Unbeknownst to the rest of the group, Briggs was carefully recording what they saw transpiring beneath them. The scientist deep down inside her was unable to resist studying these creatures in what could be construed as the 'wild.' They weren't confined to small research labs being sliced open, here you saw their actual behaviorism. They ran the full gamut of what they'd dealt with back in the states, all of them singular in their quest for live human flesh. The creatures showed no interest in the animals that roved the streets alongside of them. With their caretakers gone, packs of dogs roamed the streets of the towns they passed over, hunting together for food.
They spent their last night in Mexico sitting atop a hotel roof in the town of Oaxaca. From their vantage point above, Briggs sat watching the things below through binoculars as they gathered outside the building. Judging from the clothes some of them wore, she figured they must have been tourists at one time.
"After all this time you still find something interesting about watching those things," commented Michael as he walked up behind her.
"The smell is no worse here than it is over by the helicopters," she replied. "And there's no end to what you can learn from studying your enemy."
"Yea, things are getting quite ripe around here," he agreed.
"Some of those things had to have walked for hundreds of miles," she went on as if he hadn't spoke, still staring below.
"What makes you say that?"
"Look at them, look what they're wearing. Some of those girls down there look like they're in bikinis. Sunbathing in the middle of the Apocalypse," she scoffed.
"That still doesn't explain why you think they've walked that far," he told her.
"Here," she said, handing him the field glasses. "See that guy with the goofy straw hat? He's wearing sandals with black socks pulled up to his knees and a cheesy Hawaiian shirt, no self-respecting Mexican that I know of would be caught dead looking like that, he's gotta be a tourist. And over to the left, those girls in the bikinis? Looks like college kids enjoying their summer vacation. Or at least they were anyway, kinda ended on a down note I suspect."
Michael smiled. "I'm sure you're going somewhere with all of this."
"They're dressed for the beach. Do you see a beach around here locally?" she asked pointedly.
"No."
"Exactly."
"But they couldn't have been drawn from that far of a distance for us," he said. "It would have taken them days to reach here, besides that."
"I never said they were here because of us."
"Then why?"
"They're pack hunters, they go where the food is, and in this case their food is us. My guess would be that there has to have been a stronghold around here once, someplace where the living had themselves holed up for awhile. When all these wandering ones arrived, they probably overpowered the defenses, or else the humans made a break for it. Who knows, maybe there's still someone out there alive in this town."
Michael handed her the field glasses again. "We haven't seen any sign of other survivors though. Nothing that would indicate that they've barricaded themselves in anywhere."
"That doesn't mean they don't exist. I haven't actually seen any of our Naval ships out to sea, operational and disease free, but I believe they do exist," Briggs told him. "Do you believe in God, Michael?"
Michael was startle by the unexpected question. "Yea, I guess I do."
"But you've never seen him, does that make you doubt he exists?" she asked. Michael smiled in response. A snarling sound below caught their attention before anything else could be said. Briggs raised the binoculars to her eyes once more. "Well I'll be damned."
"What is it?"
"Dogs."
"Dogs? What about them?" he asked.
"There's a pack of them down there...and they're attacking one of the zombies. Eating it from the looks of things," she responded.
"I've never seen that happen before," Michael said in surprise.
"Dogs are getting hungry, it's been months since they had people around to take care of them. And with the smell of rotting flesh in the air..." she trailed off. "They're reverting back to their true natures."
Michael nodded, looking straight down below them. "They're coming inside the hotel, the zombies," he said after a moment.
"Yea, I saw that earlier when we landed. We're gonna want to make sure that that stairwell door is reinforced before we bed down for the night," she commented. "I'll make sure we keep a watch rotating throughout the night too."
"Sounds like a solid plan. But why did we land here in the first place? If you knew that they could get inside I mean."
"It's the biggest, newest building in town, I didn't have any doubts that it could handle the weight of our birds being parked on top. Besides, I don't think we'll have to worry too much about them getting up here, the watches and what not, that's just a precaution. Anyway, by now those things have probably figured out how to open up the doors to just about everywhere in town, none of these buildings are 100 secure."
"So are you going to tell the others?" he asked.
"Hadn't planned on it, no reason to get people panicked about something we can't control."
"I hope you're right about that," he said doubtfully.
"You can tell them if you want, but we may as well start prepping the ships for take off if you do, I doubt anyone will sleep tonight if they know," she said casually, almost as if they were discussing something as banal as the weather.
"You could be right," he conceded.
"I know I'm right," she said, standing up. "I'm going to go and discreetly have a couple of my men reinforce the stairwell door, why don't you make yourself useful and get the others to help you set up camp for the night. Keep them away from the door as much as possible, the fewer of them that notice what we're doing, the better.
Michael followed through with Briggs' plan, but in the end it didn't matter much. It was some time around 2 a.m. when the pounding started on the other side of stairwell door,accompanied with the fierce snarls and moans of the dead. The two watches on duty at the time, Cook and Tom, stared at the door in horror, gripping their weapons so tightly their knuckles turned white. Tom nearly jumped out of his shoes when Briggs spoke from behind him.
