The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 3

  Hunter yelled over the rotors. “You sure you’re still in the Air Force, boss?” A deadly smile carved out his lips.

  Turmelle yelled his way. “We were thinking about adopting you, sir. You know, make you an official Snake Eater. Get you a Skins patch made.” His eyes closed to almost slits as he smiled fiercely.

  “You know. If you’ll take us,” Hunter said like a wolf trying to be sweet.

  “Later,” Kinnick said, covering his microphone.

  Grady spoke over the line. “Flyboy, huh. I was a Marine Corps Crew Chief ’78 to ’86. I see your birds on radar here. Been awhile since we heard from any of you fellas.”

  Kinnick shook his head in disbelief. Cannot believe these guys are still operating.

  “You think you can help out a couple of squads of knuckle-draggers with a refuel?”

  Grady’s laugh on the other end eventually turned into a cough. “Things must be really messed up if they are putting an Air Force full bird colonel in charge of a bunch of baboon bootlickin’ grunts. Come on down. All I got left is Jet A-1 fuel.” Jet A-1 was a civil aviation fuel, but it would work in the many military aircraft that preferred the Jet Propellent or JP-8 because of its anti-corrosion and anti-icing additives.

  “That’ll have to do. See you in five mikes.” Clicking a button on the side of his headset, he switched channels. “Put down in Hacklebarney.” He turned to his men. “Everyone get ready to put down. We don’t know what’s going on down there, so prepare for infected or otherwise.”

  Hunter addressed his unit. “You heard the colonel. Get ready to be in and out like a swabbie on shore leave.”

  Turmelle grinned, nudging Hawkins. “Faster than Hawkins at prom.”

  Hawkins’s face was flat. Turmelle shoved him with his shoulder again. Hawkins brown eyes stayed even. One eyelid twitched. Turmelle held his hands up. “Alright, Hawk. I’ll lay off. Geez, no need to get so defensive.”

  His men checked the status of their weapons. They patted down their vests, making sure their magazines were fully loaded and easily accessible.

  Turmelle turned to Kinnick. “Sir, you think a bunch of farmers are going to try and jump us?” He finished with a laugh. “Good luck.”

  “A bunch of farmers took it to the invincible British in 1776.”

  Hunter and Turmelle smirked and shook their heads.

  “But this is home field,” Turmelle said.

  “For who?” Kinnick said.

  Both of his men shut their mouths.

  “Whatever you say, Colonel,” Turmelle finished. He looked back out the helicopter at the fast-approaching airfield.

  ***

  Kinnick’s soldiers spread out from the helicopters led by the Special Forces soldiers. The men knew the drill. The infected were everywhere. No place was safe. The living were sparse but dangerous. It was hard to tell what was the greater threat: man or the infected.

  Each soldier covered a different sector, guns pointed outward. Three hundred and sixty degrees around each helicopter was covered by the remnants of Kinnick’s unit.

  The single-gated airport had only a lone runway, just long enough for a single propeller plane. A man hobbled out from a low one-story brick building.

  A dusty mellow orange Allis Chalmers hat perched atop the man’s head as if it were only resting there. He used a free hand to hold the hat on top of his head. His overalls were covered in grease stains and a mishmash of dried grime. The older man’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he stepped up to Kinnick.

  “Welcome to the Hacklebarney Municipal Airport. Name’s Grady.” Grady gave Kinnick a lazy salute. Tired of wrestling with his hat that didn’t want to stay put, he removed it from his head. He held it in front of himself, thumbs creasing its worn bill.

  Kinnick scanned the perimeter. No infected lined the chain-link fence surrounding the airfield. Good sign. The farther inland they went, fewer signs that the infected had conquered were there. It’s only a matter of time before they come here as well.

  Kinnick returned the older veteran’s salute with a crisp hand to his forehead. Saluting still felt awkward, even after his volunteer non-official reenlistment from retirement.

  “Good to see this facility up and operational,” Kinnick said.

  Grady scratched some white stubble on his chin, thinking about his words.

