“I can’t just leave Laura!” Nellie said, blinking through her tears.
“Hardigan was on that truck too Nellie,” Greer said, swallowing hard to keep herself from vomiting. She looked back at their passengers again. “We can’t risk it.”
“No, no, no,” Nellie kept muttering. “Not Laura, please God, not Laura.”
Greer wasn’t sure if Nellie was blaspheming or praying. She wondered about her own relationship with God and whether he’d take time to listen. She pulled loose the Motorola handheld from her tac vest and keyed the mic. “Whitey, this is Greer, Hardigan and Kaufman are down, over.”
“I see it,” Whitey said, his voice distorted by static. “But if I have Tripod pull off, you don’t have anyone to barrel through.”
An unfamiliar voice in the other Humvee cut in on the frequency. “I’ve got a full load of civs up here, do you want me to risk them?” Greer figured that must be Ike, the other motor pool guard, now impressed into service as a driver.
“We’re full up too,” Greer said, her voice finally cracking.
“It’s a shitty thing to do,” Whitey said, sounding like he could barely speak, his voice hoarse, “But Hardigan knew the risks. If we can get the convoy though, I can double back.”
“This is Baldwin, I’ll go back if no one else will,” another voice answered over the radio.
“Absolutely negative,” Whitey said, his voice still hoarse, “You’re our only remaining pilot, you pull that vehicle out of formation and I’ll shoot you myself.”
Greer ran her hand along her cheek, trying to think. She felt the dried blood crumble along her palm. “Whitey, what’s our ETA?”
“It’s about three more miles to the airstrip, but we’re not exactly making good time, or going as the crow flies, so I’d say it’s going to be about ten minutes to get there, especially if I have to keep ramming cars out of the way.” The sound of another wreck being crashed aside by the M113 was audible through the mic.
“That’s twelve to fifteen minutes that they’ll be on their own,” Greer said, still holding the mic down.
“I’ll double back,” Whitey said.
“Roger that,” Greer said, dropping the mic to the floor and letting the connection go dead. Somehow she managed not to vomit, not to let the numbness in her stomach win. Above her she heard Jenny yelling something, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. As they picked up speed again, she barely even heard Nellie sobbing; all she saw was smoke starting to rise behind them. “Hardigan!” she wailed.
Steiner watched as the stars finally started to recede from his eyes. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost consciousness, or how long he’d blacked out again. He’d been watching the vehicles roll out of the garage, stunned that they’d somehow found a way to get the door open. When he looked up again, all the cameras were out and only the emergency lights were on. “Compromised,” he whispered again, wondering if he could take more morphine yet.
He saw the binder at his feet and remembered that he a mission to perform, perhaps his last one. Steiner wished that he still had one of those pocket New Testaments in his pocket, but he’d used his to roll cigarettes. The rice paper made for some first class cigarettes. He coughed again and spit a mixture of blood and mucus on one of the corpses again. “That never gets old,” he muttered.
Steiner tore his key loose from around his neck and inserted it into a slot along the console. He turned it first to the left, returned it to center, and then clicked it left twice, finally turning it to the right and holding it for three seconds before turning it to center again. With a hissing noise, a cylindrical console appeared in the center of Steiner’s console, with a key in it. Steiner leaned forward and began to enter the numbers off of his authorization sheets. In the movies it always took two keys to launch a missile, Steiner thought, smirking. Since he didn’t plan on launching anything, he only needed his key and codes.
The Nike missiles were long since taken out of service, but what was not generally known, was that a handful of nuclear tipped anti-ballistic missiles continued to be deployed long after the cold war was ended, in direct violation of the ABM treaty. Steiner’s complex wasn’t just a normal Nike base, but meant to house the latter. These had been deactivated just before the crisis began, but the warheads had never been removed. Instead, they had been incorporated into a self-destruct mechanism put in place to prevent the installation from being overrun in the event of an invasion. Steiner had once laughed at the insistence of the powers that be in desiring to conceal their violation of the ABM treaty even in the face of nuclear holocaust.
Steiner smiled as he entered the last of the numbers and confirmed it. The resulting explosion wouldn’t be much by some standards, depending on how one considered Hiroshima and Nagasaki rolled into one. He looked at the static on the monitors again, it would be a real shame not to watch those things burn, but such were the vagaries of war. The countdown timer allowed twelve hours maximum before detonation, this in fact being the default time. Steiner left that in place and watched the minutes start to count down. Satisfied that it had begun, he reinserted his key and locked the system, before snapping it off in the mechanism. “Wouldn’t want any one getting in the way,” he muttered.
Steiner pressed his hands against his bandages, noticing that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He looked at a small hatch recessed into the floor. “Might as well go for a walk,” he muttered tiredly, beginning to unscrew the locking mechanism.
