Deadland's Harves(42)

Tyler parked the car, and we went about checking the hangars, first for zeds, then for a plane that met our needs. When I unlocked the fourth hangar, I smiled. “This is the one.”

While Jase walked around the hangar, I checked the plane over. Griz and Tyler pushed the large metal door open. Metal creaked against metal, making a horrendous screech. “Make it quick,” Tyler said after dusting his hands off on his pants. “It looks like we’ve attracted the attention of a couple zeds in the field off the runway.”

Unveiled by sunlight, a nearly new Cessna 172 sat in the hangar, the N-number on its tail matching a number on one of the key chains I carried. I stepped on the spar and looked at the sticker by one of the fuel tanks. “Hey, this one takes auto fuel! Let’s get this outside.” I grabbed the prop. Tyler and Jase each grabbed a strut. We pulled the plane straight outside. I unlocked the baggage compartment and Griz dumped an armful of food and supplies from the trunk of the car.

“I’m going to get this ready while you guys finish loading up whatever fits.”

All three went to work at unloading the car into the plane. It didn’t take long. The baggage compartment in the 172 was small, and with four of us, we were grossly overloaded. I started the engine, and it ran smoothly. “Thank God,” I murmured as I ran through the checklist.

The guys climbed inside, and Tyler took the front seat next to me. “Better hurry because we’re going to have a party in another couple minutes.”

I taxied out without checking all the instruments. “Oh shit.” My heart beat faster, and my eyes widened. “Zeds are on the runway already.”

A few shapes peppered the middle of the runaway, but many more were headed straight for the pavement from the trees.

“There are too many for us,” Tyler said, his brows furrowed. “Can you take off or do we need to drive?”

I looked at the airport for a long second, knowing this was one of those life-or-death decisions. “I’ll take off on the taxiway.” I did a quick pre-takeoff check and then throttled full forward on the taxiway. It was narrow, less than half the width of the runway, but I’d gotten used to landing on highways. At the halfway mark, the 172 was still grounded. At the two-thirds mark, I could almost get her wheels up.

“Uh, Cash?” Tyler asked, gripping the dash.

My heart raced, and my head pounded. Visions of last night’s dream flashed through my mind. Maybe the plane was too overloaded. Come on, come on. After the three-quarter mark, I was able to force the wheels off the ground in time to miss the lights at the end of the taxiway as the plane struggled to climb. If there’d been trees, we would’ve flown straight into them. Slowly, the plane climbed out above the field and into the sky.

“Well, that was exciting,” Jase called out from the backseat since we had no headsets.

Once we reached a safe altitude, I let my muscles relax and I leaned back in the seat. I handed Tyler the map. I didn’t look back at the airport. I already knew a couple dozen zeds hungrily waited down there if we’d had a botched takeoff.

“Looks like you’ll want a heading of one-nine-five, give or take,” Tyler said, holding the map open.

I nodded and set us on course. I glanced back to find Jase looking out the window, jotting notes down for any roadblocks or zeds. Griz was already sound asleep, his head leaning against the window and his mouth open.

During the flight, Tyler, Jase, and I talked about how in the world we’d safely relocate Camp Fox across two hundred miles of zed-infested country. We’d need a crew to prep the shipwreck before the rest of Camp Fox arrived. All this before the herds passed through within a couple days. For the plan to work, everything had to go absolutely perfectly. Nothing could go wrong.

I didn’t think we’d have a chance in hell to make it work until after I landed and taxied over to where I used to park the old 172. Standing there, with no wheelchair in sight, was Clutch.

Hope blossomed. We just might have a chance after all.





PRIDE


The First Deadly Sin





Chapter X


Thirty-one hours later



Wes and I pulled to a stop behind the first Humvee at the bridge crossing over the Mississippi and into Illinois. Even with having all the roadblocks mapped and only two small herds to detour around, it had taken over eight hours to make the journey. I would’ve preferred to have flown over, but our scouting party and supplies would have required a plane three times the size of the 172. So, we’d loaded up two Humvees and drove the route mapped for convoy to make sure it would work.