The Final Day (After, #3)(31)

Is Bob my enemy or my friend? John now wondered. If my enemy, would he kill me, or at least try to warn me at first, and was that the reason Quentin had been sent? Or, for that matter, is this all some sort of cruel existentialist joke?

A vibration running through the chopper snapped him out of his musing.

“What was that?”

He could see a look of concern now in Forrest’s eyes and those of Malady as well.

“Might be one of the turbines is starting to break up,” Forrest said calmly.

“I think I dozed off. Where are we?”

“We passed Statesville on our left about five minutes ago,” Forrest said. “My God, it’s all gone, John. Burned out, looted, looks like a wasteland. Those rumors that the Posse and other gangs like it just tore it apart are true. Sick bastards.”

Another vibration, this one more pronounced.

“We’re shutting one engine down!” Danny shouted, looking back at John.

“We gonna crash?” Lee asked.

“It can fly on one,” Forrest replied. “Not fast, but at least keep us going.”

John wondered if Maury even knew the proper procedure for shutdown while in flight or whether this was a learn-on-the-job situation. For that matter, how would the helicopter’s flight characteristics change, and could Maury handle it?

Seconds later, he began to find out when it felt like, the chopper falling out beneath them and Maury then pitching the nose forward. At least he had a thousand feet of altitude to figure it out, but at their speed, that meant a matter of seconds. He could hear the difference in engine and rotor pitch and then the additional strain on the one remaining engine as Maury pushed it to the max, finally leveling out just a few hundred feet above Interstate 40.

Going against safety procedures, John unclipped from his harness and crawled forward. He didn’t say a word to Maury, who was completely focused on keeping them aloft, Danny talking to him on the intercom, offering either some advice or just encouragement.

John could see the airspeed indicator. They were down to seventy—he was not sure if it was miles per hour or knots.

“I think I smell something burning!” Forrest shouted, and John picked up the scent as well. What the hell was it?

“That’s Hickory up ahead!” Danny shouted. “Still Indian country in places. We’re trying for the Morganton airport, which is ten miles farther on.”

“If it holds together,” Forrest replied.

“The airport in Morganton is ours. Can we make it?”

“My thoughts!” Danny shouted. “Hangar’s still intact. Old Bob Gillespie still lives there, used to work on choppers.”

Passing the outskirts of Hickory, flying low, they passed within easy landing distance of that far larger airport, but it was still an area not really secured. And as if in answer, there was a sharp rattling beneath them.

“Some bastard down there just hit us!” Forrest announced. “Thank God this isn’t a Huey with no armor; I might have caught one in the ass!”

John crawled back to his seat and strapped back in, Danny shouting they were just minutes out if things held together.

Crossing over narrow Lake Rhodhiss, John could clearly see the Morganton airport straight ahead—one long runway up on a slight bluff. Maury aimed straight for the middle of it, approaching the runway at a right angle, not bothering to swing out the few extra miles for a standard runway approach.

He began to ease off the throttle, pulling in the collective, the nose flaring up, view forward changing to nothing but sky for John.

He looked over at Lee, trying to offer a reassuring smile. His old friend and neighbor, a man with six generations of family history in their valley, a man he would want more than anyone else by his side in a fight, was definitely having a hard time with his first flight. In spite of the cold, sweat was beading down his face and his eyes were closed, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“Almost there!” John shouted, putting a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. Lee simply nodded and then leaned forward to retch again.

“Brace yourselves!” Danny shouted.

Forrest leaned over to unlatch the side door and slide it open. The cold blast of air swirling in a refreshing shock washed out the stench of vomit and whatever it was that was burning.

The landscape outside was tilted at a crazy angle. With a lurch, the helicopter banked sharply to port, and John was now looking nearly straight down at a runway fifty feet below. Maury straightened the wounded bird out, throttled back more, the ground coming up fast. There was a final blast from the rotor, slowing their rate of descent, and with nose high, he slammed down hard on the runway while still going forward. They bounced and came down again for another bounce, and then he cut power back so that with the third bounce the wheels stayed on the ground. They were still rolling forward at a fair clip, Maury or Danny working the brakes, and they finally rolled to a stop.

“Out! Everyone out!” Maury shouted.

John was definitely not going to hesitate with that order. He reached over to help Lee, who was fumbling with his safety harness, the buckles slick with frozen vomit, so that John could not help but gag as he helped his friend to his feet and pushed him out the door. Command instinct told John that he should be the last one out. Forrest and Kevin, still acting if the day were routine, were already unbuckled and out the door, while up forward, Maury and Danny fumbled at switches to shut the Black Hawk down.