Man Eaters (Book 2): The Horde Page 22

  “Four-seater Cessna 172,” Colby explained. He stood a bit shorter than Dallas and sported a thick head of hair and an infectious smile. Everyone liked him. Dallas called him Snake Charmer because he was so charming. “Nearly full tank of gas. Still smells musty inside, though. I did all I could to get the odor out, sorry.”

  Dallas nodded. “As long as you can keep it in the air, I wouldn’t care if it smelled like dog crap.”

  “Well, it’s not that bad, but I can keep her up long enough for us to get an idea of the area in a good two hundred mile radius.”

  “Two hundred? Damn. I was hoping for more.”

  Wendell cleared his throat. “Using groundspeed averages, we will assume that the low end of the scale is ninety mph and the high end of the scale is one hundred and thirty mph. Doing the same math as in the short answer, we can determine that the worst groundspeed and worst fuel consumption will give us a low distance range of one hundred and eighty nine miles. The best groundspeed and best fuel consumption rate will give us a maximum distance of four hundred and ninety four miles. That’s quite a wide range, and it helps explain why some pilots run out of fuel. If a pilot assumes that full tanks are plenty for a two hundred and fifty mile trip but doesn’t know there is a twenty mph headwind, that pilot stands a good chance of running out of fuel when they are still fifty to sixty miles and thirty to fifty minutes short of the intended airport.”

  Dallas just stared at him.

  Colby laughed at Dallas. “Like I said. Two hundred miles. Never mind Mr. Calculator over there. I think he loves the sound of his own voice.”

  “By car, the route is much longer, but since we’re going as the crow flies, you can make it to NOLA and back as long as you aren’t fighting headwinds.”

  “Safely?”

  Colby nodded. “I flew Blackhawks in Afghanistan. This baby is probably far safer than those piece of shit choppers. We should be fine.”

  “And the delivery from Cassie?”

  “Packed in the back in those cartons. They came out really great.” Wendell pulled a light blue piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to Dallas. “She’s completely run out of ink, though.”

  “How many?”

  “After cutting each sheet into four slips, over a hundred thousand slips.”

  Dallas whistled. “Excellent. I’ll be sure to thank her and see what I can do about getting her more ink.”

  “She’s pretty proud of those,” Colby added. “And rightly so. It’s a great way to communicate to others that we are here.”

  Unfolding the slip, Dallas read it out loud. “We are fighting back from Angola prison in Louisiana. Unity will save us. We have weapons, food, protection. Gays are immune to infection…join us and take back our home. Perfect,” Dallas said, smiling softly.

  Einstein had come to her one night with the idea. He said he’d been sitting on it for a while. If they could let people know where they were and what was happening at Angola, they could increase their army and survivor population, so she immediately sought out Colby, a pilot, and asked if he could get one of the Cessnas in the air.

  By cannibalizing one for the other, together, he and Wendell managed to get enough power to jump-start the only new battery left in the hangar.

  “Excellent, excellent work, guys.”

  “Our pleasure, Boss. Whenever you’re ready, she’s good to go.”

  Dallas held up a finger. “Give me an hour and then we’ll get her in the air.”

  Dallas made her way back to the crow’s nest and asked Otis, who had become the main eyes and ears of Angola, to call Roper in unless he could see where she was.

  By the second week, they had created a system of bells, whistles, and sounds, much like they had in department stores that corresponded with certain people. Those people were then to hightail it to the conference room.

  Roper’s sound, aptly enough, was a cowbell.

  “You see Roper?” She called up to Otis.

  “She’s milking a cow, I think. Either that, or she’s a serious perv. Want me to call her in?”

  “Nah. I’ll go to the barn. Thanks.”

  Dallas found Roper correcting one of the newbies’ cow-milking techniques in the barn.

  Under Roper’s guidance, the barn had been repaired, the stalls reinforced, and the cows, chickens, and goats fattened and healthier. So far, she hadn’t found a horse to rope, but Dallas was certain she had her eyes on a bay mare which had eluded her for three weeks.

