Carlie Simmons (Book 5): One Final Mission Page 7

  Shiro was silent, his mind trying to pierce the night air and pry meaning from the distant shadows. He took a deep breath and tilted his head skyward.

  “Fate, perhaps.”

  Chapter 16

  “Alright, let’s saddle up. Boots on the ground in two minutes,” shouted Shane to the group, who were busy cinching down their packstraps, tightening vests, and readying the rifles that were slung around their chests. “Remember that the Olympia will be here in eleven hours so everyone calibrate your watches to that countdown. Commander Ellis informed me that the intense light in the distance near Kyoto is probably a nuclear reactor venting. Based upon what he said, we’re just going to be getting out of here on time.”

  Shane did a visual inspection of everyone around him then continued with his lecture. “Visibility is going to be hampered by the thick fog so everyone keep a tight formation as we disembark and make our way to the first checkpoint at the hangar.” Shane peered through the front windows at the runway which was vaguely outlined by the plane’s landing lights. The full moon was nearly at its zenith and turned the fog on the airfield into a blue-gray shroud.

  “I can see the boat docks ahead, about a half mile out,” shouted Jared above the rumbling engines. Jared strained out the side window, thinking he saw a distant light bobbing on the waters of the opposite side of the bay.

  “What is it?” said Amy, who was leaning on his shoulder.

  “Thought I spotted a vessel a few miles out but it was probably just a buoy or something.” He readied the two jugs of gasoline at his feet, making certain the spouts and lids were secure.

  “Hold on,” said the voice of the pilot on the overhead speakers. “We’re touching down…now.”

  The plane decelerated, the sides groaning as the landing gear made contact with the runway. The nose of the C-130 punched through the thick fog like an eel through viscous mud.

  Two dozen shambling zombies that were hobbling along the blacktop, obscured by the fog, were immediately sliced through by the right wing, the impact causing the plane to pivot abruptly, skip in the air, and then slam down into the runway. The pilot feverishly gripped the controls but couldn’t compensate in time, the nose of the plane careening into a tow-truck parked near the side of a garage. The left wing slammed into a brick wall, causing the landing gear to buckle on that side and collapse. A shower of sparks accompanied the scraping metal as the wing tip dragged along the ground, the plane racing forward into the retaining wall near the bay. The occupants inside were clenching the sides of their bench seats while their facial muscles quivered from the unmerciful clutches of gravity. Shane heard Eliza shriek across from him and then her voice went silent.

  Shane felt like he was freefalling, waiting for the moment when the fierce pressure in his eardrums would cease. Instead he heard glass shattering and metal crunching from the cockpit area followed by the shouts of the men at the helm. Steel girders in the cabin ceiling cracked like twigs and the cylindrical hull groaned from the strain. When the plane finally came to a halt seconds later, the crushing force of gravity on Shane’s chest eased momentarily. As he unbuckled, the darkened structure lurched forward, plunging down like a steel toboggan. The back side of the cabin across from him tore open like a foil packet, spilling all of their crates and gear into the darkness outside. He tumbled along with it, plunging into the night until he felt cold sea water envelop him. In the wrecked hull, he could hear others yelling and coughing as smoke roiled overhead.

  Chapter 17

  Shane spat out a mouthful of briny water and bobbed his head above the waves. The smell of the sea air, combined with searing metal and asphalt, pierced his nose. He saw the canted fuselage sixty feet ahead in the dim light, its tail section set aglow by a plume of flame as if it were a floating lantern. He heard shouting inside and the frantic clawing of hands on metal as the fuselage began sinking further down into the inky grasp of the ocean. He struggled to stay afloat under the weight of his fully loaded vest and the M4 slung across his back. As Shane leaned forward to swim towards the plane, he saw movement in the distance near the cement gangway along the damaged runway of the airfield. In the blue-gray fog, he could make out the torsos of hundreds of undead milling around the edge, staring at the conflagration in the water. Their putrid faces resembled the zombies he had become accustomed to seeing back home but these moved with surprising coordination and purpose given their state of decay. He held still, treading water for a second, then lowered himself beneath the surface and swam for the plane.

