Jason Campagna - White Ash on Bone - A Zombie Novel

On the field, the Black Hawk’s engine let out a high-pitched whine as its starting engine kicked in. The blades on top of the helicopter spun slowly to life. The whine picked up in tempo while the blades picked up exponential speed. Eason felt the first push of air from the chopper and it brought with it the taste of engine exhaust and gunpowder.

A sign on the wall beside him read, "Section 213." The seats were empty.

"Helen" Fennel shouted. "We have to find my family.” The private club boxes sat above the section and a number of people had managed to pull themselves up into them. People were pointing down at the helicopter on the field.

"Oh my God," Eason said, "Those idiots are going-" The sound of the helicopter drowned his words out.

At least a hundred people that had been sitting in the stands had jumped the railing onto the field. They ran to the perceived safety of the chopper from every direction while it was gaining the power to take off. The skids were just lifting off as several people dove inside. It continued to lift, but a few more people managed to get a hold of the skids near the front of the craft. Unbalanced, the Black Hawk drifted forward to the river as it climbed about ten feet off the ground. A couple of the people fell off the skids or let go to fall to the grass. The craft pitched to the right, and its tail swung 180 degrees to the left from the weight change.

A woman was slung out of the spinning craft. Eason watched her long hair flowing in the air. Her arms flailed in empty space while she sailed downward to her death. The Black Hawk spun down the field out of control in the direction of the river.

The riverside of the stadium had only a small section of seating a dozen or more rows deep. In normal times, local high school bands would be seated here during football games. Directly behind this section was the plaza where soldiers were desperately trying to hold the gate. Some of them heard the chopper coming and ran to get out of the way.

The skids of the helicopter hit the top few rows of the seats. It was enough to roll the top of the vehicle with its blades pitching forward to the ground. The blades hit concrete and sheared off into the plaza, they cut through running bodies like grass. The impact of the blades caused the chopper to jerk to the right sending the tail spinning around. The tail blades spun out into the plaza like a giant lawn mower mulching a couple of unlucky soldiers. With the main rotor blades gone from the top of the chopper, the craft flipped over and slid across the plaza. It smashed into a section of the gate which buckled outward. The crash bent open a small gap in the gate.

The chopper sat on its side smoking. A crewmember inside the wreck crawled out of the top. Nearby, several zombies squeezed through the gap in the damaged gate. The soldier dropped to the ground and limped away from the craft as fast as his injured leg could carry him. The zombies lumbered behind him feet away.

Eason could see a pool of liquid forming on the ground by the chopper. Oh shit, he thought. If I can see fuel from here-

The helicopter caught fire as another guy pulled himself out of the wreckage. The flames reached up to surround the broken craft and engulfed the survivor. The body fell back inside, never to be seen again. The flames reached out and lit the zombies chasing the soldier like matches. The fire missed the soldier, but he fell to the ground from the blast. He flailed helplessly on the ground from the blistering heat.

The flames rose up from the pyre and licked through the bars of the gate. Behind the stadium, on the river, a tug used to push barges sailed past. Its decks were lined with dozens of people fleeing the area on the ancient waterway. They watched the bodies’ burn from their ship.

"I am Dido and this is my funeral," Eason whispered to himself.

At the gate, zombies continued to spill over in multiple sections. The soldiers who were left on the plaza level pulled back to the ramps on either side of the end zone.

Eason watched one of the men momentarily pause his retreat long enough to pitch something over the gate at the horde.

Bang.

The explosion ripped through a clump of the undead trying to scale the growing mound of bodies over the gate. Dozens of ghouls around them were knocked over from the energy of the blast.

On the ramps above, other defenders took cue and readied their own grenades. They tossed them into the crowd in unison. The explosions tore a visible hole in the mass of the undead attacking the stadium, but the gap was quickly filled in.

"Shane," a woman shouted.

Eason turned to see Fennel's wife Helen, carrying a baby, as she hurried down the steps behind them from a higher section.

Fennel ran up the stairs and met his wife half way. He wrapped his arms around her and the child.

Eason's radio crackled on his hip, the speaker didn’t identify himself. "That’s it we’re fucked!" the man said.

"What are you talking about, the greenies can just keep blasting them with grenades," another man responded.

"I’m standing on the East ramp with them, and they say that the grenades they had were brought by just a few guys," said the first man.

Chapter Nine

Sulla sat in the administrative office at the Butler County Airport. They had moved into the room a radio designed with an array of frequencies to talk with planes. Shortly after Sulla destroyed the bridge on Route 8, Captain Anderson contacted him on the radio over the emergency channel. Their conversation went something like the following.

“This is Captain Anderson of the Pennsylvania National Guard; I need to talk to Paul Sulla.”

“This is Sulla. Go.”

“I have about two-hundred civilians I’m loading in a convoy and bringing to you,” Anderson said.

“Cool, where are you coming from, and how many soldiers are you bringing?” Sulla said.

“We are at the Butler VA armory. I only have about twenty soldiers, but more may filter in throughout the night. What’s your situation there?” Anderson said.

“Dude, I need ammo. In addition, I have about three-hundred people, give or take, forting up here at the airport. About a hundred of them have guns, and we have formed an ad-hoc militia to hold the area. So how soon are you coming over, so I know when I’ll have to start cleaning the house for the totally awesome party we’re going to have?”

“I will be loading trucks all night. We’ll convoy over in the morning with everything that can be carried for a pot-luck” Anderson said. “Oh, by the way, I hear your last party knocked the main bridge down to get to you. Is there anything else I should know about?”

“Yeah, sorry about the bridge” Sulla said. “You’re kind of on the other side. But if it makes you feel better, I have another bridge. Speaking of which, you may want to close that door behind you on your way through."

The conversation had gone on for several more minutes before both men got back to their own crisis.

The night had brought no sleep to Sulla's eyes, and his hand rested on a cup of coffee that Dr. Carson's assistant, Kimberly, had brought him. I don’t even drink coffee he thought, but the warmth feels good in my hand.

A number of people had disappeared during the night. Sulla didn’t think they were dead because their vehicles were missing. Everyone had family that they wanted to find. Sulla knew that if those people could find their loved ones, they would be back.

Sulla's father and younger sister, Bianca, had made it to the airport fairly early on to help out. The two of them were currently watching a section of fence on the airport property.

Knocking out the bridge had scattered the horde buying the community valuable time. Hundreds of zombies fell over the gap in the bridge to their end below, but most of them survived to roam the creek bed.