Jason Campagna: White Ash on Bone: A Zombie Novel

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Anderson had a bad feeling, as he made his way down the runway in the direction of the 911 th . The base shared the runways with the civilian airport. He had tried to radio the C-130s sitting on the tarmac, and his answer was silence.

He approached the planes with his men to his right and left in a skirmish line formation. They walked past the planes and approached the corner of the nearest hanger. Anderson and his men rounded the corner and saw the flight crews standing in a line shoulder-to-shoulder facing in the opposite direction. Behind the flight crews were 5 soldiers with military police bands around their arms. They were pointing guns at the flight crews.

“There they are, Captain,” one of his soldiers said. “What the heck?” In unison, both prisoners and guards turned toward Anderson.

A Major stepped out from behind the guards and three of his men followed the Major as he approached Anderson. “Captain,” said the Major, “Do you want to explain to me who you are, and why you are here?”

“I'm Rick Anderson, Pennsylvania National Guard out of Butler.”

“Sir,” Anderson asked, “Why are you detaining these men?”

“These men abandoned their duty, Captain. Are you associated with them?” he asked as he continued forward.

Anderson avoided the question, “I’m afraid I need their services to evacuate some civilians.”

The Major stopped and reached for his holstered side arm, “Shoot them,” he ordered the military police.

Anderson brought his own gun up as he dropped to the ground. He squeezed the trigger and hit the Major in the stomach, but the Military Police were already firing on him. Anderson didn’t feel the bullets as they tore through his chest, but their impact knocked him over on the ground. Anderson’s men had their own weapons firing and both groups shot at each other at point-blank range.

Anderson thought about the gunfight at the OK corral as he struggled to bring his weapon back up. Bodies dropped all around Anderson, but two of his men were left standing.

The flight crews had dropped to the ground leaving the other two Military Police to have a clear shot at Anderson’s group. They raised their guns and rained automatic weapons fire killing his last two men.

A man hobbled out from behind a building behind the last two MP’s. The man wore the blues of a Pittsburgh City Police officer and he carried a shotgun. The man also looked badly burned.

The cop pointed the shotgun at the nearest MP and pulled the trigger. The buckshot tore into the shoulder and face of the MP, killing him instantly. The other soldier turned and fired at the cop who was in the middle of pumping another round into the chamber.

The cop fell on his back, but managed to raise the weapon again and fired. The MP fell over and ceased moving.

A flight officer got up and seized an M-16 off the nearest dead MP.

“Grab their weapons,” he ordered.

Anderson opened his mouth to talk, but found he couldn’t breathe right. His voice gurgled as his lungs filled with blood.

Another of the flight officers ran over to Anderson and ripped his fatigues open.

“Hang in there,” he said, “We knew you were coming and were trying to stall them from shooting us.”

Anderson grabbed his hand and threw it off.

“I’m dead, he managed but each word took more effort. He took in one last breath, “Fly.”

Anderson’s head went slack and rolled to the side.

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Sulla led the group to the end of the next concourse with the dead closing the distance to their right. The fuel truck sat on the corner of the building in front of the group.

His plan had been to dump the fuel and light it to create a wall of fire to keep the undead back. The undead were too close to have time to make that work, and more were falling out of the broken windows of the airport terminal in front of them.

If we keep running, he thought, they are going to follow us and some may end up on the runway. They could have used the helicopter to lead them away but the dead were too close, and its pilot was making a visual pass on the nuclear reactor 10 miles away.

"Shit," Winters said as he listened in on his radio. "The Cap and our team got wasted on the other side, but the planes are ready to go."

"What about the chopper?" asked Sulla.

"Eight minutes away," said the Sergeant.

Winters grabbed his radio and pushed the button to transmit, "We got major problems down here, but the runway is currently clear. I advise you to dust off like there is no tomorrow."

Sulla ran to the truck and grabbed on to a ladder attached to the back end.

"Get out of here," Sulla shouted while he climbed. "One of us has to keep them here like the Meal Wagon Guy."

"That’s suicide," Winters said.

"No," Sulla replied, "it’s the life of hundreds of kids back at Butler." The zombies closed the distance to the fuel truck to 50 yards.

"Then I am staying with you," Rex said, and he reached for the ladder.

"Bullshit," Winters said, "You got a wife asshole; get out of here."

Winters pushed him out of the way and climbed the ladder with Kovalcik and Callen following.

"All of you need to get out of here," yelled Sulla.

"I'm not going to let a civilian die for me," Winters said.

"Fucking right," agreed Callen. "Sulla, you should go too, we got this."

"There’s no time,” Sulla said. "They see me and they’re too close. Rex," said Sulla, "You got about ten seconds to run like hell before they tear you apart." Winters pulled his field radio off his belt and tossed it at Rex.

The deep whine of a C-130 throttling up for takeoff came rumbling down the runway.

Rex could see the shadows of the dead cast on the concrete underneath the fuel truck. He turned and ran for the corner with everything he had. Behind him, gunfire erupted from the top of the truck.

"Come and get some," Winters yelled above the staccato.

Rex's feet pounded on the concrete as he raced past a baggage cart. The first C-130 flew by on his left, its wheels taking off into the air.

Rex looked over his shoulder and saw the shadow of the fuel truck engulfed by the bodies of the undead surrounding it. One zombie walked out past the corner following the noise and sight of the plane. A bullet smashed into its head, and it fell forward on the concrete. Rex turned and kept running. He heard the second plane throttle up while it made its way down the airstrip.

The radio Rex carried crackled, "This is Major Warren. I’m in-bound over the terminal with the chopper."

Rex brought the radio up to his mouth, "This is Rex. The rest of my group is sitting on a fuel truck on the runway side of the terminal. They are holding off a crowd of zombies."

" Roger that, I can see them. I am going to try and hover over them and pick them up."

Rex stopped at the far corner of the end of the concourse; he looked around the corner and didn’t see any movement of zombies. Behind him, the engines of the helicopter replaced the sounds of gunfire. Rex moved away from the wall of the terminal and looked up into the sky back in the direction of the fuel truck. The chopper glided toward the fuel truck from over the terminal. It lowered in the sky and slowed as it neared the area where the group held off the horde of zombies.

Rex breathed a sigh of relief as the chopper neared Sulla’s position. "They’re going to make-"

He was thrown over, and his ears filled with a roar until the world went silent around him. A ball of fire reached up into the sky and batted the helicopter like an insect. The shock wave pushed the craft over and spun its tail like a top. It twisted in a death spiral that carried it out into the airspace just above the runway. A C-130 barreled down the runway lifting off the ground just behind the spinning helicopter. The plane banked to the side to try and avoid a collision, but the helicopter smashed into its wing. The helicopter was driven straight into the ground from the mass of the heavier vehicle. The wing of the plane jerked up into the air as its engine caught fire and trailed smoke behind it.