The Fall of Society (The Fall of Society Series, Book 1) (25 page)

           
The
helicopter continued toward the buildings, but what they didn’t know, because
the smaller buildings that surrounded the mental facility blocked it from their
view—were the 3,000 undead in the street in front of the hospital.

           
They
were heading right for it…

           
“They’re
heading right for us!” Joe said.

           
“Maybe
it’s a rescue?” Maggie hoped.

           
“Hell
yeah! They can fly us out of this shit hole!” Derek exclaimed.

           
“I
doubt it,” Bear said, but nobody heard him, except Ardent and Lauren.

           
“Can
we all fit in that thing?” Milla asked.

           
“Don’t
know. It depends on what kind of helicopter it is,” Tom said.

           
“I
can’t tell,” Alan said. “It’s too far away.”

           
Lauren
stood there emotionless as she watched the aircraft.

           
“It’s
a Black Hawk,” Bear said. “And it’s not coming to rescue us.”

           
“What
do you mean?” Joe said. “How do you know that?”

           
“It’s
in trouble.” Bear explained. “It’s only running on one engine.”

           
“How
can you tell?” Anthony asked.

           
“I
know that sound, it’s either low on fuel or has a damaged engine,” Bear said. “Either
way, they can’t pick all of us up; it would be too much weight.”

           
“It’s
probably not gonna land here, anyway,” Ceraulo said.

           
The
helicopter’s steady engine noise suddenly sputtered for a moment, moaned, and
then regained its power.

           
“It
is,” Ardent said.

           
“This
is it!” Hayward shouted.

           
The
instrument panel reported multiple alarms as Hayward struggled to control the
helicopter during its engine power fluctuations.

           
“We’re
almost there, are we gonna make it?” John asked.

           
“I
don’t know, but strap yourself in!”

           
John
buckled himself into his chair and tightened the straps.

           
They
were two miles out and closing fast.

           
One
…

           
The
last engine sputtered more frequently, it struggled to stay alive and Hayward
tried to control the thirsty bird the best he could.

           
Quarter of a mile
…

           
They
made it to the first building in the cluster, they swung around it at a high
speed and that’s when they saw what waited for them just a few hundred feet
ahead in front of the hospital—the helicopter was heading straight for a
street crammed with thousands of walking corpses.

           
“Oh
fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Hayward cried out.

           
“Jesus!
Get us outta here, Hayward!”

           
“I’m
trying!” Hayward shouted as he pulled on his controls to turn the beast.

           
The
engine groaned more violently, it sputtered in a series of quick high revs and
then stalled out.

           
It
was done.

           
“Oh
Jesus!” Hayward muttered. “We’re going down, John, we’re gonna crash right in
the middle of that shit!”

           
“No,
no, no, no!” John shouted and thought quick. “Fire everything we have at them!”

           
Hayward
activated the weapon controls and used the missile targeting system to lock a
firing pattern onto the street in front of the hospital, he placed his fingers
on the weapon triggers of the flight stick, which was shimmying violently, and
he pulled the trigger—

           
One
missile fired away and streaked toward the street ahead of them…

           
They
watched the helicopter’s missile speed in their direction.

           
“Oh
shit!” Derek said.

           
“Take
cover!” Ardent yelled.

           
They
scattered and hid behind whatever was closest—Tom’s trailer, some
abandoned cars, anything—as the missile streaked in toward the street in
front of the hospital wall, it impacted at the beginning of the street and
exploded with a concussion blast wave that instantly blew apart dozens of the
dead and the following fireball consumed many more.

           
A
second missile took off from the helicopter…

           
And
then a third…

           
Followed
by a fourth…

           
Each
missile struck across the length of the street in front of the hospital, and they
destroyed a couple thousand undead because they were so tightly packed. The
powerful fire clouds licked over the hospital’s wall and the ground shook hard…

           
In
the courtyard, not too far from the group, they were still unaware of the
sinkhole from the sewer tunnel blast. It was larger now, and more of the ground
sank from the impacts of the missiles…

           
In
addition, every undead creature for miles heard the missile explosions—they
all looked and saw the black smoke rise in the sky, and all of them headed in
that direction…

           
The
air was thick with smoke and fire. The powerless helicopter sliced through the fiery
clouds as it descended like a falling arrow, black smoke curled in big spiraling
waves in the wake of the helicopter’s blades and its forward facing machine gun
was blaring as it fired at everything in its path…

           
“Yeah,
you dead sonsabitches, get some!” Hayward shouted over the machine gun fire.

