These Dead Lands: Immolation (43 page)

Hastings was busy
getting his people and the aircraft crew ready to abandon the stricken Chinook as its big rotors slowly wound down. A foul burning smell emanated from the rear of the aircraft, and he nudged the crew chief.

“Hey, are we on fire?” he yelled.

“Negative. That’s transmission fluid burning up as it hits the casing up in the pylon,” the crew chief shouted, pointing overhead. “I’m dropping the ramp. You guys need to get ready!”

No sooner had the crew chief finished then the Chinook’s rear ramp descended to the parking lot. Two reekers were virtually right outside. Hastings brought up his M4 and popped off several rounds. His aim was good, and both zombies collapsed to the pavement as 5.56-millimeter rounds burrowed into their skulls.

“Fuck, guy!” he yelled at the crew chief. “At least give me a chance!”

Hastings preceded his soldiers down the ramp, his M4 shouldered and ready. Another trio of reekers was thirty feet away, and they surged toward him when he emerged from the helicopter. Hastings and two other soldiers dropped them with a hail of gunfire.

The Chinook’s engines spooled down, and the big rotors came to a surprisingly quick halt. Other than the whine of a generator somewhere inside the aircraft, the helicopter was now silent. Hastings organized his men into security positions, though several of them were already firing at approaching reekers. The aircraft commander, an older chief warrant officer five with a thick mustache, hurried down the ramp with the rest of the aircrew.

“Were you able to let the other bird know we were going down?” Hastings asked him.

“Yeah, he’s headed back this way to give us some air support and pick us up when we’re ready to move.” The pilot pointed over his shoulder, toward the nose of the downed Chinook. “He’s gonna land in the parking lot at twelve o’clock.”

“Thanks,” Hastings said.

Guerra’s voice came over his radio. “Lakota, this is Apache. Over.”

“Go, Apache!”

“We’ve got a perimeter set up along Grayson Street. If you’re gonna do something, make it quick. The reekers are coming over the bridge in waves, and we’re having a hell of a time holding them back. Over.”

“Good copy. Break. Gunslinger, this is Lakota. We’re ready for pick up. Over.”

“Lakota, this is Gunslinger. Roger. Two mikes out. We’re coming in hot, so have your guys ready to move. Over.”

“Wilco, Gunslinger. Break. Apache, we’re moving now to the Chinook’s twelve o’clock. Over,” Hastings said.

“Roger, Lakota. Keep an eye out for squirters. Some have gotten past us. Over.”

“Yeah, I think we have them, Apache,” Hastings said dryly as more of the men in his detachment opened fire.

*

Guerra was surprised
to hear an eardrum-shattering heavy-metal guitar riff over the din of gunfire. This time, it was “Die Motherfucker Die” by Dope.

What the fuck?
Fucking Stilley! I’ll kill him myself, if the reekers don’t. I swear!

Guerra keyed his mike. “Apache One Three Alpha, what are you—” Then it dawned on him. Stilley’s vehicle had the MISO Radio in a Box. The music would attract the reekers, drawing them right to it. Maybe Stilley wasn’t retarded after all.

Well, he
is
in the vehicle with the RIB, though. Yeah, the dude’s definitely impaired.

The reekers that made past the MRAPs turned and headed south, marching toward Stilley’s Humvee, which continued to blare Dope’s greatest heavy metal anthem ever at live concert decibels.

*

What the hell?
Hastings had been headed for the front of the aircraft when music came out of nowhere. The second Chinook was already inbound and would be landing right about the time Hastings and his men got to the edge of the second parking lot.

“Diamond formation!” someone yelled, and the soldiers instinctively picked up their positions as they continued to shoot and move at the same time.

“
Help
!”

Hastings turned to see one of the Guardsmen fighting with two reekers. Before he could raise his weapon, one of the zombies sank its teeth into the soldier’s neck. Shots rang out, and both reekers slumped to the ground. The Guardsman was as good as dead, not only because of the virus but also from the wound hemorrhaging a massive amount of blood. As the soldier went down, more reekers attacked him, despite the firepower hurled their way.

