White Ash on Bone: A Zombie Novel (23 page)

Rex grinned at the girl, “It’s a nickname.”  He turned his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

“So are you going to tell me the story behind it?” she asked.

“I think I’ll pass,” said Rex.

“If you don’t tell me” Alison said, “I can always ask Ginger in the morning.”

“You could ask Ginger,” Rex said, “but she doesn’t know.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ginger said with her eyes still closed. “Now tell her, or I’ll wake everyone up for the story.”

“Go back to sleep, Ginger,” Rex said, “I don’t need ganged up on.”

“Get used to it, baby, the last time I looked you’ve added a lot of estrogen into your life,” Ginger said.

“You’d better listen to your wife,” added Alison.  “In your husband’s defense, you did bring me home.”

“Oh sure I did,” Ginger replied, “But he brought in the two after that.”  Ginger smiled and closed her eyes again. She snuggled back against Rex.

“So back in the 80s,” Rex said, “my father was into the whole monster truck thing.  He owned a truck called
Tyrannosaur
that traveled around the monster truck circuit.”

“Really,” Alison said, “I used to have a picture of
Bigfoot
hanging on the wall of my bedroom as a little girl.”

“Flirt,” Ginger said while keeping her eyes shut.

“Anyway,” Rex continued, “I was really little myself and used to like to roar like a dinosaur while sitting in the truck before shows.  There was this picture of me hanging out the driver’s side window with my fingers all curled out like claws, roaring my head off.  The caption read, “
Tyrannosaur’s
little Rex roars at the crowd.”  The picture was ridiculous, and I’m glad You Tube wasn’t around back then.  After that, everyone called me Rex.”

Alison smiled at him, “Can I hear it?” she giggled.

“Hear what?” Rex said.

“I want to hear you roar like a dinosaur,” Alison said.

“Estrogen,” Rex sighed.

Chapter Twelve

The helicopter skid bumped against the ground, and Rex felt the cool morning air rush inside the vehicle when Captain Anderson threw the door open.  Anderson and Winters were the first out of the helicopter followed by three other guardsmen.  Rex and Sulla followed the group onto the concrete of the runway. 

Anderson waved them over away from the helicopter, and the machine cranked up its engine and took off behind them.

The group didn’t need to search for the zombies to clear them away from the runway; the noise from the helicopter drew them to the spot like magnets.  At least 50 zombies closed in on the group from multiple vectors.

“Listen up,” ordered Anderson. “We are going to move into the grass between the runway and taxiway and let them come to us.  We’re going to put them down at close range so we don’t have to worry about dragging them off the runway.”

The group followed Anderson into the island of grass in the sea of concrete.  The blades of grass were wet with the condensation left over from the early morning-dew.  The ground sloped gently downward to a storm drain positioned in the center of the island.  Anderson stopped on the grate of the catch basin.

“We hold this ground,” Anderson ordered.  “From a semi-circle five feet apart from the guy next to you and don’t shoot till they’re less than 15 feet away.”

“If you haven’t already, lock and load with safeties off,” added Winters.  “Watch your fields of fire, and that goes double for you two civilians.” 

The first zombie headed at them from the direction of the terminal sitting several hundred yards in the distance.  It was a woman dressed in a blue uniform with a red stained white undershirt.

“Stewardess,” one of the guardsmen shouted.  She crossed over the grass and closed in on the group headed for Winters.

“They call them flight attendants now,” Winters said. “It’s disrespectful to call her a stew.”

Winter’s gun cracked out at the zombie.  Rex watched a large section of the back of her skull detach with hair connected to it as the bullet exited her head.  The body dropped to the grass and became inert.

“So I doubt we can expect to see a beverage cart anytime soon then,” said one of the other soldiers.

“Can the chatter,” said Anderson. “Let’s focus on the job at hand.”

Another zombie came limping onto the grass in Rex’s line of fire.  The man’s scalp had somehow been peeled off and the morning sun’s rays glistened off the white and red surface of his exposed skull.  The zombie wore a ground crew jacket with orange and white reflective strips on his shirt and sleeves.

“You got them, Rex?” Anderson asked as the zombie closed the distance.

Rex felt the sun warm the back of his neck as he brought the AK-47 up.  He pressed the butt of the wooden stock up against his shoulder and his fingers lined up outside the metal trigger guard of the weapon.  The sights lined up on the ground crewman’s head, and he repositioned his trigger finger to the kill position.  Rex breathed out and squeezed the trigger.  The gun slammed back against his shoulder, and the crack of ignited gunpowder filled his ears.  Rex’s eyes barely had time to register the ejected shell casing flying into the air.  The zombie's head fell to the left as its throat blew out to the back and the side.  The creature fell to the ground with its spinal column shattered at the neck.

Rex breathed shallow short breaths as adrenaline pulsed through his body.

“Just relax,” Anderson said. “Take your time and breathe.  Your shot was lined up perfect; you just got a little twitchy at the end.”

Rex lined up the gun on the downed zombie and let loose another round.  The bullet smashed through the top of the creature’s head, spraying its body behind it with gore.

“Practice time is over,” Anderson said. “We got a group of them inbound.  Looks like the fuckers are going to hit us at the same time.”

“Watch your fields of fire,” ordered Winters.

A group of 8 zombies approached the island from multiple directions arriving at roughly the same time.  Rex heard the soldiers behind him open fire.  He felt the temptation to turn around, but he had two more zombies approaching him from his front.  Rex lined up a ghoul in his sights and felt a hot shell casing hit his back from behind.  His AK cracked out yet again adding to the chorus of destruction.   In the sky, Rex could make out Jack Cotta’s plane as it banked around the airport as the group made their stand against the undead. 

