"How's the fuel situation looking man?" asked Roger.
Stephen glanced at the man sitting next to him before replying, "It's holding up, but I'd feel better if we found some place to fuel up again, preferably sooner rather than later."
So far they had been sticking to the countryside and avoiding the larger cities, initially in fear of being caught with the stolen helicopter. But as they realized just how wide spread this plague was, it no longer mattered. Their need for food and water, and the simple fact that it'd been more than 12 hours since they had seen another living person now drove them towards the cities.
Fran spoke up from the rear seat of the aircraft, fear adding sharpness to her voice. "Do we even know where we're at Stephen? I mean, we're almost out of water, we've got no food, and you just said yourself that we're going to need fuel soon. For God's sake, we don't even have a plan!" Shakily she reached into her purse for a cigarette, knowing she should feel guilty about it for the baby's sake, but finding herself unable to care. In her mind the odds of living long enough to bring it into the world were a long shot at best.
"I know exactly where we're at," he replied, wisely choosing to ignore the cigarette. "We're just slightly south of one of the Milwaukee suburbs, Everett, I think it's called. We should be able to find a rooftop to set down on, get some rest. Maybe we'll even get lucky and find some food." Stephen hoped his words sounded more confident then he felt. Anything that would help to ease some of Fran's fears. Fran, as if their relationship didn't have enough problems with her pregnancy, now they had to deal with the end of the world too.
Peter spoke, dragging Stephen from his thoughts. "Sorry Flyboy, but we are not setting this chopper down anywhere unless me and Roger are certain it's secure." Peter had no faith in Stephen's judgment. Ever since the pilot had shown his ineptitude with a rifle to the extent that he'd almost shot Peter during their first refueling debacle relations between the two men could be described as strained at best.
"And just how are we supposed to make sure it's secure without landing?" demanded Stephen. Angry that his plan was being shot down without even trying.
"Sonuvabitch! How about if there's a big sign posted!" laughed Roger, as giddy as a child at Christmas.
"What the hell are you talking about Rog?" a still irritated Stephen snapped.
"Take a good look up ahead, see that big indoor shopping center? I'm pretty sure that writing on the side says 'Help Alive Inside.' And there's that big SOS plain as day on top of the roof. You ask me, that's an open invitation. Those malls, they got restaurants,
TV's, radios, you name it. Anything we could want all for the taking." Roger smiled,
looking at the other occupants of the helicopter.
"Damn, I think he's right Flyboy. It's perfect." Peter agreed.
"Wait, how do we know for sure that it's safe? That those things haven't gotten inside? It's been a week since this all started, and look at all those things down there, there's got to be thousands of them," Fran pointed out. She was afraid to hope that this was really a safe haven. That they would actually be able to get off this helicopter and hide, even if it was just a temporary thing, seemed like nothing more than a dream.
This time it was Peter who smiled at her as he pointed back towards the roof. "Look there, the door to the roof is opening, looks like someone's holding the door, some more people are carrying something out. Now, I don't know about you, but I've never seen any of these creatures hold doors for each other or work together on anything that didn't involve killing. It's gonna be okay Fran." He smiled again reassuringly at her, even as he noticed how the creatures surrounding the mall seemed somehow different from the ones they had fled back home. It wasn't until the first sheet wrapped object, that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a body, was heaved over the side did he realize what was different. Back home the zombies, were almost ridiculously comical with their slow, stiff movements. They were easy to outrun when dealing with small groups of them. The ones here though, when that body in the sheet had been thrown over, some of the creatures below had grabbed for it, a couple dodged it, but all seemed to possess the reflexes and speed of an Olympic class athlete. Could it be possible? Were there two types of zombies? His mind couldn't begin to fathom the possibility.
Down below on the roof, it had been Kenneth and Michael that the helicopter's occupants had seen struggling under the weight of the woman from Norma's truck. They'd heaved her over the edge for what would have to serve as a burial for now. Terry and André had followed suit with Frank's body. Ana had accompanied them to man the doors. Together the five of them stared for a moment at the growing mob of creatures outside the mall. The combined moans and snarls from so many of them drowned out the sounds of the approaching helicopter.
