A million years ago (in two thousand fifteen,) I had a story in an anthology that took place in the very same universe as Night of the Living Dead. Called, Rise of the Dead, the idea was to have various stories that took place ideally on the same day as the original movie, but far away from the location.
On the team of folks spearheading this anthology was none other than John A Russo, co-writer of the script for NOTLD. John (or Jack, to his pals) was a book pal as we were both writers for the same publisher, Burning Bulb Publishing. We met a bunch of times at book shows, conventions and film premieres. I narrated a short story he wrote in a book we both appeared in called The Big Book of Bizarro.
So, I came up with what I thought was a cool idea-what if the main character from the movie Ben had a younger brother who was drafted and sent to Vietnam? What if the night Ben is fortifying the old farmhouse with a band of folks trying to survive, his brother was on a plane returning to the US after his tour of duty was up? What if the bodies of soldiers who were being flown back home in the plane’s hold…came back to life?
Mayhem ensues.
It was a solid story and it was accepted…except, I was asked not to call attention to Ben – literally the main character from the movie. Simple enough at the time, and I guess since I was being paid, the story could stand up along with the rest in the book.
Right before Rise was released, I had seen a release about an upcoming anthology based on Night of the Living Dead! I thought immediately, Man, this book is gonna be awesome! Check out the press!!
As it turns out, it was for another anthology about the same thing…and spearheaded by super author Jonathan Mayberry…and George A Romero called Nights of the Living Dead You know, the other guy who co-wrote and directed NOTLD. I emailed Gary Lee Vincent, the publisher for Burning Bulb, and said both were coming out at the very same time.
Fun fact is that Jack Russo is the only author to have short stories in both anthologies.
Anyway, as it’s the ten-year anniversary of the book’s release and my story being published, (and as the story has been given a new coat of edits,) I present it here with the character of Ben from NOTLD as the older brother of my character, Paul.
Another fun fact is originally, the plane was to have been flying over Germany. This would have been impractical as Vietnam is on the Pacific Ocean and they could just fly to Hawaii and then to Alaska instead of you know, making a long flight longer…remember kids, research!
THE TURBULENT FLIGHT HOME
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean headed to Anchorage, Alaska
October 1st, 1968, 1348 hours
Paul’s head rested against the green metal wall. He’d only been in the air for about three hours, and the plane stank. This was made worse with the sun still beating on the plane and the thirty other grunts sitting around him. They were all laughing, talking about going home. Paul was just grateful that no one had tried to shoot him for last three hours.
The thrumming of the plane’s engines normally soothed his overactive mind, but not today for some reason. He was going home, and he should have been excited, but all he wanted was to pass out.
That, he decided, wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
He picked up little bits of conversation. Some folks were talking about sleeping late for a month. Others talked about girls, jobs, friends, and TV shows. The one show that kept coming up was some space bullshit called Star Trek, or something like that; Paul had seen a few episodes of it before he deployed out of Pittsburgh.
His brother Ben liked it, but Paul had no interest in it at all. Paul was the younger of the two and although both brothers got along well, Ben had always been the intellectual one. He was creative and serious. Paul was far from serious; headstrong, and funny. He flatly told Ben he’d watch the show with the sound off and a joint, maybe some Hendrix win the background.
Man, he couldn’t remember the last time he got high.
Ben never liked pot, but Paul had been ready to make it a life vocation; he wanted to be a guitar player in a band like his hero Jimi Hendrix. That or a pot farmer in Jamaica.
And of course, Ben disapproved.
Ben wanted him to go to college like he did.
“You can be anything you want,” Ben said. “But not if you rot your brains with that shit. That’ll get you nowhere.”
“Look at Hendrix,” Paul would reply. “The man is a genius.”
“You watch. He’s gonna drop dead one of these days from all that junk he does. And, news flash little brother, Hendrix was already making something of himself. He was in the Air Force. He was working as a musician when he got out, making money. You can’t even play.”
Paul would be damned if he was going to join the Air Force, and he said so too.
Three weeks later, the Army didn’t give him a choice of where he went.
And now, two years later, he was finally going home.
