Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (8 page)

It turned out that the bomber wasn’t even officially an Air
Force plane yet.  It was a prototype of the next generation stealth bomber, the
replacement for the B2, that had been undergoing performance testing when the
attacks happened.  Now it had been pressed into service, being flown by a
Boeing test pilot who had retired from the Air Force ten years ago and started
a second career with the giant aircraft builder.  He was in control in the
pilot’s seat, an active duty Air Force pilot flying co-pilot.  The rest of us
were spread out in the back of the aircraft.

One of the requirements the Air Force had for the new bomber
was that it could do dual duty as a transport and covert insertion platform for
SF units.  To accommodate this, Boeing had made it easy to reconfigure the
inside of the plane and had also added a ramp at the rear.  I’d had a conversation
with the test pilot after we were in the air and cruising along at 40,000
feet.  He had assured me that the Russians could not detect us. 

According to him we had the radar cross section of a
sparrow, and the IR – infrared – signature of a duck.  When I asked him what
that meant he laughed and told me that a duck farting would release more heat into
the atmosphere than the bomber’s engines did.  The only risk was being visually
spotted by a very observant pilot, and it was his job to make sure that didn’t
happen.  That is until he opened the bomb bay doors or lowered the rear ramp. 
Then, due to the change in the profile of the aircraft, we would be detectable on
radar for the amount of time either was open.

Currently we were flying south, the Gulf of Mexico eight
miles beneath us.  The pilot may have been confident that the Russians couldn’t
detect us, but at the same time we didn’t want to tempt fate by taking a direct
route from Little Rock to Los Alamos and fly directly over territory already
occupied.  Instead, we headed south over the gulf and would soon be turning
west over Mexico before turning to the north and coming back into the US over
Arizona, after the sun had set.  From there we’d proceed northeast to Los
Alamos.  I can’t say the thought of asking him to put down at the airport in
Phoenix for a couple of hours didn’t go through my head, but I had a lot of
people depending on me and didn’t have time for personal missions.

When we reached Los Alamos, we’d descend to 35,000 feet, the
pilot would lower the rear ramp and we’d jump.  This is called a HALO – High
Altitude Low Opening – insertion and was the only option we could come up with
on short notice and with even shorter resources.  Lots of things could go
wrong.  Just like divers that have to worry about the bends, nitrogen bubbles
forming in the blood stream because of rapid pressure changes, high altitude
jumps face the same issue.  In extreme cases, the jumper can suffer from
hypoxia, fall unconscious and fail to open their chute.  There’s also concern
over frostbite.  At 35,000 feet the temperature outside the aircraft is about
-50 degrees Fahrenheit.  And that’s just the first few items on the list of
things that can go FUBAR when jumping out of a plane nearly seven miles up. 
Oh, and I haven’t done a HALO jump in about 10 years.

  The two Sergeants were crashed out, heads pillowed on
their parachutes.  Martinez sat a few feet away from them honing a wicked
looking dagger on a small sharpening stone.  I was tired, but too keyed up to
sleep so I made my way forward to talk with the pilots. 

“Where are we?”  I asked, poking my head into the cockpit. 
They both looked around, surprised to see me.

“About 300 miles south of New Orleans at the moment.”  The
pilot answered.  “I’m going to turn us west in about 10 minutes.  Just killing
time right now.  I don’t want to re-enter US airspace while the sun is up.  The
fucking commies will have patrols up and the last thing we need is for a Mig
pilot to see the sun glint off this baby.”  I nodded in agreement.

“Any word from Little Rock?”  I asked.

“They fought the Russians off, but took heavy losses and a
lot of damage to the field.  Only one runway left in operation.”  The Air Force
officer answered. 

I thanked them, asked them to let me know when we were
crossing into Arizona, then headed for the back to get some sleep.  Curling up
in a space that would normally hold a stick of bombs, I rested my head on my
parachute and closed my eyes.  The bomber was surprisingly quiet in flight and
I could clearly hear the rasp of blade on stone as Martinez kept working the
dagger’s edge to razor sharpness.

Normally I can fall asleep on a plane at the drop of a hat. 
It was a useful skill I learned early on in life when I’d spend hours in the
belly of a C-130, being flown to whatever part of the world the Army chose to
send me.  Later, when I started traveling for work in the civilian world, I’d
usually be asleep before we were even off the ground.  It’s the only way to fly
if you ask me.  Keep your in-flight movies, drinks, snacks and chatty seat
mates.  Let me sleep.  But I couldn’t.  I had too much I was worried about.

Katie.  Rachel and Dog.  The impending jump with a parachute
that had been packed by God only knew who.  I had toyed with the idea of
pulling it open and repacking myself, but there just wasn’t room in the plane. 
I was worried about the jump.  I’ve got a ton of jumps under my belt, and a
fair number of both HALO and HAHO – High Altitude High Opening – but like I
said, it’s been 10 years since the last time I threw myself out of a perfectly
good aircraft.  I thought I remembered everything I needed to remember, but the
rub is the stuff you don’t even realize you forgot until it was too late. 

