rest.
But the ability to wipe out massive amounts of them without ever having to even see one of their faces lent itself to a godlike quality that I really wanted no part of.
Anders, on the other hand?
He was made for it.
Mutt, Sam and Fish were on the pad waiting for me. They stood apart from Anders' team, and I doubt that was coincidental. I'm glad the teams were making separate trips.
My guys seemed really reserved, even Fish. I never asked, but I supposed it was partly due to that being the first mission we'd been on since we lost Merrick ...
… and partly because they knew this was the first chance I'd had to look for my wife and son. I knew that they'd probably lost family, and I don't want to sound selfish, but there was nothing we could do for their families. We might still be able to help mine and, frankly, I couldn't bring myself to give a shit about anyone else at that time. I don't like admitting it, but I was wound too tight.
I joined the group, and we all stood there in silence. In hindsight, it was piss-poor leadership. I needed them to be loose.
Fish, bless his wiseass little heart, slapped Sam on the ass and said, “Let's have a good game out there.” That broke the tension, and we all had a needed laugh.
“I hope we rescue a shrink, because I'm going to need one,” Sam said.
We climbed aboard and took off.
It was time to check on my wife. She's more resourceful than I am, anyway, so I know she survived. I had weapons and a team I trusted. It was time to bring her someplace safe.
As instructed, Jameson headed downtown first.
But the pillar of smoke, visible for a couple of miles even in the moonlight, dented those hopes.
When we got closer, and I saw it coming from the area of the salon and surrounding buildings, they were crushed completely.
I thought I had more to say about the previous entry. I took a little time to get my thoughts together, and I think you deserve to hear it ... but I just can't. Not yet.
After I saw … you know … I told Jameson to not even bother landing. It w as obvious that no one could possibly still be alive in the salon. If Jackie got out, and I have to believe that she did, she could be anywhere. If it had been just me, I probably would have wondered around the streets killing zombies and shouting her name in a a panic until I found her or was killed.
I wasn't going to put anyone else at risk. I couldn't even bring myself to ask, because I was afraid that they'd actually agree to it.
So I alternated between rage and depression as we headed to the airport.
I want you to know that I'm not talking about Logan International here. This is a small island airport. If you ever saw “Wings” you pretty much know what I'm talking about. When Ethan was young, I used to take him there a few times a summer to watch the planes. If I remember the informational sign out front, the airport covers just over 600 acres, has two runways, is 58 feet above sea level, and services about 50,000 flights per year.
So, imagine my surprise when I saw thousands of figures moving below me. I guessed that church isn't the only place people run to at the end of the world. Jameson's voice came over the headset. Jameson operated the helicopter's spotlight. “Jesus, I forgot how many of them were here. And we're dragging a shitload more behind us.”
I hadn't thought of that. Suddenly, I was even more motivated. I yelled above the engine. “Anyone see the truck?”
Mutt yelled back and pointed. “Unfortunately, yes!”
The rest of us looked where he was pointing. I blinked rapidly. I caught Sam mouthing something. I couldn't hear him, but I thought I could make out, “Christ on a cracker.”
Fish did the same, only his invective was more modern and much easier to make out.
The truck was surrounded by zombies. Not actively, no, but the hundreds and hundreds just milling around made for a problem. The odds were … not good.
But the ability to wipe out massive amounts of them without ever having to even see one of their faces lent itself to a godlike quality that I really wanted no part of.
Anders, on the other hand?
He was made for it.
Mutt, Sam and Fish were on the pad waiting for me. They stood apart from Anders' team, and I doubt that was coincidental. I'm glad the teams were making separate trips.
My guys seemed really reserved, even Fish. I never asked, but I supposed it was partly due to that being the first mission we'd been on since we lost Merrick ...
… and partly because they knew this was the first chance I'd had to look for my wife and son. I knew that they'd probably lost family, and I don't want to sound selfish, but there was nothing we could do for their families. We might still be able to help mine and, frankly, I couldn't bring myself to give a shit about anyone else at that time. I don't like admitting it, but I was wound too tight.
I joined the group, and we all stood there in silence. In hindsight, it was piss-poor leadership. I needed them to be loose.
Fish, bless his wiseass little heart, slapped Sam on the ass and said, “Let's have a good game out there.” That broke the tension, and we all had a needed laugh.
“I hope we rescue a shrink, because I'm going to need one,” Sam said.
We climbed aboard and took off.
It was time to check on my wife. She's more resourceful than I am, anyway, so I know she survived. I had weapons and a team I trusted. It was time to bring her someplace safe.
As instructed, Jameson headed downtown first.
But the pillar of smoke, visible for a couple of miles even in the moonlight, dented those hopes.
When we got closer, and I saw it coming from the area of the salon and surrounding buildings, they were crushed completely.
I thought I had more to say about the previous entry. I took a little time to get my thoughts together, and I think you deserve to hear it ... but I just can't. Not yet.
After I saw … you know … I told Jameson to not even bother landing. It w as obvious that no one could possibly still be alive in the salon. If Jackie got out, and I have to believe that she did, she could be anywhere. If it had been just me, I probably would have wondered around the streets killing zombies and shouting her name in a a panic until I found her or was killed.
I wasn't going to put anyone else at risk. I couldn't even bring myself to ask, because I was afraid that they'd actually agree to it.
So I alternated between rage and depression as we headed to the airport.
I want you to know that I'm not talking about Logan International here. This is a small island airport. If you ever saw “Wings” you pretty much know what I'm talking about. When Ethan was young, I used to take him there a few times a summer to watch the planes. If I remember the informational sign out front, the airport covers just over 600 acres, has two runways, is 58 feet above sea level, and services about 50,000 flights per year.
So, imagine my surprise when I saw thousands of figures moving below me. I guessed that church isn't the only place people run to at the end of the world. Jameson's voice came over the headset. Jameson operated the helicopter's spotlight. “Jesus, I forgot how many of them were here. And we're dragging a shitload more behind us.”
I hadn't thought of that. Suddenly, I was even more motivated. I yelled above the engine. “Anyone see the truck?”
Mutt yelled back and pointed. “Unfortunately, yes!”
The rest of us looked where he was pointing. I blinked rapidly. I caught Sam mouthing something. I couldn't hear him, but I thought I could make out, “Christ on a cracker.”
Fish did the same, only his invective was more modern and much easier to make out.
The truck was surrounded by zombies. Not actively, no, but the hundreds and hundreds just milling around made for a problem. The odds were … not good.
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