He felt like a different man now. He still wanted to play guitar, but now he had a plan of how to go about things. Ben had said the Army would straighten him out and, much to Paul’s surprise, it did. Probably not in the way either of them had thought, but it did snap him into focus.
For one thing, Paul had never liked white people.
It was a huge bone of contention between the brothers and their father who had raised both boys on his own. The phrase “don’t trust whitey” was used frequently. Ben never bought into it, much to the dissatisfaction of their father.
“They always gonna keep us down,” he said. “Ain’t never done nothing for us. We on our own.”
Ben didn’t buy it. Paul did.
Now, Paul understood things even his brother couldn’t understand. When you’re in a jungle surrounded by people trying to kill you, you’d better trust the guy next to you-black or white, or you’re dead.
He’d become a soldier. He learned to trust his platoon, not because there was a choice. You’re stripped of your identities in basic. You’re all shit, regardless of your skin color. You’re all torn down. Then, you’re remade. By the time he was ready to hit the jungle, he got it. He was surprised at the transformation in him and his fellow soldiers. Of course, not all of them got it. He still heard racist shit directed at him under some asshole’s breath, but now, he didn’t care. He knew who he was. What he was.
He was a soldier.
He was a man.
That didn’t mean he necessarily liked being in the middle of a conflict that most of his friends were back home protesting. He spent the war mostly terrified. But he was a soldier with a mission.
Kill the enemy.
And he did for two years with his brothers. His new brothers.
Now, he was going home with a plan, and he couldn’t wait to see his brother to tell him.
If he could only sleep.
Most of the passengers were from his unit, but there were a few guys he didn’t know. Everyone was now quietly talking, a few guys sleeping, with only the engines of the C-97 to remind them they were all alive and going home. Paul rested his head against the metal hull again and tried in vain to at least pass out.
Thump.
Paul sat up and looked around. No one reacted to it.
Turbulence thought Paul. Must be it.
He put his head against the hull again.
Thump. Thump.
He sat up again and looked around him. He looked at Smitty, a soldier from his unit.
“Smitt, you hear that?” he asked.
Smitty turned slowly to him, a half grin on his face.
“Yeah, a whole lotta nothing for like three hours. It’s kinda nice, ain’t it?”
Paul smirked.
“I guess, but it sounded like something knocking into the plane.”
“You’re hearin’ shit, Paulie.” Smitty said, chuckling.
Thump. Thumpthump.
Smitty’s smug expression changed.
“Okay, that’s what you heard?”
Paul nodded.
Smitty stood up.
“Anybody else hear that?”
The soldiers who were looking at each other and then, the thumping increased.
“What the hell is that?” asked Smitty.
Smitty moved himself into the long aisle and motioned Paul to come to him, which he did.
“We should go talk to the pilot,” Paul said.
“That’s what I’m thinking. Ain’t no turbulence I ever heard, man.”
The two men walked to the cockpit carefully, and about ten feet before reaching it, one of the cockpit crew opened the door.
“Hey, you boys hear that?” asked Jessup, the navigator. “The hell are you guys doing back here?”
“That’s why we were coming to see you,” Smitty said. “Sounds like you’re hitting potholes and shit.”
“That’s odd,” Jessup said. “Sounds like its back here by you. No turbulence at all so far.”
Thumpthumpthump.
The three men all looked toward the back of the plane. The passengers also looked toward the back when more thumps came in a flurry.
Paul looked down.
“What’s in the cargo hold?”
“Hang on,” Jessup said and disappeared back into the cockpit.
Smitty and Paul looked at each other.
“Why’d you ask what was in the hold?”
Paul turned and started to walk back to the back of the plane.
“Cause that’s where the sound is coming from,” Paul said as he walked. Smitty followed, frowning.
Paul walked past the seats to the thick metal plate covering the floor.
The noise was louder now and seemingly concentrated.
“Smitty, it’s here. Help me with this.” Paul said, reaching down.
“Hold on, man,” Smitty said, grabbing Paul by the shoulder. “We ought to find out what’s down there first.”
Turk, a big soldier who hadn’t said a word to anyone since the flight took off said, “That’s where the bodies are,”
They all took turns looking at the large man, who didn’t even bother looking up from his book.
