Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (15 page)

My sprint
didn’t last long.  I know I made good time for the first hundred yards,
then began slowing.  By the time I was two hundred yards I was at a fast
run.  Three hundred yards and I was running and breathing heavy and by
four hundred I was down to a steady lope that while it covered a lot of ground
was nowhere near the pace I’d run for the first hundred.

But four
hundred yards is getting close to a quarter of a mile.  Nice separation if
you’re trying to avoid ground troops, but nothing if you’re running from an
aircraft.  I ran for another minute before slowing to a walk so I could
look over my shoulder without worrying about tripping and falling.

The
helicopter was still heading north at a slow rate.  But a slow rate for a
helicopter is several times faster than I could ever hope to move on
foot.  It was closing ground and I was sure it would turn to the east soon
and pass over the road.  There was hope that the crew would fail to see
either me or the crashed Hummer and dead cow, but I couldn’t hang my hat on
hope.

Facing front,
I resumed my run.  I pushed as hard as I could.  The wind was light
and it shifted slightly, bringing the sound of the heavy rotor to me.  I
risked a glance without slowing and saw the helo beginning its turn to the
east.  Pushing harder on the perfectly straight road I almost shouted for
joy when I saw a thick stand of trees ahead in the darkness.

Running harder
as the sound of the helicopter increased, I angled to the side of the road they
were on.  My pounding heart leapt when I saw a small house amongst the
trees and moonlight glinting off the glass and chrome of a couple of
vehicles.  Charging ahead I hurtled the roadside drainage ditch and slowed
as I reached the concealment of the trees.

Coming to a
stop in the deep shadows I turned and looked to the south, panting like I’d
just run a marathon.  I could only track the helo by its anti-collision
lights, which made it difficult at best to judge exactly where it was.  It
looked like it was still west of the road, slowly flying east.  And I was
pretty sure it was going to cross the road at a point close enough to see the
wreck if the men on board were paying attention.

Turning, I
moved through the stand of trees, reminding myself to keep a close watch for
infected.  The Russians weren’t the only threat I had to worry
about.  Reaching the trunk of a large elm tree I paused long enough to
scan the area with my rifle’s night vision scope.  Nothing moving.

Ahead of me
was a gravel driveway that ended at a small house.  There were several
pieces of farm equipment parked behind the house and two pickups and a car
sitting in the driveway.  The front door of the house was open, swinging
gently in the night breeze. 

Dashing
forward I went to the closest truck, a newer Ford, finding it locked up
tight.  The second one was a battered Dodge from the 1960s, also secure,
as was the car, an ancient Cadillac El Dorado.  The Caddy had seen better
days.  Its sheet metal was dented and paint was faded and the vinyl roof
had mostly disintegrated into nothing but tatters.

Running to
the open door into the house I stopped and shouted a couple of times to bring
out any infected that might be hiding in the building.  I didn’t have time
to screw around looking for them and wanted to get the fight out of the way if
there was going to be one.

Fifteen
seconds later I hadn’t seen or heard a response so I moved inside and turned on
my flashlight.  I swept the beam across a cramped living room that looked
like it hadn’t been redecorated since 1978.  It even still had dark wood
paneling on the walls.  Not seeing any keys, I moved deeper, taking a
moment to check over the dining room before moving into the kitchen.

It too was
dated with yellow counter tops and green appliances, but it was spotlessly
clean and there weren’t any keys to be seen.  I checked the laundry room,
which had a door that opened onto the back yard, still finding nothing. 
The clock in my head was ticking and I rushed through the kitchen and down a
short hall that had three closed doors at the end. 

As I’d moved
into the hall the smell had hit me.  Decaying bodies.  That might
also mean there was an infected in one of the bedrooms that had killed whoever
was decomposing.  Knowing the smart thing would be to slow down, I ignored
caution in favor of speed and kicked in the closest door.

I stepped
into an empty bedroom, made a quick sweep and moved back into the hall when I
didn’t find what I was looking for.  The second door was a bathroom, also
empty.  The third door slammed open under my boot and if I hadn’t been
around a lot of death in my life I’d probably have had to stop and throw
up.  The heavy, sickly sweet stench of rotting corpses rolled across me
like a physical presence.

