Mortal: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (42 page)

Whipper smoothed back the white hair that to Cade seemed to
be getting lighter and thinner by the day. He raised his hands shoulder high
and said, “I’m sorry. I thought I’d take the initiative ... do you a favor. I
kind of feel like I still owe you for what you endured the other day. Losing
Sergeant Maddox on your watch and all.”

Checking his rising anger, Cade made no reply.

“Hear me out,” said Whipper, hands on hips. “I did some
thinking”—
for a change
, Cade thought—“even in that big rig of yours, the
second you get outside the wire you’ve got three things working against you—”

“More like three hundred million. And they’re all dead,”
countered Cade. He flicked his gaze to Raven and then to Brook, who was giving
him the look that all women seemed to have been born knowing how to deliver. It
was obvious she wanted to be in the loop—
yesterday
. He shrugged,
adjusted his stance on the crutches, and returned his attention to Whipper.

“First off, south and west of here there are still large
groups of Zs that splintered off from the Pueblo herd. And if you go the
obvious overland route through Manitou Springs, then you’d no doubt have an
uphill battle just trying to avoid tangling with them. Secondly, northwest of
here there are bunches of Zs leftover from the Denver horde, many of them
radioactive. They’ve been roaming the no man’s land between Springs and the
Castle Rock craters since you Delta guys popped the nukes.”

“I was told the 4th ID had a handle on the Zs,” said Cade,
flashing Brook his open hand, a silent plea for five more minutes.

“The ones from Pueblo for the most part. But it’ll be months
before they clean up the hot ones. They spread out north and east. Just kept
walking leaving trails of footprints in the fallout. Hope is that the cold
weather will slow them down. You know that Fuentes fella ... before he was
killed he put one of them in the walk-in freezer in the mess hall.”

“And?”

“It froze. Stopped moving ... until Fuentes thawed it out.
Then ... business as usual.”

Shaking his head, Cade said, “And the third thing going
against me?”

“Nash,” said Whipper with a certain twinkle in his eyes.
“She’s not really against you though ... unless you decline her overture.”

“Which is?”

“She feels indebted to you, I would suppose. She ordered me
to make sure you and your family get to Mack in one piece. Major Greg Beeson
will be expecting you.”

Smiling and shaking his head in disbelief, Cade heard Nash
in his mind, the words spoken slowly and deliberately:
Be careful what you
wish for.

“Shall I have my men secure the sling?”

Eyes downcast and keeping his distance, Wilson filed by
carrying a bat and a backpack. Apparently Brook had put two-and-two together
and had gotten the
show on the road
. Another of Cade’s pet sayings. “Go
ahead. Looks like the call has already been made by my better half.” He watched
Sasha, loaded down with baggage, doddle along behind her brother and follow him
up the Chinook’s ramp.

“Done,” said Whipper, beaming after having just killed two
birds with one stone. He began backing away, but before he was out of earshot
Cade called out, “Who’s flying us there?”

“Not to worry ... he’s a SOAR aviator. And I think he should
be finishing up with the pre-flight on the other side of the helo. You should
go on over and introduce yourself,” Whipper answered rather cryptically.

Just then a fuel bowser, ungainly and heavy up top, rounded
the far hangar and crossed the tarmac at a walking speed, its engine and
overworked, whining transmission drowning out all other sound. It pulled a neat
U-turn and parked between the Ford and the MH-47. Then a harsh squeal sounded
from the fuel tanker as the driver applied the brakes and silenced the motor.

Deciding not to get in the way of the refueling process,
Cade put meeting the air crew on hold. Instead, he covered the short distance
to the Cushman and sat down next to Brook.

He told her everything Whipper had just told him, most of
which she had already guessed. “A few minutes is all, and we’ll be airborne.”

“That helicopter can pick up the truck?” asked Raven, a
touch of amazement in her voice.

“And then some,” answered Cade. “I’ve seen one like it
carrying
two
Humvees.”

Having ridden in a Humvee once or twice, the visual of two
of them taking the place of the Ford made Raven’s eyes go wide.

“How long will the flight take?” asked Wilson, who had just
returned after stowing his gear in the aircraft.