“Who are you, big guy?” Smitty asked.
“I’m the guy mindin’ his own bees wax,” Turk said quietly. “Whatever the hell is down there can’t be good. Y’all should just let it ride.”
Jessup burst through the cockpit door and nearly ran down the aisle.
“We’re carrying back the dead,” he said, nearly panting. “Somebody down there might still be alive.”
Paul and Smitty looked at each other.
“Well, you wanna go, or shall I?” Smitty said, smiling an unhappy smile.
“Damn,” Paul said. “I guess I could go.”
Turk chuckled.
“Sure as fuck ain’t gonna be me,” he said to no one. “Might as well let the boy go in.”
Paul flinched, but that was all. He wasn’t going to wait around to debate if Turk meant ‘boy’ because of his age or otherwise. He let it go. Smitty, however, had other plans.
“No one was asking you, ya big fuck.” Smitty said and then did smile. Paul chuckled as he tried to figure out how to open the floor hatch.
Turk didn’t say anything.
Paul grabbed the latch, turned it and yanked it open. The smell hit him first and he nearly threw up. The other soldiers gagged and backed away from it. Grimacing, he looked down and saw nothing but darkness.
“I’m gonna need a light,” he said in a shaky voice.
Jessup made his way through.
“It has lights, but they don’t operate while we’re in flight.”
“Well that’s kind of useless,” Paul said quietly. “I guess I can use a zippo,”
“No,” Jessup replied. “And you’re not going down there. I am.” He pulled a flashlight out from his camo.
“Hey, fine by me.” Paul said, “I wasn’t really looking forward to going down there anyway.”
“I’ll bet, boy.” Turk said, chuckling.
Paul forgot his nausea and snapped his head in Turk’s direction.
“You best knock that ‘boy’ shit off, Private.” Paul said.
“I’m a specialist,” Turk replied. “I reckon I can call you boy if I feel like it.”
“Nice, asshole.” Smitty said smiling. “Guess they didn’t tell you Corporal is kind of a higher rank, right?”
Turk moved in his seat to look at them.
“They makin’ you people corporals now?” he asked no one in particular. “Well, ain’t that some shit.”
Smitty went for him, but Paul held him back.
“We ain’t doing this, Smitty. Fuck that asshole. We got shit to do.” Smitty was growling and Turk laughed.
“We get off this plane,” Turk said. “You can try and teach me something. Listen to your boy over there.”
Paul held onto him for a moment longer and Smitty began to relax.
“Sounds like a plan, asshole.” Smitty said finally through gritted teeth.
He looked at Paul.
“Why didn’t you let me at him?”
Paul smiled.
“That peckerwood ain’t worth it. Trust me.”
“If you guys are done,” Jessup said, sounding a little relieved the situation was diffused. “I’m gonna head down there. Might be a VC in there, so you boys be ready up here.”
Jessup pointed the light into the hold which revealed a thin looking staircase leading down.
“Hello?” he called out. “Anybody down here?”
Thump.
It came louder now that the latch was open and everyone flinched.
“Okay, going down.” Jessup said, and he slowly descended.
“Guy’s got some balls,” Smitty said.
There was a general agreement among the soldiers, and they waited for anything other than the thumps, which were now increasing.
“I’m gonna go to the cockpit-see if there’s any more flashlights up there,” Paul said and quickly walked up the aisle. He knocked on the door and heard the pilot grunt.
He opened the door and saw the pilot and co-pilot doing what they do.
“What’s up soldier?” the pilot said without looking.
“You got anymore flashlights available? In case something happens to your guy in the hold?”
The co-pilot turned to Paul.
“There’s a couple in the storage box right behind us. About three of ‘em in there. Don’t all you boys start going in the hold, alright? Just wait till Walt gets back up.”
Paul nodded and closed the door.
The utility crate was where the co-pilot said it was. He opened it and grabbed two more flashlights. He headed back and that’s when he heard the scream.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Smitty yelled in the hold.
Another scream followed by another volley of thumps, but now there were multiple thumps.
“Paul? You find ‘em?”
“Yeah,” said Paul, handing one to Smitty. “Let’s get down there.”