  Chapter 18

  Jared was furiously flailing his arms, trying to stay afloat as another wave slammed into his face. He could see the plane in the distance beginning to sink and behind it, for a moment, the face of Shane bobbing in the waters on the other side as a crowd of creatures moved along the cement retaining wall. Another wave rushed past him, slamming something into his chest. He thrust his arm out and felt a slumped figure clad in a nylon vest, her hair aloft in the water like fine thread. Jared yanked her by the vest towards him and saw that it was Eliza, a four-inch gash on her forehead leaking out into the moonlit waters. He twisted her around with her head up and placed his forearm under her chin. Then he began swimming backwards away from the flaming wreck, praying that the others had made it out. He swam until his chest burned and he was sure there were no creatures around. Then he pulled Eliza up under the rafters of a nearby dock and onto a storage platform, checking her vitals while watching the plane disappear into the murky depths below.

  Chapter 19

  When the fuselage stopped moving, Carlie felt the rush of cold sea water at her feet. Her last image of Shane was of him being swept away into the gaping hole shorn in the back of the plane. She saw the plane slipping further into the ocean with each passing second. Carlie unbuckled and swam over to the nearby bench seats, feeling with her hands for the others. The back of her left shoulder was on fire but the adrenaline was helping to mask the intense pain. She swam underwater to the cockpit, past the bent doorframe. Carlie could feel the pilot’s body still strapped in his seat but the man had a massive wedge of metal driven through his midsection. She quickly leaned over to her right to search for the co-pilot, Hadley, but his seat was empty.

  She returned to the main cabin. Upon emerging, she felt someone grab her sleeve and turned to see Amy only inches from her face. “Where’s Jared?” Amy yelled as they both fought to hold onto something as the fuselage rocked in the waters.

  “He got sucked out the rear,” Matias said from where the back of the plane had been, now a gaping hole whose jagged edges resembled a shark’s jaws. He swam towards them, grimacing with each stroke. They formed a circle, leaning their arms on each other’s shoulders and treading water. The stabbing pain in Carlie’s rear deltoid was now shoving its way through her psyche.

  “Jared’s gone—where?” said Amy with saucer-wide eyes.

  “Not sure—the waters yanked him out of my line of sight,” said Matias.

  “What about the others?” Carlie said. “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Eliza got nailed in the head by a loose backpack and was flung out the rear. I don’t know about the rest,” Matias yelled, wincing with each word.

  Carlie looked at the lithe Panamanian. “You injured?”

  “Think a few of my ribs are broken,” he said.

  Carlie canted her head to the back and saw they were sinking fast. “We need to grab anything we can and get the hell out of here. If we get separated, we’ll meet at the hangar as originally planned.” As Amy and Matias nodded in response, Carlie felt something clutch her vest and yank her back. She swiftly turned and saw the face of the co-pilot, his scalp badly lacerated and several deep gashes lining his temple.

  “The chief is dead,” Hadley said.

  “I know,” replied Carlie. “This thing’s about to go under. We need to go—you OK to swim?”

  The man nodded and followed her out alongside Matias and Amy. As they crested the shorn tail of the fusela
ge, Carlie grabbed a lone backpack that was tethered to the side and swung it over her good shoulder. Swimming ahead, they entered the fog-enshrouded waters of Osaka Bay as the remains of the C-130 slid like a gnarled finger into the obsidian-colored waters below.

  Chapter 20

  As Shane approached the plane, it quickly receded as if yanked from underneath by a giant hand. The abrupt movement from the leviathan displaced the adjacent water. Without warning the resulting power of the wake whisked Shane out into the open bay. He tried frantically to swim forward but was slammed by another wave that sent him under. When he came up, fighting under the strangling weight of his vest and rifle, he was embroiled in a thick mist. Another wave rushed him from behind but he managed to stay above the water as it carried him further into the bay.

