The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 6
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
Looking around, he didn’t see any undead, so he decided to rock the machine back and forth several times until it landed on the floor with a crashing sound that echoed throughout the facility when the front of the machine shattered into dozens of pieces. Contained beneath the machine itself, the glass couldn’t harm Metzger when he attempted to raise it from the ground. He tried lifting the top first, but only got it about a foot off the ground before the weight of the device forced him to drop it.
“What the hell happened?” Isabella asked when she and Jillian appeared from a nearby door that Metzger hadn’t checked.
“Trying to get us a few supplies,” he answered, looking down to the vending machine.
“We found some stuff in back,” Isabella answered.
“You two okay? I yelled for you.”
“We’re fine,” Jillian answered. “Had to lead some of our dead pals out of the terminal.”
“A little help and I can lift this thing if you want,” Metzger offered.
“Sure,” Isabella replied, helping him roll it along its longer end until it sat on one side, offering them every candy bar, cookie, and potato chip options inside.
No glass remained in the front display window to cut them as the three hastily grabbed snacks and stuffed them into their packs.
“That’ll get us through,” Metzger said before leading the way to the nearest exit.
A moment later the three stepped outdoors, breathing in clean morning air without any sign of wandering zombies in the area. Timmons continued to check the plane, taking notice when they approached.
“Nice of you three to take your sweet time coming back,” he commented with moderate sarcasm.
“You’re not even ready yet,” Isabella stated.
“Fuel,” Metzger said before the pilot could state the one thing holding them back.
“Oh,” Jillian said, pulling out a set of keys and jingling them. “Like the kind a nearby fuel truck might carry?”
“Where’d those come from?”
“We found them after we raided the pantry,” Isabella answered.
“Then where’s the truck?” Timmons grumbled.
“We’ve been a little busy,” Metzger said. “Jillian and I can take the truck and search for it. It can’t be far.”
“Neither can my employers,” Timmons noted. “By now they’re bound to realize their favorite asset is missing.”
Metzger nodded, walking with Jillian to the truck where he opted to jump in the driver’s seat. After a few weeks of being confined to the military base while everyone else got to wander into the city, or go wherever they pleased, he wanted the freedom of driving. Despite being surrounded by fences once again, he knew these wouldn’t hold him.
“You sure you want to come with me?” he asked once he started the truck, putting it into gear before driving around the previously unseen areas of the airport.
“What’s that mean?” Jillian asked uneasily.
“Scott’s right. The military probably isn’t going to let me go without a fight.”
“I’ll take my chances. I can’t be around Colby right now. Not after what he did.”
“He didn’t make it sound so bad.”
“He would lie just to save face, you know. Colby only went to you because he had nowhere else to turn.”
“His sons are still out there. He’s going to look for them.”
“But he’s not going alone, is he? Chances are he’ll get someone else killed during his search.”
“Someone else? Is he the reason Juan died?”
“No. Him and his new friend are the reason my father got killed.”
“Jesus,” Metzger said, focusing his attention on the road, looking for the fuel truck in between stalled planes and boarding terminals. “I’m so sorry.”
“He got separated from us, and he hooked up with another group, bringing them straight back to us,” Jillian explained. “To say they were shitty people is an understatement.”
“So, the bad folks didn’t make it?”
“No. After one of them shot my father, Colby managed to finish off three of them and spare his buddy Driscoll.”
“There has to be an explanation,” Metzger reasoned. “Colby wouldn’t have brought them to you if he thought they were a serious threat.”
“Yet he did. Are you taking his side?”
“No,” Metzger said defiantly. “I’m just trying to understand.”
Metzger thought of Sutton as a lot of things, but not an outright murderer, and certainly not someone careless enough to purposely bring danger to the rest of the group. People who killed other people might also threaten Buster, and he wouldn’t take such a chance with his family or his canine. For the meantime, he decided to simply listen, and let Jillian vent.
“I’d already lost Mom, and didn’t even know it,” she said. “She went into town one day, looking for my dad, and got bitten. She took steps to make certain she didn’t harm anyone by turning.”
Metzger got to the end of the terminal and failed to find the truck. It occurred to him that they wouldn’t likely keep it in the open, and he recalled what looked a bit like a service area when they entered the airport. Being dark at the time, he couldn’t make out details, but he figured a fuel truck wouldn’t be in the open until its services were required.
“Did the keys, or their location, say where we might find the fuel truck?” he inquired.
“There were a bunch of keys inside a mounted lock box,” Jillian replied. “These had a tag for the fuel truck, so I just grabbed them, knowing we’d need the fuel. The office where we found them had been ransacked, so there was nothing left to indicate where the truck might be.”
Metzger turned the truck around, heading to the area he remembered from earlier that morning. A few minutes later he pulled up to a lengthy building where some mechanical equipment, including tools and an air compressor were left outside, as though the people using them had simply taken a morning break.
