Crucifixion - 02 (7 page)

The small group climbed the ramp and disappeared into the
plane as I approached, Humvee still guarding my back with its machine gun
hammering away.  Reaching the ramp I climbed aboard, Rachel and Dog falling in
behind me, and handed Masuka off to waiting hands.  From outside the plane the
machine gun continued firing.  A grizzled man wearing an AF jump suit with Master
Sergeant stripes, the Loadmaster, ran up to me and shoved a wireless headset
for communicating on the jet’s intercom into my hands.

“Major, the pilot needs to speak with you.”  He turned away
and started shouting at the new arrivals, getting them organized and seated on
canvas slings that lined the walls of the giant cargo area.  Three well used
Bradley fighting vehicles filled most of the interior with room for passengers
on the web seats.

“Major Chase up on intercom.”  I announced my presence and
moved back onto the ramp to keep an eye out for any infected that slipped past
our rear guard.

“Captain Trask, Sir.”  The pilot answered quickly.  “We need
some help.  There’s too many infected on the runway for me to taxi and take
off.”  While he was talking I raised my rifle and dispatched two females that
were sprinting in on the blind side of the Humvee.

“Copy, Captain.  I’ll see what I can do about that.”  I
ripped the headset off and tossed it to the Loadmaster and exited the aircraft
onto the tarmac.  Rachel and Dog stayed on my heels, Rachel firing on another
female that came around from the far side of the plane.  Running to the Humvee
I yanked the door open and leaned in to speak with the driver.

“You’re a goddamn sight for sore eyes,” I yelled to the
Sergeant in the driver’s seat over the nearly constant hammering of the machine
gun.  He grinned back and stuck his hand out.

“Glad to be of service, Major.  We about ready to get the
hell out of here?”

“Got a small problem.  Too many infected on the runway.  The
pilot can’t taxi or takeoff.  I’m going to do what I can to thin them out.  You
and your gunner un-ass this vehicle and get on that plane.”

My plan was for Rachel to take over driving and I would man
the gun.  Along with support from the Pave Hawk’s minigun we’d clear enough of
the runway for the Globemaster to get off the ground, then Anderson could pick
us up.

“If it’s all the same Major, I’m not too partial to running
from a fight.”  He grinned what I’m sure women found a charming grin.

“No discussion, Sergeant.  Move your ass.  I’ve got a ride
to pick me up as soon as the jet’s in the air.”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered, still grinning.  Turning, he
smacked the gunner on the leg and yelled at him to evacuate the vehicle.  They
gathered their gear, clambered out of the vehicle and ran for the Globemaster’s
waiting ramp.

I waved Rachel and Dog into the vehicle, sending Rachel to
the driver’s seat while I muti-tasked and inventoried the ammo reserves on
board, shrugged out of my pack and called Anderson on my comm unit.

“Go ahead, Major.” 

“The pilot can’t get this big bitch in the air with all the
infected on the runway.  What does it look like from up there?”

“Wait one,” he answered, and I finished up my quick survey. 
Happily there were close to 5,000 rounds of ammo for the machine gun stored in
the vehicle, which was an extraordinarily large amount, but it was time we had
a break.

“Major, we’re going to need to clear out about 500 infected
to your west so the jet can taxi and turn into the wind for takeoff.  Is the
bird loaded or empty?”

“Loaded,” I answered.  “Three Bradleys on board.”

The radio was quiet for a moment then Anderson came back on,
“OK, he’ll need about 7,500 feet of runway to get in the air.  There’s infected
thick on the ground for about 300 feet to your east then there’s just an
occasional straggler.”

“Copy.  I’m in the Humvee.  I’ll start clearing room for
taxi and turn, you get started on the east side.  And we’re going to need a
ride when they get in the air.”

“Copy that,” he answered and a moment later I heard the
pitch of the Pave Hawk’s rotor change as it came to a hover over the side of
the runway, then the minigun started mowing down bodies like the Grim Reaper’s
scythe.