This was the
master bedroom, but it was hardly large enough to hold a queen sized bed, a
nightstand and single, small dresser.  There was no other furniture and
only a small closet.  No infected, just two bodies on the flowered
comforter that covered the mattress.

They were a
couple, both of them at least in their 70s.  Lying next to each other,
heads on pillows, they held hands even in death.  On the nightstand next
to the man sat an empty pill bottle and an empty drinking glass.  There
were no signs of violence so I assumed they had decided to go out on their own
terms.

Shining the
light around I rushed to the dresser when I spotted a thick wallet and a fat
ring of keys.  Snatching them up I saw one for the Dodge truck and a round
and a square headed key, each marked GM for the Caddy.  I didn’t see a
modern Ford key and didn’t waste any more time looking for one.

Turning, I
raced back through the house and out the front door.  Suspecting the Dodge
truck was used more than the Cadillac, and would therefore be more likely to
start and run, I unlocked it and hopped in.  It had a three speed manual
transmission and I pushed in the clutch and knocked the shifter into
neutral. 

I pumped the
accelerator a couple of times after reminding myself this was an old truck with
a carburetor, then stepped on the brake and clutch before turning the
key.  The grill of the Ford behind me lit up with a red glow when my foot
pressed the brake pedal and I jumped out of the cab, drawing my Kukri as I ran
to the back of the Dodge.

Reversing
the blade in my hand I used the pommel to smash the taillights, making sure to
not just break the red lenses but also the bulbs behind them.  Back in the
cab I turned the key and the motor wheezed to life.  While I was breaking
the lights I’d checked on the helicopter.  It was directly to the south,
hovering over the road with its spotlight shining brightly.  I was sure it
had found the crashed Humvee.

Jamming the
truck into reverse with a horrible grinding of gears, I let the clutch out and
slammed into the Ford’s shiny front bumper.  The vehicles were parked too
tightly for me to just turn the wheel and drive away.  I needed to make
some room and I was willing to bet the land yacht that was the El Dorado
probably weighed more than the Ford truck behind me.

With a
grinding of metal and spinning of tires I managed to push it back ten feet
before coming to a stop.  Not far, but enough to put the Dodge into first
gear and steer around the massive back bumper of the Caddy.  Bouncing
across the front yard I kept accelerating and turned onto the road, heading
north.  I didn’t have my lights on and if I had to use the brakes at least
the taillights wouldn’t flare in the darkness and give away my location.

The truck
wouldn’t go into second, then I remembered the era of vehicle I was
driving.  It had been built when pickup trucks were made for work. 
One rock hard seat, an AM radio if you were lucky, and a transmission that had
never heard the term syncromesh.  Pushing in the clutch I shifted to
neutral, let the clutch back out, waited a heartbeat then pressed it in again
and shifted into second gear.  The transmission protested, but it worked
and I was able to put on more speed.

Looking up
in the mirror I could see the helicopter’s spotlight, but the truck vibrated so
much that I couldn’t tell what was happening.  Sticking my head out the
driver’s side window I looked back as the helo touched down on the road. 
They were checking the wreck.  In about thirty seconds they would know I
wasn’t injured or dead in the crashed Hummer.  About five seconds after
that someone would turn his head and look down the road in my direction. 
There was no other logical place for me to be.

Thirty
seconds after that they’d have everyone back on board and the pilot would be
lifting off and turning to pursue.  So I had one minute, ninety seconds at
best, before they were on my trail.  Pressing the gas pedal as hard as I
could I finally built up enough speed to shift into third, wincing as it
sounded like I was grinding the teeth off every gear the old Dodge had.

I roared
past a building on the right side of the road before I even realized it was
there in the dark.  Then the road made a gentle turn to the right, the
truck hopping around to beat the band as I forced it through the curve at
speed.  To my left I could make out a couple of hangars and parked
aircraft in the moonlight.  An airport, and that had to mean I was close
to town. 

Staying on
the gas I roared on, hoping there weren’t any more cows out for a midnight
stroll.  But then the Dodge was a beast and was probably just about as
stout as a Hummer. 

I had been
counting the time off in my head and as I got to sixty seconds I started
glancing out the right window.  At seventy seconds I saw the helicopter
lift back into the air, spotlight still shining brightly.  It quickly
transitioned into forward flight, following the ribbon of asphalt, light
focused on the pavement.  I had maybe twenty seconds before they caught up
with me.