Kaufman was pleasantly surprised that she could still walk, having now survived her second experience jumping out of a moving vehicle. The key she reflected, was to tuck yourself and hit the ground rolling. Looking up from where she lay in the dirt, she decided to pull herself to her feet and pick up her hat, which was lying nearby.
Taking another moment to catch her breath and rise unsteadily to her feet gave her a chance to see that the Blazer now lay on its side it the ditch. Jerry was still behind the wheel, but by the direction in which his head was bent, he probably wouldn’t be moving ever again.
Hearing a moan come from the vehicle, Kaufman was surprised to see the rear passenger door pop open. Her backpack and shoulder bag were promptly thrown from the vehicle, followed by Hardigan’s carbine, and a two-quart canteen. Hardigan himself emerged next, limping slightly. He waved as he managed to stay on his feet.
A quick check of her holster revealed to Kaufman that she’d somehow managed to hang on to her pistol, though she had no memory of doing so. She now had a few cuts and bruises, and her sweater was torn, but she felt lucky to be alive.
Hardigan looked somewhat the worse for wear, and now sported a black eye and was bleeding from his lip. “Seatbelt,” Hardigan said, panting and leaning against the wreck as Kaufman did her best jog impression and approached.
“Figured I’d take my chances rolling,” Kaufman said, quickly shrugging her pack on. “We’d better move, it doesn’t look like anyone stopped for us.”
“Guess we’re on foot then,” Hardigan said, shouldering the canteen and Kaufman’s bag.
“I can grab that bag if you don’t want to,” Kaufman offered, retrieving a partially crumpled cigarette from her hatband.
“Don’t worry about it,” Hardigan said, “We’d better get moving.”
Kaufman didn’t even have time to answer as the first of the Revenants waded into view. She simply brought her Sig up into her line of sight and began shooting.
Hardigan grabbed her by her belt and began pulling her back towards the road. “Gas is leaking,” he yelled, “we need to get clear.”
Kaufman nodded between shots, noticing the gas pooling. She was suddenly glad that she hadn’t had a chance to light her cigarette. “We’ll never make it,” she said, looking at the revenants flowing down the road, following the convoy, their numbers steadily increasing.
“We have to try,” Hardigan said. He pulled his Zippo loose and grabbed Kaufman’s cigarette from between her lips. “I need to borrow this,” he said, as she started to object. He flared it to life, and took a drag. “Better get down,” he suggested.
Sensing what he had in mind, Kaufman dropped to a crouch further down the ditch. Hardigan knelt down beside her and flicked the glowing cigarette butt towards a trail of gas rapidly forming from the damaged Blazer. With a satisfying “whump” the ember caught, and the flames rapidly spread back towards the vehicle.
“Move, we have to get clear before it blows,” Hardigan said, pulling Kaufman along by the hand now.
“We’re going the wrong way if you want to get to the airstrip,” Kaufman insisted, resisting Hardigan tugs.
“There’s no way we can make it, having to fight through those things, we need to find another way,” Hardigan said, unslinging his Remington and shooting two revenants who seemed to be drawing near from the edge of the ditch.
The explosion forced them both down, as the main tank on the Blazer exploded, detonating the cans of reserve fuel and ammo the vehicle carried.The popping sound of loose rounds of ammunition cooking off soon drowned out the sound of gunfire from the retreating convoy.
Kaufman cast a last desperate glance back at the fire and then started forward, following Hardigan. Two pistols, one rifle, little if any food, no radio, limited ammo, and not much water, Kaufman thought. Stranded on the other side of the only potential way out, and being pursued. She fired her pistol again, striking a revenant wearing a rotting clown costume. Mentally making a note to save the last round for herself, Kaufman tracked on to the next target. “We’re not getting out of this, are we?” she yelled to Hardigan.
He was loading cartridges into the chamber of his rifle one at a time, “Probably not,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry we never got to know each other better,” Kaufman said. She wondered if she ought to ask Hardigan if he was saving his last round too.
“We’re not quite dead yet,” Hardigan insisted, still moving forward.
Kaufman wasn’t at all sure that she liked the “yet” part of that statement, but kept going. There was a tree line about three hundred yards away and Hardigan seemed to have decided to make a break for it. In theory the trees might provide them the opportunity to hide themselves amidst the foliage and offer at least a temporary solace from their pursuers. Kaufman wasn’t holding out much real hope. The only good part, as far as should see, was that at least Tom would be able to fly the rest of the convoy to safety.
“Shit, I don’t know if I can do this,” Baldwin said, strapping himself into the cockpit of the C130.
“How do you think I feel?” Alice asked, strapping herself in next to him, taking the Co-Pilot’s seat.
“All I ever flew in were trainers,” Baldwin admitted.
“I thought you were supposed to be a fighter pilot or something,” Alice said, feeling the color drain from her face.