I shouted instructions to Rachel and she hit the throttle
and steered us to the front of the giant plane.  I absently noticed that the
fire ahead of us at the end of the flight line was growing and spreading, but
didn’t have time to do anything other than bring the heavy machine gun into
action.  It started hammering and I used the tracer rounds to direct and
concentrate my fire into the mass of infected lumbering towards us.  They began
falling and I kept up the fire, feathering the trigger as I swung through an
arc large enough for the plane to pass through.  Every few seconds I let off
the trigger to give the barrel a moment to cool down, but also to scan around
me for females.  I was standing with the top half of my body above the roof
line of the vehicle and if a female got close enough they were certainly agile
enough to leap up and attack me.

Rachel was letting the Humvee proceed at an idle and after
we had cleared and progressed a hundred feet or so I heard the massive jet
engines behind us throttle up as the pilot started following.  If not for the
noise from the machine gun and the screaming jet engines I suppose there would
have been the sickening crunches as bodies lying on the tarmac were pulverized
under the oversized landing gear.  I shook my head as I scanned again for
females, wondering why I even had random thoughts like that, then had to swing
the machine gun around and cut down two females running in from our right, rear
quarter.

“Major, we’re pretty clear back here.”  Anderson called over
the radio at the same time I heard the jet engines throttle down. 

Looking behind me I saw the Globemaster pivoting around,
looking impossibly large and ungainly on the ground.  I shouted directions to
Rachel and she whipped a U-Turn and raced around the plane so we could assist
in making sure the runway was clear.  The pilot wasn’t worried about bodies
lying on the runway.  The heavy landing gear would roll right over them and
probably no one on the plane would even feel a bump.  The concern was an
infected getting sucked into an engine.  Birds are always a concern for pilots
as they can damage a jet engine if they are sucked in.  The difference in size
and hardness of bones between a bird and a human is huge and I didn’t blame the
pilot for being cautious. 

I kept firing, cutting down any infected that was still
standing after the minigun’s aerial barrage.  The aftermath of the minigun, no
matter how many times I’ve witnessed it, always amazes me.  The runway was
literally carpeted with a thick mass of bodies and body parts.  Hundreds of
infected had been blown apart by the ferocious rate of fire and only a few
still moved, somehow having been missed as Mayo worked the weapon.  The last
one standing fell to a short burst from my machine gun as the jet completed its
turn and the pilot wasted no time in shoving the four throttles to the
firewall.  The noise instantly rose to an ear shattering bellow and I slapped
Rachel on the shoulder and pointed for her to drive away from the runway so we
wouldn’t get blown over by the jet blast as the Globemaster passed us.

While she was getting us a safe distance away I checked on
the location of the Pave Hawk and saw it hovering 100 feet off to the side of
the runway just over a mile away.  Turning to look back to the west I grinned
as infected were scattered like leaves in a hurricane as the jet blast hit
them.  My grin faded as they started climbing back to their feet after having
been blown tumbling a hundred yards down the pavement.  Damn but these things
were tough.

The Globemaster roared past us, picking up speed as it
rolled.  The blast from the four huge engines blew the bodies and body parts
off the runway after the jet rolled over them, creating a bloody fog in the air
that I didn’t want anything to do with.  Diving down into the Humvee I shut the
access panel in the roof with a slam and settled into the passenger seat to
watch the takeoff.  Dog had squeezed his way into the front of the vehicle and
sat with his head resting on my left leg.

The big jet kept picking up speed and I noticed Anderson
slip the Pave Hawk a little further away from the runway as it approached.  I
could see Mayo still firing the occasional burst from the minigun as infected
wandered too close to the runway, but it looked like the takeoff was going to
be a success.  That was until two female infected darted out of a hangar and
behind the hovering helicopter.  They were on the opposite side of the aircraft
from Mayo as they sprinted on to the runway. 

“Infected at your six, on the runway!”  I shouted into the
comm unit.

Anderson responded almost immediately, spinning the
helicopter around and Mayo traversed the minigun, but he was too late and stopped
firing as the females ran further onto the runway.  The Globemaster was fast
approaching, probably close to take off speed and getting very close to the end
of the runway.  I could see the control surfaces on the wings move to full deflection
as the pilot recognized the threat and tried to get the heavy jet in the air,
but he just didn’t have enough speed built up and the landing gear stayed
firmly on the ground.  The scene went into slow motion as first one, then both
infected were sucked into the engine farthest out on the right-hand wing.

