. He pressed his right forearm against the chair, forced his sleeve up a few inches, and then did the same with his left. Both clear.
He waited another five seconds, and feeling somewhat secure in the fact that they’d left the horrors of the airfield back on the ground, Dalton released his grip on the left armrest. Reaching for his waist, he pulled his shirt away from his pants and arched his back. The pain radiating from his hip held no specific sensation. Abrasion, laceration or possibly something even worse. Without pulling away the blood-soaked fabric, he’d only be guessing.
Wincing as he unintentionally raked his fingers over the injury, Dalton could feel Goodwin’s eyes turn to him. He didn’t look back. Instead, he pulled what remained of the shirt away, like you would a bandage… quick and without thought.
“You weren’t bitten,” Goodwin said. “Pull yourself together, we’re going—”
The jet again jerked hard to the right, this time catching Goodwin off guard as he dropped his bottle of water. As it smashed to the carpeted floor below, his gaze instantly turned toward the front of the plane. Quickly standing and kicking the broken pieces of glass aside, he braced himself against the wall as the rumble beneath their feet began.
Dalton’s eyes shot to the floor below. “What is that?”
The floor shook as the sound of grinding metal reverberated through the rear cabin. It stopped momentarily and then began once again, this time much louder, with a repetitive banging that appeared to shake the jet like a rag doll.
Turning his attention from the floor to Goodwin, and then on to the forward cabin, Dalton fought the urge to shrink further into his seat. He instead pushed away from the leather chair and stood. He was a few paces behind Goodwin and held tight to the overhead compartment with his left hand.
“Marcus!”
Fearing the unknown, Dalton’s mind was now working completely on autopilot. He struggled to right himself, although he was more concerned that these were his last minutes than he was about properly addressing the man who’d caused all of this.
Goodwin turned back, narrowed his eyes, and pointed at the petrified young man.
“Sit down and keep your mouth shut. Pray if you’d like to… go ahead and cry if that’s what you need, but do it quietly. I do not want to hear another word out of your mouth until we’re on the ground. Got it?”
Dalton didn’t respond. He also didn’t move. Standing near the overhead compartment, he only glared back at Goodwin, and for the first time thought about what it would be like to watch him die. He had no intention of doing it himself—hell, he even had a hard time imagining it at all—but as he drilled a hole into the side of Goodwin’s head with his gaze, he thought of the irony of the man who may have ended humanity perishing at the hands of those he created.
One final jolt, and as Goodwin turned and headed for the cockpit, the grinding beneath their feet ended in a slow sputter. It was gone as quickly as it began and was now replaced by the low hiss of cool air escaping through the overhead vents.
Stepping back, Dalton turned away from Goodwin. He dropped down into the crème-colored leather chair, and rested his left arm on the window ledge. Peering out into the night, he watched as the world below shrank, and the only illumination coming from the many spot fires peppering the landscape.
On the opposite side of the cabin, Goodwin brushed aside a few errant pieces of glass, and continued toward the cockpit. Just as he began to call out to the pilots, Nicholas appeared in the doorway. He continued walking quickly toward Goodwin and spoke with just enough volume to also command Dalton’s attention.
“What you heard was our landing gear being torn to pieces by those things out there. We were unable to avoid the crowd at the end of runway number one and as such, the gear took a direct hit from more than a few of the bodies.”
Goodwin looked past Nicholas, in through the cockpit door, and then turned back toward the rear of the jet.
“And?”
“Well,” Nicholas said, “at this point the nose gear is completely inoperable and it appears that the right rear is no longer capable of fully retracting… or extending.”
Goodwin began to speak, but then paused a moment. He stared back at Nicholas, as a look of confusion washed over his face. “You don’t look worried?”
“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t do any good. We don’t have any other choice now.”
“No?”
“We’re gonna have to put this thing down at some point, and with only one leg left, things are gonna get interesting real fast.”
As Nicholas turned and started back for the cockpit, Goodwin had one final question.
“What are our chances?”
“Don’t know, never had the opportunity to run this one through a simulator.”
106
Rolling away from the gated community and the gathering horde, Ethan followed Griffin toward the blue SUV, while avoiding his mother’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. The tortured look on her face told him that she knew what he needed to tell her. That she’d put the pieces together and although she hadn’t yet begun to grieve, she’d want to hear it directly from him. Ethan would have to give her closure. Just not now.
Pulling to a stop, Ethan checked the mirrors and watched as Griffin approached the smaller vehicle. He peered in through the windows, checked the front and backseats, and then before opening the driver’s door, turned to Ethan and held up his right index finger.
Holding Griffin’s gaze, Ethan reached to his left, gripped the handle, and began to open his door. His friend didn’t need any help, nor did he ask for it; however, he wanted a few seconds alone to quickly discuss their next move away from the others. Griffin shook his head, pulled the door open, and disappeared behind the glare of the windshield.
Back to the others, Ethan paused to do a mental inventory of what was what. His mother sat along the third row, between Frank and Shannon, quietly crying. Carly sat directly behind him, tending to Ben, who appeared to be sleeping.
Turning to face her, Ethan furrowed his brow.
“Do I dare ask?”
“
He’s gonna be fine. He’s lost a lot of blood, but with some sleep and something in his stomach, he’ll be fine… well, as long as we can keep the wound from getting infected.”
“How’s it look?”
Carly turned her eyes to Ben and lowered her already quiet voice. “It’s not good, but if we can find somewhere to rest for a few days, I think he’ll be okay.”
“I’ll get us out of here, I promise.”
Laying her left hand on Ethan’s shoulder, Carly forced a weak smile and spoke quietly. “It’s not just for Ben. We all need a break, Griffin maybe more than the rest of us. Things are happening too fast; we haven’t had time to process any of this, let alone deal with what just happened out there. I’m just not sure how we go on. What we do. How we live through this.”
Turning his attention back out through his frosted window, Ethan breathed out heavily as Griffin trotted away from the smaller vehicle. “I’m not sure either, but whatever it is, however we get through this, it will be together. That’s the only way.”
A hush fell over the interior of the SUV as the passenger door opened and Griffin slipped into the seat beside Ethan. Neither man looked at the other, and as Ethan shifted the enormous vehicle into drive, Griffin laid two items on the dash.
The first, a two-way radio, not unlike the unit Shannon had brought from the police station. And second, an odd shaped cell phone that Ethan knew really wasn’t a cell phone at all. He was issued one that looked strangely similar on his first day working for BXF Technologies. His sister said it was only for emergencies. Holding it up for the others to see, Ethan said, “Anyone need to make a call?”
His attempt at easing the tension fell flat. His timing wasn’t ever perfect; however, this was one instance when he probably should have just allowed the awkwardness of the moment to play out. He turned to hand it back to Griffin as a voice came from the third row. His mother spoke quietly, her voice breaking as thick tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