"Jesus, is there anyone else left alive?" Ana didn't even realize she'd uttered those words aloud until she heard Michael's quiet response.
"We made it, Andy made it, there's got to be other survivors out there somewhere, there has to be..." he trailed off as thoughts of what the alternative would mean came into his mind, too unbearable to put into words.
"I just wish we knew what was going on Michael, the TV's have been out all day, radios too. I just want to know that someone else out there somewhere made it, that there is hope for us," she nodded towards the zombies below, "that we're not all going to end up like those soulless creatures, roaming the earth as we rot."
Michael placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He was about to speak again, but the sharp crack of gunfire rang out from the direction of Andy's store. As they looked towards the shop they all felt a strange sense of deja vu, for the second day in a row, a helicopter was approaching.
"A helicopter! But I thought Ft. Pastor was gone!" Terry blurted out.
"That's civilian, not military," Kenneth told him, grabbing the binoculars CJ had left on the rooftop the day before. "Looks like it's got television news markings on the side.
"I don't care who it is, as long as they're coming to get us out of here!" the excited teen replied.
Kenneth and Michael looked at each other, both thinking the same thought, neither wanted to voice out loud. Even if there was a place for them to go, the likelihood that a news helicopter had been sent to rescue them was positively minuscule. They were not going to be rescued.
The five of them continued to watch the helicopter as it circled the roof and then landed. Four people emerged from the helicopter, a woman and three men carrying rifles slung over their shoulders. As they approached, neither group seemed to know what to say. Michael finally broke the silence. "I guess greetings are in order," he began. "I'm Michael, this is Ana, Terry, Kenneth and André. So do you have any news about what's going on?"
The tall black man clad in a S.W.A.T. uniform answered. "The name's Peter, this is Roger, Fran and Stephen. Don't really have much news to give you,we haven't spoke to anyone elsesince we flew outta Philadelphia."
"Philadelphia!" Kenneth spoke sharply. "You're a helluva long way from home aren't you brother?"
Peter didn't respond. Instead Fran inquired, "What about you? Don't you have any kind of information about what's going on?"
Michael smiled at her. In his trademark soft-spoken voice he said, "We haven't heard anything new since the last group of survivors showed up this morning. That's when we learned that Ft. Pastor had fallen. It was the last aid station in the area that any of us knew of still in operation. The televisions and radios went off the air some time during the night."
"You said the last group of survivors," Stephen cut in, "Exactly how many people do you have here?"
"Fourteen total actually in the mall. We like to think of ourselves as fifteen strong though including Andy," Michael responded.
That comment caught Roger's attention. "Andy, who's Andy?"
Kenneth held the binoculars out to him and gestured in the direction of Andy's store. "He's the owner of the gun shop over there, kinda catty corner to the parking lot here. Trapped and alone. Looks like we should be able to get Andy over here now though," he finished directing one of his imposing stares towards the newcomers, clearly implying who was in charge.
"How do you figure that my friend?" Peter asked, casually pulling a cigar from a pocket on his uniform and lighting it. There was no way he was going to allow his people to be pushed around, they were all equals.
Fran wasn't putting up with the macho bullshit out of either of the men. Now that they were safely on the ground, the food and water problem now solved, she was back to feeling like the ballsy bitch that made her such a damn good producer. "Peter stop playing games, and Kenneth is it? If you want us to use our helicopter to save your friend, all you had to do was ask, no need for the he-man attitude," she snapped at the two men. Peter smiled, it was the first real spunk he'd seen out of her since they'd departed from Philly.
"What do you think Flyboy? Think you can handle something like that?" he called over his shoulder to Stephen.
Stephen looked at Kenneth as he said, "I'd be a lot more ready for it if I could get something to eat, maybe a few hours of sleep." He yawned as if to emphasize his point.
"Kenneth, Michael, why don't we take them below, let them meet the rest of the group," Ana interrupted.