The other soldiers parted like the sea and made room for the two men to go down below when they all heard another scream, this one calling out to God.
Smitty pointed his flashlight into the hatch.
“Hey, somebody’s coming up! It’s one of us.”
They looked and a soldier, covered in dirt and gore was stumbling up the stairs slowly, as Jessup screamed in the background.
“Soldier, you okay? What the hell is going on down there?”
The soldier ignored this and continued to shamble up the stairs.
“He was probably marked as dead by accident,” a soldier named Peters said. “Looks like they was wrong.”
“Let’s help him up here,” said Smitty as Peters and Paul reached into the hatch to pull the man up. Each grabbed the man under his arms and pulled him straight up.
“Give us room!” Paul said as they went to lay the guy on the floor. The other soldiers moved back as the injured soldier struggled with Paul and Peters.
“Easy fella,” Peters said. “Looks like you’re gonna be alright now.”
“Who else is down there?” Paul asked, but before there could be an answer, Smitty jumped into the hatch, yelling, “Holy fuck!” Paul looked at Peters.
“Try and calm this guy down. Put your hand on his chest and keep him still.” He stood up. “Someone get a blanket to cover this guy. I’m going down.”
He made his way to the latch but then saw Smitty running back up.
“Stay the fuck up there!” he yelled, staggering up the stairs. “Holy living fuck,”
Behind him, Jessup still screamed and something else…something like…moaning.
Smitty nearly fell onto the floor. He was bleeding from several wounds on his arms and his hands.
Paul bent down and helped him out.
“What the hell is going on down there?” Paul nearly yelled.
“Close the fuckin’ hatch!” Smitty spat out. “Now!”
“What about- “a soldier started to say.
“Now!”
Someone kicked the hatch closed.
“Stand on it!” Smitty said, trying to get to his feet and failing. “A couple of you guys, fuckin’ stand on it.”
Two men did as Paul helped Smitty into a seat. Peters was still on the floor with his hand on the injured soldier’s chest. The soldier was still struggling and beginning to moan.
From below, the thumps were coming from seemingly everywhere, and the screams of Jessup were getting quieter.
The thumps were moving to the hatch.
“Smitty, what the hell-“Paul started.
“All of ‘em,” Smitty gasped. “Every fuckin’ soldier down there. They attacked Jessup.”
“But why would they do that?” Paul asked.
“They fucking attacked me, Paulie. They’re crazy or something. Moanin’ and shit. Like they’re…I don’t know, dazed? High? But man…” He started to sob.
“Calm down, Smitt.” Paul said. “What the hell are these wounds?”
“Bites,” he replied. “They were biting me. They were…eating Jessup.”
“Eating him?” Paul said, and then everyone looked at the injured soldier that Peters was attending.
No one looked harder than Peters himself.
He looked down at the soldier, who was still struggling, but now was snarling.
It all happened quickly to Peters. The soldier grabbed Peters’ arm and pulled him off balance. Peters fell across the soldier’s midsection, which is where the soldier hooked his arm over Peters’ head and his other arm across his back. He pulled Peters towards his face and the soldier bit into the side of his chest.
Peters screamed as the soldier pulled back with a mouth full of uniform and flesh; it pulled off surprisingly easy as the soldier began to chew. Peters struggled to get away, but was held firmly by the soldier, who went and took another bite. Peters screamed again.
The surrounding soldiers were stunned. With all of the violence they had seen during the war, nothing compared to the scene before them. As Peters screamed, Martinez, a small soldier, snapped out of his daze and pushed forward to help. He grabbed Peters and tried to pull him off the other soldier, whose face was now covered in blood.
“Come on, man help me out!” Martinez yelled, struggling to the now screaming and squirming Peters. Paul jumped over and tried to pry the death grip the soldier had on Peters’’ neck. The soldier snarled and tried to bite Paul. Paul put his boot on the soldier’s neck and pulled.
The soldier’s arm came off, tearing a chuck of Peters’ neck with it.
Someone yelled, “Aw, fuck!” as a stunned Paul threw the arm toward the cockpit.
The soldier was unfazed, but Martinez managed to get Peters up and off the soldier. The other soldiers moved in and began to kick the soldier on the ground, who still seemed unfazed by all of this. He just gnashed his teeth and snarled.
