A New World: Untold Stories (21 page)

As pretty as they look, the ride isn’t any better in these new slick birds. Ninety minutes after dust-off, we finally approach a previously established air base which seems to be busy and desolate at the same time.

Where the hell is everyone?

Everyone I can see is busting their ass to load the parked aircraft. The problem is, I can’t see as many people as I should for an important airbase like this. The scene below us isn’t lost on my team, or Hal who is tapping me on the shoulder and pointing to the C-130, which is starting to taxi with its ramp still closing. Whatever is going on, everyone still around is in a hurry.

Finally reaching terra firma, Hal hops out first, followed by myself, Steve, and then Jimmy. The three of us pause long enough to lift our dogs out of the helicopter and down onto the ground. As we spend the next fifteen minutes or so working to get our K-9s settled in all this commotion, Hal jogs over to us and says our presence is requested with the rest of his team next to a make-shift shack. With no other dates lined up, we decide to head over with Hal. Upon arriving, Skip begins with the briefing.

“Gentleman, while we’ve been out camping, there has been an influenza outbreak of some kind which has affected everyone globally. The vaccine arrived here a few days ago, but this bug seems to be particularly nasty. High fevers, clammy skin, and the usual misery that accompanies a really bad flu strain.”

Slightly confused, I ask, “If it’s just the flu, why is everyone in a hurry to get out of here?”

“From what little I’ve been able to gather in the very short time since we returned, there have been some night attacks, and a lot of people are disappearing. I don’t know if it’s fear from the locals about an influenza outbreak or what, but it seems these attacks are brutal and almost non-stop from dusk to dawn. I don’t have any intel on the hostiles or their tactics. I’m just relaying what I overheard while
trying
to get briefed about what the hell is going on around here. The only thing I have as solid fact is that we are to find a ride out of here.”

Looking past his team, and directly at me, he states, “And I was given specific orders to fold you three into our team. Any objections?”

Returning his gaze, I ask, “Any idea where we’re going? I need to make sure we’re provisioned well enough for the dogs until we get there.”

With a look of resignation, he replies, “I don’t know. I was told to get us on the next C-17 to load up and ride it home. To be honest, I’m not sure the pilots will know until they get closer to the eastern seaboard. Everything I’ve seen thus far has been a complete cluster fuck, and I don’t expect things to change in the near future. Anyone else have questions? I don’t have much for answers but I’ll do what I can.”

Seeing as the part of this briefing which concerned us is over, I pull my teams to one side.

“Steve, Jim, we have our orders so to speak, but I want some input from you. What do you think?”

Never one to mix words Jimmy looks at me and replies, “It sucks. That’s what I think.”

As I look over at Steve, he is subconsciously rubbing Marco’s neck. “I’m just along for the ride like the rest of you.”

“All right then. Find us a place nearby where we can hang out with the dogs and I’ll catch up to you in a few.”

I head back over to the mostly finished briefing where I find Hal leaning against what could be called a shack in some third world countries.

“Did I miss anything in the two minutes of confusion that I was away?”

Shaking his head, he says, “No, but the boss went to hail a cab for us so don’t wander off. Oh, and keep your weapons handy, it’s going to be getting dark in a few hours. I personally don’t want to be caught with my pants down in the middle of a firefight; again.”

“Not sure if I want to inquire further on that last point, but we’ll be ready. Holler if Skip manages to show enough skin to get us a ride,” I say with a grin.

Hal grins back as I turn and make my way over to the small grassy area Jim and Steve have claimed as ours.

All around the somewhat deserted airbase people are moving, just not as many as there should be. From where we are sitting, I see the parking ramp for the aircraft and troops loading into the available planes. Some are obviously sick and are being helped on board; others are helping to load supplies and equipment. As the subdued activity around the airbase ensues, the sun marches towards the western horizon, teasing us with the promise of cooler temperatures, and threatening us with what is to come.

As the three of us play somewhere in the neighborhood of our four hundredth round of rock, paper, scissors, I suddenly see Hal standing over Jim’s shoulder.

“We’ve got a ride outta here. Just don’t ask Skip what he had to do to get us on it,” Hal says with an exaggerated shudder. “Meet up with us back at our five star luxury suite in about twenty minutes, ready to fly.”

“Got it. Any new info yet?” I ask.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to hear it until we’re safely airborne. What I will tell you is, it’s going to be dark in less than an hour and we don’t want to be on the ground when it happens,” he says cryptically.

“Great. The secret squirrel guy is keeping secrets,” Steve says out of the blue.

“I’m really not kidding when I say you don’t want to know. It’s bad guys, really bad, and the higher into the stratosphere we go, the better I’ll feel.” Without warning he starts moving his fist up and down and says, “Winner gets shotgun on the plane!”

This instantly brings us back from a dark conversation and the three of us join in. I end with rock, as does Hal. Steve goes full on scissors with Jimmy dropping paper on us. “Well,” I ask, looking at Hal, “who the hell won this?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “The co-pilot.”