“No,” Baldwin said, pulling on a headset and beginning to run through a preflight check that mostly eluded Alice. “That was Kaufman, I washed out of pilot training and spent my tour running the officer’s mess on a cruiser before I secured an early release to go to medical school.”
“Why did you fail out?” Alice asked. She had been nominated to be co-pilot because she’d once handled the controls of an old boyfriend’s Cessna in law school, and had taken a few lessons.
“Air sickness, I kept getting sick,” Baldwin said, already looking a little green.
Alice suddenly felt more than a little green herself. “You’re kidding right?”
Baldwin shook his head, “You’re sitting where I thought I’d be, and I was hoping I’d have a lot of air sickness bags.”
“And me in my good suit,” Alice muttered, pulling on a headset of her own. “Can you get us off the ground?”
“I’m sure that will be the easy part,” Baldwin said, forcing a smile, “It’s the coming down part that I’m worried about.
They’d found the airstrip in fairly good condition. The C130H that the Germans had flown in on was still parked on the tarmac, nearby their own aging UH60 and UH1 helicopters that they used to shuttle out the search and forage teams. The small Cessna which normally also sat on the runaway was gone, having been commandeered by the on duty chopper pilot, who’d decided to make a run for it along with his crew chief, and liked his odds better in a fixed wing aircraft. The C130’s original crew was nowhere to be found, neither were the complex’s other helicopter pilots, all being presumed lost in the chaos at the complex itself.
A dozen people had already been at the airstrip, the ten guards, and two members of the permanent ground crew. They’d been busy shooting their sole machine gun in the guard tower at the revenants and stuffing whatever they thought useful into the C130 in hopes that someone who could fly it would show up. Plan B was to escape in the fuel truck and utility Humvee and take to the road.
Now that Plan A was feasible again, everyone was busy stripping the vehicles of supplies and loading them into the plane, or preparing it for take off.
Everyone save for a handful of figures, which were visible to Alice and Baldwin, who were loading into one of the Humvees rather than taking things out of it…
“You’re getting on that plane Greer, and that’s final,” Jenny said, manhandling a crate of hand grenades into the airstrips utility Humvee.
“But-“ Greer started to protest, but Finley and Stavros both grabbed her arms, and pulled her back from the vehicle.
“She’s right, you’ve got too much to lose,” Stravros said quietly, nodding at Greer’s midsection.
Greer blushed momentarily, but then fumed, “Is there any one who doesn’t know?”
“No, there isn’t,” Whitey said, walking towards the Humvee Jenny was loading. “Abernathy says the treads are shot and that we’re lucky we skidded in here, looks like we’re taking the Humvee after all,” he said, sucking on his pipe.
Greer looked at him, trying very hard not to let the tears clouding her eyes break totally free. She noticed that Whitey had his M14 tossed casually over his shoulder as though he was going duck hunting. “If anyone deserves to go it’s…”
“Nice try,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “We don’t have time for this Lisa, you’re getting on that plane and that’s final.”
Greer cast a worried glance outside the wire, looking at the steadily massing tide of revenants. “I’m a good shot, you’ll need me,” Greer said, her voice weakening.
“We’ve got plenty of crack shots,” Whitey said, his eyes opening somewhat in surprise as he saw Frenchy sitting behind the .50 caliber mount on the Humvee. “What do you think you’re doing Frenchy?”
“I’m sick of being drafted,” Frenchy said, tossing his cigarette overboard. He’d replaced his beret with a Kevlar “Fritz” helmet. “ So I figured I’d volunteer this time around, Sarge.”
“I-“ Greer started to say, but then she exhaled. “There’s no way you’re going to let me come, are you?” she asked, looking at Jenny now.
Jenny paused, setting the grenade case on the floor of the troop compartment. “No, there isn’t,” she said meeting Greer’s gaze. Jenny reached out her hand and stroked Greer’s chin. “I love him too Lisa, don’t worry, if he’s out there, we’ll get him back.” Then she leaned in and delivered a kiss that surprised Greer, as much in that it happened, as the electricity she too felt from it.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” Greer admitted, the tears flowing now.
Jenny stroked her cheek again, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t plan on dying.”
“They never do,” Greer whispered.
Jenny smiled slightly and then kissed Greer again, more gently this time, before pulling away. “I personally made sure that Stavros and Finley here are going to drag you onto that plane if they have to,” Jenny said.
Stavros nodded and then patted Greer’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll take good care of you,” she said.
Greer nodded and felt herself go limp. “What about Nellie, how’s she taking it?”
“She’s just like you,” Whitey said, exhaling a cloud of whiskey-scented smoke. He’d broken open his remaining pouch of Swedish flavored tobacco for the occasion. “Doc Baldwin had to give a sedative, and we strapped her onto a bench seat. She’s too close to the issue.”