The Chinook flew over the group and descended, its rear ramp lowering. At twenty feet off the deck, the crew chief manned the .50 caliber and began shooting the reekers behind the group. He had to cease fire once the helicopter was about to touch down, lest he start walking rounds through the running troops. The Chinook landed, bouncing on its landing gear.

The men made a mad dash for the bird. The guns in the shoulder windows on either side of the aircraft were firing continuously, and everywhere Hastings looked, reekers were moving toward them. The tide of corpses would overwhelm the helicopter’s defenses if they didn’t take off soon. As they ran for the Chinook, the pilots pulled in power, making the aircraft light on its wheels before they slowly lifted off the pavement. Soldiers leaped aboard, frightened that the helicopter would take off and leave them. By the time Hastings got there, the ramp was several feet above the ground, and the crew chief was alternating between helping guys up and shooting at the reekers following them.

The aircraft continued to lift off slowly, and as Hastings and the last of the group of soldiers reached the edge of the ramp, they had to jump to grab the outstretched hands of the men on board. Once on the bird, Hastings did a quick head count of his people. He was short three soldiers, not counting the one he saw die. Looking out the Chinook’s open rear, he saw zombies clustered around three other soldiers who had fallen during the rush for the bird. As the helicopter climbed higher, the sheer number of reekers mesmerized him. Their numbers were awesome, overwhelming. And to think the convoy had been fighting them off since they arrived at the rail yard…

The trains… what about the trains?

Hastings saw one of the trains moving down the track. Shifting to the inside of the aircraft, he leaned over some troops to look out the side windows, searching for the other one. He spotted it already moving down the tracks, hauling a line of cars behind it. Both the trains had made it.

“Apache One Two, get your people out of there! We’re clear. Over!” Hastings yelled over the radio.

“Copy” was all that came back.

*

Guerra came up
on the internal channel. “All Apache elements, begin exfil! Get to the exfil route as fast as you can, and move north to the ORP! Over!”

There was no time to form up a proper convoy. They needed to get out of there and fast, if they wanted to survive long enough to make it to the Objective Rally Point. The MRAPs that had been covering the bridge drove past Guerra’s position, heading to the highway. On top of both vehicles, soldiers were holding on and shooting any reekers that tried to climb up the sides. Guerra almost chuckled when he saw Stilley on top of the second MRAP with a SAW machine gun, shooting in controlled bursts to the sides and rear of the vehicle while the turret gunner did his best to shoot those in front. It was amazing what the human brain could take in, when in a life or death situation. In that instant, Guerra clearly saw Stilley working like a well-oiled machine, calm and controlled, as he laid down fire in a methodical manner as if he did it every day.

You’re holding shit down like a boss. Way to go… retard,
Guerra thought himself.

Guerra’s vehicle careened through the Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club parking lot, as that was the quickest way to get back to the exfil route. As the Humvee rocketed by, Guerra could see what those who had been positioned there had been talking about on the radio. Reekers were everywhere. He also noticed a lot of them looked fresh, and they moved as though they were still alive—in fact, when he first saw them, he thought they might be survivors. That impression was dispelled when they started trying to swarm the vehicles.

*

The crew chief
grabbed Hastings and yelled into his ear, “Sir, the pilot says the other birds are just a few minutes behind us.”

That was good news. Hastings hoped things had gone well there. He didn’t know since he hadn’t had communication with Ballantine for some time. “Thanks. Ask the pilot to let them catch up to us so we can move as one. And see if he can find out if the train from that location is moving.”

The crew chief gave Hastings a thumbs-up and began speaking into his helmet’s boom microphone. He turned back to Hastings a second later and shot him two thumbs-up. Things were moving along.

Now we just have to make it back to the base.
He needed to know how the ground convoy was doing. He keyed his radio’s PTT button. “Apache, this is Lakota. Say SITREP. Over.”

*

Guerra was trying
to organize his people when he heard Hastings’s call. “Lakota, this is Apache. We’re reconsolidating on the move at this time, so I don’t have a good head count yet. I’d say I’ve got about half of my vehicles at this time. We’re still moving to the ORP. Over.”