A Time to Die (46 page)

It was luck that the section hit wasn’t on the north side. Most of the remaining troops were deployed there against the huge influx from Austin. That still meant there were thousands there. The firing towers that had been erected to defend the fence every two hundred meters were all spared. Troops on those towers with M-2 50 caliber machine guns instantly began concentrating fire on the breach. From across the tarmac a Stryker armored car raced toward the breach, spewing still more fifty-caliber and as it stopped a squad of gunners deployed a pair of M240 machine guns.

Transport 23 Poppa finished its taxi, turned onto the main runway and punched it. The engines roar was clearly audible even over the constant gunfire. C-17 41I was closing its ramp and starting to move. Andrew could also see the last few Chinooks begin to spin up their rotors. More explosions reverberated from the southern and as the last of the demolitions charges were blown. Men could be seen running for the Chinooks. The last of the evacuation was under way.

“We need to move!” Andrew yelled over the PA as more explosions rocked the east and west perimeter.

“Last in,” the loadmaster said. “Ramp coming up!”

“Release brakes,” Andrew said and Chris took care of it. He had a good basic feel for some of the systems after their first adventure.

“Brakes released,” Chris confirmed.

“Ten percent power,” Andrew said and felt Chris’s hand on his as they pushed the throttles a little forward. The big Pratt & Whitney turbines spun up and the plane began to move.

Outside several of the Chinooks banked towards various areas of the field. To save time the soldiers were manning their defenses to the last minute. The gun towers would be evacuated directly onto the hovering Chinooks. Lightning played across the sky and Andrew couldn’t imagine a more harrowing extraction. Rotary wing pilots had a screw loose to start with.

He used the foot pedals to steer them towards the taxiway and glanced up just as 23 Poppa rotated and climbed ever so slowly into the sky. With a full load of fuel and maximum cargo, they’d used almost the entirety of the runway’s 3,100 usable feet.

“Shit that was close,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Chris asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, then changed channels. “Forty-one Indigo, note the rotation point for Twenty-three Poppa?”

“I saw, Forty-four Foxtrot. Gonna give it a little more.”

He was just turning on the taxiway that ran adjacent to the runway, so Andrew saw 41I turn onto the runway. Unlike the previous transport who just throttled up and ran for it, this pilot used a trick the Globemaster was known for. He engaged the thrust reversers and backed the huge plane all the way to the end of the runway.

“Well done,” Andrew nodded. The other plane stopped, thrust reverser stowed, and its engines screamed as it roared down the runway. He rotated with a good five hundred feet to spare.

“Ground control calling,” Wade said. It was his job to monitor the channel. “Defenses have fallen to the south end.”

They were taxiing to the south and Andrew squinted in the planes powerful landing lights to see. A pair of Stryker armored cars raced past towards the helipads and several hundred yards away he could see running figures. They weren’t in uniform.

“Jesus God,” Chris said.

“I only wish,” Andrew said. His hands itched to push the throttles further forward and speed their taxi, but he knew the plane was heavily loaded. A turn at too high of a speed could actually tip them over onto a wing. Then it would be game over.

They reached the end of the taxiway and he started his turn. The plane bumped slightly once, twice.

“Was that what I think it was?” Wade gulped.

“It wasn’t a turtle,” Chris told him, talking about the little concrete bumps on roads.

The cockpit door open and Andrew glanced back to see General Rose come in. “Mind if I use the jump seat?”

“You’re welcome to it, sir,” Andrew said. “Pardon me if I don’t get up and salute, we’re a little busy.” As they taxied out onto the runway dozens of half-naked people could be seen running at them.

“I can see that, son. Carry on. I just wanted to be here, one way or the other.” Andrew shrugged. It was the general’s prerogative.

They were lined up on the runway. Andrew called for the brakes, which Chris applied. Then he reached for the throttles.

“We’re not going to back up?” Chris asked. They could hear a distant thumping sound and he could see them on the ground through the low set view window.