  “The single-engine Cessna planes ain’t flying no more. Been almost two months since we seen ’em, on account of the plague. None came back from Chicago or St. Louis. But I’m sure you boys seen enough of that.” He gestured with his stubbly chin at Kinnick’s men. “You can tell ’em to relax. None a’ the sick ones are ’round here. Sheriff Donnellson seen ta dat.”

  “Hunter, take Turmelle and check the building.” The operator whistled through his brown beard at the other magazine-clad soldier, and they jogged off inside the brick building.

  “Hawkins, you’re on zero duty.” The half-Asian intelligence sergeant’s eyebrow twitched, the only indication that he was unhappy with his new tasking. He pointed his M4 carbine downward, taking an outward position next to the helicopter near Dr. Jackowski and the arguably more important Patient Zero.

  “Can we get some fuel? We still have a long way to go.”

  “Ah, of course. Where abouts you boys headed?”

  “West.” Kinnick gave eastward a glance over his shoulder as if he knew evil lurked on the horizon.

  Grady’s brow furrowed. Worry deepened his creases.

  Kinnick turned back and Grady glanced at him as if he expected Kinnick to give him an explanation.

  “We’re in a hurry. Our mission is vital to national security,” Kinnick said. He didn’t want to be terse with the man assisting them, but lingering was not an option.

  Grady nodded and turned away. He limped over and grabbed a yellow hose dragging it near to one of the helos.

  Kinnick pointed. “It goes over there.”

  Grady wheezed a laugh. “Ain’t my first rodeo, Colonel. I’ll get you boys back on your way. Always happy to help our fighting men and women.” He snapped the hose into the UH-60 Black Hawk. Grady looked over the helicopter. His hand found a string of quarter-sized bullet holes lining the fuselage.

  “Looks like your bird took some pretty heavy rounds out there. Reminds me of Grenada.” Grady looked back at Kinnick. The man knew they were facing a heavily armed foe. Grady’s eyes danced to the other soldiers and then stopped back on Kinnick, apparently satisfied that Kinnick and his men were real soldiers and not imposters. “What’s going on out there? Don’t get much info since they stopped the news broadcasts.” His eyes were uneasy about the things that were taking place all around him.

  Kinnick gulped down dryness in his throat. Do I give this man hope? He rubbed his brow. Do I tell him the East Coast has collapsed? Do I tell him the fuel he is giving us may give us hope that the doctor sitting in that helicopter can make it back to Cheyenne Mountain with Patient Zero?

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Figured as much. You boys at least dishing it out to the bastards?” The infected army grew, and the only boundaries were those left breathing in the United States.

  Our army dwindles to a handful of battered souls as we speak. “The infection spreads very fast, but we’re still in the fight,” was all Kinnick could muster.

  Grady eyed him, gray eyes weighing the truthfulness of his words. The old crew chief gave him a knowing nod. “Sometimes all we can do is pray.” He patted the side of the helicopter. “Got plenty of jet fuel here. I can keep your boys flying for awhile. Provided things don’t get too ugly down here.”

  “We thank you for your help, but we must continue west.”

  Grady pulled himself upright using the helicopter. He picked his hat up and scratched his head. “Seems like the fight would be the other way.”

  “The fight is everywhere,” Kinnick said.

  Grady nodded, eyes scanning the skyline. Kinnick didn’t know if the man realized that he was on the frontier of a
breaking world.

  “Looks like a storm is a brewin’ to the east.” Grady covered his eyes as if to block the impeded sun. “Better get the other bird topped off,” he said with a nod. He hustled over, unhooking the hose and dragging it over to the other helicopter.

  The sky blackened. Black birds flapped their wings in the distance as if they fled the storm. Or they go to where the fresh bodies are. Wind picked up on the tarmac, ruffling Kinnick’s uniform. A storm is coming, and we aren’t ready.

