The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (17 page)

Rob went back to his seat after checking on the children,
who were watching a film on their personal systems, and tried to get some
shut-eye.

Daniel sat down in a chair opposite Janet. He could overhear
the conversation between the two women; the dog was now relaxed and replete,
and was snoozing on the floor in the walkway.

“I’m worried. My family is in Wichita, Kansas,” Becky was
saying. “I wish I knew more about what was happening; the last I heard was, it
was spreading inwards from the east coast. Perhaps being in a rural area they
will be safe.”

“They probably are safe, Becky. This thing seemed to infect
early this morning, and then it, I
dunno
, kind of
disappeared. The way it appears to spread is by bite, I think, so perhaps in
less populated areas it won’t spread so far or fast.”

“I hope you’re right.” Becky sighed in resignation. “God,
was it just this morning it all started? It feels like it has been forever. I’m
so tired of it. I guess there’s nothing we can do up here, anyway. On another
subject, I wonder where we’ll be landing? I don’t imagine Washington is still
our destination, not if this thing is spreading through populated areas
quickly.”

“Excuse me for butting in, ladies,” Daniel interrupted. “I’m
going down to the cockpit to report back to the captain. I’ll see if he’s been
able to find anything else out, and let you know.”

“Would you?” Becky said, the thought offering a small amount
of relief. “While you’re there, would you ask them if they’d like something to
eat or drink?”

“Sure I will. I’ll get him to call back to the galley.”

Becky smiled appreciatively at him as he walked away.
Arriving at the cockpit, he input the passcode on the keypad and entered.

“Hi there,” the captain said, “did you get those access
points closed off alright?”

“Yes, it was a cinch.” He replied, smiling.

“So what was all the shooting?”

“Ah, the shooting,” Daniel started. “There were a couple of
those zombie things in the hold, and they attacked us. They won’t be bothering
us anymore.”

“I hope you’re being careful with those bullets. If you
penetrate the fuselage, it won’t go well for us.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve taken that into account. The rounds
won’t exit a target, we just have to be careful to hit it in the first place.
I’d say Rob and I are pretty spot on lately. We’ve had a fair amount of
practice today.”

The captain frowned, understanding the implications of the
comment.

“On the bright side,” Daniel said, smiling, “we found and
rescued a dog.”

“We have a dog on board?” Morgan asked, incredulous. He
hadn’t seen any livestock on the manifest.

“Yes, a greyhound. He’s going down a storm with the kids.”
Daniel smiled, remembering the children’s joy at seeing the poor creature.

“So, what haven’t you told me?” the captain asked, turning
in his chair.

“Well, there is some bad news. Joe Byron is infected, and
he’s secured himself in the cargo hold.”

“He’s the diplomat, right?” Daniel nodded, affirming
Morgan’s question. “That’s a shame.
 
How’d that happen? He wasn’t infected when he
boarded, not that I saw.”

“I think he was bitten, or a scratch got infected before we
picked him up outside the airport. We couldn’t tell at the time, there was so
much blood on him already. From what we’ve seen so far, the rate at which
people turn seems to depend upon how they get infected. The original infection
took hours, a bite or physical infection is more variable, from almost
immediate up to a few hours from what I’ve seen so far. Anyway, Joe refused to
be secured with the other infected people. I think he was frightened of ending
up the same as the rest. Not that he won’t, maybe he just wanted to be alone. I
can’t say that I blame him.”

The captain sat in silence, thinking it would be a horrible
way to go, or not go, as it transpired. “We had a call earlier, from NORAD.
Probably via some AWAC aircraft tracking us. Apparently they don’t want us to
approach the coast.”

“And where are we supposed to go?” Daniel asked,
apprehensively.

“Back where we came from. I told him we were from the USA in
the first instance, but they weren’t impressed.”

“What’s the upshot?”

“I tried to raise the company via our satellite phone.
Trying to get advice, or at least some help. I tried to talk to some frightened
woman who answered, but we got cut off. I’ve got no idea who she was, or what
she was saying, just sounded garbled.”

“Maybe she was infected. They do try to carry on their jobs
until they detect a normal person. That’s when the shit starts. Where was she?
What town?” Daniel asked, worried it was spreading faster than they could
travel. Were they just flying from one hell to another?

“Well, our HQ is at Chicago International Airport. I was
hoping to put down there if Washington was unavailable. Looks like that’s out
too.”

“What about Denver?”

“That would be fine by me. My family isn’t too far from
there.”

“Really? Same with Rob, his wife is in Castle Rock.”

“That’s the opposite direction to mine. Boulder.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Of course, I mean Boulder, the town north west of Denver.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of it. Sorry, I’m being thick.”