  He choked on a mouthful of chilly water and shook his head, trying to clear his stinging eyes. Shane thought he could make out the figures of four people swimming towards shore but their murky outlines were quickly swallowed by the fog. He fought to stay afloat under the increasing tempo of the undercurrent. He was getting too far away from the shore and knew he either had to start shedding precious items or make it to safety before he was exhausted.

  A fierce breeze wafted over his head and he could see the fog part slightly, revealing a metal buoy in the moonlight, sixty feet away. He grit his teeth and began swimming before it was lost. Minutes later and with searing arms, he pulled himself up onto the donut-shaped platform. Shane clung to the eight-foot-high metal tower that rose from the center and tried to catch his breath. He could hear garbled voices crackling in his earpiece—it was Carlie. He could hear her shouting at the others to follow her to a nearby building. Shane frantically tapped his earmic, calling out her name but got no response. Shit—where are they? I have to get to them—must save them. He wanted to peel off all his accouterments and dive in after his friends—after Carlie. His eyes darted wildly around the murky surroundings, searching for any signs of the others while his heart sank with each wave slapping against the buoy. He started to unzip his vest and was going to leap into the waters after them when he saw the glimmer of a light approaching from his left.

  Chapter 21

  Carlie’s boots hit the rocky bottom of the foggy shoreline. She stood, partially racking the slide on her rifle to cycle out the water pressure in the chamber. She looked at the others who were going through similar motions while nervously staring into the seemingly impenetrable cloudy barrier before them.

  “You’ve got something sticking out of the back of your shoulder,” said Amy, who was gazing at Carlie’s left deltoid. “A splinter of metal.”

  Carlie could hear shuffling accompanied by guttural moans emanating from her right, about a hundred yards distant. “We’ll have to patch each other up later after we get off this LZ.”

  The first rays of dawn were beginning to streak across the waterfront, turning the gray fog into a blood-orange curtain. Carlie caught a faint glinting of metal on the airfield and raised her right hand, pointing it out to the others who were alongside her. She slunk forward, making sure not to create too much disturbance in the water. Once they were on the concrete boat ramp, she motioned for the others to line up behind her and for Matias to provide rear cover.

  Carlie trotted fifty feet to an aluminum storage shed and secreted herself against the side while the others formed a defensive arc. The fog around them was burning off in the morning sun which had just crested the horizon and Carlie could make out more structures and the layout of the airfield. She gasped when she saw the sheer number of creatures pouring along the runway and those that were still hovering near the shoreline where the plane had disappeared. Lord—there must be five hundred or more of those things already. How can there be so many?

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and saw Matias pointing to a distant subway tunnel a quarter mile in the opposite direction past the traffic control tower. “Looks to be clear over there,” he whispered while pressing his forearm against his ribs to contain his pain.

  Carlie nodded and began to rise but stopped and craned her head back, searching along the boat docks and shoreline for any signs of Shane, Jared, or Eliza. Shit—they must have made it to land by now. Where are they? Shane got away—he had to. Carlie thought she saw the glimmer of a headlight in the bay but it disappeared too quickly to confirm its origin.

  The fog was dissipating faster, turning into ghostly rivulets under the harsh scrutiny of the sunlight. She raised her hand to indicate her direction and then they sprung up, darting for the mouth of the tunnel to her left. She wove in and out of discarded fuel barrels, overturned service trucks, and empty foodservice carts until she was a hundred yards from the entry. The passageway was dark inside but she could make out the faint framework of a derailed subway car that was partially blocking the entrance, shards of shattered glass fanned out on the sidewalk below a canted billboard of a woman in a pink dress holding up a bottle of lotion.

  “Dammit, we got company,” snapped Matias.

  “If anyone can hear me, this is Team Leader Two,” said Carlie, tapping on her ear-mic. “We are headed northeast through the subway tunnels adjacent to the bay. Hospital is two miles from our present location.”

