few precious seconds to explore the wound with my fingers before quickly moving on.
It took me a moment to find the release locks on the pilot’s safety harness. The broken console of lights and gauges had been driven into his lap. I thumped the releases and the straps went loose. The man’s body slumped sideways against the far door of the cockpit. He didn’t move.
I turned back to Harrigan. The big man’s face was framed in the wrecked opening. “He’s dead,” I said. “Dammit.”
Harrigan seemed to deflate, like the last flickering light of hope had just been extinguished. He sagged against the side of the helicopter. I began to back quickly out of the cockpit. It was a cramped, tangled tomb and I was terrified by the smell of fuel. The helicopter was like a ticking time bomb.
I got half-way out, my eyes fixed on the approaching undead, when I noticed a sudden movement in the corner of my eye. My head snapped round. Trapped behind the pilot’s seat within the fuselage of the crumpled machine were two other people.
A man and a girl.
The man was moving – moving his hand. It flopped on his lap in small desperate movements like a landed fish.
“Jesus!” I swore. And then I started to shout. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
I didn’t wait for any long-winded answers. The man’s hand flicked again, and I saw the girl beside him roll her head so that it slumped heavily to rest against the man’s shoulder. I backed out of the cockpit and shoved my face close to Harrigan’s.
“There’s two people in there – alive,” I said tensely.
Harrigan’s eyes widened in relief and shock. “Are you for real?”
I nodded my head. “They’re in the cabin. We’ve got to get the back door open.”
He grabbed my arm to stop me as I lunged for the sliding door. “Let me do it.”
Harrigan attacked the door with the crow-bar, but when the helicopter had crashed, the closest side of the machine had taken the brunt of initial impact. The metal of the door had folded and creased within the frame of the dead machine, so that it was impossible to force it open. Harrigan looked at me heavily, and shook his head. “It won’t budge. I’m going to have to try the other side.”
I felt an instant surge of alarm. I looked up, past the sheltering shape of the helicopter and the zombies were now much nearer. Maybe fifty paces. I could see them as clear figures; undead men and women moving hungrily closer through the grass, haloed by the red glow of the distant burning buildings on the hillside.
I loo ked back at Harrigan and nodded. “I’ll come with you. Be quick about it.”
We skirted the broken tail sectio n of the helicopter and ran around to the far side of the fuselage. I felt completely exposed – like hapless prey. Harrigan attacked the door with every last ounce of his remaining energy – and I went down on one knee and carefully aimed the Glock at the closest undead.
It was a man. He seemed taller than the others in the line. He was wearing some kind of a jacket. It seemed to hang off his lanky frame. His movements were jerky – as though his undead body was overcome by repeated convulsions. His head swayed from side to side and his arm and leg movements were awkward ungainly jerks, so that he looked like some kind of mechanical robot with bad wiring.
I aimed the pistol at the man’s head, remembering our earlier near-death encounter on the footpath. The gun felt heavy in my hands, and I could feel strain and tension in my shoulders, and all the way down to my wrist. I held the weapon steady, took a long deep breath – and waited.
Behind me Clinton Harrigan was using words that Christians would never find in the Bible, of that I am sure. He cursed vehemently and I heard the clang of the crow-bar as he attacked the cabin door with the desperation of a man about to die. I heard a high-pitched squeal of metal against metal that set my teeth on edge.
“How are you going?” I shouted over my
It took me a moment to find the release locks on the pilot’s safety harness. The broken console of lights and gauges had been driven into his lap. I thumped the releases and the straps went loose. The man’s body slumped sideways against the far door of the cockpit. He didn’t move.
I turned back to Harrigan. The big man’s face was framed in the wrecked opening. “He’s dead,” I said. “Dammit.”
Harrigan seemed to deflate, like the last flickering light of hope had just been extinguished. He sagged against the side of the helicopter. I began to back quickly out of the cockpit. It was a cramped, tangled tomb and I was terrified by the smell of fuel. The helicopter was like a ticking time bomb.
I got half-way out, my eyes fixed on the approaching undead, when I noticed a sudden movement in the corner of my eye. My head snapped round. Trapped behind the pilot’s seat within the fuselage of the crumpled machine were two other people.
A man and a girl.
The man was moving – moving his hand. It flopped on his lap in small desperate movements like a landed fish.
“Jesus!” I swore. And then I started to shout. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
I didn’t wait for any long-winded answers. The man’s hand flicked again, and I saw the girl beside him roll her head so that it slumped heavily to rest against the man’s shoulder. I backed out of the cockpit and shoved my face close to Harrigan’s.
“There’s two people in there – alive,” I said tensely.
Harrigan’s eyes widened in relief and shock. “Are you for real?”
I nodded my head. “They’re in the cabin. We’ve got to get the back door open.”
He grabbed my arm to stop me as I lunged for the sliding door. “Let me do it.”
Harrigan attacked the door with the crow-bar, but when the helicopter had crashed, the closest side of the machine had taken the brunt of initial impact. The metal of the door had folded and creased within the frame of the dead machine, so that it was impossible to force it open. Harrigan looked at me heavily, and shook his head. “It won’t budge. I’m going to have to try the other side.”
I felt an instant surge of alarm. I looked up, past the sheltering shape of the helicopter and the zombies were now much nearer. Maybe fifty paces. I could see them as clear figures; undead men and women moving hungrily closer through the grass, haloed by the red glow of the distant burning buildings on the hillside.
I loo ked back at Harrigan and nodded. “I’ll come with you. Be quick about it.”
We skirted the broken tail sectio n of the helicopter and ran around to the far side of the fuselage. I felt completely exposed – like hapless prey. Harrigan attacked the door with every last ounce of his remaining energy – and I went down on one knee and carefully aimed the Glock at the closest undead.
It was a man. He seemed taller than the others in the line. He was wearing some kind of a jacket. It seemed to hang off his lanky frame. His movements were jerky – as though his undead body was overcome by repeated convulsions. His head swayed from side to side and his arm and leg movements were awkward ungainly jerks, so that he looked like some kind of mechanical robot with bad wiring.
I aimed the pistol at the man’s head, remembering our earlier near-death encounter on the footpath. The gun felt heavy in my hands, and I could feel strain and tension in my shoulders, and all the way down to my wrist. I held the weapon steady, took a long deep breath – and waited.
Behind me Clinton Harrigan was using words that Christians would never find in the Bible, of that I am sure. He cursed vehemently and I heard the clang of the crow-bar as he attacked the cabin door with the desperation of a man about to die. I heard a high-pitched squeal of metal against metal that set my teeth on edge.
“How are you going?” I shouted over my
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