There was an immediate gout of flame that shot out of the
back of the engine, moments later the engine exploding.  Half of the wing
shredded when the engine exploded and the impossibly massive jet began to twist
sideways to its right as both good engines on the left wing were still at full
throttle and were no longer being balanced by equal thrust from the right. 
Shrapnel blew outward from the destroyed engine, some chunks appearing to be as
large as the Humvee I was sitting in.  Anderson responded and turned the Pave
Hawk away from the disintegrating Globemaster, but not soon enough.  A chunk of
engine the size of a small car rocketed through the air, trailing smoke and flames,
and slammed into the Pave Hawk’s rotor.

In almost a coordinated ballet the Globemaster continued its
spin to the right as the Pave Hawk tilted first to the side then nose down as
the rotor blades sheared off.  The Pave Hawk crashed nose first into a parking
lot adjacent to a hangar, exploding into a large fireball on impact.  Seconds
later the Globemaster’s landing gear, not designed for the lateral stress it
was experiencing as the plane skidded sideways, collapsed.  The belly of the
plane smashed into the pavement and skidded in a shower of sparks.  Moments
later the already compromised right wing snapped off and spilled hundreds of
gallons of jet fuel that was instantly ignited by the sparks from the skid. 
The Globemaster exploded in a tremendous fireball, the shockwave from the
concussion rocking the Humvee on its suspension.

A wave of emotions washed over me as Rachel and I sat in the
Humvee and watched the two aircraft crash and explode into flames.  Even though
I knew it wasn’t my fault a wave of guilt hit me at the thought of the
survivors I had put on the Globemaster as well as the loss of Anderson, Mayo
and Gwen in the helicopter.  Sensing our distress Dog whined and pushed his
head all the way into my lap.  I absently rubbed his head as the flames
consumed the remains of the crash and quickly spread to the adjacent hangars
and parked fighter jets, setting off additional explosions.  The Humvee rocked
again from another shockwave, then there was a solid thump on my door as a
female infected crashed into the vehicle and began beating on the ballistic
glass.

“We need to move,” I said to Rachel who looked as distraught
as I felt.  She didn’t respond, just sat behind the wheel watching the growing
conflagration at the far end of the runway.

“Rachel, can you drive?”  I raised my voice and put my hand
on her shoulder.  Shaking off her torpor she nodded and looked around.

“Where?” 

Good question.  I checked my vest and found I was down to
one full magazine and one partial for the rifle.  Checking Rachel’s didn’t
produce dramatically better results.  Climbing over the seat into the back of
the vehicle I found only ammo for the machine gun.  We had plenty of that, but
were dangerously low on rifle and pistol ammo.

“We need to find the armory and resupply our ammo, then we
need to get the hell out of here.”  Back in the front seat I looked out my side
window and met the eyes of the infected female that was pounding on the glass. 
Rage and hunger stared back at me.

“OK.  Got any idea where that is?”  Rachel shifted into
reverse, backed up a few yards, shifted back into drive, jammed the throttle
and ran down the female without so much as batting an eye.

“First get us away from the flight line, then head towards
the firing range.  It should be fairly close if the Air Force does anything
like the Army does.”

Nodding, Rachel stepped on the throttle and we bounced over
several dead infected, hopped a curb into the parking lot for the flight
operations building and headed north on a narrow road that looked familiar from
earlier in the day.  Rachel drove fast but well, not bothering to slow when
another female infected charged us head on.  The heavy front bumper smashed the
body and sent if sailing through the air where it landed in a roadside ditch.

The road widened and forked, Rachel slowing as she looked
for landmarks before taking the fork to the left.  Ahead I could see a single
weak light at the squat cinderblock building in front of the firing range. 
Rachel slowed and swung into the gravel parking lot, the headlights shining
brightly on the closed steel access door.  When she shut off the lights I
engaged the NVGs.  I didn’t see any infected in the area, told Rachel to stay
behind the wheel, popped the door open and stepped out with rifle at the ready
and Dog on my heels.  The idling diesel in the Humvee was loud and I motioned
for Rachel to shut it off, the engine going quiet a moment later.  I stood
still for a minute, scanning the area, then checked on Dog who was alert but
calm.  Reaching back into the vehicle I found the sound suppressor for my rifle
still tucked safely away in my pack.  Removing the M4’s flash hider I screwed
the suppressor into place and closed the Humvee door softly.

