The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 5
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
Immediately, he found several staggering zombies, possibly survivors who tried to make a stand. Beyond them he spied some shelves inside a small store where passengers could almost certainly purchase soft drinks or snacks for the wait between security checks and flights. He couldn’t tell if food items remained because the flashlight’s beam couldn’t reach that far. The undead began to take notice of him, however, turning to confront him from the other side of the thick glass.
Hearing them approach from behind the truck, Metzger quickly counted five in plain sight before turning around. A few drew close to the truck, so he pulled his sword from its sheath, making a clean cut through the first one’s skull. The second, a woman wearing business attire with half of her left cheek bitten off, growled and hissed at him before raising her arms and lurching forward only to receive the pointed end of the short sword through her forehead.
Quickly wiping both sides of the sword off along the fallen zombie’s clothing, Metzger slid it into the sheath before returning to the truck.
“Well?” Timmons asked.
“About five that I can see. Might be doable once we can see better.”
“You’ll have some time while I do a preflight check, assuming we can find a decent aircraft.”
“Preflight check?” Metzger asked skeptically of the man anxious to get off the ground.
“It’ll be brief,” Timmons assured him. “I’ve at least got to check the vital stuff to make sure we don’t crash and burn a few miles from here.”
Putting the truck in reverse, Timmons scoured the nearby fencing until he found a hole that led to the portion of the airport where the runways and taxiing areas were located. A few mammoth planes appeared like freighter ships in the truck’s headlights, looming massively over the truck when it drew close. Metzger craned his head to see the logos painted on the planes, finding them familiar, but they might as well have been visiting an aircraft graveyard, because he knew they couldn’t possibly land one of them safely.
“No good,” Timmons muttered, looking ahead where two large planes had collided off to the side of one runway.
“Rough landing?” Metzger questioned.
“People probably tried to leave,” Timmons surmised. “Had no idea what they were doing.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us, does it?”
“No.”
Unfortunately, the fence that granted them entry to the airstrip also permitted the undead to stagger around the area, though their numbers appeared manageable to Metzger.
“Maybe we don’t need to raid the terminal,” Metzger thought out loud.
Timmons looked at him quizzically.
“If we can access these planes, they’re going to have snacks on them.”
“You sure are thinking about food a lot.”
“And you haven’t been on the road, Captain. A few days of not knowing where your next meal is coming from gets you focused on food.”
“Son, I’ve become a master of going without in this lifetime.”
“That’s well and good, but we’re all going to need our strength when we face the dead, and the living.”
Timmons remained silent a moment, likely giving little thought to the dangerous survivors lurking in every corner of the world.
He drove around the terminal, finding another large plane Metzger believed was a 747, as a few smaller options presented themselves in the distance. Feeling both nervous and excited, Metzger’s heart raced momentarily as Timmons stepped on the gas, striking an ambling zombie along the left fender. When they approached the first aircraft, it looked much like the Cessna that Metzger and members of his group flew from New York to Virginia, but he didn’t need to step out from the truck to spy the damage along the wings and tail that likely grounded the aircraft forever.
“That’s disappointing,” Timmons grumbled, driving around the right side of the plane to the next aircraft parked in the open.
It stood some distance away from the traditional terminal area where passengers boarded larger planes.
When they approached the next aircraft, Metzger tried to avoid getting his hopes up, because the plane looked intact. With white coloration along the top half of the plane, including the wings, and a dark blue underbelly, the plane certainly appeared large enough to carry their small group. Headlights didn’t reveal every detail about the aircraft, particularly its fuel level, but Metzger felt it could take to the air at first light.
“What is it?” Metzger inquired.
“A Cherokee Six,” Timmons answered. “If she can fly, she’ll get us there.”
Timmons navigated around the plane with the truck, much the way submersibles might circle a sunken ship, inspecting every inch possible without stepping outside. A zombie stepped in the path of the truck, and the pilot mowed him down without even realizing it until everyone heard the thump from the truck’s grill. Barely acknowledging the vehicular homicide, if it could be called such a thing, Timmons continued to lower his head for a good view outside his side window.
“She looks solid,” Timmons finally stated. “I can’t imagine why anyone left her here unless she’s out of fuel.”
“That could be a problem,” Metzger said.
“But not a deal breaker.”
Metzger saw looming daylight along the horizon, providing them a slightly better view of the airfield and the danger around them. He noticed several holes along the fence that granted access to the undead to come and go as they pleased. Fortunately, it appeared the airport failed to hold their attention, because only a handful wandered inside the actual flight areas.
“You’re going to have to watch my back while I check the plane,” Timmons said as he parked the truck behind the Cherokee Six.
“Okay,” Metzger said, jumping out his side of the truck and opening the back to free his family and Jillian.