"I was wondering how long it would take them to figure out how to get up to the roof," she said.
"Jesus!" Tom yelped, whirling himself around and taking aim at the sound of her voice. When he realized who it was, he lowered the weapon slightly. "I could have shot you! Goddammit, I could have killed you!" he ranted in a hushed voice.
She reached out and clicked the safety of his rifle to the 'off' position. "Now you could. I hope if those things broke through you'dhave hadenough sense to do that yourself."
Tom's face went ashen. "My god, I could have gotten us all killed," he mumbled to himself.
"Doubtful. That stairwell is probably too narrow for them to get enough leverage to bust that door open. They'll make a lot of noise, but we should be plenty safe until morning," she reassured him.
"Still, I should know better than this..." he trailed off. "I'm an EMT, my job's to save lives."
"True, but I don't think using a rifle has ever been part of your job description," Briggs reasoned.
"Still..."
"Why don't you go get some sleep, I'll finish up your watch," she said. Tom nodded, not even pretending to put up an argument.
"That go for me too, Sarge?" Cook asked hopefully.
"Not unless you can get someone to take your watch," she told him, grinning as she seated herself on the roof, her back up against one of the huge vent shafts protruding at random intervals across the roof top.
"I'll take his watch," Fran's voice called out. The now heavily pregnant woman made her way forward, into the area lighted by their lanterns, slightly waddling as she did.
Briggs eyed her speculatively. "You think you're up for it?"
"Well I doubt I'm going to get any more sleep tonight, I might as well make myself useful," she said, settling herself beside Briggs. Looking over to Cook, Briggs indicated that he could go sleep.
"You don't have to stay over here Fran, I can take care of this by myself," Briggs told her after Cook walked away.
"I'm pregnant Briggs, not useless. Plus, I told you that I can't sleep," she replied. "Besides, I figured this would be my only opportunity to learn what's going on in that mind of yours."
"How so?"
"You seem to have the heartless bitch routine down to a science," Fran commented, bringing a grin to Briggs' face. "But then you do things like take Dennis under your wing, teach him how to shoot guns and then stand up to his drunk of a mother on his behalf, and I suddenly get the impression that maybe you're not as unfeeling as you like people to think."
"You trying to psychoanalyze me Fran?"
"What would you do if I said yes?"
"Warn you that many trained psychiatrists have tried and failed before you," Briggs said casually.
"Why are you always so difficult?"
"It's genetic."
"Bullshit."
Briggs smiled. "Okay then, it's a learned trait, I'm a product of my environment."
"See, you're being difficult again!" Fran said, smiling despite her frustration.
"Yes, but you have to admit, it's a form of entertainment when it's," she looked at her watch, "damn near three in the morning and you're sitting on a rooftop in Mexico listening to dead people pound on a stairwell door."
"How can you be so glib about it all? Those things are winning," Fran said sadly.
"No, they're not winning. They may be in the majority right now, but as long as you and I and the rest of the group are alive, they haven't won."
"But how can you treat it all so casually?" Fran asked.
"I didn't think I was," Briggs responded. "I guess I just handle things differently from the rest of you."
"Don't you care about anything? Anyone?" queried Fran.
"I can count on one hand the number of people that I truly care about," Briggs said, a twinge of regret in her voice as she added, "I'd probably have fingers left over too, come to think about it."
"CJ's one of them, isn't he?"
Briggs looked away, causing Fran to laugh.
"I'm gonna go do a quick walk around the roof, see if I can tell what's going on below," Briggs said, quickly climbing to her feet. She paused a few paces away and turned back to Fran, speaking so quietly the pregnant woman had to strain to hear her over the din. "Yea, CJ's one of them." Then, in the louder, more commanding voice Fran was accustomed to hearing she added, "Just give a shout if those things start to break through that door, otherwise I'll be back in a few."
As the first rays of dawn began lighting the sky, the equipment was loaded onto the waiting helicopters and with one long last look around, the group boarded the helicopters. Moments later they were once more in the air, charting a course towards Guatemala. Most of the passengers hunkered down and slept the first few hours, many of them having been awakened by the zombies in the stairwell during the night. On board the 'Eve of Destruction,' CJ was once more at the controls.
"You know, I really think I'm starting to get the hang of this flying shit," he said proudly, shaking Briggs from her silent musings as she watched the landscape below.
"Oh yea?" she asked.
"Yea, as long as you don't ask me to do anything crazy, like take offs or landings, we should be all right," he declared proudly.
She laughed, surprised at his humor. In truth, he'd taken to flying the little two seater much quicker than she'd thought he would. Admittedly, he wasn't that far off from the truth concerning his landing abilities, those really needed some work, but his take offs were actually pretty decent, all things considered. She had a feeling that he'd be getting a lot more practice at it too, as long as they could find the buildings to land on and spend the nights.
"So where are we right now?" he asked, bringing a smile to her face.
