The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (9 page)

“Get ready to abandon ship, guys,” Daniel said, feeling the
remaining life force bleeding from the engine. He drew his pistol, Rob doing
likewise. The children were tense with apprehension and fear; Penny was holding
Rob’s hand, her feelings regarding the death of her father being over-ruled by
their current plight.

The engine finally died half way up the street.

“Right, out and follow me,” Daniel said. They flung the
doors open, and the two men turned to face the runners coming up behind them.
There were three of them now, less than a car’s length away. Shots rang out,
and the hunger-crazed zombies fell in their tracks; Rob and Daniel were getting
good at head shots, averaging almost one shot for one life. Each grabbed the
hands of the kids, and raced towards the library.

“So when
can
we
expect to be away from here?” the captain said, his voice betraying his
irritation at the Ops Manager standing in front of him.

“I’ll let you know in good time, don’t worry,” replied
Trevor Barnes, a small, round and balding man, what little hair he had showing
grey beyond his years; he was as frustrated as the captain, but for different
reasons. When hell broke loose, it was his job to contain the ire of people
just like this pilot. It was as if everyone blamed him for the failings and
whims of Air Traffic Control.

“But we had a slot out of here for seventeen hundred a mere
ten minutes ago, when I confirmed it. How come we don’t have it now?” Captain
Tom Morgan demanded, still not wanting to give up the struggle. If they didn’t
leave soon, he believed the airspace would be closed, perhaps forever, and
anything leaving after that would be shot down before they reached their
destination, no quarter given. His understanding was that, whatever was causing
this problem, it was spreading like wildfire. He’d heard rumours of it breaking
out over most of this little country; God knew what it was doing in the good
ol
’ US of A, probably the same thing.

The more he thought about it, the more the captain wanted to
get home to his family, even if they had to fly into a shit storm to get there.
The outbreaks, both in the UK and the USA, appeared to be following the main
train lines, which made sense when you thought about it. Unknowingly, people
would get infected; they would then board a train for a normal journey and get
off somewhere else, carrying the germ with them. Modern transport was the most
effective method for spreading disease there was; everyone knew it, hence the
pickle the pilot was now in.

“Look, Captain. I have you being refuelled as we speak, full
to the brim. You can reach anywhere in the US with that load, plenty of
reserve. Just be patient, I hope to get something of use to you in about half
an hour. Why don’t you go back to the plane, and wait for my signal. We’re
generating weather for your systems right now, you have to be off the ground by
nineteen hundred anyway, so we’ll forecast for then. Lading and passenger lists
are coming, and I’ll ping them across to you as well.” He gave the captain a
look that said, go away, you’ll get nothing more from me.

Morgan glared, then softened his look; he knew it wasn’t
Trevor’s fault, he was just misplacing his anger. “Sure, thanks Mr Barnes,” the
captain said, joke-formally addressing his friend. These two had worked
together for a long time; they were equally alpha male, ideal for their
respective roles. It was this personal drive and ambition that made Captain
Morgan, who hailed from Boulder, Colorado, the youngest captain in Americas
United, the second largest airline in the USA. It was also what put him in the
command driver’s seat of the newest aircraft in the fleet, the massive Airbus
A380. In its current configuration, it could carry five hundred and twenty two
people, excluding crew. He was expecting a full flight this evening.

Patting his friend on the shoulder, he walked out of the ops
room and to the crew transport, an electric golf buggy. With the trolley
beeping, its yellow warning light flashing, the driver took the captain back to
the gate where his aircraft was parked. Normally there were up to six gangways
connected from the quay that fed the aircraft with passengers, but due to the
current emergency circumstances, only one was in place, and that was at the
nose of the plane, where he could monitor it carefully. Looking around at the
people he passed on his return journey, he couldn’t help but notice that quite
a few appeared disoriented, vacant even; there were several with nosebleeds,
which looked completely out of place.