Cade guessed and said, “Two hours, tops.”

“Anything you need me to do? I need something to take my
mind off of Taryn.”

“Care for a word of advice?” asked Cade.

“Sure,” answered Wilson. “Can’t possibly make matters
worse.”

“Not so sure of that. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. Just turned before the rest of America
turned
.”

“She won’t be the last.”

“Last?”

“Last one to break your heart,” said Cade. He looked at the
sun-painted peaks in the distance and then added in a near whisper, “I’d get
used to it if I were you.”

***

 Ten minutes after it hooked up to the Chinook the fuel
bowser pulled away, leaving Cade a clear view of the pilot; he already had his
flight helmet on and was conversing with two men who looked to be the co-pilot
and crew-chief. The three men were having an animated discussion, and by the
time Cade approached to within earshot he recognized the very distinct voice of
someone who he’d spent plenty of time with over the last week or so.

“Ari Silver, I’m not getting in that bird with you,” said
Cade jokingly.

“Not you again,” Ari shot back over his shoulder. He had a
few more words with his crew and then broke free from the pre-flight jaw
session. “Nash didn’t tell you I’d be shuttling you to Mack?”

“In hindsight, yes. But I failed to read between the lines.”

“Surprised?”

“Yes, because you were pretty beat up yesterday. And no,
because I went to bat for you ...
twice
. Once when I penned the
watered-down after action report. Then when I had my
exit interview
with
Freda Nash.”

“Thanks. Means a lot,” said Ari.

Arching a brow, Cade replied, “Even though you’re stuck
flying a
Shithook
.”

“I’m just grateful to be on the stick. Plus, there’s nothing
for me to do here on the ground. Speaking of ground ... everything is onboard.
Your monster truck is in the sling and ready to go.” He looked towards his crew
who had been standing just out of earshot, spun his finger in a ragged circle
and shouted, “We’re
oscar mike
in five.”

“One question,” said Cade, leaning in close.

Ari cocked his head but said nothing.

“How are you feeling ... your arms and shoulders?”

Ari smiled wide. He took a breath and said, “Couple of
Ibuprofens and a deep tissue massage set me back on course. Besides, I’m
flying, so everything is right with the world.”

Everything?
thought Cade “Honored to fly with you
again,” he said.

“Means a lot after all that’s happened. Put ‘er here.”

They shook hands and Cade creaked away, leaving Ari to
finish his pre-flight.

Eden Compound

With Daymon matching him stride for stride, Duncan trudged a
beeline across the grassy clearing, his gaze locked firmly on the vague outline
of the borrowed Black Hawk helicopter. With a large swath of dark woodland
camouflage netting stretched across the rotors and covering the cockpit glass
like a veil of mourning, the chopper looked more like a widow attending a
funeral than the utilitarian work-horse helicopter he hoped to have airborne
shortly.

With help from Daymon who possessed a nearly ten-inch
advantage in the reach department, they freed the helicopter from the fabric
shroud. And as they dragged the netting a good distance away from the helicopter
a stiff breeze kicked up, fluttering the fabric and prompting Duncan to add the
mental note
Slight breeze from the west
to the flotsam and jetsam
clouding his mind.

“You get the left seat,” Duncan called out as he loped
around the helo’s nose and began his cursory preflight inspection.

“You’re flying ...
right?
” asked Daymon pensively.

“Yes, Daymon. A helicopter is the opposite of a car, though.
Pilot usually sits on the starboard side so he can see the tail rotor. The
co-pilot sits on the left—”

Thinking back to his previous ride in the very same
helicopter suddenly jogged Daymon’s memory. “On the
port
side,” he
replied, finishing Duncan’s thought. He popped his
port
side door open
and clambered in, maneuvering his long legs around the stick before positioning
his boots rather awkwardly into the footwell.

“What are you ... part spider?” asked Duncan, looking up at
the former BLM firefighter.

Daymon made no reply. Merely flashed the old man a wan smile
as he snugged the flight helmet over his dreadlocks.