  When Roper saw her, she rose from the milking stool and met her at the barn door with a gentle kiss. “Hey there, good lookin’, what brings you to Farmville?”

  “The plane is ready. I didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”

  A big grin spread across Roper’s face. Like everyone else, she had gained back some of her lost weight and it only made her more handsome in Dallas’s eyes. As attracted as they were to each other, it was much harder to share intimacy in the prison than on the bayou, and they’d only managed to grab a few quickies in the weeks they’d been there.

  “That’s awesome. I saw Cassie’s prints. Great job. We should see an influx in newbies soon enough.” Roper tilted her head and studied Dallas a moment. “What’s the matter?”

  Dallas easily pulled her out of the barn. “We’ve not been apart in six weeks. It feels weird going up there without you.”

  “No worries, love. I threatened Colby and gave him no other option but to bring you home safely or not come home at all. I think he caught my drift.”

  It had been decided earlier that Roper, as second in command, would have to stay behind in the event something happened. Colby also felt that the less weight, the better, so only he and Dallas would be going up with the boxes of flyers they were planning on dumping out.

  After a long hug and penetrating kiss, Dallas was in the cockpit of the Cessna while Colby steered it out of the hangar toward the runway. Much to Dallas’s surprise, the runway was lined with survivors who had stopped whatever their job was to come cheer her on. Some had hastily created signs and posters wishing them a safe voyage, quick return, and good luck.

  “Whoa,” Colby whispered, looking over at Dallas, who teared up. “You are well-loved.”

  “We are, Colby. This whole venture wouldn’t be possible without you. You two did great getting this bird ready.”

  “The fact that Wendell is still alive is the greater miracle here. I thought I was going to clobber him.”

  As the plane lifted off the ground, Dallas got her first aerial view of Angola and the surrounding area. “I never realized how big it is,” she said, staring down at the prison.

  The four white buildings in the shape of an X looked so much smaller from the air, but she could now see the method to the building madness.

  She cast her gaze down at The Survivor, which they had turned into a fishing vessel, and realized there were other boats docked up and down the Mississippi a couple of miles further upstream. She made a mental note to have Luke check them out. As much as she’d like the boats, survivors were more important now, and getting both would be a bonus.

  The plane banked back over Angola and the layout of the land before them was jaw-droppingly beautiful even in the aftermath of multiple floodings, fires, and, of course, man eating death.

  “Looks so pretty from here, huh?” Colby said, leveling her out. “You learn not to judge a place by how it looks from up here. I lost too many good buddies in the war who thought they were flying over unpopulated or safe areas. Think of this as you might a mirage: some truth to the view, but it’s sketchy at best. Most of the ugly dangers are unseen from up here, like a mist coming toward you until you realize, too late, it’s a noxious cloud.”

  Dallas cocked her head. “Never thought you’d be one to wax poetic.”

  “I had a great English teacher in middle school.”

  This made Dallas grin. “Then why don’t I put you in charge of building a better library for us?”

  “I�
�ll do it. It will be nice to offer people something else to do.”

  Dallas leaned forward and quietly watched the land pass beneath them. Some homes were burned down, plant life had taken residence where it didn’t belong, and the breakdown of the infrastructure was evident by the broken down vehicles, flooded yards, and downed power lines. Packs of feral dogs roamed through destitute neighborhoods, and there was the occasional zombie who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo to migrate to the northeast.

  Hoping to reach as many of the surrounding population as possible, Dallas had Colby start at Shreveport and then fly along the eastern border to Lafayette, and then back over to New Orleans. As they flew lower over the cities, Dallas dumped boxes of the blue slips and watch them flutter like dead butterflies to the ground. Three times over NOLA, she caught sight of survivors who came out when they heard the plane’s engine and waved like maniacs to get their attention.

  “Hope was a great idea, Colby.”

  He nodded. “Can’t take all the credit. During the war, we often named the choppers to let people on the ground know what we were about.” He glanced down at a half dozen survivors and tipped the wings back and forth. “We best set up more bunks.”