He helped Isabella and Nathan down first, and then Jillian, who gently took hold of his hand as they shared a brief tender moment that didn’t include words. Only when Timmons cleared his throat did their hands separate, and Metzger looked to the captain who returned a stony glance.
“We can check inside for food and water,” Isabella suggested.
“You want to leave Nathan here?” Metzger asked, thinking the boy would be safer outdoors, instead of enclosed in a large, dark airport terminal.
Isabella nodded, and Metzger tossed her his flashlight before she and Jillian left to search for a way inside.
“Want to see the inside of a plane?” Metzger asked of his nephew, who excitedly nodded several times. “When Captain Timmons gets the hatch open, you can go inside, but you can’t touch anything.”
“Okay,” Nathan promised.
“Anything,” Metzger insisted.
Timmons opened two doors on the left side of the plane, one that flapped upward, and another that opened just like a car door. He helped Nathan into the aircraft before turning to Metzger.
“You can quit with the ‘Captain Timmons’ shit anytime now.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Metzger turned and drew his sword, hearing only a groan from Timmons before the pilot set to work, examining the Cherokee Six. A few lingering undead had taken notice of their truck traveling around the airstrips, beginning to walk their way. Metzger surveyed the area, and began stalking towards the two zombies closest to him, daring them to get through him if they wanted to bring harm to his nephew and the man who could get him to his brother the fastest.
***
Jillian found a door nearby that led into the central hub of the terminal instead of the chutes heading out to where planes normally docked for passenger loading or unloading. She found it unlocked, opening it for Isabella who stepped inside, immediately searching for nearby danger. Jillian slipped in behind her, seeing only a few undead wandering around the lounge furniture and nearby counters.
“I’m surprised anyone stayed here long enough to die,” Isabella said just above a whisper.
“Maybe some of them died trying to get out of here,” Jillian suggested, drawing the knife she kept sheathed at her side.
Jillian stepped forward, using her blade to stab one zombie in the skull before it could lurch forward with grasping fingers. It fell, and she turned to kick another dead soul in the gut, knocking it to the floor before looking around.
“We only have a few minutes,” she said, seeing a few vending machines that wouldn’t function without electricity.
Shooting them might provide food, but that strategy offered a new set of problems when the undead all turned to locate the origin of gunfire.
“They must have a kitchen, or employee lounge,” Isabella said, also scanning the area with her eyes.
Both of them crossed the large terminal to an area marked for employees only, and Jillian opened the door, cautiously peering inside before proceeding. She turned on the flashlight as the area was enclosed, without the benefit of mammoth windows like the main terminal. Hearing a hiss behind some kind of desk or counter, Jillian turned with her knife and rammed it through the skull of a loyal airline employee who never left work after the fateful day when the world turned upside-down.
“You seem well-adapted to this,” Isabella commented.
“It doesn’t take long.”
Using what little light the flashlight provided, the women went through the employee lounge, finding little of use until they reached the area where bulk supplies were stored. Grabbing a few rolls of toilet paper, Jillian stuffed them into her backpack, while Isabella looked through some boxes for additional useful items. A moment later, she came across some packaged snacks used to replenish the planes when they landed, and several cases of various booze.
“Tempting,” she said, though she ultimately left them behind.
“What’s that?” Jillian asked, shining the light’s beam on a stack of boxes in one corner.
“Looks like candy bars,” Isabella replied, ripping open a few cases and helping Jillian load the snack-size candy into her pack.
Both of them heard the sound of the undead pawing at the door where they first entered the employee area, remaining perfectly still a moment.
“If Dan doesn’t get to them, I have an idea,” Jillian said, thinking it might be far easier for Metzger to deal with them if they remained distracted.
“I take it you and Dan are more than friends,” Isabella said without any judgment in her tone.
“We’ve traveled together,” Jillian answered without giving away details of her history with Metzger. “We’re good friends.”
“But he didn’t bring any of his other friends along on this trip.”
“I had my reasons for wanting to separate from the others.”
“He speaks highly of all of you,” Isabella stated. “I think he had some regrets about staying on the base, especially after they started treating him like a prisoner.”
“Things might have turned out differently for the rest of us if he hadn’t stayed,” Jillian said, thinking about her father, who might be alive if Metzger had been there to avert the crisis that claimed his life.
“Are we stuck here until he comes to get us?” Isabella asked.
“No,” Jillian answered, unwilling to wait for any man to save her from danger.
She aimed the flashlight toward the single entry to the room.
“Hold that door open and stand behind it. If any of them are out there, let them come to me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Isabella held the door open, but none of them came inside, because they were trapped behind the next door that led back to the main terminal.
“This may be a bit more challenging,” Jillian stated, finding fewer things to hide behind or maneuver around in the office area.
