CHAPTER 14

The MV-22 bounced all over the place as it flew up the East River, its big rotors churning as they propelled the ungainly-looking aircraft through the wet night air. From his seat on the left side of the cockpit, the AC had a good view of the city. Parts of it were still lit up like normal, but vast swaths of lower Manhattan had fallen into darkness. Other isolated patches of darkness could be seen throughout the midtown section, as if a malignant cancer had begun to metastasize throughout the city. The lights of the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges were dark, save for the strobing beacons atop NYPD vehicles and city fire trucks as they maintained cordons to protect the boroughs from the dead. To the right, the boroughs of Brooklyn and Queens were still alight, though for how long, the AC had no idea. Ahead loomed the Williamsburg Bridge, bright and shiny in the rainy night.

“Three klicks to target,” the pilot said from the right seat.

“Roger.” The AC kept his hands on the cyclic and collective pitch sticks, guiding the MV-22 up the river. Despite the rain and the mounting wind, some fires still burned in the city, and the sky was momentarily set alight by an explosion so brilliant that it overwhelmed the Osprey’s forward-looking infrared scanner and the night vision goggles the two pilots wore. The AC swore as he flipped his goggles up on their swing away mount and looked through the MV-22’s windscreen with nothing more sophisticated than the Mark I eyeball.

“What the hell was that?” the pilot asked.

“Gas station I think. Or maybe a tanker truck. Not really sure.” Below, blue strobe lights flashed. The AC looked down as the aircraft thundered on, and saw the lights belonged to an NYPD launch. At least someone was still alive down there.

“NVGs are back,” the pilot announced as he dropped his back over his eyes. The gallium-arsenide arrays had cleared themselves of the momentary whiteout caused by the explosion. He grabbed the FLIR’s control yoke and panned the unit from side to side, ensuring its super-cooled optical planar array had not suffered any damage. The AC dropped his NVGs over his own eyes, and in the distance, he saw a metronomic flash.

“I have an IR beacon ahead and about ten degrees off the left nose,” he reported. “Raise the Terminator team, tell them we’ll be overhead in about thirty seconds. Aircrew, LZ is in sight—prepare the aircraft to transition to a hover!”

“On it,” the pilot said, and he made the call.

“Checklist underway,” said the senior crew chief from the back. As he and the other crew chief began to prepare the MV-22 for arrival, he turned to the Navy medic sitting on one of the long bench seats.

“We’re almost there, so you’ll have a patient soon,” he said over the intercom.

The medic rolled his eyes. “How awesome.”

###

Jimenez groaned when Gartrell and McDaniels helped him get into a sitting position. McDaniels could tell the aviation soldier hated himself for expressing his pain, but no one was superman. McDaniels squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, son. I know it hurts like a bitch, but the Osprey’s coming in.” As he spoke, McDaniels heard a rhythmic thumping that steadily grew louder. Right on cue, the MV-22 closed on the building.

“It’s no problem, sir,” Jimenez said. His voice almost bordered on a scream. McDaniels squeezed his shoulder again sympathetically and knelt beside him.

“You listen to me, soldier. You’ve been a total stud muffin this entire time. If you have to scream your head off while we carry you up those stairs, then you do it. No one’s ever going to be able to convince me you’re a girlie-man. Got that?”

Jimenez nodded slightly, and even that seemed to hurt him. “Yessir,” he said.

“Major McDaniels is something of an expert when it comes to identifying girlie-men,” Gartrell said as he knelt to the carpet on the other side of Jimenez. “Comes from a lifetime of actually being one.” McDaniels met the first sergeant’s gaze and shook his head. Now that transportation had arrived, people were starting to loosen up. Even Jimenez snorted a brief laugh.

Overhead, the sound of turbine-powered whirling rotors deepened, more felt than heard. McDaniels guessed the MV-22 had transitioned to a hover over the building. He looked out the windows for some sign of where the aircraft was, but there were no indicators, not even the reflection of flashing anti-collision beacons.

“Let’s go NVGs for the transfer,” he said to Gartrell, and both men reached for the PVS-7 night vision goggles in hard packs they wore on their belts. They clipped the devices to the mounts on their helmets and powered them up, testing them in the still-too-bright tepid lights of the cafeteria. Both units were fully functional.