He then jogs back to the PJ’s shack leaving us behind with grins on our faces.

“Gotta give it to him, he keeps things interesting,” Jimmy says staring after him.

Twenty minutes later, as the sun touches the horizon, we make our way over to the meeting point and get ready to load up once again. I can tell when we arrive that Hal and the rest of his team are anxious to get the hell out of here, and the pace at which they gather up what little gear they have leaves no doubt.

“Follow me and don’t fuck around. We’ve got a bird to catch and the pilot is grumpy. And K-9, someone actually managed to find three kennels for you to secure your mutts in once we are onboard!” Skip yells as he turns and starts to double time in the direction of the tarmac.

As we are jogging, I notice that the dogs are getting that nervous look in their eyes again. All three are keeping an eye on a section of perimeter wall we can see about two hundred yards away. Straining, I don’t see anything, but I don’t doubt their senses one bit. Ahead, a C-17 is parked near the base command post with its ramp down and troops getting in. By the time we make it into the plane and secure our dogs, it is full dark outside and everyone around me is looking nervous as the ramp slowly closes at the same time we begin to taxi. It’s crowded with the center aisle of jump seats having been installed in this bird. In this configuration, there are bench seats on each outer wall of the cargo hold. Running down the center is another aisle, which is secured using the cargo latching system, providing two more rows of seats with their backs to each other facing out. It’s cozy but we are on our way.

Looking at all of the sweaty dust covered faces around me, some appear sick with the flu. I wonder what in the hell the big secret is that Hal wouldn’t tell us. Sitting next to me, Hal can see what I’m thinking and just points up and yells, “When we’re airborne” over the sound of engines being throttled up.

Within a few moments, I feel the transition from rolling down the runway to that smooth sensation when the wheels lose their hold on the pavement. Shortly after, the sound of the main gear being stowed and locked in place can barely be heard over the roar of the engines.

“Now that we’re wheels up, you want to tell me what is going on?” I say to Hal.

"Those attacks we heard about? Those were by unarmed civilians. Hundreds of them swarmed the gates and perimeter fence; wave after wave with no regard for their lives. I guess the first night they almost overran the perimeter before the order was finally given to shoot. In the meantime, they have over a hundred soldiers killed, wounded, or missing.” Hal briefs. “To make matters worse, there was a section of base in quarantine to try and get a handle on this bug, but many of the sick there turned up missing, and the medical folks were killed. But it gets even better. The ones that were killed, they were torn apart as if they had been attacked by wild animals. I thought the guy telling me this was full of shit until I heard it from several others.”

“I think
you’re
full of shit, Hal!” I reply.

“I’m not making this up, buddy. I wish I was. Some people are even starting to use the word ‘zombie’ for lack of a better term to describe these things. I’m guessing that’s why we got the bug out order. Someone saw the writing on the wall and decided to pull us back to the states to help get things back under control at home.”

As he is relaying this information, he begins rummaging through the pack at his feet, eventually pulling out an MRE.

“So, you’re telling me we’re currently flying over the start of the zombie apocalypse at thirty five thousand feet and you find this the perfect time for supper?” I say incredulously.

“A man’s gotta eat you know. Besides, it’s a long flight and the stewardesses are ugly, and have bad manners. Good luck getting a Coke and a smile from one of them,” he responds, ripping open the package and nodding towards one of the aircrew.

As Hal stuffs his face, I turn toward my team and ask if they caught what Hal was telling me. Both nod, but I can tell Jimmy is dubious. To be honest, so am I.

How can this be happening? Zombies are the sole property of Hollywood and Voodoo practitioners. They aren’t real
.

Sitting on the red nylon webbing, I begin to wonder if maybe the locals had gotten hold of some bad heroin, but that doesn’t explain the mass evacuation. And why did everyone look so scared? I drift off to sleep from pure exhaustion. A little while later, I feel an elbow poke me in the ribs and I wake up.

“You had better be a stewardess with coffee,” I mumble in the direction of Hal.

“Nope, sorry, just the messenger,” he replies.

“Then what’s the message so I can pretend I’m listening and go back to sleep?” I say, only half kidding.

“Talked to one of the crew members and got some news. We’re doing a mid-air refuel in a little bit and then we’re headed to Soto-Cano airbase in Honduras.”

“Hondo?” I ask. “Why not fly straight to Dover or Andrews?”

“I asked the same question. Unfortunately his response involved pay grades above his,” Hal replied. “Ever been to Hondo?”

“Nah. I’ve been to Howard in Panama though back in the 90’s. You?”

“We’ve had a few stopovers there from time to time on our way south, but I’ve never been there for more than a day or two. Alright, I’ll leave you alone to get your beauty rest. God knows you need it. I’m starting to have a hard time telling you and your dog apart.” He grins.

“A hint: I’m the one that doesn’t sniff your crotch; at least when I’m sober,” I reply as I lean my head back again to try and catch more sleep.