Several minutes later, dozens of bodies were stacked up in a ring around the group on the grass island.  The moisture in the morning air rapidly depleted as the sun cooked up to full power.  The heat started to ripple on the tarmac causing distortions whenever Rex looked down the runway.

“Here’s the plan,” Anderson said.  “We’ve killed the deadheads that want to party, we’re going to have to flush out the rest.  We split into two groups and clear each end of the runway.  When we reach each end of the runway we radio the birds, which will then roll out and take off.  The chopper lands on one end and picks up one group.  After that, Cotta flies in on the other and end of the runway and picks up the other group.”

“What if we run across a large group of them?” Sulla asked.

“Then we radio it in and both groups fall back to here and we deal with them together,” replied Anderson.  “Sergeant, take Privates Kovalcik and Callen with you to clean out the terminal side of the runway.”

Anderson locked eyes with Rex, “We shouldn’t have to go into the airport, but you better take Rex with you just in case.  Sulla you’re with me.”

“I’m afraid I’ll to go with Rex,” Sulla said.  “His little clan of Amazons pulled me aside this morning and accused me of getting him into this.  If he doesn’t come back, it might not go well for me,” Sulla joked.  “Besides,” he continued, “we’re old friends, I want to be there if they run into trouble.”

Anderson nodded, “Fine, now let’s liberate some planes.”

“All right,” said Winters, “you heard the man. Let’s move.”

Rex fell into place to the left of Sulla as they headed off down the taxiway in the direction of the airport parking lot at the far end of the runway. 

Pittsburgh International was laid out around a central hub with four concourses extending out from the center.  On their right in the distance, the end of B concourse extended out at them. 

“Sulla, did the girls really talk to you this morning?” Rex said.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Sulla replied, “I came out of the shitter this morning to find your wife and that girl you pulled out of the body bag waiting for me with guns pointing at my head.”

“Maybe we should have brought them,” Winters said.

“Ginger was pretty torn up with the loss of her parents,” Rex said.  “I think she’s dealing by trying to make a new family with the people we picked up.”

"You’re going to have your hands full with the two of them," Sulla said.

"Sounds like the girl you picked up is getting all doe eyed on you," Winters said.  "I've seen that stuff play out on deployment.  A guy and a girl go through hard times together, and the next thing you know, they’re fuck buddies."

"Oh shit, we're fucked," said Callen.

The group had walked out past the end of the concourse gates to the space between it and the next arm of gates.  A US Airways jet, sitting on the end of the concourse coupled with a jet way, had blocked their view inside the massive opening.  Past the obstruction they had walked into view of the undead.

An entire window section of the concourse had been shattered at some point in time during the airport being overrun.  A food service truck marked, "Meal Wagon," sat coupled to the front of an aircraft it had been servicing. A mass of undead surrounded the truck beating and pushing on the vehicle. A man stood on top of the truck waving and screaming at them.

"Hey, over here." The man screamed.  "Please help me."

"He's a little more fucked than we are," said Kovalcik.

"They must have somehow come through the plane," Sulla said. 

"There is a section of the concourse windows smashed out in front of the truck," Rex pointed out.

"Unlucky bastard," Winters said, "Must have seen him from the inside and blown the window out when there was enough of them."

"How the heck did we miss this from the air?" Callen said.

"Sun was just up," Winters said. "That area was in a big dark shadow at the time.  Let’s get back into cover and get the rest of the group. There is no way in hell we can tango with that many."

Down the runway behind them, automatic weapons fire broke the silence of the moment and rattled out.  The noise turned every head in the mass of undead assaulting the truck.

"Oh shit, they see us," Callen.

"Why didn’t they come out with all the gunfire before?" Kovalcik said.

"There was nothing to see then," Rex said, "Now they’ve got something to look at other than Mr. Meal Wagon."

The closest zombie took its first step in the direction of the group; behind it, hundreds followed.

"We can't go back, they’ll follow us onto the runway," Sulla said.

"Get ready to fire," Winters ordered.

"We can't shoot," screamed Rex while he pointed at a fuel truck sitting to their left.

"I know what to do," Sulla said, "Follow me."

“I should have stayed back with all of that estrogen,” Rex breathed to himself while he ran down the taxiway. 

Sulla ran in the direction of the end of the next concourse away from a horde of hundreds ghouls.  This also had them running in the general direction of the fuel truck.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sulla?” screamed Winters.  “That’s the fucking fuel truck we are running at.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sulla replied, “Just keep running, and get your ass around the corner of the concourse.”  Rex noticed for the first time that a section of the concourse they were running at was jammed full of dead.  The glass shattered under their pounding and bodies spilled onto the pavement like water.  One by one, the dead picked themselves up off the ground and joined the chase.

###

Anderson had a bad feeling, as he made his way down the runway in the direction of the 911
^th
.
  The base shared the runways with the civilian airport.  He had tried to radio the C-130s sitting on the tarmac, and his answer was silence.

He approached the planes with his men to his right and left in a skirmish line formation.  They walked past the planes and approached the corner of the nearest hanger.  Anderson and his men rounded the corner and saw the flight crews standing in a line shoulder-to-shoulder facing in the opposite direction.  Behind the flight crews were 5 soldiers with military police bands around their arms.  They were pointing guns at the flight crews.

“There they are, Captain,” one of his soldiers said. “What the heck?”  In unison, both prisoners and guards turned toward Anderson.

A Major stepped out from behind the guards and three of his men followed the Major as he approached Anderson.  “Captain,” said the Major, “Do you want to explain to me who you are, and why you are here?”

“I'm Rick Anderson, Pennsylvania National Guard out of Butler.”

“Sir,” Anderson asked, “Why are you detaining these men?”

“These men abandoned their duty, Captain.  Are you associated with them?” he asked as he continued forward.