Rise (26 page)

We turned a corner under the wing of a 747 parked next to the US departures gates, and saw our first major problem. The second floor, about 20 feet off the ground, had these huge bay windows facing west. The glass was in thick panes about fifteen to twenty feet high, and about eight feet wide. Waiting passengers inside could thus see the planes come and go. Three of the glass panes were missing in this section. One was entirely gone, and had probably fallen in. The other two were shattered, whether by bullets or something else, we couldn’t tell. We could see walking dead inside and above us, and it was a wonder none of them were outside on the ground wandering about. The advanced team hadn’t mentioned this particular thing. I took out binoculars and had a look. Immediately I saw why they hadn’t mentioned it. There was a lip about thigh-high, with razor sharp glass all along it that the zombies would have to climb over to get outside. Several may have tried, as I saw dried gore all along the edges. Hmm.

We carefully kept close to the walls here, under overhangs and wings if possible. Three doors here were all sealed. The occasional thump from a plane above us reminded us all of the deadly inhabitants waiting inside the commuter jets. I cannot imagine the chaos inside the terminal on that last day when I fled the city with Sarah in my old Explorer. That seems so long ago now.

We made it to the far north end and found another fence. A few more undead lingered here, only five that we could see. There didn’t appear to be a way in that we could find, so we returned to the plane from Cold Lake, being cautious not to let the undead see us nearby. Other teams were scouting the perimeter in all directions, and the Major was eager to hear reports. So far there had been no shooting, we were all careful and aware of the problems that could cause us. The advanced team had actually done a really good job. The new HQ, the Control Tower, was cleared easily by four men with silenced weapons. No injuries. We all got busy hauling gear inside and getting the emergency generators in the basement running. Jim went to help with that, and soon we had power. For how long we don’t know. Depends how much fuel we can find. Standing outside the noise is very little, so it probably won’t carry far enough to attract more flesh eaters. It’s cramped though; we won’t be able to get a lot of people in there. A group was told to check out the hangars at the south end to see if any of those can be useful. We helped out with the setup and then had some dinner. The team that went off to check out the hangars reported back and said they’d found one that was ideal. We moved people and a lot of supplies over there just as it was getting dark. Now we are on a rotating sleep and guard schedule. No lights after dark, so we have to be careful until we get the blackout gear up on the windows.

That’s it for now. Tomorrow we go to secure transport and try to scout the best routes towards downtown. The Major also wants us to go see about a helicopter, and see if we can extract the survivors that way. I think that might work for a few people, but 75? Too risky. We’d need something bigger than a traffic chopper for that. Time for some rest. We have a large office in the hangar for our team, with bedrolls spread out on the carpeted floor. It has a locking door, it’s out of the wind, and we can have a small propane stove for heat and making coffee. All in all, not bad.

Snowed all day today, on and off. It started small this morning, and stopped for a while around lunchtime. It wasn’t that cold though, actually approaching melting point in the afternoon. CLST107 spent the day acquiring new vehicles for the base here to use. Our plan was to go through the parkade, but we decided not to do that after we had a good look at the terminal. Too many undead between us and the parking lot, even if we detoured around the outside. There were probably a hundred or so on the various parkade levels, so we altered the plan and decided to go across the airfield and exit via one of the gates. From there we planned to head to a rental agent and grab 7 cars, if we could find seven that started. We only got to the fence.

The nearest car rental place was actually a few hundred meters from the terminal. It had a big lot where you could rent or return the cars, and a gas station that charged a ridiculous premium if you fueled there. We could see it from the northeast corner of the airfield, and we could see about two dozen cars and SUVs parked in the lot. Unfortunately, there were also about seventy wandering zombies in this area, scattered about like windblown trash. A few of the nearest ones saw us and started our way. I’d give anything to know how they do that, how they can tell a living human from one more walking corpse. But I’ve never seen it fail, and I don’t know how to counter it.

We backed off around the corner before they got near, but the moans were drawing others. Soon there were twenty of the bloody shamblers standing at the gate staring towards us. We needed a better plan than this. Pretty soon they would notice all the activity inside and start that awful wailing, and more would come. And then more, and the fences would fail and we’d all die horribly. We needed to be in a better place, more easily defended. The terminal would do, if we could clear it out.

We made it. We lived through it. Sweet mother of God, we’re alive…

For the last week the undead have been attacking the fences to get to us. Thousands of them, drawn by the lights and activity, noise, and the landings of the aircraft. We thought we had enough ammo and supplies, but we had to get a drop in from Cold Lake. It was close, though, we almost lost the tower and we
did
lose twenty-nine people.

It started a week ago. I was just going outside to head to the bathroom, and I heard something odd in the pre-dawn darkness. Kind of a whistling, like through clenched teeth. It was snowing gently, and visibility was poor, so I started to call for the sentry when someone walked into view. Chills ran down my spine as I recognized the smell even in the cold air, and I had my Browning in my hand in a heartbeat. The figure walking unsteadily towards me across the runway was the source of the whistling. The zombie before me was male, mid-thirties, Caucasian. He was dressed for a casual day at the office, with comfortable shoes now covered in snow, dark slacks, and a business-casual shirt that might have been green once. His throat was torn out, and the blood had leaked all over his chest and arms, and gone dark long since. The whistling was his dead breath as he tried to moan at the sense of prey (me) nearby, and he walked closer. There was fresh blood on his hands and face, and I had a terrible feeling about what had happened to the sentry who was supposed to be patrolling the area.

No point in wasting time, so I raised the gun and took aim with my right hand. With my left I grabbed the radio we all carry, and held down the button just before I fired, figuring that would wake everyone. I then said into the radio, “Hostiles inside the fence! Repeat, hostiles inside the fence!”, and walked over to the now-deanimated zombie to be sure it was really destroyed.