Isabella reached for the doorknob, clutching the knife at her side in case she could help Jillian in any way once the undead poured into the room. She yanked the door open, standing behind it and counting the number of zombies that entered the room until four made it inside. They took a path directly to Jillian, seeing the light and hearing the noise as Jillian pounded her palm on the nearby countertop.
Choosing to close the door before too many more entered, Isabella got the jump on one of the undead stabbing it in the skull and finding the tip of her blade stuck only about an inch into the skull while failing to subdue the zombie.
“Crap,” she muttered, trying to pry the knife free as the zombie tried pivoting its head to munch on her wrist.
Its teeth clamped shut several times, missing her wrist by inches as she led it around the room. From what she could tell, Jillian dealt with the other three zombies swiftly as several stabbing sounds reached her ears. Isabella could barely see as the flashlight beam danced up and down while Jillian defended herself. Finally given enough light to operate safely, Isabella used the knife to direct the zombie against a nearby wall, where she used both hands to plunge the blade into the center of its skull, putting it to rest.
“You okay?” Jillian asked, taking her side as the zombie slumped to the floor and Isabella wriggled the knife free from its head.
“Fine. Sorry about that. Just didn’t want too many of them in here.”
“Smart thinking. How many more?”
“I couldn’t really tell. Maybe three just outside the door?”
“Okay,” Jillian said as a bead of sweat dribbled down her cheek and her knife dripped blood from the zombies. “Same thing. You’re going to get the hang of this.”
“You got it,” Isabella said, walking to the door, looking to Jillian, and receiving a nod before opening it once again.
***
“What’s taking them so long?” Timmons asked as he checked some items on the plane’s exterior while Metzger guarded him from all sides.
“They’ll be fine,” Metzger assured him. “Jillian knows what she’s doing.”
“Is she the girl you had relations with?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
Metzger had shared certain details of his past with the pilot when he never thought he’d see his former group again. He hadn’t brought up the subject, but Timmons inquired, and he felt comfortable enough talking to the captain to reveal certain details.
“Well, I have mostly good news,” Timmons said after completing his visual inspection of the aircraft.
“So, what’s the bad?”
“We are very low on fuel.”
Metzger simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for an elaboration.
“Like we aren’t going to make it to New York, low.”
“Options?”
Timmons looked around, seeing the same limited resources as Metzger.
“We could try and syphon from the fucked up Cessna over there,” Timmons said with a nod, “or we might get lucky and find a fuel truck around here. Even gas from an automobile would get us there, but it harms the valves over time.”
Metzger checked the area around them for danger, seeing half a dozen zombie corpses lying on the ground from his handiwork. For the most part, cloudy skies had moved east, leaving them the beginning of a sunny day. Except for one crashed aircraft along one particular runway, the remaining routes appeared mostly clear. Lines of concrete intersected with small fields of grass, appearing to go on forever because the larger planes required lengthy runways. If time permitted, someone would probably take a vehicle down the chosen runway and make certain no bumps in the road might literally derail their trip.
He walked over to check on his nephew before making any decisions about their fuel situation.
“You being good?” he asked, looking up to Nathan, who sat in one of the passenger seats that faced one another behind the cockpit.
“Yup.”
“Don’t touch anything up front, okay?”
“Yup.”
Metzger turned to Timmons, reasonably convinced his brother had raised Nathan to obey commands from familiar adults.
“I’m going to check on them,” he informed the captain, nodding toward the terminal. “You be okay for five minutes?”
“You’ve giving me babysitting duty?”
“Would you prefer zombie stabbing duty?”
“Go have your fun,” Timmons said, airily aiming one hand in the direction of the building. “We’ll be fine for a few.”
Metzger knew the captain was far from defenseless, but he didn’t want to hear gunshots when they were so close to leaving Virginia. Scores of zombies could easily derail their plans to use the mostly vacated runways to reach the friendly skies.
Finding the same door Jillian and Isabella had used, he stepped inside, finding several corpses lying along the floor. Seeing little activity around him, he called out to them each by name, receiving no response.
“Jillian?” he called again, marching down the terminal to his right, trying to figure out where they might have traveled.
Traveling to the right, he found several zombies lingering near a door. As they turned to confront him, he sliced through both of their skulls before they could even raise their arms. He dared turn the doorknob without much thought, finding a dark, empty room before him.
“Anyone in here?” he called without raising his voice too much.
No response returned, so he closed the door and went to the end of the hub where several doors led to the boarding gates. He couldn’t imagine Jillian and Isabella went exploring the chutes that didn’t lead to planes in most cases. Turning around, he returned to the central portion of the terminal, spying a vending machine along one wall. He quickened his walking pace, and made his way to the machine, wondering if the Plexiglass might shatter if he tipped it over. Thinking better of it, he gave a testing jab with the sword, puncturing the substance, though not all the way through.
“Damn,” he muttered, knowing he couldn’t use the sword as some sort of makeshift jigsaw.