“What happens if you don’t come back?” Greer asked, feeling almost faint. She wondered if she’d soon be joining Nellie in the realm of the newly sedated.
Whitey shrugged, exchanging a glance with Jenny, who shrugged as well, and then looked away. “Then you fly away on that plane and hope Doc Baldwin knows what the hell he’s doing, you try to get to Norfolk, and you try to get on a ship. Then you sail away from his whole mess,” Jenny said.
“The Doc is going to give us an hour after you’re loaded, to try to get back,” Whitey added, helping Nikki, one of the rescued tower gunners load boxes of .50 caliber into the Humvee. She flashed him a smile as he did so. “Anything more than that, we probably aren’t coming back,” he continued, seeing Nikki frown, and then give him a thumb up for luck.
Greer swallowed hard and then nodded. “I think I’ll have one of those sedatives now please,” she said simply as she passed out.
“This is a shit car,” Dale said, grinding his cigarette out on the Mazda’s dash. “I can see why no one stole it before us.”
“Just be glad they didn’t, bro,” Tanner said, as they made their way slowly past a wrecked school bus. “Otherwise we’d be walking right now and I don’t think we’d be making it real far, do you?”
Dale grunted and pointed at the gutted console, “No radio, no cassette, no CD, no nothing,” he complained.
“What would you listen to if there was a radio? No stations are still on,” Tanner said, adding “Dumb ass.”
“Shaddup, you know what I meant. I don’t know why any one even ganked the stereo out of this crap box,” Dale said. Then he looked at the trash bag they had thrown in the back seat. “You think we should tell them about the bodies we found bro?”
“Yeah, I plan to, that was weird shit, and I think Hardigan and Whitey are going to want to know the whole 411,” Tanner said sagely.
“They might think we killed them though,” Dale said, sounding worried.
“How would they think that? Them bodies been there forever, besides if they wanted to go look at the house, they wouldn’t have sent us. They wanted those old books and photos, and we got them and more. Way I figure it, we ought to get a bonus. Maybe even get store privileges,” Tanner said.
“You think? Man, I hope they got some dandruff shampoo, and maybe some of that shit what kills lice too,” Dale said, licking his lips in anticipation.
“Word up,” Tanner said. “We be bug free and flake free we get that done dawg.”
“To dream bro, to dream,” Dale said, waxing poetic. “But that shit back there is still creeping me out. What was with the dead NASA dudes, did the old dude who lived there steal some moon rocks or some shit?”
“Dunno,” Tanner admitted, “Looked to me like they came to either grab or snuff someone, but they was hiding in the closet and got the drop on them other guys and whacked them.”
“What about the body in the basement then?” Dale said, scratching his goatee. Dale was really looking forward to getting some lice shampoo.
“You ask me-“ Tanner began.
“I just did ask you,” Dale said, sounding miffed.
“I know, that was a ree-tard-ical statement, dumbass,” Tanner snorted.
“I’ll ree-tard-ical your ass,” Dale threatened, shaking his fist momentarily, “But what was with the dead smelly lady in the office.”
“That was the dude’s wife I think, he must have snuffed her,” Tanner said.
“Cause she got bit or something?” Dale asked, “Damn it,” he cursed, “There ain’t no light knob, just a little no smoking sign doohickey.”
“Damn communards,” Tanner agreed. “I don’t think she got bit, you ask me-“
“Of course I’m asking you, we just covered that,” Dale said testily.
Tanner glowered, “I’ll choose to ignore your ignoramus outburst. Asking me, I says he snuffed his ole lady cause she was cheating on him or something.”
“Maybe getting a little on the side with the lawnscapers?” Dale asked, making an obscene gesture with his fingers. “We used to when we mowed lawns, remember when Mrs. Ostrander the math lady came to the door buck nekkid and wanted to take us both on?”
“Damn straight,” Tanner agreed, smiling in recollection.
“Man, I don’t care if she was seventy something, that old lady liked to fuck,” Dale said.
“I dunno dude, I was pretty high, but wasn’t it Mr. Ostrander only he was wearing a dress?” Tanner asked, puzzled.
“You know dawg, I don’t remember, I was pretty high too,” Dale said reflectively.
“Eh,” Tanner said dismissively, “Don’t matter none. I bet that the dead lady’s old man found out and whacked her.”
“Then what? Man this shit is cool, just like on when we used to watch Law and Order,” Dale said, nodding his head.
“Yeah bro, maybe we ought become like detectives or something,” Tanner nodded.
“Sweet,” Dale said.
“I bet her sent back some people to whack his daughter too,” Tanner said, tucking his glasses back up on his nose to appear more professional.
“That’d be some cold blooded shit dawg,” Dale said, then he smiled, “Yeah, I’d be down with it though, can’t have people knowing your bid-ness.”