Once again, sleep comes fairly easy. That’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, catch sleep when you can, and I’ve become good at it. The hum of the engines helps lull me into a slumber where I can continue to contemplate the meaning of life after the Zom-Poc.

Awake again and this time the transition isn’t as gentle. I hear screams and some God awful inhuman shrieks coming from somewhere closer to the front of the aircraft. We are near the ramp of the crowded C-17 so it’s hard to make out exactly what’s going on. Suddenly, I hear the discharge of a firearm, a 9mm side arm from the sound of it. More shrieking, this time closer and I start to stand. I hear the sound of the engines change pitch and the entire plane begins rolling to the left, throwing me and everyone else not strapped in against the left side of the aircraft. We reach about a forty five degree bank, and then we start rolling the other way, quickly. I manage to grab hold of the cargo netting behind where I had been sitting, preventing my tumble into the center row of seats. This time, the roll isn’t quite as dramatic and we quickly return to level flight, I think.

With my feet back under me, I look forward once again to where the commotion was and see a group of people crowding around some figures on the floor, who are either dead or unconscious. I can’t make out how many there are, but I see a lot of blood on the walls and floor, and soon enough I can smell it. That wet, coppery smell of copious amounts of blood is never pleasant in my book. I don’t mind the sight of blood, but the smell always makes me queasy.

“What the hell was that?” I ask in the general direction of Hal.

“I’m not sure, but those shrieks sounded like what was described to me. How in the hell did one of those things get on board?” Hal asks.

No sooner does he get that out of his mouth, then a soldier sitting across from us slumps over. Partially standing, Hal leans over and checks the soldier for a pulse while those sitting next to him start doing whatever they can to move away from him.

Looking at me over his shoulder, he says, “He’s burning up.”

“Look at his skin Hal, it’s almost translucent.” I notice.

In a flash, the soldier’s eyes burst open and, with a shriek, he begins to try and get to Hal. Like something out of a Kung Fu movie, Hal has his knife drawn and deeply embedded in the soldier’s brain from under the chin before I can even react.

“Fuck me!” Hal yells as he yanks his knife from the now officially dead soldier’s skull.

“We need to get this bird on the ground soon.” I mutter.

I begin to move forward toward the crew person helping move the bodies away from the jump seats on the left. At this point, I’ve turned on ‘cop mode’ and hope I can get answers as an Air Force cop, though, to be honest, I don’t think anyone really gives a shit what my job is right now.

Reaching the group shifting bodies, I position myself close to the crewmember and begin to help; no sense in looking like a complete asshole. After we get the corpses shifted, I turn to the crewmember and ask the obvious question, trying to sound as friendly as I can, “Any idea how much longer in the air?”

“Yeah, we’ve about another sit-the-fuck-down before we get there,” he replies with a glare.

“Right. So I shouldn’t get everyone going in a chorus of ‘are we there yet’?” I retort with an equally cold stare.

Looking around at everyone on board, a good portion armed, he knows that he’s started something he can’t finish. With a sigh of resignation, he says, “About an hour last I heard. That was before this happened, so I’m guessing about forty five minutes before we go wheels down.”

Nodding my appreciation, I turn and walk back to my seat where Hal has managed to wrestle the body to a spot near the ramp where it would be out of the way.

“You were right about that Coke,” I say to Hal. “Bastard told me to get it myself and then wanted to charge me twenty bucks.”

“Told you,” Hal replies.

“I did manage to get our ETA out of him. We’re looking at about another forty five minutes before we land in Hondo.”

“Not soon enough. I don’t want to think about somebody else like this kid among us,” Hal states, motioning to where he stored the body.

Sitting down, I try to relax as best I can. Knowing that Hal is not full of shit doesn’t help one bit. Now I know firsthand what we are dealing with. I think I was happier being ignorant.

After an eternity, I hear the engines throttle back and feel the aircraft start to descend. Looking over at Hal, I say, “Showtime boys and girls.”

I turn and give Steve and Jim thumbs up, knowing they are just as eager as me to get on the ground. As I start to turn back to my seat, the aircraft suddenly lurches and drops. The engines change pitch rapidly and we begin yawing to the right at the same time we begin another left, leaning roll.

“This is not good!” I yell at nobody in particular while trying to keep my stomach where it belongs.

All around me there are screams of panic as we suddenly pitch nose down at a steep angle, only to have it suddenly pull up, creating G forces which push us into our seats. Again the engine sounds change, this time screaming as they are throttled up, but quickly are brought back down again.

“What the fuck! Is the pilot drunk?” I yell, again to nobody in particular.

Without warning, the plane hits hard. The sound is deafening and we are thrown in to sudden darkness as the cargo bay lights go out. I think I hear screaming above the sound of metal being shredded with unimaginable force. Suddenly, I see daylight where the front of the plane should be and I’m smacked in the face by debris. It takes a moment, but I notice that the world outside of the gaping hole where the pilot should be is starting to roll over and over. I hear more screaming, this time I’m certain it is me. I glimpse of something in the air flying towards me.