“I’m not even going to ask if it’s clear right,” I say moving the throttle lever to run and reach up to the number three engine start button.
Robert looks back in but keeps sneaking quick glances outside, both curious and appalled at the potential of what will happen when the engines start. I push the button and hear the turbine start spinning up and see the gauges on number three rise.
“Oh sick!” Robert says but he continues glancing outside.
I feel a couple of thumps as the props spin up to speed and the engine stabilizes smoothly at idle. I run up the engine a little and begin the start on number 4. I feel thumps along my side of the aircraft and some on Robert’s but they are distinctly lacking on the right rear. The hurricane force winds generated by the engines and giant props prevent anything from being able to exist behind.
“They’ve moved away from the engines but are bunched up below me,” Robert says.
I start the remaining engines and the drone drowns out all but the slams against the front. With everything stabilized, I flick on the landing and taxi lights flooding the area in front in light. The crowd around the aircraft comes into full view, their mottled skin showing up brightly. They are clothed in a variety of manners; some in flight suits, others in fatigues and other uniforms, and still others in civilian clothing; shorts, jeans, t-shirts, button up shirts; some shredded, some whole. The intensity of the lights causes them to appear as if in black and white with little color being reflected back to our eyes. They are milling about anxiously with only the occasional one slamming into the side but all give the blur of the props room. In the lights, more are running toward our front and sides from around the wind edges.
I release the parking brake, move the throttles up and the aircraft starts rolling forward. “Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?” Robert asks staring at the immense crowd outside.
“Yup,” I reply pushing the throttles forward. The engines respond to my request and the 130 begins to pick up speed, the nose of the aircraft forcing the things outside to part to one side or the other. “I wouldn’t look as it’s not going to be pretty.”
A change in the pitch and drone of the engines occurs as we head down the taxiway and onto the runway accompanied by a series of soft slaps against the sides of the fuselage behind us. The things outside closest to us try to back away from our advance but are slowed by those behind them. Some try to get away to the side only to be caught by the outside engines. In the middle of the runway, I start turning the aircraft around, the light we cast turns with us and illuminates the outside by degrees, picking up the things outside coming back at us, first in singles as we turn, and then in groups as we complete our 180 degree turn. The lights clearly show our previous path. Small and large clumps of shredded clothing and bloodied body parts are strewn on the taxiway with a clearly defined path down the middle.
Some are now coming toward us from in front with more from the sides as we start down the taxiway to where we were parked just moments ago. Some of those in front scatter to the sides and away at our approach but a few keep coming blinded by the intensity of our lights. There are a couple additional buzz saw-like sounds and meaty slaps against the sides as we turn left and proceed down the main taxiway paralleling the runway. The main ramp area opens to our right and I swing out onto it, doing yet another 180 degree turn at midfield. I bring the throttles back and step on the brakes bringing us to a stop. The lights pick out an immense horde of things running after us down the taxiway and in the grass between the taxiway and runway.
“They’re persistent, I’ll give ‘em that,” I say watching them close.
I push the throttles up holding onto the brakes, the nose bows downward compressing the nose gear strut, waiting to be released. “Won’t this damage the props?” Robert asks as we all look at the well-lit group hurtling towards us.
“Should be okay. Those are thirteen foot props turning at over 1,000 rpm. Rocks and such will put nicks in them but I doubt they’ll even notice flesh and bones.”
“Dad, do we have to do this?” Bri asks.
“Hon, we don’t have the fuel to fly our next leg nor do we have enough to just fly around all night. Plus, they’re just pissing me off. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Here we sit, stopped on the taxiway, the deep, steady, strong drone of the engines, the propellers turning at high speed, lights blazing out into the darkness, and the approaching horde steadily closing the distance, drawn by whatever it is in their heads that leads them to this chase.
When the mass is about 75 yards ahead, I release the brakes, the nose launching upward as the aircraft is finally released from its blocks. We start down the taxiway, picking up speed as we near the horde, our closure rate increasing as we add our speed to it. We close to within a few yards and the ones in front of us start separating from our path to the sides. And then, just like that, they sweep behind us, the outboard engines catching a couple of them as we pass them by.
I taxi to the end of the ramp and taxiway, turning around once again, “Okay, let’s try that a little differently,” I say bringing us to a stop.
Once again, the horde has turned around and is pursuing us. This time, I wait until they are only 50 yards ahead before releasing the brakes. We surge ahead and draw closer to them. They separate in the same manner and I turn to the right with them, maneuvering to bring the nearest edge of them close down our right side. Our lights ahead show the ramp clear of obstacles other than the running horde. Our engines plow through them, raw, meaty slaps against the fuselage barely heard over the roar of the turning props. Slap…. Slap, slap… slap, slap, slap, slap… slap… slap… slap, slap.
“Oh my god,” Nic whispers sickly and with horror through the headset as the lights shining ahead on the right turns a pale pink.
My anger at them turns to a sickness deep inside that rests in the pit of my stomach. I gain a little distance and turn the aircraft around. “You’re kidding,” Robert says as we stop for the third time and see the mass, although diminished, has turned around and are after us yet again.
“Dad, can we just get out of here?” Bri asks.
“I wish we could, babe,” I answer back. “I am really sorry, hon.”
I hear a heavyish sigh over the helmet speakers; I think from Michelle.
“If this is too much for anyone, just head into the back. You can stuff bits of clothing in your helmet to drown out the sounds and you don’t have to watch. Hell, I might even join you,” I say watching the diminished horde draw closer, most of them directly in front of us but a few scattered groups and single ones off to the side, looking almost like a flanking maneuver.
“I’m okay,” Bri says behind me.
“Me too,” says Nic.
“I’m doing alright,” Robert answers.
“I’m fine,” Michelle speaks out.
“Well hell, I’m not. This is disgusting as hell,” I say.
There is a simultaneous “yeah” from everyone.
When they are again about 50 yards away, I release the brakes and the aircraft leaps toward them. I stay to the right side of the taxi way with the ramp to my left as the horde and we begin another joust. They separate as before and I head toward the left group trying to take them down the left side this time. Rather than angle outward, they then turn a direct 90 degrees away from us attempting to get far away from our path, the ones off to the sides turn towards us, attempting to run around behind us. We catch fewer of them. Slap… slap,slap..slap….slap,slap,slap..slap.
We draw to the end once more turning around. Our lights illuminate the ramp and taxiway showing the asphalt littered with scraps and chunks of clothing, body parts, and pieces of flesh and bone. An absolutely disgusting sight that makes me want to flick the lights off but I need them. The things hovering at a distance, milling about, and some lean towards us with their mouths open, obviously emitting those loud shrieks. The only sound coming to us is the continuous droning of engines and heavy breathing in our helmet speakers.
“What the hell is that!?” I say into the microphone.
“What?” Michelle asks.
“Listen,” I say and then hear another faint thump; more felt than heard. “There, that.”
“It sounds like it’s coming from behind us,” Robert says turning around.
There must have been a group of them that waited while the rest of them ran towards us knowing we would turn around and stop here.