Walking slowly across the gravel I reached out and tried the
door knob but it was locked.  I thought for a second and decided to try
knocking before forcing my way in.  There was an answering thump to my knock on
the door and I could hear snarling coming from inside the building.  Dog let
out a low growl then went quiet, eyes focused on the door.  After another quick
check of the area I lowered my rifle and opened the pack clipped to my vest
that held the breaching charges.  Using the Kukri I cut off six inches of rope
and molded it around the knob and deadbolt, inserted and activated a detonator
and stepped behind the Humvee.  When Dog was at my side and safely shielded I
pressed the remote and the C-4 detonated with a dull bang.

Moving back toward the door I was satisfied with the
results.  The explosion had cut through the steel surrounding both the knob and
deadbolt and released the door which was swinging out as an infected male
pushed through.  It was one of the Sergeants I’d met earlier that had worked
with Rachel on the firing range.  I dropped him with a shot to the head, the
rifle nice and quiet with the addition of the suppressor.  I waited a few more
moments to see if there were any more infected that were going to come to the
party, but apparently he’d been alone. 

Swinging the door fully open I scanned the interior through
my NVGs and saw no threat.  Dog at my side I moved into the building, scanning
and ready with the rifle, but it was still clear.  Stepping back to the doorway
I gave Rachel a thumbs up, pulled the damaged door closed and flipped on the lights
as I pushed the NVGs up off my eyes.  The room was much as I remembered it
other than several items the infected had knocked off desks as he stumbled
around the space.  Starting a quick search I checked the two large metal
cabinets first and didn’t find ammo but did find tools and chemicals for
cleaning firearms.  Grabbing an ammo can stuffed with cleaning supplies I set
it by the front door and kept searching.

The third storage room I came to was the only one with a
lock on the door.  Expecting I’d found what I was looking for I quickly gained
access by blowing the lock off the door with some more C-4 and was rewarded for
my efforts.  Inside were wooden cases of fully loaded 30 round magazines.  At
least that’s one thing the AF did the same way as the Army.  Time at the range
was too valuable to waste on the trainees sitting there loading magazines a
round at a time.  The Army would pick a couple of Privates and detail to load
magazines in advance so all the trainees had to do was grab a couple and start
shooting.  Each crate held 30 magazines and there were 20 crates sitting there
for a total of 18,000 rounds ready to go.  There was no way the Humvee could
hold all of them, but I was going to take as many as I could stuff into the
vehicle.  I let the rifle hang on its sling and grabbed the first one and
headed for the door.

Rachel saw me coming and got out and popped open the rear of
the vehicle and I loaded the crate in.  Four more crates and we were full with
4,500 rounds.  I tossed in the cleaning kit and back inside loaded my vest from
one of the crates I was leaving behind.  I took a few more minutes and dug
through the crates and boxes in the room and almost overlooked a single wooden
crate in the back corner.  It was stenciled with black paint that had faded and
all I could see was two numbers, 67.  Moving some boxes out of the way I saw
the full stencil, M67, Grenade, Fragmentation.  That’s more like it!  After
opening the crate to make sure it really contained grenades I carried it out
and placed it on the back seat.  One more trip to get enough magazines to fully
restock Rachel’s vest and we were ready to go.

Humvee loaded and our vests restocked we stood by the front
of the vehicle looking at each other.  The fires at the flight line were very
visible over the tree tops and occasionally another explosion would rock the
night.  I felt we were OK for a few minutes.  I had scanned the entire area
with the NVGs and hadn’t spotted any infected.  They were all probably heading
for the commotion at the runway as fast as they could. 

“What the hell is happening?”  I asked Rachel, looking over
as Dog trotted to a lone tree at the edge of the parking area.

Rachel thought for a minute before answering, “All I can
come up with is it has to do with the viral component of the nerve gas
release.  The briefer did tell us that our researchers haven’t identified
everything the virus can or will do.  Either that or they were grossly wrong
about how long the nerve agent remains viable once it’s released into the
environment, but I doubt they’re wrong about that.”

“Why are we OK?  Or are we?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe we’re immune, maybe we just haven’t
turned yet.  It’s all maybes at this point.”  Rachel let out a sigh and turned
to watch the fires.  “So what do we do now?”