Jumping from the truck, Metzger approached the area, spying several vehicles, and lots more equipment inside the lengthy garage. He didn’t initially spy any undead walking through the area, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. Carefully opening the main entrance, he peered his head inside, and motioned for Jillian to join him once he didn’t find immediate danger awaiting them.
Only one garage bay deep, the building held the equivalent of approximately eight bays in length. Metzger quickly spotted what he assumed was a fuel truck, looking like a small gas tanker with a panel that mirrored those of fire trucks. He walked over, found a release for the garage door opener that no longer functioned without electricity, and looked around for a ladder tall enough to reach it.
“Ladder,” he said quietly to Jillian in case any undead ears listened for activity.
Finding one in the back of the building, they quickly set it up, allowing Metzger to climb and release the bar. They teamed up to lift the garage door, and Metzger managed to start the truck and drive it outside. Jillian drove their other truck back, while he brought the fuel truck to the plane, parking it nearby.
“This work?” he asked Timmons.
“It should. Hope I remember how to use one of those things. It’s been a few years, and it wasn’t exactly my job to refuel planes.”
After a few minutes of trial and error, Timmons figured out how to get the truck’s pump system activated, and they stretched a fuel line to each of the wings to fill the tanks. He informed them that each wing held two tanks, and that he was filling them to capacity for a potential return trip. While the captain worked on getting the plane ready, everyone else moved their gear from the passenger truck to the plane, getting ready to depart.
Everyone took a breather for just a few seconds while Jillian drove the truck along the main runway to check for obstacles with Timmons riding shotgun in the truck. Metzger moved the fuel truck while they were gone, leaving it near the terminal for someone else to use. He figured much of the fuel would go bad before long, especially in a bulk container.
When the group finally got settled into the plane, Timmons checked a few things over along the control panel and with just a few flips of switches, he brought the plane to life. Metzger sat beside him in the copilot seat, feeling a bit tense because he expected the military to show up any moment and threaten to shoot them down if he didn’t return peacefully to the base. No such thing happened as Timmons brought the single propeller to life, carefully aiming the plane in the correct direction for takeoff.
“Ever flown before, kid?” the captain asked Nathan, who could barely stay in his seat from the excitement of flying, and possibly seeing his father again.
“When I was little, but I don’t remember it.”
“Buckle up. You’re about to get a great view out your window.”
Timmons took a moment to memorize the controls, and Metzger knew from personal experience that every aircraft wasn’t laid out exactly the same. Once the captain felt comfortable with everything around him, he throttled up the Cherokee. Gaining momentum over the next thirty seconds, the plane built up enough speed to easily clear the fence at the end of the runway, well in advance.
“Wow,” Nathan whispered in awe as objects below grew smaller, like doll houses and toy cars.
Metzger wanted to speak further with Jillian about her ordeal, because she obviously hadn’t gotten over it, but he felt compelled to stay near Timmons and continue his piloting education. He imagined they would have time to talk in private at some point, but for the next few hours, Metzger needed to remain focused on getting home to Buffalo and searching for his brother once again.
Five
When Metzger and his current group neared the Buffalo-Lancaster Regional Airport several hours later, Metzger began scouring the ground for familiar landmarks. Timmons possessed familiarity with the airport, but without military hardware at his disposal, finding their destination wasn’t so easy thousands of feet in the air.
“This is a far cry from what I’m used to,” Timmons grumbled, taking a look at the tablet-sized screen that displayed a generic GPS reading of the area below and slightly ahead of them.
Driven by satellites instead of computer software, the GPS system would remain reasonably accurate for years to come, providing them with a trustworthy roadmap.
“Are we going to crash?” Nathan asked out of nowhere.
“Why would you ask that?” Isabella scolded.
“I dunno.”
Timmons studied the map on the screen momentarily, making several adjustments that began to slow the plane as he descended slowly enough that Metzger barely noticed. Metzger couldn’t imagine a civilian plane built before he was born could challenge the Navy captain, and Timmons hadn’t appeared intimidated once during the flight. He calmly studied the controls and dials every so often, but never once seemed perplexed.
“We’re about to land as smooth as a baby’s bottom,” Timmons said, turning to Nathan, who giggled.
“Unless we smack a few zombies in the runway,” Metzger commented.
“There is that,” Timmons muttered, arching one eyebrow.
Unlike the runway they departed from, the Lancaster airport possessed more debris than ever in the form of rotting bodies, random belongings, and a few cars. Part of Metzger felt relieved that more survivors had visited the airport, but disappointed that they may have ended up adding to the ranks of the undead. Timmons took notice as well, trying to figure out where to stick the landing so he could avoid some or all of the debris.
Continuing to slow, the plane wobbled slightly as they drew closer to the ground, but Timmons kept it steady enough that Metzger harbored no concerns about a disastrous landing. He turned long enough to see both Jillian and Isabella staring ahead, trying to avoid showing anxiety, while Nathan leaned forward, staring with awe as the ground drew closer.
“You buckled in?” Metzger asked his nephew.