  When the last half of the boxes was emptied out over NOLA, Dallas leaned back and inhaled deeply. “I’ve counted fifty-four survivors and only twenty-nine undead. What does that tell you?”

  Colby shook his head. “They’re migrating. Let me take us higher and then we can see the even bigger picture as we head home.”

  Dallas stared out the side window as the plane rose slowly. When they leveled off again, she leaned forward to watch a huge herd of cattle tromp across the flatlands about twenty-five miles away from Angola. The cows looked like big dogs and they were moving as a pack of wolves might. It wasn’t until she looked ahead of the cows that she realized what she was really looking at.

  “Take her lower! Take her lower!” Dallas ordered, staring down at the group of people running ahead of the herd.

  She didn’t need to glance back to know it wasn’t a herd of cows they were running from, but a horde.

  A massive horde.

  “Oh my god,” Colby murmured when he spotted the reason Dallas wanted to go lower. “There must be five or six thousand of them.”

  Dallas twisted in her seat to see better. “Circle back.”

  The plane banked and Dallas grabbed a handful of the slips. There must have been close to one hundred people trying to outrun the horde. They were a mile, maybe two miles ahead of the horde—a horde that would eventually overtake them long before they could reach the prison fences.

  That was the horror of running from them: They never tired. They never needed rest or sleep, or food. They were relentless in their single-minded pursuit, and not only would they not stop or slow down, they would collect others along the way, growing their own moaning, limping army of locusts that fed only on human flesh.

  “They’re waving and pointing toward Angola.” Colby tilted the wings back and forth once more.

  Dallas gauged the survivors’ speed versus the horde’s. “They’ll never make it.”

  Colby circled back once more. “Yeah. The horde’ll overtake them before they can get within twenty miles.” Then Colby’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, Dallas, they’re bringing the horde right to us!”

  Dallas gazed down at the amoeba-like mob and realized Colby was right. That growing horde would be on their doorstep in no time, testing whether or not Angola could withstand the pressure of five or six thousand zombies trying to get to them.

  “Get us home, Colby. As fast as you can fly—get us home.”

  ****

  When the plane landed and slowed to a stop in front of the hangar, Roper, Butcher, Einstein, and Luke ran out to greet them.

  “How did it—” Roper stopped as soon as she saw Dallas’s face. “What happened?”

  Dallas jumped down from the plane and grabbed Luke. “I want every CGI fighter available to meet me in meeting room A immediately. Tell Otis to use the bullhorn. Bring Fletcher, Kim, Henry, and Otis as well. Put someone else up top until I send Otis back. Hurry!”

  Luke took off like a shot, causing Roper and the others concern. “What the hell happened up there?”

  “Come with me.” Dallas took off toward the base with Roper right next to her. “A huge horde is chasing survivors coming this way. I don’t think they’re going to make it.”

  “Huge? How huge?”

  “Five or six thousand now. Who knows how many when they finally get here.”

  “Holy shit. And the number they’re chasing?”

  “A hundred maybe? But they won’t make it here in time. It’s too far and they are slowing down. Bring the Fuchs around loaded with arrows and turret ammo. Tell Butcher to have Meg prep a triage unit, get all the nurses we have, and then meet us in meeting room A. And find Wendell.”

  When Roper peeled off for the Fuchs, Dallas ran through her list of preparedness in her head. As long as she trusted and delegated to her people, everything they would need would fall right into place.

  Or so she hoped.

  When everyone was together in the large conference area, Dallas quickly rapped on the table. Everyone quieted down immediately.

  “When Colby and I flew over the area, we witnessed approximately five thousand or so man eaters chasing after a hundred or so survivors making a beeline for Angola. We estimate they are approximately twenty to twenty-five miles away as the crow flies.”

  “We preparing a defense?”

