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Doc saw Webb was on the phone, and he turned to Myles and Abarra and gave them the hand sign for cover. Abarra and Myles nodded in understanding. As they watched the horde, Webb continued to whisper on the phone. The horde was making so much noise with the clicking and hissing, they couldn’t hear Webb’s voice. They continued to rustle around, looking for the uninfected in all the shops.
“Ok, calm down. Did you say, us?”
“Yes, I am in here with Doug, our helicopter pilot.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“We are at Ruth Chris’s Steakhouse. They chased us through the airport terminal, and we were able to get away and hide in the walk-in fridge. We heard you come over the intercom, but had to wait until there were no sounds of those crazy people, before I risked coming out to call you.”
“Ok, go back in there, and we will come get you out.” Webb said in a calm tone.
“Ok, please hurry.”
As Webb hung up the phone, he suddenly had an idea. He looked at the phone list. He saw the number for the information desk. Hoping that the desk was a good way away from them, he called the number. A distant phone started ringing, and the horde went ape shit. They started whooping and screaming and ran off toward the sound of the phone.
Webb watched the horde take off, and then he stalked out of his hiding spot. The rest of the team joined him. “Ok, on me,” Webb whispered.
They made their way down the terminal, listening for the infected. They came to the directory on a billboard in the middle of the walkway. “Hmm, Ruth Chris’s is here,” Webb said, pointing to the restaurant which was in the main terminal just east of their present location. “We need to make it here.”
“Is that where the doctor is?” Abarra asked.
“Negative. This is a reporter plus one at this location needing extraction.”
“That’s not the mission,” Abarra added.
“Yeah, I know, but they are people in trouble, and they contacted us. You just want to leave them here?” Webb asked with a minor annoyance in his voice.
“No, of course not. I am just stating the facts.” Abarra said stoically.
“Duly noted. Let’s move out.”
CHAPTER 9
Webb’s team made its way to the first juncture with other corridors off the main terminal. Webb gave the hand sign for stop, and the team knelt down. He then motioned for Doc to check out the left corridor and Myles the right corridor. The two made their way stealthily to observation points at each corridor.
Doc got to within 10 yards, dropped and low crawled behind a trash can. He peeked around and observed for a couple minutes. Giving the hand sign for ok, Doc slid back and made his way back to the team.
Myles executed the same maneuvers, looked around the corner and watched for a few minutes. He pulled back quickly and motioned over his shoulder, indicating twelve contacts down the corridor at an estimated distance of about 60 yards.
“Shit,” Webb breathed. He eased over to Abarra. “Of course, they have to be down the corridor we need to take to get to the reporter woman.”
Abarra thought for a second, “We could go back outside and come in from the outside of the terminal. Maybe get the rest of the team.”
“Yeah, I like that plan. Let’s move.”
Myles looked back and Webb motioned for him to fall back and post up with the team. Myles slid back away from the corner and turned to get up. As he pivoted around his rifle hit a metal freestanding sign for free ear piercing at Claire’s. The sign scraped the ground and then fell against the wall with a loud clang. Myles stopped and looked back at the team with terror in his eyes. The infected let out a scream and start running toward the sound.
“Aww fuck,” Doc spit out, as he makes his way back to the team.
“Run, Myles! Fucking run!” Abarra screamed. Myles ran but tripped over the metal stand that he had just knocked over.
Webb ordered, “Cover fire, cover fire!” Myles struggled to get to his feet as the infected came in view, turning the corner. The team started sending rounds down range into the charging group of infected. Myles regained his feet and began running. Unfortunately, this cut the fire lane for half the team. With their angle of fire, they couldn’t fire into most of the infected without hitting Myles.
Various “travelers”, dressed in an array of destination attire, came running around the corner. The tropical couple wearing Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts and sandals, the businessman with the tailored suit and expensive Stacy Adams shoes, the college kids in sweats bearing their respective schools, fraternities or sororities.
All of their clothes were soiled and stained with blood and gore from past victims. Many were showing signs of being victims themselves. Some had portions of their throats missing, while others were missing limbs, trying to run on stumps which were missing a foot or lower leg. Regardless of their state, they were all in a frenzy, trying to reach Myles to infect him. Since first coming in contact with the infected, this seemed to be their driving force, their reason to exist, the only thing occupying whatever mind remained.
The team spread out as best they could to alter their lanes of fire and put rounds into the infected horde. Abarra moved to his right, firing his M4 on full auto. The crowd was dense enough that all rounds were hitting home. Head shots weren’t the priority at the moment. They were just trying to keep the infected off of Myles and buy some time.