“We don’t have time,” Andrew said, “too much risk of sucking one into an engine. Full throttle!”

They both pushed all four levers for the engines all the way until they stopped. For the first time they heard the deafening roar of the four turbofans at full power. The entire plane shook and they could hear screams of fright from the lower deck. Brakes squelched and bucked in the wet concrete. Andrew caught a view out of the corner of his eye on one of the rearward facing cameras. The powerful jet wash had sent hundreds of the crazy bastards flying through the air, cartwheeling and spinning like leaves in the wind.

Andrew watched the RPM indicators until they reached 70%. He didn’t dare let the power get any higher or risk yawing them as the brakes were cut.

“Release brakes,” he said.

The C-17 didn’t exactly take off like a rocket, it weighed far too much fully loaded. But the acceleration was much more profound than the previous two planes had experienced. He knew many of those hundreds below who were sitting on the floor were now sliding around like loose stuff in the bottom of a trunk. Just as he had feared, the plane skewed slightly. He corrected with the front wheel steering and some rudder and brought them back on course.

Racing down the runway slowly gaining speed he had a ringside view of the final evacuation. Chinooks hovering over several guard towers, dangerously low, back ramps down and men making frantic near suicidal leaps as infected climbed the towers to get at them. One Chinook spinning, almost losing control as dozens of the monsters got ahold of the undercarriage. The helicopter got under control and started to climb, shedding gesticulating bodies as it ascended.

Another Chinook landed on a taxiway as three Strykers skidded to a stop in the mud, their crews bailing out and rushing headlong up the ramps. Many of them fired over their shoulders as they ran. One had a dozen of the crazies run inside even as it lifted off. Andrew swallowed, imagining the sudden pitched battle inside. He offered a silent prayer for those men.

At the end of the runway, near where the Apache had gone down, a lone Stryker sat. Its crew was deployed laying down a withering hail of lead. Some were still getting past, through and around their fire. Andrew could see four men on the ground, and one in a turret, fifty-caliber Browning booming away at the infected.

The end of the runway was approaching. Airspeed past 75 miles per hour. Andrew saw the flood of ex-humanity racing towards the runway, onto the runway, and towards his racing plane, heedless of the danger. Faster, faster, the first of the monsters were pulverized under the wheels. He cringed when they hit them, but never even felt it. A half-million pounds of airplane doing nearly 100 miles per hour turned them to jelly on impact.

Andrew checked the flaps, slapped their control a notch, said a silent prayer, and pulled back on the stick harder than he would have liked. The nose almost shot up and the plane bunny hopped into the air. He gritted his teeth and waited for the sickening sound of a tail strike that never came. The altimeter jumped about 100 feet, then the stall alarm screamed. He pushed the stick back forward.

Andrew expected to have to nose down to gain speed again, but the C-17 leveled out and kept accelerating. The stall alarm went quiet and the HUD showed him a level flight. He gave it five degrees up elevator and they began to climb out. He banked to the west. It took him a minute to find the ship-wide intercom.

“This is Lieutenant Tobin, your pilot,” he said, hearing his own voice echoing from the rearward first class area just behind the flight deck. “We made it, we’re safe.” The entire plane reverberated with the cheers of over seven hundred souls.

* * *

Andrew felt safe for the first time in days. Behind the stick of a powerful airplane climbing past 25,000 feet, the insanity of the last few days was miles below him. It might as well have been on another planet.

The powerful engines of the C-17 propelled them above the raging storm and into clear skies. The sun was past its zenith, throwing gleaming streamers of light that cast pearly opalescence across the tumbled field of clouds as far as visibility allowed. It was an incredibly calming scene and Andrew found himself sighing in relief. After the wild takeoff, it was strangely calm.

“How’s our other birds?” Andrew asked Wade, their radar operator.

The man was regarding the radar and its cryptic displays. Andrew would have doubted the average man, with no experience on military navigation gear, to be able to make heads or tails of it. But Wade was no ordinary man.