“What the hell happened to that guy?” asked Martinez, trying to stop the bleeding coming from Peters neck, and failing.
Paul was trying to get Smitty to lie down on the seats when he heard three very loud thumps. The two soldiers on the hatch made startled noises. Paul stood up and looked at the hatch. With two men on it, it was still opening. The two men wavered on it and the hatch opened just enough that a hand shot through. The hatch came down on it and the hand struggled. One of the men jumped on the hatch and it cut into the hand. No screams came from below, just more moans and grunts. He jumped again and the hand came completely off.
Turk stood up and moved into the aisle. He pulled his service revolver.
“Maybe we should let ‘em up.”
A few of the soldiers nodded in agreement. One of the soldiers kicking the injured soldier on the ground pulled his Colt and aimed it at him.
“Watch the windows!” someone yelled.
“Back away,” the soldier said and when it was clear, he shot three times into the downed soldier’s chest.
Two things happened at once.
Three black holes appeared in the man’s chest and absolutely nothing else. The shots didn’t seem to do anything to the man except renew his resolve to stand up. The other soldiers backed away as he did, standing up clumsily. He turned and faced the stunned shooter.
He held the gun up.
“Back off!” he yelled and fired another shot into the snarling soldier now advancing toward him. The shot had no effect as the shambling soldier grabbed the shooter and toppled onto him, knocking them both down.
“What the hell!” Paul nearly screamed as the skin of the shooter’s face was grabbed by the cheek and torn off in a solid piece. A thick, gurgling scream erupted from the unfortunate soldier’s mouth as Paul chose to help the downed soldier and nearly ran towards them. He grabbed the snarling soldier by his hair and pulled. He had hoped the pain and the snapping back of his head would be both distracting and successful. It was neither. He came back with two fistfuls of hair and scalp. He gagged and threw the chunks onto the floor.
“Somebody help Paul!” Smitty said, sitting up and watching in horror.
Turk, revolver still in hand walked into the aisle behind Paul, who had no idea what to do next. He pushed Paul roughly aside and put the butt of the gun directly against the temple of the ghoulish soldier, who was eating the chunk of flesh ripped from the screaming, struggling man underneath him.
The gun exploded and the bullet tore through the man’s head, travelling violently through the other side of his head, spraying three soldiers with bones, blood and brain matter. The three soldiers now covered didn’t have time to react as the plane violently pitched forward.
The bullet had gone through the cockpit door.
For twenty seconds, the plane was in a freefall and the bulk of the soldiers both alive and not slid and crashed against the cockpit. Smitty managed to hold onto the seat in front of him that he was thrown into. The two soldiers standing on the hatch collided and slid violently down the aisle, desperately trying to grab onto to something to prevent their descent.
Twenty seconds later, the plane slowly began to correct and level out. The battered men slowly and unsurely got to their feet. After a minute Paul asked “Everybody okay?”
Peters mercifully passed out and the poor bastard that Turk had saved was unconscious as well.
That left the biter.
He lay still and unmoving at last; his blood all over the floor, but he wasn’t biting or trying to do anything anymore.
He was decidedly dead.
Paul made a break for the cockpit to check on the pilots. He hoped they had just been startled by the gunshot. When he opened the door, the copilot, Hennessey, was barking into the radio. The plane’s captain had a valley in the back of his head as he sat slumped to one side, dripping blood. Blood was all over the left side of the interior windshield.
Paul gagged a little and asked the co-pilot, “Are you okay?” Hennessey jerked his head around.
“Do I goddamn look okay?” he said. “Hell, no I ain’t okay. Which one of you assholes shot the Captain?”
“It was an accident. One of the soldiers below…” Paul’s voice trailed off.
“Below?” Hennessey said. “There’s nothing down there but dead soldiers.”
“They ain’t all dead, but they are pretty fucked up.”
“Ain’t dead? Explain that.”
“I can’t,” Paul said. “Let me see what’s going on back there. I just wanted to make sure someone was flying this thing.”
“Yeah, yeah…we’re okay. He’s not though…” Hennessey said, nodding to the dead Captain. “Keep me posted about what’s going on back there, you got me?”