  Dallas shook her head. “Uh uh. They’ll never reach us in time. They are currently about two miles ahead of the pack, but we all know how quickly that gap can be bridged. A fall here, a rest there, and that horde will devour them in a heartbeat.”

  “What do you need us to do?” Butcher asked.

  Dallas pursed her lips. “I think we need to go help them. Without our help, they’ll never make it.”

  “Help one hundred versus five thousand?” Einstein said. “We can’t do it. We’re good, but come on. That’s a butt load of zombies.”

  “I agree,” Cassie said. “This poses too great a risk for us.”

  The group began talking all at once until Roper grabbed the hammer and pounded on the table. “Let her finish before you all start throwing in your two cents.”

  Dallas nodded her thanks to Roper and leaned forward on the table. “We don’t need to take out all of them at once. We need to grab the children and any injured while taking out the first dozen or so rows of zombies.”

  A hand went up. “Still too risky. We would be as vulnerable as they are.”

  There was a murmur of agreement in the crowd.

  “The ZBs obviously wouldn’t go out,” Roper answered. “They would stay to defend.”

  Holding her hand up, Dallas waited until it quieted down. “I guess I need to remind you all of why we came here. We came to grow an army, to begin a rebellion, to save others. Now that we have a safe place, good food, and comfort, you’re willing to turn your back on those who need help? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  No one said a word for the longest time.

  Then Henry said, “I’m in.”

  “So am I.” This came from Fletcher.

  Dallas held her hands up. “Look. Before this becomes a tipping point, let me finish with my thought about all of this, because I understand your reticence to leave here and engage the zombies. I get that it’s scary. I do. We won’t be sending out any ZBs unless they want to go. Your job will be to hold down the fort because like it or not, that horde is coming toward us. One way or the other, we’re going to have to fight. They’ll bear down on our fences and press on the gates. The question is whether or not we cull the herd first and save those survivors, or sit back while we listen to them be killed and eaten.” Dallas folded her arms across her chest and waited. When no one said anything, she continued. “Good. If Luke or anyone else has ways to tweak it, then by all means, toss your ideas out there, but
I would hope you all see the importance of aiding those survivors.”

  The room remained silent.

  “Every moment we waste is one step closer to death for those survivors. Now, it will be tough to defeat five thousand undead with forty of us, but we can give the survivors enough breathing room to be able to reach Angola and thin the mob before their numbers overwhelm our fences, and they will overwhelm our fences if we don’t do something.”

  “So we kill a thousand, maybe two. You really think our fences can stand up against four thousand of those things?” It was Benjamin standing at the doorway.

  When everyone turned, he held his hands out, palms up. “What? Was this a closed meeting?”

  Roper started around the table, but Butcher intercepted her before she could reach him. “Now is so not the time,” Butcher said into Roper’s ear. “Get a hold of yourself, please.”

  Heads swiveled back to Roper, who glared at him over Butcher’s shoulder, but made no further move. “Fine.”

  “It’s not a closed meeting, Ben, but we need order and right now, and you are not helping.” Dallas waited for a retort.

  “I’d just like to sit in and listen so I can tell my people that—”

  “They are not your people, Ben, and you are wasting our time. So zip it or leave. Those are your only options right now.”

  Ben silently took a seat.

  Butcher looked to Wendell, who pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get right on those reinforcements from the land side. We’ll get on it right now.”

  Dallas nodded. “Wendell will take a group out when we are done here and shore up the fences on the west side as much as possible.” She turned to Otis. “Okay. Otis, hitch the flat bed trailer to the Fuchs. To help the survivors pick up speed, we’ll need to take the weakest and youngest members off their hands. Anyone holding them back gets on the flatbed. Once you have them, DD back here and quarantine them. Butcher and Meg, your staff can look them over tomorrow. You are to maintain quarantine protocol for every single person we bring back. Once we’ve scooped up the stragglers, the fighters will create a line of defense between the survivors and the horde approximately five hundred yards long, taking out as many in the front as we can. With forty of us, if each of us can take out twenty to thirty, that will at least give the survivors some breathing room.”