CHAPTER 70: QUIT FUCKIN' AROUND, CAPTAIN
Brooks and the two remaining members of her team finally reached the nose of the cargo plane. The captain stopped and raised her hand to signal to the presidents to hold up. Washington turned to watch their rear as Jefferson stepped up close to the captain, his rifle at point shoulder. Brooks could see the aft ramp was still partially down, and there were a handful of deaders eating something near the fuel truck. Cord had succeeded in drawing most of the deaders away with him.
"Ready?" she asked the presidents.
"Good to go, Captain," Jefferson said, keeping his rifle aimed at the small group of feeding undead.
"Slow and easy,” Brooks said quietly as she pointed at the feeding deaders and waved the two soldiers forward. They could hear the terrible chewing and rending sounds coming from the deaders as they ravenously continued their feasting.
"Nasty," Washington mouthed to Jefferson, who just frowned and put a stained, gloved finger to his lips. Washington rolled his eyes and followed behind the other two, making sure he didn’t make any noises that would give them away. There was a faint boom in the distance, and all three soldiers froze on the spot. A giant, female zombie held the meal's severed head in her hands and was chewing on his face. She looked up, still chewing, and glanced over toward the muffled explosion. Fortunately, the sound had come from the opposite direction of Brooks and the presidents. The undead woman stared off in the direction of the noise, saw no movement associated with it and, with a weird, twitching motion, resumed eating the face. Brooks and the other two were sighing a collective breath of relief when there was a loud, whirring noise as the aft ramp started to descend to the tarmac. This time, the hulking zombie quickly turned its head in a weird, jerky motion toward the aft of the aircraft. The big, dead Russian focused a pair of black, lifeless eyes right at the captain. Brooks stopped in her tracks as the zombie fixed the officer in her hollow gaze. The other four deaders looked up from their rapidly cooling meal and hungrily eyed the fresh meat that was just a good shamble away.
"Shit." Washington stepped back and raised his rifle up to fire. "Captain?"
"Head shots!” she shouted.
The zombie angrily tossed the head at the three and jumped up into a crouch, growled, then ran full speed at Brooks. The captain fired a round, which struck the Russian's shoulder. The big, female zombie didn’t even acknowledge she had been shot as she sprinted at the officer. Charred flesh flapped loosely from her freshly damaged deltoid. Brooks' mini-14 locked open, the magazine empty. Jefferson shot one of the other charging deaders in the throat, instantly decapitating it. The head made a wet splat on the tarmac and caused the deader behind it to trip over it and fall face down on the runway as Jefferson's second shot flew by harmlessly.
Washington fired at another of the fast movers and hit it in the nose, blowing off the back of its head. The deader continued to run several more feet then collapsed like a sack of cement, its bloated body exploding as it crashed onto the tarmac. Intestines and rotten organs splashed Washington's face and torso. The stench was unbearable. Washington started to retch when he suddenly felt pressure on his right boot. The soldier looked down and saw a nightmarish snake man trying to eat through the leather of his Danners. "Monster! Monster!" he screamed, higher and shriller than any six-foot-tall grunt in known history. Washington tried to pull his foot free, but the slithering deader held his ankle tightly in its mouth. He shook his boot as hard as he could, still unable to get free from the abomination's mouth. Quickly gathering his wits, he jammed the barrel of his rifle into the top of the scary deader's head and emptied the mini-14's remaining rounds into it. Skull fragments and blood added to the horrible abstract painting Washington's uniform had become. After the action on his rifle locked open, the soldier continued squeezing the trigger and screaming.
Brooks dropped her empty rifle and drew the Beretta. Using a combat stance, the captain squeezed off three rounds. One grazed the giant deader’s cheek, another sliced the skin off her neck, and the third buried itself in her chest. Before she could get off more shots, the Russian zombie barreled into her, sending both of them crashing to the tarmac. The zombie tore at Brooks' tac vest, ripping the harness free. Powerful hands grabbed Brooks and smashed her down against the pavement. Gasping for air, pain shooting through her back, the captain punched the zombie in the mouth. Jagged and broken teeth chomped at her Kevlar-covered hand, unable to puncture her skin. Brooks then realized this was the Russian that they had left tied up in the jungle, back from the dead with one helluva bone to pick. Alona growled and grabbed Brooks by the hair and pulled her head up to her face. The captain dragged her gun hand out from under the deader's extensive bulk, punched the Beretta’s barrel through the bottom of her chin, and fired. Three .40 caliber bullets evaporated the top half of Alona's head. A rain of black blood, bone slivers, and hair-covered scalp pieces showered down on Brooks. She shoved the mercenary's body off her and jumped to her feet.