“Not really, why should you know, you’re not from around
there. Anyway, that’s not the real problem at the moment.”

“We can’t approach the coast.” Daniel prompted.

“Exactly. If we get to within two hundred miles of the
coast, they’re going to shoot us down.” BB interjected, smiling wolfishly.

“Stop winding him up, BB,” Captain Morgan admonished.

“Is it true, though?” Daniel asked, determined to understand
the risks of what they were getting into.

“Well,” the captain thought, “probably not. They’ll most
likely direct us to a military base, where we’ll be forced to land.”

“So how far out are we?” Daniel said, asking the sixty four
million dollar question.

The captain glanced at a screen. “Exactly one hundred and
eighty three point four miles.”

As if on cue, two fighters roared past either side of the
plane from a head-on direction. No-one even saw them coming. At a closing speed
of well over a thousand miles per hour, it was unlikely anyone would be able to
see an approach from the front, even if they were looking for it. The huge
plane vibrated with the sound of the fighters’ powerful engines assaulting the
fuselage. The collision avoidance system belatedly announced their proximity to
the A380. All three people on the flight deck ducked, instinctively.

“Jesus!” BB exclaimed, “bastards.”

The captain, breathing deliberately slowly, calmly picked up
the intercom mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen, would you please return to your seats
and fasten your seatbelts. Cabin crew, secure all loose items, and take your
seats.” BB flicked the seatbelt sign switch on.

A moment later, the two aircraft, twin-engined F-18’s
according to BB, pulled up either side of the cockpit; they were so close it
looked almost possible to reach out and touch them. Stripes on the side of the
fighters lit up in random patterns, clearly designed to get the attention of
the pilots on the Airbus. The pilot on the captain’s side pulled off his oxygen
mask, and began pointing at his mouth, signalling they wanted to talk. A voice
could be heard on the Guard frequency. It was audible through the cockpit
speakers.

“This is Captain Lewis of the United States Air Force. I’m
addressing the Airbus 380 to my starboard. Are you receiving this
transmission?”

“This is Captain Tom Morgan, Americas United, flight AU342,
inbound from London, England. I can hear you, readability five.”

“Good evening, Captain Morgan. I am here to remind you that
you have been instructed to turn around onto a reciprocal heading. If you
continue on your current course towards the United States, you will be fired
upon. There will be no further warnings.”

“Captain Lewis, we are on a lawful flight on an American
aircraft, carrying US diplomats, destination Washington. We also have a number of
women and children aboard, all returning home to the USA. Why would you fire
upon us?”

“You are not flying on an authorised flight plan, you do not
have permission to be here. There has been a state of martial law in the USA
for the last four hours.”

“We were unaware of this. We were given the appropriate
authority to depart from England,” the captain hoped his classes in official
bullshit were worth the money. “This authorisation came from the FAA in the
USA. Your paperwork is at fault.”

“Wait one.” The air went silent for a moment. The voice came
back on air. “It has been confirmed to me; you do not have authorisation to
land. You must return on a reciprocal course or you will be fired upon.”

“We don’t have enough fuel for that action.” Captain
Morgan’s heart was beginning to pound quickly now, he could feel the situation
was turning to shit, and there was the square root of bugger all he could do
about it.

“That is not our problem. You have fifteen seconds to
comply. Out.” The air went dead and atmospheric static replaced the voice.

“I know that name!” BB interrupted the tense moment. He
pressed the PTT button. “Captain Lewis, do you have a wife, call-sign ‘Bunny’
by any chance?”

“Who is this? Identify yourself.” Lewis sounded confused.

“This is First Officer Brad Bukowski, call sign ‘BB’ a few
years ago, when I flew F16s with Bunny, sorry I mean Jessica. She still hauling
one around the sky?”

“Well I’ll be damned, I remember you. Short-ass, couldn’t
take the heat in fighters. Seems like you went into flying double-decker buses
as an alternative.”

“The in-flight entertainment is better over here,” BB
continued the banter, a big grin on his face.

“Well, BB. You might have bought yourself some time. Alpha
two,” Lewis called up his wingman. “One of the pilots on this bloated piece of
Euro crap actually shot up some of the sky over Iraq with Bunny and the ‘
Fightin
'
Fuujins
’
. I think we
oughta
cut them a little slack while I see if we can work something out.” There was a
pause, then he transmitted once more. “BB, wait one.”

Morgan looked out of his port side window and could see
Lewis speaking urgently, clearly on another frequency, looking out his
starboard side. Adding a little throttle, Lewis edged his aircraft forward to
take a look at his wingman’s plane. It was clear he had lost contact with the
pilot.