Duncan smiled and continued his walk-around, taking in the
condition of the helicopter’s fuselage. Considering the previous night’s rain,
the amount of accumulated human detritus that remained was staggering. Bloody
hand prints and slug-track-like streaks of unknown bodily fluids painted both
of the helo’s flanks and clouded nearly every pane of aviation glass encircling
its rounded-off nose. He wet a rag he’d found in the chopper with residual dew
off the grass. Made a few passes over the cockpit windows. Next, he inspected
the moving parts on the tail assembly. From flight school on up to his days
flying slicks and Cobra gunships with the 1st Air Calvary in Vietnam, this had
always been his least favorite part of flying. But thankfully he was spared the
task of scaling the chopper after learning from the DHS manual that, unlike the
venerable Huey, this Black Hawk didn’t have a Jesus bolt that needed checking
prior to every flight. So instead of looking like a geriatric Spiderman, he
eyeballed the drooping rotor blades from the ground. Finally, after determining
that everything he knew enough to inspect prior to getting in the air appeared
to be in working order, he opened the starboard side door and slipped behind
the controls.

“Kick the tires and light the fires?” said Daymon.

Not in the mood for small talk, Duncan said nothing. He
snugged on a pair of gloves left behind by the last aircrew, donned his helmet,
and plugged his comms jack into the port.

“That’s a line from Top Gun,” added Daymon sheepishly.

After shrugging on the harness and snugging it tight,
Duncan, who was growing more surly by the minute, finally answered, “Something
like that.” Then his hands went to work flicking switches that brought various
systems on line and set a good portion of the cockpit lights and dials glowing
in soft reds and greens.
Good to go
, he thought. The hour plus he’d
spent reading the manual earlier had paid off. He brought the APU on line,
which in turn fired up the turbines. They howled to a crescendo and the four rotor
blades above their heads spun up, fast becoming a blur of white and black. The
second the rpms were sufficient for takeoff, Duncan pulled pitch and the
chopper lifted gradually into the air and then pivoted on axis. “Hang on,” he
said through clenched teeth as the nose dipped, the engine noise increased, and
the clearing fell away below them.

“How are the eyes?” asked Daymon.

“Fine.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Find Logan and give him a piece of my mind for not checking
in.”

“You’re not his dad,” Daymon proffered as the horizon
changed drastically and the g-forces from the abrupt maneuver to port pushed
him against the seatback.

Silence.

“Do you know where your bro was going?”

“Not necessarily. I’m operating on hearsay and innuendo and
assumption here ... but it’s all I got. From what Logan told me earlier, the
old guy’s place was rumored to be somewhere between Huntsville and Woodruff.
That’s thirty-six miles as the crow flies ... much farther on the ground.” He
paused for a spell as his hard-set eyes danced between the gauges and the gray
stripe of road splitting the lush green canopy flicking by underneath them. He
swiveled his head, then made the helicopter climb sharply before leveling it
out and slowing considerably. “The compound is nearly smack dab between the two
towns. Makes looking for them a little easier.”

“Why’s that?”

“Less of a chance of the old guy setting up shop near
Huntsville because that’s where he was renting his equipment from. Hell, if I
was him I’d do the same thing ... throw anyone who was watching off the trail.”

“So Woodruff is dead ahead?”

“About thirteen miles, I gather. Figure I’ll just follow 39
and hope the cruiser shows itself.”

Daymon nodded and continued scanning the road and forest to
the right. “I see a little river down below. A few scattered groups of rotters
as well.”

“Probably traipsing back and forth between their old
stomping grounds. I bet those things are thick down near Ogden on into Salt
Lake.”

“Like molasses,” answered Daymon. “Seen them with my own
eyes. South Salt Lake blew my mind. Dead everywhere. Rotters and half-eaten
corpses.”

“Too far gone to reanimate?”

Nodding, Daymon said, “And they were the lucky ones.”

Turning the Black Hawk to port to follow a sweeping bend in
the road brought a knuckle of red-hued earth jutting several hundred feet above
the surrounding foothills into their path of flight. The high sun was flaring
off of a substantial body of water that looked too symmetrical not to have been
man-made.

“What the heck is that?”