slightly further into the fog. An open door led to an inflated escape slide.
A bloody smear ran the length of the now dingy yellow rubber, and a single suitcase lay at the foot of the ramp.
I followed Rhodes, whose gun remained up and trained forward. Kate followed, and the two sailors, armed only with pistols, looked around frantically, not having expected to be suddenly thrust into a land war from the relative safety of their vessel—a vessel that now stood vulnerable, anchored in the middle of a river once assumed to be safe ground.
Behind us, the fog was breaking, and as we sprinted forward, I turned, making out the green and red landing lights of the massive plane. Guns protruded from the belly and sides like a giant pincushion, and its massive engines roared in the fading mist.
It was an impressive sight.
And an even more impressive sound.
My eyes fell to the ground, and I groaned.
In the fading fog, they were coming.
Dripping, covered in flotsam and debris, matted hair clinging to rotted faces. Eyes protruding sickeningly, and arms outstretched, pleading. Wanting.
They came. Thousands upon thousands.
The gunship roared over their heads, barely missing the first ranks of the crowd, wheels extended. The screech of rubber hitting damp concrete coursed in the air, and the propellers cycled down loudly almost instantly, seeking to arrest the large machine’s momentum.
We had almost reached the end of the runway, and in the distance ahead of us, to the left, where a group of cargo hangars abutted the access road underneath road signs for the nearby freeway, we could see the other herd, clustering near the fence line and flowing between buildings in a fruitless quest to find the origin of the offensive noise.
They had turned back at the sound of the massive airplane, and they saw us as clearly as we saw them.
And them both groups—the dead and undead—saw the frantic forms of the adolescent girl and her dog sprinting toward our group and the now taxiing airplane that was quickly turning back to the east, edging in a circle like a beached whale.
“Ky!” shouted Kate, raising her hand and shouting.
God damn it.
How the hell was she here?
I turned away from the group and toward the girl, yelling as a zombie appeared from an overturned luggage bin and shambled in her path.
She didn’t even hesitate. A crossbow bolt instantly protruded from the creature’s skull and she hopped over the obstruction as she passed. Romeo was easily pacing her, head whipping to the sides as if nervous and anxious to be running. She wore black clothing, much like ours.
Very much, in fact.
Kate followed me as Rhodes and the other two men slowed in front of a parked airliner bearing the name of the carrier that I had last used to get from the West Coast back to New York the night of Maria’s death. I fought the flashbacks as I caught the young girl in my arms and rushed her toward the group.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I yelled over the noise of the propellers, sparing a glance for the two herds that now bracketed us on either end of this runway.
“You can’t leave me behind, I told you!” Her voice was nearly triumphant, and I just pushed her ahead of me in anger, even as a tide of relief washed over me.
On the tarmac, the warplane was slowing as the massive herd approached from the west. The nose turned ponderously as we all sprinted the last hundred yards.
But as we passed the tail of the abandoned airliner, we heard the familiar sounds of slow footsteps clanging against metal, and looked up. The ramp to the rear door of the huge plane was full of the dead, emerging from the packed 747 en masse, as if they had been waiting there all along.
The sailors bolted away from the plane, even as Rhodes started taking out the lead creatures strategically, trying to trip up the ones behind by laying out bodies on the stairs in front of their clumsy feet. As I watched our airplane turn, nose pointed back toward
A bloody smear ran the length of the now dingy yellow rubber, and a single suitcase lay at the foot of the ramp.
I followed Rhodes, whose gun remained up and trained forward. Kate followed, and the two sailors, armed only with pistols, looked around frantically, not having expected to be suddenly thrust into a land war from the relative safety of their vessel—a vessel that now stood vulnerable, anchored in the middle of a river once assumed to be safe ground.
Behind us, the fog was breaking, and as we sprinted forward, I turned, making out the green and red landing lights of the massive plane. Guns protruded from the belly and sides like a giant pincushion, and its massive engines roared in the fading mist.
It was an impressive sight.
And an even more impressive sound.
My eyes fell to the ground, and I groaned.
In the fading fog, they were coming.
Dripping, covered in flotsam and debris, matted hair clinging to rotted faces. Eyes protruding sickeningly, and arms outstretched, pleading. Wanting.
They came. Thousands upon thousands.
The gunship roared over their heads, barely missing the first ranks of the crowd, wheels extended. The screech of rubber hitting damp concrete coursed in the air, and the propellers cycled down loudly almost instantly, seeking to arrest the large machine’s momentum.
We had almost reached the end of the runway, and in the distance ahead of us, to the left, where a group of cargo hangars abutted the access road underneath road signs for the nearby freeway, we could see the other herd, clustering near the fence line and flowing between buildings in a fruitless quest to find the origin of the offensive noise.
They had turned back at the sound of the massive airplane, and they saw us as clearly as we saw them.
And them both groups—the dead and undead—saw the frantic forms of the adolescent girl and her dog sprinting toward our group and the now taxiing airplane that was quickly turning back to the east, edging in a circle like a beached whale.
“Ky!” shouted Kate, raising her hand and shouting.
God damn it.
How the hell was she here?
I turned away from the group and toward the girl, yelling as a zombie appeared from an overturned luggage bin and shambled in her path.
She didn’t even hesitate. A crossbow bolt instantly protruded from the creature’s skull and she hopped over the obstruction as she passed. Romeo was easily pacing her, head whipping to the sides as if nervous and anxious to be running. She wore black clothing, much like ours.
Very much, in fact.
Kate followed me as Rhodes and the other two men slowed in front of a parked airliner bearing the name of the carrier that I had last used to get from the West Coast back to New York the night of Maria’s death. I fought the flashbacks as I caught the young girl in my arms and rushed her toward the group.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I yelled over the noise of the propellers, sparing a glance for the two herds that now bracketed us on either end of this runway.
“You can’t leave me behind, I told you!” Her voice was nearly triumphant, and I just pushed her ahead of me in anger, even as a tide of relief washed over me.
On the tarmac, the warplane was slowing as the massive herd approached from the west. The nose turned ponderously as we all sprinted the last hundred yards.
But as we passed the tail of the abandoned airliner, we heard the familiar sounds of slow footsteps clanging against metal, and looked up. The ramp to the rear door of the huge plane was full of the dead, emerging from the packed 747 en masse, as if they had been waiting there all along.
The sailors bolted away from the plane, even as Rhodes started taking out the lead creatures strategically, trying to trip up the ones behind by laying out bodies on the stairs in front of their clumsy feet. As I watched our airplane turn, nose pointed back toward
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