Only the Dead Live Forever (19 page)

“No, that won’t
happen. The CH-53 will loiter in the area as long as they have fuel. After
that, they’ll return to base. They have a no search and rescue order. They
figure if a mob was big enough to take out a group, then it’s too dangerous for
a rescue,” Gunner answered.

Brad squinted.
“Damn, that’s really messed up.”

“Yes it is, but
it works to our advantage today. How’s that leg? Can you manage to get your ass
on board? Or does somebody need to carry you?” Gunner said.

“I’ll manage,”
Brad replied.

As Brad turned
to hobble toward the aircraft’s cargo ramp, they heard the sounds of suppressed
gunfire. “Several contacts; north terminal!” Hahn yelled from the far side of
the aircraft.

Sean stopped
what he was doing and ran toward Hahn with his rifle in hand. Gunner grabbed
the bags and started helping with the cargo transfer. “Lieutenant, we don’t
have twenty minutes, we need to go now!”

Brad stopped and
grabbed the last bag from the back of the van. He sucked up the pain and
half-jogged to the rear ramp. He tossed the bag into the aircraft and dropped
into a prone position across the back of the ramp with his rifle. He could
sense the commotion behind him as the others prepared the aircraft for takeoff.
Brad pulled the remainder of the painkilling lollipop from his pocket and put
it in his mouth. He adjusted his weight to his left side and relaxed into the
optics of his rifle as the first wave of primals rounded a corner and came into
view.

There were only
ten of them, but they were running fast on a collision course for Sergeant Hahn
and Specialist Theo, who had set up an observation post about one hundred
meters out. The two men were between Brad and the mob and directly in Brad’s
line of fire. The soldiers were firing into the charging creatures. One at a
time, a soldier would rapid fire while the other would leapfrog back. They were
making good movements but the mob wasn’t slowing down.

From his
peripheral vision, Brad saw Sean take a position under a wing of the aircraft.
Sean dropped to the ground and aimed his rifle downrange. He took quick shots,
cutting down the lead runners. Sean’s rifle fire allowed the soldiers to
quicken their pace. They fell in alongside Sean just as the first of the four
engines roared to life.

Now with the
soldiers clear, Brad was able to take aimed shots at the advancing primals. He
was surprised to be so focused even under the influence of the lollipop. He was
even having a good time, he thought to himself, smiling. He fired rhythmically,
knocking the charging crazies down. Not every round was a kill shot, but he did
enough to put the primals on the ground and slow the attack.

A gunshot behind
him broke Brad’s focus. He turned to see Brooks firing directly to the rear of
the aircraft at another mob that was closing in on them from the terminal. More
gunfire started outside near where the van was parked, and Brad feared they
were becoming surrounded. Brad adjusted his position to take line with Brooks
as he saw Nelson and Craig run up the ramp, shouting that the start cart and
ladder were clear.

Brad aimed and
fired into the body of the mass of primals. He hit several of them square, but
more filled the gaps. Corporal Parker and Gunner had joined them on the ramp
and fired rapidly into the closing mob. Parker’s loud unsuppressed M249 machine
gun was sweeping and cutting down the advancing mob. Brad heard Sean shouting,
“Three friendlies coming around!” as Sean, Hahn, and Theo climbed the high side
of the ramp and rolled into the aircraft.

The throttles
increased with the roar of the engines and the plane began to move forward.
Chelsea worked a lever and the ramp began to rise, with the firing men still
perched on the end of it. Brad stayed in position next to Brooks, firing until
someone grabbed him by the good leg and dragged him into the cargo bay. A wave
of primals collided with the ramp just as it closed. They could hear them
banging against the aircraft’s body as Kelli slowly taxied the AN-12.

Brad had been
dragged onboard and near the pallet of rucksacks and gear. He grabbed at one
and used it to unsteadily get to his feet. He moved forward and found Sean near
a portside window. Brad strained for position and looked outside the aircraft.
He could see an increasing stream of them pouring from hanger bays and
buildings along the runway. Several had already gotten near the props and been
chopped to pieces.

“Good thing this
is a propeller job! Jet aircraft might have trouble swallowing all of those
body parts,” Sean said casually over the roar of the engines.

“Won’t that mess
up the blades?” Brad asked.

“I’m sure it’s
not good for them, but beats the hell out of the alternative,” Sean said.

“Alternative?”

“Going back
outside to fight them.”

Kelli brought
the AN-12 onto a cleared section of the runway and rolled to the end. She made
a quick maneuver, spinning the plane around so that it faced down the long
empty strip. The primals were still rushing from all directions but had stopped
launching themselves at the aircraft and its props. They seemed to be confused,
unsure of what to do with it, or how to get at the men inside. They had massed
in a crowd around the plane but were giving it space to move.

The AN-12’s
engines roared up as they climbed to maximum power. Kelli released the brakes
and the plane began to vibrate and speed forward down the runway. Brad suddenly
lost his balance and reached out for leverage. “You should probably get
strapped in, hero,” Sean said, looking at Brad.

Brad turned to
take a step toward the rows of seats filling the middle of the aircraft and
almost fell. Sean caught him and dropped him into a seat. Brooks moved up
beside them and took a seat as the plane rapidly rose into the air. They heard
the gear come up and lock into place. Brad put his seat back and smiled.

“Anyone know
what the in-flight meal will be?” Brad asked.

“Not sure about
beef or chicken, but I still have that morphine for you,” Brooks said.

31.

Burdened by
heavy fur clothing, the bearded man wearily walked the trail. He distributed
his weight on a walking stick to take pressure off of a nagging back. Jeremiah
had followed the boys for more than five miles. His sons had something to show
him, something they had found during their morning rounds. They had rushed back
to the farm with excitement in their voices, dragging him out and onto the
trail.