“They’re both circling and waiting for us,” Wade said.

“It’s called orbiting in our lingo,” Andrew explained.

“Gotcha, orbiting then.” Not only was he a quick study, he didn’t resist or protest when given corrected information. After their rocky start, Andrew was getting to like the man.

“They’re on the radio,” Chris announced and flipped the cabins headset control.

“23 Poppa here, glad you could join us 44 Foxtrot.”

“Thanks, Poppa.”

“41 Indigo, what’s the sitrep down on the deck?”

Andrew turned to the general who had a high gain military radio and was listening. He’d been quietly talking since they’d successfully taken off.

“Fort Hood has fallen,” he announced. Andrew relayed the information. “Our losses were light, considering. When that Apache went down I thought we’d lost it. If it wasn’t for the rapid response teams, we would have been dead meat.”

“Who was in that Stryker that held the fence while the others evaced on the last Chinook.”

“That was Colonel Pendleton and his men,” General Rose said.

They all turned at a sob from the doorway. Kathy Clifford stood at the cockpit door, hands to her mouth and tears forming in her eyes. The general proved particularly quick for a man over sixty. He caught her before she hit the deck. He called to the rear of the upper deck first class area, and a nurse came running up. Andrew turned back to his primary responsibility.

“All other transports, what’s your situation?” Andrew asked.

They all reported in good condition and nearly full fuel tanks. They had a range of almost 6,500 miles if they wanted. Just in range of Tokyo. Easily in range of London, Madrid, or Frankfurt. It was only a little over 1,000 miles to LAX. “Okay, let’s set course for LAX. You have the navigational data already stored. Look for Waypoint 1, that’s just north of El Paso, just south of White Sands. That’s our first hold point while we wait for an update from the helicopters.

They all acknowledged the orders while Chris punched in the navigational data and nodded that it was set.

“I know we seem safe and everything up here, above the clouds, above the mayhem. But stay alert. We don’t know what’s going on in the world down there.

* * *

Tobey barely took his eyes from the gunsights as the C-17 roared over not a hundred feet above his hear. The big Browning .50-caliber thumped away, every bullet killed half a dozen of the zombies who never once slowed their approach. They waded through the fire with a crazy zeal that made the most wild-eyed jihadi look calm and collected.

When the Apache had gone down he hadn’t hesitated. They were in route to the rally point with the other Strykers where a Chinook would take them away. The driver glanced over at him and he’d nodded. The eight huge wheels of the Stryker threw up massive gouts of mud as it spun about and raced down the runway infield at over 60 miles per hour. They’d skidded to a stop and the four operators piled out, almost jumping and falling as they scrambled to ready weapons. They all knew the last plane was preparing to take off. And if the runway was overrun before it could get airborne then that was it. And Tobey knew Kathy was on that plane, along with hundreds of civilian dependents of all the soldiers who fought to protect them. So they stayed, and fought.

“All the transports are away,” his sergeant yelled.

“Yeah, and the choppers,” another man said. “Fuck!”

“We knew what we were signing up for,” said another.

“Everyone aboard,” Tobey yelled.

“Why bother Colonel?” the last man wondered. He dropped a spent mag and fitted a full one.

“Because we’re not fucking dead yet, that’s why.”

“So what’s the op now?” the sergeant asked. They all headed for the Stryker’s open door. In the intermediate distance the zombies were sprinting towards them.

“For now?” Tobey asked as the last of them climbed in and the steel door was buttoned closed. The first zombies threw themselves ineffectively against the hardened steel structure of the armored vehicle. “For now, we survive.”

He tapped the driver on his helmet and pointed at the breech in the fence, then stuck his head back out of the turret hatch. A zombie was climbing up the side, white hot rage etched into the man’s face like it was laser cut. Hands curled into claws and reached for him. Tobey drew his personal UCP .45 ACP and blew the top of the thing’s head off. “Move out!” he yelled as he spun the turret and began firing, cutting a path for them to follow into the storm.