propellers beating through the air. One by one, each engine started. Cliff looked out the open tail ramp of the cargo plane to see Garcia waving frantically before he turned, raised his rifle and fired through a full magazine very rapidly.
“Get turned around and get taxiing! We ’re going to have to clear the way and we’ll meet you at the end of the runway!” Cliff yelled over the sound of the engines before he ran towards the back of the plane, where Garcia was rapidly firing through another magazine of ammo.
The ramp rose about a foot off the ground. Arcuni watched over his shoulder to see that Cliff had exited before slowly letting the brakes out and steering the nose wheel hard left. To help make the tight distance, Arcuni pushed the right engine’s throttles forward, rocking the lumbering giant into a sharper turn. The helipad was simply not designed with the intent of turning an aircraft like a C-130 around, and the nose wheel dropped off the pavement into the hard-packed sand while turning. Movement out of the right of the windshield caught Arcuni’s attention. Three undead were running out of the hangar towards the plane, and he hoped they wouldn’t get close enough to catch one of the spinning props. It took him a minute to realize that undead do not run; they can’t run. Those must be survivors.
Sand blew across Cliff and Garcia, pushed by the aircraft’s propellers. Even ducking their heads into their hands, their exposed skin was being blasted raw by the blowing sand. Once the worst of the prop blast subsided, Cliff and Garcia’s rifles were up and they were rapidly engaging the growing numbers of walking corpses shambling across the sand and from the other buildings along the flight line.
“Garcia, you drive the truck. Keep us in front of the plane. We’ve got to clear a path. I’ll take the bed and shoot as we drive. Keep it smooth—”
Cliff was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a rifle round snapping through the air as it passed in front of his face. Cliff turned and saw an undead airman fall to the pavement just ten feet from where he stood. On the right, three men in full tactical kit and desert uniforms were running towards the truck.
“Garcia, get in the truck! We’ve got to go. They can join us if they want, but we don’t have any fucking time to talk about it.”
Garcia climbed into the truck just as the trio of new arrivals passed by the wingtip of the C-130. Cliff waved to them to climb into the truck as he jumped into the truck’s bed. He turned, faced forward, laid his rifle on the roof of the truck’s cab, and began firing at the quickly approaching horde.
Garcia drove slowly, watching the three new guys run to the back of the truck in the mirror. The truck bounced, followed by Cliff pounding on the roof of the cab, so he sped up. He could hear four rifles being fired rapidly.
Cliff looked at the man next to him, pointed to the three ALICE packs in the bed, and yelled “AMMO!” over the deafening noise of the C-130 taxiing behind them. The new man nodded, knelt, and began passing out loaded M4 magazines to his teammates. The truck crossed onto the main flight line and drove straight; the C-130 turned and rolled towards the end of the runway. Garcia kept the truck creeping along at a smooth pace, just faster than walking speed, the four men in the bed of the truck burning through ammo alarmingly fast.
The approaching undead horde appeared to be in the thousands, staggering from around the hangars and buildings onto the flight line ahead of them. Behind the truck Cliff heard Arcuni running up the engines of the C-130, preparing for maximum power for takeoff. Cliff turned and looked at Arcuni high above the runway through the windshield of the big plane and made a big circling motion in the air above his head. Arcuni nodded, pushed the throttles all the way forward, and released the brakes. The C-130 lurched forward and began rolling faster on the runway.
Cliff
“Get turned around and get taxiing! We ’re going to have to clear the way and we’ll meet you at the end of the runway!” Cliff yelled over the sound of the engines before he ran towards the back of the plane, where Garcia was rapidly firing through another magazine of ammo.
The ramp rose about a foot off the ground. Arcuni watched over his shoulder to see that Cliff had exited before slowly letting the brakes out and steering the nose wheel hard left. To help make the tight distance, Arcuni pushed the right engine’s throttles forward, rocking the lumbering giant into a sharper turn. The helipad was simply not designed with the intent of turning an aircraft like a C-130 around, and the nose wheel dropped off the pavement into the hard-packed sand while turning. Movement out of the right of the windshield caught Arcuni’s attention. Three undead were running out of the hangar towards the plane, and he hoped they wouldn’t get close enough to catch one of the spinning props. It took him a minute to realize that undead do not run; they can’t run. Those must be survivors.
Sand blew across Cliff and Garcia, pushed by the aircraft’s propellers. Even ducking their heads into their hands, their exposed skin was being blasted raw by the blowing sand. Once the worst of the prop blast subsided, Cliff and Garcia’s rifles were up and they were rapidly engaging the growing numbers of walking corpses shambling across the sand and from the other buildings along the flight line.
“Garcia, you drive the truck. Keep us in front of the plane. We’ve got to clear a path. I’ll take the bed and shoot as we drive. Keep it smooth—”
Cliff was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a rifle round snapping through the air as it passed in front of his face. Cliff turned and saw an undead airman fall to the pavement just ten feet from where he stood. On the right, three men in full tactical kit and desert uniforms were running towards the truck.
“Garcia, get in the truck! We’ve got to go. They can join us if they want, but we don’t have any fucking time to talk about it.”
Garcia climbed into the truck just as the trio of new arrivals passed by the wingtip of the C-130. Cliff waved to them to climb into the truck as he jumped into the truck’s bed. He turned, faced forward, laid his rifle on the roof of the truck’s cab, and began firing at the quickly approaching horde.
Garcia drove slowly, watching the three new guys run to the back of the truck in the mirror. The truck bounced, followed by Cliff pounding on the roof of the cab, so he sped up. He could hear four rifles being fired rapidly.
Cliff looked at the man next to him, pointed to the three ALICE packs in the bed, and yelled “AMMO!” over the deafening noise of the C-130 taxiing behind them. The new man nodded, knelt, and began passing out loaded M4 magazines to his teammates. The truck crossed onto the main flight line and drove straight; the C-130 turned and rolled towards the end of the runway. Garcia kept the truck creeping along at a smooth pace, just faster than walking speed, the four men in the bed of the truck burning through ammo alarmingly fast.
The approaching undead horde appeared to be in the thousands, staggering from around the hangars and buildings onto the flight line ahead of them. Behind the truck Cliff heard Arcuni running up the engines of the C-130, preparing for maximum power for takeoff. Cliff turned and looked at Arcuni high above the runway through the windshield of the big plane and made a big circling motion in the air above his head. Arcuni nodded, pushed the throttles all the way forward, and released the brakes. The C-130 lurched forward and began rolling faster on the runway.
Cliff
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