  Carlie yanked her attention to her right where sixty ravenous zombies were piling out of a ticket office. The skin was missing from most of the creatures, their striated muscle strands twitching and their milky eyes set back into deeply recessed sockets below the exposed bone of their foreheads. The zombies wore shreds of clothing that barely clung to their bodies and most were missing noses and ears. The creatures shrieked like they had found a lost treasure and rushed towards the four survivors. The other mass of undead near the shoreline turned in unison towards their location as the waterfront mob became magnetized at the sight of the living residing in their midst.

  Chapter 22

  Shane stood up, clinging with one hand to the metal beacon whose emergency strobe light had long ago burnt out. He started waving his other arm while shouting. Shane squinted, trying to make out the figures on board, but the tiny spotlight was blinding him as it grew in intensity. Thank God—Jared must have secured a boat.

  The engines on the eighteen-foot bowrider jet boat quieted as it neared, the ripples rocking the buoy, causing Shane to grip it with both hands. Shane saw the figures of two men in front. One was younger and thin with a wispy goatee. The man was preparing to toss a coil of rope. The other man was much taller and stood like a statue, his piercing gaze coming into view as the boat swung sideways. Other survivors—I knew there must still be people holding on here. Just didn’t expect to have my own welcoming committee. Hope these lads aren’t averse to strangers falling from the sky. He looked back at the dark shoreline, wondering if his friends were alive and how they would find him. Right now, this seems like my best chance even if I have to drop these guys and take their boat. Hopefully it won’t come to that. He studied them for any signs of weapons and knew he could get off a shot on one of them if things went bad quickly but he could be just as easily fired upon given his precarious location.

  The younger man said something in Japanese and tossed the nylon rope, which landed on his chest. He grabbed it and secured it with a bowline to the buoy’s metal girder. Then he angled his body slightly so they couldn’t see his hand hovering near his Glock. The driver shouted something, nodding for him to move closer.

  “I only speak English and Spanish, amigos, so I hope one of those works for you.”

  The driver of the boat just shook his head, looking at the younger man and muttering something in Japanese while they both chuckled. Then he turned back to Shane. “Another American—I wonder if you are as talkative as our friend.”

  “The name’s Shane and I’m with a group out of Washington State. We’re here on a retrieval mission. Did you see any other survivors from the plane crash?”

  “Others?” said the driver. “No.” He arched his head up, staring beyond Shane at the hazy shoreline in the di
stance as the fog was burning off in the first rays of dawn. “If they are on the mainland then they are in the hands of the goryo.”

  “Can you take me over there? I need to get to my crew,” he said, puzzled at the man’s last word but surmising its meaning. Shane could hear Carlie and Matias’ voices more clearly in his earpiece, their plan to sprint to the subway tunnels becoming evident.

  “We must get back before the light of day is fully upon us,” said the younger man, who was nervously motioning with his hand for him to come aboard. “They will be out soon—all the shores and streets will be filled with goryo, even by our own base if we do not hurry.”

  The older man just nodded in confirmation, giving Shane a stone-faced gaze as his rugged facial features crept out amidst the plum skyline. His furrowed cheeks resembled the crags found in driftwood. Both of the men were pale, a sign of their adaptive strategies of remaining nocturnal.

  Shane took his hand off the pistol and slid his drenched boots forward along the slippery surface of the buoy then leaped onto the swimming platform by the outboard engines. He climbed over the edge into the main cabin.

  Shane noticed that the older man was wearing an inconspicuous long sword across his back and silently scolded himself for not seeing it earlier.

  “Sit. We must move quickly back to our hideout if we are to avoid any encounters,” said the older man.

  “Right now, I need you to turn this boat the hell around so I can get to my people.”

  The driver said nothing, only thrusting the accelerator forward as the boat sped off in an arc to the right. The younger man removed his black jacket and tossed it onto the console, revealing two blades in his beltline and a metal pipe sticking out of an improvised sling. He leaned back towards him. “I am Yoshi,” he said with a nod. “And that is Shiro.”