More and
more commercial buildings were appearing as I pushed farther in to Mountain
Home.  The problem was they were spaced too far apart and if I hid in one
of them I’d be stuck, unable to make it to another without exposing myself for
too long.

Fifteen
seconds left and I risked another glance at the Russian helicopter.  It
was fast approaching, not close enough for me to hear it over the roar of the
Dodge’s motor, but it was too close.  At twelve seconds I spotted a
neighborhood of small homes coming up on my left.  At ten seconds I saw
the road that fed into the subdivision.  At eight seconds I slammed on the
brakes and cut the wheel for the turn at the same time I began hearing the
helo.

The tires
screamed in protest of the turn, the brakes feeling like mush.  I fought
the transmission and got it into second, finally able to feed in some throttle
and roar through the turn onto the residential street.  I was moving
perpendicular to the path the helicopter was following, but was still too close
to the main road.  I needed cover and began looking but none of the houses
had garages or even carports.

Ahead I
could see the road I was on ended in a T intersection, a small house directly
in front of me.  It didn’t have a garage, but there was a short driveway
that ended against its front wall and there wasn’t anything parked there. 
Jamming on the brakes at the last instant I squealed to a stop in the driveway
and flopped sideways on the seat as the engine sputtered and died from being
left in gear when the truck stopped.

The roar of
the Hind was loud as it flew over the entrance to the neighborhood, then the
pitch of the sound changed.  I poked my head up over the back of the seat
and peered out the rear window.  The helo was gaining altitude and
starting an orbit of the area, spotlight shining brightly.

The Hind
searched the area for several minutes, the spotlight brightening the interior
of the Dodge a couple of times as the helo orbited.  I remained still,
leaned over on the seat, only poking my head up for a look when I could tell by
the sound that they had temporarily moved away.  As they widened their
search area the times they were too far away to spot me increased, and I took
the opportunity to jump out of the truck.

My internal
clock was still ticking as I had no doubt they’d already been on the radio and
there was a whole host of Russians about to descend on the small town.  Come
down and try to stomp my ass into a big puddle of goo.  Well, if I didn’t
get my ass moving that’s probably exactly what was going to happen.

Keeping an
eye on the orbiting helicopter I started jogging east along a residential
street.  The houses were small and well kept, very few of them with any
vehicles still parked in the driveways or at the curb in front.  Maybe the
people had evacuated, or maybe most of them had been at work when one of the
waves of infection rolled through. 

The Hind was
coming back in my general direction and I moved into a narrow side yard that
separated two homes and tucked up tight against the trunk of a tree. 
They’d spot me with FLIR, no doubt, but I’d be well concealed from their
light.  I wasn’t terribly worried, reasonably confident that if they had
FLIR they wouldn’t be using the spotlight.

It passed
over about a block away and I stepped back into the street and kept
moving.  For the moment I was outside their search orbit, but that would
change when reinforcements arrived.  It wasn’t far from the air base and I
knew I maybe had five minutes before additional helos were in the air, buzzing
around trying to locate me.

Ground
troops wouldn’t be far behind.  If I was the on scene commander I’d load
up every US Air Force truck I could find on the base and drive the troops
up.  It wouldn’t take long to get here and had the advantage of not tying
up the airborne assets ferrying them up.  The helicopters were much more
valuable to the Russians if they were all on station, hunting.

The
neighborhood wasn’t very big and I quickly reached a north-south street that
was lined with commercial buildings.  Fast food, automotive repair, gas
stations and similar types of businesses.  I reminded myself to not make
the same error I’d made in Dodge City and take refuge in a business.  But
I was hopeful that I’d find someplace that might have some ammo.

The helo had
continued its search pattern, shifting the center of its orbit a little farther
east with every circuit.  I was moving in the same direction it was, but
was still outside the perimeter of each turn.  Glancing up and down the
road I decided to turn south.  There appeared to be more buildings in that
direction, which meant more hiding places when I needed one.

I was moving
fast, keeping an eye on the Hind as well as routinely scanning the sky in the
direction of the air base, expecting to see the anti-collision lights on
several approaching aircraft at any moment.  Distracted by the Russians,
and not maintaining proper situational awareness, I was caught completely
unprepared when a female slammed into my side and tackled me to the ground.