I’d had time to chat with the three Air Force personnel
after we took off from Little Rock.  The two Sergeants had five HALO jumps
between them, which meant they were still rookies, but at least they’d done it
in a combat environment.  Martinez had none.  She’d jumped before, but from a
nice, sedate 10,000 feet on calm, sunny days.  When you’re falling at night from
35,000 feet to the 1,500 feet that was my target for opening our chutes, lots
of things can happen.  Updrafts, downdrafts and cross winds can push you around
and you wind up coming down miles away from the rest of your unit. 

We would be wearing special suits with flaps of fabric sewn
in between the arms and body and between the legs.  We used to call these bat
suits, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember what the proper name for them
was.  If you knew what you were doing these suits helped you steer and to a
degree fly well enough to compensate for any winds that might push you around. 
If you knew what you were doing.  I had no doubt Martinez had been trained on
how to control her body during a descent, but this was going to be like nothing
she had ever experienced.

These may have sounded like petty concerns, but I’d been to
Los Alamos before.  It was built on the top of several mesas which are nothing
more than tall, flat topped mountains surrounded by fairly deep and rugged
canyons.  If one of us missed the mesa and dropped into a canyon, we were
screwed.  A broken ankle would be almost assured, and would probably be the least
of the injuries sustained. 

The terrain in the area was unforgiving and very difficult
to navigate.  Exactly the reason the government had chosen this location for
the development of the first atomic bomb during World War II.  Instead of
dwelling on these concerns and worrying over something I couldn’t control, I
let them roll around in my head for a bit, finally falling asleep to the steady
rasp of Martinez’ blade.

Rachel startled awake when Dog growled.  She’d lived through
enough danger in the post-apocalyptic world to know to stay perfectly still and
see if she could detect what had upset him before she moved.  Movement would
reveal her position, and might very well draw an attack that would have passed
her by if she had just remained motionless.  Madison’s head was still pillowed
in her lap, the small girl snoring softly.  Lindsey had slid down the side of
Rachel’s body in her sleep, head resting against Rachel’s hip. 

Moving her eyes only, Rachel scanned the area but saw
nothing.  The sun was up and shining brightly, the small office already hot and
humid.  Dog was lying perfectly still, facing the windows, ears stiffly alert. 
About to sit up straighter for a better view, Rachel froze when she saw
movement in the field on the far side of the road.  Three females. 

At first she wasn’t sure if they were infected or not.  They
were walking slowly, looking down at the ground as if they’d lost something,
but when one of them ticked her shoulder up before twitching her head she knew
they were infected.  As Rachel watched, they kept moving forward slowly, one of
them suddenly freezing in place and snapping her head to stare at a spot on the
ground a few feet in front of her.  She stayed still for a few moments, then
with inhuman speed and agility leapt forward and reached for the spot she had
been watching.  Rising back up to her feet she held a small, squirming rodent
in her hands, quickly devouring the creature.

Trying to suppress a shudder of revulsion, Rachel failed.  Lindsey
stirred from the movement and changed position, stretching her leg out and bumping
an ancient table that served as a desk.  A large, metal ash tray sat on the
edge of the table, nearly half of it hanging into open space, having been
pushed there by the piles of receipts and papers spread across the surface. 
Rachel held her breath as the table shook and the ash tray wobbled.  Seeing
what was about to happen she reached out to catch it, but the two girls restricted
her movement and she could only stare in horror as the heavy object finally
tipped beyond the point of no return and fell off the table.

Six inches across and an inch deep with a wide lip around
the perimeter, the aluminum clattered like a gong when it struck the concrete
floor.  Dog grunted in surprise and leapt to his feet.  Both girls snapped
awake with sharp intakes of breath.  Rachel groaned internally and looked up to
see all three females staring at the building where they hid.  First the
closest one, then all three broke into a sprint in their direction.

Not trusting the glass windows to stop the infected, Rachel
scrambled to her feet and snatched Madison up into her arms.  To her right a
battered steel door led into a small garage area and Rachel dashed through the
door, yelling for Lindsey and Dog to follow her.  In the service bay she set Madison
down on her feet, and as Lindsey and Dog ran through the opening she slammed
the door and frantically looked for a way to secure it.  The door opened into
the garage and there was only a standard door knob without a lock to hold it
shut.  She didn’t think the females could turn the knob to open the door, but
they might be able to ram their way through, especially if they were hungry
enough.