“Damn straight,” Tanner agreed.
“What about all that moon rock bullshit though, it seemed like this dude did something important, maybe his wife knew too much and he had to get her whacked, like on James Bond,” Dale said, pondering the issue.
“Callous dude, but could be,” Tanner said. “I wonder if they’ll pay us extra for our deductering.”
“Bro, how they could not, what with insights like ours?” Dale said, snorting.
Tanner bobbed his head in agreement. In the back of his mind, he remembered a page on his word a day calendar entitled “IRONY”, but he soon forgot the notion and went back to concentrating on his driving.
“Maybe you’d better go on without me,” Hardigan said, collapsing momentarily against a tree. “I think I tore a muscle in my leg, the pain is starting to get to me,” he grunted, rubbing his calf.
“As a medical professional, I normally wouldn’t advise a patient to get up and run around after an auto-accident,” Kaufman said, leaning one arm on the tree next to Hardigan and resting. “These aren’t exactly normal circumstances though.”
“I’m serious, I don’t know if I can keep up,” Hardigan said.
Kaufman raised her hat incrementally and looked down at Hardigan, “Alright,” she whispered as she thumbed back the hammer on the Sig-Sauer and rested the muzzle along the top of Hardigan’s head.
“Umm, whatcha doing there Doc?” he asked carefully.
“I won’t leave you for those things,” Kaufman said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I learned a long time ago that this is the best way.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I just wanted a pep talk, or a little encouragement?” Hardigan said, his voice still measured. “But oh no, let’s shoot the weak,” he clucked his tongue.
Kaufman let the muzzle of her pistol drop to point only at the ground and then decocked it. She laughed, “I was really going to shoot you too,” she said, finding that that only made her laugh harder.
Hardigan laughed too, “I know you were, it’s nice to see you care that way.” He raised his gaze momentarily.
Kaufman smirked, “If we survive this, and I do mean if, let me know if you ever want to expand on that little mating triune of yours.” She said, holstering her pistol. “And I mean that.”
“Thanks,” Hardigan said, “Somehow, coming from you, that means something. I’m still not quite sure what, but something.” Hardigan looked over his shoulder, they still had a view of the road, but it was heavily obscured by the trees.
Hundreds of revenants were still milling around, they seemed to be massing for something. Hardigan felt a chill go down his spine; they weren’t supposed to be intelligent like that. What they were supposed to be, no one was quite sure. That was probably why people liked to call them freaks, or simply things. In the early days, some people had maintained that the Rapture had come and that these were the newly risen dead, waiting to be judged. Others said that they were the judgment, the judgment of all mankind. Hardigan wondered where that left him.
“There’s too many of them for us to try to make it to the airstrip,” Kaufman said, the first signs of despair in her voice.
“On foot at least,” Hardigan admitted. “And we’ve moved about a half mile father away.” He swung his canteen off of his shoulder and took a drink, swirling the tepid, chemical tasting water around in his mouth before swallowing. Then slowly took another pull. There was no telling how long the water would have to last them, so he wanted to make it last. Finally, he handed the canteen to Kaufman.
Nodding her thanks, Kaufman took a long pull, letting just a hint dribble now her chin, “Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth self-consciously. “I guess I got greedy there.” She capped the canteen and handed it back to Hardigan.
“Don’t worry about it Doc,” he said, “Too many people die of thirst with full canteens anyway. Water in your belly beats water in your bottle.”
“Stop calling me Doc,” Kaufman said, “I told you before, just call me Laura.”
“Alright, deal. I’m Jack by the way,” Hardigan said.
“That’s a manly name,” Kaufman chuckled.
“Thanks,” Hardigan said. “You know, Laura, you look like a cowboy in that hat.”
“Keeps the sun out of my eyes,” Kaufman said. “And makes it harder to tell I’m a woman from a distance.”
“Ah,” Hardigan said, finally understanding.
Kaufman nodded, her face serious, “I’m sorry that I got you killed Jack,” she said quietly.
“I don’t see how you’re responsible, if you hadn’t come and gotten me, I’d have either died locked in an office, or defending the compound. At least out here I lived a little longer, and I got to help Greer and the others get away.”
“You never really had a chance to talk to her about the baby, did you?” Kaufman said, sadly.
“No, I didn’t,” Hardigan admitted. “I’m kind of sorry about that too, but I honestly do hope she keeps it.”
Kaufman nodded, “I guess I’d sort of assumed it was yours, would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t.”
Hardigan chuckled sourly, “So far as I know it would have to be mine, unless of course it’s somehow Jenny’s, but then we’ve all got problems if Jenny is somehow the father, don’t we Do- Laura?”
Kaufman tilted her hat back down. “We probably ought start moving again, instead of sitting here talking.”