"Quit fuckin’ around, Captain," a familiar voice said from her left side. Wearily, she turned to see Newman hurrying down the lowered aft ramp, followed by Sanchez. Both men swept the surrounding areas with their rifles. Brooks waved and gave them a tired smile. She looked over to the presidents. Both men were covered in blood but still alive and unbitten. Letting out a breath, she nodded at them then waved for them to get to the ramp. The whine of the aircraft's engines was a beautiful thing to hear. Grabbing up her rifle, she followed Newman up the ramp.
"The others?" Newman asked.
"I don’t know," she said as they hurried up the alloy deck. Brooks looked at her watch again and prayed that Wu and West were on their way. Suddenly, gunfire exploded from behind. Brooks drew her pistol and spun around. Newman was already kneeling on the ramp, rifle jammed against his shoulder. The captain could see Sanchez at the bottom of the ramp, firing at a fuel truck that was headed for the aft ramp. He was aiming for the vehicle's engine, afraid to hit the big fuel tank on its back. Newman followed suit. Steamed and smoke started to pour from under the truck's hood as it slowly rolled to a stop.
"Get out of the fucking truck!" Brooks shouted as she aimed her gun at the cab. "Get out of the truck, and put up your hands!" Newman and Sanchez were still covering both sides of the fuel truck. The driver's door swung open, and Arkady and Orlac quickly climbed out, staying behind the cover of the door.
"Put up your fuckin’ hands, mate!" Newman shouted.
"Yes, yes," Arkady said, tossing his rifle to the ground and slowly stepping out from behind the door, still using Orlac as a shield.
"What are you doing?" Orlac asked.
"Trying not to die." He grabbed the scientist and jerked him forward. "I am Commander Pavel Arkady. This is Doctor Orlac, and this …" he raised the case, "… this is what you want."
"What makes you think we just won’t kill you and take the doctor and the case?" Brooks asked, slowly walking down the ramp toward the Russian.
"I have information you need," Arkady said, tapping a bloody finger to his head. "Kill me and how do you say … we are all fucked."
Brooks glanced quickly from Sanchez to Newman. She knew all she had to do was nod slightly and they would send the commander back to whatever hell he’d come from. The captain glanced at her watch. Time was short. "What is this information?"
"No, no." He smiled and shook his head. He slowly put his free hand over his bloody dressing. Maybe the wound was worse than he thought. Biting back sharp pains, he wiped some sweat from his forehead.
"Quit movin,' mate," Newman said, malice deep in his voice. Arkady picked up the dark tone in the sergeant's voice and froze.
"Australians. Well, g'day and all that shit. I did not realize all the players were involved."
"Stop with the crap and tell me what’s so important." Brooks stepped closer to the end of the ramp. Deaders were starting to stagger their way from the buildings.
"Listen. Take me aboard, and I will help you save the world."
"What the hell are you doing?" Orlac grumbled into his ear. The Russian ignored him.
"Captain?" Newman asked.
"Tie them both up and bring them aboard."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, we can always throw them into the ocean if we have to," Brooks said, staring the commander in the eyes.
"Good call," Arkady said.
Newman searched both men. Orlac had nothing but the biologic case. Arkady had a pistol and a blood-stained K-bar. The Aussie tucked both into his grimy vest then zip-tied them and ushered both men up the ramp. Newman found it strange that the Russian was more eager to get aboard than the scientist. The Aussie escorted the two over to a bench and shoved them both down onto it.
"Don’t fucking get up," Newman growled.
"What about those seats over there?" Arkady jerked his head over to where the presidents sat reloading their weapons.
"This is you," Newman pointed down at the bench with his rifle.
"Five minutes!" Jackson shouted. He had climbed down into the cargo hold to find the captain. "Five minutes."
"I know." Brooks looked at her watch again. "Any sign of the Pit Bull?"
"No, nothing but a whole bunch of anxious deaders headed this way." Jackson pointed a thick finger at the two men on the bench. "Who the hell are they?"
"Assholes. We’re trying to find out what kind of assholes," she said within earshot of the men, already knowing the answer. "Can you open the aft ramp in flight on this plane?"
"Of course, Captain."
"Good." From her peripheral, she saw Orlac swallow nervously. Brooks then knew something was definitely up with the scientist. "Good to know."
"I better get back up top." Jackson smiled sadly as he took in what was left of the small group of soldiers. "Sorry, Captain."
"Thanks, Jackson," she said, nodding somberly.
"Captain!" Sanchez yelled from where he was posted on the ramp. "We gotta close the back door. There are too many deaders out there now."