The garage was dim, the only source of light a set of grimy
windows set in the single roll up door.  It stunk of grease and motor oil. 
Rachel cast around for anything she could use to brace the door, drawing her
pistol when she heard one of the windows in the office shatter.  On the far
side of the room she saw a short handled shovel and dashed across to grab it. 
She had just picked it up when the door from the office rattled in its frame as
one of the females began crashing into it.

Rachel was three steps away from the door when it burst open
under the assault of the infected.  The female that had broken through stumbled
into the garage and Dog slammed into her, taking her to the ground.  The other
two were right behind her, appearing in the doorway, and Madison and Lindsey
both screamed in panic.  Both heads swiveled in their direction and they
ignored Rachel in favor of the children.

Raising the pistol, Rachel fired three shots, the first two
missing but the third destroying one of the female’s heads.  She tracked the
second one, but didn’t pull the trigger for fear of hitting Madison who was
shrinking away from the grasping hands of the infected.  Lindsey stepped
protectively in front of her little sister, but was knocked aside as the female
lunged and grabbed onto Madison’s arm.  Holstering her pistol, Rachel raised
the shovel over her head and charged.

“Get away from her, you bitch!”  She screamed as she stepped
in and swung with every bit of strength, fear and frustration she possessed. 
The edge of the metal head of the shovel impacted the crown of the female’s
head, crushing deep into her skull and sending her crashing to the floor. 

Panting, Rachel looked around to make sure they were safe,
then dropped the shovel and dashed to Madison, folding her up in her arms.  The
small girl was crying and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s neck.  Holding her
arm out, Rachel gathered Lindsey in and held both of them as they cried.  Dog
had killed the female he had fought and quickly sniffed the other two to make
sure they were dead, then sat down facing the open door with his back pressed
against Rachel.

The girls quickly regained a degree of composure and after
giving Dog a quick hug, Rachel stood and drew her pistol.  She didn’t want to
walk through the door back into the office.  It was one of the last things in
the world she wanted to do, but she needed to know if the sound of the fight
had drawn other infected that were about to attack.  Breathing in short,
shallow pants, Rachel walked to the door on the balls of her feet, pistol held
in two hands in front of her just like John had taught her.  Reaching the door
she held her breath, carefully peeking around the frame to get a view of the
office.

Nothing moved, so she kept inching forward until she was
standing in the doorway, weapon up and aimed at the front of the office where a
pile of shattered safety glass lay on the floor.  Dog came and stood with her,
sniffing the air.  Rachel didn’t see anything moving, but when Dog growled
quietly she knew he was smelling more infected.  How he could tell the
difference between ones that were approaching and the dead ones behind him in
the garage, she had no idea, but wasn’t about to fail to trust his warning.

“We have to go,” Rachel said to the girls, glancing back at
them to make sure they were ready.  “Madison, tie your shoes so you can run
without tripping.”  Madison looked down at her feet and back up at Rachel with
a confused expression on her face.

“I’ll do it.”  Lindsey volunteered, kneeling on the dirty
floor to tie her sister’s shoes.  “But why don’t we just take my daddy’s car so
we don’t have to run?”

Rachel turned and looked at her with her mouth hanging
open.  A car.  She hadn’t even thought that these people would need a car.  Living
all the way out here, of course they would.  And the parents had been taken in
their captor’s trucks, so the car should still be sitting here.  Getting a
taste of how John felt sometimes when he overlooked the obvious, Rachel smiled
at Lindsey.  “Where is it, honey?”

“In back, behind our house.  The keys are right there.”  She
pointed at a split ring with two big silver keys on it hanging from a nail that
had been partially pounded into the wall.  Rachel grabbed them and stuffed them
in her pocket, resuming her two handed grip on the pistol.  “Lead the way, Lindsey.”

Holding her sister’s hand, Lindsey went to a sturdy steel
door in the rear wall of the garage and pointed.  Leaving Dog to watch the
front, Rachel joined her and undid the heavy deadbolt that secured it.  Keeping
the pistol up and ready she turned the knob and gently pulled it open.  No
infected were waiting for them so she stepped through, the girls on her heels,
calling Dog to follow.  Lindsey kept her grip on Madison and they moved quickly
through knee high weeds, crossing a narrow gravel driveway that led to a small,
rickety shack.  Walking around the house, Rachel was momentarily dismayed to
see the vehicle that sat under a large shade tree.

The car was an ancient and battered Ford LTD.  Rachel didn’t
even recognize it, having been a small child when Ford ceased production of the
model.  There was more rust than paint and the rear bumper was missing, but the
glass was all intact and clean, all four tires looking to be in decent shape
and fully aired up.  Quickly unlocking the door, Rachel put the girls in the
back seat then she and Dog piled into the front.  The engine started easily and
settled into a smooth idle.  A glance at the dash showed a full tank of gas. 
Breathing a small sigh of relief, Rachel shifted into drive and headed down the
gravel driveway to the road.