Whiskey Delta – Chapter 43
“The thornbush is the old obstacle in the road. It must catch fire if you want to go further. “
-Franz Kafka
The tarmac was already baking in the afternoon sun. Heat devils were rising, making their recon mission an absolute pain in the ass. Still, Mill was able to see just enough to know the main runway was obstructed. Standing on the bed with his visor down and scope providing magnification, he spotted the large brown mass that was their latest challenge, a fuel tanker parked inexplicably perpendicularly on the tarmac.
From her spot at the front of the vehicle, she had a relatively clear view of a smaller commercial runway which ran parallel to the highway. The parkades around it were all but empty, only a few Cessnas and some private jets still strewn about. It made sense that most of them would be gone, anyone wealthy enough to own their own jet had used it to get out of the city long ago. And as for the small commercial craft, it stood to reason that anyone who could brides any pilot they could find to fly them and their families out in one.
Alas, that runway was unobstructed, and just long enough to accommodate their daring rescue plan. However, she couldn’t help but notice the telltale signs of occupation around the hangars. The bodies were relatively still, clutching to patches of shade in the doorways or inside the open hangar bays. They were relatively inert now, but sure as shit, that would change the second they arrived.
First, the noise of their engine would draw them for their state of relative slumber. Then they wouldn’t be fail to notice the smells of living beings amongst them. Before long, they could expect every Whiskey in the damn airport to be taking notice and running in their direction. By the time the Colonel arrived, both runways would be littered. Unless the pilots didn’t mind landing directly on top of moving targets, they needed to come up with a plan.
“So…” Mill said from his perch. “Any ideas?”
Saunders shook her head. She did not, but she was working on it. In one scenario, they were sure to be overrun by Whiskeys. In the other, they were stuck with a runway that was too short for a landing and take off, and they were sure to draw a lot of attention driving out to reach it.
“I think what we need right now is a Hail Mary,” Mill added, jumping from the bed and joining her at the front.
“Ah good,” she replied sardonically. “I was wondering when somebody would make a tired sports metaphor.”
“You got something against sports?”
“Not at all. I just don’t see the parallel between a long pass and a messed up situation.” Not true. She did. She totally did, and that’s what bothered her. She had resisted the boy BS for so long, but suddenly it was making inroads into her subconcious. Would hanging out with these boys and tossing back brews become a regular thing too? Had she officially joined the “boys club”? To be fair, she could think of worse things, and of course all this was predicated on them making it out alive, which lent it a certain je ne sais quoi.
Another metaphor was entering her mind, something that had less to do with sports and more to do with hunting. Or possibly epistemology, depending on which she liked better. She opted for the latter, as she’d had just about enough of the boyish kind.
She raised her rifle again and spotted the refueling truck, traced a line from it to their current position, and began to let the idea percolate some more. It was a high-risk move, but if they could pull it off, stay light on their feet and managed to control the chaos, they just might clear the runway and take out the Whiskeys in one fell swoop.
She smiled, the idea had form now. They would go with it.
“Is there a plan?” Mill asked, noticing her expression.
She nodded. There was indeed, and even a helpful metaphor to describe it.
Think outside the box.
* * *
Hot, and bright. The waves began to rise from the black landscape. Too bright to be walking outside, they knew. Best to keep under cover and enjoy the cool breeze. The hot ball of light would be gone soon, and they would begin combing the land once again.
They remembered this place well. So many had been here before, fragrant, fresh ones with their sweet, sweet blood. At night, they went out to find more, combed the empty places where twisted metal and broken glass lay. Surveyed the covered places with the broken fronts. But always, they returned here. The memory of the huddled fresh ones was just too potent.
They waited in the big place, the high roof keeping the hot ball from them. Wind blew in and kept it cool, but was bringing new smells with it. They began to stir from their slumber and some began to moan with interest. The smell was different, yet familiar. Different things mingling and triggering their memories. And noise, an old noise they had not heard since the fresh ones were seen in mass.
A loud thrumming, and the smell of strange smoke. It was getting louder, making everyone in the big place anxious now. Where was it coming from? Why did it smell of fresh meat and blood? Were they coming back? Would they be in the other big places again, or out in the hot, open place?
The noise became very loud, and then came to a screaming halt. And then some of them appeared. The smell was pungent, blood and exposed flesh taking to the air. Some of it was burnt too. Everyone in the place became fixated. For so long they had been without such smells, such tastes. There were many of them… some weak and bleeding too!
And so they ran!
Soon, the group of fleshy ones split up, some staying in their noisy machine, others jumping into another, bigger machine. It became noisy too, and the two began to move off together. The smaller one was closer, and the fleshy ones were making a big show of themselves. They pointed their tools in the air and made loud roars, yelled and waves their fleshy appendages.
Soon, every building was emptying. They all followed the flesh monsters and their lovely smell, drawn by the noise and anticipation of tasting their exposed, burnt and bloody flesh. No time to worry about their thunder tools or their noises, the taste was too sweet, and it had been too long since they tasted it last. And so many were here in one place, how could they resist the invitation to follow them?
And so they ran. All together, into the hot day, following them down the hot black road…
