The Common Cold (Book 2): A Zombie Chronicle-Cabin Fever by David K. Roberts Page A

readied themselves to disembark.
Zoë shouted their plans to Bill who nodded meekly. She felt sorry for him; if
the world was going to shit, being blind was the last disability anyone would
want. Looking at the dead woman she made a mental note to drop the body off as
soon as they were refuelled and safe. A little less weight would mean they
would also burn less gas.
    The helicopter made a slow circuit of the site looking for obvious
threats before they came in and set down next to a bowser. The engines faded to
silence, the hot metal clicking as it cooled. In the distance came another noise,
sounding for all the world like the moaning of a
thousand people. Warily Zoë and Cliff exited and jumped to the ground, guns
ready. Wearing their helmets and visors to protect their heads and faces they
adopted kneeling firing positions and swept the area for movement. After a
moment Cliff signalled and the two pilots descended and ran to the closest
bowser. BB began to roll out the fuel hose and yellow earthing wire while Mike fired up the diesel engine pump. It started first time.
    By the time Mike returned to the helicopter BB had found the
starboard gravity feed port and taken off the cap.
    “We have two tanks; one for each engine,” Mike commented. “We
can carry a hundred and eighty gallons.”
    “That’s quite a load,” BB replied, adding the information to
his understanding of the aircraft. His experience was limited to smaller
civilian aircraft, none of which had anything like the capabilities of this
one. If it wasn’t for the urgent nagging at the back of his mind of the need to
get to his wife, he’d be having the time of his life.
    “It’ll give us shy of two and a half hours flight before we
have to put down for more juice. With a lighter load it might give us even more.
I wouldn’t want to be flying more than two without a nearby destination for
fuel.”
    “So two hours between fill-ups,” BB said, calculating how he
would get to Sausalito and his beautiful Kimberley. That was a thousand
nautical mile journey and with the range of these beasts of about three hundred
and twenty nautical miles it would require at least three stops each way for
refuelling. He would definitely need the help of the others. Waiting for the
fuel to load, he looked idly across to the other chopper and realised the two
torpedoes were actually external fuel tanks. His heart raced; they would make
his upcoming journey much more easily achievable. “Shouldn’t we check to see if
that chopper is airworthy? We can never have too few of them, especially if we
need to cannibalise for spares.”
    “BB, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to make up
excuses; I know about your wife, Sandy told me.”
    “I really need to get to her, you know. We may not have long
before she’s in real danger.”
    “I get it. Look, I can refuel this bird on my own. You take Zoë
over with you; Cliff and I can secure this one. Check it out. You handled this
one pretty well before we landed so I’m sure you can handle that one, it’ll
just feel a little heavier, that’s all. When I’m done
I’ll come over and check her over too.” He turned to the Warrant Officer. “Zoë. Go with BB and check out that chopper, will you?”
    “Sure Captain,” she replied standing up. “Come on BB, let’s
move.”
    Together they trotted over to the abandoned helicopter. The
waist doors were closed but the starboard pilot’s door was ajar, swinging
slightly in the breeze. There was blood on the Perspex windows and some more on
the canopy. BB held his breath and raised his pistol to cover Zoë as she moved
to check out the cockpit. It was empty. Touching the blood it was found to be
tacky and probably a few hours old. Gesturing towards the rear of the fuselage,
they made their way to the waist doors. As Zoë came alongside a loud thwack made
them jump in surprise as a helmeted head connected with the window. The man
wearing it had blood all over his visor