“
Yo
, captain, something’s going
down on my side.” BB was watching the pilot of Alpha two on the starboard side.
Danny’s heart raced imagining an air-to-air missile screaming in at them. He
leaned forward to see the problem. Even in the fading light of day, the
military pilot could be seen jerking around in his cockpit, his movements
looking distinctly like a fit. Frantically scrabbling at his face mask, he
finally managed to tear it away from his face; his fingers appeared to have
gone rigid. He was staring at the passenger jet, panting a little, his eyes
still covered by his goggles, so his intent was unclear. Suddenly, blood
erupted from his mouth, splattering the Perspex cockpit hood with red, viscous
liquid, punctuated by darker blobs.

“Fuck. Will you look at that.” BB’s eloquence more than
covered the emotions of both the captain and Daniel, as they watched
particulate matter slide down the inside of the fighter’s canopy.

The distressed pilot faced forward once more, his head
bobbing unnaturally back and forth. He looked like he was coughing; they could
see more red appear across the cockpit as the pilot went into spasms. Off to
port, Lewis was trying to speak to his wingman, his mouth moving silently.

Alpha two suddenly relaxed, his back sagging as his head
fell forward. Next moment he sat up and began to work switches in his cockpit.

“Captain Morgan, please maintain your current course. I have
a problem,” Captain Lewis transmitted, then switched back to his plane to plane
frequency. Not completing the action properly, he left the two channels open,
and so the A380 cockpit heard the conversation from the other side as well as
the Guard frequency.

“AWAC101, this is Alpha one, I have a problem with Alpha
two. He appears to be unwell, coughing up blood.”

“Alpha one, AWAC101 copies, do what you have to, over.”

 
“AWAC101, say again
your last, over.”

“Alpha one, do what you have to, I say again, do what you
have to. Over.”

“Roger, understood. Out.”

Slowly Lewis edged his plane over towards Alpha two, trying
to stay below the A380. His engine exhaust would damage the big plane’s
windows, causing them to go opaque if he had to go into afterburner.

“Looks like he’s
gonna
try and
bump him away. Shit,” BB guessed.

“Going off autopilot, BB. I have control,” Captain Morgan
commanded.

“You have control, boss.”

Flicking the switch, Morgan held the yoke and focused solely
on the action outside the cockpit. Lewis was very close to Alpha two, and still
he wouldn’t move away. Morgan applied a little left rudder, slowly edging the
A380 slowly away from the two fighters. If it wasn’t likely to be interpreted
as a hostile action, he would have nose-dived clear of this bit of airspace.
Pleased with his sneaky manoeuvre, they were now about half a football pitch
away from the smaller planes.

“Alpha two, can you hear me? Billy, c’mon man, it’s Bud.
Listen to me. Let’s go back to base.”

All they heard in reply was a gurgling, somewhat strangled
voice uttering unrecognisable sounds. Next moment, the underside of Alpha two’s
starboard wing lit up as a sidewinder launched from its rail. Billy didn’t move
in his cockpit, but his head followed the path of the projectile as it raced
upwards into the darkening sky.

“Shit,” was all Lewis had time to say before he lit up the
afterburners and roared away from the lumbering airliner. He flew straight at
the missile as it arced above them more than twenty thousand feet over their
heads. It was on a collision course with the A380, its four Rolls Royce Trent
900 engines glowing with infra-red, beckoning the missile to come on down.
Lewis appeared to be playing chicken with the missile, and at the last moment
punched out chaff and flares as he pulled impossibly hard to starboard and out
of the approaching missile’s path. The missile liked the flares and blew up,
its orange plume spreading outwards in a ball. All three in the airliner’s
cockpit could see small puncture wounds appearing in the F-18, peppering its
rear control surfaces.

All the while, Billy sat in his cockpit watching the
display, mesmerised. As the plume of fire and smoke disappeared behind them,
his attention returned to the great white whale off to his port side. Engaging
afterburner himself, he raced away, becoming a pinprick in the distance. Morgan
heaved a sigh of relief, believing the threat to be over.

“Fuck, he’s coming back!” BB had extremely acute vision, and
had watched as the pin prick described a ragged turn to port, and headed
straight back towards the defenceless plane once more. Morgan began to push the
nose of the plane downwards in a bid to do something defensive.

“Don’t, captain,” BB countermanded. “Look.” Pointing
upwards, they could see the damaged F-18 diving to intercept the rogue fighter.
“Even if we dive, he could still get us, even if he pukes all over his cockpit.
We are the biggest sitting duck ever. Actually, did you know that Howard
Hughes' Spruce Goose was a little larger than the A380?”