A woman ran past his buggy, vomiting blood and screeching
inhumanly. Morgan flinched, as did the driver, who swerved, almost losing his
passenger from the smooth seats. Two security guards ran after her. Nearly
caught up to her, the two guards fell into her trap. She spun around and leapt
at the nearest one, tearing into his throat with her teeth, mouth already
bloody. It was like biting into a ripe tomato, his blood running down her
front, and a look of satisfaction somehow obvious in her opalescent, white
eyes. The other guard was flabbergasted, his actions slowed by this sudden turn
of events. This hesitation went against him. The woman threw down her first
victim, who was still alive and lay writhing on the floor, clutching his
throat. Launching herself at the second man, she tried to deal with him in the
same way as the first, only now he had recovered enough to fend her off with
his left forearm. She bit deep into his flesh, causing him to scream, the sound
etching into Morgan’s brain. Two more security personnel threw themselves into
the fray, and eventually they overwhelmed the woman. The captain was amazed it
had taken so many large men to subdue her. Maybe she was high, perhaps that
Bubblebath
stuff, or whatever it was called, it did weird
things to people’s brains apparently. Before they could finally bring her down,
they had all received wounds to their arms and hands.

“Um, I think we should get moving. Now!” Morgan urged his
driver, who had stopped to stare out of morbid fascination. The man put his
foot down and his chariot raced down the walkway, swerving wildly around
startled groups of passengers. Before they reached his gate, Morgan witnessed
several more incidents, passengers assaulting fellow passengers and security
staff alike, some of whom were armed with guns; it must be just the fear of the
unknown, whatever was happening out there was enough to frighten anyone,
causing hysteria and shortening tempers until arguments and fights broke out.
That was the only rational explanation. All in all, he had a really bad feeling
about the way things were slowly turning to rat shit, and was incredibly
grateful to arrive at his gate, number 104. If the proverbial hit the fan, so
to speak, from this gate he could get his plane away and onto the runway without
assistance. He loved the A380, such a versatile plane.

Arriving in the cavernous cockpit, somewhat out of breath,
Morgan saw his first officer, Brad Bukowski, also known as BB, sitting in the
right hand seat, monitoring progress of the refuelling. Brad was ex-USAF, and
first received his call-sign, BB, after qualifying on F16’s. After seventeen
years of zipping around the sky, he had opted for ‘retirement’, and moved onto
multi-engine aircraft, finally landing in the right hand seat next to Morgan, for
whom he had absolute respect in decision-making and aircraft handling skills;
that in itself was extraordinary as Air Force pilots usually looked down on
those that hadn’t served. His respect came from the first time Morgan had shown
him what aerobatics was really all about, taking him for an hour long
shake-down in his very own Yak-18T aircraft. From that day forward, they had
developed a strong bond and frequently flew and drank together, although
obviously not at the same time. Today he was seriously wondering if there would
be a benefit in combining the two activities.

“I think we’re having problems getting our passengers
together,” he said, upon hearing his commander’s footsteps entering the
cockpit. BB looked up, realizing something was wrong. “Are you okay? You look
pale. And you’ve got red on you.” He indicated his cheek, and the captain put a
hand to his face and rubbed. “It’s gone now. What happened?”

“Nothing, a passenger incident. Must have been drugs, she
was like a mad woman, biting and attacking. I’ve never seen such terrible
violence.” He sat down in his chair, and let out a long sigh. “I’ve got the
ground crew to lock the doors at the top of the quay; they aren’t to let anyone
come down without my say-so. Things feel a little weird in the terminal. Sorry,
I think you were saying something when I came in?”

“I was just about to say that apparently the Embassy is no
longer contactable, so at least two thirds of our load is unaccounted for at
the moment. Do you know how well we would function without passengers?” he
asked rhetorically, smiling, “of course, there’s an obvious flaw in that
argument, but that’s for another time. Anyway, God knows where they are, the
Limeys seem to be in chaos right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Morgan responded, trying to focus on his
route plan and the tasks he had yet to perform. Images of the mad woman, and
the sound of that security guard’s scream, kept on crowding into his thoughts.
“Our departure slot has just been bumped,” he managed to say.

BB groaned at the thought of another delay.

“Supposedly, we should get out of here close to nineteen
hundred hours. That’s according to Barnes.”

“Great, a night time arrival. I was hoping to speak to my
wife before she went to bed.”

“Never mind. My gut feeling is that this is likely to be our
last international flight for a while.”

“You think so? What have you heard?”

Morgan thought about what he’d seen less than ten minutes
previously. “This thing is spreading here, and I’ve heard tell that whatever it
is, is getting out of the New York area and spreading west, slowly but surely.”