“I’d tend to agree with you there,” Hardigan said, “Only if we move back to the compound, we’ll get eaten, if we stay here, we’ll be found and eaten, and if we go anywhere else…”
“We’ll probably get lost and starve to death it the howling wilderness,” Kaufman finished for him.
“Yeah, that seems to be the gist of our options,” Hardigan admitted. “Slim chance?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kaufman.
“Sounds like the one for me,” Kaufman said, smiling. She reached a hand down to help Hardigan up. “Next time I’ll give you the pep talk. Just be ready to do the same for me. Unless I really can’t get up, then do for me what I was going to do for you, deal?”
“Deal,” Hardigan agreed clasping her hand. He saw the scars on her arm again as she helped him up. Silently, he also vowed to make sure that Kaufman wouldn’t have to go through anything like that again either.
“Contact,” Baldwin said, starting the engines.
“Roger,” Alice said, looking out the cockpit windows to confirm that the props were rotating. She scanned her eyes rapidly across an assortment of dials. No alarms seemed to be going off, and none of the gauges seemed to be in the red. The plane was almost done loading, and the gates were starting to become clogged with revenants. It looked as though more were on the way too. Already they’d taken the fuel truck down along the fence line and sprayed some of the worst clumps down with high-octane aviation gas, before drawing back and setting them alight. Stavros and Finley had proven to be surprisingly adept at this maneuver, Alice reflected, at least they had managed not to burn themselves up.
“We sound almost like real pilots,” she said, eyeing the collection of gauges again.
“Well, I did fly one of these once in Microsoft Flight Simulator,” Baldwin admitted.
“Be still my beating heart,” Alice said, smiling weakly. She cast another worried glance outside the windows, despite the prop wash, Finley and Stavros were helping a woman in an Army uniform strip one of the .50 calibers out of a Humvee and bring it towards the plane. Alice thought the woman’s name was Nikki, the tower guard, but she wasn’t sure. “What are they going to do with that?” she asked.
“Maybe they found a tripod some where, with the right mounts, we can set it up later on the ground if we have to,” Baldwin said, beginning to flip more switches whose purpose eluded Alice and perhaps him as well.
“Do you think we can wait until the others get back?” Alice asked, her voice cracking.
“I’m going to try,” Baldwin said, his voice flat and toneless, “But if too many of those freaks out there come along, we’re going to have leave, with or without them.”
“But-“ Alice started to say.”
“Kaufman was my friend, we’ve been together since this all started almost, ever since she came to the compound, believe me, if there was any way to save her, I would, but I can’t risk you and everyone here to do it,” Baldwin said, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were so close,” Alice felt her cheeks color and looked away, “I mean, I hadn’t realized…” She paused and tried again, “Were you…”
“If you’re asking if we were lovers, no we weren’t. Laura’s an attractive woman, I give you that, and maybe under other circumstances, I’d have been interested. But no, I don’t think Laura goes much for men these days anyway. Besides, we got along too well as friends and colleagues,” Baldwin said. He offered Alice a slight smile. “Seems everyone is putting you on the spot today.”
“You’ve got that right Mister,” Alice said sourly. “All I wanted was another boring day of bland food and old TV programs. All this excitement I don’t need.” She flashed Baldwin a very weak smile. “I feel guilty even flirting with you at a time like this,” she admitted. “Like I’m doing something wrong, or not concentrating, we all could be dead in another hour and here I am flirting with the handsome young doctor…” She noticed Baldwin staring. “Okay, I’m rambling, I’ll shut up now.”
Baldwin smiled back warmly, “Don’t worry about it. Though we might all be dead in less than an hour, I’m not entirely sure that the plane won’t crash or explode on take off.”
From the tone of his voice, Alice wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and he went back to moving switches before she could ask. Alice simply swallowed hard and began clicking the heels of shoes together, happy that she’d worn flats. “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” she began to whisper.
Greer felt her eyes were heavy, but she finally managed to open them a bit, momentary disorientation followed as she tried to place just where she was. Back on a stretcher she surmised as she saw a familiar face looking at her from another stretcher.
“Hi,” Nellie said meekly.
“Hello,” Greer said, wondering at her own clipped and precise tone. Her mouth tasted oddly of metal and burnt cordite.
“They strapped us in already,” Nellie said, pulling slightly against the straps holding her in her stretcher.
“Are you hurt?” Greer asked, with a bit of concern.
“No, they just didn’t want either of us running off to try to play rescuer,” Nellie said, tugging slightly against the canvas straps holding her in her stretcher.
“Doctor Baldwin gave us both something to calm us down I guess, but you had already fainted,” Nellie said, concern evident in her voice.
“I’ll be okay,” Greer said, though she wondered at her own lightheadedness.