She had been
quiet.  Very quiet.  I hadn’t even heard a footstep as she charged
in, just got blindsided like a wet behind the ears rookie.  Her momentum
carried both of us off the sidewalk and onto the asphalt in the street.  About
the only good news was that there wasn’t traffic that would run over me while I
fought with the bitch.

Her hands
were around my neck, squeezing as she bit down on my forearm.  When we’d
landed I’d been able to get my arms in front of me.  Instead of trying to
push her face and snapping teeth past them and tear out my throat she was
content to clamp down a few inches above my wrist.  The heavy fabric my
clothing’s sleeves were made of was all that kept my flesh from being torn
open.

I was
thankful for that but the pressure from the bite hurt like hell and her grip
was strong enough to cut off my air.  Realizing I’d been momentarily
stunned by the suddenness of her attack and the impact with the street, I
finally started fighting.

My left arm
was free and I hit her on the side of the head three times, fast and
hard.  She released her bite on the third blow and I put both hands on her
shoulders and pushed.  My arms were longer than hers and I was stronger
than she was, so her grip on my neck was broken as I forced her away from
me.  She tried to hold on to my throat, her ragged nails tearing furrows
in my skin as her hands were dragged away from my flesh.

When I felt
her grip break I twisted, intending to get an arm around her neck and snap it,
but she shifted, slashed at my face and leapt away from me.  Scrambling to
my knees I yanked my Kukri free of its scabbard as she stood there watching
me.  Her eyes followed the blade, then she turned and sprinted away into
the darkness between two buildings.

“Fuck,” I
mumbled to myself, reaching up and wiping the blood away where she’d torn open
my neck.

I was
starting to get used to the infected females doing the unexpected, but they
just seemed to be getting smarter.  Or maybe smarter wasn’t the right way
to think about it.  More instinctual?  She’d had the drop on me when
she attacked.  The advantage of surprise.  But she’d been
overpowered, then had somehow recognized the danger poised by the sharp steel
blade and had withdrawn.

Kicking
myself for still kneeling there and thinking about it, I stood, sheathed the
Kukri and started moving again after checking on the helicopter.  It was
slightly farther away and I checked the immediate area for any infected then
the sky to the south.  No imminent attack and still no reinforcements on
the way.

Passing two
more buildings I cursed when I saw several sets of blinking red and green
lights appear in the southern sky.  More Hinds on the way.  I scanned
for infected as well as a good place to take cover.  No infected and
nothing but small commercial businesses that would be easy to isolate and
search.  I needed to get back into a residential area.  Running
across the street I spared another glance, unhappy to note that the approaching
helicopters were dramatically closer.  They were coming fast.

On the
opposite sidewalk I turned and began running south, aiming for a cross street
that would take me east and deeper into the small town.  I was running
hard, needing to be hunkered down before the additional aircraft arrived and joined
the search.  Also watching for infected, I wasn’t paying any attention to
the buildings I was running past.  I turned the corner to head east,
coming to a stop when my brain finally processed what I’d just seen. 
Mountain Home Sporting Goods.

Short of a dedicated
gun shop this was probably the most likely type of place to have
ammunition.  If there was any that hadn’t been snatched up by the civilian
population.  But I was down to less than two magazines and didn’t have a
lot of choice.

Running back
to the front entrance I cursed to find a steel security shutter protecting the
door.  The rest of that side of the building was a blank wall made of stone
blocks.  Dashing around the side there was just more of the same. 
Entering the rear parking lot, I noted the Russians were now close enough for
me to hear their rotors.  I either got in now or had to run for the
closest house.

The back lot
didn’t have any vehicles parked in it.  There was a steel security door
set flush with the smooth exterior wall, no knob or handle visible from the
outside.  Shit!  No way to gain access in the short time I had.

Sparing a
glance at the helicopters, which were starting to spread out to go into search
orbits, I turned to run into the neighborhood behind the store.  The sound
of a lock clicking caused me to whirl and aim my rifle at the back door I’d
just been checking.  It came open halfway and a man stuck his head out and
looked at me.

“What are
you waiting for?  Get your ass in here!”  He hissed, waving me to him
as he turned to look at an approaching helicopter.