“It hasn’t hit the west coast, has it?” BB’s lived with his
wife in Sausalito, situated on a headland overlooking the Bay area, just
outside San Francisco. Ever since this problem had started, he’d been anxious
to get home to them.

“Not that I’m aware.” Morgan thought for a moment, wondering
about his own family. Hopefully, their relative remoteness would benefit them.
“Do me a favour, once we’re refuelled, get everything disconnected from the
plane, except this gangway,” he said pointing to his left. “I want to be able
to reverse under our own steam if necessary. Make sure we’re only on the APU, I
want to be independent of ground power. If all’s well when we’re ready to
depart, we can always call for a pushback. I’m going to check on the cabins.”

With that, Morgan got up and walked out of the cockpit,
closing and locking the door behind him. He smiled at the
stewies
in the front galley; they were busy stowing food, but all looked healthy.
Walking down the aisle, he noticed a few isolated passengers, and said hello as
he went past. Probably staffers from the Embassy who got here early. Two or
three of them looked a little off colour, and he made a mental note to keep an
eye on them. If they were sick, they were best off disembarked so they could
get proper medical help. Getting closer to the mid-section of the plane, he met
some more of the crew. All were busy, although one of them, a young woman, was
sitting down, apparently resting. She looked pale, dark lines under her eyes.
Looking around for the purser, he spied her, walking towards him from the rear.
Surreptitiously, he pulled her aside.

“What’s the story here?” he asked her, subtly indicating the
sick girl.

“She’s been getting steadily worse. She had a headache when
we came aboard, and has become progressively sicker.”

“Should she be transferred to hospital?”

“I’m trying not to do that to any of our crew. Can you
answer me a question?”

“I’ll try.”

“This is going to be the last flight out of the UK to the
USA, isn’t it?”

He looked closely at her before answering. “I’ve been told
nothing of the sort.”

“Come on, Captain,” she implored. “Please tell me what you
think, not what you’ve been told. Please.”

He moved her further from flapping ears. “In my opinion, I
think that, if we get away tonight, this will, indeed, be the last flight for
some time.”

“So, isn’t it better that even if she’s sick, she should
remain aboard?”

“I honestly can’t answer that. I don’t know how the illness
is transmitting itself, or what happens to the people that succumb. I have to
consider the rest of the passengers and crew.”

“What if I keep her in the staff rest quarters? I’d look
after her. She has family back home.”

That last comment was what made the captain change his mind;
he wouldn’t offload anyone. Like all good major disasters, they always started
from a single fault, decision or omission. In reality their future now was all
beyond any decision he could make at this time. Fate was taking over.

“Alright. Just keep a close eye on her; I don’t want her
becoming problematic. Make sure you have lots of restraints handy; I’ve seen
some strange stuff today. It’s possible she could become violent; I don’t know
if it’s because of a fever, or some reaction to the infection.” He remembered
the passengers he had seen earlier. “There are some people further forward that
bear watching, they appear to be sick as well.”

“Sure I will, Captain,” she replied, confident as usual. It
was her job to be in control of the cabin. In spite of all that had gone on in
the day, no-one really thought people could turn, turn into something
unimaginable. That was the problem, it was beyond imagination.

He continued his walk around the plane. Making sure all the
exits were closed, he wandered from door to door, checking their status. It was
a good decision they’d made earlier to leave only one door open as a point of
entry. Most of the passengers due to board were Embassy staff, returning to the
USA. They would be orderly, even if they had to board through a single door.

Morgan made his way forward along the lower deck. He noticed
at least two more people that looked under the weather, and made another mental
note to monitor them as well. Finding the purser once more, he informed her of
their need for attention; her job as nurse maid was likely to get bigger from
hereon in.

Back in the cockpit, BB had just finished the last of the
refuelling actions, and had ordered the ground crews to disconnect everything,
and move away from the plane. There were fewer of those guys than he’d
expected, so it had taken longer than normal. Apparently sickness was
decimating the airport’s ability to function at normal speed. He closed the
cargo loading doors remotely, so now the plane was sealed, and secure from
unauthorised access. If Morgan had a say in it, they wouldn’t be opened again;
there was no way he wanted the risk of accepting new luggage, and any other
unknowns, on board.