get there soon. If they didn't, he knew they would all be devoured by the undead horde that was amassing outside.
CHAPTER 22: CHECK THE OIL, TOO …
Crossley stood in the cargo bay and watched the aft ramp slowly descend to the tarmac. With the ramp control in his left hand and a .45 in the other, the pilot looked over at Jackson and Poncho and nodded. Poncho motioned for the co-pilot to wait and cautiously moved down the ramp, mini-14 point shouldered, scanning the surrounding areas. Poncho spoke into his headset as he moved out.
"How's it look, Gator?"
"Clear, lil' buddy." Knox swept the area from his perch in the damaged tower with his rifle’s scope. "No deaders."
"Ten-four, Gator. Watch our asses."
"Asses watched, Poncho." Knox spit out some chew. "Don't forget to check the oil while you're at it."
Sanchez stepped off the ramp and onto the airfield and gave Knox a quick wave. Knox acknowledged him by waving his middle finger. Sanchez chuckled and thought it was a good thing the redneck hadn’t waved his cock at him ‘cause he wouldn’t have been able to see it. The ex-ranger swept the area around the plane again then looked back up the ramp at the two pilots.
"Clear, Mister Jackson!"
"Great." Jackson swallowed and smiled weakly at Crossley. "Time to go!"
"Go get 'em, tiger." Crossley winked. "It'll be easy, Cal. You have the two commandos watching you."
"Yeah." Jackson slowly walked down the ramp. "Thanks, Nate."
"Hey," Crossley smirked, "I'll keep the back door open for ya."
Jackson moved down the ramp and stopped on the tarmac next to the hyper-vigilant Sanchez. The soldier turned to the co-pilot and nodded. "What do you need me to do, Mister Jackson?"
Cal took a deep breath and let it out. "See that refueling truck over by the hangar?"
"Yes." Sanchez eyed the fuel truck that was about a quarter-mile away.
"We need it."
"Figures." Sanchez looked over at Knox and pointed at the fuel truck. "You have keys for it, Mister Jackson?"
"No, we should be able to start it without a key. Should be a push start."
"Great." Sanchez slung his mini-14.
"You can always hot wire it, esse," Knox chuckled across his headset mic.
"Yeah, goober," Sanchez said into his. "We’re lucky it's not the General Lee, or you'd be trying to load it up on the plane so you could show it off to your sister-wife and impress all your friends in Chipmunk Dick, Arkansas."
"That's Orlando, asshole."
"Same-same." Sanchez nodded at Jackson. "I'll make a run for it and bring the truck here. What side of the plane is the fuel access on?"
"Left. Left side, forward of the wing. I'll direct you to it."
"Sweet. Here goes nothin'." The soldier let out a breath, shook his head and took off in a sprint towards the truck. Jackson watched as Sanchez quickly closed the distance between the plane and truck. Jackson figured if it was him, he'd be running like his life depended on it too. Sanchez made it to the truck, pulled open the driver’s door, and a body tumbled out, smashing to the ground. He let out a high-pitched scream then jumped back. He kicked the body to make sure it was dead then leaped over the unmoving form and climbed into the truck, shutting the door behind him. After a few tense seconds, Jackson heard the truck roar to life. The co-pilot smiled, relieved, as the fuel truck rumbled towards the aircraft.
CHAPTER 23: HOLY SHIT!
Captain Brooks crawled up next to Sergeant Wu, who was prone on the ground watching the Russian yacht through his binoculars. Brooks tapped him on the shoulder, and he handed them over to her. Peering through the binoculars, she noticed all the crew had left the deck and gone below. It was probably vodka time.
"We sink it now, we’ll probably get them before they can send off a warning," she said quietly.
"Sounds good, Captain." Wu grabbed the LAW-80 rocket launcher that was lying next to him and deftly removed the end caps and extended the launch tube. He then handed
CHAPTER 22: CHECK THE OIL, TOO …
Crossley stood in the cargo bay and watched the aft ramp slowly descend to the tarmac. With the ramp control in his left hand and a .45 in the other, the pilot looked over at Jackson and Poncho and nodded. Poncho motioned for the co-pilot to wait and cautiously moved down the ramp, mini-14 point shouldered, scanning the surrounding areas. Poncho spoke into his headset as he moved out.
"How's it look, Gator?"
"Clear, lil' buddy." Knox swept the area from his perch in the damaged tower with his rifle’s scope. "No deaders."
"Ten-four, Gator. Watch our asses."
"Asses watched, Poncho." Knox spit out some chew. "Don't forget to check the oil while you're at it."
Sanchez stepped off the ramp and onto the airfield and gave Knox a quick wave. Knox acknowledged him by waving his middle finger. Sanchez chuckled and thought it was a good thing the redneck hadn’t waved his cock at him ‘cause he wouldn’t have been able to see it. The ex-ranger swept the area around the plane again then looked back up the ramp at the two pilots.
"Clear, Mister Jackson!"
"Great." Jackson swallowed and smiled weakly at Crossley. "Time to go!"
"Go get 'em, tiger." Crossley winked. "It'll be easy, Cal. You have the two commandos watching you."
"Yeah." Jackson slowly walked down the ramp. "Thanks, Nate."
"Hey," Crossley smirked, "I'll keep the back door open for ya."
Jackson moved down the ramp and stopped on the tarmac next to the hyper-vigilant Sanchez. The soldier turned to the co-pilot and nodded. "What do you need me to do, Mister Jackson?"
Cal took a deep breath and let it out. "See that refueling truck over by the hangar?"
"Yes." Sanchez eyed the fuel truck that was about a quarter-mile away.
"We need it."
"Figures." Sanchez looked over at Knox and pointed at the fuel truck. "You have keys for it, Mister Jackson?"
"No, we should be able to start it without a key. Should be a push start."
"Great." Sanchez slung his mini-14.
"You can always hot wire it, esse," Knox chuckled across his headset mic.
"Yeah, goober," Sanchez said into his. "We’re lucky it's not the General Lee, or you'd be trying to load it up on the plane so you could show it off to your sister-wife and impress all your friends in Chipmunk Dick, Arkansas."
"That's Orlando, asshole."
"Same-same." Sanchez nodded at Jackson. "I'll make a run for it and bring the truck here. What side of the plane is the fuel access on?"
"Left. Left side, forward of the wing. I'll direct you to it."
"Sweet. Here goes nothin'." The soldier let out a breath, shook his head and took off in a sprint towards the truck. Jackson watched as Sanchez quickly closed the distance between the plane and truck. Jackson figured if it was him, he'd be running like his life depended on it too. Sanchez made it to the truck, pulled open the driver’s door, and a body tumbled out, smashing to the ground. He let out a high-pitched scream then jumped back. He kicked the body to make sure it was dead then leaped over the unmoving form and climbed into the truck, shutting the door behind him. After a few tense seconds, Jackson heard the truck roar to life. The co-pilot smiled, relieved, as the fuel truck rumbled towards the aircraft.
CHAPTER 23: HOLY SHIT!
Captain Brooks crawled up next to Sergeant Wu, who was prone on the ground watching the Russian yacht through his binoculars. Brooks tapped him on the shoulder, and he handed them over to her. Peering through the binoculars, she noticed all the crew had left the deck and gone below. It was probably vodka time.
"We sink it now, we’ll probably get them before they can send off a warning," she said quietly.
"Sounds good, Captain." Wu grabbed the LAW-80 rocket launcher that was lying next to him and deftly removed the end caps and extended the launch tube. He then handed
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