"Remind me to teach you about the navigational equipment on this bird," she told him.
Grinning he replied, "Probably won't do much good. I always like to say that I've got a good sense of direction, but in my whole life I've never been this far from home. Hell, I don't think I've hardly ever even left Wisconsin really."
"Really?" she said, surprised. "I don't think I've ever lived in any one place long enough to consider it a home."
Clearing his throat, CJ changed the subject. "You, uh, never answered my question, about where we're at."
"We crossed into Guatemala about twenty minutes ago, over there to the right," she pointed off in the distance, "You should be able to just make out the Pacific Ocean."
"I thought you said we'd be sticking right to the coast?"
"For the most part, but we're going to have to go out of our way in order to fuel up. Our first stop is over in the Sierra De Las Minas. Little out of the way spot in the mountains."
"Drug producers, isn't that what you said?"
"Yea. But it's the only airfield I know of that's going to be off the beaten path. I've got the rough coordinates of the location, and in the long run it's better to go out of our way to hit this place than to wander blindly hoping we'll come across another one."
They continued on in relative silence, Briggs taking the controls long enough to adjust their course, demonstrating to CJ what to do, before returning the aircraft to his command. It was a pattern that they followed for the next few hours, Briggs grabbing quick naps in between course adjustments. At last she radioed the other helicopters. "Cowboy, Steele, start getting your teams together, we should be hitting the airfield in about twenty minutes."
"Are you sure about this?" CJ asked, pulling his communications equipment on in the cramped compartment.
"No, but then, I haven't been sure of anything we've done for the last couple of months."
He shook his head, reaching for his weapon, checking the clip. Finally he began loading clips of ammunition into the pouches of his webbed pistol belt. The clearing where the makeshift airfield was situated came into view. There was no sign of movement, but the clearing was surrounded on all sides with thick stands of trees.
"Cowboy, let's circle once, see if anything rears its head below."
"Affirmative," he replied. "Steele, you hear that?"
"Negative," came Masters' voice. "Steele wanted to be on the ground team, I'm back on the controls."
"Roger that. Follow Briggsy's lead, let us know if you see any movement below."
"You got it."
The three helicopters circled once around the clearing, flying so low that CJ was amazed they weren't touching the tree tops in the process. Finally the call was made to land. Like before, the teams alit from the helicopters almost as soon as their skids touched the ground.
"Ah shit, who's brilliant idea was it to let Steve come out and fuel up my helicopter," CJ's voice complained over the radio.
"It wasn't my choice you fuckin' moron," Steve replied angrily.
"Both of you assholes cut the chatter now," commanded Briggs. "Keep these fucking channels clear unless you see something out there moving."
The refueling was going smoothly, better than most of their previous experiences. Then Monica, who was sitting alongside Cowboy in the Stallion, caught some movement along the edge of the trees on the far side of the clearing. She was just grabbing for a pair of binoculars when the first shots were fired.
"Sonuvabitch!" hollered Cowboy. "Briggsy someone out there is shooting at us!"
"I'd say either our drug dealers have survived, or the corpses remember how to shoot," she replied. On the open channel she called out, "Everyone back on the birds, we're getting out of here."
Steve hadn't needed any encouragement, he was halfway back to the Blackhawk as soon as the first shot flew by. The others were scampering back just as quickly, until Monica's voice came over the radio. "Briggs, Steve left the pump's nozzle in your fuel tank," she said frantically. CJ, who'd just climbed aboard swung the door open again.
"I got it!" radioed Roger, running over. He pulled the nozzle free, hurling it away from the helicopter as he sprinted back towards the Blackhawk. Briggs immediately began lifting off, reaching down and arming the weapons. The Stallion also began ascending into the sky just as Roger reached the side of the Blackhawk and a shot caught him in the leg, just below his right knee.
"Man down, man down," called Cowboy over the radio, watching as Roger struggled back to his feet. Another shot caught him in his left forearm, causing him to fall once more.
"Bastards," Briggs gritted out, swiftly bringing in the AH-6 for a strafing run of the treeline. In the meantime, Tom and Cook leapt from the Blackhawk and helped the wounded Roger on board, the helicopter taking off as soon as they were all safely on board.
"Cowboy, Masters take evasive action, get the fuck outta here," commanded Briggs, turning and making another run on the trees before moving to follow the others. Fifteen minutes later, they left the mountains behind, making a beeline for the coast once more. "Masters, what's the report on Roger?"
"Two shots caught him, Tom's working on him now to stop the bleeding. One passed clean through his arm, the other one's still in his leg. We're gonna have to land to take care of it."
"Can Tom get him stable enough to fly for a few hours first?"
"He thinks so, but he's not happy about it."
"Biggest city in our flight path is gonna be Santa Ana, across the border into El Salvador. If we have to, we can divert, but I don't want to do that unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Let's do it."
"Oh, and Masters," Briggs said, a steely tone of fury in her voice.
"Yea?"
"Let Steve know he's a dead man the next time I see his cowardly ass."
"That's a big affirmative. Out."