  GWEN

  Coast of Lake Michigan

  Alternating white and blue bathroom tiles reflected her sorry face. Pulling her pants up, she fumbled with the buttons of her military ACUs in the dark. Her mind raced. She moved toward the sink, hands finally fastening her pants. She swatted blindly for the toilet in an attempt to flush it. Nothing happened when she found the handle. She jiggled it until she remembered the toilet had been devoid of all water. It was just instinct at this point to continue to try and use modern luxuries such as indoor plumbing.

  She looked up in the mirror. A ghost stared back at her, illuminated only by the moon that shone through the second-floor window. She locked her hands on the counter, leaning toward her rough image. Beneath her puffy eyes, a large red spot jutted out from her chin. Acne now? Really? Am I in junior high?

  Exhaling loudly, she stared at a mellow pink stick about five inches long. Her hands never wanted to leave their safe place on the counter edge to pick up the dreaded object. She shook her head at herself. You have to know. You have to.

  She snatched the stick up and waved it in front of her body as if fanning herself with it. Her heart beat furiously in her chest. This can’t be happening. She looked at the stick impatiently. The clear plastic encapsulated diagnosis screen lay void of its impending verdict.

  Her mind scattered in a dozen directions as she waved the stick. What will I do? Where will I go? It won’t be. I can’t be. She laughed nervously out loud. “Don’t be silly.”

  Guilty eyes stared back at her, blaming her, in the mirror lined with big round bulbs along its edges. Glancing at the stick again, she saw that it still revealed nothing of her impending fate.

  “Come on,” she said. Her impatience grew with every second of not knowing.

  Pacing, she wiped sweat from her brow. Jesus Christ. Her stomach had been queasy for weeks. She couldn’t touch her breasts without wincing in pain, and they were noticeably larger despite her restricted diet. She had been hiding it from the others, but after the incident at the beach, they must be suspicious. Her head pounded and her skin became slick in a cold sweat.

  “Goddamn it,” she swore. Bile rose in her throat for the second time since they’d been in the lake house for the night. Puke spilled into the empty toilet, splashing up onto the sides. Ripping a soft yellow towel embroidered with blue sailboats from the rack, she dotted her mouth with it.

  The stick lay on the counter, a poison viper waiting to strike her if only she looked at it.

  “Really. You are just going to stare at it?” she said to herself. Clenching her jaw, she snatched up the evil little stick.

  A large plus sign filled the little diagnosis box. Shock filled her and she blinked rapidly, trying to digest the prognosis she had known for weeks. Tears rolled down her face. She wiped one away from her eye, letting her hand cover her mouth. It was something she had wanted so badly before and had looked forward to for so long in life, and now, it was happening to her at the worst possible moment.

  “Everyone is dead. Everyone else is trying to kill us. And I’m going to have a baby. This can’t be happening to me.”

  She tossed the stick into the waste bin, disgusted by its prediction. Tearing open another package, she squatted down on the toilet again. The sound of tinkling water filled the room. She repeated the process again after that. And each time a large purple plus sign mocked her. It was as if the gods were showing contempt for her deep desire as a woman, waiting until the most inopportune time to drop a bomb of sweet infant joy on her.

  An unexpected rapping on the door made her jump.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” she said at the door. She smoothed her clothes, exhaling loudly.

  The knob turned and stopped. It twisted again.

  “No need to lock the door. It’s just me,” Mark’s voice said from the other side.

  “You know I get nervous. Give me a minute. I’m getting cleaned up,” she said, looking for a place to hide her personal shame.

  “Do they have running water in there and you aren’t sharing?” he asked.

  “Ha. No running water. Give me a few minutes, okay, Mark?” Silence met her from the other side.

  “You sure you’re all right?” he said through the crack. “Why don’t you let me in?”

  “I’m fine. Now go away.” I can’t tell him. If we can get to a pharmacy, maybe I can find some drugs to take care of this. A sense of dread struck her. I don’t want that, but what choice do I have? Risk being pregnant and on the run during the end of the world? What kind of monster would I be bringing a child into such misery?

  Opening the window, she picked up the trash can and tossed its contents outside. The sticks were swallowed up by the night and tall grass. Straightening her camouflage, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Everything is going to be fine. “It’s fine,” she repeated to herself. “It’s fine,” she said into the mirror.

