'I’ll tell you,' he took two steps closer and found Nina’s blue eyes with his own. For a moment-not long enough for others to notice but Trevor noticed-for a moment something else reflected in those eyes. Something greater than cold and ice. 'I’ll tell you. But not now. When the time is right. When I have to.'
He winked and turned away.
Her brow crinkled.
Trevor waved the K9s into the Winnebago and commanded everyone to, 'Saddle up.'
Washburn leaned to Jon Brewer and joked, 'I know what she needs. She needs a good-'
'Whoa there,' Shepherd, lurking nearby, stopped him. 'It’s too early in the day for me to have to go and knock you down, son.'
'Hey,' Washburn held his hands aloft in a ‘no offense’ gesture. 'I didn’t realize she was your honey, pops. Kind of robbing the cradle, don’t you think?'
Shepherd ignored Washburn and ducked into the Humvee.
Jon told Danny, 'Honey? More like his daughter.'
Jon emphasized ‘like’ but Washburn mainly heard ‘daughter’. The former ATF agent turned pale and hurried to the Suburban.
Trevor sat in the RV’s driver’s seat and started the vehicle. From there he saw a sight he had not seen in a long time: Sheila Evans walking across the mansion grounds. She strolled with an arm on Sal Corso.
Sheila forced a smile and waved to Trevor.
– The autumn sun slowly rose higher as the convoy drove through the 'Back Mountain.' The golden beams lacked the strength of only a month before, barely pushing the temperature above fifty degrees. A few white, puffy clouds dotted the blue sky and carried rapidly on the wings of a cold breeze.
Mixing with the clouds, a massive ‘V’ of Canadian geese-real, honest to goodness birds that belonged on Earth-headed south. Trevor wondered what sights those birds would see on their long journey. He wondered what they would find when they returned to the lake next year.
The convoy’s path followed the main thoroughfare passing shopping centers, professional offices, and cemeteries. All of the man-made scenery looked dull and bland compared to the sea of rusty red and orange erupting across the forested slopes and woodlands. The advance of fall burst like fireworks through northeastern Pennsylvania, painting a tapestry of brilliant colors that would last a few weeks until the tree branches turned barren.
The trio of cars drove through the rock cut marking the end of the ‘Back Mountain’. At that point, the road morphed into a raised highway above the suburbs lining both sides of the Susquehanna. Creatures large and small moved down there but the caravan raced along, not stopping to observe.
As the expressway swept eastward, the northern neighborhoods of Wilkes-Barre climbed a slope toward the valley wall and overlooked the highway. A ridge of commercial buildings stood watch above the road; quiet retail temples that had been a thriving shopping district only four months prior.
The route banked sharp to the north and the convoy aimed for an exit that bridged the expressway to I-81 north. That exit went beneath an overpass where graffiti on a concrete strut asked, Why Have You Forsaken Us?
Two miles along the Interstate, they saw their first 'hostile' lumbering through a far-off neighborhood. The featureless, lanky black figure stood six stories tall. Trevor thought it a walking shadow. It did not notice the convoy.
After fifteen more minutes of driving between toppled tractor-trailers, crashed cars, and flocks of crows feasting on decaying flesh, they reached the airport exit.
Located on a plateau alongside Interstate 81 and under the shadow of the Montage Mountain Ski Resort, the small ‘international’ airport incorporated two runways, one large terminal, a traffic-control tower, and a series of hangers and small buildings.
Parked cars and shuttle buses-including one overturned-sat discarded outside the terminal. A mass of skeletal remains lay near the main entrance, apparently burned to the bone by whatever fire had damaged the building's fascia.
The convoy bypassed the terminal by breaking through a security gate and driving directly onto the tarmac.
A split and burnt fuselage littered one runway. More planes of various sizes slept near boarding ramps and hangers. Luggage from an abandoned baggage cart had sprung open sending t-shirts and underwear across the grounds.
Trevor's team drove to a hanger on the south side of the airport where two army deuce and a half cargo trucks stood. Several crates lay outside the trucks as if they were in the process of unloading when something interrupted their work, yet no bodies or signs of conflict.
The convoy halted and people poured out. Trevor sent K9s swarming into the hanger while Woody Ross and Shep inspected the army trucks.
Nina jogged to the front of the hanger. In the distance, beyond the tarmac, lay open air and a magnificent view of a mountain range. As beautiful as that view was, it was not nearly as beautiful-to Nina-as what waited in front of the hanger.
'Jackpot.'
– Jon rolled the hand truck full of ordnance from the hanger.
'Careful with that,' Nina Forest advised as she examined the pilot’s helmet in her hands.
In front of the hanger sat two Apache attack helicopters in near-perfect condition, having been armed, maintained, and fueled before their unit disbanded.
What had happened to that unit they may never know. Nonetheless, two of the military’s most effective close-support craft were theirs for the taking, and Nina Forest could fly them.
During her stint in the National Guard, Nina was primarily restricted to flying Blackhawk transports but she had experience with Apaches, too, because her commanding officer had been impressed by her instincts and wanted to see how she handled those birds-of-prey (he also drooled over how she looked in a flight suit).
She handled them quite well but army protocol did not allow her to fly them in combat. Instead, she trained for and flew several ferry missions.
Apache helicopters have two seats with the front cockpit earmarked for the gunner and the back for the pilot. However, both cockpits offer redundant controls, making it possible to either fly or shoot or both from either position.
The Apaches were not the only prize. The day’s lucky strike included a topped-off tanker truck full of aviation fuel.
Nina did not need to consult with their ‘leader’ to know the best course of action: she would fly one of the choppers to the estate and the ground team could drive the tanker home.
Nothing to it.
Rockets and chain gun rounds presented a bigger issue. A fair supply existed at the hanger, but the local police station or even the 109 ^ th Field Artillery armory in Kingston would not have that type of ordnance on hand. They would need to use the Hellfires sparingly.
'Okay,' she announced to everyone in earshot. 'I guess I’ll fly one now and then we can come back tomorrow for the other one.'
A voice suggested, 'Why not take both?'
Trevor Stone strolled casually from the shadowed confines of the hanger. He wore a flight suit and helmet.
– 'This isn’t a game,' her voice crackled over the headset as Trevor punched ignition switches for the main rotor. 'Seriously. You don’t need to impress-'
'Hey, Forest,' Trevor transmitted. 'Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll do fine.'
He could hear her growl over the mic.
The rotors spun to full power. He worked the pedals and stick.
The first Apache, with Trevor at the helm, lifted off the tarmac. The second followed.
Jon Brewer gaped as the helicopters rose above the hanger then banked to the southwest. The deep thump-thump-thump of the helicopter blades echoed over the plateau and bounced off the picturesque mountain range.