Jeremiah was
still curious as to why his two teen sons had wandered so far from the pasture.
They told him they were searching for a lamb; he had his doubts, but was too
tired to argue with them. The previous night’s winter storm had been harsh and
scattered the flock, so the story was plausible. He knew they were young men
and needed adventure in their lives. Jeremiah tried not to harass them; he knew
that was their mother’s job.

It was dangerous
out in the hills away from the farm, especially with the cold of winter drawing
in out of the high ground. He told his sons to stay close to the pastures.
Still, it had been months since the last of the infected attacks, and the boys
had become more complacent as a result of their boredom. He was sure they had
wandered the path to visit their old school, now closed and shuttered. They
were always in search of a school friend, or news from the outside.

He saw the boys
standing and waiting for him at the top of a hill. They had said they found
something; something he needed to see. They refused to tell him what, probably
knowing he would refuse to go if he suspected danger. That was why he had
followed them all the way out here on this cold fall day, humoring the boys and
joining them on their adventure.

As Jeremiah
neared the top of the hill, he could smell the smoke of a wood fire, and his
senses went on high alert. Wood smoke could mean a campfire, and camp fires
meant people. Not everyone was friendly these days. He checked his coat to make
sure his old service pistol was still in his hip pocket as he hastened his pace
up the hill. Jeremiah rounded the top, falling alongside his boys, and looked
down into the snow-covered valley. He stood in awe at the sight.

A long,
earth-strewn trench was sheared across the pasture. The trench ended at the
smoking body of a large, destroyed aircraft. The nose of the plane was badly
damaged; a wing and parts of engines lay behind the plane, impaled in the
ground. The main body of the plane seemed intact from the distance atop the
hill, but it had rolled to one side at an odd angle.

“See Dad, we
told you! What is it?” Jeremiah’s youngest son, Michael, asked.

The man stood
staring at the wreckage. Fear struck him; maybe he should return to the farm,
pretend he had never seen it.

No. There could
be supplies on board, or possibly survivors.

Or infected.

“Anyone else
hear tell of this??”

“Not a soul,
Dad. We came right to ya,” William answered.

“Stay close
behind me boys, and keep those guns ready. Let’s go have us a look,” he said to
them, already second-guessing his words. He turned and watched his boys ready
the small double barreled, twenty-gauge shotgun and semi-automatic .22 rifle he
had given them months earlier. He told them to keep their fingers off the
triggers as he led them down toward the crash site.

Jeremiah thought
his days of violence had ended when he left the service. Ten years in the Army,
most of it with the 22
^nd
regiment, had been enough for him. He
happily left the forces and took over his father’s farm. The Army service
pistol had been a retirement gift from his old man. His father had also been a
22
^nd
man. The pistol was the same one his grandfather had given to
his father when he returned from Korea.

His boys were
not new to the dangers of the world. They had survived their fair share of
attacks by the infected. For the most part, their remote farm sheltered them
from the dangers they had witnessed on the television. Thomas, his older boy,
had been in the city during the first of the attacks and had barely made it
home. He told of the behavior of the infected and warned how they attacked
without mercy.

Days after the
first outbreaks, a neighbor had come to him seeking help for his wife. She had
been bitten. He tried for town, but the streets were blocked and the infected
roamed freely. Jeremiah gave his neighbor all of the medical supplies he had. A
day later his neighbor’s family attacked them. They had killed one of his sheep,
and had trapped his wife and son in the barn.

Jeremiah tried
to reason with his longtime friend but he received a moan in response. They
took their attention from the barn and charged at him. When the neighbor went
to attack Jeremiah, he shot his neighbor three times in the chest with his old
Army revolver. The man fell, but his neighbor’s wife and daughter carried on
with the attack. If Thomas hadn’t been carrying the .22 rifle, they would have
killed him.

Jeremiah
approached from the nose of the aircraft. He could clearly see now that the
cockpit had been destroyed. The plane listed heavily to the side with the
missing wing. The other side of the plane had half a wing pointed up at the
sky. The moved close to the plane and walked near the sheared-off half-wing.
Fluids still dripped from the wreckage, and not much snow had accumulated on
the hull. The wreckage had not been here long.

Jeremiah
positioned his sons on a high embankment and warned them to cover him as he
moved down to the rear of the aircraft. He could already see from his current
position that the back half of the plane was split open. He was hoping he might
be able to see or even enter the fuselage. Jeremiah watched his footing and
walked steadily to avoid the crunching of the fresh snow. He had grown up
hunting small game, and was familiar with stalking prey.

He removed the
Army pistol from his pocket and felt the weight of it in his gloved hand.
Jeremiah slowly moved toward the split in the aircraft’s hull. The break was
large, plenty large enough for him to step through if he could get high enough
to access it. Jeremiah searched for a foothold but found none. He decided to
try and climb to the break, but paused when he heard the sparrow’s call: a
warning from his sons.

Jeremiah turned
back to make eye contact with the boys as a man stepped up beside him. Jeremiah
was startled, and instinctively went to raise the pistol. Before he could, a
second man moved in from behind him and quickly released it from his grip.
Jeremiah took a clumsy step backwards, almost falling, before he was grabbed by
the man and righted back to his feet.

He looked up
into the bearded, toothy smile of a man in uniform. The man was dressed in tan
camouflage and had a small sub machine gun strapped to his chest. Now well
balanced, Jeremiah took a step back and turned on the large man standing behind
him. He was dressed in the same camouflage pattern and carrying the same type
of machine gun. Jeremiah looked up as another uniformed man, dressed in
different camouflage, limped from around the tail of the aircraft followed by
several others.

Jeremiah took
another step back and put his hands in the air.

“Lard tunderin
Jesus, b’y! Welcome to Newfoundland!”