“It seems like they’re going to take off soon,” Nellie said. “One of the men who was already at the airstrip has served as a crew chief before, he said he’d bring by some ear plugs, I guess it’s going to get loud in here. They tested the engines a moment ago, and I could hardly hear,” she said, making a face.
Greer thought about nodding, but decided the effort would be too painful, instead she merely said, “That might be what woke me up. How long have I been out?”
“I don’t know,” Nellie admitted, she tugged one arm against the strap slightly, “I can’t really see my watch.” For some reason that effort made her blush, “But probably no more than ten minutes.”
“How long since the Humvee left?” Greer asked, wondering if they should be back about now.
“About half an hour, or just over, I think,” Nellie said, chewing her lip.
“Just past the point of no return,” Greer said quietly.
“What?” Nellie asked, looking ashen again.
Greer wondered if Nellie would start sobbing again, “The plane is only going to wait an hour, so they’re past the half way point, they’re either on the way back, or they’re not going to make it.”
“Oh,” Nellie said, her face sinking still further, “I wish they hadn’t strapped me down like this, I could have helped maybe.”
“I know that feeling,” Greer said, somehow finding the effort to offer Nellie a weak smile.
“Do you think we’ll be okay where we’re going?” Nellie asked, her voice suddenly sounding more like a child.
Greer supposed it was probably whatever they’d been given kicking in more, but she felt calmer herself. “I think so Nellie,” she said, wondering if she was lying. Greer wasn’t sure what she thought any more, or how much of what her father had told her to believe.
“Laura used to tie me to the bed like this when I wouldn’t want to listen to her,” Nellie said, her face taking an oddly soothed expression. Without adding anything else, she started snoring.
Greer whispered, “Get some sleep Nellie, sweet dreams,” and was greeted with only a faint murmur from Nellie’s lips in response. Staring at the ceiling, Greer began to hope that she too would fall back asleep soon. As the motors of the plane’s engines began to vibrate again, she wondered at Nellie’s timeline and how much time was really left, for any of them. She also wondered if she’d ever dream again. Greer soon found that the sedatives she’d been given were more powerful than she’d thought, as she drifted off.
“Stop sleeping behind that fifty,” Whitey yelled. From his spot in the passenger seat of their Humvee, he’d already exhausted the contents of three twenty round magazines, and was halfway through his fourth.
“Who’s sleeping?” Frenchy yelled back, triggering a burst from the .50 in response.
“You keep missing them,” Whitey complained, snapping off two more hastily aimed shots and dropping a copier repairman who had been in a position to attempt to leap onto the Humvee.
Their vehicle was already splattered with gore. Simply getting out of the airstrips gates was no longer so simple. They’d had to pick up speed and slam their way out, cutting through a packed mass of revenants. Even with the combined fire of their M2 .50 caliber, and Whitey’s M14, it had taken them almost half an hour to get back to the spot where the Blazer had wrecked. This was because of frequently having to turn down side streets or make loops to gather ramming speed.
“I’m hitting plenty of them too,” Frenchy retorted. A stream of hot brass ejected from the gun in proof of his point, cascading into the troop compartment. Two metal .50 caliber boxes were already emptied and upended onto their sides.
“You can sleep when you’re dead, just keep shooting,” Whitey said, dropping his partial magazine and rocking a new one into place. That was one downside to the M14 he thought, the magazines didn’t drop straight out like on an M16, instead you had to groove them in just right, lock them in place in the front, and then seat them rest of the way. Despite the slowed reloading time, Whitey liked the extra punch the .308 rounds gave him.
“We’re all going to die,” Frenchy yelled down.
Jenny continued to drive, running down the revenants as necessary. She kept looking at her watch, “Time’s about up,” she said simply.
“We’re almost there,” White said, trying to be as encouraging as possible. “Just hang in there,” he fired again.
“There’s smoke up ahead, 11 o’clock,” Frenchy yelled, tracking his weapon to clear a path in front of them.
Jenny put her foot straight to the floor and smashed through the revenants in front of them on the road. A normal Humvee had a top speed of about sixty miles per hour, armored ones dropped depending on the level of the armor package. White estimated that they were probably going about fifty when they crashed through the flesh barrier in front of them, but somehow Jenny kept control.
“There it is, there’s the wreck,” Frenchy yelled.
They barreled right past it on their first attempt, as there were too many revenants for them to slow down, let alone get out. Jenny made a dangerous and half insane U turn, sideswiping bodies aside and sped back, giving them a better view of the Blazer.
“Or what’s left of it,” Whitey said, pausing from his sporadic sniping to study the wreck, as Jenny slowed slightly. The wreckage was burnt out, and the gas tank had obviously gone up. The burned and mangled body of the driver could still be seen in the front seat. “I’m sorry,” Whitey said. There was no sign of anyone else.