           
The
group watched as it flew past them and went down into the street—John
glanced over and got a quick glimpse of the people in the courtyard. Anthony ran
into the hospital and up the stairs to the roof…

           
The
helicopter flew over the devastation from the missiles, body parts were
everywhere, many undead flapped around like fish out of water because they had
no limbs.

           
“Here
we go! Brace for impact, John!”

           
The
aircraft hit the street extremely hard in a sound of crunched metal and slicing
rotor blades. It bounced into the air and hit the pavement again, rolled over,
and its blades shattered against the street and broke apart in shards. What was
left of the aircraft crashed into the building catty-corner across the street from
the hospital, the cockpit rammed into the concrete wall next to the building’s lobby.
It settled upright but at an angle. The dust began to clear and John snapped
out of his disorientation and tried to get his seat belts off, but they were stuck,
so he grabbed a knife and cut himself loose. He climbed out fast and grabbed
his gear.

           
“Come
on, Heyward, we gotta get outta here!”

           
“I
think I’m gonna hang around for a bit,” Hayward said with a weak voice.

           
“What?”
John said and turned to Hayward and saw why—

           
A
concrete pillar from the building had pierced the helicopter’s window and
slammed into Hayward’s midsection upon impact, pinning him to his seat. John
knew that it was bad, because Hayward could barely breathe and was spitting up
blood.

           
Half
a block away—the dead that were still able bodied were gathering
themselves from the missile attack, they began to look around for anything to
kill.

           
They
hadn’t seen the helicopter crash site.

           
Yet
…

           
John
desperately tried to lift the pillar, but it was hundreds of pounds of solid
concrete. Hayward looked over John and saw the dead gathering into a horde again,
he knew that they would see them.

           
Very
soon
…

           
“It’s
no use, John, get out of here,” Hayward muttered with bloodstained lips.

           
“I’m…not
leaving…you,” John told him as he fought with the pillar.

           
Hayward
looked again and saw the horde of at least 2,000—his eyes widened in fear
when a few of them saw them and began to come their way—a moment later, most
of the horde was coming for them—the fast movers were at the head of the
forming spear…

           
“John,
they’re coming! Get out of here! Go!”

           
John
looked—

           
The undead were four hundred feet away
…

           
John
got to the side door mini-gun—the gun’s main body had some damage from
the crash—he loaded it anyway and turned it on.

           
Three
hundred feet
…

           
The
barrel began to spin…

           
Two
hundred and fifty feet
…

           
He
pressed the trigger, but nothing happened.

           
“Shit!”
he shouted.

           
He
opened the weapon and cycled out the round that didn’t fire.

           
One
hundred and fifty feet
…

           
He
checked the firing mechanism haphazardly, made some adjustments, and hit part
of it with the palm of his hand in a fever to make it work.

           
“Come
on! Come on!” he yelled at it.

           
He
glanced at the death getting closer—

           
One
hundred
…

           
He
closed the weapon, loaded it, and turned it on.

           
The
barrel spun, and he pulled the trigger.

           
Nothing
happened.

           
“Fuck!”

           
“John,
go, goddamnit, go!”

           
Seventy-five
…

           
He
opened it again, beat on a certain part of the machine gun with such ferocity
that he definitely fractured the bones in his hand. “Come on, you piece of
shit!” he screamed at it.

           
Fifty
…

           
John
looked closely and saw that he got the metal piece in its proper place, and
then he looked up and saw the growing wall of the undead—

           
Thirty
…

           
He
slapped the weapon shut and activated it—

           
The
barrel began to spin but wouldn’t fire until it was at the needed RPMs to
function.

           
“Work!”
he shouted in fear.

           
Twenty
…

           
The
barrel was at full speed, and John was repeatedly pulling on the trigger, but
it wouldn’t fire.

           
Ten
…

           
John
hit the trigger mechanism with his fist in desperation and pulled it again.

           
Five
…

           
Dead.

           
BZZZ
…
!

           
The
weapon fired in blinding thunder just as the dead reached him, bodies exploded
into red chunks and mist in front of John as he swung the weapon left and right,
cutting down anything in its path. The machine gun muzzle flashes created a
strobe lighting effect that paused the stenches in time before they were
blasted apart.