“That’s what I’m trying to decide.  If this is happening
here I think it’s a safe bet it’s happening everywhere.  We’ve got a very
sturdy and well-armed vehicle so we can pretty much get to wherever we decide
to go as long as we can find fuel.”  That thought prompted me to walk around to
the back of the Humvee and check for extra fuel.  Four 5 gallon metal jerry
cans were strapped down to a platform attached to the back of the Humvee, but
they were all empty.  Not surprising since they would normally only be filled
in preparation for going into the field for an extended time.

Another thought crossed my mind and I dug out the main
controller for my comm unit.  I was pleased to find it was an upgraded unit with
the capability of changing frequencies.  This was a relatively low powered unit
and would have no chance of reaching a ground based radio more than a couple of
miles away, but that range was greatly extended if I could reach an aircraft. 
Not expecting there to be any civilian air traffic I changed the radio to the
Military Guard Channel – reserved for aircraft emergencies – and started
transmitting.

“American ground forces transmitting on Guard.  Any station
receiving please respond.”  I listened for a few but heard nothing and repeated
my transmission.

“Station transmitting this is Royal Air Force Angel Flight. 
Please identify yourself.”  The signal was weak and static filled but the voice
was distinctly British.

“Angel Flight, Major John Chase, US Army at Arnold Air Force
Base in Tennessee.  Arnold has fallen to infected.  I need to know status of
other US installations.  Is Fort Campbell still operational?”

“Stand by, Major.  We’re a little concerned ourselves up
here.  Nashville went radio silent half an hour ago.”  The signal was clearer. 
I suspected this was one of the UK aid flights that was inbound to Nashville.

After what seemed like an eternity the UK pilot came back on
the radio, the signal now perfectly clear.  For the hell of it I looked up and
scanned the sky but couldn’t spot the aircraft.

“Major, we are still not getting a response from Nashville,
and Fort Campbell is not responding either.  There is some faint radio traffic
we are picking up that indicates some major battles are underway, but we cannot
tell where they are coming from.”  By the time the pilot finished speaking the
signal was already growing weaker as the plane was apparently now moving away
from us.  I thanked him for the information and think he wished me good luck,
but it was hard to tell over the growing static.

“That’s not good,” I said to Rachel, shutting the unit off
to save the battery and stowing it in my pack.  A couple of screams sounded
much too close and we quickly piled back into the Humvee, me behind the wheel
while Rachel and Dog had a brief skirmish over the passenger seat.  Starting
the vehicle I spun around in the parking lot as two infected females raced
around the corner of the building and charged towards us.  Spraying gravel I
accelerated out of the lot and onto the asphalt, quickly outdistancing them.

“So what are we doing?”  Rachel asked, leaning forward to
peer at the females in the side mirror.

“Unless you’ve got a better suggestion we’re heading west
again.  I don’t feel like fighting our way to Fort Campbell to just find that
it has fallen too.”

Rachel thought about that for a few minutes as I drove
across the Air Force Base.  The fires at the flight line were burning brighter
than ever and there was still the occasional explosion as either an aircraft or
vehicle’s fuel tank detonated.

“I think that’s probably our best bet,” she finally
answered, turning to look at me and rubbing Dog’s head which was firmly planted
in her lap.

“OK, then,” I said.  “We’ve got to avoid Memphis.  It was
one of the cities that was on the original list of nerve gas attacks.  There’s
also still the herd moving up from the gulf.  I’m going to take us north.  Move
up into Kentucky, then across the Mississippi river into Missouri, but stay
well south of St. Louis.  We’ll worry about finding a safe bridge crossing when
we get there.”  Once again I found myself without a map, but was willing to
start the journey without one and hope to loot a convenience store or truck
stop along the way. 

We slowly worked our way across the base.  Infected were
everywhere.  It seemed as if almost everyone that had been fine when we arrived
was now infected.  I started to speculate on what could have happened, but shut
down that line of thinking.  I needed to focus on the task at hand, not worry
about something over which I had no control.  On a fairly regular basis we were
running down infected males, females charging us from out of the dark and
slamming into the fenders or doors of the Humvee.  Once we saw a lone survivor,
but he was too far away and fell under a pack of females that tore him to ribbons
before we could get close enough to help.  Poor bastard.