McDaniels rose to his feet and beckoned to the Safires and the Browns. “Folks, we’ll be leaving shortly—you can hear the transport, I’m sure. What’s going to happen is that Sergeant Derwitz will come down to let us know when everything is stable upstairs, and he’ll lead us to the roof. There will be lots of wind, both from the aircraft and from the storm itself, and rain. You’ll want to keep your heads down. Sergeant Jimenez will be uploaded first via a rescue hoist, due to his injuries. After that, it will be the Safires, then you and your kids, Earl. The rest of us will come up after the Marines have you aboard. Derwitz and Finelly will lead you to the extraction point and fit the hoist harness around you. You will not move toward the hoist position until one of them physically takes you by the hand and leads you in. This is for your safety, so please, wait for them to do what they need to do.

“Questions?”

Zoe raised her hand immediately, and with such exuberance that it brought a smile to McDaniels’ lips. “Yes, Miss Brown?”

“Can I sit up front?” she asked.

“Zoe!” Earl said, his tone one of scolding.

McDaniels and Gartrell laughed, as did Regina and Kenisha. Zoe looked around, confused by the laughter and the contrasting rebuke issued by her father. Safire, of course, merely sniffed.

“That’s up to the Marines,” McDaniels said. “And that’s something else—once we’re aboard the aircraft, they are in command. Follow their instructions to the letter. It’ll be very loud inside the aircraft, but they’ll give you headsets as soon as they can. In the meantime, once you’re seated and strapped in, cover your ears with your hands and open your mouths, like this.” He demonstrated the position. “This will help reduce the noise level and save your hearing. Anything else?”

“Where are we going?” Safire said. It hardly sounded like a question.

“We’ll be flown out of the city and back to the USS Wasp, which is the Marine assault carrier in the Atlantic. After that, I don’t know. But we can assume the Wasp will be the safest place for us to be for the moment.”

Before anyone else could say anything, the door leading to the corridor opened. Gartrell and McDaniels turned toward it with weapons raised. Derwitz stood in the doorway, one hand on the door handle, the other on the grip of the MP5K strapped to his thigh. He was soaking wet, and his night vision goggles were flipped up on their mounts. McDaniels saw the green-white glow from their eye pieces as Derwitz faced him.

“We’re ready, major,” he said. “It’s a bitch of a night out, so get ready for it.” He released the door handle and darted forward, reaching for Jimenez. “Ready to go, Taco?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Jimenez said. He gritted his teeth and winced as Derwitz and Gartrell hauled him to his feet. Derwitz went to gather him into a fireman’s carry, but Gartrell stopped him with one hand.

“Let me take this, Night Stalker. You get everyone else ready for transport.”

Derwitz hesitated for a moment, clearly not comfortable with allowing someone else to handle one of his own, but Jimenez pushed Derwitz away weakly.

“Help the major with the civilians, Maxi. The first sergeant can help me out of here.”

Derwitz turned and pointed toward the door. “Everyone, out into the stairwell. The stairs going up will be to your right and straight ahead. You’ll see some blood and stuff, but it’s nothing to worry about.” He turned back to McDaniels. “Finelly and I dragged the body down a couple of flights so they won’t have to see it,” he said, his voice pitched low.

“Good job,” McDaniels replied in kind. Then louder, to the others: “All right, let’s move out. Derwitz, you have the lead.” He turned and spotted Gartrell as he folded Jimenez over his shoulder as gently as he could, then hoisted up Gartrell’s pack. Holding his M4 in one hand by its pistol grip and Gartrell’s pack in the other, he followed Gartrell as he carried Jimenez out of the cafeteria.

###

In the streets below, the walking dead raised their sallow faces toward the wet sky when the thundering rotor beats reached their ears. Though none of them knew what it was they saw, some primordial instinct that survived even death was able to alert them to it, to suggest with vague promises that it led to food. And this in turn led them to contemplate the building with the bright lobby that sat before them more earnestly. Moving slowly at first, then more hurriedly until they moved as fast as their dead ligaments and muscles would allow, the dead rushed toward the bright lights, drawn to it now like moths to open flame.

And at the vanguard of the dead army were corpses wearing the uniforms of the United States Army, uniforms that were subtly decorated with subdued Special Forces patches.