“Yeah,” Paul said and left the cockpit.
Paul closed the door behind him and looked around in the cabin into a sea of expectant eyes.
“What’s up Paul?” Smitty asked through gritted teeth. He looked bad, but so did everyone else.
“Turk shot the captain, but the co-pilot has it under control.”
Turk, who had gone back to sitting down as if nothing had happened, jerked his head up.
“Shot the captain?”
“Yeah,” Paul said trying not to glare at Turk. “Right in the head.”
“Humph,” Turk said, dismissing it all and he went about reading his book.
“Unbelievable,” Paul said walking to Smitty. “Hey, you alright?”
Smitty looked up at Paul with bloodshot eyes.
“Man, I feel like I have the goddamn flu now and these bites hurt like a bitch. So yeah, it’s like Tuesday in Da Nang.
Paul smiled and looked away for a moment. Something wasn’t right and he noticed it too late.
Not only was the hatch open, but three bodies were half out of it.
The bodies were moving out slowly and onto the floor. It was happening slowly and Paul took a quick look around to see if anyone else had noticed.
They hadn’t.
“Smitt can you get up?”
“Man, I ain’t movin’”
Paul grabbed the big man and hauled him up onto his feet.
“Get the fuck off of me, Paul. Jesus-“and then he saw them too.
“Guys, we got problems!” Paul yelled as he moved Smitty towards the front of the plane.
Heads whirled around and the soldiers got up or turned and drew their side arms.
“What the fucking-“
Shots rang out as three of the soldiers fired into the three shambling soldiers who had somehow managed to not only stand, but advance.
“Stop firing!” Paul yelled. “That shit don’t work!”
Turk moved his big self into the aisle, gun drawn and walked toward the advancing soldiers.
“It does if you head shoot ‘em, boy.” He said and raised his gun, taking his time to aim. A smile broke across his face as he fired into the forehead of the nearest one. The soldier’s head snapped back, and he collapsed to the knees before falling forward, down and unmoving.
Turk turned around and faced his audience.
“See? That simple. This will be easy.”
The other soldiers motioned for Turk to turn around, but it was too late. A fourth biter on the floor that no one had managed to notice and was missing his lower torso grabbed Turk by his legs. He pulled himself up slightly and bit into Turk’s calf. Turk screamed and fell over backward.
“Holy shit,” Smitty said. “It’s Jessup.”
Paul looked and indeed, it was the flight navigator, biting and chewing on Turk’s leg like a ravenous dog.
“What happened to his legs?” Someone else asked.
“Fuck you, what about my legs??” Turk screamed. He was punching Jessup in the head having dropped his gun.
Paul looked at Smitty.
“I don’t wanna shoot Jessup in the head,” he said quietly.
“Paulie,” Smitty said. “That ain’t Jessup anymore I don’t think.”
That fixed it and Paul walked to Jessup’s head and shot him, direct in the head.
Jessup stopped moving, but Turk did not. He began to crawl backwards away from the thing that had tried to eat him.
He backed into the two remaining ghouls that he had targeted originally. They fell on him and began to tear him to pieces.
Paul slowly backed away. He looked behind the grisly feast in front of him and saw more soldiers with the same glazed look coming through the hatch.
“Alright men,” Paul said, raising his Colt. “Take your time, fire at the head. They ain’t in no rush and neither are we but be careful. No way we know how many is down there.”
Paul carefully aimed at one still eating at Turk’s face and decided to shoot the one chewing into his mid section. He found it difficult and missed the first two shots. It was hard to break the training to shoot for center mass and switch to head shots, but improvising was Paul’s best trait. He took a deep breath and shot the next one.
“Don’t need everybody right now,” Paul said lowering his gun. “Let’s not empty it all into them. Take your time.”
Paul holstered his gun as two soldiers took his place. He went to talk to Smitty, who was sitting at an odd angle and looking dazed.
“You alright?” Paul asked.
“No,” Smitty croaked. “But I would like to tell you that I’m not as bad as those two motherfuckers over there.” With a shaky arm, Smitty pointed at Peters and the soldier with the half-torn face. “You may consider a preemptive bullet or two in their skulls.” He laughed. “And mine.”