My bullet had hit him square in the face between the eyebrows, a clean shot. He was done. I looked around carefully, but I could barely see a thing in the falling snow. Lights were coming towards me, so I pulled out a flashlight and waved it around so they wouldn’t shoot me in the dark. Fifteen people were soon crowded around, and an officer arrived and started giving orders. Just then shooting started somewhere else, so I guess this one fellow wasn’t our only visitor. I ran back to the offices my team slept in and made sure everyone was up and getting armed. They were, and we quickly secured the building we were in, and went out into the grey dawn light to see what was up.

We killed over five hundred walking dead that day, and lost fourteen people. Most of the deaths were due to bites, but a few were surprised sentries or soldiers overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The fence to the west was pushed over by about a thousand of the dead just before dawn, and they swarmed the airfield looking for us. We fought a defensive battle from the buildings, with snipers on the roofs, in windows, and behind fences. They seemed to thin out at dusk, so we all stepped out to check, made an ammo run to the control tower, and started dragging the dead away. Within another hour a few hundred more showed up, and we did it all over again. The shooting went on for hours…

The next three days were like that. We started running low on ammo, and had to evacuate one building when the doors gave way under the combined weight of the undead. Sunday morning was foggy, and we used that to get a squad out to the bulldozers. They pushed a new gravel and rock barricade into the spot where the fence fell, and we drove some trucks around the airport trying to lure the undead into a group in the middle of the field. It sort of worked, and we managed to destroy another few hundred with a finely placed firebomb, though watching the burning corpses walk towards buildings was frightening. Bad idea, and we didn’t try that again. 107 had to evacuate the offices when fourteen of the rotten fucks managed to break into the building at the south end. We destroyed them all, but nearly lost Eric. He got trapped in an office with no windows, and had to use his knife to defend himself from three of them when he ran out of ammo. We all thought he was done, but he came out covered in gore, with a grin and a look in his eyes I really hope not to see again.

The last three days have seen a diminishing number, and we cleared the last hundred of them out of the area today. We lost a lot of people, and the Cold Lake base had to fly us in more food, ammo, and people today. We have about a hundred here again, but the look in the eyes most of us have is grim. We’ve managed to hold the fences, and we hope we can get to the people downtown soon, but really I don’t think that’s very likely. There’s too many of
them
and nowhere near enough of
us
to mount a rescue unless we go in by air. I should mention that to the Major, but I bet he’s already thought of it. Now I need to rest. We haven’t slept much. The gunfire was almost constant. I need a shower and a shave, and something hot to eat. God help us all.

Yesterday was Halloween. I just remembered. Nobody celebrated that holiday, and probably nobody ever will again, now that we know the monsters are real.

Today we burned the last of the dead in a huge pyre fueled with gasoline and scraps of wood. The stench was terrible, has been for a few days now, but we had to do it. We have tried to reinforce the fences as much as possible, and they still hold the hordes of undead outside. We try not to go out where they can see us anymore, as it just excites them. We move about at night, and under cover behind walls and vehicles. The sentries report there are several thousand all along the fences, and more arrive every day. So far no more have gotten inside. I feel very much like a rat trapped in a maze, waiting for the door at the end to open and either escape or perish. I very much want to see Jess. I talked to her on the radio for a few minutes earlier, told her what was going on. She wants me back there. She says the undead population in the area has increased slightly, and there was an attack on a farmhouse three days ago. People in town are skittish, and nervous, and tempers are flaring as winter sets in.

We are heading into the terminal tomorrow, to start clearing it out. 107 and 109, as well as about forty regular troops are going inside starting at the south end, and we are going to clear and hold each room, progressing slowly with silenced weapons. I expect a few of us will die. Maybe even me. I really want to get out of here. Every instinct I have is telling me this is a bad place to be, surrounded like this. They got in once, they can get in again. I miss Jess and Megan and Michael very much right now. I hope they are safe.

We had a suicide earlier today. A young man from CLST 105. He left a note, saying the noise was driving him insane. He shot himself in the head; I guess to ensure he wouldn’t rise up and walk around. I know what noise he meant too, the moaning and wailing those damned things go on with whenever they see living people. We hear it almost constantly. The only place we can’t hear it is in the tower or when we’re sleeping. We use earplugs to sleep, and I set a guard no matter how safe we are told we are here. The other groups are doing the same. No one wants a repeat of last week.

The Major sent a team out to try to reach the survivors downtown, but they turned back after they ran into a few hundred zombies. They did manage to find a helicopter, but had no pilot with them to bring it back or even tell if it was able to fly.

I think it’s the waiting that’s driving us all a little crazed. We need certain things, like a clear path out of here, a way downtown that isn’t suicide, or just more ammo and food. The salvage teams haven’t been able to go do our jobs due to the numbers of walking dead. Waiting for the plane is numbing. Waiting for the undead to come eat us is worse. I’m actually kind of glad we’ll be going into the terminal tomorrow. At least it’s something to do.

We went in early, around 0600 this morning. Look at me using military time. Anyways, fifty-three of us approached the terminal doors on ground level, at the south end. The baggage handling area. Previous inspections had led us to suspect there were only a few undead in there, and we were going in to kill them off. 107 were on the far right side of the group. I had Eric at my shoulder, and Kim and the others spread out in a short line. The soldiers were going in first, and we would follow. All of us had silencers on the Brownings, to keep the mayhem as quiet as possible. A few soldiers carried backup weapons, as did
all
of my crew. I had a pump-action shotgun strapped to my back, and 50 shells for it about my person. We were all wearing boots with steel toes, thick gloves, and face masks. Close contact, indeed.