"Close her up," she said, looking at her watch. Four minutes.
"Rough day, Captain?" Arkady grinned at the fatigued officer. The small, gloved fist to the jaw was totally unexpected and quite painful.
CHAPTER 71: TIME HAS COME TODAY
Crossley could see at least two hundred deaders staggering around the airstrip. Some were walking, some trying to walk, and others were crawling or doing something like crawling. Most were moving toward the plane. Nate finished his last systems check then glanced at his watch.
"Three minutes."
"Yep." Jackson finished up his check. He was breathing a little heavy from just coming from the cargo hold. "That damn song keeps going through my head," he said, thumping the fuel gauge.
"What song?"
"Time!" He said a little too loudly. "You know, there’s like a ticking clock and the dude says, 'Time!'"
"Oh, yeah. Time!" Crossley sang, "Time … something … something … time!"
"That’s it," Jackson said, bobbing his head to imaginary music.
"Yeah, I hate that fucking song."
"Aw, Nate, is there anything you do like?"
"Yeah, but she ain’t here."
"Time!" Jackson shouted.
"Will ya shut up?"
"No." Jackson frowned. "It’s time." He raised his hand, indicating his beat-up watch.
"Shit!" Crossley said, glancing out the windshield.
"I know it’s fucked up leaving …"
"Shut up," Crossley said as he excitedly pointed out toward the nose of the plane.
"No way!" The co-pilot leaned forward to get a better look. On the runway was the Pit Bull, speeding directly for them. "They better hurry up!"
"Tell the captain." Before he could finish, Jackson was out the door and climbing down the ladder to the cargo hold.
"Captain," he shouted, zipping over to where the survivors were assembled. "Captain! The Pit Bull is heading this way!"
"Son of a bitch!" Newman jumped up from his seat and ran over to where Sanchez stood, holding the ramp remote. "Lower it part way!" the Aussie told him excitedly.
"Jefferson, watch the prisoners. Washington, cover the ramp," Brooks said, slapping a fresh magazine into her mini. "Maybe something good will come of this day after all."
As the ramp slowly descended, the soldiers could see a small crowd of deaders gathering beneath. Sanchez stopped the hatchway about eight feet from the ground. The moans and stench of the living dead were starting to waft into the cargo hold.
"When you see the Pit Bull, lower the ramp," Brooks told Sanchez . "The rest of us, kill as many of those dead fucks as you can." The men nodded. A few seconds later, they could see the roof of the Pit Bull. Sanchez dropped the ramp all the way down. Several deaders climbed up but were quickly taken down by a hail of gunfire. The fuel truck was sitting in the way of the tactical vehicle. Whoever was driving the Pit Bull slowly pushed the fuel truck aside and squeezed the big vehicle up inside the ramp. The team continued to fire on the big crowd of deaders, but a few fast movers made their way inside the plane despite all the rifles.
"Ramp lights off!" Jackson shouted.
"’Bout fucking time!" Crossley said, starting to move the plane through the crowds of deaders. The heavy tires of the aircraft squashed the flesh eaters beneath them. "Hold on!"
"We have deaders inside the plane!" Newman shouted as he ran toward the Pit Bull.
"Poncho, secure the Pit Bull." Brooks shot a deader that was hanging on the back of the vehicle. The cannibal's head vanished, and it fell to the deck. As the plane started to shake and vibrate, Sanchez and Washington quickly tried to strap the Pit Bull down. Jefferson ran over to help them. If the heavy vehicle wasn’t secure, they could have some big problems. Another shot rang out in the hold. Newman had put down another deader.
"Help!"
"Fucking zombie!" Arkady shouted. A couple of the deaders had found the zip-tied men and quickly set upon them. Orlac screamed as a zombie took a big bite out of his arm. Blood flowed all over his dingy white lab coat. Arkady head-butted his attacker and tried to kick it away. The zombie grabbed at the Russian's legs and tried to bite him. The sharp end of a tactical machete sliced into the dead man's neck, taking the head clean off and stopping the attack. Another swipe of the machete decapitated the zombie feasting on the unconscious Orlac. Arkady stared up at the female captain, who held the bloody weapon in her hand.
"Thanks, Captain." Arkady grimaced. He had too many injuries to keep track of. Brooks just looked down at the two corpses and wiped her blade on one of the deader's backs, then turned back to her team.
"Clear?"
"Clear," Newman said.
"Let’s get everyone secured," Brooks told him as she hurried over to the Pit Bull. The side doors opened, and Wu and West climbed out. "Good to see you, Sergeants. Let’s get everybody strapped down. We’re still not out of the woods yet."