Paul looked and shuddered.
“Yeah, I ain’t popping you.” Paul said.
“Right, I can do it.”
Paul looked at him.
“The fuck you can, you can’t shoot nothing.” Paul said flatly. “Hell, only reason I shot VC was because they were laughing at your bad shooting ass.”
Smitty coughed a laugh and then it turned into just a thick, choking cough.
“No one shoots you, not even you.” Paul said and stood up.
“Anybody on here got any fucking idea what the hell this shit is?”
No one said a word. They just looked at Paul, or just shot the heads of the folks coming through the hatch.
“And how about some of you guys moving ahead and closing the fucking hatch?” Paul walked and looked at the two unconscious men. He grabbed the nearest soldier and said, “If either of these two moves and starts doing that shit,” he pointed down the aisle. “Give a bullet in the head.”
The soldier shrugged and looked at him.
“You ain’t my fucking CO,” the kid said, but Paul’s return look told him otherwise.
Paul said. “Right now, I am your CO. Me and that guy.” He pointed to Smitty. “Don’t shoot him.”
Paul went into the cockpit once again.
He closed the door behind him.
“How we doing back there?” Hennessey asked.
“Not good,” Paul said.
“Well, we ain’t doing much better up here either. I was getting static on the radio and just started getting weird radio updates.”
“How weird?”
“Weird. Tell me what’s going on back there.”
Paul described what was going on in the back. Hennessey shook his head and every now and then would swear under his breath.
When Paul finished, Hennessey simply turned on the radio.
“You turned off the radio?”
“Listen,” Hennessey replied.
The broadcast was from the US Military. It was a looped repeating message. It was brief and to the point.
“This is Elmendorf Air Force Base. The base is currently quarantined. Please coordinate your flight with one of the other airfields.”
“Quarantined?”.
“Right.” Hennessey said. “And I can’t reach Hawaii. We can’t even go back to ‘Nam”
“Where then?”
Hennessey shook his head.
“Can’t get any response from anyone just yet.”
“You think…” Paul began but stopped.
“Think what?” Hennessey asked. “And what’s all the shooting back there?”
Paul shook his head.
“I think we’re quarantined too. Maybe what’s going on up here isn’t just here.”
Hennessey visibly shuddered. He turned and looked at Paul, almost pleading.
“Can you get the captain out of that seat?” he asked. “It’s making this hard to do.”
Paul nodded.
Ten minutes later, the soldiers in the cabin had managed to close the hatch and pile the bodies on top of it. It was a grim scene Paul walked back into from the cockpit. He had taken the captain’s body and moved it from the pilot’s seat to the navigator’s chair and threw a spare utility blanket over him.
Paul looked at Smitty, now lying down across two seats and twitching slightly. He looked at Peters and the young faceless soldier who didn’t move at all.
The soldier he had told to watch them came over to him.
“I think they’re dead,” he told Paul.
Paul nodded.
“Well, I guess we know what we gotta do,” he said.
The soldier nodded back and drew his gun, but Paul put a hand on his shoulder.
“Use a knife or something. I think we’re all goddamn sick of gunshots.” The soldier nodded and holstered his gun.
Thump
Paul sighed and looked down the aisle. There were at least ten bodies on the hatch, so no one was coming back up unless the plane started to pitch like that again. He took the chair in from of Smitty and leaned over to take a look.
He looked bad. Really bad. He was breathing short, shallow breaths and his skin color was going from pale to gray. He wasn’t gonna make it. If the plane couldn’t land, none of them were gonna make it.
He was going to have to take care of Smitty sooner or later.
He turned around and sat hard in the seat. He looked down at his boots, caked with blood and gore. He looked at his hands. He wished he had a guitar.
He wished his brother Ben was there for the first time. Not to tell him he was sorry for how they left things, but to see his brother. Give him a hug.
Tell him he was right and see that big ass grin on his face.
Thump Thump.
Paul started to laugh.
What would Hendrix be doing right now?
Thump
Thump
Moan
That came from directly behind him and he knew what it was. Paul swallowed hard and drew his knife to say goodbye to his friend.
Pictured above, the late Duane Jones as Ben