“We need to keep looking,” Jenny said, her voice manic, as she swung the wheel around again.
“Time’s up,” Whitey said, pointing at his watch. “I’m sorry, but we’re just too late,” he sighed.
“NO!” Jenny yelled, slamming the wheel around and sending them speeding the wreckage again.
“She’s going to kill us!” Frenchy screamed, doing his best to hang on, his gun swinging in a wide arc.
Whitey watched the tracers bound up off the earth and corkscrew about the tree line. “Damn it Jenny, use your head, he’s gone, they’re both gone. Greer is going to need you!” He grabbed the wheel and steadied her hand on it. “Now turn us around!”
“No, no, no,” Jenny sobbed.
“Pull it together,” Whitey said, still steadying the wheel as he began to guide them back to towards the airstrip. He wondered if they’d make it back themselves.
“Well, we made it this far,” Mac said, trying to soothe Molly.
“I know Mac, but now what?” Molly said, staring at the throngs of revenants crossing near their apartment building.
“People seem to ask me that a lot,” Mac said. He unfolding a piece of Wall Street Journal and began to roll a cigarette. A headline near the top of the page read “Nobel Laureate Bio-Chemist Named in Divorce Suit, Earnings Plummet As A Result of Unusual Scientific Rivalry.” Mac kept bits and pieces of even back issues, and had torn that sheet off of one of those he’d used to line their blankets. Striking a match, he lit it and pondered the next step.
“Where’s there’s one nest of reavers, there’s usually more,” Mac said.
“I’m just glad I took my bag with my Joes and Army men and Teddy,” Larry said. “Cause now we have to run again.”
“That’s a practical way to look at it,” Mac said, thinking that Larry had an excellent point. “Most of what we need to survive for a while, we’ve got on the bike. And we still have a fair amount of gas in it.”
“We could use those thermate grenades you found to get back to the apartment, couldn’t we Mac?” Molly asked, making her hopeful nose wrinkle.
“We could,” Mac ventured, “But there’s no municipal fire department any more, so if the blaze gets out of hand, we’re on our own. Thermate doesn’t exactly discriminate in what it burns,” he added.
Molly made her disappointed nose wrinkle and frowned deeply, “We’re on the road again, aren’t we?”
“It won’t be so bad Molly,” Larry said cheerfully. “We’ve got Mac now, he’ll protect us, won’t you Mac?”
Mac smiled, finding the confidence Larry had somehow developed in him to be rather touching. “Sure thing Larry,” Mac said. “And we’ve got the bike now, vroom, vroom, right?”
Larry grinned before frowning momentarily, “I still wish I could have sat in the helicopter.”
“I know, but it made a nice explosion, didn’t it?” Mac asked, trying a different approach.
“It sure did,” Larry agreed, his enthusiasm returning.
“I sometimes think you too are far too alike,” Molly said, but she now had a trace of a smile.
Mac put his arm against her and pulled her close. “Come here you,” he said, though she didn’t resist. “We’re going to do just fine, I swear to you.”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of promise that is in your power to make Mac,” Molly whispered into his ear, following it with a kiss.
“I’ll decide what I can or can’t promise,” Mac replied, returning the kiss. What the hell, I’ll return it with interest, Mac thought, as he kissed her harder. “Got it?”
“Got it,” Molly said, nodding. She cast another glance at the revenants. “They have to be headed some place, maybe that place is still holding out. Maybe we can get help there.” Molly said.
“We might not like the kind of help they’d offer,” Mac said cautiously. He wasn’t thinking so much of himself, though it was possible that living in a bunker too long might make him look particularly pretty to some poor troopers. He looked at Molly, and worried about what sort of interest she’d engender.
Molly seemed to pick up on what he was thinking and shrugged, “It’s a risk we have to take Mac, we only have so much food and ammo on the bike. We don’t know what else is out there otherwise. More revenants and reaver nests, we know that.”
Mac grunted and took another drag off his cigarette, returning it to his lips from where he’d been holding it to the side so that he could kiss Molly. “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind then,” he said.
“Our minds,” Molly said, making a happy nose wrinkle, “I made up our minds,” she said.
“Well thanks for consulting me at least,” Mac said.
“You’re welcome,” Molly laughed.
“We ride now?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, looks like that,” Mac said.
“Cool,” Larry said, climbing back into the sidecar. “Vroom, vroom,” he said.
“This is not cool,” Kaufman said, pulling herself to her feet. A .50 caliber tracer round had shattered into a pine tree near her head.
Hardigan continued waving his arms and even discharged his carbine into the air, all to no avail. He watched as the Humvee spun around and headed back the way it had come. “They didn’t see us,” he said, turning to Kaufman.
“Doesn’t appear that way,” she said, “Unless they just plain don’t like us any more and that shot was deliberate.”
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