“Yeah,” Nathan answered almost absently, his eyes unblinking.
Isabella put an arm across his chest to keep him restrained, but Nathan refused to sit back or look away. Metzger turned to focus on the runway as it drew closer, spying several items that might cause a bumpy landing. He almost started to say something and begin pointing them out, but he quickly decided not to distract Timmons, who possessed a perfectly good set of eyes.
When the plane touched the concrete for the first time, everyone aboard felt a little bump that wasn’t hard enough to jar them. The plane coasted another thirty yards smoothly until one of the wings clipped a wandering zombie who turned just in time to get sacked. Timmons turned briefly to look at the wing, which looked as though someone had thrown a small can of red paint across the metal. He quickly brought the plane to a stop as several more undead took notice of the noisy, large object that landed conveniently near them.
“Time to depart,” Timmons reported once the aircraft came to a stop.
Isabella managed to open the dual side doors, granting them freedom from the cramped plane, though it placed them in immediate danger. Metzger undid his restraints, scrambling behind his seat to locate his sword and deal with any threats.
“You might want to hurry with the luggage,” Jillian called as he reached the back of the plane, tossing backpacks and duffel bags to his companions.
Finding his own pack, Metzger grabbed it and exited the plane before pulling his sheathed sword from inside. He turned, finding two members of the undead community closing in, so he unsheathed the weapon, studying them a moment. Not recognizing either the male or female zombie before him, he sliced off the tops of their skulls in two swift motions. Metzger stood over them momentarily, questioning how large a grid he needed to search before feeling content.
“There’ll be more,” he proclaimed.
“We need a vehicle,” Isabella stated.
“I may have that handled,” Metzger replied, thinking of the key fob in his pocket that went to a Toyota Prius halfway across the small airport.
He left some belongings, including family photographs and memorabilia in the trunk of the car, locking it before he struck out for Virginia with part of his last group.
“You got a secret stash of vehicles?” Timmons asked, casually pulling his duffel bag from the plane.
“Not exactly,” Metzger answered, nodding toward the Prius in the distance.
“Oh, that is peachy,” Timmons said sarcastically. “We might as well be a group of clowns squeezing into that thing.”
“Start putting our stuff into the car,” Metzger told Isabella. “I’m going to start looking for clues along the runways.”
“You okay?” she asked, and Metzger realized he wore his emotions outwardly, feeling a bit nervous about searching for his brother.
Or his remains.
“We need to know,” he replied, walking away so he could begin the search.
Metzger hadn’t studied the migratory patterns of the undead, so he didn’t know how far his brother might have wandered if he indeed joined their ranks.
Seeing no other immediate threats to him or his fellow travelers, he walked in the direction where the military plane left with him and a number of Marines aboard, leaving his brother and Molly behind. Images of that day ran through his mind, and he felt the panic of losing Bryce all over again, fighting to stay in the moment and concentrate on discovering clues.
As he walked, scanning the concrete and grass around him, the runway felt like it went on forever, but he soon located the spot where his brother was assaulted by a number of the undead. Their rotting corpses were now lying atop the concrete in close proximity, no longer a threat to anyone. A tiny stain from dried blood remained embedded in the runway for Metzger to see, and he knew without a doubt his brother and Molly left the airport alive.
“What is it?” Isabella asked, approaching from behind.
“This is where it happened.”
“None of these corpses is Bryce,” she assured him.
“I know,” Metzger replied, recalling exactly what clothes his brother wore during the mission.
He tried thinking of where his brother might go after leaving the airport, but Bryce reasoned with a logical mind, leaving emotion out of the equation.
“Where would he go, Izzy?” Metzger asked. “I don’t think he would go to Mom and Dad’s house.”
“Unlikely. You’re assuming your friend didn’t have somewhere safe to go.”
“I think the school was all she had, and it was compromised.”
“Bryce would either find his way back to us, or he might track that guy from the school,” Isabella reasoned aloud.
“Fournier.”
“Yeah. That guy.”
Metzger knew his brother’s sense of duty, suspecting Bryce would never let Fournier escape cleanly. He would either interrogate the man, or trail him to locate additional answers regarding Nadeau. It occurred to him that he possessed no earthly idea what course his brother took, and hazarding a guess meant placing the lives of those around him in danger.
“If he completed his mission, or was forced to give up, he might head for safety,” Metzger thought aloud. “He couldn’t possibly know what happened at the base, so he might try contacting his superiors.”
“He’d need a sat phone, or military equipment to reach them,” Isabella deduced.
Metzger felt dazed, because he never expected to find anything except evidence his brother died at, or near, the airport. He felt certain Bryce or Molly would have left some kind of note about his fate, or perhaps an indication where they were heading.
“Did they have a contingency plan?” Isabella pushed.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Metzger answered, knowing they shared very little information with civilians like him, particularly about sensitive missions.
Any shred of information went back to Virginia on that transport plane, and Metzger recalled being too stunned to ask questions or remain vigilant about his surroundings.