  She tiptoed down carpeted steps to the living room. Ahmed lounged on the couch, hands behind his head. Steele sat nearby, his gear laid out. He took a cloth and oil to the receiver of his gun.

  He looked up, his blond, snarled beard covering a bothered face. “Are you okay? We left you some chow in case you were still hungry.” A small tan ripped MRE package sat on the ground next to him.

  “Thanks, but I’m all right.”

  She sat down cross-legged on the carpet. The house had been untouched since the apocalypse. Closed up for the coming winter. This lake home probably belonged to someone that never made it out of the Grand Rapids metropolitan area alive.

  She watched Mark work the gun, cleaning it with a rag and reapplying oil to different pieces.

  “Lots of sand on that beach. Shouldn’t hurt the guns too much, but long-term it might degrade their functionality. Here, let me see yours.” She checked to see if the weapon was safe and handed it over to Mark. He shifted the two pins out and removed the upper receiver from the lower receiver of the black military carbine. He began disassembling the pieces from the bolt carrier group.

  “These are your hotspots. Here and here. Gotta keep these as clean as possible.” He wiped the pieces hard and then blew on them.

  He always has been a caretaker and protector. He always had the makings of a great father. Can I ask him to do that now?

  “Wish I had an air compressor.” He looked up at her and smiled, mere curves of his features visible in the darkness of the house. His hair separated in the dark, revealing a nasty scar covering his skull from the front to the back.

  He’s still handsome with his wounds. Scarred but handsome.

  “Then you slide this back in here and reconnect here, and you’re back in business. Not a professional cleaning, but it’ll get us by in the field. Keep us in the fight.” He checked the safety of the weapon, and without pointing the barrel in anyone else’s direction, he handed it back to her. He gave her a grim smile. “Don’t want to flag you.”

  She took the weapon back, cradling its weight in her arms like a newborn. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Hope lined his eyes. “Tomorrow we should be there. Check on Mom, make sure she’s all right. Her house isn’t ideal for defense, but I bet I can make it work in the short-term. Barricade the living room and get a sniper nest on the top floor.”

  He still has hope that she’s alive. I still hope she is, but how can we believe that? “Where’s Kevin?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Top floor looking out for problems,” Mark said.

  Could
he have heard me getting sick?

  She could lie to him if he asked, deny the whole thing, or she could blame it on the food again. They were men. They wouldn’t take notice of minor mishaps like this. Better to root and stamp out such inquisitive thoughts early.

  “I’m going to go help him.”

  Steele rested his head back on the white plush couch like a pillow.

  “Okay. I’m going to crash for a few. Wake me up if something’s going on.”

  “You look like you need it,” she said, watching to see if he caught onto her bluff.

  “I know. I know,” he said, leaning back to get comfortable.

  He did need the sleep. How the man operated with so little rest bewildered her, but better for her to talk to Kevin alone.

  She left the two men snoozing and drifted up the stairs. Kevin stood at a window, his M4 carbine resting in the corner. He paced nervously back and forth. The moon glinted off a bottle traveling to and from his lips as he walked.

  “Hi, Kevin,” she said lightly. Kevin splashed alcohol onto the carpet in surprise. He looked down and back at her, disappointed.

  “Gwen. God. Jesus and the saints. You scared the crap out of me. Make an announcement or something. I spilled the good stuff.” He gave her a half-smile.

  She stepped inside the bedroom, looking out into the window.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “No worries,” he breathed and turned back to the window.

  They were quiet, watching the night. Waves thundered below in the dead of night. The moon glowed on the water, revealing the whites of the caps as they crashed on the shore. Moans drifted from below. The wind or them?

  “Wild and beautiful,” Kevin said, startling her from her mesmerized thoughts.

  “Wha-?” she said. She shook her head, folding her arms beneath her tender chest. Try and act normal, she reminded herself. “Yeah, it is. Almost two months ago, it would have been warm enough to go in. Perfect weather. Fall comes fast and hard up here. When we come for Thanksgiving, there’s always snow,” Gwen said.